Dragon Witch Series - Dragon Witch Part 2

TWO.

Castle Windhaven was buzzing with the news. A witch had been found living in The Great Forest. Was a witch burning due? The witch was, even now, with Lord Wendall in the castle, being questioned.

Tempest Sanct Joliet listened to the whisperings, fear knotting her stomach. She had spent the morning gathering herbs for Miriam and daydreaming under the towering old oak deep in the forest. Her serenity evaporated when she entered the courtyard and heard the news. As the young woman walked slowly toward the keep, voices faded then ceased, and serving women and soldiers turned quietly back to their duties. A few cast sidelong glances at their lord's daughter as they left the courtyard.

Tempest knew what they were thinking. She had heard the whispers all her life, and she was still deeply hurt whenever she overheard servants speculating about her. Her memory turned back to an incident that had occurred two years before, only a few days before her thirteenth birthday. It had been a beautiful fall day, and she had gone with Miriam to visit one of the serfs who was soon to give birth.

She skipped along beside Miriam, happy and excited because she had been studying for three years and would finally be able to help the healer. She could barely contain her enthusiasm. Kindly Miriam listened to her chatter with an understanding smile.

They soon reached the small cottage and entered, both eager to help the woman deliver her child. That was the day, Tempest remembered sadly, that she left her childhood behind.

Miriam entered the cottage first, telling Tempest to go to

the well and draw a bucket of clean water. She did as she was told and quickly returned to the cottage with the fresh water, emptied it into the huge cauldron hanging over the fire and, hearing a moan coming from the curtained off area of the room, went to see if she could help Miriam.

On the bed lay a middle-aged woman in the final stages of labor. The distended mound of her abdomen writhed with the child's effort to be born. Sweat streamed from her face and body, although it was a cool day. Her eyes had a fearful, wild look. She glared up at Tempest, hatred radiating from her in waves as she raised her hand to make the ancient sign of protection from evil.

Tempest stepped back, turning pale.

"Nay!" screamed the woman. "I will not have her here when my babe comes into the world." She strained mightily and shrieked as the pain tore through her body.

"Check the water," muttered Miriam, motioning Tempest to leave. "I will call you when the babe is come."

"I will not have that demon sp.a.w.n here," the woman screamed. "She is a witch. She will steal my child's soul."

"I would never harm your baby," Tempest retorted. "If I were truly a witch, I would turn you into a toad as ugly as your words. And besides-"

"Tempest Sanct Joliet!" Miriam was angrier than Tempest had ever seen her. "Leave! This instant!"

As Tempest hurried from the room, the woman screamed and screamed again. Then there was silence. Finally there came the sound of flesh slapping flesh and the tiny wail of a newborn infant.

Tempest wanted to see the new baby but was afraid of what Miriam would do to her if she disobeyed her orders. As she walked to the door, she heard the two women talking softly.

"You have a son, Luene, and he looks perfect.

Congratulations, Jon will be proud. I know how long you have waited for this child. May I call Tempest in to see him and share in your joy? She is, after all, our Lord's daughter." She spoke quietly but with firmness.

Tempest knew well her father's irate reaction to the

treatment she had received from some of his tenants. If word of this incident were to reach his ears, Lord Wendall would, very likely, evict these poor farmers from his lands. He had done so in the past. Tempest could not bear the thought of the tiny babe being homeless and called out to the two women, hoping to forestall any more trouble.

"I will tell Jon about his new son. I am hot and tired from the walk here, so I will wait for you by the creek," she called back as she went out the door.

For a long time, Tempest waited for Miriam beside the creek . She wanted to dangle her feet in the inviting water, but knew it would be too cold at this time of year, so she tucked her knees under her long skirt, pulled them up under her chin and waited patiently. She heard footsteps behind her and spoke quickly.

"I am sorry, Miriam," she said, staring into the water as she spoke. "I should not have said what I did. I have always known about their fear of witches. My red hair only adds to their superst.i.tions. All I wanted to do was help. I am sorry I lost my temper again. I try so hard to be good! I do...I truly do..." Agitated, she pounded her knee with her tiny fist.

"Be not upset, child. You can be no more and no less than the G.o.ds wish." The voice was low and musical.

It was a voice Tempest had never heard before, and she stiffened, then leapt to her feet. As she rose, her foot turned against a stone, and she started to fall toward the icy creek.

Soft, strong hands steadied her as she turned to face her rescuer.

The woman standing before her was exquisite. She was tall and slim, with long, curling, golden-blonde hair. Her eyes were pale, winter-sky blue, set in a face of soft curves and gentle planes. Her skin was golden brown, kissed softly by the summer sun. Hers was a beauty to outlive mortality. She was dressed simply, in a gown of pale green wool, a dark brown, well-patched shawl curled around her shoulders. "I mean you no harm, Tempest." A gentle smile curved her lips. "You looked so lost and alone."

