The Would-Be Witch

by Boucher, Rita

  “I had to keep you,” Ropwell said, a peculiar glassy look in his eye. “The thought of losing you was unbearable, do you understand.”

  “Poor Jamesss, ssso you had to confine me.” The ghost declared.

  Fingers of loathing crawled up Adam’s spine at the undertones that lay beneath the spirit’s simple statement. His eyes went to the chain upon the floor in horror.

  “So you do understand!” Ropwell said. “Who let you loose? One of the servants?”

  “I fasssted, Jamesss. . . fasssted until my wrissst wasss tiny enough to passs the ring. T’wasss then that I hid the jewelsss. Do you want them Jamesss? Take my handsss.”

  Miranda quivered as she suddenly understood the meaning of the manacle in the stone. This room had been Felicity’s prison. She fell to her knees as Ropwell released her, his hands stretching toward the shimmering conglomeration of ether.

  “I did not mean to kill you, Felicity,” Ropwell said. “I did love you, but they all wanted you, you see, and you were mine.”

  Adam plunged into the chill heart of the shade, braving the dark core of the image in order to reach Miranda. He hoisted her into his arms and shrank against the wall as the spirit took Ropwell in her ghostly embrace. Ropwell was transfixed, surrounded by the swirling evanescence.

  “I waited, waited ssso he might die in terror, as I did, but I will ssspare him from awareness for now, for the sssake of your love, man. For I sssenssse your feelings are true,” Felicity’s spirit explained as she addressed Adam “But remember thisss man, hate sssurvivesss death more than love ever doesss. Jamesss will pay for hisss crimes and endure my loathing for all of eternity.” The glowing eyes turned toward her victim. “Come dear Jamesss, and we shall find the jewelsss together in the Thamesss.”

  “Together,” Ropwell murmured, turning toward the window, stepping arm in arm with Felicity’s ghost toward oblivion.

  Miranda buried her face in Adam’s shoulder as the glass splintered, sending moonlit shards falling like tiny shooting stars into the night. A horrified scream rose, as if in that last second, Ropwell realized the full magnitude of what Hell had in store for him.

  Adam held her tightly against him, affirming the reality of the woman in his arms. “Miranda,” he murmured not quite daring to believe the evidence of his senses. He felt her body tremble and when she at last looked up, there was a darkness midst the blue, a latent horror. He wanted to chase those shadows from her eyes, wished that there was some way to cleanse away the terror that had touched them both. He whispered to her as he would to a child, promising that all would be well. But he was more than conscious that this was no infant in his arms. His cheek brushed the golden silk of her hair, kindling a nascent spark of desire. “Miranda, my love,” he whispered. “My love, you have nothing to fear.”

  His words were a benediction, stronger than any spell. Miranda’s eyes met his and she knew without doubt that he had told the ghost the truth. Adam loved her, loved her enough to defy both heaven and hell on her behalf. He had drawn her back from the Light, shielded her from the Shadow and now, she was at last where she truly belonged. Indeed, all her fears and feelings of inadequacy were banished.

  “Adam,” she whispered, her fingers reaching up bury themselves in the dark softness of his hair. His heart pounded beneath her ear, swift and steady as a ritual drum weaving a rhythm that echoed the rapid tattoo beating beneath her breast. She drew his lips down to meet hers, kissing him with a new certainty. An assurance sprung from the pledge he had made, a promise that was far more than any bond or vow. Adam had given her the gift of herself. For the first time in her life, she was more than whole. She was seeing herself not as a witch that might have been, but as a woman worthy of the love reflected in Adam’s eyes.

  Comfort flowed from her, as if Miranda sensed the sudden need in him. Despite her ordeal, Adam felt the strength in her kiss, a gift of soul, as if she were presenting him with the essence of her being. He tasted her, savoring every second, taking all that she had to give. His memory scribed every sound and scent; his body recorded every nuance of touch, feasting before the famine.

