Coven: a dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 2) (20 page)

“But you don’t understand. I’m not a whore. I’m not asking for money.”

“Also, but I am married. I do not wish to be tempted into sin while on the road. With the plague about, it is risky enough.” Frederick stood, pushing his stool back in an awful hurry. His eyes darted toward the door. “I am sorry.”

“But—”

He darted into the crowd, pushing his way through groups of men in his haste to escape me.

“I’ll make it worth your while!” I called after him. “I know just what you like!”

But he had already scurried away. Curse the good men with their attacks of conscience. My companion for the night would not be the kindly spice merchant. I sighed, and moved deeper into the bar.

I spied another man drinking alone at a table in the corner, his face hidden beneath a dark hood. I headed toward him, thinking one man was easier to talk to than many. As I squeezed through the sweaty bodies, a rough hand seized my arm. I yelped and whirled around, just as a leering face thrust itself toward me, its mouth grinning with crooked, rotting teeth.

“Hey lassie. I heard you know what I like.” He ran his tongue along his lips, and smacked them together. I tried to yank myself away, but his grip was like a vice. His drinking companions gathered around me in a tight circle, pressing in against me. They laughed and congratulated Crooked Teeth on his “catch.”

“I’m not your catch. Let go of me,” I growled, feeling panicked. Why had I thought this was a good idea? I was completely surrounded by rough men, all of them ruddy from working the fields and boisterous and red-faced with drink. Each one stared at me with lecherous eyes. They would tear me to pieces in their desire to have me.

“I ‘eard you propositioning that merchant over by the bar.” Crooked teeth “You’re too filthy for a toff like ‘im. But we’ll ‘ave you, won’t we, lads?”

“Aye, you’re a fine piece of meat.” A hand groped my arse. I yelped and jumped away, tripping over one of their boots and falling against Crooked Teeth’s chest.

“There now,” he grinned. “That’s more like it.”

He pressed his lips against mine, thrusting his foul tongue into my mouth. I gagged against him, but he held me in his iron grip. His smell ran down inside me, rotting food and pigs and hot, sticky sweat. Tears sprung to my eyes.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Crooked Teeth broke off the kiss. I gasped in what fresh air I could, desperate to rid my mouth of the taste of him.

“What did I tell you boys?” Crooked Teeth gripped my shoulder hard. “She’s gagging for us!”

“Let’s take her out back,” One suggested, squeezing my breast in his large, beefy hand.

“Leave me alone!” I cried, trying to push his hand away. Panic rose up inside of me.
This is dangerous. I need to find a way out of here. I need to—

“You know old Pete doesn’t like that sort of thing going on in the cold store.” Crooked Teeth said. “Let’s take her down to the river. No one will hear us there.”

With that, he placed both his hands around my waist, knitting his fingers together, lifted me off the ground, and began to haul me toward the door.

“Let me down!” I cried, kicking out with my feet. I caught beefy hands in the jaw with one kick. He groaned and clutched his face, but kept following me. My eyes swept around the room, looking for some means of escape, some kind face I could prevail upon for help. But no one even paid a bit of attention. I noticed the black-cloaked man was not even at his corner table any longer.

“Don’t worry, lassie. You’ll get a fair price for all of us!”

“I’m not a whore. Let me go!”

“Excuse me,” a deep, dark voice intoned. “But the lady asked that you leave her be. I suggest you follow her instructions.”

At first I thought it was my farmer friend from earlier in the evening, but his voice had been much softer. I craned my head to look over my shoulder, and I saw the black-clad man. He still had his hood pulled low over his face. All I could see of his skin was a hand, riddled with scars and calluses, peeking out from the folds in his robe.

My attacker turned to the stranger. “This is no business of yours, friend. I’ve engaged the services of this whore, and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

“Oh, but she very much is my business. What matters is that you listen to my words very carefully, before I introduce you to another friend of mine.” The stranger folded up the corner of his robe, revealing a long, two-handed sword strapped to his thigh.

I felt a silent surge of hope run through me.
Thank you, kind stranger! Please, get let these men be sober enough to see sense.

