Spellbound

by Ophelia Silk

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One - An Inadvisable Shortcut

  Chapter Two - An Unlikely Savior

  Chapter Three - An Unfortunate Situation

  Chapter Four - A Hasty Exit

  Chapter Five - A Strange Arrangement

  Chapter Six - A Learning Opportunity

  Chapter Seven - A New Light

  Chapter Eight - A Nightly Visitor

  Chapter Nine - A Flower Blooms

  Chapter Ten - A Loosened Tongue

  Chapter Eleven - A New Perspective

  Chapter Twelve - A Power Unleashed

  Chapter Thirteen - A Choice Made

  Chapter Fourteen - A Dynamic Shifted

  Chapter Fifteen - A Comfortable Walk

  Chapter Sixteen - A Glowing Star

  Chapter Seventeen - A Heart Unrestrained

  Chapter Eighteen - A World Remembered

  Chapter Nineteen - A Voice Calling

  Chapter Twenty - A Tired Morning

  Chapter Twenty-One - A Wary Truce

  Chapter Twenty-Two - A Future Discussed

  Chapter Twenty-Three - An Intention Misunderstood

  Chapter Twenty-Four - A Woman Revealed

  Chapter Twenty-Five - A Broken Heart

  Chapter Twenty-Six - A Chained Destiny

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - A Joyless Celebration

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - A Scolding Received

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - A Kiss Denied

  Chapter Thirty - A Truth Understood

  Chapter Thirty-One - A Heart Undenied

  Chapter Thirty-Two - A Life Fulfilled

  Aknowledgements

  Coming Fall 2021

  Other Books By The Ophelia Team

  Copyright

  To anyone who has ever felt torn between acceptance and being true to their heart.

  My darling, you should never be made to choose.

  CHAPTER ONE

  An Inadvisable Shortcut

  “THERE’S A STORM coming. Perhaps you should stay here tonight?”

  Jane forced a polite smile onto her face, tucking away her anxieties where none of the other people in the market could see. William was a good man, but he was still a man. He became confused and debated her when she agreed to go walking with him but then didn’t wish to kiss him, as if agreeing to one meant agreeing to the other. She shuddered to think what agreeing to spend the night in his home would imply.

  She could tell him none of this, of course. She simply shook her head, taking another step away from the door of his shop into the late evening light. “People will talk, William.”

  It wasn’t her first time taking comfort in polite convention. Public opinion was the only armor she had, and she’d learned to wear it well.

  William stepped forward, taking her hand in his. This did not particularly surprise her. He was a man not easily deterred, even out in the open as they were. “Not if you let me make an honest woman out of you, dear.”

  Jane laughed. “Proposing without my father’s permission, or even a ring! How forward you are, William.” Each word was precise, her voice carefully modulated to give it the right tone: innocent, incredulous and secretly delighted instead of horribly nervous.

  William took another step forward. His grin was charming, certainly, but Jane thought it also had a hint of a leer to it. “Do you like it when I’m forward?” It was just the right amount of teasing. Men were allowed to be a bit more aggressive in courtship, but they still had rules.

  Jane bit the inside of her cheek, considering her options. Luckily, a voice carried on the brisk air, saving her from coming up with a response that would neither encourage nor insult him.

  “Goodness, William! Let the poor thing get home and beat the storm!”

  Florence, the baker’s daughter, crossed over in decisive strides, all long slender limbs and pale skin, brown hair tied smartly in a bun at the base of her skull. William stepped away immediately, and relief coursed through Jane’s veins. One had to be ever so much more polite when they knew someone else was watching. It was a rule she’d taken advantage of many times when dealing with William’s advances.

  “Of course.” He smiled, politely charming once again. “Until next time.” He nodded politely to Florence, gave the back of Jane’s hand a kiss that left her skin prickling unpleasantly, and went off.

  “Incorrigible, that one.” Florence turned to Jane, amber eyes catching the dwindling sunlight. “You will be all right to beat the storm, won’t you, Jane?”

