Entranced

by Marion Clarke

"There are elders in the town who still will not tolerate illicit fornication." Giles's tone grew icy hard. "If only he could be trapped—"

  That made Fiona think of Gray and the trap placed in the woods. "Perhaps we could capture that wolf who hates him and let the animal attack him in his house. No, I guess that would be impossible, wouldn't it?"

  Giles gave a grunt. "Too tricky. The wolf probably would get shot first thing. You've seen all those skins he has upon the floor? He brags about his marksmanship."

  Another blatant lie from Blaize when he had said he hadn't killed the animals whose skins adorned his floor.

  Fiona shivered. "I guess the best idea is to avoid the judge completely. At any rate, my mother and I may soon return to Boston."

  Giles jerked back on the reins and stared at her. "When are you going? What brought on this decision?"

  "Many things," Fiona answered, not looking at him. "There's no work to be found in Salem, and Mercy has no money to support us. Grace makes our life miserable with her snide remarks. We are increasingly frightened about the cries of 'witch' on every hand. And…" The final words were wrenched out of her aching heart, "And you and Grace will soon be wed."

  Giles turned to face her and asked in an odd tone, "Would you care if I married Grace?"

  "Yes," Fiona cried defiantly.

  He gave a sudden groan and pulled her swiftly into his arms, finding her unresisting lips with his. He plundered them savagely, choking out her name, muttering endearments that left Fiona sobbing, shuddering with a more urgent need than she had ever felt before. There was nothing in the world except their straining bodies, the frantic kisses, the seeking hands upon her flesh…

  Giles heard the hoofbeats first and drew apart. "Someone's coming," he said thickly.

  Dripping hot and shaking in every limb, Fiona tugged up the neckline of her gown, dropping her head in sudden shame when she recalled that Giles had never denied his tie to Grace. What was this madness that possessed her when Giles touched her so that she gloried in everything he did to her? It was such exquisite pleasure as she never dreamed existed, so different from the terrifying encounters with Judge Blaize. She raised her eyes to Giles, wondering if it was apparent how love for him radiated through all her being.

  The rider thundered past, but Giles only stared straight ahead and said dully, "Forgive me, Fiona. I am not free to love you."

  "I know," she whispered dispairingly.

  "We must not act like that again."

  "I don't understand. We love each other." Fiona caught back a sob. "How can you think of wedding Grace?"

  With a stony face, Giles swept back his tousled hair, flicked the reins, and inhaled deeply. "You're right. You don't understand. Lovemaking isn't always love. Sometimes it's only lust."

  Fiona's hand flew to her face. She felt as though he had slapped her. "Was that all you felt just now?"

  He didn't answer. They had reached Aunt Mercy's house and he jumped down to help her.

  She evaded his outstretched hand. "Good day, Giles Harmon. From now on, keep your distance from me if you have the slightest compassion, in your unbridled 'lust,' for an innocent virgin maid."

  Head held high, Fiona hurried up the garden path and heard Giles drive away without another word.

  Chapter 18

  When Fiona entered the kitchen, she found only her mother present, which was a great relief. She had no desire to confide her recent unpleasant experience to the avid ears of Grace and Mercy.

  Her mother put down her spinning reel and rose quickly. "Ach, dear God, are you all right? Giles would not say much—whisht! Your gown—what happened? 'Tis all torn and dirty—"

  "I'll tell you in a minute, but I would like to change my dress before we talk, if you don't mind."

  "Of course. I'm wondering if it can be mended? Such a pity—"

  "Don't bother about it," Fiona said, heading for the hall. "I never want to see this dress again."

  Upstairs in the attic, she washed and changed into a pale green linen and a fresh long apron. All of a sudden, to her dismay, she noticed that the doubloon was missing. Then she remembered: the judge had untied it when he'd put the emerald chain around her neck. Dear heaven, how could she ever get it back? Was it lost to her forever? She might march up to Judge Blaize's door and demand its return, but it would not be easy. If he allowed her in, he might insist that she explain her recent conduct in his treasure room. Or even say that the doubloon wasn't there and she must have lost it in the woods. Could that be possible? No. She distinctly remembered him removing it. After that, things happened fast and she had forgotten to retrieve it in her rush for safety. Somehow, she must find a way to get it back!

