by Lisa Cach
When she finished, she pointed the horn at Mrs. Torrance and stared for long moments, watching the color drain from the woman’s face.
“Remove your shoes,” Valerian ordered, keeping her voice low and flat, as she imagined a true sorceress might.
Mrs. Torrance scrambled to obey.
“Remove your stockings.”
When she had obeyed, Valerian stepped off the blanket, and pointed to its center with the horn. “Sit within the square of power.” Valerian could see a sheen of sweat on Mrs. Torrance’s face as she came and sat in the center of the blanket.
“Do you recognize this horn?” she asked, holding it out. Mrs. Torrance shook her head mutely. “It is the horn of a three-headed goat, killed at midnight on All Hallow’s Eve three centuries ago by the great druid queen Vama-wama. It has been twisted by the power of that which lies beyond sight.”
In a sudden movement, Valerian clamped the horn to her own forehead, over the linen bandage. She winced, then turned the expression into a grimace of agony for Mrs. Torrance’s sake. After a long moment she pulled the bandage away from her forehead, revealing the smooth white skin beneath.
Mrs. Torrance gave a little shuddering gasp of awe.
“This horn holds the power of the earth and the stars, and of the blood that flows in each creature’s veins,” Valerian said. “It knows what lives inside us, each and every one. It knows you, Alice Torrance. And it will free you.”
Valerian knelt at the woman’s feet and took one foot into her lap. “You will feel a freezing as of ice upon each wart.” She touched the horn to one of the flat warts, and Alice whimpered, tears spilling from her eyes. “You will walk home barefoot,” Valerian said as she worked, moving the horn from wart to wart. “And every morning and every evening you will scrub your feet with soap scented with roses, the scent of mercy.”
“I do not have any rose-scented soap,” Alice whined.
“I will give you some to start, and then your husband must find you more. You must wash your feet twice a day for each remaining day of your life. Nine days from today, Alice Torrance, you are to go to church and pray for your soul. On the morning of the tenth day, when you scrub your feet with the rose-scented soap, the warts will fall from your body. You will have been cleansed.”
Valerian put the second foot back down on the blanket, and waved the horn in a complex, meaningless pattern over Alice’s head. “Now stand up and say the Lord’s Prayer while I go get the soap.”
Aunt Theresa had the soap ready for her when she came inside. “A lifelong sentence of foot scrubbing?” Theresa asked.
Valerian shrugged, a crooked smile on her mouth. “It cannot hurt her. Her feet do not exactly smell fresh, and they are rough with dead skin. And I like the idea of unbathed Mr. Torrance going to Yarborough once a month for rose-scented soap.”
She went back outside with the soap, and Oscar flew down and landed on her shoulder. Alice’s mutilated hat lay upon the ground near the blanket, devoid of ribbons.
Valerian went to each candle and extinguished it, reciting body fluids in Latin as she did so. Mistress Torrance was still reciting her own prayers in the center of the blanket.
“Alice Torrance, you are free to step from the square of power,” Valerian intoned.
Alice opened her eyes and cautiously stepped off the wool. Valerian handed her the soap, then picked up what was left of the hat and gave it to her. “I am sorry about your hat. That part was not necessary.”
Alice clasped the crumpled straw to her chest like a talisman. “No matter.”
“I am afraid I will have to burn your stockings and shoes. It is part of the ritual. They are from your old life, and you cannot walk with them into your new one.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Remember now, morning and night with the scrubbing, and to church on the ninth day. The warts will fall off the morning of the tenth. You can go now.”
“Rrrraw,” Oscar added.
Alice lost no time in leaving them. Valerian watched her hobble off, wondering if the cure would work.
She shrugged off the thought. There was nothing she could do about it now. She had almost finished picking up her implements of sorcery when Oscar’s gleeful cry of “Eee-diot!” caught her attention. She stopped mid-fold of the blanket, and turned to see Nathaniel leading his horse across the meadow from the trail that led to Raven Hall.
She waited for him, her heart beating a little more rapidly at his approach. She loved to watch him move, this masculine presence in her life. He was tall and strong and graceful, moving with an animal confidence. It seemed like a hundred years ago that he had been arrogant with her, although he certainly still showed that side to others, given his opinion of the townsfolk.
“Your servant,” he said, bowing before her, then straightening with a devilish grin on his face. “That was a marvelous performance you put on for Mrs. Torrance. I believe you could make a fine living as a witch in a traveling production of MacBeth.”
“You saw the whole thing?” she asked with a trace of trepidation. She still found it hard at times to remember that he accepted her as she was.
“I am thinking of building a theater box in one of the trees, so I may spy in more comfort.”
“I thought you were all for the punishment of pretenders to witchcraft.”
“And who said I was not going to punish you, my enchantress?” he said, and growled menacingly.
She giggled and she let him sweep her into his arms and give her a noisy kiss on the lips. He dotted a dozen more kisses all over her face, and she squirmed in his arms as he made more growling noises and lightly chewed on her neck.
Nathaniel stopped suddenly and held her away from him. “Shall I go in and greet your aunt?”
