Dangerous Magic (8 page)

But rather than springing into action, Lark calmly hung the partially-formed candles on a rack and turned towards Colin, crossing her arms.

"I'm not in the habit of blindly obeying the orders of men, Colin," she said with a calmness he found infuriating. "Not even those I call 'friend.'"

"I told you, I don't have time to explain," said Colin, grabbing a sack and looking around the cottage for things a woman might need to take on a journey. Several chemises were hanging by the fire to dry. Quickly he grabbed them and stuffed them into the sack, prompting Lark to rush over and wrench it out of his hand.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," said Lark, angry now. "You've given me no reason why I should flee my house, and unless you plan to stuff me in that sack as well you'd better tell me because at this moment that would be the only way you could get me out of here!"

For the briefest moment, Colin regarded the sack in his hand and pondered whether it was big enough to hold her. Then, confident that he could appeal to Lark's reason, he turned back to her.

"He's here, Lark. He's in the village."

He snatched the sack out of her hand and began to stuff other items in it - a skirt, a blanket, some apples, a loaf of bread.

"Who's here?" she asked, exasperated.

"The witch hunter!" Colin looked around frantically. "What else will you need for a journey?"

She ignored the question. "What witch hunter?"

"The one I warned you about." He thrust the sack at her. "Here. Finish packing what you'll need. We have to get you out of here. I'll explain on the way."

"No!" Lark stamped her foot. "You'll explain now, Colin. I'm not just going to leave my home because you fancy that some visitor is here to do me harm!"

He rushed over then and grabbed her by the arms. "This isn't fancy!" he said angrily. "The man himself is here, Lark. He's already interrogated Millicent Salter and Widow Bright and extracted their word against you as a witch! It is only a matter of time before he shows up at your door!"

"You're mistaken," Lark said in disbelief. "Millicent is my friend. She wouldn't give testimony against me. And Widow Bright couldn't give testimony against me! Age has robbed her of her mind!"

Colin turned away and slammed his hand down on the table. Then he turned back to her. "Don't you understand, Lark? It does not matter! This man doesn't come to this village unless he believes there is already a witch there. For whatever reason, someone has identified you as such and he will simply find a way to back up that which he already believes! This witch hunter --from what I've heard he doesn't even care if the charges are true! If he gets his hands on you he will do terrible things until you confess your allegiance to the old ways!"

"He'd not have to do terrible things," Lark was advancing on Colin now, her face as angry as his. "I'd not deny that allegiance. I never have!"

"Has anyone ever asked you?" Colin shot back.

"No!" Lark responded hotly "And why would they? I have an understanding with the villagers. They come to me knowing that I am not of their faith, although it has never been spoken of.."

"..until now!" Colin said.

He threw up his hands, exasperated. "This - this-quest to find and drive out witches is something new, Lark! It stands to change everything. Before I came here I was at the church. The man himself - Reverend Fordham - he was there. I saw him, Lark! He had terrified Millicent and he had someone in the church cellar. I think it was Widow Bright. He's doing terrible things, and if you do not leave now it will be you who suffers more than anyone. I will not allow that to happen!"

He grabbed her arm. "Now come with me! We must go!"

But Lark pulled away, her eyes flashing in anger. "No!" she cried. "Do you think me such a coward I would flee before this man?"

An image flashed in Colin's mind of his own retreat from the dark stranger and for a moment he was seized by a moment of impotent shame.

"No," he said softly. "You are not a coward. But neither are you a simple fool, and that is what it would make you to ignore my warning, Lark. Danger is coming. It's coming here. And deny it if you must, but I think despite your protests you know it." He paused. "Tell me again about the dream you had. You did not tell me all of it, did you?"

Lark looked away.

"I thought so," he said. "Please, Lark...."

"Very well," she said, looking up at him. Tears were swimming in her eyes and for the first time he saw something else in them: fear. "My grandmother came to me to warn me of danger. She told me to look out the window and when I did there was a wolf - the biggest wolf I ever saw. She said, 'the oppressor comes,' and when the animal turned to look at me I saw it had -" Lark put her hand to her throat. "It wore the Christian cross about its neck, on a heavy chain."