  Fiona sighed and rubbed her head, longing desperately for ease of mind, and perhaps a nap. However, that must be delayed until she had told her mother as much as was feasible about the recent events. There were mysteries involved, and if they could not be explained, at least some of them could be discussed… though not with gossipy Grace or Mercy present. How fortunate that they were out of the house.

  Mrs. Prescott set two steaming mugs on the kitchen table as soon as Fiona returned. "Chamomile tea," she explained, "to soothe our nerves."

  "How are you feeling?" Fiona asked. "I was so concerned when the dwarf told me you had not been well and had to be taken home."

  "Faith, I ate too much, I'm thinking, and then had all that wine, which made me feel as though I had nary a care in the world."

  "Do you think the wine was drugged?"

  "Perhaps, but only in a wee harmless manner. I didn't wish to spoil your visit, so when I became so sleepy, I had Solbaid drive me home. Giles came a great deal later. Grace and Mercy were asleep, but I was waiting up for you and agreed with Giles that you should stay at Sally's overnight. Now, begin at the beginning, Fiona dear, and tell me all that happened."

  "What did Giles tell you?"

  "Only that you had struck your head and had to rest at Sally's. He said 'twas nothing serious." However, the look she bent on Fiona still held nervousness.

  "He was right, I'm fine," Fiona told her quickly. "Now I'll explain what led up to it. First, after you left the table, the judge showed me his treasure room."

  "Oh, my, what was in it?"

  "Marvelous things from all over the world. Strands of jewels, rings, brooches, pearls, gowns of silk and satin, pictures by master artists, and every kind of art object you can imagine, from little figurines to feathered fans, inlaid boxes, gold and silver vases… the judge—he—ah— offered me an emerald necklace."

  "In exchange for what?" Her mother's voice sounded horrified.

  Fiona related her tale.

  "Whisht! Now that I think about it, Grace and Mercy also said he might not be as honorable as he seemed, but I put their remarks down to jealousy, since they had not been invited to his home. Sure, and I told myself, wasn't he hired to judge the truth?"

  "I believed that, too," Fiona said bitterly, and rubbed her head.

  "Ach, child, is it an ache you have? Giles said you hit your poor wee head."

  "It's tender only when I touch it. Giles feared I might have a concussion when he carried me to Sally's, but she took good care of me, and today I feel all right."

  "A dear girl, she is, and how fortunate her house was near! Why was Giles in the woods so late at night? Had someone become ill?"

  "Giles told me he was on his way back to Judge Blaize's house to bring me home. He had recently heard rumors about the judge's reputation."

  "It could have been much worse for you. Such innocents we were!"

  "Yes, indeed." Fiona laughed ruefully. "My virtue is still intact due to my good aim with that mirror."

  "You must not be flippant about such a grave matter."

  "I know. I seem to have a wit that tries to cover up my most worried moments."

  "Your father was the same. Faith, if only he were here. Sometimes I feel so helpless and yearn for the protection he used to be giving us."

  "
Yes, Mother, but now we have to depend upon ourselves. I wonder if Blaize can be a wizard?"

  Her mother rose and filled their mugs with a fresh supply of tea from a vessel warming on the hob. "I doubt Judge Blaize has any supernatural powers. 'Tis very rare, I'm thinking." She sank down on the table bench and added thoughtfully, "However, there are many unexplained things in the world. Your Irish grandmother, on my side of the family, that is, had The Sight, you know."

  "She did?" Fiona exclaimed. "I never knew that. She died when I was small, and I recall her only very dimly. Do you mean she could predict the future?"

  "Not exactly. She did it only rarely, and then almost as if coming out of a dream. She would say something like: 'I had a vision last night. I'm thinking we should clean up the guest room.' Sure and next day there would be an unexpected visitor. But if you questioned her about the future, she would say she did not know, as though she had no power over her predictions. Perhaps if I'd had a 'second sight' I could have persuaded David to stay out of that stormy sea the night he died."

  Fiona pressed her mother's hand, but she wondered if God's will decreed that some things were meant to be.

