Witchrise (4 page)

‘Come and sit beside the fire with me,’ my father continued, ‘and let us talk without pretence for once.’

I glanced back at Alejandro, worried what this might mean. His face was tense too, but he said nothing.

I settled myself on the broad wooden seat by the fireside. Alejandro did not enter but hesitated on the threshold of my father’s study, perhaps sensing that my father did not quite approve of our friendship. Nor was my father alone in that, I thought, for I had often caught the same disapproving look on Richard’s face. It seemed no one wanted me to be with Alejandro.

No one but Alejandro himself, that was.

‘May I come in too, sir?’

My father frowned, not quite looking at him. ‘I have no wish to cause you any offence, señor, but . . .’

‘But you wish to speak with your daughter alone.’ Alejandro bowed, but looked at me with chagrin. It was clear he did not want to leave me alone with a man who might be my father but we both knew was not quite trustworthy. ‘Of course, sir. I will wait outside.’

When the door had closed behind Alejandro, my father stood a moment in brooding silence, looking down at me. Then he demanded, ‘You intend to marry that Spaniard?’

I opened my mouth to reply and abruptly closed it again.

Part of me had intended to say ‘Yes,’ and that realization shook me. I had thought my feelings unchanged since the spring when Alejandro asked me to marry him, on the river walk outside Richmond Palace. But clearly something was different now, for my answer was not so simply given.

Was I so close to accepting Alejandro’s proposal, after all?

‘I have not yet decided,’ I managed, not particularly willing to discuss the workings of my heart with my father.

‘But he has asked for your hand?’ he persisted.

I hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. Why bother to hide the depth of our involvement? My father must have seen our affection for each other. Alejandro had been living under his roof for the past few weeks, albeit sharing a room with my brother William. My father was many things, but he was not a fool.

‘And you have not yet given him a reply. So you do not want him, then?’ His eyes narrowed on my face, striving to understand. ‘You seem very thick with him for a girl who is not betrothed.’

His questions flustered me. We were secretly betrothed, but only until the spring, when I must give Alejandro my final answer – at my request, he had allowed me a year and day to answer his proposal, and the time was drawing near when I needed to decide.

Yes or no.

I did want Alejandro. Of course I did. I loved him with all my heart and soul. Indeed, I loved him more completely than I had ever loved any other living creature. But that did not mean I should seek to bind him to me for ever.

Being in love with someone did not mean you were perfect for that person, or vice versa. Sometimes the universe played cruel tricks, pushing two people into marriage who had no business being together. And I had no wish to become a cosmic joke.

‘I cannot answer that, sir,’ I managed, and willed myself to sound calm.

No, I was not interested in discussing my feelings for Alejandro with my father. After his betrayal of my aunt, leaving her to die a hideous death at the hands of Marcus Dent, I did not consider he had any right to interfere with my life.

‘Cannot, or will not?’ he muttered.

‘Forgive me, Father,’ I said abruptly, getting to my feet, ‘but unless there is something you wish to discuss, I will go. I have urgent matters I must attend to today.’

My father stiffened, a flash of anger in his eyes at the way I had just dismissed his authority.

‘Insolent girl!’

I thought for a brief moment that he would strike me. But his eyelids dropped to hide his rage, and he seemed to regain some control. His mouth twitched, then he turned on his heel and limped to the fireplace.

‘Well, you know your own mind,’ he admitted grimly. ‘But while you are under my roof, I would ask you to abide by my rules. The Spaniard must leave as soon as he is able. And until he has gone, I would rather you spend no more time alone with him. You are still unmarried, and that boy is a Spaniard and a Catholic, long enemies of this country. It is not right.’

‘Not every Spaniard is our enemy, Father!’ I remonstrated with him. ‘Our Queen is married to the King of Spain, if you recall. And we are all supposed to be Catholics now.’

He looked at me sideways, a strange expression on his face, then nodded stiffly. ‘Of course, of course . . . Forgive me. How could I have forgotten the change in our country’s fortunes?’

The apology had been mechanical, forced from his lips. He thought I was his enemy too, I realized with a shock. My heart thudded erratically.

