As darkness fell over the valley, the younger villagers would often gather at the edge of the forest to drink wine and mead from the barrels Waltraud kept behind his shop, dance together around the fire to the old songs played on drums and flutes, and to commit sins of the flesh in the flickering light. If the town elders knew of the revelry, they did nothing to stop it. Perhaps it was only a repeat of what they themselves had enjoyed in their youth.
Hope surged in my chest, as I saw the shadowy figures moving around the bonfire. The revels would be the perfect opportunity to find a man and fulfil my duty. I wrapped my cloak tight around my shoulders, and walked up to join them. Rebekah spotted me and greeted me with a screech and a hug. Her breath already stank of the sweetness of mead.
"Aaaaaaaadaaa!" Rebekah drawled. "You have arrived. The festivities can now begin in earnest!" She spun around in a circle, and nearly tripped over the hem of her dress. Several hands reached to steady her.
"You’re already drunk. What's going on?"
"Everything’s been so doom and gloom in the village recently. We thought we'd have a bit of fun. It was Waltraud's idea," Rebekah flailed her arms in the general direction of the forest, where I saw Waltraud leaning against a tree, talking to two of the woodcutters. "He was hoping you'd be here tonight. He still fancies you, you know."
I scoffed. "He does not."
Waltraud was the most handsome young man in the village. He towered over the other boys, his shoulder broad and his waist trim. He had bright blue eyes and long dirty blonde hair he kept tied back from his face. His beard was adorned with coloured wool and wood and glass beads, which Rebekah said were given to him by the different women he'd lay with. Every girl in the village wanted him, and he could afford to be as picky as he liked about who shared his bed.
I couldn't stand Waltraud. He was arrogant and thought he could have his way with anything and anyone. He had made an advance at me last Walpurgisnacht and I'd rebuffed him, for he was drunk and acting a fool. Ever since then, he'd regarded me with contempt, making an effort to insult me at every opportunity.
"He does.” Rebekah insisted. “He wishes you’d give him a second chance. He told me so.”
"Oh, really? He told you so while you were lifting your skirts for him behind the smithy?"
Rebekah sneered, but she knew I spoke the truth. She'd told me all about her liaisons with the blacksmith. Waltraud had quite a reputation amongst the girls of my age in the village. Apparently, he enjoyed certain forbidden perversions that were only alluded to with winks and rude hand gestures. I'd never been curious enough to visit him at his smithy and find out exactly what those perversions were.
"Oh, go ooooooon, Ada. It's about time you stopped being so precious about that virginity of yours-"
I was pleased she was too drunk to see the blush creep across my cheeks.
"…and I'm sure Waltraud will be gentle–"
I looked over at the burly smithy standing at the edge of the fire, surrounded by friends. He threw back his head and gulped down a horn full of mead, while the guys cheered him on. Waltraud threw the horn to the ground, cracked his thick knuckles and let out a mighty burp. His friends laughed as if it were the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen. I shuddered.
"He's an oaf," I said. "I'm not certain he knows how to be gentle."
"Oh, Ada! You'll never get a man with that attitude," Rebekah smiled. "Besides, I happen to know that he's quite well endowed, so you'll be fine. You must get over your distaste of men, you know. You'll need to marry soon, before you turn into an old spinster like your aunts."
"If you like Waltraud so much, you bed him," I huffed. I didn’t like where this conversation was going. I’d take any man in the village, even one of the Elders with their grizzled bodies and self-righteous scowls, over Waltraud.
"I already have. Besides, I've my eye on someone better." She narrowed her eyes, "Don't you think Ulrich of Donau-Ries is just gorgeous? Those smouldering eyes, that grim countenance, those tight muscles…"
"That smug piety, those instruments of torture…" I added.
"He spends many hours locked in that dungeon with the most depraved women in the land. I bet he knows all kinds of tricks–"
Oh, why did her words make my whole body flutter? "Rebekah, you can't talk like that. Brother Ulrich is a man of God, and a dangerous one at that." I cast my eyes around in terror. "If anyone hears you…well, you probably don't want to find out."