  “I don’t know.” Jane allowed herself a small, rueful laugh. “But I’m more concerned about the storm within my house. My parents will surely be angry with me for being late.”

  Although she said it as a joke, a shiver of unease curled up her spine. Jane was twenty, too old to be considered a child by any stretch of the imagination. But she lived in her childhood home, under childhood rules, and sometimes, childhood punishment.

  “You could beat the storm and the anger both, if you cut through the forest,” Florence said, pulling her from her thoughts. “So long as you keep your eyes out for any wicked beasts.”

  Jane laughed, small and polite. The beasts of the forest were an old superstition, lurking in stories that parents told their children to keep them from exploring where they shouldn’t. “Naturally. Or a wicked witch, no doubt.”

  Stories of the forest’s witch had also existed since she was a child, although her appearance changed over the years. Currently in fashion were rumors of a raven-cloaked woman who lived alone within the forest, performing dark rites. Just an extension of their childhood fears, certainly, but with enough wine it was an amusing topic to pass the evening.

  Florence smiled a strange smile. “No. You don’t have to fear the witch.” She shook her head, standing up straight. “Hurry home, now. I won’t keep you any longer.” She turned and headed back to the bakery.

  Jane sighed, looking up. It wasn’t raining yet, but the overcast clouds above promised that a storm was just on the horizon. She tied her brown cloak tighter about her throat and pulled up the hood, holding it in slim fingers to keep the wind from pushing it back. It also had the extra benefit of hiding her face this way, so no one would think her rude if she simply hurried for home without pausing to talk with them.

  By the time she reached the edge of the forest that separated the market from the more modest farm homes, however, thunder was rumbling its ominous warning. The rain would slow her even further if she took her usual route. She would be lucky if her parents didn’t lock her out, leave her to sleep in the cold barn.

  People would talk if they saw her enter the forest. For all of Florence’s jokes, it simply wasn’t done. But no one was out to look now, too busy taking shelter from the incoming storm. And the fear of the town’s disapproval was only a possibility. Fear of her parents’ anger was a certainty.

  She pulled her hood even closer to her face, hiding her appearance should anyone happen to look out their window, and stole into the trees.

  It was darker beneath the thick branches. Or maybe the clouds had just passed over the sun—it was hard to see the sky when she looked up. When she judged that she was far enough from the marketplace that no one would see her, she lowered her hood so that it wouldn’t obstruct her vision. She didn’t believe in beasts or witches, but a forest had other dangers, and it wouldn’t do to be caught unaware.

  She shivered, wishing that she had worn a heavier dress. Her cloak was wool, but her blue dress was a thin, simple cotton, which her mother said flattered her better. And of course, it would be expected that she would want to wear her most flattering clothing whenever going to the marketplace, once William began courting her.

  A sigh fell from her lips. Public opinion was her armor, m
anners her sword, expectations her shield. But sometimes they felt more like a cage, a lock, and a key forever out of reach. Sometimes she looked at the life she knew she should have wanted, the life as William’s wife and the mother to his children, and felt as though she was staring down a tornado, too late to flee. She was going to be twenty-one in the summer. She’d put off marriage for as long as she reasonably could.

  When William asked her—and he would ask her—she’d have no choice but to say yes.

  She should have been happy. Everyone expected her to be. William was handsome with his chestnut curls, his strong jawline, his dashing gray eyes. So often she’d hear the other girls swoon and sigh and express envy that he’d taken a liking to her, a simple farm girl. It was the same voice that they used to express envy of her silky, flaxen hair, her fair skin, her wide blue eyes.

  Yes, they would make an attractive couple. More importantly, marrying William would provide her stability, and a true adulthood without her parents’ rules and punishments. So why did the idea repulse her so?

