WitchofArundaleHall (11 page)

“That Mariah was having an affair with Mr. Taylor.” Perry
put it so simply. Yet it hadn’t seemed simple at all.

“Mariah accused me of seducing Mr. Taylor.” She was dry-eyed
now and calm. “My brother was forced to choose between his wife and his sister.
He sent me to Lady North.” When she took a deep breath she realized she felt
looser, less bound.

Perry held her and kissed her temple. “I’m sure Lady North
was not as cruel to a small girl as she had been to Joshua and myself.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I know very little of the years
you were with her.”

Against her hair she felt the muscles of Perry’s jaw clench.
“With Joshua she burdened him with responsibility yet undermined his
confidence. Nothing Joshua did was enough.” His voice was quiet and sad. “I was
less than nothing. I was too much like my father and, so she said, too
forward.” He shifted as if impatient. “Her cruelty was deliberate. But she was
never able to divide Joshua from me, though she tried. Once she determined that
we would stand together, she made it clear she disliked us both.”

She twisted around to stare at him. “But you were children.”
For God’s sake, Perry had been nine.

“We were worse than wild dogs to her. Had it not been for
Jaimison’s father, she might have done away with us.” Perry pressed her head to
his shoulder. “I assume she did not feel the same about you.”

Sarah snorted. “She told me I was special and destined for
greatness. I was arrogant enough to believe her.” What a fool she’d been. She’d
viewed Lady North as a motherly figure, kind and benevolent. “It wasn’t until I
came to Arundale Hall that I realized that she wasn’t being kind.” Elizabeth
had been the kind of mother Sarah had longed for. Close in age, she and Sarah
had been more like sisters than employer and maid. It had been Elizabeth who
had showed Sarah what motherhood should be. The way Elizabeth had loved her
cousin Gerry and taken care of the estate when Joshua had abandoned her had
been an example Sarah absorbed.

“Elizabeth will be a wonderful mother,” Perry said. “And so
will you.”

“Perry, I am destined to die.” She turned and held his
stare. “I was born to do it. It’s what is needed from me.”

“Not by me,” he said firmly. “We will view the scrolls and
face what we find together. Whatever we decide to do, Sarah, you will not have
to do it alone.”

For a moment she could only stare at him, take in his
handsome features, so determined, so sure. Then she reached for him and pressed
her lips to his.

Surprised, Perry was frozen, but only for a moment. Sarah
had never initiated their intimacy and it was a gift. No matter what she said,
she loved him. He felt it vibrate through her as he cupped her face to deepen
their kiss.

He dropped the brush and pressed her onto her back without
breaking the contact between them. She was blissfully naked, warm and his. But
he wasn’t going to rush this. He’d taken her violently against a tree twice and
he wanted this time to be slow, agonizingly slow.

When he broke their kiss she protested, a small whimper that
made his cock as hard as a rock. He rose to his feet and, before she had a
chance to move, lifted her from the floor into his arms. Two steps and he stood
beside their bed.

Their bed.

He placed her on the soft mattress and remained standing
between her legs, which dangled off the end. Her hands roamed over his belly,
his hips and his upper thighs, driving him to distraction. When he cupped her
face to hold her gaze, she trembled. “You once worried that I only wanted your
body and not your mind or your soul.”

She blinked and stared at him. Then she licked her lips and
nodded. “I’m still afraid,” she whispered.

Leaning down, he brushed her lips with his. “I will never
leave you, Sarah. I failed once but I won’t fail again.”

She swallowed. “You can’t know that.”

“I swear it.” From his grave, no matter what happened, he
would be by her side.

He didn’t move a muscle as she searched his gaze, hope and
fear waging a war that showed on her face. Her hands shook but she reached up
and placed them on either side of his head, closing the circle between them.

The wolf inside howled in triumph as he pressed her back on
the bed, his lips close to hers. She closed the distance and kissed him.

He was lost.

All thoughts of being gentle and slow flew out the window
when her lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around her and thrust his tongue
into her mouth, demanding her response. She moaned and surrendered.

When he broke the kiss she tightened her grip but he only
grinned at her. “Patience, love.”

She arched her back and her feminine core slid over his hard
length. He placed his hands on her thighs and held her down. “Hold still. Don’t
move.”

She froze and he traveled down her body, his mouth filled
with the taste of her. Her breasts quivered as he sucked on her nipples, using
his teeth to add pain to the pleasure. He could spend hours in the sweet valley
between her tits.

He wanted to taste her sweet honey, the scent of it flooding
his senses. The wolf growled beneath the skin and he dove between her legs,
finesse the last thing on his mind. He groaned when her warm cream dripped over
his tongue. He wanted her insane with need and he used every technique he had
to drive her over the edge.

