Shadows at Stonewylde (47 page)

‘Aye, sister. The Magus is silver, not dark. We know the ways, we know how it should be.’

‘Why can’t you just hex him now?’ asked Jay. ‘Why have you let him rule us for so long?’

Old Violet spat into the fire again, the hiss making Gefrin jump.

‘He’s shielded. There’s protection, with his love binding him safe and making a ring around him. Him and that Outsider girl – pah! She may be Clip’s daughter but she don’t belong here. We know.’

‘Aye, we know. The darkness and the brightness were strong together but there’s trouble brewing, dark trouble enough to break the shield.’

The crones cackled in unholy unison.

‘You lads be ready, and we’ll help you with that sister o’ yours.’

‘Aye, we’ll help for she too must be broken. We know of her, we been watching as she’s grown. Another cuckoo in the nest but we’re ready for her. She’ll be no match for us.’

‘Nay, no match for us. We’re the old ones, the wise ones, and we know the ways. She knows nothing yet nor ever will.’

They cackled again and offered the boys another pipe.

‘I’m not happy about the choice of Maiden,’ said Yul, watching his wife across the table. They were eating dinner, candles and silver on the white cloth, food on the plates. Their daughters slept further down the wing and they were alone. This had become the only time of the day when they had any real contact and even this was fraught with uneasiness. Sylvie looked up at him, the candlelight flickering on his honed face and casting shadows under his cheekbones and brow. His deep grey eyes gleamed as they regarded her. He lifted his wine glass and drank the ruby liquid.

‘The choice of Bright Maiden is for the women to decide,’ she said neutrally, trying to keep annoyance from her voice. ‘Maizie, my mother and I chose Leveret together. It’s not something the magus gets involved with – you know that, Yul.’

‘Nevertheless, you should’ve consulted me. She’s my sister and you know the trouble she’s been in recently. It’s not right that she should be given this honour when she doesn’t deserve it.’

‘That’s what my mother said.’

‘Ah, so it wasn’t unanimous then? Of course Mother would push for Leveret – she’s running around after that girl as if nothing’s happened, desperate to keep her happy and it makes me angry to see it. I might’ve known my mother would drag you along with what she wanted. You need to learn to stand up to people and stop being so soft all the time.’

‘How dare you!’ cried Sylvie, feeling cold fury rising inside her. ‘I make my own decisions, as you well know! Actually it was
my
idea to choose Leveret.’

The twitch of his mouth showed his disbelief.

‘And don’t you get any ideas about changing our choice! We’ve announced it now and it can’t be altered. Leveret will be a lovely Maiden.’

‘It was very ill-considered, if it really was your choice and not something you’d been manipulated into. You need to think these things through carefully, Sylvie, and not make poor decisions that only reflect badly on you.’

She glared at him, unable to belief his arrogance. He stared back coldly, watching the emotions playing on her face. He was pleased to have finally penetrated the shell she now wore, keeping him at bay from her inner as well as her outer self. Maybe if he could break it down altogether they could start again, with no secrets or hidden agenda. He knew she was keeping something from him but had no idea what it was.

Yul poured himself some more wine which he savoured as he sat watching her across the table. He’d finished his dinner but she’d barely touched hers. She was getting thinner again and he didn’t like it; another reason to get this sorted out.

‘And one more thing, Sylvie. I know you’re sleeping badly, you look exhausted and you’re losing weight – I’m not sure you’re actually up to this Imbolc ceremony at all.’

‘
What?
Of course I’m up to the ceremony! It’s the only one I lead and you’re not muscling in on this as well!’

‘No, not me of course – it must be led by a woman. I thought maybe Miranda could lead it this year as you’re looking so weak. We can’t have you overdoing it – you know where that might lead.’

‘
I am not ill!
How many times do I have to tell you that? Yes, I’ve been sleeping badly, having nightmares, and so has Bluebell which makes it worse. But I’m perfectly well. And if I’m losing weight it’s because you put me off my food. I was quite enjoying this meal until you started having a go at me. That’s your fault!’