Colin nodded knowingly. "Then you should not doubt me. Not after that."

"Perhaps I can't!" she said. "But I can't just..." She looked around the cottage, the cottage she had grown up in. She was at war with herself, her pride battling her common sense.

"No," she said. "I won't go. I'll face what comes on my own."

The hell you will.

Colin had not wanted it to come to this, but Lark would not listen. The shell of determination and independence she'd built up around herself was like a wall that he needed to batter down, and there was only one way he knew to do that.

He did not like to have to humiliate her, to break her proud spirit, but as he sat down and hauled her, struggling, across his knee he told himself it was for her own good.

"Lass, you will obey me in this. You will!"

She fought like a wildcat as he flipped her skirt up, baring her alabaster bottom and thighs. That creamy white skin, so tender, so soft. He knew the slightest tap would mark it but put the thought out of his mind as he brought his hand down severely on the center of her bum. Lark screamed and clawed at the floor in an effort go get off his lap. He began to spank her fervently, his trained ear listening for the sounds of her anger to devolve into sounds of sobbing submission. To his surprise he did not have to wait long.

He was a strong man and even a powerful witch cannot combat an assault which leaves her energies so scattered. Nor can her protective spells shield her from action taken against her that she needs or deserves. The fact that no beam fell upon his head as he reddened her bottom only served to convince Colin that he was doing the right thing, and he imagined the gods nodding in silent assent as he gave their stubborn servant what she so desperately needed.

When he finally stopped, her bottom was covered in overlaying, pinkish purple imprints of his large, punishing hand. Lark was limp, sobbing softly.

"You will go," he said, his hand resting on her bum even as the other still held her in place. "I want your word."

He knew she would honor it if she gave it and he could feel her now, thinking. Was it worth defying him further? They both knew he would prevail.

"Very well!" she said.

"Swear it, lass. Swear it before the gods."

"Colin!"

He smacked her again - hard.

"Swear it!"

"I swear it!" She screamed the words as his hand fell on her lower left buttock.

Gently he tipped her to her feet and reached own, handing her the sack.

"Pack what else you may need. Take anything that could incriminate you, lass - spell books, potions, anything."

Lark's shoulders slumped and she began circling the room, removing what she could. It had never occurred to her how others may view the items she held so dear, items that set her apart. Her well-worn book, passed down from her mother and grandmother and others before her - its pages full of observations of moon phases and plant qualities and small bits of poetry recited in synch with healing. Instructions for how many knots to tie in a rope to bring about love or healing. Darker spells - sparingly and carefully used only against those who deserved them.

She removed her little clay goddess doll from the shelf, its hourglass shape so familiar in her hands. Little wooden talismans and runes come next. She could not take the potion bottles but removed a loose stone in her fireplace and hid them inside along with the poisonous mandrake and nightshade she kept there where little children and invading mice could not find them.

There were things she could not hide - runic symbols carved into stone, the five-pointed star burning into the corner of the mantle.

"We should burn it," Colin said hastily as he looked at the imprint, faded but still visible in the wood.

It would take half a dozen men to remove this hearthpiece," she said.

"I'm not talking about the hearth piece," he replied. "I'm talking about the cottage. There's still enough here to.."

"No!" she said vehemently. "I will return, Col. I do not know how but I will..."

It was useless to argue with her on this point, he knew. And Colin could not bring himself to destroy her home.

"My cat," she said suddenly. "What will become of Shade?"

"Shade's savvy to these woods," said Colin. "Not to mention leary of strangers. And I know enough of you to know you've heaped protective enchantments upon him aplenty. He'll be fine. If you stay behind they'll burn you both."

Lark sniffed and nodded in resignation. Turning, she picked the cat up and gave him a hug. Colin could see her shoulders heave with silent sobs as she did so and watched as she took the cat to the back door, uttered a quick spell of protection over him and whispered in his ear. When she put him on the ground he ran off as if he were being chased.

