Richard smoothed back the wet hair that was stuck to my forehead, staring down into my face, then stepped aside for Alejandro.
‘It was raining so hard. There was a lightning strike. I think she was hit. I can’t be sure, it happened so fast.’ Richard shook his head, wiping the rain from his forehead. ‘Meg had summoned him, King Henry. He was strong though, so strong. I didn’t think she would be able to exorcize him, and I tried my own spell to help her, but I was too late. He held her in some kind of trance. She took a step out of the circle and the bolt of lightning struck her where she stood.’
‘Lightning?’
‘There was a great flash of light, then I heard the thunderclap. The ground was on fire all around our circle and she was lying there dead, her shoes gone, her bare feet blackened and burnt. The creature was gone. I picked her up in my arms and ran for the house.’ Richard ran a hand through his wet hair, his face flushed, his dark clothes sodden. His voice was hoarse. ‘I was there to protect Meg, and I failed her. Forgive me.’
‘Forgive you?’ Alejandro choked. ‘Forgive you?’
He spun from my body and dragged the sword from his belt. It shone between them, lethal and naked, pointing at Richard’s heart. Dee’s apprentice stepped back, though there was no fear in his face – only a wariness that told he had half expected this from the Spaniard.
‘I shall kill you for this night’s work,’ Alejandro ground out, his eyes hard and glittering. ‘She was in your care, dog! Now she lies dead, and all you can say is, “Forgive me?”’
Richard sank into a defensive crouch. There was anger in his voice too. ‘I told you, it was not my fault. But kill me if you can, novice,’ he snarled, his dagger suddenly in his hand. ‘You are not the only one here who knows how to fight. I shall not make it easy for you.’
‘Put up your weapons! How dare you brawl in my house?’
There was a stirring on the dark stairway. Elizabeth was descending the stairs in her cloak and nightshift, staring down into the Great Hall. Beside her came Blanche, holding aloft a burning torch, and Alice at their backs, rubbing her eyes, sleepy and confused.
The hound continued to bark hysterically. But the two young men turned, falling back from each other. Neither put away his weapon though, still watching each other with furious eyes.
‘Hush, Rufus. Lie down, boy.’ The Lady Elizabeth shooed away the barking dog, then halted beside the table, seeing my body stretched out upon it as though I were sleeping. Her face froze. ‘What is this? What has happened?’
‘My lady—’ Richard began, his voice croaking, but Alejandro interrupted him.
‘Meg Lytton is dead, my lady. She served you too well and has died for her loyalty.’ Alejandro sounded half demented with grief and rage, yet somehow he was controlling himself. His face was taut, his bare sword still in his hand – though he had lowered it now, with an effort. ‘Dee’s apprentice reports that she achieved her end though. The spirit that haunted your house has been banished back to Hell – and taken your servant with him!’
Blanche began to speak angrily, but the Lady Elizabeth held up her hand. ‘No. Señor de Castillo is a passionate man and must be allowed to speak his mind. There is no fault in the anger of an honest man.’
She approached my body on the table. She stared first at my bare feet, blackened by the lightning strike which had killed me, then at my hand, hanging down from the table, palm open.
I saw true regret on her face. ‘Poor, poor Meg. I would not have had this happen for the world, I swear it. If I had known how dangerous . . .’
William, who had been sleeping in the stables since our arrival at Hatfield, appeared from the passageway to the kitchens, rubbing his eyes and stretching. ‘What’s all the noise? I heard shouts, and that blasted hound barking . . .’
My brother frowned at Richard, standing silent and defeated to one side, then saw me lying on the table. His face grew pale and he staggered forward. ‘Sweet Jesu, is she—?’
‘A lightning bolt,’ Richard muttered. ‘It came out of nowhere. She had no chance.’
‘Oh, Meg,’ William gasped. He seemed stunned, averting his horrified gaze from the terrible black marks of scorching on my bare feet. ‘My dear sister.’
The Lady Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. ‘She died bravely, William, as she lived,’ she murmured. ‘You should be proud.’ She bent over me as though looking into my face, perhaps searching for signs of life. I watched from above as she seemed to tremble a moment, then turned away, straightening. ‘Not a magickal death, then. I had hoped . . .’