“I think she is resting. Perhaps it would be best not to.” She felt a twinge of guilt for the half-lie. Aunt Theresa looked even more worn down than she had two days ago, and if he saw her, he might know that there was something seriously wrong. She did not want him to feel the burden of her grief, to have yet another unhappy piece of her life to think on. She was too cautious of his affection to risk putting another load upon it. And besides, Aunt Theresa had already said that she did not yet want outsiders to know of her illness.
“Wait here. I will be right back.” Valerian went inside the cottage. Theresa was dozing by the fire, but woke at Valerian’s presence.
“Not another one, surely?” she asked, straightening up in her chair.
“No, and I think I would go drown myself if it were. ’Tis Nathaniel.”
“Ahh.” Theresa noticed what Valerian was putting in her basket and raised her brows suggestively.
“Not one word,” Valerian warned.
“But I think it is a very nice idea.”
Valerian grunted.
“And I am certain the baron will find it—”
“Aunt Theresa.” Valerian’s tone said she had gone far enough.
“I do not know how you got to be so squeamish about these things. I thought you had been loosening up a bit of late. You will see, you will be a true Harrow wench yet.”
Valerian stuck out her tongue at her aunt. “You are a dissolute woman, do you know that?”
“Thank you, my dear. Do have a nice time.”
Valerian kissed her aunt on the brow. “You will be all right?”
Theresa waved her away. “Of course I will. Now go, git, before that lusty young man wanders off in search of less troublesome game.”
Valerian put a cloth over the contents of the basket, and hurried out the door.
They left Darby hobbled in the meadow, grazing on the tender grasses. Nathaniel insisted on carrying the basket as Valerian led him through the woods and up the rocky trail. Oscar flew in and out of view, but his appetite for hats had been satisfied for the day, and he kept his distance from the baron.
“Where are we going for this picnic?” Nathaniel asked.
“I never said it was a picnic.”
Nathaniel gestured to the basket. “What is in this, then, if not food?”
“I believe ’tis true what they say of men, that they think only of their bellies.”
“Wherever did you hear such drivel?” he asked, offense in his tone. “Everyone knows that food is second in a man’s mind.”
“Second to what?” she asked, turning around.
His eyes traveled over her breasts, and he made exaggerated leering grimaces until comprehension dawned. She made a shocked noise. “And here I thought it was drink that had taken first place,” she said.
Nathaniel started to lift the corner of the cloth in the basket.
“If you peek, I shall stop right here and not bring you any closer to the surprise.”
“I do not like surprises.”
“If you do not like them, then why are you following me up this trail?”
“Ah, my dear, do you truly need to ask that question?”
Valerian rolled her eyes and continued up the trail.
A few minutes later they left the path, and Valerian led him to the shadowed opening to her cave.
“A cave! You know, I once explored a cave with my sister Margaret, when we were children,” Nathaniel began to babble beside her, in that excited, boyish tone he had used when she first introduced him to Oscar. She lit the lamp while he continued to talk.
“It was disappointingly shallow, but we were convinced we would find treasure or even a dragon somewhere deep within. Scared ourselves silly with our imaginings, really. When my mother found out where we had gone—my God, I had never seen her so angry. She forbid us ever to return, and had the backing of my father, sad to say. She was convinced we would fall into a crevasse and disappear.”
“And did you obey?”
“Of course not. It was a cave. What child could resist? As I said, though, it was rather shallow, and there were no treasures but some old animal bones that were almost as good. We told ourselves they were human, or at the very least left over from some troll’s supper.”
Valerian laughed, and led the way into the cave, cautioning him on places where the ceiling was low, or where he should be particularly careful to watch his step. She told him about how she had found and explored the cave on her own, and how she had kept it secret from all but Aunt Theresa.
“Were you not frightened, going in alone?” he asked her.
“Yes, at first. But I was not quite so creative with my imaginings as you and your sister. I eventually decided that whatever was in here could not be worse than what had already happened to me.”
“You felt that way a lot after your parents died.”
She paused, holding up the lamp so he could see the colored stains of minerals on the walls. “I was braver then than I have ever been since. Once I learned that life still had moments of sweetness, I wanted to be here to taste them. We all die soon enough. I would like to go on a full belly.”
She glanced at him, and although he did not touch her, she felt as if he caressed her with his eyes. His pupils had dilated in the darkness, making his eyes look black, and yet there was a softness there that unnerved her. She was learning what to do with his lust and his lighthearted affection. This softness, though, that looked as if for this moment she could see into his heart, was a more private emotion and she did not know how to respond.
She lowered the lamp in confusion and continued through the passageway, explaining side passages and the sound of rushing water. He added his own information on the types of rocks and formations, adding that after that bit of cave exploration, he had had some interest in geology.
“Am I mistaken, or is it growing warmer in here? And more humid?” he asked.
“You are not mistaken,” Valerian said, and she took him around the last bend to her private pool. The lamplight reflected off the uneven surface of the pool; the gurgle of water from the stone face rebounded in echoes from the curved walls. “Let me light the other lamps, so you do not fall in.”
“A Roman hot spring.” The boyish excitement was back, coupled with awe. “Look at that carving, think how old it is. And it is been under here, faithfully pouring water, for centuries.” He knelt down and swished his hand in the water. “Hot enough for bathing.”