  "Mother, since we came here, I've had visions about Rebecca Nurse, sometimes when I'm awake, and some-times when I've been asleep." She drew a shaken breath. "I fear it means she is doomed."

  "Oh, daughter, I pray that you are wrong. Faith, how odd that you had this experience. Why didn't you mention it before?"

  "I don't know… it made me uneasy, I guess. Do you think it's possible that I've inherited The Sight from Grandmother?"

  "Fiona, lass, you've had these visions only since coming to this troubled town, is that not so? It may well be that this fear and turmoil is affecting you. And that's why you thought the judge possessed some powers to control your mind, I'm thinking."

  Fiona didn't answer, certain that she hadn't imagined Blaize's strange behavior and changing images. And then the treasure room… could there not have been a spell at work when she was there, as there had been upon the beach? And both times there had been wine…

  "Is Giles knowing aught of this?" her mother asked. "He is such a sensible young man—"

  "I didn't tell him about my visions. I feared he might think there was something odd about me. It was embarrassing enough to tell him how Judge Blaise acted. That made him very angry, and he wanted to avenge my honor." Fiona smiled slightly. "I persuaded him that he might do more harm than good."

  "I fear 'tis true. The judge could probably be an awful enemy. They say he wields a lot of power at the witch trials."

  Fiona shivered. "And the finger of suspicion has already pointed at us both. We must be very careful and avoid undue attention."

  Her mother glanced out the window at a sudden sound of voices. "Here come Grace and Mercy. I'm thinking the less they know about your encounter with Judge Blaize, the better."

  "I agree," Fiona whispered. "Are they aware I wasn't here last night?"

  "No, fortunately they were both asleep when I got home."

  The next moment, Grace barged into the kitchen, flinging off her hat and shawl with her usual disregard for where they landed. "Exciting news! Rebecca Nurse was charged today—the jury found her guilty." Grace's black eyes snapped. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?"

  Fiona and her mother both stared in horror, and then Fiona cried, "It isn't true! She's not a witch—I'd swear she's not!"

  "You're wrong. She is." Mercy pressed her lips together. "I always thought it strange, the way she scoffed at those afflicted girls. It showed she was actually afraid of them."

  "Anyone would be afraid when the magistrates gave them so much authority," Fiona exclaimed. "They are really only children puffed up by a feeling of importance. How can they know who is guilty? They go by dreams, signs, guesses. Why, they could be lying about anyone they dislike."

  "But—but—" Mercy sputtered. "The whole courtroom can see the marks made by witches upon the children's bodies: pin holes, black-and-blue bruises, blood pouring from bites—"

  "And perhaps all self-inflicted," Fiona snapped.

  Mercy gave a small scream. "Niece, mind your words! You'll have the magistrates taking you in for a court trial."

  "What do you know, anyway?" Grace hissed. "How can a stupid peasant think she knows more than a Boston jury brought here by the distinguished Judge Blaize?"

  At that, Mercy looked uneasy. "Grace, you go too far… these are your kin, and hardly peasants. Fiona's father was an English ship's officer, and Ellen knows the art of simpling. Matthew told me she was well thought of in the village, even though I personally don't care for strange draughts from unknown herbs."

  Grace seemed struck by mention of the simpling, and her expression underwent a drastic change. "Oh, forgive me. My tongue wagged foolishly. I didn't mean it, Aunt Ellen. I know you must be very skilled. Remember, you promised to cure my blemishes, isn't that right?"

  "Why should she do any favors for you?" Fiona snarled.

  Her mother directed a speaking glance toward Fiona which caused her to subside, although inwardly she was still seething. "Sure and I remember my promise, Grace, and since we are beholden to you and Mercy, 'tis glad I am to do you a favor in return."

  "Will you do it right away, Aunt Ellen?" Grace prodded in a wheedling tone. "I want to be ready for you-know-what." Her eyes slid triumphantly to make certain Fiona caught her meaning.

  "Very well. I must go upstairs and see if I have all the proper ingredients." Grace followed, babbling excitedly.

