Cast In Stone Read online

  “Everything will be fine.” Rebecca glared at Jane and folded her arms. “You’ll see.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Molly frowned and glanced from Rebecca to Jane. She gave Maeve a tremulous smile. “But maybe you’re right about giving this a rest. Just until everything quiets down again.”

  “I think having a break is for the best.” Maeve gave all three women a quick hug. “Take care of yourselves.”

  Slipping into the night, she hurried through the dark to the churchyard. Her spirit walk had her imagining trouble where there was none. There was no reason sewing circle couldn’t start again when all this unpleasantness had blown over. It had been more than unpleasantness for the poor woman in Abbotsham.

  The breeze kicked up and scattered leaves across the road. Maeve shivered and huddled deeper into her cloak. The night felt wrong somehow, ominous.

  A dog barked and startled her, and she kept to the far side of the road.

  “What is up with that bloody dog?” A door opened, spilling light across the road. A man stood silhouetted in the entrance. “Come ’ere you daft bugger.”

  Wagging its tail, the dog darted into the house and the man shut the door again.

  Maeve waited a few breaths before hurrying on. Perhaps now that her visits to the village were paused, she should ask the guardians for a dog to keep her company. There were always plenty of animals about the castle.

  A woman’s laugh, husky and full of promise came from a small home to her right.

  No curtains obstructed her view, and a lantern bathed the cottage in golden light.

  Maeve’s hackles rose and her stomach lurched.

  “Sister! Take heed.” The soft whisper carried the cold echo of beyond. Whatever was happening in that cottage was linked to the warning she’d received. She crept closer.

  The fire in the cottage hearth called to her and she greeted it.

  Inside, the cottage looked like almost every other in the village. A cradle rested close to the hearth’s warmth. Beside a rough table in the center of the room, a pretty woman stood before a man and laughed up at him. Her eyes gleamed an invitation as she bit her bottom lip. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Are you now, Agnes?” Maeve couldn’t be completely sure, but the man didn’t sound like he came from the village. His deep, smooth voice sounded a lot more like a noble than a villager. He had his back to Maeve, but he was tall and broad shouldered, and his jacket looked to be velvet.

  Maeve’s flesh crawled, but she couldn’t draw away from the cottage.

  Hand on her hip, Agnes thrust her bosom toward the man. She breathed deep, causing her flesh to swell over her bodice. Her smile was pure invitation. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

  “How gratifying.” The man stroked the slope of Agnes’s breast with the back of his fingers.

  Maeve’s gaze locked on the man. Shadows, dark and thick and cloying, swirled in the air around him. The dark crawled across her skin and she rubbed her arms to dispel the sensation. She wanted to run away, but her legs refused to move.

  “Alexander,” Agnes whispered, more breath than word, and closed her eyes. She dropped her head back, her face awash with sensual delight as he curved his long fingers around her breast. “Touch me. Please.”

  Maeve opened her mouth to scream at Agnes to run, not to let him touch her, but no sound came out.

  “Who do you belong to, Agnes?” Alexander swept his thumb over Agnes’s nipple.

  Prickles rasped over Maeve’s skin, sharp and uncomfortable. A cold, metallic tang filled her mouth and nostrils, and her stomach lurched. It was the same scent as the lost one’s shadows. The man was connected to her.

  Agnes moaned. “You. Only you.”

  “Then—” Alexander’s spine snapped straight, and his hand stilled. He turned his head to the side. A predatory smile tilted his full mouth. “Hello, my pretty mouse. Aren’t you a lovely surprise?”

  Maeve lurched into the dark beyond the window. Her heart pounded and sweat broke over her.

  Agnes blinked as if waking from a dream. “Who are you speaking to? Who is there?”

  Turning fully, Alexander’s gaze locked on where Maeve stood shivering in the dark. He took a deep breath and his smile grew sensual. “You smell delicious, little mouse. Do you want to play?”

  Maeve whirled about and forced her shaking legs to run.

