Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

  “Aye, I was with you. Whenever I am not following Lamont, I am by your side.” He buried his face in my hair and sighed deeply as he pulled me closer to him. “Whenever I am away, your Sneachta is with you. That is how I was able to find you tonight. She came and got me… yet I am troubled that I was almost too late,” he trailed off.

  His words made my mind wander unwillingly back to those horrible moments when I was alone with Zachariah in the woods. My muscles stiffened as the realization of what might have happened overcame me. “I do not understand something,” I said, as he kissed my hand.

  “What my love?”

  “A few nights ago I dreamt that I was able to fight, to battle like a man… like a soldier would. You and I fought off a large group of Roman soldiers in one battle… and yet tonight, I could do nothing. I thought that I could save myself from him. Yet I could not.”

  “Yes, but in your vision weren’t you and I together?”

  “Aye, we were,” I answered, looking up into his face and touching his cheek with my hand.

  As I gazed into his eyes, I realized how painful it would be to find myself separated from him once more

  “Please stay with me… or take me away with you. I do not care which, but I do not want to be apart from you again.”

  Greer shook his head. “I cannot promise that. Right now, it is only safe for you if you are here. If Lamont saw me, it might trigger a memory of who I am and then I would lose my edge.”

  In all the commotion of the evening, I had forgotten about the Grey Man.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  Greer stiffened and took a deep breath. “He is a witch hunter and the most evil type of man.”

  “Does he know that I’m…”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know Aislin.”

  As we lay there, the exhaustion from the day overtook me, and I drifted to sleep in his arms until the door to my room opened and my mother stuck her head in. “He is home, but I can keep him occupied in the front so you can leave.”

  Greer stood up and waited for my mother to walk back downstairs.

  “Do not cry Aislin. I love you.” He kissed me once more and tucked me safely in the bed and a moment later, he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  November 15th 1734

  Abigail and her mother showed up at our house before sunrise. They banged on the door and pressed their way in without invitation. Mrs. Marthaler looked pale. Her hair was barely pulled back and she had dark circles under her eyes. Abigail’s eyes were bloodshot and her face was tearstained. My mother tried to keep them from seeing me, for fear that they would notice the condition their son had put me in, but they were far too absorbed in their own problems to notice mine. Abigail barged her way into my room and shook me until I awoke. I was having a wonderful dream that she had interrupted.

  “Oh Aislin, it was such a horrible night,” as she spoke, she reached for my hand to comfort me before she gave me the terrible news. “Zachariah was found by hunters. He was lying in the woods. His clothes were torn and they thought he was dead.”

  I knew that I had to act surprised and I knew that I could not smile, but it was difficult not to smirk a little.

  “Is he… dead?” I whispered.

  “No, he is alive… but barely. He was robbed and beaten, and my father says that they left him to die.”

  Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks as she pet my hand—as though I needed comforting. In truth, I was rather disappointed to hear that he had survived. Although I knew it was a terrible thing to think in such ways. I had a fleeting hope that Zachariah would disperse the images of the highwaymen to his father and then pass away, leaving Greer and I alone, without the need to carry on with this farce any further.

  “Who did it?” I asked, just to be certain that the spell had worked.

  “Highwaymen. He said that they pushed him into the woods on his way home from escorting you.”

  “Did he get a good look at the men… for a description?” I hoped that Zachariah would not remember Greer.

  “Zachariah could not remember. His memory is cloudy because he was beaten. Father says that Zachariah suffered a bad blow to the head. All he can remember is that there were four of them and that they had strange accents. Father has organized a search party to find the brutes, but it is not going well. Someone must have left the animals unattended last night because the beast came and killed my father’s best horses. They are all dead and there is nothing left to ride.”

  “How can that be?”

  I answered my own question when I realized that I had been to their home, and the Puca must have followed me and found an easy meal in the process. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

  “They do not know,” her voice quaked, “But it does not matter. It is unimportant. We came to get you so you can care for Zachariah. We need to leave now.” She pulled at my arm and tried to coax me from my bed.

  I did not want to go back to that house but I could see no way out of it. I pulled my hair back and went to grab my cloak. I then realized that Zachariah had torn the clasp the night before, and I knew that it could not be seen. I would take my mother’s when I got downstairs.

  My mother was arguing with Mrs. Marthaler. She was in no mood to let me leave the house and Mrs. Marthaler was insisting that I tend to Zachariah’s needs.

  “You tell me that a beast has slaughtered your stallions and that you have no safe passage back to your home, and you expect me to give my blessing and send my only child with you?” she hissed at Mrs. Marthaler.

  “It is her duty. She is to be his wife and this is her load to bear.”

  “No. I will not allow this. She is not his wife yet and this is not her responsibility.”

  Abigail and I were standing on the stairs listening to the argument, when my father walked in and interrupted them.

  “Aislin will go with the Marthalers,” he said to my mother, as he gestured for her to leave the room. He used the same gesture that Mrs. Marthaler had used when she wanted her servant to take away her empty cup of tea.

  “Aislin, get your things and go with them.”

