Malcolm examined his hands. “I honestly don’t know. I must have absorbed his Light.”
Mara put a hand over her mouth and then gave him a sharp, accusing glare. “You killed him for his powers?”
“I did not!” Malcolm insisted. “I swear it.” He stood firm until he could sense the Light in her rise up. She had not been weakened by giving up her talisman. Mara watched him for a long time, her expression questioning, and then she placed the little doll in the sack beside her and stood with it in her hand. She walked closer to him and tilted her head. “So now I am free from the bonds of blood.” She made a move for the door, but Malcolm blocked her way.
“I can’t let you leave,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let me by,” she demanded.
Malcolm gave her a crooked smile. “There is something you need to know, princess.” He pushed her backwards into the room. Her hard expression faltered at his display of strength. “Rowan told me something before he died that may interest you.”
Mara straightened her posture. “And what is that?”
“He told me who killed my father.” Malcolm paused. “Do you know who that might be?” He waited, knowing full well she couldn’t answer him. Then he continued, “Rowan said it was your mother.” Malcolm kept walking towards her until he had her trapped between him and the stone wall.
“That’s not true,” she said.
“Oh, but it is true.”
“I won’t listen to your lies, Malcolm. Now let me by,” she said again.
Malcolm shook his head. “I can’t. And I won’t. You have to understand how foolish it would be to leave me, and I promise not to hold the sins of your mother against you.” He took a step closer, piercing her with his fierce silver eyes. He felt the warmth emanating from Mara as she called upon her Light and he saw it even before she lunged forward in an attempt to push past him. She hit him like a stone wall and stumbled backwards.
“Move, Malcolm, move!” she screamed with balled fists. “Do you think Corbin will believe your story when he returns?”
The mention of Corbin’s name made Malcolm blind with rage, and without thinking he shot a sphere of light at her. It wasn’t strong enough to harm her, but when she hit the wall her face twisted in horror. Mara lifted her hand and retaliated with all of her strength, but it had no effect on him. Malcolm was far too strong now.
He closed the gap between them and pushed her up against the wall with a hand to her throat. “Malcolm,” she said with desperation seeping into her voice. “You can be better than this.”
Malcolm shook his head. “No, I can’t. I’ve tried.” The power inside him made him feel controlled and mad all at the same time and the rising panic in her eyes only provoked him further. He knocked her hands away from him and cupped the sides of her face, and then he focused, consuming Mara’s rising Light. He watched her terrified expression until the light in her eyes faded to a dark green, and he let her fall in a heap to the ground.
Malcolm shuddered from the rush as her Light surged through him. He looked down at her. She was unconscious, but her heart was still beating, only now it was the drum beat of a mortal heart. He lifted Mara up and examined her. There was no trace of Dia left in her. She groaned, and her arms hung like fallen branches at her side. He walked over to the bed and set her down, while reality bore into him. He was in a tumble of sanity and madness, his mind taking him back and forth from victory to regret.
“What have I done?” Malcolm finally asked aloud, watching her eyes flutter in and out of consciousness. It was then the thought struck him, and he let out an ironic laugh. Because Mara had no Light to protect her, he could now read her thoughts like a mortal. He leaned over her and focused on her mind. Her thoughts were disoriented, and at first he couldn’t make any sense of them. But through the fleeting images he finally saw Corbin. Even now she was thinking of him. Malcolm pursed his lips with irritation. “What a fool you are for loving him,” he said. Did she not realize that Corbin was nothing and he was everything?
Malcolm growled and quickly shut her thoughts out of his head.
He stepped away and began to pace the room. “What have I done?” he asked himself again. “I’ve killed Rowan and I’ve robbed the woman I love of her birthright.” Malcolm grasped his white hair between his fingers as he paced. Then Mara stirred, and he looked down on her. All he ever wanted was for her to love him. How had it come to this? He watched her unhappily for a long while, churning with madness, and his head spinning with thoughts. But despite his misery, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss her. Suddenly his head shot up and the thought that had been tapping on his mind revealed itself. Who was there to stop him? Rowan was dead, Corbin was gone, and Mara had no power to refuse him.