Her cries of pleasure made him clench his hands on her
thighs. God, he wanted her and he wanted her now. Slow. Slow and easy. He
reined in his desperate need to drive her to another orgasm.

“Perry,” she screamed. “Please.” Her voice was hoarse.

He lifted his head and kissed his way up her body to her
mouth. “Please what?”

Her eyes widened and she squirmed beneath him. “Take me,
love me. Please.” The last word was a frantic shout.

He held her gaze. “How, Sarah? Say it.”

She tossed her head back and forth. “Please,” she whimpered.

With gritted teeth he dipped the head of his cock into the
entrance of her wet pussy, but only partially. Then he pulled out and pressed
his cock against her clitoris. She wrapped her legs around him like a vine and
thrust her hips toward him. He avoided her and held her hands away from him
with his. “Beg me for it, love. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you inside me. I want to feel you come inside me.” She
sobbed when he thrust his hips and his cock once again inside her entrance, but
it was a shallow movement, giving her only a taste.

He withheld his hard length from her, only the head inside
her, and demanded her attention. “You know what to call me,” he said sternly.

She lifted her hips and drove him deeper inside her. “Master.
Master. Master,” she chanted.

They were both crazy, his hips working toward blissful
friction. She strained against his hands and he let them go, wanting to grip
her hair as he drove inside her. She scratched his back and tensed as she
screamed her release.

For an instant he reveled in the sensation of her cream
surrounding him and then he could hold on no longer. He shouted as he exploded,
filling her, surrounded by her. It was messy and uncoordinated, passionate. This
was love. Not the counterfeit he’d been given in his past. This. She wouldn’t
say the words, couldn’t let him say them to her, but she couldn’t deny what
they were to each other.

He gathered her closer and kissed her gently. Still embedded
in her, he refused to break the connection, wanting to stay inside her forever.

She stroked his hair and his shoulders, her hands shaking. “Perry,”
she whispered when he let her breathe for a moment.

It was in her gaze, the way she ran her fingers over his
eyebrows, in the catch of her voice. She loved him.

And when they both slept, his softened cock nestled against
her, he prayed he wouldn’t doubt it again.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to move?” Sarah frowned at
Jaimison as he gingerly sat down at the breakfast table.

“Well enough, miss.” His voice was curt and short. Sarah
shot a glance at Perry, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“We will not require your services for a few days, Jaimison.
Please don’t push yourself.” She could tell by the pallor of his face that he
was not fully recovered.

“No, miss. I will go with you to the monastery.”

She recognized that tone. Nothing would dissuade him. She
sighed and focused on her husband.

He looked remarkably smug and content, which she knew was
due to the night before. She couldn’t keep the tiny smile from her lips as she
remembered how he’d woken her twice in the night and demanded more. The smile
died as she remembered their task for the day. The scrolls.

The copies Lady North had revealed had been faded and poor. What
condition would the originals be in? The implications stated in the copies were
bad enough. The ones at the monastery could be worse. Yet she was determined to
do it, if for no other reason than because Lady North did not wish it.

She almost jumped when Perry’s hand closed over hers. His
sympathetic expression made her heart melt. He stroked her hand with his thumb.
“It will be as it should be, Sarah. Don’t fret.”

What could she say? She rose from the table and the men rose
with her. “Shall we go?”

Perry still had hold of her hand and he pulled her closer
until he could wrap his arm around her and brush her lips with his.

They walked to the monastery from the inn and Jaimison’s
gaze swerved right and left, his watchfulness a comfort. Perry kept her arm and
they kept their pace slow to accommodate Jaimison’s injuries. The town of
Bayeux was a typical French port town, with shops that carried exotic items
such as Indian spices and silk from China as well as local wines and perfumes.

Sarah reflected that she hadn’t felt at home in England,
always aware that she was a product of a very un-English arrangement, but she
didn’t feel at home here in France either. The only place she’d felt safe was
in Perry’s arms.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “When this is over,
how do you feel about Jamaica?”

She stumbled but recovered quickly. “Jamaica?”

He squeezed her hand on his arm. “Yes. I think once we’re
finished with this business we could start over there. Joshua still has his
place out there.” His voice sounded so confident, as if what they faced were an
inconvenient visit by annoying relatives or a tricky legal matter. “We don’t
have to continue in the rum business, though it’s lucrative.”

“What business do you suggest?” She decided to join in. It
was impossible, a fantasy, but she wanted to indulge them both.

“I have always wanted to grow coffee beans,” he said, and
Sarah glanced at him, surprised.

“I know very little about coffee,” she admitted. “Is there
much demand for it?”

Perry smiled. “Not terribly. Production has fallen in
Jamaica since the emancipation there. But I have a friend who spent several
years on a coffee plantation on Martinique. He was convinced he could make it
out there. I think, with Antoine in charge, we could make it pay.”