  I picked up my mother’s cloak and headed for the door. I could think of nothing else to bring with me and we left.

  ********************

  The Marthaler house was quiet. Mr. Marthaler had left hours ago to hunt down the highwaymen. The slaves were left to handle the dead livestock and the Marthaler women were to care for Zachariah.

  The drapes were drawn shut. His room was dark and rank from vomit and blood.

  I covered my nose and mouth with my cloak as I entered the room. I hoped to make my visit brief, but that was not to be.

  “Aislin,” he moaned when he caught sight of me.

  His room was surprisingly smaller than I had expected it to be. The bed was so large that one was forced to maneuver around it as they walked about the chamber. On the wall directly across from the door were two large windows that faced the back of their estate. In order to reach the windows, where a chair was placed by his bedside, I had to walk around the bed. He continued to call for me, and in his frustration at my delay, he began kicking his heavy blue and white quilt off the bed.

  I knew I was being watched by his mother and sister and that I must put on a good act, but the whole idea of it was torturous. I had endured and survived this boy’s attempt to rape me, and possibly kill me, and now I was being forced to tend to his every need.

  I wanted nothing more than to finish the job that I had hindered Greer from doing. I quickly glanced at the doorway where his mother stood quite still, surveying my every move. Perhaps she suspected me or perhaps she was using this whole situation to test my worthiness.

  “I am here Zachariah,” I said softly.

  “Get me a drink.”

  I looked around the room for a decanter and a glass but could find none. Then, out of the corner of the room, hidden behind a dresser, came a servant dressed
in the crisp white uniform that Mrs. Marthaler made all her servants wear.

  The girl pulled a bottle of rum out of the pocket of her apron and pressed it into my right hand and a glass into my left. It was Becky—she looked ridged and frightened. Our eyes met briefly, as she handed off the bottle to me and I paused to question what she was doing at the Marthaler’s, when Zachariah kicked at me from the bed.

  “Drink!” he moaned impatiently.

  Becky flinched as we both avoided his blow. She must have been alone with Zachariah for some time now, and I could only imagine what type of torture she had endured.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and she stepped back against the wall as though hoping to disappear.

  “Well what’s keeping you?” he spat at me.

  I walked over and poured him a large drink and he gulped down the strong liquor in one swallow.

  “Another,” he said while holding out his good hand.

  I obliged with the sincere hope that he would render himself unconscious. I poured the glass to the brim and handed it to him carefully. Once again, he swallowed the liquid in one gulp, emptying the glass and then he thrust it back into my hand.

  “I am in a horrible way Aislin. The pain is unimaginable.”

  He must have been telling the truth. The room was freezing. There was no fire burning or coals under his mattress, but he was sweating as though it was midsummer. His complexion looked waxen in the dim lighting, though I thought it safe to believe that he must have been completely grey in coloration.

  “Just rest Zachariah. That is the only way to heal.”

  “Heal? I have a crushed hand that may have to be amputated you stupid girl! What am I going to heal from?” he snapped through slurred words, as finally the alcohol was taking affect.

  “Did the doctor say that?”

  “No. He has not been here yet. The lazy jackass will not get here until late afternoon.”

  “What can I do to help you until then?” I asked.

  “I need to be washed.” His thin lips spilt into a sinister, yet pained, grin.

  I recoiled at his words but then realized that I could find some semblance of retaliation through his request. I turned to find that Becky was standing by my side with a basin of water, clean rags and soap.

  “Thank you for your help,” I said to Becky quietly.

  She gave me a nervous smile but when she noticed Zachariah’s gaze upon her, she cast her eyes downward.

  “Stop talking to the slave and tend to me,” he complained.

  I pushed up the sleeves of his bed-shirt and washed his arms with the soap, using the cloth as a barrier so I did not have to feel the texture of his skin upon mine again.

  “What are you doing? I cannot bathe in my clothes. Get them off me!”

  “That would be improper Zachariah and you know that I cannot jeopardize my virtue,” I replied cunningly.

  He spat at me and reached in my direction with his free hand but I jumped back. The only other person present now was Becky, and I doubted that she would run out and call in his mother to stop me from defending myself.

  I pretended that I was not bothering him and walked around to the other side of the bed. I then roughly lifted his broken hand and scrubbed it hard. He let out a cry of pain and I dropped his hand as though I was startled.

  “Zachariah, what is it?” I gasped as though I did not know his hand was shattered beyond repair.

  He did not respond, but instead turned and vomited on the floor. I pushed Becky back before it splattered all over her and we left him retching and hanging over the side of the bed.

  “Perhaps you have had too much liquor?” I asked innocently.

  He groaned in response and I pushed him back into bed and then set to clean up his mess. Becky handed me rags to clean with and I worked fast. The smell in the room was unbearable. I pulled the cobalt velvet drapes back from all the windows in the room and stuck my head out for a breath of fresh air.