He walked over to Mara and ran his hand across her cheek. She still looked beautiful, even without the glow of her Light. Malcolm hesitated and then slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She groaned, and her eyelids fluttered with delirium. “What have you done, Malcolm?” she said in an unconscious whisper.
He touched her face and stroked her hair. “Hush,” he breathed. “Everything is as it should be now.” He pulled the string of her cloak and unlaced the ties up the front of her dress to reveal her delicate shoulders and soft white breasts.
Mara lifted her head listlessly, her eyes still closed, and then her head fell back, sending tangles of black hair around her.
She was too weak to fight him or even protest while his hand traveled around her body, touching every place that had once been forbidden to him. The control over her and the sight of her so vulnerable and completely at his mercy caused a wave of carnal desire within him. Malcolm removed his tunic, pulled down his breeches and lay himself down beside her while his fingers continued to forage her body unrestricted.
As he put his weight on Mara and kissed her once more, her eyes shot open, and she mumbled something he couldn’t understand. Then her eyelids became heavy, and she fell back into the hazy slumber. An immense rush of excitement came over Malcolm as he pushed into her. She was finally his. He would protect her. He would keep her.
“You will be mine now,” he whispered softly in her ear.
Corbin, Barrett, and Ailwen made the two-day journey to Moorthrop with great speed, arriving shortly before the close of the village gates. There was little discussion between Corbin and his companions as they rode, hiding the ache of their sorrow beneath a veil of stoic determination, as men of courage often do.
While none of them spoke of the lost child, Corbin remained painfully aware of her death, and he suffered the persistent realization that had it not been for his fatal error in judgment, she might still be alive.
There was no way of undoing what had already been done, but he could still take vengeance on the man who caused it.
It was also Corbin’s hope that the answers he sought might finally put an end to the blistering anger that tormented Mara. The state in which he left her troubled him, but he couldn’t bear to sit and mourn with the others. He had to find the magistrate and put an end to the unrest that had been haunting them for months.
The tall wooden gates of Moorthrop closed behind the three riders as they tied up their horses in the town keep. Corbin tossed a penny to the young stable hand and asked where they might get some food and lodging for the night. Although Corbin was sustained by his own powers, he was sure that Barrett and Ailwen were famished.
The boy said there was a new monastery being built on the north side of the village, but it was not yet able to accommodate foreigners. So he told them to find the two-room cottage with a green door. There they would find a widow who sometimes took in travelers for a price. They made their way down one of the two uneven, narrow roads of Moorthrop and stopped at the cottage that matched the boy’s description. Black smoke billowed from the holes in the roof, and the sound of laughter came from within.
Corbin knocked on the door. The occupants quieted, and
he could hear murmurs of alarm. Corbin knocked again and said, “We are simply travelers seeking lodgings for the night.” There was a moment of silence and then footsteps came to the door. It creaked open and a plump woman with red hair, and an even redder face, peeked out at them. “What’s yer business?” she asked in a low bark.
“We were told that you provide shelter to foreigners. We are tired and in need of food,” Corbin said.
She eyed them suspiciously. “Well, ye were misinformed,” she said, and slammed the door.
Corbin looked back at Barrett, who shrugged his shoulders. Corbin knocked again. “I can make it worth your while.”
He could hear the whispers of the two occupants within and then the door opened again. The red-haired woman stuck her head out. “And what do ye think me while is worth?”
Corbin reached under his cloak and pulled out a leather purse full of coins. He held it up for her to see. She narrowed her eyes at him, looking him up and down.“And how do I know it’s not full of rocks?” she asked.
Corbin heard the gruff laughter of a man inside as he loosened the string on the pouch. He tipped it over and let a few of the gold pieces fall into his gloved hand. The woman’s eyes widened. “Well why didn’t ye show me that in the first place, instead of making me stand here like a bloody fool. Come in then.” She opened the door and motioned for them to enter.
