WitchofArundaleHall (13 page)

“Is it unnatural?” Chantal tilted her head. “Who knows what
is natural and what is not? The power Wisteria used was from the Earth itself. Maybe
it is supposed to be.”

“Are you suggesting that we don’t break the curse?” Jaimison
asked her.

“I’m suggesting that you are not aware of what you will do,”
Chantal stated. Abruptly she rose and went back to the desk from which she’d
obtained the letter. After a moment she opened a hidden drawer and removed a
sheaf of papers. “This is something that may clarify it for you.”

Sarah didn’t immediately take the stack of yellowed
manuscripts. Chantal nodded. “It’s all there. And without a priest’s bias and
anger.”

The first page was dated the year 1034.

The entire document was written in a language that looked
like French but Sarah had a difficult time reading it.

Sarah’s head shot up and she stared at Chantal. “This is
Wisteria’s?”

“It is the journal she kept when she was pregnant with
DeFalk’s children. She had twins, did you know?” At Sarah’s shake of her head Chantal
shrugged. “It took me many years to find it, but I finally discovered it hidden
away in stacks of papers in a rich man’s library.” Her smile was faint. “He
doesn’t even know it’s gone. It is not written in Latin. She wrote in the language
of her people.”

Eagerly Sarah perused the pages. Well, ‘pages’ wasn’t quite
the right term since the material was more like cloth than paper. Like the
tapestries, Wisteria had written the words more like painting than writing. The
pages were bound together with thread and contained between two thin boards
covered in leather, as Sarah had seen on some more modern volumes from later
centuries. “Do you know the language?”

“I have learned it, though some of it is still a mystery to
me.” Chantal took the book from her and turned to pages toward the back of the
binding. “She wrote about the curse here. ‘I have cursed him and, unknowingly,
cursed myself and my children. I called on the shade of the Mother who came to
me. To break the curse a willing sacrifice must be made by one marked by blood.’She even wrote the words she invoked. They’re in Celtic and that language I
do know.

‘Dea Matrona take this blood

I curse the man who defiled me

Let him be transformed into the beast, the wolf, to be
hunted

Forever and always

Let it be’”

Even though Chantal spoke the words in English they still
seemed to reverberate around the small drawing room, and Sarah shuddered. “Does
she say anything about how to reverse it?”

“No. But she reflects on the unintended results of the
curse. She realized that she had bound the blood of her unborn children to the
descendants of the DeFalk house. I believe she saw visions.” Chantal’s
attention was on the pages, so she missed it when Sarah’s head snapped up in
surprise.

“She had visions?” Sarah tried to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes, here it is. ‘I have seen through the veil. My line is
bound to the DeFalk beasts, forever enthralled and marked to belong to them. I
have meditated and begged Dea Matrona for an answer to break this bond. The
answer in the bones is the same. The curse can only be broken by a willing
sacrifice of one of my blood. I will not allow it. I have defied the goddess
and tied my soul to this curse. Death and blood shall be my price.’” Chantal
raised her head and stared at Sarah. “You see? You must not do this thing. Wisteria
has imprisoned her essence in this curse. Her hatred will rise up and kill
anyone who tries to end the curse. It has happened before.”

“But why?” Sarah demanded. “She realized that she had bound
her descendants to the Beasts she created. Why wouldn’t she want to end that?”

“She was an unhappy woman, defiled and rejected,” Chantal
said, her face pinched and tight. “In the end I do not think she wanted anyone
to be happy.”

“She says death and blood will be her price,” Sarah pointed
out. “There is a way.”

“No one wants this curse ended more than me,” Chantal said
vehemently. “But what is the point? You will die.”

“I must try.” So much death and agony had come from this
curse of hate. Sarah had to give all she could, all she had been born to do to
end it.

For a moment it seemed that Chantal would object more but
then she nodded. “Then I will help.”

“Milady, there must be another way,” Jaimison protested. “We
can consult men of power or the priests. Do not throw your life away.”

His light-blue eyes were intense and his voice vibrated with
urgency. He spoke on Perry’s behalf, knowing she would leave behind pain and
anguish. But she also knew what she’d seen in her vision. Perry’s child. A boy.
Something she could never give him.

“The scroll was clear, Jaimison. Any child I have will die.”
Sarah stared at the incomprehensible words on the parchment. “Breaking this
curse is as much freeing me from that…reality as anything else.”

“It could be a lie,” Chantal said sharply.

Sarah raised her head with a snap. “It isn’t. I allowed Mr.
Arundale to mark me. It means that I am no longer unclaimed, a requirement to
reverse this spell. I must face the consequences.”

