Under Your Spell

by Shiloh Walker

  A cold, unreasonable fear was settling inside Nicholas, one he could not throw off. And try as he might, he could not see her thoughts, could not see past the hard blue of her eyes. Never before had anything about his sweet Aislinn been hard. He had done that to her. Had taken the light from her eyes. Neither the deaths of her family, nor the loss of her way of life had done it. He had.

  “Aislinn—”

  Nastily, in a winter-cold voice, she whispered, “Go to your pretty noble young bride, Nicholas.” A wind came up out of nowhere, blowing her golden curls back from her face, whipping her gown around her. “And enjoy your honor while you remember how easily you shoved mine aside. You will never love another like you love me. You will never know a moment’s peace for what you have done,” she said coldly, her eyes glowing with a strange inner light.

  In a warning tone, Nicholas advised, “Be careful, Aislinn. You are angry—”

  “No. I am past angry now,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She had passed anger the night he had told her of his betrothal to a woman he had never met. And for the past several moments, she had even been past despair. “Go to your bride, Nicholas. And may you remember this day always, until your heart beats no longer.”

  As the wind started to rush past his ears, she whispered, “Look at me once more, Nicholas. Remember me.” Her final words were spoken in a gentle command as she flung her arms into the air. Unable to deny her, he met her eyes across the vortex that swirled at his feet.

  “Aislinn, wait,” he cried out. He tried to stop it, tried to reach out with his own magic and hold to the ground on which he stood. He could not leave her. He feared what would happen if he did.

  But he could not fight her either. Her magic had always been so much stronger than his.

  “Aislinn, no!” he shouted, terrified, clawing against the magic, even though to fight it caused pain. The pain shrieked through his head, splitting and tearing and biting at him with claws. He did not care—it could kill him and it would not matter. He had to get to Aislinn and stop whatever she was planning.

  For what he had seen in her lovely blue eyes had chilled him to the bone—he had looked into the face of death.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  It was by rote that he said the sacred prayers, made his vows to his tiny, delicate bride, the woman-child who stared at him with fear in her dark-brown eyes. Nicholas could not free his mind from the way Aislinn had looked before land and time and space all became one and he had reappeared in the chambers of his father’s house. She had sent him away.

  Remember me …

  She had never done that before.

  But he had fled from her only days before, when she had pleaded with him to stay. Do not leave me, his proud, stubborn little witch had begged.

  Woman, why can you not understand? I cannot dishonor my family.

  Remember me…

  Yet living in dishonor seemed a small price to pay if he could have Aislinn at his side always. Momentarily, he was stunned that he had thought such a thing.

  Such a thing was impossible.

  They could be together, if only the woman wasn’t so stubborn, maybe not as man and wife, but together. . .

  If I had even half of the talent she had, I would force her to come to me, until she regained her senses. We belong together.

  Nicholas stood on the stone steps at the chapel door, facing the priest, Isabella’s right hand lying atop his left while he repeated his vows in a smooth, steady voice.

  But inside, he was in turmoil. Foreboding had filled him the moment Aislinn had commanded, “Remember me.” As if he could ever forget.

  Her whispered voice, that gentle command, seemed to echo over and over in his mind, lulling him into a trance.

  Remember me…

  Remember me…

  Remember…

  So preoccupied was he with his thoughts that he barely noticed the disturbance that started in the back of the crowd, until the murmurs grew so loud even he could not ignore them.

  Remember me…

  A shiver ran down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood stiff and straight. Premonition, never one of his stronger gifts, was so great he could almost see the blackness that was to come.

  But it was too late.

  A mocking laugh drifted down over the crowd and he turned his head slowly, knowing that laugh, knowing there was trouble. Aislinn sat reclining on the sloping roof, one leg, bare to the knee, swinging lazily back and forth while she surveyed the mass below her. Slowly, she straightened and stood, one hip cocked out as she balanced easily on the uneven roof. A shift the color of blood lay against unfettered breasts before dropping down to lie lovingly against her hips. The hem fell unevenly around her legs, but no matter where it fell, it went no lower than mid-calf, revealing the lovely, curved lengths of her legs. The shift sloped down in the center between her breasts, and there, she’d pinned the brooch he had given her weeks earlier.