  Behind her, the cottage door opened, and Alexander’s laughter chased her into the night. A midnight black tendril rode the breeze, chasing her. His smooth, rich voice sounded right beside her ear. “Run along, little cré-witch. We’ll meet again soon.”

  Maeve’s heart didn’t stop pounding even when she reached the safety of Baile once more. As if Alexander was chasing her, Maeve ran through the caverns, up the stairs and across the bailey.

  When she entered the castle, she slowed to a quick walk. The uneasy sensation stayed with her as she hurried up the stairs toward her chamber. Her blood thrummed in her ears and her hands shook.

  A shape appeared in the corridor in front of her. Maeve leaped back. Her foot tangled in her skirts and she lost her balance.

  Big hands caught her and righted her. “Steady on.”

  Heart pounding, Maeve yanked at the grip on her arms.

  “Maeve.” The grip tightened. A strong presence steadied her. “Stop. Breathe!”

  The voice penetrated her fright and she stopped fighting. Fear drained away and she sagged. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me.” Roderick drew her against him. His heartbeat beneath her ear. “And you’re safe.”

  She was, and every part of her knew it. Maeve peered up and up some more into his pale blue eyes. Her head spun and she had to force the next breath into her lungs. “Sorry.” Her voice came out breathy and girly. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Clearly.” Roderick frowned down at her, his chiseled features wearing the expression well. “What had you running as if your life was at risk?”

  She couldn’t tell him. Not tell anyone really, but especially not him in case it got back to Edana. Maeve would wager her life Edana wouldn’t hesitate to tell Fiona.

  “Nothing.” Maeve cursed the way her voice squeaked out of her. She had to do better. “I saw a rat.”

  “A rat?” Up went one eyebrow. “You, a spirit walker, are afraid of a little rat?”

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  Roderick stared at her.

  She locked her knees and restrained the desire to fidget. “It was a big rat.”

  “I see. A big rat,” he said, still giving her that searching stare that made her think he could see right through her clothing. “You’re out late. Shouldn’t you be abed already?”

  “Shouldn’t you?” She gave Edana’s door a pointed stare.

  Roderick raised a sculpted dark brow. “At least I have a good reason for being here in the middle of the night.”

  Maeve would hardly call it a good reason. “As do I.” Nothing attached to Edana was ever good in her book, but that wasn’t a discussion she planned to have with Roderick. “I was in the caverns until late, and now I’m tired. Which is probably why the rat frightened me. I’m tired and not thinking straight.” She managed to force a yawn and stepped back from him. “See there. Tired, so tired.”

  Folding his arms, he watched her.

  Maeve edged another step back.

  At last, Roderick broke the silence. “Did you take that spirit walk yet? The one with the guide you know better.”

  “Not yet. But I will tomorrow.” Time to make her escape. “Which means, I’d better get my rest.”

  “You do that.”

  Maeve dared not look at him as she said, “Well, I’m off for bed.”

  “Alone?”

  His question stopped her in her tracks and snapped her gaze up to his. “Yes.”

  Roderick smirked. “What a pity.” He sauntered past her and through Edana’s door. “Good night, Maeve. Sleep well. Alone.”

  Chapter Four

  Maeve’s encounter with the strange and disturbing Alexander kept her up well into the small hours. He had something to do with the lost one. He stank of her, and the tendril that had chased her exuded the same ominous sensation she associated with the spirit realm shadows.

  Dawn was only an hour or so away when she gave up on sleep, dressed and went to the caverns instead.

  As she crossed the threshold into the caverns, thousands of sigils chimed a greeting. Slowly, she walked from cavern to cavern, letting the familiarity and welcome of the passed calm and center her.

  In the central cavern, she prepared for her spirit walk. Pulling out her anchoring crystal of carnelian, Maeve whispered her prayer for protection, “Goddess, beneficent and benign, walk with me now amongst all blessed who came before, all blessed who now are, and all blessed yet to come.”

  She snapped her fingers and two braziers flared to life. The childlike joy of being able to do that never diminished. Flame strained toward her, and she held out her palm for it. Playfully the flame danced across her palms.