Chantal pressed her lips together briefly. “As you wish. I
will call the Coven.”

“The Coven?” Sarah exchanged a worried glance with Jaimison.

“Eleven women and myself who will summon the spirit of
Wisteria D’Insigny.” Chantal rose and smoothed her skirts. “I should, perhaps,
warn you that there will be something important needed during the ceremony.”

“What might that be?” Sarah asked her.

Chantal did not look at Sarah but focused on Jaimison. “The summoning
of this spirit, interchangeable with the curse, requires sexual energy.”

Jaimison’s eyes narrowed. “I am not sure I understand your
meaning.”

Chantal stepped closer to Jaimison. “Tell me, Mr. Jaimison,
can you bring twelve women to orgasm?”

Appalled, Sarah stood and placed herself between Chantal and
Jaimison. “That is too much to ask.”

“I believe I can,” Jaimison answered, and Sarah whirled
around to face him.

“No, Edward. You mustn’t. If this goes badly…” She couldn’t
finish the thought. Perry would be devastated and Jaimison had to help there.
As part of the ceremony he might come to harm if she failed.

“Nothing will happen to your precious servant,” Chantal
said, seemingly amused.

Sarah turned and glared at the woman. “He is not my servant.
He is a man of business, one who has cared for my husband and for me. He has
been loyal beyond his position and I will not have him risk his life again for
us.”

“And you would not have another woman touch him.” Chantal
said with infuriating calm.

“I would not have him used against his will,” Sarah snapped.
“He has already been injured protecting me. Now should I ask him to place his
body in your hands with no guarantee for his safety?”

Chantal’s gaze sharpened. “He was injured? When?” she asked.

“Only yesterday. He was stabbed with a knife and was lucky
to live to tell about it.” Sarah would not allow Jaimison to risk his life
again.

“Milady,” Jaimison said gently. “As you were born to stop
the curse, I was born to help you.”

“But Edward—”

He shook his head sharply. “It is my birthright. Joshua and
Perry are my family. I take care of my family.”

Chantal stepped around Sarah and placed a hand on the
shoulder that had been injured. “Here?”

Something flared in Jaimison’s gaze and Sarah raised her
eyebrows. So that was it. Jaimison was attracted to Chantal.

Jaimison reached up and gripped Chantal’s hand. “Yes.” He
started to remove Chantal’s touch from his shoulder but the woman resisted.

She spoke eight or ten words as she laid her hand on his
wound. Jaimison hissed in a breath and stared at Chantal as if she’d grown a
third eye. He jerked his arm and took an awkward step back. “What did you do?” His
voice was gruff and low.

Chantal tilted her head and met his stare. “I…healed you.”

“You did more than that,” he said in a low, hard tone.

The woman cleared her throat. “I did not expect—” She
stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. “Will you help the Coven or not?”

Something passed between them and Sarah wondered what they
had both felt in that moment.

Jaimison nodded slowly. “I am at your service, Mistress
D’Insigny.”

Sarah wanted to protest but there was a tension in Jaimison
that she couldn’t understand, some desperate need he exuded that would somehow
be fulfilled by the ceremony.

“Accepted,” Chantal bit out. “I will summon the other
eleven. You will both wait here.”

She swept out of the room, her skirts rustling and her face
flushed.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about?” Sarah
studied Jaimison’s face as he stared after their strange hostess.

“She—” he stopped and frowned. “Something…” His voiced died
and Sarah raised her eyebrows.

“I see.” And in a way Sarah did see. When she and Perry had
shared a bed, each time he touched her there was a spark, a connection. Sarah
couldn’t explain it any more than Jaimison could explain it.

A wry smile relaxed his face. “Do you? Perhaps you do.” He
strode over the window and gazed out at the wild forest that surrounded the
small house. “Though my family has served the Arundale family for generations,
we are not like them. We serve.” His gaze met hers. “I do not know if you
understand what that means but we have often played a much different role for
our Arundale masters than I have for the last twenty years of my life.”

“You are like Derek was to Marcus.” She should have known. Sarah
had watched Jaimison serve Elizabeth Arundale for ten years, to bring Perry
home, to keep the family secret.

“Not exactly,” Jaimison answered. “If I had been perhaps
Perry would have suffered less. My only excuse is that when Joshua left I was
only nineteen years old myself and my father was very ill.” He shrugged his
shoulder and turned back to the window. “I did not understand that I could
serve a male even though my first inclination was women.” Jaimison didn’t look
at her when he asked her, “Remember when Perry begged you to whip him?”

