Whistle Down the Wind (Mystic Moon) (23 page)

He took one
step away from her, the sleeve of his shirt brushing against the bodice of her
gown. His gaze flickered down and his expression grew warm. “I love you as a
man loves a woman, and that includes everything you are—sweet, mysterious, and
sinfully decadent when you are in my bed. Can this not be enough for us?”

Catlin
sighed. Could it be enough? Especially when Griffin learned her powers made her
more than a talented healer? What would his words mean when he discovered she
was a powerful witch in control of storms and tempests?

She stepped
back into his arms, promising herself she would enjoy every precious moment of
her time with him. They would share long hours of coupling and rich moments of
joy and pleasure. She knew in her heart this time would eventually come to an
end, and she shuddered at the thought of the day he’d back away from her in
denial. It would happen, for she knew no
sophor
was capable of
understanding the demands placed upon her by the blood running through her
veins. Someday Griffin would see what she truly was.

This fear
kept her from saying the words in her heart. He would turn from her, for there
was as much curse as gift when a
sophor
loved a Glyndwr witch.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“There is no
sign of improvement in the other women.” Griffin drew his hand through his dark
curling locks of hair. “Yet no others have taken ill, a fact I find most
disturbing.”

He folded
his arms across his chest, vexation showing in the deep furrow between his eyes
and the thinning of his lips. “Is there anything more you can do for them?”

She
hesitated. There was more, but to confess the truth could jeopardize everything
that had passed between them. He had proclaimed his love for her with honesty
and expected the same kind of candid truth from her.

She enjoyed
the way they’d worked together these past few days, moving all of the sick
women into her cabin. He remained by her side as she nursed them, making cups
of herbal tea, wiping down their fevered brows, and helping bathe them in a
mixture of water, white vinegar, and rosemary. They were both exhausted, but
few others on board volunteered to help. Everyone was too afraid this illness
could be the killer plague.

It wasn’t
the Black Death. While the women did not improve, neither did they grow more
feverish or develop the ugly bubo, the plague sore that was a clear signal of
the disease. They thrashed about, whimpered in pain, but got no better or
worse. Catlin had seen bewitching. This was a spell, not a contagion.

How could
she explain to Griffin without sounding like a dunderhead? He knew she was
capable of great healing, but did he suspect she was also capable of immense
magic? She had to explain it in a way he could not only understand, but accept.

“I could try
the means I used on Lord Cranbourne, calling upon my healing powers.”

He raised an
eyebrow in her direction. “Do you think it could work?”

She
shrugged. “I would not offer unless I thought it could bring them out of their
stupor. But I cannot say for sure it will heal them.”

Griffin
assessed the women stretched upon pallets spread across the floor of her
cabin.  “But we must be careful. If others thought you were using—” He paused
“—unusual means to heal, it could create rumors and gossip.”

She nodded.
“The crew poses a serious problem, for seamen are the most fearful and
superstitious lot I’ve ever encountered.”

Griffin
folded his thickly muscled arms in front of him and leaned back against the
door. With the cramped quarters in her tiny cabin, scarce a place existed to
sit.

“What do you
need?” He asked without a moment’s pause.

Relief swept
through Catlin. She’d thought this morning that the only help she could provide
would be a concoction to make the afflicted women sleep more soundly. With
Griffin’s help, she’d release them from the spell Lord Sheffield had cast upon
them.

Catlin stood
as close to the center of the cabin as possible. She held her sapphire pendant
at arm’s length, circling the room while chanting the ancient spell for
uncrossing black magic. The old language rolled off her tongue, and speaking
the words out loud energized her.

Candles flared
at the cardinal points, each inscribed with the sigil for healing.

Catlin
finished circling the room and held her hands above her head to begin the
invocation to call her
sylphs
.

She called
to her elemental spirits, asking for assistance. Several miniature glowing
lights appeared above her head.

The
bargain
? The chirping
voices of the
sylphs
argued amongst themselves.

We want you
to send the man to Dream Time, for we should like to play with him.