It was a beautiful thought. Jamaica sounded exotic and
exciting. For a brief moment she contemplated a future.

“Here we are,” Perry announced as they reached the Bayeux
Monastery.

She shook her head. It was all a dream that would never come
true. The sooner she faced her fate, the better.

The bishop had been expecting them and rushed down the long
corridor with quick, mincing steps. “Welcome, welcome,” he said with a wide
smile.

When he spotted Sarah he stopped dead. He was an older man
with the pallor typical of a man who stays indoors. He did not have the massive
girth of a greedy priest but resembled a man who fasted regularly. Sarah was
impressed by his alert blue eyes and his strong, square jawline. His hair was
gray and he was balding on top but he exuded energy and competence.

In his frozen state he seemed shocked, and that didn’t seem
like an easy thing to do. He shook his head sharply and stepped closer to her. “The
resemblance is uncanny,” he murmured.

“Your Grace?” Perry sidled closer to Sarah, protecting her.

“A thousand pardons, sir,” the man said, his gaze never
leaving Sarah’s face. “There is a portrait—” He stopped abruptly and frowned. “No,
you’d best see for yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re here to see the
scrolls, of course.”

Sarah barely restrained the start of fear that shot through
her. She hoped she remained impassive but raised her eyebrows. “Scrolls?”

Perry smoothly intervened. “We had heard there were family
histories here,” he said. “My wife is distantly related to the de Busseins.”

Those intelligent, bright eyes now focused on Perry. “You
must be a descendant of DeFalk, no doubt.” The bishop nodded and clapped his hands,
seemingly agitated. “That explains much. Yes. Yes, you must come with me.”

He whirled around and strode back down the corridor with
purpose. Perry glanced at Sarah, a silent question in his gaze. They both
turned to Jaimison.

“Find out where that wolf has gone,” Perry said to Jaimison.
“And be careful.” He took Sarah’s arm. She nodded and they followed the priest.

The monastery was a maze, corridors turning and twisting in
a crooked fashion. The priest said nothing as he led them to a huge wooden door
with two torches on either side. He removed one and handed it to Perry. Then he
crossed to a small chest on a table and retrieved a long, stiff wick. He lit
the wick by placing it in the fire that roared in the next room. When he lit
Perry’s torch he glanced at them both. “I am one in a long line of keepers of
the histories here in Bayeux. Many have forgotten and the stories have turned
to legend. Come with me.”

He led them into a darkened stairway that led down under the
monastery. The walls were covered with tapestries, very old tapestries. Sarah
stared at the wall coverings and wondered who the people in them might be.

“Many come to see the tapestry of William the Conqueror,”
the bishop said as he quickly negotiated the steps. “But the tapestries here are
as old and much more interesting. The problem is that they are unpopular.” He
shot an amused glance at Sarah. “My predecessors rescued them from destruction
and they are kept here.”

“What are they about?” Perry asked.

“They are about a family of witches whose magic was accepted
as commonplace for many years.” The priest stopped and shone his torch on one
of them. “This one is the crowning of Charlemagne with Isabelle D’Insigny, who
weaved a binding spell unifying France.” He stepped down three steps and showed
another. “And this is the day that Joan of Arc approached the court of Dauphin
Charles with Anna D’Insigny beside her.”

Sarah peered at this distant relative. “D’Insigny?” She met
the bishop’s keen stare. “The name remains the same?”

“Once a descendent exhibits the power, regardless of her
father’s name or her husband’s, she is a D’Insigny.” He turned and resumed his
descent. “It is only recently that they have had to do so in secrecy.”

“What power?” Perry asked bluntly.

“Follow me and I will explain,” the priest said over his
shoulder as he continued down the stone stairs. “I had hoped this would happen
during my term but I cannot believe my good fortune.”

“I am glad it is good fortune for someone,” Sarah said
bitterly.

The bishop stopped dead and peered up at her. “Oh, you
mustn’t feel that way,” he implored. “The D’Insigny name is a blessed thing.”

He turned back to his energetic foray deep into the bowels
of the monastery. Sarah was grateful for Perry’s hand entwined with hers as
they followed this strange bishop. More tapestries, more stairs and more twists
and turns seemed to go on forever.

Suddenly the narrow corridor opened into a huge space, like
a cathedral of stone. The bishop lit one torch and it touched off others that
lit the room in a blaze. Paintings hung on the smooth, gray rock walls. The
floor was a polished black.

A large stone table ran the width of the hall and on either
side were bookcases that reached to the high ceiling. In every nook there were
scrolls. Thousands of them.

“The Bayeux Monastery has hidden these scraps of knowledge
that many believed lost to time.” The bishop sighed. “We must be vigilant and
show only a select few these catacombs. You see, there are many secrets here
that the world would not accept.”

