Chapter 21
Declan slammed his palm against the table, the crack echoing off the stone walls, intending to finally get some answers. “Enough games. Why has the curse turned on me? Why can’t I so much as touch my wife without falling at her feet? Was this your doing—or are darker forces at work?”
The witch’s cloak rustled as she stalked toward him, her eyes blazing.
“You truly are blind. All would have gone well if you had not taken Aura to the ring of stones. I can easily correct any damage that pitiful, useless man you trusted to wed you may have done.” She shook her head.
“Is it your eyes or common sense that fails you. You took no note of the cleric, or you would have seen that he wore no cross, offered no blessings, and partook in the sin of gluttony by the way he ate and drank himself senseless.”
His shoulders tensed, annoyed that she was right but defended himself anyway. “I was eager to keep Aura safe and to do that I needed to make her my wife and quickly.”
Her laugh was sharp, humorless. “Idiot. So, you accept a sloven man who shows up, barely mutters holy words, and you do not even question who he claims to be? In the end, leaving Aura vulnerable.”
Declan’s jaw clenched. “And, of course, you know who he is.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a witch if I didn’t. He’s a minion of someone who practices dark magic.”
“Rest assured, Aura was not left vulnerable,” Declan said, disturbed upon learning that. “The error has been rectified.”
The witch froze. Her gaze narrowed to a dangerous slit. “What do you mean? What have you done in my absence?”
“I do not need you here to tend to my duties. A cleric from Donchill Abbey arrived and wed us,” he said, his mind churning as he spoke. “William.” His eyes narrowed as he spoke a sudden thought aloud. “And like the first cleric, he wears no cross.”
The witch stiffened, her expression snapping from disdain to sharp alertness. “Describe him.”
Declan frowned, then spoke slowly. “He is almost as tall as me and like you he has white hair, though not long, shoulder length. His features are quite striking, a small scar along his cheek offering no distraction only curiosity as to how he got it.”
Her breath hissed between her teeth. A moment later, fury ripped through her eyes, her voice rising like a lash. “You just described the most powerful warlock in these lands… Alweth!”
Declan went still, but the fire in his gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll see him cast out.”
Her words cut sharper than any blade. “Cast out? He won’t be driven away like a mongrel, you arrogant dolt. This man has a vendetta—against me. And through your blindness, you’ve handed him the very means to carry it out.”
Declan’s muscles grew taut. “Do you mean Aura? What does she have to do with you and the vendetta?”
The witch headed to the door. “I have no time to explain. We need to find your wife.”
The morning air turned unnaturally still as villagers, for no reason, suddenly rushed into the cottages. No dogs barked, no animal sounds came from the pens. Doors were shut, shutters fastened, and chimney smoke seemed to curl more slowly. It was as if the village itself had retreated into silence.
Aura quickened her pace, gripping the hag stone tight in her hand. She needed to reach the keep but with every step, unease crawled higher in her chest. The quiet wasn’t natural. It was forced and the warlock had disappeared. She didn’t spot him anywhere.
She whispered silent words repeatedly as she rushed forward. The keep wasn’t that far, she could make it. She had to make it there.
He suddenly appeared as if out of thin air.
He stood a short distance ahead, tall and straight as if he had been waiting for her.
His white hair seemed even whiter, his features more chiseled and his hands folded calmly in front of him.
He watched her approach with a serenity and confidence that made her skin crawl.
Her steps had halted with his sudden appearance, and she silently warned herself to stay strong. “What have you done to the village?”
His smile was faint. “I have provided it with some temporary peace. Fear makes them noisy. I prefer quiet and privacy when dealing with an issue.”
Her pulse thudded hard. “You’re no cleric.” She couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge that he was a warlock, for then it would become all too real.
“Nay,” he agreed easily, stepping closer.
“But I do know vows. And broken vows carry weight.” His eyes sharpened, the calm veneer slipping.
“I was refused once at the ring of stones. Refused where I should have been honored. I swore there would be a reckoning. And now…” He lifted a hand, fingers curling like a snare. “It comes through you.”
Aura spun, the hem of her cloak snapping at her ankles as she ran for the keep. But the air thickened, heavy as water, dragging at her limbs. Her breath rasped as her legs fought to move while William advanced without haste.
“You will not escape me,” he murmured, his smile tightening. “This time I will have what is due me.”
The Great Hall pressed close around Declan as he strode through, the witch at his side. Something was wrong. The air hung heavy, dragging against his limbs, and the silence was unnerving.
He swore under his breath. “What is this?”
The witch’s eyes narrowed. “His power. He extended it over the keep and no doubt the village as well.”
Declan drove forward though it was difficult, slowing him down. The keep’s main door loomed ahead, no light leaked around its frame. He seized the iron handle, his hand struggling to grip it tightly and heaved against the oppressive weight that challenged him.
It did not move.
He shoved his shoulder against it, muscles straining, rage burning in his chest. “Damn you—open!”
“It obeys only Alweth.” The witch lifted her hands and kept her voice sharp. “He’s bound it shut.” She began to chant, her words harsh and foreign, prickling along Declan’s skin.
Declan slammed his fist against the wood, fury raging through him. His wife was out there along with the warlock, and he couldn’t reach her. Even if he did, how did he save her from a warlock?
Her chant grew louder, fiercer, until the air cracked with invisible strain. The door groaned, shuddered, and, at last, gave way. Cold morning air rushed in, yet it carried no sound of village life. Only silence.
The witch’s eyes darkened as she swept her gaze over the empty village. “He has her.”
Declan’s grip tightened on his sword. “Where?”
Her gaze turned grim. “The ring of stones. He’s taken her there to finish what was denied him long ago.”