Hiram walked to the horse’s head and undid the lead rope and proceeded to walk the animal to a stall next to another holding its companion.
“At least when he does leave his horses will have a shoe. This team was driven so hard this fella threw his.”
“So when is he leaving?” Colin tried to keep his voice casual.
Hiram shrugged. “I don’t reckon I know,” he said. “The only thing I do know is that they spent the better part of yesterday over to the Widow Bright’s.”
“The Widow Bright’s?” Colin looked in the direction of the mill. What business would Rev. Pratt and a visiting preacher have with an old, addled woman. He looked back at the blacksmith.
“Are they still there?”
“Nope.” Hiram chucked some hay into the stalls. “They left and went straight to the church. No one’s seen them sense.”
“Thanks,” said Colin, picking up the skins. The rain had lightened and he decided to get to the tanners as quickly as possible and then find some excuse to check in on Lark again, despite whatever objections she may have. His suspicions were probably being overblown, he told himself. Hiram may have it wrong. The visitor may not be a preacher, but some sort of doctor sent to help an ailing widow who could barely remember her own name. But still, just in case…
He reached the tanner’s ten minutes later and after the usual haggling over prices turned over the hides to him before going to pick up a few supplies. He made the short walk to the mill for a small sack of flour that he didn’t need but purchased for two reasons. The gift of flour would give him an excuse to stop by Lark’s and while the miller was bagging it Colin could keep an eye on Widow Bright’s house. Moments later, when the miller came over to give him his purchase, he still had caught no sign of life from the house.
But Colin didn’t want to question another person about the goings-on, so he started back, deliberately taking a path by the church and casting glances towards both the parsonage and the church windows. The wind was blowing now, and he heard something and stopped. Had it been a cry? He looked around. It sounded like someone had been moaning from inside the church. Atop the steeple the weathervane creaked and turned on its rusty pivot. Colin shook his head. It was probably just the wind playing tricks on him. Then he heard the moan again and something else, the distinct sound of crying coming from the graveyard.
Moving towards the cemetery gates, he looked around scanning the wooden crosses and headstones for the source of the noise he knew he heard. Then he saw her. Sitting with her back against a rickety wooden cross sat Millicent Salter, sobbing uncontrollably into the hem of her dirty apron. Putting his sack of purchases down against the back of a nearby tombstone, he walked over to the young washerwoman and knelt down beside her.
“There, there, lass,” he soothed “Why are you crying so?”
The girl looked up at him, her eyes swollen and puffy in her red, tear-stained face.
“Oh,” she said, barely able to speak. “Oh God, what have I done?”
“Whatever it is, surely it cannot be that bad,” he replied.
“It is,” she said. “It is, and even though they say he’s only here to help I don’t believe it. They say he is a man of God, but if that is true, how can a man of God cause such pain –”
The moaning sound returned and this time Colin knew that he’d not imagined it, and it had not been made by the girl. Someone inside the church had cried out.
His head began to swim.
“No,” he thought. “No. Not here.”
“Millicent,” he said. “That I your name, right? Millicent?”
The girl nodded.
“What is going on in there? Who is in there?”
The girl began to rock back and forth and Colin shook her, not hard, but just enough to get her to focus. “I need to know! Who is in there?”
“That man,” she said. “That Reverend Fordham. And the preacher. And –” she began to sob anew. “and the poor Widow Bright. He - Fordham - he says Lark used witchcraft to cure her of the cough. Oh why? Why didn’t I just let her say I’d stolen?”
“Stolen? Colin had no idea what she was talking about but didn’t stop to ask her.
“What has Lark got to do with this?” he asked her instead. “Tell me! If she needs help I need to know! She is my friend.”
“You’re a friend of Lark’s?” the girl asked, turning her face up to him now and clutching him madly. “Then you must go to her. Go to her!”
Her voice was shrill, keening in contrast to yet another moan coming from the church. “Warn her, please! Warn her before…”
“ENOUGH!!”
They both turned now, startled at the sound of the deep angry voice. And there, standing on the church steps was the tall, dark man that Colin knew could only be the visiting preacher. The man was dressed in black and holding Bible and a piece of white cloth stained with what appeared to be blood. Upon seeing him, Millicent Salter pulled away from Colin and ran screaming from the churchyard.
Colin stood and for a moment the two men faced each other across the stone strewn patch of ground. Colin started to take a step in his direction but at that instant a gust of wind blew across the churchyard, and the sky began to darken overhead. And Colin knew then that this dark man was the personification of his fears. The witch hunter had come to his village. If he didn’t hurry, the next cries to come from the church might be those of his beloved Lark. As much as he wanted to confront this man and challenge him to state his purpose, Colin knew it would be the wrong thing to do. The church was the most powerful entity in the village; one wrong move could bring every able village man down on his head. If that happened, he would not be able to warn Lark. So reluctantly, Colin Magregor backed away, turned and did something he had never done before. He retreated from a definite threat.
Chapter Six
Despite his growing feelings of foreboding, Colin knew the wrong thing to do would be to panic. He was Lark’s only hope, and if he were going to get her out of the village before the ominous Reverend Fordham hauled her in for questioning, he’d need a plan.
