WitchofArundaleHall

by Jennifer Leeland

  “Your Grace?” Perry sidled closer to Sarah, protecting her.

  “A thousand pardons, sir,” the man said, his gaze never leaving Sarah’s face. “There is a portrait—” He stopped abruptly and frowned. “No, you’d best see for yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re here to see the scrolls, of course.”

  Sarah barely restrained the start of fear that shot through her. She hoped she remained impassive but raised her eyebrows. “Scrolls?”

  Perry smoothly intervened. “We had heard there were family histories here,” he said. “My wife is distantly related to the de Busseins.”

  Those intelligent, bright eyes now focused on Perry. “You must be a descendant of DeFalk, no doubt.” The bishop nodded and clapped his hands, seemingly agitated. “That explains much. Yes. Yes, you must come with me.”

  He whirled around and strode back down the corridor with purpose. Perry glanced at Sarah, a silent question in his gaze. They both turned to Jaimison.

  “Find out where that wolf has gone,” Perry said to Jaimison. “And be careful.” He took Sarah’s arm. She nodded and they followed the priest.

  The monastery was a maze, corridors turning and twisting in a crooked fashion. The priest said nothing as he led them to a huge wooden door with two torches on either side. He removed one and handed it to Perry. Then he crossed to a small chest on a table and retrieved a long, stiff wick. He lit the wick by placing it in the fire that roared in the next room. When he lit Perry’s torch he glanced at them both. “I am one in a long line of keepers of the histories here in Bayeux. Many have forgotten and the stories have turned to legend. Come with me.”

  He led them into a darkened stairway that led down under the monastery. The walls were covered with tapestries, very old tapestries. Sarah stared at the wall coverings and wondered who the people in them might be.

  “Many come to see the tapestry of William the Conqueror,” the bishop said as he quickly negotiated the steps. “But the tapestries here are as old and much more interesting. The problem is that they are unpopular.” He shot an amused glance at Sarah. “My predecessors rescued them from destruction and they are kept here.”

  “What are they about?” Perry asked.

  “They are about a family of witches whose magic was accepted as commonplace for many years.” The priest stopped and shone his torch on one of them. “This one is the crowning of Charlemagne with Isabelle D’Insigny, who weaved a binding spell unifying France.” He stepped down three steps and showed another. “And this is the day that Joan of Arc approached the court of Dauphin Charles with Anna D’Insigny beside her.”

  Sarah peered at this distant relative. “D’Insigny?” She met the bishop’s keen stare. “The name remains the same?”

  “Once a descendent exhibits the power, regardless of her father’s name or her husband’s, she is a D’Insigny.” He turned and resumed his descent. “It is only recently that they have had to do so in secrecy.”

  “What power?” Perry asked bluntly.

  “Follow me and I will explain,” the priest said over his shoulder as he continued down the stone stairs. “I had hoped this would happen during my term but I cannot believe my good fortune.”

  “I am glad it is good fortune for someone,” Sarah said bitterly.

  The bishop stopped dead and peered up at her. “Oh, you mustn’t feel that way,” he implored. “The D’Insigny name is a blessed thing.”

  He turned back to his energetic foray deep into the bowels of the monastery. Sarah was grateful for Perry’s hand entwined with hers as they followed this strange bishop. More tapestries, more stairs and more twists and turns seemed to go on forever.

  Suddenly the narrow corridor opened into a huge space, like a cathedral of stone. The bishop lit one torch and it touched off others that lit the room in a blaze. Paintings hung on the smooth, gray rock walls. The floor was a polished black.

  A large stone table ran the width of the hall and on either side were bookcases that reached to the high ceiling. In every nook there were scrolls. Thousands of them.

  “The Bayeux Monastery has hidden these scraps of knowledge that many believed lost to time.” The bishop sighed. “We must be vigilant and show only a select few these catacombs. You see, there are many secrets here that the world would not accept.”

  “What kind of secrets?” Perry asked.