“How did—?” She shook her head. It didn’t matter how
Jaimison knew. If Chantal was to be believed she and Jaimison were going to
know more about each other than either of them wanted to. “I remember.”

“What he really wanted was you. However he could have you. He
was confused and only knew that the lash worked to keep the Beast at bay.” Jaimison
shook his head. “I believed I could only copulate with women.” He gave her a
crooked smile. “I like women. But I like the lash, the pain, to serve a woman
at her feet.” His face changed to a fierce longing. “It isn’t easy to find a
woman who has the strength and desire to wield power over a man like me.”

“Madame de Laval,” Sarah breathed. Now she understood.

“Yes. She taught me what it could be, what I could have.” His
hand curled into a fist. “Of course I never believed it was possible to…have
it.” He glanced at the door that Chantal had exited. “Chantal showed me that I
could.”

Sarah walked across the room and gripped Jaimison’s arm. “I’m
so glad.” She cocked her head to the side. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Jaimison smiled and patted her hand. “Because I want you to
know that whatever happens tonight it is my choice. I want this.”

Sarah nodded and turned away. Now they had to wait. She
wondered if Perry would find them first and try to stop her. She wondered if he
had confronted their mystery wolf. And most of all she wondered if this was her
last day alive.

After his confrontation with the enemy wolf, Perry went back
to the inn and requested a second carriage. It was easy enough to find out
where Ms. Chantal D’Insigny resided and prepare to follow Sarah.

But soon after he arrived he was interrupted. He was at the
window in the lounge on the first floor when he noted a carriage pull in front
of the inn. Thinking it was his requested carriage, he headed out the front
door.

The carriage door swung open and he was stunned to see
someone he knew. Benjamin Isler. “What are you doing here?” He stared at his
friend.

His handsome face immediately changed from marked worry to
congeniality. “Why, I came to help you as I always have, my friend.”

“Help me?” Perry said cautiously.

Ben expressed distaste with a twist of his mouth. “I’m sure
you’re bored with married life by now. After all, you only married the chit to
make an honest woman of her.”

Perry did not return his friend’s smile and studied the man.
Ben was slightly built, wiry, a man whom many people underestimated. He had
gentle brown eyes that deceived many into believing him as innocent as a lamb. That
was laughable. Ben hadn’t been innocent for years.

Whatever they had shared before, Perry was not glad to see
the man now. “So you came to provide entertainment?” How often had Ben allowed
Perry to whip him with a switch? Often enough. It wasn’t until the end when
Perry’s drunkenness had led him to dangerous decisions that had Ben abandoned
him. The man had never allowed Perry to fuck him. That had always been a
definite, though unspoken, no.

The clap on the back that Ben gave Perry seemed false and
too hearty. “What are friends for? Now how about a drink?”

“I do not drink anymore, Ben.” Perry eyed the man’s
carriage. “Where did you get the carriage?”

“It was on its way here for a customer when I absconded with
it.” He grinned but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Wasn’t for you, was it?”

“Ben, why are you here?” Perry didn’t want him there. Ben
was part of his past and Perry wanted to leave him behind.

The pleasant expression died away and the anxious look was
back. “I’m here to help a friend.”

“While I appreciate your concern, I’m not sure that there is
anything you can do. I am married and joining my wife for dinner.” Perry placed
his hat on his head and started for the carriage.

“Where do you dine with your wife tonight?” Ben asked in a
worried tone.

Perry stared at him. “Why do you care? Ben, what’s going
on?”

Just as Ben opened his mouth to answer, the proprietor of
the inn stepped out the front door. “Mr. Isler! How good to see you again. Will
you be needing your old room?”

So. Ben was a regular visitor to Bayeux. Perry didn’t
believe in coincidences. He shook his head at Ben’s guilty expression and swung
into the carriage seat.

“Perry, there is more to this than you know. Take me with
you.” Ben stood on the cobbled street, his gaze imploring.

“Go home, Ben. I don’t know who sent you but I don’t trust
you.” He gripped the reins and urged the horses down the street.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

* * * * *

Even the squab for dinner hadn’t made the waiting bearable. Sarah
paced the drawing room where she and Jaimison had eaten a fine dinner. Her
frustration was taking its toll, her hair beginning to come loose from its
pins.

Chantal had left them there as she made arrangements for a
ceremony in which Sarah was the main participant. Sarah was sick with concern.
What would be expected? What was the blood sacrifice? The sun dropped beneath
the horizon and the room became dark.

