Chapter 18
The Great Hall was quiet when Aura stepped inside with Hamish, but it was the kind of quiet that carried weight. A few villagers lingered along the walls, their eyes glancing toward her before quickly looking away, and Freyda sat at one of the many tables, worry in her eyes.
Cleric William stood near the dais, his hands folded, his expression unreadable. Declan was beside him, arms crossed, his stance protective.
“You sent for me?” Aura asked, her voice steady.
William inclined his head. “I did. There are… matters I wish to discuss with you, my lady.”
Declan’s gaze sharpened. “These whispers you heard are meaningless.”
“Whispers of witches are never meaningless,” William said, his eyes not leaving Aura.
“Whispers travel quickly. Word of the ring of stones. Word of talismans. Potions. The rowan sticks some of your villagers now carry tucked in their belts, and all this learned from a simple walk through your village to see if anyone was in need of a cleric.”
Aura kept her chin lifted. “Rowan wards off ill luck. That is a long-held belief.”
“Belief,” William echoed, as though tasting the word. “Or witchcraft?”
Her jaw tightened. “Is there harm in it if it brings comfort?”
“There is harm when comfort gives way to heresy,” he said, his tone sharpening just enough to cut. “A woman with a keen interest in plants and potions, making charms for protection… one might mistake such things for witchcraft.”
Declan stepped forward, his stance protective, his voice hard. “Enough. You’ll not accuse my wife on the weight of idle gossip that breeds fear.”
He moved to walk to his wife’s side and suddenly lost his footing. In an instant, he pitched forward… face-first onto the floor at Aura’s feet.
A startled gasp swept the hall. Declan pushed at the ground, trying to rise, but his arms trembled as though some unseen weight pressed him down.
Aura dropped to one knee beside him. “Declan—”
“I’m fine,” he ground out, but when he tried again, he barely managed to lift himself before sinking back.
It wasn’t until Aura stepped away that he finally managed to get his knees beneath him and rise, his breathing tight.
The room buzzed with whispers.
“Like the women before…”
“The curse… it’s turned on him.”
Cleric William shook his head, his gaze never leaving Declan. “Your wife… has cursed you.”
For a heartbeat, the Great Hall was silent, the cleric’s words hanging heavy in the air. Then the murmurs began—soft, hissing, and urgent.
Aura’s back stiffened. “That is a lie,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
William’s eyes narrowed. “You are skilled with plants, talismans, potions. You’ve been to the ring of stones. And now the curse that once brought women to fall at his feet has turned upon him. If that is not your doing, whose is it?”
Declan stepped forward, placing himself squarely between them but a safe distance from Aura.
“Enough.” His voice rang through the hall, low and dangerous. “You’ll not speak of my wife that way again.”
William didn’t flinch. “I speak only what is plain to see.”
“Then perhaps your eyes don’t see clearly,” Declan shot back. “She is no witch. She is my wife, and she is under my protection.”
The whispers sharpened, darting from mouth to mouth like sparks seeking dry tinder.
Someone muttered, “Protection won’t save him if she’s cursed him.”
Declan turned, sweeping the crowd with a glare that made several drop their gaze to their boots. “Every man and woman in this hall know Aura has done nothing but help this village with her growing knowledge, from working with the healer to helping Ruth improve her cooking.”
Several people smiled and nodded at that as well as Ruth, who had stepped out of the kitchen along with other servants to listen to the cleric.
Declan continued. “And you think to repay her with lies and fear when she would be the first to offer you a helping hand?”
Hamish pushed forward, his voice sharp enough to cut through the rising whispers.
“Enough of this! Every one of you knows how Aura’s knowledge has kept sickness at bay, healed wounds, and eased pain when nothing else would.
And, aye, she has also made Ruth’s food enjoyable to eat.
You’ve all sought her help at one time or another. How dare you doubt her now.”
There was a murmur of agreement, but William’s voice cut through it. “Tell me, where does that knowledge stem from?”
The question hung in the air, and a few heads began to nod, doubt creeping in where gratitude had been moments before.
Declan’s jaw tightened. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms but he could not risk another scene like the one just now—could not take the chance of stumbling at her feet again, not here, not in front of so many eyes that were judging her.
“Aura,” he said, his tone brooking no argument, “go to my solar. I’ll be there shortly.”
She caught the unspoken reason in his stern voice and hurried from the hall, the hem of her garments brushing the wood floor with her hasty steps.