"Who are you?" Tempest asked softly. "What do you want

from me? How do you know my name?"

"My name is Lysira." The voice was like velvet. "I live, at times, in the Great Forest. I too, am a healer. You must never relinquish your G.o.d-given abilities, Tempest. You must accept who, and what, you are. Learn whatever you can now because there will come a time when you will need all your knowledge and courage to survive. Follow your destiny." She looked off into the distance, listening intently. "Your companion will arrive soon. I must be on my way. We shall meet again. Take care, Tempest. Our futures are well bound." She hurried off into the forest and soon disappeared from sight.

For reasons unknown even to herself, Tempest had never spoken to anyone of the meeting with the beautiful Lysira.

Instead she held it closely to her heart and called upon the memory whenever she was lonely or disheartened. She always wondered how the woman had known her name.

The sound of a barking dog brought Tempest quickly back to the present. She hurried into the castle keep, intent upon finding her father, and seeing the accused witch. Hoping, wondering if perhaps this woman would understand, would somehow have answers.

Wendall Sanct Joliet was easily found, seated in the Hall of Judgment where the tenants came with their problems when they could not reach an agreement among themselves. He held court weekly, and his was always the final word on any subject from unfaithful wives or feuds between neighbors, to the more serious crimes committed on his lands.

Tempest's mother, Christiana, was seated beside him, her face grim and unyielding. Castle guards stood stiffly at attention, constantly monitoring the proceedings and the onlookers simultaneously.

Tempest could almost taste the tension in the air. The stink of fear was everywhere, emanating not from the pathetic bundle of rags standing before the lord of the manor, but from the common folk watching the proceedings, taut with antic.i.p.ation.

No one in the room looked directly at the old woman except Lord Wendall. Even Christiana diverted her eyes.

Tempest knew why they would not look at the crone. They could not meet her gaze. To make eye contact with a witch meant she could gain control over a person's soul and could even cause death. Most of the people who worked in the castle had never looked directly at Tempest, her own family and Miriam being the exceptions. Tempest had grown accustomed to this treatment over the years but had always resented it. Her heart went out to the old woman as she pushed her way through the guards to reach her father's side.

"Father," she began softly and reached out to him.

"This does not concern you, my daughter," he replied quietly. "She is an accused witch."

"Were I not the daughter of the castle, could it not be me standing before you?"

Wendall looked at Tempest for a long moment, "Nay, Tempest," he whispered. "I cannot allow it. They are in a surly mood. They could accuse you also, and I would not be able to stop them. I cannot lose you, dearling. You must trust me."

"I do trust you, Father, but..." Tempest thought for a long moment. Aye, she did trust him. She would wait but, if he condemned the old woman, she would have to interfere. She could not allow a helpless woman to be burned as a witch, not if it was within her power to stop it. "Aye, Father," she finally spoke. "I will do as you say."

Relieved by her answer, Wendall glanced around the great hall, hoping no one had overheard them, and was relieved to see all eyes upon the accused witch.

But another heard their whispered conversation. The sorcerer, in his guise as the accused, listened intently. He had met the crone on her way to Windhaven, strangled her, then taken her appearance. He had not tested the witchling for several years and was anxious to check her progress. He rubbed the opal ring on his dirty hand to reinforce the spell he had cast to make him look like the crone and watched as the witchling meekly bowed to her father's wishes.

She is too weak, he thought. 'Twould be too easy. He wanted a challenge. He wanted to enjoy taking her powers.

She had grown into a pa.s.sable looking woman. Mayhap he

would not kill her. Mayhap he would wed her, take her power and keep her to bear his children. Mayhap.

"Woman," Wendall spoke loudly so all could hear. "You have been accused of being a witch. Speak you truly before all who are a.s.sembled here so we may pa.s.s judgment fairly. Are you a witch?"

"I am but an old woman, milord." The sorcerer spoke in a quivering voice. "I live in the woods and mean no harm. I do not understand this. Please do not hurt me."

"We shall not hurt you," said Wendall gently, "if you speak the truth. Are you a witch, as these good people say?"

The sorcerer glanced at the watchers as if in fear. He was looking for Lysira. The b.i.t.c.h always seemed to be around whenever he tried to get close to the witchling. But this time his luck held; she was not here to interfere. He straightened visibly and spoke in a firm, quiet voice. "I live in the deep forest. I collect herbs for healing. I keep to myself and do healings for others if they come to me. Sometimes I fail in what I try to do and, when that happens, I am accused of witchcraft. I have had to move from my home many times in the past because of ignorance. If I am to be called witch because of this, then so be it. I speak the truth, milord."