  “Well, the existence of witches, for one,” the bishop answered. “The Catholic Church has a vendetta against those who follow the precepts of our early ancestors. Contrary to popular belief, witches are not evil malefactors bent on human destruction. Often they are healers, but occasionally they make mistakes.” His intense gaze focused on Perry. “For example, Wisteria D’Insigny. The woman responsible for the DeFalk curse.”

  Sarah shot Perry a concerned glance but Perry only raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And what curse is this?”

  The bishop made an impatient slash with his hand. “Your time is short. I know what you are. I know that you are a wolf and a man, that you have Claimed this woman as your mate.” His sharp, assessing stare swerved to Sarah. “It would have been easier if you had not allowed the Claiming to occur.”

  Perry broke in. “Another wished to steal her from me and Claim her for himself. One who was paid by an enemy of mine.”

  The priest nodded grimly. “I see.” He strode toward the scrolls. “Here are the three regarding breaking the curse. You read Latin, my dear?”

  Sarah nodded and came closer to the table as the priest laid out the ancient scrolls. “These are from the time of William the Conqueror?”

  The priest nodded. “The last one is dated 1066, the year that William became King of England and the first son of the cursed DeFalk family joined the conqueror’s court.”

  The story of the curse’s beginnings were not depicted in the writings. Only the results were documented. “Who wrote them?” Sarah asked.

  “The Bishop of Bayeux at the time was a…friend of the participants.” The priest seemed uncomfortable.

  “A friend,” Perry repeated flatly.

  The priest sighed. “It was rumored that the Bishop Flauviet was in love with Wisteria D’Insigny, the witch who implemented the curse.”

  “Here it is,” Sarah said, and pointed to the section she’d been searching for.

  “Read it aloud,” Perry ordered.

  “D’Insigny blood hath bound the curse. Only D’Insigny blood can break it. The curse was made in sin and lust, in fear and agony. The remedy must come from an innocent heart. No marked woman can undo the curse without a sacrifice of blood. No male issue can end the curse, since it is the invading man who created the curse. A wicked circle, an evil coven and unnatural connection is the only way to break the tie of the D’Insigny blood. Beware the lustful heart, for death is the only portion for those who sin. The DeFalk curse will survive three generations after the sacrifice. So sayeth the one who has cursed them.

  The designated heir of the D’Insigny power must not defile herself with the sinful DeFalk wolf. Any child born of this evil union will be dead before its fifth year. Grief and despair are the gifts to the unworthy. The power will rise every two hundred years and the blood heir may gather those wicked twelve to call upon the dead to retract the curse. The dead will not listen and the blood heir will die. Such is God’s will.”

  Sarah’s voice failed her on the last words. What did it all mean? A wicked circle? An evil coven? Unnatural connection? How was she to decipher it?

  “It is a puzzle,” the bishop said. “I am afraid that Bishop Flauviet had no interest in breaking the curse.”

  “It is clear that the witch he loved wanted this passed on, but I think the bishop deliberately clouded the meaning,” Sarah said, and her heart sank. She’d never figure this out.

  “There is one who may know,” the bishop said quietly.

  He beckoned her toward a painting on the wall. It was a mirror image of herself, only the clothes were quite different from the fashions of the day a
nd there was a deep sadness in the woman’s gaze that Sarah prayed she would not see in her own.

  “Wisteria D’Insigny.” The priest stared at the painting. “You are not the only one who has a striking resemblance to your ancestor.”

  Sarah’s heart leaped. “Who? Who else resembles Wisteria?”

  “Chantal D’Insigny. She is the spitting image of this portrait and you two could pass for sisters.” The priest turned away and rolled up the scrolls. “Her heart has been broken by another DeFalk descendent and the wheels turn.” He stared at Perry. “The circle continues. Unless someone breaks it. Someone who is willing to sacrifice all.”

  It was as she had thought. Her death was the only thing to save them.

  “What did it mean about the three generations?” Perry asked.