The interior was deceptively larger than what it appeared to be from the outside. The air in the large room was rather smoky due to the burning fire on the hearth, and large pot hung above the fire, the smell of its contents filled the air. The other occupant of the cottage was a rough but jovial looking man with gray hair and filthy clothes. He sat at a long trestle table made of coarse wooden boards. Corbin noticed a doorway near the rear of the cottage that was likely where the woman slept.
The widow gestured for the men to take a seat at the table. “Yer in luck. I’ve got some pork pottage on the fire. But I don’t got no ale. I’ve only got cider for ye, but it’ll still get ye drunk.” She watched for their reaction, perhaps wondering if the absence of ale would lessen her payment.
“That’s wonderful,” Barrett grunted with exhaustion as he sat.
The woman looked Barrett and Ailwen over. “What’s yer names?”
“I’m Barrett, this is Corbin, and my son Ailwen,” he said.
“Yer not from around here,” the woman said.
Barrett shook his head. “No, ma’am. We come from the north.”
This made her pause. “Is it bad up there? The raiders, I mean?”
Barrett nodded. “It is, ma’am. Almost a lost cause now. The barbarians have taken over every village and town. We moved east to fight on the borders.”
“Ye ain’t deserters, are ye? We don’t need that kind of trouble ‘round here.”
Barrett shook his head. “No, ma’am. We are no such thing.”
She measured him carefully for a bit and then relaxed. “Well, me name is Helen, and this here is Osbert.”
The old man raised his glass to them.
As the widow put on her apron and busied herself with pouring each of the men a cup of cider and a bowl of stew, the old man stared at them with a keen eye and a smile. He took a long draft of his cup and slammed it down on the table with a satiated sigh. “What brings ye to Moorthrop then? Isn’t this a little far west for ye boys?”
Corbin picked up his glass of cider. “We came to have a word with the magistrate.” Corbin took a drink. “My lord is in need of an overseer to manage the administration of justice in our village.”
Corbin noticed Helen give Osbert a quick glimpse of caution, and then she said, “I’m afraid ye’ve wasted yer time then, young man. Haven’t seen Magistrate John for almost a week now. Think he’s got some business across the river’s what I heard.”
Osbert nodded in agreement and leaned forward as if he was about to reveal a secret. “Ye’ve been havin’ a problem with them heretics?” he whispered.
The widow sighed. “Oh hush now, Osbert. Not every person that comes through here’s huntin’ pagans.” She filled his cup again and handed it to him.
Ailwen sat up. “You have a problem with pagans?”
Osbert gave an intoxicated laugh. “We did, I suppose. But Magistrate John saw to it that we don’t no more. They was either burned or fled.”
“Burned?” Ailwen asked. Corbin knew that he already had the answer, but was simply looking for deeper insight.
Osbert nodded. “Yep. Burned ‘em up. Come to think of it, ye knew one of ‘em. Didn’t ye, Hel?”
The widow laughed nervously. “Tis a small village, Osbert. Didn’t we all know some of them?”
Osbert took another long swig of cider. “Aye. But ye knew one of ‘em well. Ye birthed ‘er baby, didn’t ye? Etena, was it?”
Helen tried to hide it, but Corbin could see the sadness in her eyes.
Then Corbin said, “You can tell us, ma’am. We don’t know that kind of justice is what we need in our village.”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Aye, I did know ‘er. But ‘er name was Ethnea, and I didn’t birth ‘er baby.” Helen brought a cup for herself to the table and sat down.
Corbin gave her a sympathetic nod. “And they burned her?”
“They did. The poor thing. I don’t know how they can do that to people in the name of God. Ethnea was a lovely woman. Strange, but good. Those bastards.” She caught herself on the last word, looking like she realized the danger in revealing her opinion.
But Osbert was quick to join. “Yeah, bastards.” He held up his cup and smiled, revealing only a few yellow teeth.