"Relax, Ada. You know me. I'll be careful." Rebekah lay back against the trunk and closed her eyes. "Imagine, a witch hunter, here in our little village. I wonder who the witch really is. I bet it's the widow Hildegard, she’s certainly strange enough. And she has an odd smell. Perhaps I should accuse her. That will certainly ensure Ulrich's eye is upon me …"
I lay back against the soft ground, half listening to Rebekah's babblings. The warmth of the flames rolled over me, and I remembered the last time I'd felt warm like that; in Ulrich's arms back at the grove. But this was a very different face that loomed over me, tearing me from my dream.
"Ada," Waltraud said in his booming voice. "I heard you were having some trouble with your kettle."
"Excuse me?" My kettle? Was that some kind of innuendo I wasn’t familiar with?
"Rebekah told me one of your kettles needs repairing." He wiggled his eyebrows at me, making it clear that the kettle was only a convenient excuse.
“My…kettle?” I tried to act innocent. “But it is working fine-”
“Yes!” Waltraud nodded vigorously. “But you need to keep an eye on these things, a hairline crack can easily destroy a decent kettle, and that would just be terrible.”
“Oh, yes. How ever would we have our tea?” By the Goddess, this man is dumber than a broken kettle.
“You could bring it around to the shop tomorrow. I'll be happy to take a look at it for you.”
I glanced around Waltraud's impressive frame. Rebekah caught my eye and made a lewd gesture. I glared at her.
Of all the people in the village, did it have to be Waltraud?
Apparently it did. He was the only one offering. And my time was running out. I sighed. "Thank you for your kindness. I shall come in the morning with the kettle."
Waltraud gave me a dazzling smile. "I look forward to your visit," he replied. "Ada, I–"
Helmut clapped him on the shoulder. "Come quickly, we must hide." It was then I noticed that the music had stopped.
"There are torches!" someone yelled. "The elders are coming!"
All around the fire, bodies in various stages of undress scrambled for the cover of the forest. Drinking vessels were snatched up and hurriedly hidden in the folds of cloaks and tunics.
I whirled around, and could see a line of tiny, flickering flames marching across the fields. We had been seen. With the witch hunter in town, it wouldn’t do to be caught out in the forest after curfew. There would be punishments for public drunkenness and lewdness, and I needed to avoid any instance that would draw Ulrich’s attention to me. Waltraud offered me his hand, but I ducked under it, scrambled to my feet, grabbed my basket, and flew into the forest.
As I ran, my heart pounding in my chest, I could hear the others crashing through the trees around me. They were heading in all directions, probably thinking to circle around the back of the village and re-enter over the crumbling wall by the old well. The voices of the elders called out, sharp with anger. I paused briefly, straining my ears against the sounds of the forest, listening to Ulrich’s voice among them. But I couldn’t hear it. I pressed onward, moving deeper into the forest. I knew the woods better than anyone, and soon I couldn’t hear anything except the pattering of raindrops against the leaves, the hoot of the night birds, and the pounding of my own heart inside my ears.
The rain started to come down harder, soaking through my cloak and hood. My whole body shivered with cold. I reached the safety of the cabin, and pounded on the door. Aunt Aubrey answered, and ushered me inside.
The cab
in was freezing. The fire had died. Aunt Aubrey quickly hustled me onto one of the stools, her teeth chattering as she wrapped me in a wool blanket.
“I-I-I was c-c-cooling a loaf on the windowsill, and a gust of wind blew the f-f-fire out,” Aubrey apologised as she scrubbed my damp hair dry. “All the wood is too wet to catch. Andreas was going to build us a shelter for it, but …” Her voice trailed off into sadness.
“I tried to conjure a new flame, but my powers are weak.” Aunt Bernadine snapped from her rocking chair. “All I could manage was a few weak sparks. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Ada?”
“I have two days remaining!” I snapped back, too cold and frightened to be bothered trying to placate her. “You don’t have to act as if I’ve already doomed us all. No, I haven’t slept with anyone today, but I have arranged a liaison tomorrow. With a man. So you can stop giving me that pained look. I am not this hopeless failure you think I am. Your powers will be safe for another week, that is, if you can be bothered getting out of your chair long enough to use them!”