  “I can only imagine that the curse has left its mark and it will take three generations before there are no more DeFalk wolves.” The bishop peered at Sarah. “But one thing I know for a fact.” He pointed to the faded words on the parchment. “These words were written by a man tormented by jealousy and hate. He was in love with Wisteria but that love was not returned.” His gaze shifted to the portrait. “She only loved the man she’d cursed.”

  “Then why did she curse him?” Sarah asked.

  The priest’s gaze never left the picture. “I do not know. Chantal D’Insigny will know.” Finally he looked at her with a grim expression. “Whatever you plan to do, you must do it quickly. Others have been here. And one of them knew the location of these scrolls. I am afraid I was officiating a funeral for a long-time patron and someone came down here.”

  “Did you see who it was?” Sarah asked.

  “No. They stole nothing, but these three scrolls were laid out on the table.” His gaze swerved to Perry. “I do not think this person looks for the same reasons you do.”

  “Then we should go.” Perry took Sarah’s hand and she realized that she was shaking.

  “But there has to be more.” Sarah gripped his hand with hers. “How can I break the curse? I don’t understand.”

  The priest’s face softened and he patted her shoulder. “Speak to Chantal. She is the key.”

  Perry blinked when he emerged from the underground corridor, the natural light in the monastery blinding him. Sarah hadn’t said a word since they began their ascent, and the priest had revealed nothing further to help them.

  Jaimison was in the narthex waiting for them and Perry nodded in acknowledgment. He turned to say goodbye to the bishop. The man seemed concerned, as if he had something else to say.

  Finally he looked at Sarah. “I wonder if you had an encounter with the Lord Robert Applegate, the Duke of Kent.” Sarah stiffened and Perry gripped her hand in sympathy.

  When she spoke he had to admire her ability to sound neutral. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  The priest sighed. “It was unfortunate that he visited Bayeux four years ago. He charmed Chantal D’Insigny, who was Chantal Ormond then.” He shook his head sadly. “It was as if history were repeating itself.” He shot Perry a quick glance. “I tell you this to warn you that if you visit her your husband may want to…wait elsewhere.”

  “She knew what he was.” Sarah’s voice was flat.

  “She knew he was a bastard, born with the DeFalk curse,” the bishop said. “Did she know he was a coldblooded killer? No. Not until later.” He met Perry’s stare steadily. “She discovered it when he tried to kill her and their unborn baby. I believe he succeeded in killing the child, but Chantal lived.”

  “Then she won’t be interested in helping me at all,” Sarah said in a thin voice. “How will I compel her to tell me anything?”

  “She has no family left,” the priest stated. “You are the closest relative she has. You will have to convince her.”

  Perry shook the priest’s hand and escorted Sarah toward the door. Jaimison fell into step with them and spoke in a low, urgent tone. “I found him. He sought medical care after you sliced him across the face.”

  “Where is he?”

  “There’s a tavern down the street. He’s there.” Jaimison helped Sarah into the carriage. “What’s our next move?”

  “Sarah must visit Chantal D’Insigny. Apparently my presence will impede things. Go with her and keep her safe.” Perry peered into the carriage. “I will follow when I can.”

  She leaned down and touched his cheek. “Please be careful.” Her gaze held his and he tore himself away to close the door.

  When Jaimison climbed into the seat and obtained the reins Perry gave him a quick nod and stepped back. The horses leaped forward and Perry watched the carriage until it disappeared down the street.

  Perry found the tavern, a place called Le Cheval Cabre, or The Prancing Horse. The man who had attacked him sat in the back of the house, a metal cup in his hand. The scratches on his face were raw and red.

  His head snapped up when Perry entered and his eyes turned from a metallic gray to luminous blue. As Perry strode toward him the man’s muscles clenched. Perry didn’t sense fear, only hate.

  “Your man wasn’t very subtle,” the man said. He spoke perfect French, as though he was native born, and his voice was low and deep. His hair was a light brown and his features were all sharp angles. He resembled a fox, cunning and predatory, trusting no one.