  Even a clear skin would not change Grace, Fiona thought sourly, sickened that Giles had chosen to be joined to such a girl in the close intimacy of wedlock. Grace was bad-tempered, unsympathetic, selfish, bigoted, and jealous… among other equally unpleasant traits.

  Aunt Mercy seemed uneasy about the coming simpling and stared up the stairs, chewing on her lip, but in a moment, she turned to Fiona with another matter on her mind.

  "There's naught in the stewpot, Niece. What do you intend to cook for supper?"

  Lately, the daily preparation of meals had fallen on Fiona's shoulders, since Mercy and Grace attended the witch trials more than ever. Fiona didn't mind, since she had often cooked at home in Ireland. Mercy and Grace still made the pies, cakes, and breads, because those were the things they gobbled up in large amounts and didn't trust Fiona to cook properly.

  "I don't know what to make tonight." Fiona sighed. "I'm not a bit hungry."

  "I'm not surprised, after that splendid dinner you must have had last night." Aunt Mercy questioned avidly, "What did you eat?"

  Fiona forced herself to recall the viands and told her aunt about roast fowls, poached chilled fish, stuffed lamb… pickled vegetables, sauces, fancy breads, a rich dessert, wines… she felt ill just to think of it all. She gave her aunt an account as best she could and was rewarded with a frown.

  "No wonder you're not hungry, missy. However, just remember, there are other people in this house who want to eat. I would like you to prepare a chicken with garden vegetables and dumplings. Grace killed a young hen and put it in the spring house to keep cold."

  "All right, Aunt, I'll fix that." Wearily, Fiona went outside, thinking uneasily that Aunt Mercy was getting more unpleasant to them every day. Were the hints of witchcraft making her upset? Or was her money getting short?

  Eager to escape from the troubled house, Fiona headed for the small stone spring house where perishable items were kept cool beside a tiny brook running down the center. She found an empty flour sack and spread it down upon the bank outside the door. After the chicken had been plucked, its downy feathers would be saved for pillows or a comforter.

  For a long while she worked and watched the birds making forays in the shallow brook. Daffodils nodded frilly yellow heads as if to say, "Do not dispair. There is good and beauty in this new land. You will find it yet." Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps and the gate swung open. Giles stood there holding his black leather doctor's bag. He set it down
and came toward her as Fiona rose to meet him. Remembering how they had parted, she didn't know what to expect. She only knew she loved him.

  "Fiona," he said deeply, "I acted like a cad a while ago, and I spoke thoughtlessly out of my anger and frustration. I cannot bear for there to be a breach between us, yet all I can say is that I am beholden to Grace and wish it could be otherwise. Would it be possible for you to let me be your friend again? So that at least I might protect you in an emergency?"

  With the grave, imploring eyes upon her face, Fiona felt her resistance melting. How could she stay angry with Giles when she loved him so? Besides, hadn't she encouraged his lovemaking, giving herself with equal ardor to his hands and lips? And had he ever said it was merely lust he felt?

  "I was not entirely blameless," she told him in a low tone. "Yes, let us be friends again. There is enough of anger and ill-will in this wretched place."

  Giles breathed deeply. "Thank you, Fiona. I am greatly worried about things here and how they touch you and your mother. Now, we have an added danger in Judge Blaize. I fear your loveliness has turned his head. I think he won't rest until he has had his way with you. The knowledge of your innocence is acting like an aphrodisiac on him."

  Fiona paled. She had never heard that term before, but she could imagine what Giles meant. "What can I do?" she whispered desperately.

  "Leave town, as you mentioned earlier. Slip away at night, you and your mother, and do not tell another soul. If I know when you are going, I could drive you to Boston, or near enough so that you can travel safely to your cousin's."

  "Oh, Giles, would you do that? I am so afraid here now. Not only of the judge, but also because of the terrible cries of 'witch' on every hand. Did you know that Rebecca Nurse was condemned?"

  "Yes," he growled, his lips tight against his teeth. "The family is in agony. That judgment will be a blot on the history of this town forevermore, as will this whole witch hunt. I, too, wish I could leave Salem."

  Fiona put a hand upon his arm. "Isn't there any possibility that you could?"

  He shook his head regretfully. "I couldn't desert my family."