My aunts stared at me, stunned, Aunt Aubrey holding her hand over her gaping mouth. I never answered back to Aunt Bernadine like that. She snorted with contempt, and turned away from me, staring out the window at the pounding sheets of rain outside. She didn’t say another word, which was remarkable in itself. Aunt Bernadine would outlive the Pope himself trying to have the last word.
Well, let the old bird sulk, I fumed silently. I have bigger things to worry about than Aunt Bernadine’s non-existent feelings. Tomorrow, I had to build up the courage to go through with this arrangement with Waltraud, or we would all lose our powers. And I had to do it under the nose of the one man I wanted to bed, the man who could end my life in an instant.
Ada
I stood on the step outside the house of Waltraud, the blacksmith. Taking a deep breath, I pounded on the door.
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Waltraud lived outside the village, in the opposite direction to me, as his home was on Lord Benedict’s estate. Waltraud’s family was employed on the estate - hundreds of acres of land that surrounded the village. Waltraud and his father shod horses and made farm tools, mostly, but their job offered a decent wage, plus free lodgings. His father was often away for long hours in the stables or the workshops on the estate, and Waltraud would entertain girls in their lodgings. Rebekah had been there many times.
I hated myself for going to Waltraud now, especially knowing he was one of Rebekah’s cast-offs, but I had no choice. He would lay with any woman who batted her eyelashes, and he was my best chance to save our magic for another week, until we could figure out what to do about Ulrich.
The door creaked open. Waltraud's face lit up with a smug smile when he saw me standing there, Aunt Aubrey's smallest - and perfectly functional - kettle in my arms. "Ada," he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, Waltraud," I said. "May I come in? I have brought the kettle for you to look at."
He smiled wider as he opened the door for me to enter. "Of course. I was just cooking some stew. Would you like some?"
"Certainly." I sat gingerly on the edge of his hearth, my eyes focused on the flickering flames, trying to distract myself from the knife twisting in my stomach. Waltraud ladled two cups of soup from the cauldron over the fire. He reached over to hand me one, and sat down close to me. A little too close. Inwardly, I cringed. I can't believe I have to do this.
I sucked in a deep breath, and looked at Waltraud’s face, searching those blue eyes of some sense of personality, some shred of chivalry, trying to understand what other women saw in him. Certainly he was handsome, but he was oafish of habit and arrogant of soul. He had already scoffed his stew, and was loudly slurping up the juices from the bowl. When he pulled the bowl away, he had a piece of onion stuck in his beard. Waltraud threw the bowl on the floor beside me, splashing the juice on my skirts.
I swallowed down my disgust. His looks and his charm – what little of it existed – didn't matter. He has the right … tools … in the right places, and he's not going to kill me for being a witch. That quality alone puts him well above Ulrich on the eligible bachelor scale.
"I always expected you'd come back to me," he said. "After we left things so unfinished on Walpurgasnacht–"
Gag. "Yes," I said, somewhat woodenly. "I'm sorry about that. I had drunk too much mead. I couldn't be sure of what I was saying …"
"I figured as much." Waltraud leaned in and patted my knee, letting his hand wander up my thigh. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to smile as his fingers crept higher. "It's not often I hear such … colourful words from the mouth of a woman."
"Is that so?" I surprised myself from blurting out. "Well, what else would you have me do with my mouth?" Urgh. I sounded just like Rebekah. Let’s just get this over with.
I tried to force myself to lean in close, to dare a kiss on those thick, stew-smeared lips, I closed my eyes, so I wouldn’t have to look at him, but that was a bad idea. Now, all I could see in my mind was Ulrich, his penetrating eyes boring into me, the sway of his black hair as he bent in to kiss me …
… I could practically feel Ulrich against me, the warmth of his body enveloping me, his lips pressed hard against mine …
… I opened my eyes. Immediately, I wished I'd kept them closed. Of course, Ulrich was not here, but Waltraud was, and he leapt forward, grabbing my shoulders and slamming his body against mine. He forced my mouth open and whipped his tongue about inside like a whirlpool, his eyes glaring into mine with a wild, insatiable hunger. Waltraud’s hands clawed at my dress, pawing at my breasts like an animal. There was nothing about his touch that felt sexy or inviting. I wanted nothing more than to push him away, but I had to go through with it. For the sake of my aunts, my family …
Waltraud grabbed my skirts and pulled them up around my chest as he pushed me back against the warm hearth. He pushed one hand up and squeezed my breasts together, the other hand slapping against my thighs.