‘Are you saying you don’t want me to eat dinner with you any more? Finally cut off the last contact we have? Is that what you’re saying, Sylvie?’

‘No! Yes … no, I do want to have dinner with you but only if you get off my back and stop haranguing me!’

To her utter dismay Sylvie burst into tears which wasn’t how she felt at all – she was furious. She rose swiftly and turned away from the table, going to stand by the fire where she sobbed quietly into her hands. Yul watched her from the table then drained his glass and poured out the last of the wine, knowing there was another bottle waiting in his study downstairs. He too stood and quickly tipped back the last of the rich contents, then crossed to the fireplace and took her in his arms. She stayed hunched up and resisting, not wanting his comfort. Not when he’d upset her in the first place with his arrogance and bullying. But he firmly unclenched her arms and put them by her sides, enfolding her in a large, safe embrace, gently stroking her hair until eventually she started to relax.

‘Come and sit on the sofa,’ he said softly. ‘Come on, Sylvie, stop fighting me. There really is no need.’

He led her to the sofa and pulled her down next to him with her head on his chest. He felt her resistance but continued stroking her hair, tracing the contours of her face with coaxing fingers until gradually she let go and began to unwind. Yul had a sure and compelling touch and knew her of old. He found her proximity difficult to bear as it had now been quite a while since they’d made love properly. He couldn’t count the failed attempt after her return from Bournemouth which he’d brought to an end, much as he’d regretted it later as he lay alone in the darkness of his study. But Yul knew he mustn’t rush this tonight; he must take it slowly and carefully until she was completely ready. She was vulnerable and must be handled very delicately.

‘You know I love you, Sylvie,’ he murmured, running her silky hair through his fingers. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong between us but never forget how much I love you. You’re my whole life, you know.’

She snuggled into him, the worries and fears receding a little. This was what mattered; this was how it should be. He continued his caresses and she started to loosen under his touch, letting go of the anxieties that kept her tied in knots. He knew how to make her feel so good. In the soft lamplight and the flickering firelight Sylvie could see him clearly, his beloved face so handsome and full of want. His eyes gazed down at her lovingly as slowly his fingers smoothed and admired every curve and angle of her, until neither of them could hold back any longer. As one they rolled onto the soft rug in front of the fire and forgot their recent troubles, forgot their differences, and remembered only the joy and passion of each other’s bodies.

Later as they lay in each other’s arms on the sofa once more, both feeling infinitely more content than they’d done for a long time, he risked broaching the subject of their estrangement.

‘Is it something to do with the bedroom itself?’

She gazed into the fire, and nodded.

‘You’ve been having nightmares, you said? Is it all linked to that?’

‘Yes, I suppose so – kind of.’

‘But in here you feel better?’

‘It’s not … that’s too simplistic, but partly, yes.’

He smiled above her head – that was easily sorted out then, and it explained her passionate kiss downstairs in the entrance hall too when she was leaving for the ballet.

‘Shall I still sleep downstairs tonight? I will if you prefer it – I just want to make you happy, Sylvie, to get back to how we used to be. This rift between us is killing me. I love you, my angel, you know that, don’t you?’

She nodded again, feeling relaxed and at peace now. Maybe it would be alright after all.

‘And this business about Imbolc …’ he began, feeling her tense up again ready to fight him. ‘Do whatever you think best, Sylvie. If you want to lead the whole ceremony, that’s fine – I don’t want to upset you. It’s just that I love you so much and I’m worried you’re over-doing it. I only want what’s best for you.’

‘What’s best for me is not being bossed about or controlled by you,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t think you realise how much you dominate. You exhaust me, trying to stand up to you all the time. Just give me space and don’t crowd me, don’t try to control me.’

‘Alright, I’ll try harder not to. I really don’t know I’m doing it.’

‘I think you do, Yul. You know I’ve never taken it from you and you’re using my past illness as a way to bully me into doing what you want. We’re equal – we’re a partnership.’

‘Of course – the darkness and the brightness.’

‘Exactly! In balance, not one overpowering the other.’