He ran to the edge of the village, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers, and stopped again at the blacksmith’s barn. Hiram was not inside, which was just as well. Colin would have had no good way of explaining why he needed to borrow two horses, which would be essential to his and Lark’s escape.
Out back, the corral where Hiram kept his own two horses was empty. Colin groaned in frustration, and then remembered that the blacksmith was keeping the visiting preacher’s horse for him. The idea of helping Lark escape with Fordham’s own horses brought a smile to his face and - hoping against hope - he turned back towards the stalls where the two animals still stood, regarding him with suspicion.
“Whoa. Easy,” he soothed and within moments had both bridled and led to the door. It had begun to drizzle again, and a cold wind whipped around the sides of the barn in eerie shrieks. It was a bad day for traveling, but a good day for stealing; the damp, windy weather had driven everyone inside. Mounting one of the horses, Colin held the other by the reins and fought to keep his seat as both animals danced around nervously. Although he preferred to walk everywhere, Colin was still a good rider and soon managed to bring the beasts under control enough to direct them down and off the regular path to the less-traveled one that led to Lark’s cottage.
As he rode, he tried rehearsing what he would say to her, and imagined in his mind eye an understanding and compliant response, perhaps combined with a grateful kiss before she agreed to ride off with him. He decided that they would spend a night or two in the woods before proceeding inland, where he hoped to contact some distant relatives willing to shelter him and Lark before until they could decide what to do next.
He was so focused on his plan that when he arrived at Lark’s cottage, he didn’t even knock before entering. She was making candles at the table, and had just pulled a batch of partially-coated wicks from a vat of melted beeswax as he came rushing in. H
er look of shock gave away to one of irritation as she saw who it was.
“Colin, really,” she began, putting her hands on her hips. “You must stop these unnecessary attempts to —”
He cut her off without so much as a ‘hello.’
“This visit is entirely necessary,” he said. “Get a few things - whatever essentials you can carry in a bag. We’re leaving. Now.”
Through the door, she could see the two horses tethered to the tree by her cottage and looked at him, questioning, but did not move.
“I don’t have time to explain,” he said. “Just do as I say.”
But rather than springing into action, Lark calmly hung the partially-formed candles on a rack and turned towards Colin, crossing her arms.
“I’m not in the habit of blindly obeying the orders of men, Colin,” she said with a calmness he found infuriating. “Not even those I call ‘friend.’”
“I told you, I don’t have time to explain,” said Colin, grabbing a sack and looking around the cottage for things a woman might need to take on a journey. Several chemises were hanging by the fire to dry. Quickly he grabbed them and stuffed them into the sack, prompting Lark to rush over and wrench it out of his hand.
“I’m afraid you have no choice,” said Lark, angry now. “You’ve given me no reason why I should flee my house, and unless you plan to stuff me in that sack as well you’d better tell me because at this moment that would be the only way you could get me out of here!”
For the briefest moment, Colin regarded the sack in his hand and pondered whether it was big enough to hold her. Then, confident that he could appeal to Lark’s reason, he turned back to her.
“He’s here, Lark. He’s in the village.”
He snatched the sack out of her hand and began to stuff other items in it - a skirt, a blanket, some apples, a loaf of bread.
“Who’s here?” she asked, exasperated.
“The witch hunter!” Colin looked around frantically. “What else will you need for a journey?”
She ignored the question. “What witch hunter?”
“The one I warned you about.” He thrust the sack at her. “Here. Finish packing what you’ll need. We have to get you out of here. I’ll explain on the way.”
“No!” Lark stamped her foot. “You’ll explain now, Colin. I’m not just going to leave my home because you fancy that some visitor is here to do me harm!”
He rushed over then and grabbed her by the arms. “This isn’t fancy!” he said angrily. “The man himself is here, Lark. He’s already interrogated Millicent Salter and Widow Bright and extracted their word against you as a witch! It is only a matter of time before he shows up at your door!”
“You’re mistaken,” Lark said in disbelief. “Millicent is my friend. She wouldn’t give testimony against me. And Widow Bright couldn’t give testimony against me! Age has robbed her of her mind!”
Colin turned away and slammed his hand down on the table. Then he turned back to her. “Don’t you understand, Lark? It does not matter! This man doesn’t come to this village unless he believes there is already a witch there. For whatever reason, someone has identified you as such and he will simply find a way to back up that which he already believes! This witch hunter —from what I’ve heard he doesn’t even care if the charges are true! If he gets his hands on you he will do terrible things until you confess your allegiance to the old ways!”
“He’d not have to do terrible things,” Lark was advancing on Colin now, her face as angry as his. “I’d not deny that allegiance. I never have!”
“Has anyone ever asked you?” Colin shot back.
“No!” Lark responded hotly “And why would they? I have an understanding with the villagers. They come to me knowing that I am not of their faith, although it has never been spoken of..”
“..until now!” Colin said.
