Chapter Fifteen
Marcail lived on the edge of Abundance in a tiny stone cottage surrounded by a wildly overgrown garden. Chrysanthemums and cosmos in a rainbow of colors lined the walkway up to the front door. The windows glowed warm with firelight and a friendly stream of smoke wafted from the chimney.
I was too busy pouting to appreciate any of it.
The door opened before Finlay had a chance to knock.
Marcail, a woman with auburn hair and a plethora of freckles on her pale skin, waited on the threshold, wiping her hands on a homespun apron.
“You must be Finlay,” she said. “And Brianna and Willow. Welcome.” She stepped aside to let us in, and all I could think was that it was odd.
Why should she be so friendly to three young people she didn’t know?
“Jack’s told me so much about you,” she said to Finlay as we sat down next to each other on a wooden bench lining one wall.
Behind us, bouquets of dried flowers and herbs hung from the plaster walls, and every available surface seemed to contain some other natural ingredient: berries smashed in a stone mortar, small vials of colored liquids, bundles of sticks and straw.
Something flapped past me into the cottage. “Bat!” I shouted, covering my head with my arms.
When I looked up, Bri was laughing behind her hand, and Finlay was staring at me as though I’d gone completely doolally. Of course, he hadn’t spent time with Mr. Tell’s awful bat.
“It’s just my familiar, Peerie,” Marcail said serenely, a small goldfinch now perched on her shoulder. “Would you all like some tea? I have chamomile brewing.”
I abhorred herbal tea—the way it almost tasted like something, without even the decency of waking you up in the morning—but I didn’t want to be rude. We each took our cups and thanked her. “How do you know Jack Turner?” Bri asked. “Did you take classes together?”
Marcail smiled over the rim of her cup. “We were lovers.”
Finlay sprayed tea from his mouth so loudly that Bri gasped, and I immediately burst out laughing. Marcail, however, maintained her composure and handed Finlay a napkin, which he wiped across his shirt, blustering apologies and blaming his behavior on his too-hot tea.
“It was a long time ago,” Marcail continued. “But we’ve stayed friends over the years. He told me you’re looking for a grimoire?”
I waited for Bri to respond, as Finlay was still recovering and I was still pretending to be polite. “Yes. One that contains curses, and hopefully their antidotes.”
Marcail studied Bri for a moment. “It’s going to be challenging. Whoever cursed you did quite a job of it.”
“You can see the curse?” Bri asked.
“Oh yes. It’s deep within you. Almost as deeply rooted as genuine magic.” She glanced at me, pursing her lips, and then turned her attention back to Bri. “Are you sure you want to rid yourself of it? I can tell it’s caused you great pain, but it is also a source of power and connection.”
“I’m sure,” Bri said without hesitation. “Do you think you can help me?”
Marcail set her tea down and rose. “May I come closer?” she asked Bri.
Bri stood and set her own cup of tea down on the bench. “Yes.”
“May I touch you?” Marcail asked gently.
Now Bri hesitated. She stepped back, her hands trembling.
“It’s all right,” Marcail said. “I already have magic, remember?”
Bri looked over her shoulder at Finlay and me.
“Are you all right?” I mouthed to her.
She nodded, though she looked frightened.
“Finlay, would you and Willow mind getting some water for me?” Marcail asked. “The burn runs through the field, just down the trail behind the house. You’ll find the pails on the back porch.”
I hesitated before following Finlay to the door, only going when Bri gave me a small nod.
My understanding of witches and magic was rather limited, but I’d heard there were many varieties.
As far as I knew, hedge witches had close connections with nature and animals and were typically healers.
While I doubted Jack Turner would send us to someone we couldn’t trust, the fact of the matter was that we knew next to nothing about this woman.
But it wasn’t my place to tell Bri what to do, and I knew her well enough by now to feel confident she’d speak up if Marcail crossed a boundary.
Outside, night had fallen, and the stars were clear and bright against the sky. A sliver of crescent moon was barely enough to illuminate our way down the trail without tripping.
We walked in silence, the empty pails banging against my legs, but I could feel Finlay’s presence behind me in the dark. I hated how self-conscious I felt in his presence now. I wanted to be my old, daft self without worrying what he thought.