Tempest leaned forward, listening intently to the woman's words, but recoiled when an appalling odor hit her. G.o.ddess, she smelled terrible-musty, like a pit of deadly adders.

Nevertheless, she did not think the crone to be a witch. She was simply an old woman, wrongfully accused.

The murmuring of the crowd grew louder as Lord Wendall contemplated his decision.

He raised his hand for silence. "There will be no witch- burning this day. 'Tis my judgment that this woman is as she says, nothing more. She shall leave here free and unharmed.

Anyone who disobeys shall be hanged from the turrets as a warning to all who would not heed the words of their lord.

Woman, step forward."

The sorcerer stepped closer to the dais where Lord Wendall and Lady Christiana were seated. He watched with interest through the witch's filmy eyes, but was not afraid. His power

over these paltry mortal beings was absolute. They could do him no harm.

"Woman, you have heard my edict," Wendall said loudly.

"I do not believe you to be a witch, but many of my people do.

We have very few good healers here, and 'tis a sad thing when I have to banish one from my lands. However, for your own safety, I must have you taken away from here. You will be escorted to our boundaries and left. You will not be allowed to return to my kingdom. Is that understood?"

"I hear your words, my lord. Thank you. You are a wise and compa.s.sionate ruler. May you be blessed always." She turned and walked slowly toward the waiting escort.

"Father, I wish to speak to her before she leaves," said Tempest.

"Nay. 'Tis finished. Go to the solar. I shall speak to you later."

The chess game was in progress. The two figures were both staring intently at the pieces. The man looked up and spoke quietly to the woman seated opposite him. "I believe 'tis your move, my dear."

"I know. I am thinking." The woman looked up from her musing. "Mayhap 'tis time to look into the crystal?"

"Nay," he answered after some thought. "It has only been a few years. She is still a child. Perhaps when she is sixteen."

THREE.

Tempest's birthday dawned bright and clear, but cool.

Autumn had finally arrived, and she looked forward to the long- awaited celebration. Eighteen years old and finally a woman.

A soft smile crossed her face. There would be a huge party this eve, with all the neighboring lords and ladies in attendance.

Tempest knew all the eligible males from near and far would be present to look her over, and they would be curious to know if she would be worthy of the bride price.

She removed her sleeping robe and stood in front of her full-length mirror. It had been a gift from her father for her birthday last year. Christiana had complained bitterly about the cost, and Wendall had been forced to buy her an even bigger mirror to keep peace in the family. Tempest loved her gift- except not today.

She looked herself over critically. Her dark auburn hair hung in gentle curls to her waist. "Witch-red." The word came unbidden to her mind. What sane man would want a woman with witch's hair? And if he did want her, would he be a man she could love with all her heart? Tempest had warned her father she would not marry a man she did not love. She had told him she would rather spend her life alone in a shack in the woods than submit to a loveless marriage. He had agreed with her at the time, but would things change when the time actually arrived? Would he choose her a husband who could make his position stronger? After all, her older sister had already made an advantageous marriage. Caroline had been happily wed to a rich powerful duke just last year so her father could keep his word. Wendall had never broken a promise to her, and Tempest hoped with all her heart this would not be the exception.

"Well," she sighed, "I must live with this face and body."

She stared into the mirror a.n.a.lytically. She saw deep, moss- green eyes with long, silky lashes. "They look like the north side of a big old dead tree." She bent closer to the mirror and touched her turned-up nose. "And freckles on my nose. What really beautiful lady has freckles?" She groaned. "And my lips are fat! I look like I am pouting all the time. G.o.ddess, no man will want me. I am too tall and still have baby fat. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are too big. Oh, I am sooo ugly!" she cried softly as the door to her room opened.

Miriam heard Tempest's lament as she entered the room.

"No, sweet baby. You are the most beautiful young lady in the Kingdom, and I will not hear you say otherwise."

"Oh Miriam, you just say that because you love me. I am too tall, and I am fat! Just look. I wish I was as beautiful as my mother. At least she does not have all these ugly freckles! And my hair curls every which way. I can never get it to stay in place. I still look like a child even when I wear it up. What man will want me?" she wailed.

Miriam went to the distraught girl and took her into loving arms, crooning softly. "There will be a man for you, Tempest.

A very special man who will see you as I do. He will see a wonderful, loving woman, and you will be the most important person in his life. Like you, he will be tall and strong, and you will be his equal. Do not ever settle for a mate who is weak and cannot see the great beauty of your soul. 'Twill happen, my dear, 'twill happen. Now 'tis time for you to be dressed. I think your father is getting impatient. Look out your window.

They are opening the fair. Make haste."

"The fair!" Tempest ran to look out her narrow tower window. "I had forgotten all about the fair! Oh, hurry! Help me dress; I am all thumbs this day. Miriam, I love you so much.