  Rouged lips and cheeks, hair curling with even more abandon, she looked every inch the temptress. Even her eyes looked darker and more exotic.

  “Aislinn, no,” he whispered soundlessly, dread rising in his heart. Even as he raised his hand toward her, his entire body was frozen from the inside out.

  Or rather, from the outside. By a gift far more powerful than his.

  “Remember me, Nicholas,” she whispered to him silently and he could have sworn he felt the brush of her lips against his.

  In the past weeks, women had been put to death, one for making potions, one for dressing in bold brazen colors and hinting that she might be a witch. She had not been—she in truth had wanted death, had been seeking it, courting it, since her lover had cast her out months earlier.

  Like Aislinn.

  She was killing herself, Nicholas realized with growing horror. She was not here to embarrass him with vulgar behavior or shame him in any way. She was revealing what she was, and setting herself up for death. And she wanted him to know. He projected, as strongly as he could. Aislinn, do not do this, please. I beg of you. I love you.

  You love your honor more, she mocked silently. As she ran her hands up her sides, over her breasts, she licked her sweet, pink lips, drawing the eye of every man there.

  Aislinn, enough. Stop this. Now.

  Stop it...why? I’ve lost everything, my Nicholas. I have no family. I have no means to care for myself. And I do not have you. There is nothing else left for me, is there? she asked, her words echoing in his head.

  Leave this place, I will go with you, he pleaded silently. She cast him a flicker of a glance. I will go with you, whatever it takes to keep you safe.

  And you will damn me for the rest of your life, for costing you your family’s love and honor. No, Nicholas. A sad smile appeared on her lips and she shook her head before taking her eyes from him to roam over the audience with practiced boredom. You enjoy your lovely little bride, Nicholas, and live a long, healthy life. She looks lovely and strong. She’ll breed well. Once she grows up.

  “It seems there is to be a wedding and I was not invited,” Aislinn called out, the blue sky and brilliant sun at her back. The crowd gasped, one woman screamed, as she extended one bare foot out into space. A thick gold chain gleamed at her ankle, tiny bells tinkling as she moved.

  Murmurs grew louder as she shifted her weight and another woman screamed. But instead of plummeting to the earth, her feet took the air as it were a grand set of stairs, walking her way down to earth, the bells at her ankle tinkling musically as she moved, hips swaying seductively, mouth curved up in a sweet, tempting smile.

  “Witch.”

  “Witch.”

  Aislinn weaved her way through the crowd, smiling at people here and there, pausing to stroke a hand down the arm of a large hulking brute who stared at her with lust in his eyes. Aislinn laughed, shaking her head as she passed by him, coming to a halt in front of Isabella, smiling up at the tiny woman who stood next to Nicholas atop the stone steps.

&nb
sp; A bold, brazen smile on her painted mouth, she asked, “A young thing, are you not? You don’t even look to be fifteen years old.” Isabella cast Nicholas a fearful glance, but he was unable to tear his eyes from Aislinn. In a whispery soft, heavily accented voice, Isabella whispered, “I am fifteen just last week, milady.”

  “Milady?” Aislinn repeated, laughing, one graceful hand going to her half naked breast. “Oh, you are a sweet child. A very young, sweet child. But most likely fertile. That is the way the Montgomery family likes them.

  “If you cannot conceive by fall, come to me. I know a potion or two. Or three.” She laughed, sliding Nicholas a sidelong, admiring glance. “Not that this one will have much trouble in that area. His cock works rather well. I hope he does not frighten you too badly.”

  His eyes were drawn to his mother and he saw that she had realized what was happening. But moments later, his hopes that she could intervene died. She was frozen in place as well.