When we reached the water, I bent down to fill the first pail.
“Willow.”
My name on his lips only deepened my worry. Was this where he reprimanded me for being rude to Bri? I set the first pail down on the pebbly shore and reached for the next.
His hand on my shoulder stilled me. I glanced up at him, hoping I could read his thoughts in his expression, but it was too dark. All I could see was the glimmer of the burn reflected in his eyes, his black silhouette against the sky.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t speak.
“Back at the pub…” He heaved a sigh and knelt beside me to fill his own pail. “I hope you can go easy on Bri tomorrow.”
We both filled our second pails and I rose, sore from spending so many hours in the cart.
The night was filled with the sound of the burn trickling behind us, the high chirps of courting crickets, the low croaks of lusty frogs.
Sometimes I wished I were an animal, that I could convey my emotions through a limited and pointed vocabulary that could never be misunderstood.
“She’s going through a difficult time,” he continued. “I want to be sure we’re being as kind as possible.”
My hackles raised immediately. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Most of the time I have no idea what you’re thinking, if I’m being honest.”
I pulled my braid over my shoulder, running it through my fingers. It hurt to hear him say that. I had come to think of Finlay as the one person who did understand me, who knew that underneath my cloak of thorns, I meant well. Almost always.
“I don’t mean to be cruel or selfish, you know.” I lowered my gaze. “It’s only that it comes so easily to me.”
He chuckled, a soft puff of air in the darkness. “You’re not cruel or selfish, Willow. You’re just…”
“Brainless as a heilan coo?” I offered.
“Only half.” He took a step closer to me. I felt my breathing grow shallow, as if I were back in that too-tight dress, and part of me wished I was, if only to see Finlay look at me that way again.
When he raised his hand toward my hip, I caught my gasp between my teeth, but he took my hand instead. “Tell me, Willow. Tell me what you want.” He rested his forehead against mine, his soft sigh scented with the sweetness of honey.
My belly fluttered at his nearness, at his warmth. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling because it made no sense. Every time I told myself I despised him, it only made me like him more. And every time I told myself I didn’t need him, it only made the ache of his absence sharper.
Tonight, there was no wayward kitten to come between us.
Only the walls I’d built around my heart.
What if, for once in my life, I allowed myself to be loved by someone, if I had the courage to love someone else?
What would it be like to come home to Finlay?
Not just after a long journey, but every evening?
What would it feel like to share a room with someone? A bed?
I blushed at the thought, grateful he couldn’t see it in the dark. Ask me anything else, I pleaded silently. Just don’t ask me what I want.
Because what I wanted had never mattered. Not compared to what I needed.
Finlay angled his face until his nose brushed mine, our mouths just a whisper apart, and I felt my resolve weaken. It would be so easy to give in to this feeling.
But desire wouldn’t clothe or feed me. It wouldn’t keep a roof over my head. Safety had been my lighthouse since Da’s death, a beacon to fix on when I felt lost and alone.
But oh, how good this felt. I want …
When Finlay stepped backward, it was like being doused in ice water. It took me a moment to realize I’d let his question go unanswered for far too long.
“That’s the problem,” he said, though his voice was still kind. “You don’t even know what you want.”
I do! I wanted to scream. Kiss me and you’ll know exactly what I want!
But the words were caught in my throat, too vulnerable to say out loud.
The silence hung heavy between us, and while part of me was desperate to fill that void with tangible things—things we could touch and taste and hold on to—fear was like a muzzle on my mouth and my heart.
“We should get back,” Finlay said finally. “Bri’s going to need us.”
Right. Bri. She was the reason we were here. She’d said Finlay would do anything for me, but the truth was, he’d do anything for a friend, because that was the kind of person he was.
“Finlay, I…”
“It’s all right, Willow. Really.”
My mouth was so dry it was as if it were stuffed with sawdust. I nodded—though I didn’t know if he could see it in the dark—and dipped my hand into a pail to take a sip of the freezing water.
By the time I’d found my voice again, Finlay was already far ahead on the trail, and the opportunity was lost forever.