"I knew it," Waltraud murmured. "I knew you wanted me. I knew you couldn't resist me …" He climbed on top of me, pushing his tongue into my mouth once more, leaving a line of slobber across my cheek.
"Uh," I struggled for air against his furious kisses.
If you don't do this, you'll lose your powers forever.
Waltraud squeezed my breasts tighter, moaning as he pushed them up and apart. I winced at the pain. What is this? This isn't like it was with Ulrich at all–
You can do this, you can do this. You must do this.
Waltraud leaned back again, staring down at me with those violent eyes. He licked his lips as he began to undo the lacings on his breeches.
You can't do this.
"Waltraud–" I choked out.
Grunting, he pulled his breeches down around his ankles and straddled me, his engorged member staring up at me like a one-eyed snake that had been put through the clothes-wringer, wrinkled around the head and gleaming with juices, ready to pounce.
"Waltraud!" I said, more forcefully this time. I felt ill. I didn't want that thing anywhere near me.
"Mmmm-hmm?" He placed a slobbery kiss against my neck, as he began forcing my legs apart with his knees.
"I'm going to … go home now." With a great effort, I jammed my legs shut and heaved my body away from him.
"No, you can't–" Waltraud grabbed at me, catching the corner of my skirts. I heard the fabric tear as I kicked at him. My foot connected with his stomach and he doubled back, wheezing.
"Look, I'm really sorry …" I scrambled out from under him and started to stumble toward the door, but Waltraud lurched forward and stood on my skirts. I tripped, falling hard on my tailbone and hitting my knee against the hearth.
"You're right," Waltraud growled, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, dragging me back toward the fire. I yelped in pain, but he didn’t loosen his grip. "You will be sorry. No one rejects me, Ada. No one."
My eyes watered. Waltraud twi
sted my hair against my scalp, and I howled. "Please," I sobbed. "I didn't mean–"
He continued to drag me across the floor, toward the edge of the room. I couldn't move my head to see what he was doing, but I heard him push open the shutters on the window. "Come quick!" he shouted outside. "You must help me. I've caught a witch!"
"Waltraud, no!" I strained against him, but he simply pulled my hair harder. I screamed.
"You are a witch," he sneered. "I know it, and everyone in the village knows it. And now, you coming here today to attempt to seduce me has proven it. I have a Christian duty to make a hue and cry, and turn you in."
I felt as if he'd punched me in the stomach. "Why would you say that? You know that speaking that word is a death sentence! What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"
Waltraud lifted me higher and, with one tug of his beefy fist, ripped my skirts clean away. I screamed as he exposed me, the cool air from the open door caressing my naked thighs. If any of the men saw me like this, I would be done for.
"Waltraud, please–" I sobbed. My scalp felt as if it was being torn from my skull.
"There's no sense in denying it, Ada. You are a witch. Your medicines have done some good in the village, and so you've escaped your God-ordained fate until now. But you have made a mistake in coming here. You paid no attention to me these past years, you rejected me over the bonfires, and now here you are, throwing yourself upon me. You're using your witchcraft and your wiles to get close to me. For what? For money? For my home? For my hand in marriage? Well, I’m too clever for you. I won’t succumb to your sorcery. What good is all that to you now, witch?"
"I'm not–"
"Witch!" Waltraud screamed, tossing me to the ground. My hands flew to my pounding, screaming head. "Witch!" He kicked me in the chest. Pain shot down my side. I rolled over, curling over and trying to protect my head from another blow. I scrambled forward on my knees, trying to crawl away to safety, but Waltraud kicked me again, and my back exploded with agony. I fell against the ground once more, and this time, I didn’t have a chance to move before the next kick came.
Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1) Page 9