  A hissing noise jerked her from her thoughts and she uttered a small cry. But no beast or witch came lurching from the trees. Of course not—that was no human sound. It was simply the rain hitting the leaves. Jane laughed, telling herself she was silly, just as she was silly to feel such disgust at the thought of what was truly a very good marriage…

  The rain hit the forest floor. Cracks formed in the grass.

  Jane stumbled backward, her laughter dying in her throat. It happened too quickly for her to even consider running. The grass crumbled in on itself, and from it burst a mass of jutting black shapes that might have been branches except for the noxious heat rolling off of them. Pulsing and alive, they took on the crude shape of a four-legged creature. A beast. Red eyes blinked to life over its gaping, misshapen maw.

  It roared, exhaling the scent of rotting earth and damnation into her face. Too late, Jane turned to run.

  There was no thought of direction or planning. Jane’s mind had become a primitive thing, one that no longer cared about politeness or marriage but only the sound of the creature behind her. She could hear it pursuing, an uneven gait that bore only a passing resemblance to clopping hooves. She looked over her shoulder and nearly fainted at the sight of it, so close to a horse or a donkey but wrong, like a puppet hampered by inexpert hands.

  Panic tore against her throat and seared up her ribs. The creature’s breath spilled warm against her back.

  “No!” She screamed with all of her remaining might, but it was too late. Pain flashed up her side, worse than any she had ever felt. She was lifted off of her feet and she had only a moment to hope that the creature would make this quick before she was flying through the air.

  Her short flight ended in crunching wood. For a moment her senses deserted her, and when they returned, they returned incomplete. She was aware of dirt in her nose, tears streaking her face, and terror in her heart, even though she could no longer quite recall why…

  The beast hovered over her then, red eyes glowing. Jane shut her own, not wanting to watch its maw open to devour her. Her head spun and she couldn’t draw air into her lungs, and she thought that even if the creature didn’t eat her, the ache in her head and her back and the wet, pulsing pain in her side would probably kill her anyway.

  “Linre! Nonbit ai!”

  The creature above her gave a cry, angry and almost cheated. Jane opened her eyes in shock to see it stumbling away, head jerking back and forth. It must have brought friends, because now there were three of them, moving perfectly in unison—or maybe that was just her vision doubling, if the swimming trees around her were to be believed.

  “Elcit! Linre!”

  The voice, echoing and brimming with power, was impressive enough to draw Jane’s dizzied attention. It belonged to a dark-cloaked figure, advancing on the beast and throwing fistfuls of… something. Jane’s vision was too blurry to make out what it was, much less the face behind the hood.

  “Linre!”

  With a final, angry screech, the beast collapsed in on itself, dissolving into dust. Jane gawked at it, unable to draw her eyes away.

  Then leaves were crunching under the feet of the hooded figure as it approached, and it occurred to Jane that there could very well still be danger here. She could no longer recall what that danger was, however. Her thoughts had taken on an uncomfortable fuzzy quality to match her vision. At least it made her pain a distant thing, still terrible but tolerable.

  Two boots and a dark skirt edged in black lace entered Jane’s field of vision. She tried to lift her gaze, to thank her rescuer or maybe just to introduce herself, as she had always been taught. She managed to raise her head only slightly before it dropped again. Her cheek hit the dirt, but Jane kept spiraling down. And then, for a long time, there was nothing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  An Unlikely Savior

  THE FIRST THING that broke through to Jane’s consciousness was pain.

  The worst was in her side, a throb that twisted her stomach and stabbed at her lungs. But aches all over her body competed for her attention, from the dull pain in her skull to the sharp twinge in her back.

  There was comfort beyond the pain, however. A soft mattress beneath her. A cool cloth on her forehead. The refreshing, clear scent of mint.

  Jane opened her eyes.

  She was laying in an unfamiliar bedroom in low light. The walls were dark wood, and it was just big enough to hold the bed she laid on and a dresser with enough space to move in between. She tried to sit up, to take in more, but the throbbing in her side turned into a spike of pain, and she collapsed back with a whimper.