It seemed my silent prayer would be in vain. Far from being dissuaded by this, my attacker grew even more agitated. He tossed me into the arms of Beefy Fingers, and whirled around to face the stranger, his body so consumed by drink that he nearly toppled over. “You can’t ‘ave her! I saw her first!” he bellowed, jabbing a pudgy finger into the stranger’s ribs. “I’m gettin’ off with her, and ain’t nothing you can do about it!”

Beefy Hands tightened his grip on me. All around me, I noticed Crooked Teeth’s friends reaching into their robes for knives.

“Very well. I did warn you.” The stranger pulled out his sword, but before he worked it loose of the scabbard, the man on Crooked Teeth’s left swooped in and grabbed the stranger’s wrist, twisting it back behind him and preventing access to his blade. It slipped back down into his scabbard, now out of reach. The stranger bent down, and brought his other hand up to the man’s face. I saw a flash of a small dagger blade in his fingers. The next thing, the man was on the ground, clutching a bloody wound in his neck and howling with pain.

The other two men rushed the stranger. He bent low, his head taking the brunt of one man’s momentum as he flipped the man over his back, sending him sailing into a table, upsetting several tankards and drawing a new party of drunk men into the fray. The men who’d been deprived of their beverages threw themselves into the fray. I saw the flash of blades in the air as men went at each other, all their pent up frustration and hostility coming to the fore.

My head swung around, frantically searching for the black-cloaked stranger. I saw him beating off two of Crooked Teeth’s men with his sword. With a single swing he slit one’s throat and caught the other in the arm.

Crooked Teeth sensed his chance. He elbowed his way through the fray and yanked me from Beefy Hands. He swung me over his shoulder, and shoved his way out of the tavern, leaving behind a room filled with brawling men. No one even remembered what they were fighting about any more.

“Help!” I cried.
Where was the stranger?

Something knocked into us, sending us both flying. I put out my hands to break my fall, but I didn’t fall. Someone grabbed me and tossed me over another shoulder. I landed hard on my stomach against thick muscle, driving the wind from my lungs.

I glanced over my shoulder. Crooked Teeth was sprawled out across the steps of the beer hall, blood streaming down his face, and his head bent at an oppressive angle. He wasn’t moving.

Now the stranger was running. I could hear his breath coming out in short rasps as he dodged through the square. The elation I’d felt upon seeing Crooked Teeth dead was quickly replaced by fear.

“Sir, excuse me? Kind sir, you can let me down now!” He didn’t speak, just kept on running with me tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. I watched the lights of the square grow dim as he carried me through the dark streets. Where is he taking me?

Even though we weren’t being followed, the man didn’t slow his pace. I screamed for help, a few people looked up, but no one paid us any heed. To them I was just a whore being carried off to do her duty. He ducked through the open wicket and headed for the trees. When he reached the tree line, he ducked into the forest, weaving and dodging between the trunks, his eyes darting left and right as he searched for something.

“Stop. Where are you taking me?” I yelled.

His only response was to give a shrill whistle. Up ahead, I heard a horse whinny in reply. We emerged into a clearing, and I could just make out the shape of a horse, a silhouette in the moonlight.
No, no, no, no. If he took me away, I’d never be able to find my way back to the Haven again.

“I demand that you put me down this instant!” I yelled, with much more bravado than I felt.

The man snorted, and got up behind me, pulling his arms tight around me so that I could not move. His body against mine felt strong and powerful. There was something about his smell that was familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.

With a jerk of the reins, we were off, the dark house manoeuvring expertly through the trees, picking up pace from a canter to a gallop. With every jolt I felt as though I’d be flung from the saddle. I clung to my captor in order to stop myself from hurtling through the air.

Where is he taking me? I’d almost have been better off with Crooked Teeth. If only I knew a spell to disturb the horse, or to send him flying through the air.

We rode for some miles through thick, dark trees, every stride of the powerful beast taking us further from the village, deeper into the unknown woods. It was so dark and the trees so thick that even if I did manage to escape, I’d never find my way back again.

We came to a cabin. The man pulled me down from the horse. I flopped against him, my knees buckling beneath me. My body shivered from the cold and the violence of the ride.