Only when she was gone did Declan turn fully to William.
William’s expression remained composed, but his words held no warmth. “The Church will not ignore what happened here.”
Declan stepped closer, his voice low but adamant. “No witchcraft exists in my clan.”
William inclined his head slightly. “You had better be certain of that, my lord. Or the Church will be.”
Aura sat in the solar, her hands twisting in worry in her lap, staring at the narrow window where gray skies kept barely any light from filtering in.
She couldn’t hear the words being spoken beyond those walls, but she didn’t need to.
She knew Declan—knew he would stand firm and knew he would defend her with everything he had.
Still, her chest felt tight. The image of him sprawled at her feet, unable to rise until she stepped away, wouldn’t leave her.
The curse… had it reversed itself? Was that why he couldn’t stay on his feet in front of her?
And if so—was it only her presence that brought him down, or would it happen with any woman?
Her stomach knotted at the thought.
The door opened, and Declan stepped inside. His expression was a mix of controlled anger and the stubborn determination she knew too well. He shut the door firmly and faced her.
“They’ll not speak against you without answering to me,” he said.
“I never doubted it.” She searched his face, then added quietly, “But you’re thinking the same thing I am—that the curse has turned on you.”
His jaw tightened. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“And you don’t know if it’s only me that affects you,” she pressed.
He nodded, realizing how much they thought alike. “We need to find out since no woman stood close enough to me to prove it.”
Needing to see if it would happen again, he took a cautious step toward her, then another.
She saw it happen. The shift in his stance, the subtle weakening in his legs before they began to tremble.
“Declan—”
He swore under his breath, his face hardening as he fought to keep his balance. “It’s worse than I thought.” He stepped back sharply, the weakness ebbing the moment the distance widened between them.
Fury flared in his eyes, feeling helpless. “I can’t go near you without feeling my legs give way. I’ll not live like this, Aura—not able to come near you.”
Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of him never hugging or kissing her again, but she kept her voice steady and strong. “We will find out what’s causing it, and we will end it.”
He nodded once, the promise clear in his gaze. But beneath it, she could still see the storm building.
“First things first,” she said. “We need to know if it is only me or that you will fall in front of other women. I have a plan.”
They discussed it and Aura left his solar taking a wide berth around him, her heart paining her that she could not soothe his worries with a gentle touch.
The Great Hall was nearly empty when she entered it. Most of the villagers had already gone, their whispers and speculation no doubt trailing them out into the village.
Hamish stood near the hearth speaking with Freyda, who sat at the end of a bench, her healer’s pouch dangling from her belt. At a table not far off, Cleric William sipped from a steaming cup of cider, his gaze idly scanning the room.
Aura crossed to Hamish, keeping her voice low. “Declan wishes to speak with you.”
He gave her a brief, searching look before nodding and walking off.
She turned to Freyda, keeping her voice low. “I need a favor.”
Freyda nodded, casting a hasty look at the cleric who was now busy enjoying a honey cake to notice anything.
“Would you go to Declan when he enters the hall? There’s something we need to know.”
Freyda didn’t hesitate to agree with a smile that showed she understood. “Of course I will.”
“You have my heartfelt thanks,” Aura said.
“Sit and have some cider. You look worn out,” Freyda said, “but it is no wonder with all that has gone on.”
Aura sat, grateful for a peaceful moment and a friend who understood yet asked no questions.
A short time later Declan entered with Hamish at his side.
Hamish’s gaze found his wife, and he gave her the quickest of nods, just enough to let her know he understood what she intended to do.
Freyda rose and walked straight to Declan. “My lord,” she greeted warmly, pulling a small pouch from her healing sack as she continued walking toward him. She didn’t stop until she was close enough to hand him the pouch. “The mixture you favor for your drink.”
Nothing happened. Declan stood steady, meeting her gaze without so much as a shift in his stance.
“My appreciation, Freyda,” Declan said, though his gratitude wasn’t for the pouch.
Relief loosened the tight band in Aura’s chest. But Declan’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.
“Seems that answers it,” Hamish whispered.
Declan’s voice was low and edged with frustration. “Only a small part, there are far more things needed to be learned.”
His gaze found Aura across the room, and though he said nothing more, she saw the truth in his eyes. He could stand inches from another woman without faltering, but not from her. And the knowledge burned in him like a searing brand.