  “You’re awake.”

  Jane looked—carefully—to the door. A woman stood there, surveying her with an unreadable expression. She was beautiful, but not in the soft way that Jane was. Her beauty was more severe, more intimidating. She was tall, almost gaunt, with high cheekbones and hooded eyes. Dark hair fell down her back like a veil.

  Jane opened her mouth to speak, but her breath caught in her throat and turned to a coughing fit. The woman sighed and glided across the room in a flurry of dark skirts. “Here.” She helped Jane into a sitting position, rolling her eyes when the pain made her whimper again. “Don’t fuss,” she snapped. “You need water, and I won’t have you aspirating it. What a waste of my resources it would be for you to die now.”

  Her sharp tone shocked Jane. It wasn’t the way that one spoke to a guest, much less an injured one. But she swallowed her indignation, mostly because she was dreadfully thirsty. She leaned against the headboard, clutching at her side and breathing heavily. Thick bandages circled her ribs under the nightgown.

  Her memory returned in a rush, and she gasped. “The beast!”

  The woman rolled her eyes again. “Gone, lucky for you! What sort of idiot goes out into the forest during the first minutes of a rainstorm? Tell me, Miss, do you have a death wish?”

  “I—” Jane started, but the woman was already storming out. It hurt too much to speak, anyway.

  An indignant blush spread across Jane’s cheeks. Who was this woman? Even her parents, who could be harsh, did not speak to her so rudely. They were cruel, but they were always polite.

  The woman returned with a glass of water, and Jane took it warily. With how rude the woman was, Jane wouldn’t have put it past her to dump it over her head. But the woman did nothing—just crossed her arms and watched as Jane took careful sips.

  When at last Jane felt as though she could speak without coughing, she did so. “I didn’t think that the beasts were real.”

  The woman scoffed. “I’m not surprised. You people have no respect for the forest, or the power within it. It’ll get you killed one of these days.”

  Jane felt her stomach sink. She had a sneaking suspicion of who this woman was. She chose her words carefully, very aware that to offend her could mean danger. “Am I to take it, then, that you are the witch who lives within these woods?”

  The
woman startled, but then grinned, hard-edged and sardonic. “Indeed. Adelaide Thompson, at your service.” And she actually curtsied, a sharp parody of manners.

  She was not at all what Jane had expected. Mostly, she was shocked by how young she looked. She’d always pictured the witch in the stories as an old woman, but Adelaide looked to be Jane’s own age, or close enough to it as to make no difference.

  She also didn’t look as dangerous as Jane had imagined. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t. Surely, fear of that was the cause of her racing heart. She tried to put it aside, keeping her voice even and calm. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid that my memory of the attack is poor. What happened after the beast left?”

  “You passed out,” Adelaide said. “I’m not surprised. Beasts’ mouths are full of poison, and it got a fair bite out of you. I had the antidotes on hand for emergencies, and lucky for you that I did, but it was still close. You were out for days.”

  “Days?” This managed to break through her haze of shock. That would be days without doing chores, which she’d surely be punished for. Her parents did not believe in excuses, would probably accuse her of doing something untoward with William. Jane shoved the blankets away from herself. “Oh, oh dear. I have to—”

  But that was as far as she got, because the second she tried to stand, a wave of faintness washed over her, shrouding her vision in curtains of gray. She was aware, distantly, of her knees buckling and arms bearing her up.

  “Are you serious?”

  Adelaide’s voice was suddenly very, very close. Jane blinked, and the world swam back into focus. Adelaide was gripping her tightly, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other pressed between her shoulder blades. She was surprisingly strong, the gauntness more an effect of her sharp cheekbones than any malnourishment.

  Said cheekbones were now far, far too visible, because Adelaide’s face was very close to Jane’s. She really was striking, with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, arching eyebrows and full lips. Jane found herself staring, unable to look away.

  Then Adelaide practically shoved her back into bed. “You’re not going anywhere.”