A Passion So Strong

by Chasity Bowlin

  “And is it your Christian duty to be paid for it?”

  “No. But I don’t reckon the good Lord sees any harm in a body supporting herself,” the woman snapped.

  “What else do I need to know about the vicar?”

  “Don’t cross him. He’s got folks working for him that’ll do worse than cast spells, m’lord… and watch out for the Squire and his sister. They’re more powerful than folks realize… and they want what’s been hidden at Evenwold.”

  “And what is that exactly?”

  “The spellbook,” she answered. “She hid it before the magistrates took her and even under torture wouldn’t tell them where she secreted it away.”

  “How do you know all of this?” he asked, suspicious that she was supplying all the information so willingly. In his experience, when things appeared to be good to be true, they were.

  She rose onto her knees again and looked at him, turning her face to reveal a horrible scar that marred her cheek. “I look and I listen, m’lord. Been marked like this since I was a child. People don’t look at me. They’ve gotten so used to ignoring me that they no longer even realize I’m present.”

  The scar wasn’t simply an injury. It was a brand. “Who marked you?”

  “I was interrogated by witch hunters as a child, m’lord. They tried to make me turn on my own mother, but I wouldn’t. Not that it mattered. They hung her anyways,” she stated bitterly. “This town is full of witches and them that want to be witches, but they only ever enforce the laws about it when there’s a profit to be made from it.”

  It was the way of the world. “There is truth in that for all things, madame. Thank you for the information.” After she’d been paid, he turned and left the church.

  As he stepped outside, he blinked into the sunlight, and found himself face to face with a tall, thin man, dressed entirely in black. It was the vicar. Whether it was instinct or some sort of intuition, Sebastian was on guard immediately. The man simply felt like a threat.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the vicar intoned in a deep voice. “May I help you?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Sebastian replied. “I have found all I need within the hallowed walls of your church.”

  “Is that so? Without any sort of spiritual guidance? That is almost heresy,” the vicar’s words were softened with a smile, but the smile did not reach his cold, repitilian eyes.

  “I understand that Penwickett has a long history of heresy… and witchcraft,” Sebastian remarked seemingly casually.

  “Superstitious nonsense, my lord,” the vicar stated dismissively, but even though he smiled, it never reached his eyes which remained cold and calculating. “We are far more enlightened today than my counterparts of a century ago were. Surely an educated man such as yourself would not be swayed by the ramblings of our simple folk here.”

  “Of course,” Sebastian conceded before offering a stiff bow and walking away. “Thank you for your time, vicar.”

  “I understand you’re a guest at Evenwold, my lord,” the vicar called out. “Be mindful of those women. They are angling for a husband for the younger one. You may find yourself visiting my church again. I’d head back to London if I were you, unless you’ve a mind to be caught in a parson’s mousetrap.”

  Sebastian ignored the warning, but it resonated within him regardless. He’d questioned his immediate response to Anne and whether or not Minerva and Athena had done something to prompt his ardent devotion and admiration. He’d gotten answers to some of his questions, but in the end, he was leaving with many more.

  ***

  Thomas Savage was a vicar by trade, but he was hardly a man of God. As he watched Lord Strong walk away, he felt the familiar fury building inside him. He despised the aristocracy, resented their high-handed ways and their privilege. That the man was there to thwart his plans only heightened the viciousness of his response.

  Entering the church, he glared at the old crone scrubbing the floors. “You’ve opened your trap for the last time,” he said.

  “I’ve got one foot in the grave anyway, you old goat,” she snapped. “What’s left for me to fear? Torture? Your predecessors already did that! You think I’m afraid of dying? Bah! Death’d be a release at this point! No more pain. No more suffering and serving in silence to the likes of you!”

  The black rage that filled him at her insolence was familiar, but the power of it stunned him. All he’d done, all he’d sacrificed, was beginning to pay off. He could feel the power surging within him. Elizabeth had told him it would work and clearly she had been right.

  Raising one hand, he made a fist, clenching it tight as he lifted it skyward. Before him, the old woman clutched her throat, gasping for breath.

  “You forget yourself, crone,” he hissed. “I do not need to kill you, but I do need to make you suffer! You’ve said too much, so now, I will ensure that you never speak again!”

  The woman fell to the floor, her hands till clutching her throat. Her mouth was open on a terrible cry, but no sound emerged.

  “You are in my power,” he said. “This entire village is in my power! You do what I ask, when I ask and you never dare to question to my authority!”

  She nodded with tear filled eyes as she clutched her damaged throat. Both of them knew that her voice was lost forever. He’d robbed her of it, just as he’d robbed so many others in the past.

  “Finish cleaning these floors,” he snapped with an agitated gesture. “The bishop is coming next week.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Anne was in her room. Hiding. She’d freely admit that to herself, though never to anyone else. She was embarrassed because of her actions earlier in the kitchen, embarrassed that she’d been so easily swayed and seduced. It was more embarrassing to admit that she would have allowed it go much further had Lord Strong not come to his senses and decided not to take her innocence in the kitchen.

