Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

“The land,” she said, her head inclining very slightly towards the window. “Do you feel it?”

“What?” he said, stupidly.

By the Lord, what would happen if the earl or countess discovered their charge in his room? What if a servant happened by, and heard Noah’s warm, rich voice issue forth from beneath the door?

He knew he should be demanding she leave. He knew he should be furiously stoking the fires of his indignant anger, of his moral outrage…of his concern for her innocence, for sweet Jesus’ sake, but Thornton could do none of this.

He could only stand, and stare at her.

“The land,” she said yet again, and he marvelled at how calm her voice was; how assured. “You were sitting in the chair, being at one with the land. It is why I am here.”

“Noah…”

She walked forward, as if her presence within his chamber was the most natural and expected thing, until she stood directly before Thornton; then she turned calmly about, and presented her back to him.

If she had been coquettish, if she had been hard, or abrasive, if she had shown wantonness or lewdness, if she had shown herself to be overly practised…if Noah had done or shown any of these things, Thornton would have found it easy to open his mouth and speak scathing or condemnatory words, or perhaps to have taken her arm in a gentle hand, and spoken to her words of wise caution as he escorted her to the door (and, in both instances, to have presented the earl with his regretful resignation in the morning).

Instead, he found himself staring transfixed as his hand—moving as if it were controlled by a mind other than his own—raised itself to the bare skin of her shoulders above the neckline of her bodice, and rested itself there, its palm flat against her soft warmth.

She drew in a slow, deep breath, her head tilting back very slightly, and Thornton heard joy in that breath. He moved his hand across the rise at the back of her neck, where the column of her neck joined her shoulders, and realised that he was caressing her.

And then realised that his other hand had raised itself to the laces of her bodice and was pulling them loose, one by one.

One of her hands raised itself, as if to pull at the sleeve of the bodice.

“No,” he whispered, and, kissing the back of her neck with a soft, gentle mouth, pulled her bodice free himself.

She caught it the instant before it fell to the floor, and draped it over a nearby coffer.

Her chemise was made of a very fine linen, a lawn, and Thornton could see the gleam of her skin through it.

Sweet Jesus, her skin…it glowed in the night, as if it were lit within by a soft ivory fire.

Then the chemise was unlaced, seemingly of its own accord, and was falling away, and Thornton’s hands had slipped about her body, and were now caressing her breasts.

She turned within the circle of his arms, and lifted her face for his kiss.

Her breasts brushed against the skin of his chest, and Thornton groaned as he bent down to her, and kissed her with more abandon and passion than he had ever thought himself capable of.

“Do I taste foul to you?” she said, pulling her mouth away just enough to speak the words.

“Foul?” he said. “How could that be?”

“A man said to me once, as he kissed me, that he could taste the foulness of corruption in my mouth.”

“I taste no foulness,” he said, and it was true, for he could taste many things in her mouth—warmth, comfort, tenderness, knowledge beyond knowing, peace—and not one of them was in any manner a close cousin to foulness.

“John Thornton,” she said as his mouth slipped down her neck, and his hands fumbled with the ties of, first, her skirt and then of her underskirt, “you are a very good man, which is why I am here.”

Suddenly everything seemed right in John Thornton’s mind: why she was here, and why he reacted to her with as much abandonment and lack of care as he did. He felt somehow graced by the privilege she bestowed upon him.

He did not feel like the earl’s trusted tutor, taking terrible advantage of one of his charges.

He did not feel like a man of God who had abandoned every tenet of his belief and righteousness at the first sight (taste and feel) of a tender, swelling breast.

She was unclothed now, and Thornton pulled back from her so he could disrobe. She smiled as his clothes fell away, and pulled him back to her, and she did not seem perturbed or frightened by the feel of his hardness against her belly, and he did not feel perturbed at her lack of fear of his nakedness and arousal.

He sighed, content, and lifted her to the bed.

Thornton had slept with two women in his thirty-two years. The first woman had been the kind of woman he both despised and feared: a hard, brazen woman, a widow, who took into her bed young students from the nearby Cambridge colleges for a few pennies scattered across the sheets once they had done.

He had gone to her three times, driven by the rising, almost uncontrollable desires of youth, and he had despised himself far more than her as he’d risen hastily from her bed and self-consciously tossed the pennies on the sheets.

The second woman Thornton had lain with was another widow, but this time a woman that Thornton had hoped to wed. He was twenty-five, newly graduated but not yet a full member of the Church of England, she twenty-nine, and they had spent a few months in the summer believing that perhaps they had a future together. Their two brief, hurried couplings had been cumbersome, awkward and guilt-ridden, and had likely been the reason the woman and Thornton had decided, finally, to go their separate ways.

But this, this, this was the first time in his life that Thornton felt as if his sexual union with a woman was also a complete union of body and soul with another human being. There was no awkwardness for either of them, not even in her virginity: no fumbling, no guilt, no desperation.

Only sweetness, joy, and a warmth and comfort that Thornton had never imagined could exist.

All this, he wondered at one moment, as she arched her body into his, and laughed, and told him how wonderful he was, in a girl only sixteen.

But, oh, in sinking into her he felt as if he sank into generations. It was as if he were being invited home after years spent wandering lost, as if he had found himself deep within her.

“John Thornton,” she whispered to him as she caught at his hips with her hands, and encouraged him into a slower and deeper rhythm, “do you feel it?”

And yes, he did feel it. He felt the rise and fall of the land as it rolled away over hill and dale; he felt the joy in the waters of the streams and lakes as they tossed and turned under the sway of the moon; he felt the blessed peace of the night give way to the gentle joy of the morning, and then slip away again into twilight and mystery.

And he felt her, all of her, and knew that there was nothing else awaiting him in this life that would give him any greater sense of joy and blessing than this woman could.

Later, when they lay quietly side by side, he kissed the beauty of her shoulder and said, “Be my wife.” What more could he ask for but that she be beside him, and be the mother of his children?

“I cannot,” she said.

“Why?”

She did not immediately reply, and Thornton felt for the first time a great sadness within her.

“I would destroy you,” she whispered, “for eventually I would have to leave you.”

And he could see how that would be so. If she married him, and then left him, it would destroy him so completely she might as well have stabbed him deep within the heart before she had walked out the door.

“I will be your lover for a while,” she said.

“It will be enough,” he said, knowing it never would be, but that he would need to content himself with it.

She sighed, and rolled over so that she faced him, and took his face between her eyes.

“Can you feel it, John Thornton?” she said again, and he could, as before: the rise and fall of the land, and all the strange faerie creatures that were somehow associated with this woman, and he knew that she was no real woman at all, but a rare, magical being who had, for whatever reason, decided to stay a while at Woburn Abbey and there to bless his life with her presence.