  “What I would not give to be in your place tonight, milady,” Aislinn whispered saucily, flicking Nicholas another glance before moving away, hips swinging seductively as she moved on to study the bride’s brother. “Hmmm, what have we here? Are you on the wedding block as well?”

  He stared at her, bemused, eyes flicking from her face to his hosts, and then back, dropping down to linger on her lithe form as she turned and strolled away.

  All eyes were trained on her, but she had yet to see malevolence in anybody’s eyes, and few signs of fear. With a flick of her hand, she was straddling the solid stone wall that surrounded the chapel yard, some thirty feet away, skirts rucked up so that her legs were bared to the knee.

  “Rather cold day for a wedding,” she remarked. With a smile, she threw her head back and her hands out. “Perhaps a fire for the festivities afterward? Think of it as a wedding gift.”

  Just outside the stone wall, a huge fire flared out of nowhere, feeding on absolutely nothing, glowing with an eerie blue light.

  Ah, success. I think that did it, my Nicholas.

  Nicholas flinched at her words, sick inside, but unable to do anything. He rammed himself against the barrier that held him, knowing it was useless. Aislinn could hold him easily, tirelessly, endlessly. It had never bothered him, that she was stronger.

  Until now.

  Aislinn didn’t even blink as hands seized her, twisted her arms painfully behind her back, binding her. “Her eyes!” somebody shouted. “Cover her eyes, so she can cast no spells.”

  Still frozen, unable to even twitch a muscle, Nicholas quivered inside with rage. Aislinn, do not do this to me. It was not like I had a choice about the family I was born in to.

  There was no answer.

  Aislinn!

  A smile curved her lips as she was carried, without resistance, to the center of the courtyard. Her head turned fleetingly in his direction, but the soiled cloth that someone had tied hastily around her head obscured her vivid blue eyes. You speak of choices, my Nicholas. How strange. You hid things from me that might have altered the choices I made, but now you want sympathy from me?

  Struggling futilely against the bonds he couldn’t see, Nicholas stared beseechingly at her, knowing she could damn well see him, blindfold or no. But he remained frozen.

  Aislinn, do not do this, he begged, straining against the invisible bonds that held him silent and locked in place.

  Regretfully, she said silently, It is already done. We will be together again, somewhere in time, Nicholas. Perhaps honor will not mean so much.

  You cannot mean to die like this, he snarled at her.

  Nor can I live like this. With myself, or with you. I am ashamed of us both, she said sadly. For our actions over the past few months, and mine today. I want it over.

  So you take the coward’s road? You run from me? This is how it is to be solved? Is this how much you love me? he demanded of her. If you love me truly, face me now, and let us end this the way it is meant to end.

  Her sad laughter drifted to him on a ghost of a breeze. I am.

  Even though she spoke in a whisper, yards and yards away from him, he heard her words. You did not love me enough to forsake your family honor, she said to him, staring straight ahead. While curses filled the air, rocks were thrown at her. She gasped in pain as one glanced off her brow.

  Until you love me enough to forsake everything—your honor, your pride, your own soul, we cannot be together.

  I cannot lose you! Do not make me watch you die! I love you.

  Aye… Her voice was a sweet gentle whisper. I’ll not make you watch.

  Nicholas wanted to weep with relief as more and more branches were piled at her feet. As he waited for her to do something, she did. Her magic swarmed up and took him, pulling him into the sweet embrace of sleep.

  No!

  If he allowed her to pull him under with her magic like that, then he couldn’t save her, couldn’t stop her. He battered at the sleep spell that held him, knowing it was useless. But he broke through—somehow he broke through, sleepily, hazily, just in time to see them set fire to the branches at her feet.

  “No!” He broke through the paralyzing hold she had over his body as her magic started to break.

  Lunging for the flaming pyre, he knocked people aside, intent only on getting to her, saving her. People tried to grab him and he struck out, knocking them flat, before two other powers intervened. His mother and his sister. Alone, neither of them could hold him. But together…

  Nicholas. No. We will not let that happen to you as well, his mother whispered as she slid inside his struggling mind.