  “He wasn’t taking it, Anne,” she muttered to herself. “You were offering it on a silver platter.” It was lowering to realize just how quickly she’d been willing to toss away her virtue. Of course, she had no plans to marry and no future husband to be offended by the lack. Still, society’s mandates had been drilled into her throughout her life, and it was not easy to simply ignore them. And yet with one kiss, she’d been prepared to let him have his way with her right there in the kitchen.

  Recalling the sensation of his lips on hers, of the wicked glide of his tongue against hers, she felt heat suffuse her again. She’d never considered the idea that she was capable of passion. It went against everything she believed about herself. Rractical, pragmatic, focused—that was what she’d always considered herself to be. A wanton woman who allowed herself to be seduced in a kitchen was a far cry from her previous vision. And now she was moving further away from that vision still by hiding, not out of shame, but out of fear. She was afraid because she didn’t know if he’d called a halt to their lovemaking because he’d come to his senses and realized it was a horrible mistake, or if perhaps it was something worse. What if he did not find her as attractive as she found him? What if she’d been so wanton that she’d inadvertently repulsed him?

  After making luncheon for her aunts, she’d retreated to her room and there she intended to remain. She couldn’t face him. Anne had no illusions about her appearance, but Lord Sebastian Strong was an impossibly handsome man. She couldn’t imagine that he would have any difficulty finding female companionship. Why would he choose her?

  He’d called her remarkable, but she didn’t feel remarkable. She felt like the spinster she’d been labeled—not attractive enough to catch a husband, not wealthy enough to lure a man with her fortune, not witty enough or fashionable enough to make up for her lack of beauty and fortune.She’d always fallen short and she couldn’t imagine that Lord Sebastian Strong had ever been found lacking by any one.

  Settling herself onto the edge of the bed, Anne covered her face with her hands. Why had it all gotten so horribly complicated? A simple life, with a sm
all estate to farm had been all she wanted. Now there were rumored ghosts, people searching the estate in the dark of night, magic and witchcraft, and now a man who made her blood heat and her good sense turn to mush.

  It was the sensation of cold that intruded into her misery. Gooseflesh raised on her skin and her breath suddenly frosted in front of her. In all the strange things that had happened at Evenwold since her arrival, this was something different altogether.

  With trepidation, Anne lifted her head and scanned the room, her gaze landing on the mirror above the washstand. The face peering back at her was not her own, and yet it was strangely familiar. The woman had dark hair like her own, and while she was very slim, there was a similarity in their features that she couldn’t deny.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  There was no response. The woman simply stared back at her. Anne felt trapped by her gaze, pinned by it. A wave of conflicting emotions flooded her. There was a deep and intense sadness, and yet she found the woman’s presence to be comforting. But it was the wave of memories, the flashing images in her mind from the dreams that had haunted her throughout her life. It was there that she’d seen the woman before, Anne realized.

  Was she dreaming?

  The knock on the door broke the spell. Anne glanced toward the door and then back to the mirror. The woman was gone. Anne was alone in her room, but the experience had left her rattled.

  The knock sounded again. “Anne? I need to speak with you.”

  It was him. It was Sebastian. Lord Strong. She could not afford to let herself think of him as Sebastian. That level of familiarity had nearly led to disaster earlier.

  Getting up from the bed, she crossed the room on legs that were still shaking. Opening the door just a crack, it took all that she had in her to be able to make eye contact with him.

  “Yes, Lord Strong?”

  He frowned at her cool response. “You called me Sebastian earlier.”

  “Earlier was a lapse in judgement that should not be repeated, Lord Strong,” she answered primly. “It cannot be repeated.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Anne frowned at his response. Was he agreeing so readily or was he negating her refusal?

  “I said no. We will be repeating all that happened in the kitchen and will be doing much more,” he said. “What has happened, Anne, that you are now running from me?”

  “That was a moment of madness! I’ve come to my senses, Lord Strong! ”

  “Then allow me to relieve you of them again.” He uttered the words through clenched teeth, even as he placed the flat of his hand against the door and pushed until she had no option but to step back and give him entry. Anne backed away, but it wasn’t fear of him that prompted it. It was the fear of her reaction to his nearness, the fear that once again she would lose all control and behave like a wanton.

  “You cannot be in here!” she said stiffly. “I demand that you leave my chamber at once, Lord Strong. I will not be bullied by you!”

  He paused then. “Bullied? I am not bullying you, Anne. I am simply refusing to let you hide from your true nature. You are not meek, Anne. You are not a wallflower. You are a woman who was intended to know passion, to live it to its fullest!”

  No one had ever described her thus. To her knowledge, no one in her life had ever looked at her and seen anything other than a boring and practical spinster. Even at a young age, long before she’d been introduced to society, she’d been labeled a spinster in waiting. It was only now that she could see the cruelty in those jests, that she could see how they’d impacted her and the choices she’d made. It had never occurred to her that she could have anything else.