I will not,
Catlin answered indignantly, and you all know better than to ask such a thing!

More
twittering and chirping ensued, and finally one voice rose above all the
others, silencing the cacophony.

A cone of
sugar, two silver spoons, a bag of goose down, and a piece of red velvet fabric
. Catlin sniffed at the high cost,
but she knew the
sylphs
could demand even more payment for helping her
fight the ugly darkness cast upon the women lying in the cabin. She was in no
position to argue

She nodded
and clapped her hands three times to seal the bargain.

Catlin
picked up her willow wand and touched each sick woman before stooping to place
a small purple amethyst stone on each of their chests. Next, she stepped to the
center of the cabin where she’d cleared a space and placed her altar. She’d
drawn a pentagram on the floor. Her copper washing bowl filled with water, a
saucer of salt, a few peacock feathers, a stem of dried lavender, and a large
amethyst geode that glowed in the candlelight sat in significant positions.

The
twinkling lights of her
sylphs
glimmered purple, generating the healing
energy to repulse the evil bewitchment.

“When I give
you the signal,” she said to Griffin, “open the door quickly.”

She
sprinkled salt in the water, then picked up one of the peacock feathers. She
dipped it into the liquid and showered the women. Each of them had been moved
to a cardinal point.

“With this
gift from the sea, I wash evil from your flesh, from your heart, and from your
spirit.”

She returned
to the altar and picked up the geode and scooped a handful of a fine powder of
burned nettles and pine from a bowl.

“With this
gift from the earth, I cleanse evil from your flesh, from your heart, and from
your spirit.”

She shook
some of the powder from her fist to dust each woman’s face lightly.

Bending
forward, she picked up one of the candles. With a sweeping movement she drew
the candle from head to toe of each woman, careful not to drip wax upon them.

“With this
gift from the sun, I cleanse evil from your flesh, from your heart and from
your spirit.”

After
repeating this sequence three times to invoke the guardian spirits, she paused
to take a deep breath. Finally she bent to the altar to gather the sprig of
lavender. She held the dry branch to the candle, and within moments it flamed,
filling the room with its purifying scent.

Catlin held
the glowing herb above each woman.

“With this
gift from the sky, I cleanse evil from your flesh, from your heart and from
your spirit.”

Without
bending down, she tossed the smoldering herb into the copper pot, and quickly
turned in a circle three times before stopping to clap her hands.

Griffin
pulled the scarred oak door open to a slit. Within moments a sharp, whistling
wind snaked down the ladder leading to the upper deck and circled the room.

The flames
of the candles danced as the wind shrieked. The curtains hanging on the side of
the bunk fluttered, clinging to the bars above like a sailor clinging to the
rail in a stormy sea.

The purple
glow from the elemental
sylphs
grew brighter, and before long the cabin
seemed bathed in an ethereal light reflected in every corner.

As Catlin
started the ancient chant to counter the evil enchantment, each one of the
victims grew restless, mumbling and tossing about on their pallets, begging her
to stop.

Catlin
ignored their pitiful cries, for it was the black magic begging her to stop,
not the afflicted women.

The wind
howled as Catlin closed her eyes, raised her arms straight up, and called upon
her element to come to her aid for help and healing.

“Capture the
evil from these innocent victims. Carry it upon your wings of mercy, and drown
it in the depths of the sea.”

Lowering her
arms, she once again turned in a circle and ended her invocation with three
more quick claps.

“As I have
said, so shall it be.”

Scuffling
sounded at the door, but Catlin ignored it and took a deep cleansing breath.
She prepared to assist the women scattered about the room as they regained
consciousness.

Instead,
when she opened her eyes she found Griffin pinned to the floor by one of the
sailors.

“I told you
the woman was a witch, and here you have your proof.” Lord Sheffield pushed his
way into the room behind the seaman.

“See, there
is black magic here. She curses these women and makes them sick for her own
evil purposes.”