Finally Chantal entered with two candles just as the last of
the light died away. “Come with me.”

Sarah rose from her chair and glanced at Jaimison. The man
immediately waved Sarah ahead of him and they followed their hostess from the
room. Chantal led them to the end of one of the bottom-floor corridors to a
large, heavy wooden door. When Chantal opened the door, cool air blew in from
the stairway that wandered down into the depths of the earth.

It was pitch-black, the candles only illuminating a small
portion of the staircase they traveled down. Sarah stepped cautiously, refusing
to hurry though her heart pounded with urgency. The waiting had preyed on her
patience and she wanted to do this thing before another obstacle presented
itself.

Jaimison had been strangely quiet, his thoughts his own, his
face unreadable, but she was very glad he was behind her. She longed for Perry
but knew he would object to her capitulation to this sacrificial ceremony,
which Chantal had proposed but revealed nothing about.

The stairwell seemed to travel on forever but finally they
reached the bottom step and entered an underground chamber. Rock walls and a
stone floor made the room seem like a tomb. A large archway at the far end led
to a darkened expanse and Sarah could hear the sound of water.

Chantal walked to the center of the chamber where a
pentagram had been cut into the stone beneath her feet. “The river flows
beneath the earth here. It is hidden from human eyes and creates this space
where Wisteria D’Insigny once cursed her lover.” Her reddish hair was loose now
and spilled over her shoulders. In the candlelight she could have been
Wisteria.

From the archway several women appeared. There were eleven
of them, all of them older than Sarah and all of them beautiful in their own
way. Two of them looked like village mothers, their ample figures and kindly
faces out of place in the barbaric cave.

They circled around the pentagram and gave Chantal their
attention, a silent sentinel standing guard. Chantal met each of their solemn
stares individually before she spoke.

“I have asked you here to call up a spirit of one of our
own.” Chantal glanced at Sarah. “The curse of Wisteria D’Insigny is
challenged.”

“As you predicted, madam,” one of the younger girls
commented. Chantal glared at her but the girl was unapologetic.

Perhaps Chantal thought Sarah would be surprised or offended
to know that her hostess had known she was coming. But Sarah realized that
Chantal must have known. She had been prepared for Sarah’s request and knew the
outcome. Chantal was, after all, a woman of power.

“She has made our task easier by bringing a man to service
our needs for the summoning.” Her gaze met Jaimison’s and he stepped forward.

Sarah put her hand on his arm. “Edward, are you sure?”

His looked down at her and there was a twinkle in his eyes. And
as he had at Madame de Laval’s he winked at her. Then he patted her hand and
continued into the middle of the pentagram.

Chantal faced him, the two of them alone in the circle as
she studied Jaimison from head to toe. “You serve me. Do you accept?”

“I accept.” He didn’t flinch when Chantal reached up to grip
his hair.

“On your knees,” she demanded.

Jaimison dropped to a kneeling position but his stare never
left Chantal’s, an apparent reminder that he did this willingly, not because
she was forcing him. Sarah tried to remain unmoved by the sight but it was one
of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

The women circled around them, and stripped off their
clothing until they were naked. Chantal stepped back from Jaimison. “Strip. Now.”

He started to rise but Chantal pressed her hand on his
shoulder. “From there.”

Slowly Jaimison removed his cravat, his shirt and undid the
ties on his pants. He shoved them down and twisted his torso to untie his
boots. It was an impressive display, his muscles tense and tight. After he toed
his shoes off, he lifted one knee and dragged his leg out of his trousers. He
did the same with the other leg. He was naked and aroused, as evidenced by his
hard and erect cock.

Still clothed, Chantal motioned toward one of the women in
the circle. “Begin with her. Bring her pleasure and begin on the next.”

Again, when Jaimison tried to rise to his feet, Chantal
stopped him. “Crawl to them. Like a lion stalks its prey.”

With a defiance that made Sarah grin he shot a smile at
Chantal and said, “Yes, Mistress.”

The two words made Chantal catch her breath and glare at
him. He did, however, crawl toward the first woman who had reclined on the
stone floor, her discarded clothes under her ample hips.

She was a sturdy woman, obviously accustomed to hard labor,
but her hair was jet black and she had no pussy hair. Her breasts were much
like the rest of her—soft and sumptuous. Sarah had a moment of envy for those
heavy globes that beckoned to a man like ripe berries.

There was a weighted silence as Jaimison approached this
nameless woman whom he was bound to arouse. He slid his hands up her inner
thighs and blew gently on her pussy. She arched like a cat but kept her gaze
locked with his.