  “That isn’t who I am,” she said. “I’m boring and practical. I’m the one who fixes the things that are broken and sees to it that the work gets done. I’m not the girl who has ever inspired passion in anyone.”

  “You are not a girl. You are a woman, Anne… But it takes a man to see that.”

  There was no time to question what he meant by that. He moved forward, sweeping her into his arms. Anne made a sound of protest, but it was hollow. She didn’t want him to stop. The memory of his kiss, of how he’d made her feel, was too fresh in her mind for her to be able to deny it. She longed to know the depths of his passion and her own.

  “This is a terrible mistake,” she managed to say.

  “Perhaps it is. What would you regret more, Anne? Making the mistake, or letting this opportunity pass us by? I know my answer.”

  And she knew hers. “We can’t. Not now, at any rate. But Athena and Minerva will be going to Squire Alcott’s for dinner… we’ll be alone in the house then. For now, we should go below stairs and join them for tea lest they become suspicious of what we’re doing here alone.”

  ***

  Sebastian stared into her dark eyes and considered his options. He didn’t want to wait. He was impatient and also very afraid that if she were given time to think she would reconsider her decision. Still, he knew that she was right. The very last thing he wanted was for either of her ‘honorary’ aunts to come marching in. Given their track records, rather than being scandalized, they would probably offer constructive criticism for his technique.

  “Right. Tea. With your aunts… Anne, I hate to be the one who points out the obvious, but have you considered that you might be related to them? I understand that the Marquess was your guardian, but there is a resemblance that cannot be denied.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure that there is some blood kinship. I had asked about it when I was a child… the Marquess denied that he was my father, though the rumor persists to this day. Whether there is any truth to it or not, I cannot say. He denied it and I do not think he would have lied to me, but then I also did not think he would have sired a bastard while married to my aunt…the truth may never be known as I fear it was buried with him.”

  “Minerva and Athena would know,” he insisted. “And I think it’s time you put the question to them… I also think we need to explore exactly how Evenwold came to be in the possession of your family. If this house belonged to Winifred Elliott when she was executed, who inherited it from her and how has it been passed down?”

  Anne had never considered that. She’d only known that Evenwold had been passed down through the Blackraven line, but how it had come to be in their possession was a continued mystery to her. “Perhaps Athena and Minerva can answer that question, but if they begin talking about Winifred and witchcraft, we may never get them back on task.”

  “We will. Because while they may plot, plan, matchmake—and yes, I am aware that they have possibly cast a love spell upon us, but as I consider such things to be utter nonsense, it is of little import—I believe that they do have your best interests at heart, even if they may have a different vision of what those interests are. If they had known about the incident in the barn, Anne, things would be very different here today.”

  She knew that. They drove her to near madness, but they were her family. Whether by blood or simply by circumstance, they were her only family and she had no doubt that if they were aware that she’d been in danger they would have moved heaven and earth to save her. It had been her choice to keep so many of the things that had occurred at Evenwold from them. She hadn’t told them about the Squire and his attempt to kiss her in the garden. She hadn’t told them about the strange dreams or the about the items that were moved or missing. And she had no idea how she might even attempt to explain the events that had unfolded just a moment ago. Her reflection had been taken over by someone else. How was that even possible?

  “We will tell them if we must, but I hate to worry them. When they are in a state it is impossible to deal with them. It’s one of the many reasons that I’ve kept from them just how dire our situation is. They think we’ve simply lost our servants… they didn’t know about the maid being attacked and certainly not about the man in the barn.”

  He shook his head. “Anne, you cannot continue to bear these burdens alone. It
is not your place to care for them. They are grown women who should at least be able to care for themselves.”

  “If I do not care for them, Lord Strong, no one will. It is different for a man, Lord Strong. For you, taking care of someone is equated to supporting them financially, to providing. But for a woman, taking care of someone is about nurturing them, about making them feel loved and cared for. I do that by cooking their meals, by cleaning their clothes. And yes, I do sometimes wish they would pitch in more, but if they do not, it does not mean that I will simply stop. And you should not ask that of me… I know they are somewhat eccentric, but they love me. And they take care of me in their own way. It just happens to involve casting spells and dancing under the full moon.”

  He laughed at that, but not because he thought she was joking. He laughed because he knew she was being completely serious. “They do have an interesting way of looking at the world…As far as helping with the running of the household, you may find that you have more assistance than you like in the days to come. I traveled to Arundel after I left Penwickett and inquired with a woman who used to work in my father’s home. She’s an excellent cook, but her personality is somewhat brusque. Mrs. Travers has agreed to come here to work and she is bringing with her a nephew to act as a farmhand and his wife who will serve as a maid.”

  “Then by all means, let us go down to tea and tell them we will soon have a decent meal prepared by someone else. Minerva will be overjoyed.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sebastian entered the drawing room to find Athena and Minerva talking excitedly. As he entered, they stopped abruptly and stared at him.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “I have some questions for you.”