Bri was quiet when we returned, and I knew better than to press her for information at this point. We joined Marcail at a round table for apple crumble topped with heavy cream. I had no appetite, but Finlay wouldn’t look at me, and I knew if I opened my mouth to decline dessert, I’d end up crying.
When I took a tentative nibble, it was like biting into autumn itself.
The entire concoction was so perfectly spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla, I momentarily forgot my troubles.
I almost asked for the recipe, but I was hopeless with an oven.
Besides, baking required all sorts of fancy ingredients I didn’t keep at home, like cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla. Not to mention flour.
The fact that I’d been on the verge of tears just seconds ago and was now contemplating my culinary skills made me set down my fork.
“Can you tell us more about your magic?” I asked Marcail, hoping to learn a little more about the woman whose house we were going to sleep in.
I had met witches before—the woman who ran the Ardmuir apothecary and her daughter were known practitioners—but I’d certainly never dined with one, and if this crumble were any indication, she was a master of her craft.
“I’m a hedge witch, though there’s a bit of kitchen witch in me, according to some.
” She smiled as Peerie, the wee bird, landed on her head and plucked a strand of hair before flying off to heavens knew where.
“But there’s no magic in this, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, nodding toward my empty plate as though she could read my mind. For all I knew, she could.
“Are you sure?” Finlay asked, patting his stomach. “Because I’ve never felt more sated in my life.”
“That’s high praise coming from Finlay,” I said. “He makes excellent pie.”
I was relieved to see him smile from the corner of my eye.
“I’m sure,” Marcail said. “But I may have slipped some relaxing herbs into your tea earlier. You all seemed a bit on edge when you arrived.”
Now that she mentioned it, I did feel remarkably calm, especially considering what had transpired at the burn. “You drugged us?” I snapped, or tried to, but it came out more feebly than I’d intended. “Is no one else troubled by this?”
“I didn’t drug you. I merely eased some of your worry.”
That sounded like a terrible explanation, but my eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, and all I could think about was being horizontal somewhere soft and warm.
Marcail rose and cleared the dishes, humming to herself while she worked.
She had done nothing overtly threatening—whatever she’d put in the tea didn’t seem to be addling our brains, just contributing to the exhaustion of a long day on the road—but it was in my nature to be suspicious.
We were shown to a guest room with two small beds that Bri and I would share, while Finlay was given a cot in the cottage’s loft.
“Breakfast will be at eight,” Marcail said as she handed Bri a candle for our room. “The library opens at ten.”
Bri closed the door behind Marcail and set the candle on our shared nightstand. “She’s an interesting woman,” she said around a yawn as she crawled into bed.
I wasted no time in changing and plunging under the covers, chilled to my bones from my short walk to the creek, or perhaps from my conversation with Finlay.
“Did you learn anything while we were gone?” I asked, still fighting drowsiness.
Honestly, I didn’t know what was even considered overstepping anymore, but curiosity was as much a part of me as it was the shoppe, no matter how sleepy I was.
Of all the things I wished I could change about myself, that wasn’t one.
I might not be sure about a lot of things, but I was certain it was good to want to know more about the world and the things that filled it. People included.
“Not anything particularly useful,” Bri said, her voice muffled by her pillow. “She said she doubts the grimoire we need is in the library, but she thinks we might be able to learn more tomorrow, regardless.”
“That’s good news, then. Another step closer to breaking the curse.”
“Mm. What did you think about what she said?” Bri asked softly. “About the curse being a source of connection and power?”
I chewed my lip, my lids so heavy I couldn’t keep my eyes open. “I thought it was a different way of looking at things,” I said. “What did you think?”
There was a long beat of silence, and I wondered if Bri had fallen asleep. But then she said, “I don’t care about power. But connection … I mean, the curse did bring me to you and Fin. I suppose that’s worth something.” A second later, I heard a puff of breath, and the candle went out.
I smiled up at the ceiling, more pleased by her words than I wanted to admit. “Enough to keep the curse?” I asked. Maybe, just maybe, I was doing Bri a favor by stalling her search. Maybe all this guilt and fretting were for nothing.
Another long silence. I was drifting off to sleep when I heard Bri’s answer. “I’m afraid nothing is worth that.”