Briefly, I saw Alejandro close his eyes, and wondered if he too had hoped my death might prove magickal – and therefore reversible.
Perhaps noting his pain, Elizabeth continued more gently, ‘The new priest should be called to administer the last rites. And the coroner must be summoned to bear her body away. Let one of the servants ride with a message for them at first light. Meanwhile, poor Meg cannot lie here in the Great Hall. Nor should her body be left unattended. It is not fitting that she should be alone tonight.’ She glanced at William, who was crossing my arms gently across my chest, then raised her small dark eyes to Alejandro’s face. ‘Señor, you are the closest we have to a priest here. Will you light the candles and keep vigil over her body until dawn?’
Alejandro managed a bare nod. ‘I shall carry Meg to my chamber and light the candles for her there. My Bible and prayer books are there, it is a quiet space.’
‘I will help you,’ William muttered, tears in his eyes.
‘I need no help,’ Alejandro said harshly, then checked himself, holding out his hand to my brother. ‘Forgive me. She was your sister . . . but I have as much cause as you to mourn her death, William. We had not announced it formally, and I beg your pardon for keeping such a secret from you, but your sister and I were betrothed to be married.’
Stiffening at this revelation, the Lady Elizabeth’s face grew cold. She looked hard at Alejandro, but said nothing. No doubt she found the very idea of a Catholic novice in love offensive. But to be in love with one of her own servants . . .
For once paying the princess no heed, Alejandro turned, looking stiffly across at Richard. ‘You must forgive my temper too. I know Meg’s death cannot be laid at your door. We will talk in the morning, when . . . after—’
Seeing that he could not finish, Richard limped forward, thrusting his dagger back into his belt. He held out his hand, palm upwards, and offered Alejandro what was there: a thin chain from which hung the silver crucifix, still wet with rain.
‘Here, this is yours. It must have fallen from her neck when the lightning struck.’ His face was grim. ‘I found it on the ground beside her.’
Alejandro took the crucifix, staring down at it broodingly. ‘So she was wearing it. When I didn’t see it around her neck, I assumed—’
‘She was wearing it,’ Richard agreed wearily. ‘And she had her charm-stone too. Though they availed her little in the end.’
Alice, who had been sobbing quietly into her hands all this while, her head turned away as though she could not bear to look on my body, came haltingly forward. She embraced both Richard and William, then came to Alejandro, her eyes full of pity.
‘I cannot believe she is gone. She was the sweetest friend . . . my dearest Meg . . . Oh, I cannot bear to say her name, it is too horrible.’ Alice dried her eyes with the back of her hand, whispering aside to Alejandro, ‘Would you like me to keep vigil with you over her body, señor? I shall not speak except to pray.’
‘Forgive me, Alice.’ He tried to smile, but could not. ‘I thank you, but I must be alone with her tonight. There are things that should be said, even though it may be too late for Meg to hear them. They will weigh on my conscience for the rest of my life if I do not . . .’
Abruptly, Alejandro bent and scooped me up in his arms as lightly as though I weighed nothing, carrying me towards the dark staircase. Blanche fell back, staring at my limp body as he passed, the
burning torch shaking in her hand.
Like a hound on a leash, I floated up the stairs after him, beginning to feel more and more distant from the cold shell that had once been my body. It seemed cruel to keep me here so long, watching my beloved in pain and knowing I could not reassure him that I had felt nothing at the end, that my death was no one’s fault but my own.
I had arrogantly assumed I could defeat the shadow-king, and that my vision of Marcus Dent with the axe was not something to be feared. I had been wrong on both counts, and although I was not entirely sure how it had happened, my death was the result. It seemed fitting that I should spend my last hours alone with Alejandro before being committed to the grave.
Kicking his door open, Alejandro carried me into his bedchamber. A small fire smouldered in the grate, but otherwise it was in darkness.
