Solstice at Stonewylde (2 page)

Magus wheeled Nightwing around and trotted down one of the lanes that radiated away from the Village Green like spokes of a web. He’d already visited three of the families involved, and had one more call to make this morning. Maizie saw the tall figure of Magus through a window and hurriedly opened her door. She’d been worried sick since receiving a message after the Hunter’s Moon informing her that he was keeping Yul up at the Hall for a few days, following an incident with Sylvie at Mooncliffe. The implication was that her son had committed a serious misdemeanour. Maizie’s heart had sunk at this news, and she now greeted Magus with some trepidation. He dwarfed the cottage parlour, his head brushing the beams as he gazed down at the anxious woman before him.

Despite having borne seven children and enduring a brute of a husband, he still recognised the spark that had so attracted him all those years ago. Those dark curls and slanted grey eyes, the rosy cheeks that burned now with emotion, just as they’d once done for entirely different reasons. Her dimples were the same, and her proud chin. He shook his head to dispel the memories and sat down in an armchair, indicating that she too should sit. A little girl came running in from the kitchen, freezing when she saw the grand figure of the master of Stonewylde seated unexpectedly in her home.

‘Blessings!’ he smiled, holding out a welcoming hand to her. Shyly she approached and he lifted her onto his lap. He gazed down at her pointed little face and gently ruffled her mass of black curls.

‘She’s so like you, Maizie,’ he said, his dark eyes soft. ‘Not in Nursery yet? Or do you like to keep her at home with you?’

‘She won’t be two till Imbolc, sir,’ replied Maizie. ‘Time enough then for Nursery.’

‘Nearly two years? Doesn’t time fly?’

‘Like a crow, straight and true. Have you come to tell me, sir, what’s happened to Yul?’

‘No, Maizie. I wished to speak to you about your husband. I think—’

‘But what about my boy, sir? When will he be coming home?’

‘I’m keeping him at the Hall for a little longer.’

‘I don’t wish to be disrespectful, sir, but last time you had Yul up at the Hall you nearly killed him. Whatever he’s done, surely he don’t deserve that?’

Magus looked deep into her eyes and remembered how he’d once felt about this woman, only a girl then. There’d been women and girls aplenty, but she’d always been different. She was by his side all through that long year when he’d worked himself to the bone, struggling to rescue Stonewylde from the slough of neglect that was the legacy of his father, uncle and grandfather. Three bad masters in a row, and the very fabric of Stonewylde almost torn apart by their laziness and greed. It was a daunting task for the young, idealistic man, who’d put his burgeoning career in the Outside World on hold to return home and put things to rights.

Maizie had been his saviour that year, her vivacity, prettiness and uncomplicated sense of fun the only light in those dark days of endless labour and exhaustion. She’d been a complete contrast to the smart, sophisticated women he’d left behind in London – Maizie was pure Stonewylde, just when he’d discovered his obsessive love for the vast country estate. She’d sparkled brightly, his one ray of sunlight right up until the fateful Winter Solstice when everything had fallen apart so cataclysmically in the Stone Circle. He sighed and smiled sadly at her.

‘Now, Maizie, you must trust me on this. We both know that Yul is wilful, disobedient and a complete troublemaker. That’s why poor Alwyn had such a difficult time with him over the
years. It can’t have been easy bringing up a son as rebellious as Yul.’

Maizie regarded him steadily, also remembering the past. She’d once loved this man so desperately and she was sure that part of her always would. She took a deep breath.

‘We both know, sir, that Yul is no son of Alwyn’s. Now that the man’s ill and not likely to recover, we can speak openly. After all this time, surely you can acknowledge the boy as your own.’

There was silence in the small parlour. Magus’s black eyes glittered dangerously. He tapped his whip against his boot, mouth tight with displeasure.

‘I thought we’d agreed never to discuss this? The matter was dealt with years ago. You were already pregnant at that Moon Fullness up at Mooncliffe and if I’d realised, I’d never have taken you up there that night, nor carried on with you all summer and autumn. I don’t make love to women already pregnant by another man. You deceived me, Maizie, and you even admitted it just before your handfasting to Alwyn.’