  Maeve tethered a power line to her anchoring crystal and then drew on her birth element to awaken her blessing. The twining aromas of lilies and oranges filled her nose and coated her tongue. What she did in the village was child’s play and involved only a portion of her blessing. A bit like dipping a toe into the lake’s edge.

  Now she sought to swim in the lake, and she pulled more strength from fire. Braziers flared four feet high as fire responded to her request.

  Maeve laid her palms on the sigils.

  Her gift led her into a familiar pretty glade beside a deep blue pool. Shadows darkened the sky above a willow draping its fronds on the ground. Again with those shadows so very present. Maeve parted the fronds and stepped into the green bower created by the tree.

  As Maeve had known she would, a witch stood with her hand against the willow’s trunk. Not much older than Maeve, she had the same flaxen hair and blue eyes.

  “Moira.” Maeve greeted her great, great grandmother. “I have need of you.”

  “Ah, Maeve. I’m glad you came.” Moira’s blue eyes filled with tears.

  Moira had never wept before, and Maeve’s sense of uneasiness grew closer to fear. “Do you know what’s wrong? Have you heard why the first stir?”

  “They are frightened, Maeve. We all are.” She shuddered. “We feel the shadows grow and grow. We see true death ahead. Many witches will pass beyond, but even worse will be the witches who don’t.”

  Maeve had come to Moira not only because they shared blood, but because Moira was more blunt than many of the other guides. “Are you saying a lot of witches will die?”

  “Aye.” Moira’s answer chilled Maeve to the bone. “And worse.”

  “How do we prevent it?” Maybe they were telling her because it wasn’t too late to prevent disaster. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll see it done.”

  “Aye, you will.” Moira met her gaze, and in the blue depths of her eyes, Maeve read so much grief it reached within her and nestled in her chest like an open wound. “You’re the one,” Moira said. “You will bear the burden.”

  “What burden?” That didn’t make any sense. Moira couldn’t go all mysterious on her now. “If my coven sisters are in danger, you need to help me conquer whatever this danger is.”

  Moira shook her head. Red tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

  “You can.” Maeve stepped closer. She refused to let Moira poof away without telling her more. “Just tell me and I’ll do it. Tell me.”

  Already waning, Moira shook her head again. “The burden must be carried, but you won’t carry it alone.”

  Maeve screamed her frustration as Moira disappeared. In the caverns, she moved her hands along the wall. Her vision lurched and she was sitting beside a lily-laden pond. The shadows followed her. An older witch looked up and started when she saw Maeve. “The one who bears the burden.”

  Maeve gentled her tone. “What burden?”

  The witch faded into nothing.

  Maeve sought another sigil and her spirit shifted to a sandy beach. Waves crashed on the shore beneath the looming shadows. Two witches stood by the water’s edge holding hands as they watched the shadows roil above them.

  “We weep for you, little sister.” One looked at her. Red tears streaked her cheeks. “The burden you must bear will be weighty.”

  The other one looked at her too. “But you won’t bear it alone.”

  They faded, and the wind blew them away.

  Again Maeve moved to another sigil, and found another soul. And again, and again and again, but the result was always the same. The witches were weeping tears of blood and telling her about some bedamned burden she must bear. And those cursed shadows. Everywhere she went, they were there.

  It was well past noon when she returned to her body in the cavern. She’d been gone a long time and her flesh was cold. However, the chill to her physical form was nothing compared to the deeper chill inside her.

  Whatever was coming was bad, awful, and there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it.

  This warranted another trip to Fiona.

  She hurried from the caverns and into the castle. Maeve wished she had specific information for Fiona. Logic suggested the danger was connected to the witch-hunts. How the lost one was involved, she had no idea. Moira had said many witches would die, and worse. True death was the only thing worse than physical death, and even thinking about it made her shiver. To be forever separated from Goddess, trapped in the present with no chance of returning and continuing your soul’s journey was so much worse than physical death.

  Surely they weren’t in danger as long as they stayed inside Baile. Now she was sounding more and more like she supported Fiona’s decree about leaving the castle.