My father had never looked at me the same since the night I had broken out of my bedroom by dissolving the entire wall, tossing chunks of masonry about like pebbles, in order to confront Marcus Dent. I had not wanted to make my power quite so apparent to my family, but they had forced my hand by locking me up when Alejandro was in danger and needed me.

Besides, I had restored the wall on my return, and was no danger to anyone here at Lytton Park. So there was no need for my father to be quite so wary around me these days.

Yet he was afraid of me now, and the knowledge made me sad. I had only ever wanted us to be close: father and daughter, flesh and blood, bound together by love. Instead, there was this distrust and fear between us, and not a little anger.

My father stirred, crossing to his desk. He sat heavily in his seat, aimlessly rearranging the open books and documents on his desk, not looking at me.

‘Nonetheless, if you wish to remain here at Lytton Park under my protection, you will tell that boy it is time he returned to the Lady Elizabeth at Hatfield.’ He drew an unsteady breath. ‘The King ordered him to guard the princess, you told me so yourself. There is no longer anything here for him, so he may as well leave. No, do not argue with me. I am master in my own house and you are still my daughter, bound in obedience to me.’

‘Father—’

‘I want that Spaniard to leave my house!’ he insisted, lifting his head to stare at me, his eyes glittering with frustration. ‘I have been patient enough. You will tell him today that his stay here is over. Is that clear?’

I took a deep breath and forced my itching fingers to be still, though it was difficult to control the fury coursing through my own veins. I was not ‘bound’ to him in obedience, even if I was his daughter, and one word from me could make him forget this conversation for ever.

Yet he was my father, this was his house, and for the moment I had nowhere else to go. Or nowhere as safe from Marcus Dent. That much was true, and all the spells in the world would not change it. And he was right too: Alejandro had been charged to protect the Lady Elizabeth. Who was I to stand between him and his duty?

‘It is almost Christmas Day,’ I muttered. ‘May I spend the holy day with him first?’

My father hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well, Alejandro may stay until Christmastide is over. But do not let me catch you alone with him again,’ he reminded me harshly. ‘And no more spells, you hear me? Not while you are a guest under my roof.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I agreed reluctantly.

He stood, pushing back his chair, and began to pace his study restlessly. ‘You think me cruel, and perhaps I am. But I swear this is for your own good, Meg. Your mother, Catherine Canley, was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. So beautiful that it was rumoured she had even caught the eye of the King. She was slender and graceful as a faery’s child, with long fair hair that fell past her waist, and eyes blue as the summer sky. I will not deny it, I was captivated by her wit and beauty. But I could not overlook her sins against God, and told her so when I asked her to marry me.’

I stared, speechless.

‘On the day that we were wed, your mother promised me faithfully that she would stop casting spells. That she would be nothing but an obedient wife and mother to our children. But she lied. Oh, I daresay Catherine no longer slipped out at the full moon and danced naked about the circle like her wicked sister Jane. But there were signs, and I am not a fool. Your grandmother was a witch too, you see, and neither of her daughters ever quite found the strength to give up their hellish power.’ My father turned, looking at me grimly. ‘But you will find that strength, Meg. Or leave the safety of these four walls.’

It was St Stephen’s Day and snow was falling all around us, fragile white blooms of ice that melted as soon as they touched my cheek.

Christmas had come and gone with horrible speed, and now I must tell Alejandro to leave Oxfordshire.

Staring into whirling whiteness, I longed to capture this perfect moment for ever and keep it from changing. But I had promised my father not to work magick at the house. Though outside in the grounds, of course, I was not exactly
under his roof
.

Still, it was dangerous to work magick without good cause. Perhaps I should swear to give up magick, as my mother had done on her wedding day. Certainly my magick only seemed to endanger those I loved.

I drew my fur-lined mantle tighter.

Now that Christmas Day was past, the weather had turned colder along with my mood. Indeed, I ought to have been freezing. But Alejandro had thrown his cloak down for me under the frost-spangled oak, and the fine wool was still warm from his body.

Besides, how could I be cold in Alejandro’s company? We had been fighting, and the heat of his dark gaze was still scorching me.