She gave him a hard stare, then looked away, her cheeks burning fiercely.

‘I was
not
pregnant and you know it! Anything I admitted was because ‘twas forced out of me. I’d never lain with anyone other than you, not till after Yul was born. You and I both know that night of the Blue Moon was my first time, and we both know right enough why you’ve denied Yul all these years. But Mother Heggy’s a mad old biddy and you should never have taken heed of her foolish words.’

‘It was nothing to do with that, Maizie.’

‘You know ‘twas! You were happy enough about me carrying your baby up until then! But because of that stupid rant, you condemned me to years of misery with Alwyn, and condemned your own son to suffering beyond belief!’

‘You’re wrong, Maizie. I—’

‘No I’m not! All these long years I’ve kept quiet! All these years I’ve held my tongue and stood by silently, scared silly of Alwyn and his fists. And of you. You know how I’ve tried to talk to you
about it, asked you to put the terrible wrongs right, but always it were the same limping excuse from you – Alwyn. But he’s not around no more and at last I can speak plain. Any fool can see Yul’s yours.’

‘Yul’s nothing like me! He has dark hair and grey eyes.’

‘Yes, that’s from me. But he has
your
build and height,
your
way o’ moving and riding,
your
hands and fingernails,
your
eyebrows and cheekbones – I could go on forever. He’s clever like you, determined, quick-witted and so strong-willed. He won’t be told what to do unless he wants to do it – and he has your temper.’

‘Maizie, that describes you too. You’re strong-minded and bright – it’s what I loved about you. All those qualities are from you. And anyway, Yul was born eight months after the Blue Moon up at Mooncliffe. That was our first time together so you must’ve conceived before then.’

‘No! He came a month early! ‘Tis not that unusual! Would I have been up in the cold and dark at the Stone Circle for the Winter Solstice if he’d been due then? I thought I’d another month to go! I was as shocked as anyone when he were born during the ceremony, in the middle of that eclipse, with me squatting on the earth while everyone looked on and Mother Heggy capering about and laying him on the Altar Stone all bloody and screaming. Not the best way of birthing your first child, and not expected neither!’

She stared angrily at Magus, her nostrils flaring and grey eyes flashing. He was reminded forcibly of the boy who now lay like death up in the byre; this was how Yul looked when he was angry. He knew Yul would’ve been a worthy son, someone to groom as his heir, as the future magus. The boy had courage, pride and was a natural leader. He was tough and intelligent and passionate about Stonewylde. But Magus’d been haunted by Mother Heggy’s prophecies ever since Yul’s birth. If he acknowledged Yul as his own, he risked their coming true.
Conceived under a blue moon
,
born under a red one
,
the fruit of his passion. This child would one day rise up with the folk behind him to overthrow him at the place of bones and death
.

Magus had woken in the middle of many a night in cold, sweating panic, haunted by the thought of a child of his growing up at Stonewylde, whose destiny was to destroy him. It was like something from a Greek tragedy and must never be given any credence whatsoever. How could such a beautiful act of love-making with a young girl who’d captured his heart, result in such horror? Maizie had seemed to be his destiny, his true love. Despite the differences in their upbringing, he’d recognised something in her that called to his soul, and in his naivety had thought that love would overcome all. With a pretty, intelligent Village girl by his side, he’d bring Stonewylde back to a golden age of happiness and prosperity. That was his plan and he’d intended to announce it that Imbolc after the baby’s birth, when he would crown Maizie as his Bright Maiden and be handfasted with her. But the terrible events of the Winter Solstice had put paid to that idea. So he told himself that the baby coming a month early was proof of just how wrong a man could be to ever put his trust in a happy-ever-after future with any woman.

Magus shook his head and once more denied Yul’s paternity, hoping as always to thus negate the prophecy. He looked across at the pretty woman before him, his face implacable.