“What kind of secrets?” Perry asked.

“Well, the existence of witches, for one,” the bishop
answered. “The Catholic Church has a vendetta against those who follow the
precepts of our early ancestors. Contrary to popular belief, witches are not
evil malefactors bent on human destruction. Often they are healers, but
occasionally they make mistakes.” His intense gaze focused on Perry. “For
example, Wisteria D’Insigny. The woman responsible for the DeFalk curse.”

Sarah shot Perry a concerned glance but Perry only raised
his eyebrows. “Oh? And what curse is this?”

The bishop made an impatient slash with his hand. “Your time
is short. I know what you are. I know that you are a wolf and a man, that you
have Claimed this woman as your mate.” His sharp, assessing stare swerved to Sarah.
“It would have been easier if you had not allowed the Claiming to occur.”

Perry broke in. “Another wished to steal her from me and
Claim her for himself. One who was paid by an enemy of mine.”

The priest nodded grimly. “I see.” He strode toward the scrolls.
“Here are the three regarding breaking the curse. You read Latin, my dear?”

Sarah nodded and came closer to the table as the priest laid
out the ancient scrolls. “These are from the time of William the Conqueror?”

The priest nodded. “The last one is dated 1066, the year
that William became King of England and the first son of the cursed DeFalk
family joined the conqueror’s court.”

The story of the curse’s beginnings were not depicted in the
writings. Only the results were documented. “Who wrote them?” Sarah asked.

“The Bishop of Bayeux at the time was a…friend of the
participants.” The priest seemed uncomfortable.

“A friend,” Perry repeated flatly.

The priest sighed. “It was rumored that the Bishop Flauviet
was in love with Wisteria D’Insigny, the witch who implemented the curse.”

“Here it is,” Sarah said, and pointed to the section she’d
been searching for.

“Read it aloud,” Perry ordered.

“
D’Insigny blood hath bound the curse. Only D’Insigny
blood can break it. The curse was made in sin and lust, in fear and agony. The
remedy must come from an innocent heart. No marked woman can undo the curse
without a sacrifice of blood. No male issue can end the curse, since it is the
invading man who created the curse. A wicked circle, an evil coven and
unnatural connection is the only way to break the tie of the D’Insigny blood. Beware
the lustful heart, for death is the only portion for those who sin. The DeFalk
curse will survive three generations after the sacrifice. So sayeth the one who
has cursed them.

The designated heir of the D’Insigny power must not
defile herself with the sinful DeFalk wolf. Any child born of this evil union
will be dead before its fifth year. Grief and despair are the gifts to the
unworthy. The power will rise every two hundred years and the blood heir may
gather those wicked twelve to call upon the dead to retract the curse. The dead
will not listen and the blood heir will die. Such is God’s will.
”

Sarah’s voice failed her on the last words. What did it all
mean? A wicked circle? An evil coven? Unnatural connection? How was she to
decipher it?

“It is a puzzle,” the bishop said. “I am afraid that Bishop
Flauviet had no interest in breaking the curse.”

“It is clear that the witch he loved wanted this passed on,
but I think the bishop deliberately clouded the meaning,” Sarah said, and her
heart sank. She’d never figure this out.

“There is one who may know,” the bishop said quietly.

He beckoned her toward a painting on the wall. It was a
mirror image of herself, only the clothes were quite different from the
fashions of the day and there was a deep sadness in the woman’s gaze that Sarah
prayed she would not see in her own.

“Wisteria D’Insigny.” The priest stared at the painting. “You
are not the only one who has a striking resemblance to your ancestor.”

Sarah’s heart leaped. “Who? Who else resembles Wisteria?”

“Chantal D’Insigny. She is the spitting image of this
portrait and you two could pass for sisters.” The priest turned away and rolled
up the scrolls. “Her heart has been broken by another DeFalk descendent and the
wheels turn.” He stared at Perry. “The circle continues. Unless someone breaks
it. Someone who is willing to sacrifice all.”

It was as she had thought. Her death was the only thing to
save them.

“What did it mean about the three generations?” Perry asked.

“I can only imagine that the curse has left its mark and it
will take three generations before there are no more DeFalk wolves.” The bishop
peered at Sarah. “But one thing I know for a fact.” He pointed to the faded
words on the parchment. “These words were written by a man tormented by
jealousy and hate. He was in love with Wisteria but that love was not
returned.” His gaze shifted to the portrait. “She only loved the man she’d
cursed.”

“Then why did she curse him?” Sarah asked.

The priest’s gaze never left the picture. “I do not know. Chantal
D’Insigny will know.” Finally he looked at her with a grim expression. “Whatever
you plan to do, you must do it quickly. Others have been here. And one of them
knew the location of these scrolls. I am afraid I was officiating a funeral for
a long-time patron and someone came down here.”