  But while Adam received, he also gave in silent adoration, cradling her with tenderness until her trembling ceased. Without words he told her of the emptiness inside him that was now filled to the brimming, setting aside his fear of the void that was likely yet to be. Even as he spoke with his heart, he knew that he was being a coward. If he had an ounce of integrity, he would not make these silent promises, oaths that were bound to be broken. But Adam could not help himself, any more than his namesake could have resisted the taste of that fatal fruit. Miranda was offering him full knowledge, of her, of himself. Though he knew it a sin, Adam feared that he would soon be banished from paradise. But when he looked into Miranda’s eyes, trusting and full of love, he traced the line of her profile, trying to keep the regret from his smile. She was promised to another man and even were she not, he had made a binding oath of his own.

  The Mage was due his payment. Adam would abide by Wodesby’s decision. He knew what it would be. He did not care. Miranda lived. That was enough; it would have to be, he told the remnants of his shattered heart. Magic had its price

  “Your brother is downstairs, my love,” he said softly, taking the emerald from his pocket and fastening it tenderly with a gentle farewell kiss to the back of her neck “‘Tis time we were bound for home.”

  Chapter 13

  Lady Wodesby swept through the library like a Channel storm. “Were he not your nephew, Lawrie, ‘pon oath, I would turn him into a toad.”

  “At least your opinion of Adam seems to be steadily improving, my dear,” Lawrence said mildly. “Yesterday, in your rantings, he was destined to be a mouse and the day before a roach in Tante Reina’s kitchen.”

  “What is wrong with the man?” Lady Wodesby asked mournfully. “It does not take a wizard’s scrying to see that he loves my daughter. From all that Miranda has told me, Brand saved her life at considerable risk to his own. Even I do not know if I would dare to confront a ghost bent on vengeance. Damien admits that he was utterly powerless.”

  “How the mighty fall,” Lawrence remarked, pouring Lady Wodesby a glass of sherry. “Your son seemed rather humbled by his encounter with the ghost, actually. Quizzed me a bit about Adam’s experiences while travelling upon the Continent. Seems that Damien is considering making a bit of a Tour as an ordinary mortal, trying to get along as most of the world does.”

  Lady Wodesby accepted the glass with a nod of thanks and a laugh. “Damien without sorcery? That boy has conjured from the cradle. He might as well propose to walk about blindfolded or hop around upon one foot.”

  “Told him that I believed it was an excellent idea,” Lawrence said, filling a second glass for himself. “Magic is not foolproof m’dear, as your Damien has found more than once.”

  “Poor Damien,” Lady Wodesby murmured, her eyes misting in recollection.

  “Poor Damien!” Lawrence exclaimed, setting his glass down precipitously. “Seems to me, that you are directing your sympathies toward the wrong individual, Adrienne. ‘Poor Damien, his magic failed him,’” he mimicked. “What of poor Adam? I ask you. As I told your son this morning, my fool nephew is packing to set sail for America, leaving behind the estate he has restored from nothing, not to mention the woman he obviously adores. ‘Tis clear as glass that your daughter has his soul in a bottle, yet when I ask, he will say nothing more than ‘magic has its price.’”

  “That is all?” Lady Wodesby asked, her eyes narrowing as suspicious thoughts began to gather.

  “That is all!” Lawrence fumed.

  “Miranda is going about as if she spends her hours peeling onions,” Lady Wodesby said. “Yet when I question her about what happened she simply bursts into tears. It would seem she has no clue. The cards are close to useless in her case due to her birth, of course. I am at wit’s end. That is why I have asked her to join us here in the library, perhaps if you could speak to her, Lawrie.
”

  “What can I possibly say to her, Adrienne?” Lawrie asked. “I have known Adam since swaddling days, and I can get nothing out of him.”

  “Except ‘Magic has its price,’ you say, hmm? What wizardry could your nephew have in mind?”

  “Well, should we not ask your son, the resident wizard?” Lawrence asked pointedly

  Thorpe rose from the hearth and meowed.

  “Damien? Demanded what?” Lady Wodesby bent down to hear more closely. “Are you certain?”

  Thorpe hissed in confirmation.

  “No, of course I am not calling you a ‘liar,’” Lady Wodesby said soothingly.

  “Well?” Lawrence asked impatiently. “What has that boy of yours done now?”

  “It would seem that Damien demanded a price for finding Miranda,” Lady Wodesby replied, her lips compressing to an angry line. “A steep price.”