They were silent then, both thinking how they could make it work and neither wanting a return to the bleakness of the past couple of months. As Yul stared dreamily into the flames he felt a great rush of love for the woman lying against him, her silver hair spilling over his chest. She was the only one, the only woman he’d ever wanted, and he knew in his heart that part of it, part of his desire and need for her was her refusal to let him take over. The balance must be right if there was to be harmony between them. He sighed, tracing the bones in her shoulder, and knew he must rein himself in and let her come to the fore. Stonewylde needed them both working together, not against each other. Together they were strong and powerful, able to hold the centre together and keep the whole community in harmony and accord.

Neither of them saw the shadows thickening behind the sofa nor felt the presence of another in the room. Neither had any idea of quite what they were up against. They were both thinking things would start to get better now – they didn’t realise their troubles had only just begun.

F
aun let herself into the cottage and made straight for the kitchen – she was starving. Her grandmother was at the range putting chopped vegetables into the cooking pot. It smelled like beef stew and Faun’s mouth watered. Her grandmother looked up and smiled.

‘Blessings, Faun my dear. Hungry? Go and sit by the fire and I’ll bring you some tea and cake. Did you have a good day at school?’

Faun nodded and went into the sitting room, throwing herself down in the armchair and tugging off her winter boots. Soon her grandmother brought in a tray and Faun tucked in ravenously. She was almost thirteen, growing fast and putting on weight too. But her mother had assured her it was only calf fat and would rearrange itself into beautiful womanly curves as she got older. Her grandfather brought in a basket of logs and settled himself down too, asking about her day in Senior School up at the Hall. Faun had only started there in September but she seemed to be doing very well. Her mother and grandparents, who all lived together in the cottage, doted on her; she was the apple of their eyes and given a great deal of attention.

By the time Rowan arrived home from the Nursery, Faun had almost dozed off by the warm fire. Rowan pulled off her cloak and boots and sat down in another chair watching her daughter. Rowan was immensely proud of her. Faun was beautiful, she thought, perfect in every way. She was tall for her age as Rowan had been, and becoming as statuesque as her mother. Her body was well developed for a girl and she was becoming a stunning young woman. The girl’s skin was creamy and flawless, her hair blond and wavy and halfway down her back. She had her father’s dark velvet eyes which made Rowan feel very strange at times – it was almost like looking into the eyes of Magus himself.

Rowan sighed deeply. It had been a long day at the Nursery, especially with the coughs and colds plaguing so many of the little ones at the moment. She’d been trying to get the girls to practise for Imbolc but without much success. She knew they’d be fine on the day – they always were and, anyway, nobody minded if a tiny girl made a mistake. It was a different matter with the older ones of course – they were expected to do all the rituals properly. The only one in her Nursery who came anywhere near perfection was Celandine. Rowan had to admit she was a wonderful dancer. The girl was so very light on her feet, seeming to skim the floor, and held her body with the controlled tautness of a true dancer. She remembered steps faultlessly and could create dances to order whether there was music or not. Celandine was so excited about Imbolc now that she was doing a little solo, and Sylvie had been delighted and grateful when Rowan had suggested it.

Rowan’s mouth twisted bitterly at the thought of Sylvie, feeling free to do so in the privacy of her own home. Sylvie was just over a year younger than her, for Rowan had reached her sixteenth birthday at Beltane in the year that Sylvie and Miranda had moved to Stonewylde. That Beltane was the zenith of Rowan’s life, the high spot which she relived constantly to the point where every other part of her life seemed meaningless and pale in comparison.

Rowan, like all the other girls, both Villager and Hallfolk, had always been in Magus’ thrall. Every girl dreamed he might partner her in the Rite of Adulthood, which in those days had involved sexual initiation up at the Stone Circle when all the other festivities were over. Rowan had always hoped desperately that she’d be chosen for her special night. She wasn’t the only girl reaching sixteen at Beltane and Magus could’ve chosen another. Then she’d have had to make do with a Villager and there hadn’t been a single boy she found in the least attractive – not compared to Magus.