Catlin's
temper flared to life. It took all of her self-control not to fling a spell at
the man and watch him burn like a cinder in the hearth. The man was as much a
criminal as any highwayman riding the roads or murderer stalking the streets of
London. It made her blood boil to hear him spewing lies.

“I was
trying to help these women, not harm them.” She clenched her fists.

Griffin
struggled against the man holding him down. “I’m witness to her actions, and I
assure you Miss Glyndwr would never hurt anyone.”

Lord
Sheffield laughed, the sound breaking brittle and harsh in the air. “Oh, I’m
sure you are willing to serve as her witness, for ’tis well known you swive the
wench whenever given the chance.”

The crewman
laughed at the crude remark, his dark eyes almost disappearing in the fat
ugliness of his face.

Griffin
punched the man and knocked him off balance momentarily. He lunged toward Lord
Sheffield, but the crewman knocked him to the floor again with a kick.

Another
crewman joined the fracas, and before long, blood covered Griffin’s face where
their fists had pummeled him into submission.

A dark rage
stormed through Catlin. Griffin was suffering a beating to protect her. She
would punish these men, most especially Lord Sheffield for this outrage.

The fat ugly
crewman pulled out a short knife and held it to Griffin’s chest. “If ya move
again, matey, I’ll carve ye up like the Christmas goose.”

“Leave him
alone.” Catlin’s command came out as a scratchy whisper. The blood flowing from
Griffin’s wounds terrified her. Her hands were shaking, but she needed to
maintain control if she was going to help the man she loved.

“Grab her
and tie her hands, for she will use a spell upon you if you leave her free,”
Lord Sheffield warned.

The other
crewman lunged toward her, and the metallic taste of fear swirled upon Catlin’s
tongue. If they bound her hands and threw her into the brig, she’d never see
Griffin again.

She held up
one hand and drew a protective sigil in air. The symbol sizzled in an outline
of flame, and the crewman backed away from her. His face was white and his eyes
as wide and round as the full moon.

“Take her, I
order you!” Lord Sheffield screamed.

“Why does he
command you to seize me and not do so himself?” Catlin kept her voice low and
melodic. “Is it because he knows the full extent of my powers and wishes to
protect his own life while putting yours in peril?”

“Hear her
confession.” Lord Sheffield pounced upon her words. “I dare not touch her
because she has already tried to ensnare me with her wicked magic. She came to
my room and attempted to place an enchantment upon me.” 

The wind had
died to a thin keening sound. Catlin’s circle of power was still in full force.
She raised her arms and uttered a phrase in the ancient language. Immediately
the ship rose up in the water, as if pushed by a giant hand. The sound of the
wind grew louder, rising from a squall to a howling tempest.

The first
Mate peered over Lord Sheffield’s shoulder at her, his terror obvious.

“I have
called down the wind for protection, and if you continue to threaten me, I
shall sink this ship to the depths of the sea.”

Lord
Sheffield screamed a string of obscenities.

“You will
not sacrifice all these innocent lives.” He sneered. “Your precious creed would
never allow it!”

The ship
twisted to the side, and the men grabbed the door to remain standing. The
tempest hurled the ship from one giant wave to another. Men on the upper decks
shouted as they tried to pull down the canvas sails.

“I will not
be delivered into your hands, Dark Magician, you can count on that. I prefer
death to being a part of your foul design.” Her
sylphs
danced around
her, their light now pulsing with an angry red.

The first
Mate turned and started down the hallway. “Leave be, we need all hands on deck
to bring the sheets down.”

The two
crewmen released Griffin, and he slumped to the floor. Catlin wanted to rush to
his side, but Lord Sheffield still held his ground at the door.

The crewmen
rushed by him, ignoring demands that they stay in the cabin and lash Catlin’s
hands. The nobleman’s face was a blazing scarlet mask.

The ship was
tossed again and the earl lost his footing, skittering backwards across the
hallway. He hit the wall with an angry smack.

Catlin put
up both hands, grasped at the deep power rising from within her, and pushed.
The huge wooden door slammed shut. Lord Sheffield wailed in furious protest on
the other side.