He threw up his hands, exasperated. “This - this-quest to find and drive out witches is something new, Lark! It stands to change everything. Before I came here I was at the church. The man himself - Reverend Fordham - he was there. I saw him, Lark! He had terrified Millicent and he had someone in the church cellar. I think it was Widow Bright. He’s doing terrible things, and if you do not leave now it will be you who suffers more than anyone. I will not allow that to happen!”
He grabbed her arm. “Now come with me! We must go!”
But Lark pulled away, her eyes flashing in anger. “No!” she cried. “Do you think me such a coward I would flee before this man?”
An image flashed in Colin’s mind of his own retreat from the dark stranger and for a moment he was seized by a moment of impotent shame.
“No,” he said softly. “You are not a coward. But neither are you a simple fool, and that is what it would make you to ignore my warning, Lark. Danger is coming. It’s coming here. And deny it if you must, but I think despite your protests you know it.” He paused. “Tell me again about the dream you had. You did not tell me all of it, did you?”
Lark looked away.
“I thought so,” he said. “Please, Lark….”
“Very well,” she said, looking up at him. Tears were swimming in her eyes and for the first time he saw something else in them: fear. “My grandmother came to me to warn me of danger. She told me to look out the window and when I did there was a wolf - the biggest wolf I ever saw. She said, ‘the oppressor comes,’ and when the animal turned to look at me I saw it had -” Lark put her hand to her throat. “It wore the Christian cross about its neck, on a heavy chain.”
Colin nodded knowingly. “Then you should not doubt me. Not after that.”
“Perhaps I can’t!” she said. “But I can’t just…” She looked around the cottage, the cottage she had grown up in. She was at war with herself, her pride battling her common sense.
“No,” she said. “I won’t go. I’ll face what comes on my own.”
The hell you will.
Colin had not wanted it to come to this, but Lark would not listen. The shell of determination and independence she’d built up around herself was like a wall that he needed to batter down, and there was only one way he knew to do that.
He did not like to have to humiliate her, to break her proud spirit, but as he sat down and hauled her, struggling, across his knee he told himself it was for her own good.
“Lass, you will obey me in this. You will!”
She fought like a wildcat as he flipped her skirt up, baring her alabaster bottom and thighs. That creamy white skin, so tender, so soft. He knew the slightest tap would mark it but put the thought out of his mind as he brought his hand down severely on the center of her bum. Lark screamed and clawed at the floor in an effort go get off his lap. He began to spank her fervently, his trained ear listening for the sounds of her anger to devolve into sounds of sobbing submission. To his surprise he did not have to wait long.
He was a strong man and even a powerful witch cannot combat an assault which leaves her energies so scattered. Nor can her protective spells shield her from action taken against her that she needs or deserves. The fact that no beam fell upon his head as he reddened her bottom only served to convince Colin that he was doing the right thing, and he imagined the gods nodding in silent assent as he gave their stubborn servant what she so desperately needed.
When he finally stopped, her bottom was covered in overlaying, pinkish purple imprints of his large, punishing hand. Lark was limp, sobbing softly.
“You will go,” he said, his hand resting on her bum even as the other still held her in place. “I want your word.”
He knew she would honor it if she gave it and he could feel her now, thinking. Was it worth defying him further? They both knew he would prevail.
“Very well!” she said.
“Swear it, lass. Swear it before the gods.”
“Colin!”
He smacked her again - hard.
“Swear it!”
“I swear it!” She screamed the words as his hand fell on her lower left bu
ttock.
Gently he tipped her to her feet and reached own, handing her the sack.
“Pack what else you may need. Take anything that could incriminate you, lass - spell books, potions, anything.”
Lark’s shoulders slumped and she began circling the room, removing what she could. It had never occurred to her how others may view the items she held so dear, items that set her apart. Her well-worn book, passed down from her mother and grandmother and others before her - its pages full of observations of moon phases and plant qualities and small bits of poetry recited in synch with healing. Instructions for how many knots to tie in a rope to bring about love or healing. Darker spells - sparingly and carefully used only against those who deserved them.
She removed her little clay goddess doll from the shelf, its hourglass shape so familiar in her hands. Little wooden talismans and runes come next. She could not take the potion bottles but removed a loose stone in her fireplace and hid them inside along with the poisonous mandrake and nightshade she kept there where little children and invading mice could not find them.
There were things she could not hide - runic symbols carved into stone, the five-pointed star burning into the corner of the mantle.
“We should burn it,” Colin said hastily as he looked at the imprint, faded but still visible in the wood.
It would take half a dozen men to remove this hearthpiece,” she said.
“I’m not talking about the hearth piece,” he replied. “I’m talking about the cottage. There’s still enough here to..”
“No!” she said vehemently. “I will return, Col. I do not know how but I will…”
It was useless to argue with her on this point, he knew. And Colin could not bring himself to destroy her home.
“My cat,” she said suddenly. “What will become of Shade?”
“Shade’s savvy to these woods,” said Colin. “Not to mention leary of strangers. And I know enough of you to know you’ve heaped protective enchantments upon him aplenty. He’ll be fine. If you stay behind they’ll burn you both.”
Dangerous Magic Page 6