  Halfway across the bailey, she nodded a greeting to a stout woman with a serious face. “Good day, Sheila.”

  “Spirit Walker.” Sheila hurried on. They’d been good friends before Siobhan had passed and Maeve had inherited the blessing of spirit walker. At the time of her selection, Maeve and Sheila had been training as healers together. Now Sheila was a full healer and insisted on calling her by her blessing and not her name. Not so long ago, she and Sheila had huddled together and whispered secrets to each other.

  Being the only spirit walker could be lonely at times.

  After she spoke to Fiona, she might find Roderick and tell him what she had discovered. He hadn’t dismissed her as ridiculous the other night.

  Before interrupting his tryst with Edana, Maeve couldn’t recall her last encounter with Roderick. As first coimhdeacht, Roderick was always about the keep doing manly things with weapons and combat.

  Three apprentices ran down the corridor, giggling and whispering to each other. They were so intent on their conversation they went right past her without one of them remembering to shudder.

  They reminded her of how she and Sheila used to be. Like most girls who had grown up in the castle, they had also gone through their period of sighing and casting languid gazes at Roderick. It was something of a right of passage for novice cré-witches.

  For his part, Roderick never took any notice of the young girls. Until they got older. Like Edana.

  Maeve ran up the stairs to Fiona’s chambers.

  A second group of girls, novices this time, brushed passed her on the stairs, nearly knocking her over in their enthusiasm.

  This time Maeve rapped and waited before opening Fiona’s door.

  Edana looked up from where she sat by the fire. Tall and graceful with rounded hips and a full bosom above her flat belly, it was hard to find a physical flaw in Edana. No wonder Roderick kept her company at night. She looked down her perfect nose at Maeve. “What?”

  “I need to see Fiona.” Maeve slid around the door into the room. Edana always made her feel less in every way. “It’s important.”

  “That’s what you said the other night.” Edana sneered as she stood. “Roderick will deal with it when he can. Now, run along.”

  “I can’t.” This was too important to let her and Edana’s mutual dislike get in the way. “I’ve had more warnings and they’re serious.”

  “You’re overreacting.” Edana caressed the bodice of her beautiful gold silk gown. “Again.”

  “I really am not.” Maeve didn’t own a gown near as lovely as that. She kept her temper in check. “It can’t wait.”

  “It will have to.” Edana tossed her head. “Because she’s not here.”

  “Where is she? I’ll find her,” Maeve said. It struck her that Edana wasn’t looking as venomous as she usually did. Edana had an expectant excited glow about her, like she was hugging a delicious secret. “If you’ll tell me where she is.”

  Edana sauntered over to the mirror above the mantle and examined her reflection. She patted a hair back into place and pinched her cheeks.

  “Edana.” Holding on to her patience, Maeve tried to imbue her voice with the seriousness of her task. “I need to see her.”

  “You can’t.” Edana raised her chin and preened at her reflection. “Because she’s with the coimhdeacht.”

  Fiona wasn’t bonded. Could Roderick have told her what Maeve had said? “Why?”

  “Not that it’s anything to do with you, but even you’ll find out anyway.” Edana’s broad smile grew insufferably smug. “The coimhdeacht are calling a bonding.”

  Edana’s news shook Maeve out of her purpose for a moment. “A bonding? They haven’t called a bonding for…” She couldn’t remember how long, certainly not in her lifetime.

  “They’re calling one now.” Edana leaned closer to the mirror and scrutinized her reflection. With a satisfied smirk, she straightened. “Goddess has called him back to service and Roderick is to bond a new witch.”

  As Maeve stood there and gaped at her, Edana sailed past. She stopped when she drew abreast and whispered in Maeve’s ear. “The ceremony is due to start any minute. If you hurry you’ll get a good view of Roderick bonding me.”

  Seriousness of her message aside, a bonding was big news. Huge. Even if it was Edana being bonded, and Maeve was very much afraid Edana was right about that. Roderick had only ever bonded two witches in his time as coimhdeacht. The most notable of which was Tahra, one of the first, and according to coven rumor, the love of his life.