‘I’m sorry, Maizie, but you’re wrong and I’ll be very displeased if you continue to make these false allegations. Yul will remain at the Hall whilst I investigate his latest insubordination. I’ll deal with him as I see fit. I’m the magus and it isn’t for you to question the punishment I choose to administer, so keep your remarks to yourself. I’ll hear no more about this and you’d do well to remember your place.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, lowering her eyes, although her anger remained palpable. She was still so attractive; he’d always preferred women with spirit and Maizie was certainly one of those. She’d never gone soft and fawning, never given in to him and lost her independence. She’d endured the life to which he’d consigned her with stoicism, her pride never allowing her to become anything less than the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He glanced down at the tiny girl sitting
silently in his lap listening to everything being said, and his heart twinged with remorse. She gazed up at him with enormous green eyes that seemed to search his soul. Eyes that looked inside him and knew exactly what dark truths he tried to conceal.

‘Bad man,’ she said clearly. ‘Bad, bad man.’

‘Leveret, come here!’ said Maizie sharply. Magus handed the child over to her mother, who clasped her tightly.

‘Anyway … I came here to speak to you about Alwyn. You know there’s been no improvement since the stroke? He’s still alive but can do nothing for himself and he’s not aware of anything. He’s shrunk to skin and bones and has to be fed through tubes. I wanted to ask if you’d agree to Alwyn entering the Stone Labyrinth this Samhain for the Dance of Death. I think he should, but as his nearest relative it’s your decision. You know the custom – permission can only be granted by the closest member of the family.’

She took a deep breath to calm herself. If there was one thing Maizie had learnt from living with Alwyn all those years, it was self control. She nodded.

‘Yes, I agree he should go. Let the Dark Angel decide – ‘tis the best way.’

‘Good,’ he said, smiling briskly. ‘I’ll arrange for it to be done. Well, I must be off.’

They both rose and he gazed down at her. She stood before him, Leveret on her hip, and his dark eyes softened at the pair of them. He took one of the woman’s hands.

‘Maizie, let’s not spoil things between us now, not after all this time and all that’s happened. You know that you’ve always been special to me. You were such a lovely girl and you’re a fine woman. I wish that—’

She frowned at him and removed her hand from his.

‘Thank you for calling on me, sir. Samhain Blessings to you.’

By mid-morning the next day the heavy mist had lifted, although the day remained overcast and grey. Children ran around the Village excitedly, desperate to get on with the festivities. Every
fire in the Village had been extinguished and everyone must fast until the feast in the evening. The trees encircling the Green had already shed their leaves, victims of a wild and gusty storm that had raged the day after the full moon, and had now taken on their skeletal winter appearance. The remains of the messy rooks’ nests had blown away too in the south-westerly gales and now only the great yew remained clothed in glossy dark-green, its slips looking like the barbs of a bird’s feathers. It was the last day of the pagan year, the day for ending the old. It was the day of death.

In the morning the Samhain drama prepared by the youngsters was performed in the Great Barn. It was a spectacular event, full of dance and music with everyone masked and costumed. Sylvie hadn’t taken part; she was feeling far too weak and she’d missed all the rehearsals anyway. Magus noticed her absence and at mid-day he left the festivities to fetch her from the Hall. She sat now in the jolting cart beside her mother, huddled miserably in her black cloak. This was her first time outside since the night of the Hunter’s Moon over a week ago.

Sylvie hadn’t wanted to come today, but Magus had stormed into their rooms and insisted that she go to the Village immediately to take part in the afternoon and evening ceremonies. He’d been furious when she’d refused. Miranda hadn’t batted an eyelid when he’d slapped Sylvie hard, shouting at her and throwing clothes at her to put on. Her mother had merely looked on as he dragged her, crying and struggling, out of the rooms and downstairs. He’d bundled her roughly towards the waiting horse and cart, his one concession to her weakness.

‘Behave yourself, girl!’ he’d hissed menacingly into her face, dumping her on the seat in the back of the cart. ‘I told you yesterday you’d take part in the festival and so you shall. There’s nothing wrong with you so snap out of it and stop being pathetic!’