Jaimison pressed his lips to her left hipbone and began to
place kisses on random spots, avoiding the obvious erogenous offerings,
focusing on a seduction rather than an assault. Sarah was enthralled, remembering
how Perry had done much the same the last time they had shared a bed.

The woman murmured in French, and when Jaimison glanced up
she offered her generous breasts. Jaimison obliged, sucking and biting until
the woman cried out. His hand crept over her belly and dipped down to stroke
the woman’s pussy. She panted and squirmed beneath him.

Even Sarah held her breath in anticipation as he placed
kisses over the woman’s stomach to the bone above her now-slick opening. Her
cream glittered in the candlelight and Jaimison licked her slowly to capture
it. Abruptly he dove in and she screamed with pleasure as his ministrations
sent her over the edge. Her shout subsided to whimpers as he continued to
stroke her pussy with his tongue.

The other women in the circle were just as fascinated by
Jaimison’s actions as Sarah was and their faces were filled with arousal. How
much longer Jaimison would have gone on, Sarah didn’t know, but Chantal broke
him away with an order.

“The next one now, Edward,” she demanded, her voice sharp,
but there was a shine in her gaze that showed her excitement.

As Jaimison slid over to the woman beside the first, he
dragged his fingers over the first woman’s hand, a sensitive move that made
Sarah sigh. His technique on the second woman was vastly different. She was
more petite than the first woman, with light-brown hair. Yet when Jaimison
reached her he yanked her head back and swooped in to bite her earlobe. The
woman cried out, her hips thrusting forward, her hands gripping his arms to
pull him closer.

He seemed to know the woman’s needs for rough treatment and
brought her to an orgasm that made her whole frame tighten when she released
it.

“Next,” Chantal demanded.

Sarah watched, fascinated, as Jaimison used every tool a man
could use to bring each woman to completion, varying his approach to fit the
woman he touched. Each woman was given special consideration, a gentle, teasing
caress, a rough touch, focused on her neck or her breasts or her pussy.

He didn’t kiss any of them.

Sarah was so aroused by the tenth woman that she forced her
hands to her side to keep them from stroking herself to her own orgasm. Chantal
stood in the center of the circle, watching, waiting. It was impossible to tell
if she was aroused or merely amused.

Somehow Sarah didn’t think Chantal was as unaffected as she
appeared.

After Jaimison brought the tenth woman to a screaming orgasm
he turned to focus on the eleventh. And froze. “Mistress?”

Chantal stepped toward him and he glanced up at her from his
position on the floor. “Yes, Edward,” she said, her tone flat and unreadable.

“She is—” he stopped and held the eleventh woman’s wide-eyed
gaze.

She was young and slender, her blue eyes as round as
saucers, her pussy glistening with her arousal, her face flushed and her
breasts small and high. It was clear that the woman was excited but something
about her spoke of innocence and fear. Sarah knew why Jaimison had halted.

Chantal’s gaze softened and she stroked Jaimison’s head. “She
is ready, Edward. Never fear. I would never allow anyone to hurt her.”

Jaimison studied Chantal for a long time then kissed the
inside of her wrist. He slid closer to the young woman and his touch on her
skin was gentle and easy. He bent down and kissed her forehead, then her cheek
and her neck. He nuzzled her rather than kissed her, his actions slow and
methodical.

Sarah watched with amazement as he brought the young woman
to the edge and backed away not once but several times, always sweet, always
implacable. Finally she was mindless, begging him to fuck her, to take her in
the most basic way a man can possess a woman.

Jaimison spoke, the only time he addressed any of them. “Come
for me, my lady.”

The woman screamed and thrashed beneath his touch as he
drove her higher and over that pinnacle he’d held her from. Her whole body
trembled, every muscle loose and relaxed now.

Jaimison turned, his arse resting on his ankles, and stared
at Chantal. With purpose Chantal unbuttoned her gown and shrugged out of it. She
stripped quietly with small, efficient movements. As she undressed, Jaimison’s
attention was riveted on her, his cock high and a pearl of moisture squeezed
from the tip.

It stunned Sarah that Jaimison could have pleasured so many
women and yet the one he wanted most he had held back for. Chantal beckoned to
Jaimison and indicated that he should lie down in the center of the pentagram
as the other women watched.

He reclined on his back and put his arms over his head. Chantal
straddled his face, her knees beside his ears, her hands on his wrists. “Lick
me. Use that talented tongue on my waiting cunt.”