“Please,” I whispered, tears falling down my face as he tried to drag me. “I will go with you willingly, but you must help me. I am just too weak.” Without a word, he bent down and gathered me in his arms, and carried me over the threshold.

I realized where we were. This was the cabin that belonged to the hunter Aunt Aubrey had been seeing. This man was using his cabin. I saw the skins on the cot were rumpled, and some of the cooking vessels were lined up beside the fireplace. I hoped he’d moved the body away. I knew well from all the plague victims that were piled up on the pyre outside our village gates the horror of death.

The man moved silently through the space, lighting candles, shifting the furs on to the bed. His body shook violently. Was he sick? Was he excited by the prospect of violating me? I couldn’t be sure, but not knowing was making my own knees quake with fear. Finally, I could take no more.

“Stranger, you have taken me far into the forest, to this deserted place where no one can hear my screams. I know what you intend to do for me here, but please understand that I am not a woman you want to mess with.”

“Is that so?” The stranger whispered these words, his voice giving a slight hint of amusement.

“That is so. I am a … powerful sorceress.” I tried to keep all traces of fear from my voice. “I command the powers of fire and earth. If you intend to have me, I will fight you with all the power I possess, and it will go badly for you—”

“Oh, you have no
idea
what I intend.” The stranger growled. He whirled around to face me, grabbing his hood and pulling it from his face. The dim candlelight revealed tousled black locks, a strong, determined jaw and the deepest brown eyes that I knew so well.

“Ulrich?” I gasped.

It cannot be. How is it possible?
And there was no mistaking his face. I knew he was not a shade, for he had already touched me several times that night. He had rescued me in the tavern. But I had seen his death, felt his life leave his body as though it were my own soul departing. How could he not stand in front of me, a real man of flesh and blood?

There was only one explanation. He had been brought back from the dead with a wicked, dark magic. What I stared at now was not my Ulrich at all, but a pale imitation of him, an evil mirror that obeyed only the commands of his mater.

He crossed the floor in two long stripes, and grabbed my arms in his huge, muscular hands. Around his neck I saw a small, round amulet, bearing the imprint of an unfamiliar crest. I was too shocked to fight, to pull away. He felt so
real.
But I knew that he could not be.

“Let go,” I whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Ada, my beautiful Ada.” He whispered back. “I could hardly believe it was you.”

He reached up to stroke my face, but I tore myself away from him. “This can’t be happening!” I cried. “You’re dead. I watched you die. You bled to death on the floor of your father’s dungeon. Why has your spirit come back to haunt me?”

“I am no spirit.” He growled, grabbing my wrist and pinning it behind me head. He leaned his full weight against me, so that I felt his hardness shoved against my thigh. He pressed his lips to mine.

Fire shot through my body. His lips against mine were so familiar, so hot and hungry. They were everything I had longed for these past weeks. Over and over I had replayed our kisses in my mind, and I had found little solace in the memories, for I knew they could never be again. But this was not Ulrich, this was not real.

“Stop! Don’t do this!” I cried, my words muffled in the ferociousness of his kiss. Pain arced across my chest.
The oath.

The Ulrich shade must have remembered the oath at the same time, for he pulled away, his face twisted with concern.

“You’re a shade!” I gasped, clutching my chest. “You’re a dark vision sent to break me.”

“It’s me, Ada. I’m real. I’m here. That’s why the oath still affects you.”

The pain in my chest pressed against my heart. I reached up, and stroked Ulrich’s cheek. I could feel his warm skin beneath my fingers, the rough stubble that ran along his jaw. His eyes bore into mine, dark and brooding – the same eyes that had watched me from my dreams.

It
was
him.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was so stunned that no sound came. I had so much I wanted to say to him, so many emotions welling up inside of me, but I didn’t know how to articulate them. What do you say when your lover comes back from the dead?

An overwhelming desire claimed my body. I flung myself across the room, leaping into Ulrich’s arms. He wrapped his body around me, and claimed my mouth in his. I matched his intensity, entwining my tongue in his, gulping down the taste of him. Too long had I been starved of his touch. My body hungered for his, and I pressed myself against him, desperate to get closer to him, to fall into him completely.