  Perry shrugged. “I told him to find you. He found you.” He sat down across from the man and switched to English to keep their conversation private. “How are you related to the Arundale family? You’re a wolf. Are you one of my father’s bastards?”

  “We share a common ancestor but your father was not the only one who left behind bastards.” His eyes changed to a stormy dark gray. “You could say I am a French cousin.” As he leaned back the man’s muscles were still tense despite his appearance of relaxation.

  Perry cut to the chase. “Lady North must be paying you a good sum.”

  The man leaned forward. “She knows you so well, doesn’t she? She ordered me to threaten to fuck your mate to spur you to your duty.” He grinned. “I don’t even like women as a rule. And it worked. You Claimed her, making it impossible for her to stop the curse.”

  “Not impossible,” Perry said.

  “Impossible unless she dies,” the man said bluntly. “Lady North wins.”

  Perry gritted his teeth. “And what do you get out of it? Money?”

  The man laughed but there was no humor in it. “The money is good, yes. But do you know what is better than the money, Perry Arundale? I will have the pleasure of watching you suffer as I have suffered.”

  What was the man talking about? “Why would you want that? I’ve done nothing to you. I didn’t even know you existed.”

  The man’s lip curled. “No. You were too busy drinking with your friends and fucking any hole you could find, weren’t you?”

  “Whatever Lady North is paying you—”

  “You couldn’t match it, and even if you could I wouldn’t take one farthing from you,” the man interrupted Perry. “You took something from me and I’m going to repay the favor.”

  “Took something from you?” Perry shook his head, puzzled. “How could I have taken something from you?”

  “The one I love is gone from me. So I’ll make sure the woman you love is gone from you. Permanently.” The man rose and Perry shot to his feet.

  “I won’t let that happen,” he snarled at the man.

  “It’s her destiny,” the man said with a smug expression. “My only job now is to stop you from trying to save her.”

  “Try, then,” Perry snapped, his claws extending.

  The man’s lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “When the time comes I’ll slit your throat. You won’t see it coming.”

  “So you’re a coward as well as a murderer and a rapist.”

  Perry had the pleasure of seeing the smile drop from the smug bastard’s face. “I suppose we shall see.” The man threw coins down on the table and strode out of the tavern.

  By the time Perry arriv
ed out on the street, the man was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  The road to the small country house where Chantal D’Insigny lived was neglected and dusty but Sarah barely noticed it. Perry hadn’t asked her what she’d read in those scrolls. Along with the cryptic section she’d read aloud she had noted the bloodlines.

  Apparently the bishop had kept the bloodlines up-to-date, since her name was clearly notated, as were Joshua’s and Perry’s. Even Gerry was listed. Those names she had seen in Lady North’s notes.

  New names she had not seen before were what concerned her. A distant relation to the Arundale family had left England and returned to France, married and had children. Most had passed away but there was one male descendent left, a Simon Ormound. He was a bastard, born the same year as Joshua.

  The bishop had tracked the D’Insigny line as well, with her and her brothers singled out due to their special place in the bloodline. Her name was written in bold letters. Others were branched from the D’Insigny line. Including, shockingly, Jaimison.

  “Your bloodline. Did you know, Jaimison?” She asked the question, knowing he would understand.

  For a long moment the only sound was the groaning of the carriage wheels. Finally he answered her. “My family has served the Arundales for many generations, Mrs. Arundale. Early in my apprenticeship my father informed me that…I qualified for other services if they were needed.”

  “A wolf mate.” She stared at the trees.

  “Perhaps,” he said calmly. “But I am qualified to serve the D’Insigny line as well as the Arundale line.”

  “Are you offering something, Jaimison?”

  He met her gaze, his eyes an amber color she’d never noticed before. “However I can help you, milady, I will.”

  She dropped her gaze first and clenched her hands in her lap. “I saw his child in a vision. The curse says no child of mine will live, yet I saw his child. I have to break the curse or die in the attempt. If you would help me, help him.” She couldn’t look at him as she begged. “He will blame himself and you must help him not to.”