"Are you ready then?" he asked as she turned back to face him.

"Would it matter if I were not?" she asked.

He shook his head. "If you refused, I'd take you against your will." Their eyes locked. "I'll have no harm come to you, Lark."

"I love you," he screamed silently, but could not bring himself to say the words aloud. Not now. He watched as she threw a few more things in the bag and then grabbed her cloak.

She did not stop to ask where he got the horses. A very real sense of dread was growing in Larks' chest now as she let Colin throw her up on the back of one of the horses.

"Hold on," he said, and she nodded, locking her legs around the animal as he'd taught her do when they were children. For a moment she wondered if he remembered how he taught her to ride his gray pony when he was ten and she was seven. He did, and briefly enjoyed the recollection as he stood there watching her sit astride the black horse closely matching the one he was now mounting.

"We should follow the river upstream," she said, and he nodded, for it was a good plan. The path to the river was clear, and the brush beside it wasn't so thick that it would impede their travel. They could follow it for several miles and get back on the road only after they were safely away from town, hopefully before anyone noticed their absence.

Turning his horse's head, Colin urged it forward, guiding the animal down the slope to the road. He turned back to see Lark on his heels, the traveling cloak pulled up to shield her face. When they were on solid surface, he spurred his mount to a gallop and Lark followed suit. The sky was even darker now, so dark in fact that it looked nearly night. It was a gloomy omen, but one Colin chose to ignore as he looked back once more to assure himself that Lark was still close by.

But when he looked forward again, his heart leapt into his throat. Ahead of them, the road was blocked by a group of men, some with lanterns, some with guns. He pulled his horse roughly to a stop, as did Lark who had also seen the men. But when they turned to go in the opposite direction they realized there were men on the other side as well.

The crowd of men was growing now, and surrounding them. The horses, as unnerved as their passengers, moved close together, snorting and pawing the ground. Colin turned and caught a glimpse of Lark's frightened face peeking out from under her cloak. His pistol was by his side, but he had no time to load it, not that it would have mattered. All around them, men were now brandishing already loaded weapons.

The crowd parted now and a black-robed man stepped forward, the light of the lanterns gleaming off his black hair. His dark eyes were fixed on the couple and when he spoke his voice was deep and commanding.

"You cannot outrun the justice of the Lord," he said. He turned to the crowd. "If someone would be so kind as to reclaim my horses?"

Several men stepped forward to take the reins of the horses as several others reached up to pull down the riders. Colin lunged towards the ones who had removed Lark from her mount, but was restrained from reaching them and watched helplessly as Reverend Fordham moved towards her, his hand outstretched towards her hood.

He pulled the hood from Lark's face slowly, as if unwrapping a gift he'd been given. For a moment he regarded her in appreciative silence, his lips curling into a mocking sneer. "What darkness lurks beneath this fair light?" he asked, almost to himself.

"No darkness," Lark said coldly. "To claim such exists would be a lie."

He struck her then with such force that she collapsed and would have hit the ground were it not for the men holding her. With a cry of pure rage, Colin hurled himself at the preacher so violently that he broke the grip on the men holding him back. But he was restrained again before he could reach his target and the two men - now inches apart this time - regarded each other once more.

"Note," he said to the crowd, "the effects of a bewitched man. "With but a look this little temptress has enticed him to steal for her, to assist her in escaping the just questions of a soldier of Christ." He looked at Colin in disgust.

"Take him from my sight."

Colin made to struggle but was subdued and hauled away, but not before looking over his shoulder at Lark, whose limp form was still slumped between the two men who held her. Fordham was approaching her again, and upon reaching her undid the clasp of her cloak and watched as the heavy fabric slid to the ground. Underneath she was dressed in a simple country dress, the bodice cinched tightly enough to accentuate the curves of her waist. Above the neckline, the creamy swell of her breasts flared enticingly before his eyes. Lark moaned, still dazed from the blow the preacher had given her. Reaching out a finger, he tilted her chin until she was looking at him. As he did, he noted dispassionately the purple bruise blooming across her cheek from where he'd struck her.