With the gentlest of hands, he lowered my dead body to the bed, then stood a while in silence, staring down at me. I could hear him breathing, and thought oddly, I shall never breathe again. Already I was forgetting how to breathe, watching incorporeal, part of the darkness, a shadow myself now – just as the shadow-king had been, watching us from the ceiling. At last Alejandro turned away and painfully set out four candles, one at each corner of the bed, like guardians against evil spirits. He lit a spill from the grate and touched its flame to each candle, murmuring, ‘In te, Domino, speravi, non confundar in aeternum,’ reciting the psalm in Latin for me, ‘I have put my trust in you, O Lord, may I never be cast into confusion.’
This done, Alejandro made the sign of the cross above my body, and bent his head to pray.
Suddenly, his calm demeanour broke, and he took three swift strides across the narrow chamber. Gasping in agony, he beat his head and fists against the stone mantel above the hearth.
‘Meg, Meg, my little love . . .’ His shoulders heaved, and I realized he was weeping. He groaned, ‘Not you. Not you. Not you. Anyone but you.’ A flame of anger singed his voice, his pain catching light. ‘Lord, why did you have to do this? How could you take her so soon?’
Moments passed while I watched his bent head. Then he came back to the bed, his eyes dark with agony.
‘Since there is no help for it . . . May the Good Lord guide your steps in Heaven, my beloved.’
He placed the silver crucifix about my neck, rearranging my damp hair on the pillows with a tender hand.
Now it looked as though I were asleep on his bed, my pale eyelids closed, lips slightly parted, the silver crucifix resting on my chest.
‘You will be buried with the cross about your neck. That at least I can do for you.’ Alejandro leaned forward, touching his lips to mine, then whispered, ‘I was a fool, mi alma, and never fully opened my heart to you. But I love you to the edge of madness, to the gates of death itself. If it were possible, I would take your place in the afterlife. I pray to God you are in Heaven soon, whatever your offences may have been on earth. For there can be no place in the torments of Hell for such a soul as yours. You are the truest, the most courageous woman I have ever known.’
He knelt beside the bed, clasped one of my hands between his, and began to pray over me in Latin.
I felt an odd tugging deep in my belly. I was suddenly too threadbare a spirit, too scarcely there to remain. Without a sound, my ghost began to scrape through an invisible hole in the air like a thread being pulled from one side of a tapestry to another.
Was this the end of my haunting? Was I now to be taken up to Heaven – or down into Hell?
As soon as the crucifix had been placed about my neck again, I had felt a change stealing over me, as though remembering something I had forgotten. Something in me resisted the call though, reluctant to leave this wonderful effortless floating, my new world of half-light and shadows. I did not wish to leave Alejandro. I wanted to be with him for ever.
But as Alejandro prayed for my soul, his voice ragged in the darkness, I gradually realized that I was no longer watching from above, but was inside my dead body again. My limbs were too heavy and stiff to move, and I could not lift my eyelids to look at him. But I was struggling to breathe, wanting to breathe, though it seemed I had a wet leather sack in my chest. It hurt so badly, it was like trying to breathe grit, sand, broken glass.
My body fought the agonizing sensation, hating it. Yet it could not help but keep trying, made to draw breath and let it out again, to be human. Then my fingers tingled, warmed by the blood in his living hand; the cold skin was coming back to life, beginning to feel again.
I drew breath and spluttered, my chest jerking as I gasped for air, my body suddenly and brutally alive again.
‘Dios!’ His eyes wide with shock, Alejandro shot back from the bed, dropping my hand and crossing himself. He stared at me in disbelief, then tried my name. ‘Meg?’
I drew another rasping breath, unable to speak.
He addressed me rapidly in Spanish, his voice hoarse and urgent. Then – perhaps remembering that I could not understand a word he was saying – he seized a wooden crucifix from his table and held it out in front of him. ‘Are you the Devil? Speak, what are you?’
‘I’m thirsty,’ I managed croakily.
He was barely breathing himself. Slowly, he lowered the crucifix. Raw incredulity was in his voice. ‘Meg, you are truly alive? De verdad?’ He stumbled over the words. ‘How has this happened? You . . . you were dead. I held you in my arms.’
I looked helplessly at the cup I could see on his table.