“Of course,” Valerian said. “Otherwise, why make the pool?”
“You have a smart mouth on you, wench.”
“No one called me a wench until I became involved with you. You have had a most damaging effect upon my innocence.”
“So I have.”
Valerian took the cover off the basket, revealing the soaps and towels within. She hoped he could not see the color in her cheeks. “Do you, ah, care to do a little more damage?” She cringed inwardly even as she said it. She sounded like an idiot.
He looked at the contents of the basket, then at her, then back at the basket. He picked up a bar of lavender-scented soap, and examined it. “Just what, exactly, did you have in mind?”
“Well, I thought perhaps we could, well, we could both. . . .” She saw that he was laughing at her floundering attempt at seduction. “Cad!”
“Wanton.”
“Scoundrel.”
“Goddess.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but then he had his arms around her legs, and had buried his face in the front of her skirts. She took his hat off and ran her fingers through his thick hair. She felt a push at the back of her knees and suddenly she was on her back, and he on top of her, kissing her soundly.
“Of course I want to bathe with you,” he said when he finally let her up for air. “And I am sorry I laughed.”
“No you are not.”
“I would be if it meant you would not be making me such offers in the future. I wish to do nothing that would inhibit you from thinking up such unusual—and enticing—rendezvous.”
She rolled her head and looked over at the basket of bathing accessories. “You do not think I am ridiculous?”
“My dear, no invitation to frolic in the water with a young, beautiful, naked woman will ever be seen as ridiculous by any man. Add in the exoticness of a secret Roman bath, and you have created an event that he will pull from his memory to relish to the end of his days. He could be moments from death, and the memory would still give life to his dying old bones.”
“Well then.”
“Well then, indeed.”
She ducked her head shyly, and began to unfasten the laces of her bodice. She peeked up as she heard Nathaniel undressing as well. She had staged this encounter, but it was still only the second time she had been naked with a man, and as soon as the last garment was removed, she slid gratefully into the concealing water.
Nathaniel joined her a moment later, and she pushed out into the center of the pool. He followed, his head and shoulders dark shadows above the water, despite the three lamps placed about the small cavern. She felt disoriented for a moment, the situation unreal and dreamlike. Was this the scene Aunt Theresa saw in the scrying, with the lamps and her own hair spreading in the water?
When alone here, she had fantasized about making love to a man, had brought herself pleasure with her own hands, Nathaniel’s image in her mind. And now he was here. This place was hers more than anywhere else, and some primitive part of her felt that she was marking him as hers by making love to him here, under the eyes of the Roman carvings, deep in the heart of a mountain.
The dream state vanished when his hands came around her waist, sliding up over her breasts. The pressure of his touch sent her floating backwards, and he laughed and held her more firmly. She let her own hands wander down his back, to stroke gently at his buttocks. Her palms were greedy for the feel of his skin.
He kissed her, their mouths wet from the hot spring water, and Valerian pressed herself against him as well as she could. She felt his manhood hard against her belly, the sack at the base soft in the heated water. Her nipples brushed against the hair on his chest, but the lightness of her body in the water kept her from getting the strength of contact she wan
ted.
“Damn, you keep floating away from me,” Nathaniel said.
“Perhaps the seals know what they are doing,” Valerian said.
“What?”
“The seals. They mate on dry land.”
He laughed, swam her to the edge of the pool, and hauled her up onto the smooth, clean rock floor. They sprawled there for a moment, feeling heavy and awkward out of the buoyancy of the water. The floor was cool on Valerian’s back, but not uncomfortable. Her body had absorbed too much heat from the water to feel cold. She closed her eyes.
She heard him fumble in the basket, a splash as of a hand in the water, and a moment later felt the slick gliding of a soaped hand across her belly. She smelled lavender, and opened her eyes to him leaning over her, huge and dark in the dim light.
“I feel as if I have been captured by Hades,” she said.
“Perhaps you have. And captives must always do what they are told. Raise your arms.”
She obeyed, clasping her hands together above her head, her breasts arching upwards, feeling thoroughly wanton. His soaped hands massaged her breasts, sliding smoothly over the contours of her body. She half-closed her eyes in pleasure. He dipped his hands in water again and continued soaping her, his thumbs pressing lightly as his strong hands slid up her arms, then back again to her chest and belly.
He did her hips, the outside of her thighs, brushed once, lightly, over the hair that concealed her womanhood, then skimmed down over her legs. He worked for several minutes on her feet, his fingertips finding the sensitive places between her toes and digging lightly into the hollows behind her ankles. She felt a pulsing tingle of pleasure run through her.
“I never knew it could feel so good to have a man touch my feet,” she whispered.
He chuckled softly in reply, and then his hands slid up her calves, over her knees, and pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, urging her to open.
She obeyed, shutting her eyes in an embarrassment heavily edged with anticipation, but it was not his hand that touched her this time. She gasped and opened her eyes, seeing in astonishment the top of his head above her belly. She was about to protest, but then he moved his tongue against her and her head fell back as she writhed with pleasure.