  Abigail, young Abigail, only fifteen, was pale and her eyes were filled with tears as she struggled to hold him, and deal with the horror of what she was witnessing.

  Nicholas tried to strike out—thinking only to get to Aislinn, as fire caught her hair and her skin started to burn and char.

  Aislinn’s power slid between him and his family’s powers, deflecting him as she forced him back to where he had been. Fight them no more…Do you think I would live easily? Death is a blessing now. I just want the pain to end. All of it…the anger, the rage, the pain…

  And her voice was filled with pain. Turning his head, he stared into her eyes and felt his heart die.

  Gathering his strength, he amassed his power and struck out. Not at his family, where his brothers had joined their meager powers to hold him in thrall, but at Aislinn. To end her pain.

  I love you, he whispered only moments before he delivered a blow to her unprotected mind.

  He watched her head slump and felt her heart stop.

  When it was over, he stood still, in the same spot, staring out through the open doors into the courtyard. A sharp pain in his hand broke him out of his daze and he looked down to see blood trickling from his clenched fist—the brooch he had given Aislinn. Only days after they had first met, he had given her a golden brooch set with an emerald the size of his thumb. The brooch she had worn on her bodice as she was carried, without resistance, to the stake.

  Tears fell silently down his face as he turned to look at his bride and said quietly, “Forgive me.”

  The young woman, hardly more than a child, stood there, horrified, tears streaking her innocent young face, her hands pressed to her mouth, while her mother held her tightly and stroked her hair.

  He whispered one last time, “Forgive me.”

  He walked to his mother’s side and cupped her cheek in his hand. Katherine Montgomery stood by her husband and both of them knew what had happened, even though Nathaniel Montgomery had no magic to call his own. Both of them stared at him with horror, anger, and compassion. He saw the knowledge there. When he touched his mother’s cheek, he felt her anger at him and at Aislinn. She had known, and she had urged him to go to Aislinn only days earlier.

  Honor be damned, she was thinking. He felt her grief and her despair, her horror and her fear.

  But he could not see past that.

  “Goodbye,” he said hoarsely.
/>   Abigail wrapped her arms around her mother and held tight, her eyes closed as she sobbed.

  Nicholas lifted her face with his index finger and kissed her nose. “Brave young thing,” he whispered.

  Glancing at the Montgomery brothers who were gathered behind his father, he simply stared at them and nodded. Then he turned his back on the manor and walked through the courtyard to where the pyre no longer burned.

  The fire had stopped the moment Aislinn died.

  Had she fueled it? he wondered.

  There was no joy or laughter in the air. Normally such an act led to a rather manic sort of party, but now, almost all were gone already. Gently, he cut her body free and carried her away, into the woods.

  To the stream.

  He would bury her there.

  Nearly halfway there, he stopped and cursed himself as he realized he hadn’t brought any tools.

  “Here, we shall help—”

  Nicholas had not realized his two youngest brothers had followed. And with the proper tools.

  “No. This is mine to do,” he said gruffly, lowering his brow to touch it to Aislinn’s. Her face was grayed by soot, but untouched by the fire. So lovely, still. “As she is mine.”

  “Brother, you haven’t the clothing or the coffin. Let us at least get that,” Robert offered quietly. “She shouldn’t rest in the ground as she is.”

  She cannot rest.

  He wanted to scream out that his wild, wonderful witch shouldn’t be resting at all. And he knew that she couldn’t rest. Not yet.

  But they were right.

  She deserved better than to go into the ground like this, like a pauper. Or a witch damned.

  “By the stream. I will meet you by the stream. But let no one know. We must not let the family be endangered more than it already is.”

  After they brought him a coffin and a silken blue dress, he sent them away. Cleaning her body free of soot and dust and smoke, he cut the singed bits out of her hair, leaving it shorter, far shorter. And he cut a long tress from the back, tucking it into his doublet, close to his heart as tears rolled down his face in silence.