‘It’s wine,’ he said blankly, following my gaze, then seemed to shake himself awake. He fetched the cup and tilted it to my lips. I took a sip, wetting my dry throat, then another. He watched me drink, then set the cup down on the floor.
‘Not a ghost, then,’ Alejandro commented, still dazed by the sight of me alive. ‘As I understand it, spirits neither eat nor drink.’
‘You can see well I am no spirit,’ I muttered, then lay back against the pillows, exhausted even by the small effort of drinking. Being dead seemed to have sapped my strength. I only hoped remaining alive would be easier than dying had been. Already my feet were tingling and itching, the blackened skin tortured by its burning.
‘Yet you were dead.’ Warily, he touched a finger to the crucifix about my neck. ‘Was it this that brought you back?’
I hated the look in his eyes, how careful he was not to brush my skin accidentally, to make any physical contact. Did he think me so very dangerous?
I shrugged, too weary and in pain to struggle for an explanation. ‘Perhaps.’
At that moment, I cared little how it was possible for me to have been dead one minute, then alive the next. All that mattered, surely, was that I was alive again. Time enough to examine this strange miracle for flaws later, when I had grown more accustomed to being back in my body. For now, it was not merely my feet that were hurt. My heart too was feeling a little bruised by the coolness of his welcome back.
‘You don’t seem very happy that I have survived this ordeal,’ I remarked, watching from under lowered lashes as he rose and paced the room. ‘Would you rather I was still dead? So you could love me “to the gates of Hell”, yet never have to pass through them at my side?’
‘You heard that?’ He stopped pacing and turned as though stunned by my revelation. A dark red crept into his face. ‘I thought—’
‘That you were talking to a dead woman?’
‘Well, I was, if you recall,’ he countered. His dark eyes met mine then, with an impact that rocked me. ‘Nonetheless, if you need to hear me say it all again, trust me that I meant every word. Never think me false, Meg. I spoke the truth, I do love you to the very edge of madness – and beyond. Nor am I unhappy to see you breathe and speak again. Indeed, I have never known such joy in my life. Only . . .’
I raised my eyebrows. He had still not touched me.
Alejandro groaned, then came to sit beside me on the bed. His gaze devoured my hair, my face, my throat. ‘You are so beautiful, Meg. Beautiful and intelligent, with a tongue sharp as a kn
ife at my throat. I do not know how it is possible, but tonight God has spared his most desirable creature from death.’
Truth be told, I did not know myself what to think of my unexpected escape from death. I had slipped that dark leash without any stirring on my part, as though someone else had chosen life for me over death. I only knew that I lived. How and why I had no inkling nor understanding.
He leaned forward and traced a fingertip across the line of my mouth, not quite touching my skin. ‘Your body is growing warmer,’ he murmured wonderingly, then watched the rise and fall of my chest. ‘Dear Lord, I never thought to see you breathe again.’
Perhaps the Devil himself had possessed my soul in the otherworld, then sent me back into this body to destroy Alejandro. For I could not conceive that the Almighty would ever have chosen to spare me – a witch, a sinner and blasphemer, and the possible ruination of his would-be priest.
None of which helped my fervent wish to feel his lips on mine.
‘Kiss me,’ I said huskily, daring him with my eyes.
If Alejandro thought me some kind of unnatural fiend returned from death’s wilderness, come perhaps to bait him into sin and despair, he would not touch me.
He hesitated, frowning. ‘But what if this miracle is undone by my kiss, mi alma? Like brushing the dust from a butterfly’s wings, I may kill you with a touch.’
‘So will you never kiss me again?’ I demanded, staring up at him. ‘Never touch me? Never love me again?’
His eyes burnt on my face. ‘You know that to be impossible.’
‘Then kiss me.’
Alejandro looked at me intently, as though involved in some inward battle, then bent his dark head at last and put his lips to mine.
I did not mean to tempt him further. But I could not help myself. Instinctively, my arms curled up and linked behind his warm neck, pulling him down into the kiss. He groaned my name against my mouth, then pressed me deeper into the pillows.
I was suddenly, almost violently, delighted that I was still alive. If I had died, this would be a distant memory. This love I felt for him.
Witchfall Page 23