‘Meg,’ he growled softly, then knelt beside me on the cloak, catching at my hand.

‘No,’ I insisted. ‘You know what I want, Alejandro. You cannot persuade me with kisses. I will not bend to your will.’

‘It would be a mistake to fight me on this, Meg.’

‘Then don’t fight
me
.’

With painstaking care, Alejandro peeled off one of my leather gloves, then interlaced long powerful fingers with my own. His eyes darkened until they were almost black, his gaze seeming to burn into my soul.

The snow fell softly about us in the silence, tiny white stars that melted as they landed on his dark hair and broad shoulders.

I stared back at him, breathless.

It was hard to believe a girl like me could ever have captured the attention of the beautiful and aristocratic Alejandro de Castillo, who might be in training to be a lowly priest but whose father was one of the most influential noblemen at the Spanish court.

I knew his bronzed face and watchful eyes, the vital strength of his body, his lean agility on foot or on horseback, as well as I knew my own person.

I had little beauty and less breeding, and I knew it. Slight and small-boned, unfashionably fair, my hair dishevelled under my hood, I was no match for those dark-eyed beauties who had tried to catch his eye at court.

Yet here he was, down on his knees before me.

‘I will not bend to the will of your father and leave here while you still need me. Nor will I bend to your will either,’ Alejandro continued in that deliciously husky Spanish accent. ‘Do you hear me, Meg Lytton? I will not leave Lytton Park. I am still your betrothed, in case you had forgotten. Wherever you are, I must be also.’

‘But my father is right. The Lady Elizabeth needs you, and you promised King Philip that you would remain at Hatfield and protect her. Just because her ladyship has dismissed me from her service does not mean you cannot fulfil your duty.’

‘That was before I realized in what danger you stood,
mi querida
. King Philip is a Spaniard and a man of passion. He will understand my dilemma.’

‘Yet the King has left his wife and sailed for France,’ I pointed out, ‘abandoning Queen Mary with our country still in turmoil.’

‘His Majesty will no doubt return when his war against the French is won.’

I raised my eyebrows. The last time I had seen King Philip, he had been furious with Queen Mary and determined to leave the shores of England – and his stubborn wife – far behind. That was why he had ordered Alejandro to remain with the Lady Elizabeth. Because Philip feared what the childless Mary might do to her younger sister if she grew unhappy enough. For if the elder sister could not safeguard the English throne for him by providing Philip with an heir, then perhaps the younger Elizabeth might be more able . . .

‘All the same, you must return to Hatfield. It has been weeks now, and her ladyship will not excuse you for ever.’ I paused. ‘My father has reminded me of your duty, and I fear you may lose your position in the Lady Elizabeth’s household – lose it because of me – if you do not leave in the next few days.’

‘In the next few days?’ he repeated, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘
Dios!
Are you trying to kill me?’ Alejandro drew my hand to his mouth, then bent his head to kiss my fingertips, one by one, his lips lingering on my cold skin. ‘How can I leave you?’ he demanded, and the agony and indecision in his voice almost broke my resolve. ‘We have no way of knowing where Marcus Dent is, or what he may be planning. What if he returns after I have gone, hoping to take his revenge?’

‘Still in the guise of a bird, no doubt.’ I tried to tease him, recalling how my enemy had transformed himself into a screaming hawk last time we met. ‘If Marcus returns, I will lose no time in running for help while he hops after me, fixing me with his beady eye.’

‘Meg, be serious for once and consider your own safety. Or if you will not think of yourself, then spare a thought for me. Think of how my heart will suffer if you die . . .
again
 . . . at the hands of that foul creature.’

He was thinking back to that terrible night at Hatfield when I had tried to exorcize the dark spirit accidentally loosed upon the world, and only succeeded in getting myself killed.

Luckily my death had been of short duration.

The talisman of his cross, set about my neck as a protective device during the ritual, had kept my soul from harm and ensured that I could return to my body once my magickal death had been reversed.

‘Alejandro.’ I stripped off my other glove, then placed my bare hand against his cheek. ‘I have no intention of dying again just yet, at Marcus’s hands or anyone else’s.’