  Outside, I could see large animals’ strewn across the field that lay between the house and the garden. Men were gathered around the slain animals, shaking their heads and talking quietly amongst themselves. It seemed as though every man from Burlington was on the Marthaler’s property inspecting the grizzly scene. Young men stood with their fathers and grandfathers, with their slaves, with free men and even with the Natives. All were surveying the slaughtered beasts and none looked too comfortable. Then, as some of the men moved back from where a horse lay dead… I saw him—the Grey Man, Jamison Lamont. He was leaning over the carcass of the horse, his long grey hair was shinning in the early light and it illuminated off the back of his long black coat. I stood frozen in place, my heart pounding and my ears ringing as my breath became shallow. My mind was screaming at me to move away from the window, but my body refused to respond.

  He stood slowly, as if some ill wind had whispered a secret message for him only. He started searching amongst the crowd. His head snapped around as he tried to hone in on his prey and I saw his gaze creeping up toward the window. I willed myself to close the curtains in order to conceal myself from him, but he started to stalk toward the house. He had sensed me, I was sure of it. Finally, I regained control of my senses and quickly withdrew from the window, shutting it tight.

  Zachariah lay in bed groaning and crying, but he was by far the least of my concerns. I felt trapped and anxious. My heart was pounding so hard that it hurt, and my hands were shaking so badly that I had to place them under my legs. I sat in a chair next to Zachariah’s bed and I too now felt as though I would be physically sick.

  Becky saw me swaying, and placed a cold cloth on my neck and then pushed my head between my knees.

  “Deep breaths Miss Aislin,” she said while rubbing my back.

  I tried to listen to her but it felt impossible to calm myself.

  “What is wrong with her?” Zachariah asked snidely.

  “She is very worried about you and it is taking a toll on her sir,” Becky said calmly.

  These words seemed to appeal to his sensibilities and he settled himself into bed. “Maybe you should get her some water,” he suggested, and Becky complied.

  I gathered my courage and looked out the window again, this time peeking through a sliver in the curtains. A whistle blew and all the men started moving towards the woods that bordered the back of the Marthaler property. The Minister tugged on the Grey Man’s arm and they, along with everyone else, walked away from the house and towards the woods. My heart calmed down just a little and I left the window, flopping back into the chair.

  “You poor girl,” Zachariah said, reaching for my hand, “You are so fragile. It is a good thing I bought her for you; otherwise you’d never be able to fend for yourself.”

  “What?” I said, my head snapping up.

  “Becky, she is to be your servant once we are married. Until then she is mine,” he sighed contently.

  I looked at Becky and then back at Zachariah. “I do not believe in enslaving people Zachariah. It would be a more fitting wedding present if you granted Becky her freedom.”

  These words were too much for him to handle. He grabbed me with his free hand and twisted my arm. “You ungrateful wench. You will learn soon enough that your opinions and thoughts do not matter! You will do well to keep your mouth shut. Now apologize to me and thank me for your present, or I shall have you whipped for your insolence.”

  I pulled my arm away from him, “I am not your wife yet and you have no grounds to punish me.”

  “Soon enough,” he laughed, “and just you wait… I’ll make you a reverent and obedient wife even if it kills you.”

  ********************

  Hours passed and Zachariah slept. I was not permitted to leave his side, and Becky was charged with bringing me meals and any supplies I needed to keep him comfortable. I glanced out the window as often as I could, but there was no sign of Lamont.

  I did not know where to place my thoughts anymore. My mind raced to Greer and our love, to
my mother and the way my father had begun to treat her, to Becky and Martha—but always back to Lamont. I was deep in thought when the door creaked open. It was the doctor.

  I moved from the chair beside Zachariah’s bed and let the doctor sit. He smiled at me and commented that the room was very clean and that Zachariah looked to be in good care.

  In actuality, I had not tended to him as I could have. I learned much about the art of healing by my mother’s side, and I used none of these skills to comfort Zachariah. My reasons for withholding treatment were not solely based in revenge—that was just an added benefit. My mother had warned me that by using my healing powers, I stood the chance of exposing my magic and I would have to be very selective when I healed outsiders.

  The doctor tried to bend and straighten Zachariah’s fingers. The boy wailed in pain, cursing at the doctor through his screams.

  “Well I see you still have the Marthaler temper so you must not be all that ill,” the doctor laughed.

  “Just do your damn job and keep your thoughts to yourself, you old sorcerer,” Zachariah said through gritted teeth.

  The doctor froze at the young man’s words. He knew what implications such labels could bring and he understood all too well that this was not just a curse uttered from a boy in pain. This was indeed a threat.

  He quickly set the broken fingers and wrapped the mangled hand as best he could. He showed Becky and me how to do the wrapping, in case it unraveled. Then he made a swift escape, leaving us once again alone with the wretched boy.

  Soon after the doctor left, Zachariah’s mother and father came into the room. Becky pressed herself into the corner of the room, and I nervously stood from the chair. To my utter relief, the Grey Man was not with them.

  “It is time for you to go home Aislin,” Mr. Marthaler said.

  “Yes sir,” I replied, while gathering my cloak and starting to walk away from the bedside.

  “Will I take the carriage home?” I asked.