  “I knew it!” Lawrence exploded. “I knew that Damien must have something to do with it. He has been entirely too humble lately, almost pleasant to be around.”

  “If you would prefer me surly, I would be glad to oblige,” Damien said as he entered the room. “I knew that my ears were burning for some reason.”

  “That is not the only part of you that I would burn, sir. What did you ask of Adam in return for Miranda’s whereabouts?” Lawrence demanded, advancing pugnaciously. “His estates? His wealth?”

  “That would have been entirely too easy,” Damien said, smoothly, “Brand would have granted me his lands or his money in an eye blink. To effect magic for one of the Blood, the boon had to be beyond price, a genuine sacrifice.”

  “He speaks the truth, Lawrie,” Lady Wodesby said, putting a restraining hand on her fiancé’s arm. “To work a spell of that kind, the cost must be something that your nephew would have hesitated to give.”

  “What was it then?” Miranda asked, stalking into the room to confront her brother. “What did you demand of him, Damien? Did you tell him that he must never see me again for the sake of that precious Blood of yours? You know that Adam is the soul of honor and if that was his word, then he will keep it, even if it kills both him and me. Was that the price of my life, Mage of Albion? For if it was, I shall never forgive you. I am more than that which runs through my veins. Adam has made me believe that. So if you think that I will forget him and consent to be a brood mare for some Blooded stud, you are sorely mistaken.”

  Damien shook his head, his brow furrowing in pain as he regarded her steadily. “You believe I would do that to you, ‘Randa?”

  “Sometimes I don’t know you anymore, Damien,” Miranda said sadly. “You are, when all is said and done, the Mage of Albion; and the good of the Covens is in your hands.”

  Damien gave her a mocking smile, covering the hurt she had dealt him. “Your happiness means a great deal to me, Miranda.”

  “But if it comes to a choice between being the Mage or my brother?” she asked.

  “It has not come to that yet, sister,” Damien said softly. “And I pray it never shall. Brand had the gall to inform me that he would marry you, no matter what my wishes were, no matter that he believed you pledged to someone else.”

  “Damien, how could you have deceived him so?” Lady Wodesby said, appalled. “Miranda is bound to no one.”

  “The notion was not planted by me, I assure you,” Damien said.

  “I fear that I may be to blame for that false assumption,” Miranda said, her face reddening. “Nonetheless, you might have disabused him of his misapprehension, Damien.”

  “It did not suit me at the time to do so,” the Mage informed her coolly. “And when I required Brand to yield to my wishes on the matter of your marriage, it made his concession to me all the more of a sacrifice. According to my agreement with Brand, my consent is necessary for you to wed. Since I have never concealed my feelings regarding unions outside the Blood, your Adam naturally assumed that I would forbid him to marry you. He also believed you pledged to someone else. I knew that Brand loved you and therefore surmised that the prospect of losing you would be the highest price that he could pay. He agreed.”

  “For the sake of my life,” Miranda said, tears running down her cheeks.

  “For your life, my little watering pot,” Damien said, pulling a handkerchief from the air and offering it to her. “However, dear sister, the one thing that I did not reckon upon was Brand’s cowardice.”

  “Adam is no coward!” Lawrence protested.

  “I would have thought not,” Damien said. “Your nephew will fight outnumbered seven to one, he will brave the heart of a banshee and wear a dress that defies every law of good taste, but he lacks the courage to ask a simple question.”

  “Perhaps he fears the answer he may receive,” came a voice from the doorway. “But you are wrong on the dress, Wodesby; it was elegant in its own unassuming way.”

  “Adam!” Miranda ran into his arms.

  “About time, Brand,” Damien said with a rueful look. “A few moments more and your uncle might have set me upon the stake while my mother and sister piled the kindling round and Thorpe would have brought the torch.”

  “What choice did I have but to come, with that blasted hound of yours barking beneath my window, then nipping at my heels?” Adam asked, savoring the feel of her in his arms one last time. “Have you Wodesbys ever heard of sending a note by footman?”

  “Honestly, Brand, what would you have done with any note that I might have sent you?” Damien asked.