Helen shot him an irritated glance but continued. “I didn’t birth ‘er baby, but I did tend to ‘er and ‘er infant when they wandered into the village. Poor soul and that precious child. What an angel she was.” Helen drank her entire cup of cider and poured herself another. “She said they come across the Western Sea from Ireland, though I can’t fathom how a woman in ‘er condition could travel such a ways with no man. She must have had the babe just before she got here, cause the babe was as fresh as a newborn lamb. My husband died the previous spring, and I had room to take ‘er in.” Helen sighed. “Ethnea was a strange one though. She had a way about ‘er, the likes of which I’ve never seen.”
“How so?” Corbin asked, taking a generous spoonful of the warm, thick stew.
Helen shrugged. “Don’t know. Just strange. After I nursed ‘em back to health, she set ‘erself up in a place just down the road there. She had a little garden with herbs and vegetables she traded for cloth and such. She knew how to work the earth, but she was no peasant, I’ll tell ye that much.”
Osbert leaned forward with interest. “How did ye know?”
“I just knew,” Helen said. “She had the hands of a lady, soft with not a callous on ‘em, and ‘er skin was too fair, as though the sun had never touched it. And she could read. Only the finest ladies can read ye know, outside of the monks, that is. She was too handsome to be a peasant and too poor to be so fussy. She wouldn’t even look at any of the men that eyed ‘er.” Helen paused. “I always thought she must have been some kind of rich lady runnin’ from somethin’.”
“Sounds suspect to me,” exclaimed Osbert, grabbing the pitcher of cider in front of him.
Helen pursed her lips at him and then turned back to Corbin. “She was just darned mysterious, is all. I warned ‘er how such a thing would look to the villagers. It’s no wonder she caught the magistrate’s eye. But she wouldn’t listen.”
“And the girl?” Corbin asked, hoping Helen might know why the magistrate wanted Mara.
“Ah, Mara,” Helen smiled. “She had the charms of her mother. The poor thing was devastated when they took Ethnea, as you can expect. Mara had it in ‘er mind that she could talk to the guards and reason with them. I knew it was of no use, but at least they let her say goodbye. A guard took pity on ‘er and let ‘er in.” Helen shook her head. “It was such a horror that day. Such a
horror.”
“And she ran off!” Osbert slurred.
Helen nodded. “She did. The poor dear tried to stop it, and then they tried to arrest ‘er too. It’s a wonder she got away, but I think it was that same guard, the one who let ‘er see ‘er mother, that helped ‘er escape. Don’t think anyone else saw it, but I saw.”
“That’s what happened!” Osbert declared. “The whole town thought she used her witch magic to vanish.”
Helen frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, ye old drunk.”
Osbert chuckled and held up his cup. “That I am, woman…that I am.”
Helen exhaled. “I just hope the poor thing made it somewhere safe. The magistrate had the guards searching for ‘er for days. Even put a bounty on ‘er head. More than I’ve ever seen for any crime in this town. They never brought ‘er in though. I hope she’s still alive. If she had been found, they would have certainly claimed their reward by now.”
Corbin felt sorry for the woman and wished he could tell her that Mara was alive. So instead, he decided to help ease her worries with a lie. “I think I heard that story in my village,” he said. “Moorthrop men came looking for such a woman. By then they hadn’t found her though. The rumor around the village was that she escaped to the west.”
“Heavens, I hope so,” Helen exclaimed with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Have there been any more executions since then?” Corbin asked.
She shook her head. “No. Not a one. The magistrate oversees another village down the river. Not sure if he just moved on to continue the persecutions, or if the people of Moorthrop would have even stood for another. Sometimes even the most vicious of men are forced to bend to the will of their people. Not always, but sometimes.”
“Is he not here often then?” Ailwen asked.
“Not as of late. That damn sheriff though, sure doesn’t forget to collect the taxes. He was here about two days ago.”
“Bastards,” Osbert repeated, almost unable to keep his forehead from the table.
Corbin could see why Ethnea had trusted Helen. She was a kind spirit, despite her rough exterior. “And what about you, Helen? Do you believe in the Christian God? Do you believe in witches?” Corbin asked.
The Darkness of Light Page 15