  “Burnt it,” Adam said, a trifle sheepishly. “Now what do you want of me, Wodesby?”

  “What is relevant is not what I want, Brand,” Damien said, with a languid wave of his hand toward his sister “So much as what she wants.

  “You are well aware that I love Miranda, Wodesby,” Adam told him, clasping her close in defiance. “Just as you know that I shall honor the bargain that we made, for the price of your magic must be paid. Do you taunt us both then?”

  The amused glint in Damien’s eyes dimmed. “You too, Brand? Do you think that I was merely sending you an invitation to a game of cat’s paw then?”

  Adam sent him a searching look. “You have never concealed your feelings, sir, about this unusual heritage of yours. I know myself to be less than favored as a suitor for your sister’s hand. Do you refute that?”

  “I cannot,” Damien said, his eyes meeting the marquess’ steadily. “For it would be an untruth to say that you are the man that I would have chosen.”

  Miranda’s hand tightened on Adam’s wrist, but he could not bring himself to look at her. “Is there any way that I might change your mind about me? I may not have your family’s abilities, but I will do all I can to make your sister happy. My estates are extensive, my title, though not dating back to Arthur’s times, is nonetheless esteemed. I am a wealthy man.”

  “Rather conceited fellow, is he not, ‘Randa?” Damien asked. “Are you sure?”

  Miranda nodded, her hopes rising once more despite her brother’s shuttered look. “I am certain, Damien, more certain than I have ever been of anything in my life.

  “You are aware of what you may be denying your children?” Damien queried, his voice saddened. “Would you chance diminishing the magic in this world, scarce as it is?”

  “There are other forms of magic, brother,” Miranda said, looking up at Adam. “Magic with the power to last beyond a lifetime, and that too, Damien, is a rare form of enchantment. Could I deny that to my children? To myself? I love Adam; I would walk on live coals for him or lay upon a bed of nails.”

  Damien watched his sister carefully, recognizing that it was useless to press her any further. “And you Brand, why would you want a woman who would risk her footwear or ruin your rest with silly parlor tricks that any nominally trained charlatan could perform?” he asked, the corner of his mouth rising by a fraction.

  “I have already told you that I love her, Wodesby,” Adam said, simply.

  “Enough to forsake her without asking a simple question,
Brand,” Damien mocked. “Is your pride such that you would run away without my ‘yea’ or ‘nay’?”

  “I believed myself certain of your answer,” Adam replied, confused by the Mage’s mercurial shifts between mockery and solemnity.

  “I have learned of late that nothing is certain, milord,” Damien said with a look of chagrin that encompassed them all, “especially those things that we deem most immutable.”

  “Ask him, Adam,” Miranda urged him. “Ask.”

  “Here? With the entire family standing about,” Brand asked, puzzled. “That is not how it is commonly done, Miranda.”

  Lady Wodesby laughed. “Lord Brand, you may have realized by now that the Wodesbys are not part of the common run. Ask, dear boy.”

  Adam found to his consternation that his throat was suddenly dry. Acutely aware of his audience, he cleared his throat. “Lord Wodesby, I request the honor of your sister’s hand in marriage.”

  “Well that took you long enough, Brand,” Damien said with an expression of exasperation. “May I suggest that you avoid taking your seat in Parliament. It would take the entire session for you to make your maiden speech!”

  “Answer him, Damien Nostradamus!” Lady Wodesby demanded. “Give him his answer or I will—"

  “Turn me into a frog?” Damien asked.

  “Far worse!” his mother threatened. “I will cook your dinner and make you eat it.”

  “Yes, Brand! You may have my sister and my blessing,” Damien said with mock haste. “By the Merlin, Mama, you have no mercy. If you wish to see your first anniversary, Lawrence, keep this woman out of the kitchen.”

  Miranda went to her brother and embraced him. “Thank you, Damien,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I know that this is not what you wanted for me.”

  “I want you to be happy, ‘Randa,” Damien said, hugging her close. “I wanted someone who could protect you and be strong for you.”

  “Your sister is strong, Wodesby,” Adam said, his voice filled with pride. “And if I am ever in need of protection, I could not want for better.”