Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

His free hand now picking at the buttons of her bodice, Weyland kissed Elizabeth ever more deeply. He ran his hand beneath her bodice, and caressed her breasts.

A moment later he lifted her onto the kitchen table, pulled up her skirts, fumbled at his own breeches, and then slid contentedly into her.

“Elizabeth…” he whispered, working his hips gently, wanting to tell her how much he liked her, how much he was attracted by her, and how much he wanted to invite her into his Idyll, so that they might—

“Finish and be done,” the girl said, her face now averted from him, her voice harsh. “I wish not to share my hell with the likes of you.”

Her words hit Weyland with the strength of a woodsman’s mallet. He lurched backwards, pulling himself free from her, and awkwardly closed his breeches.

She lay there on the table, not moving to cover her bare flesh, her face still averted from him.

He remembered another woman, long ago, who had rejected him. Who had taunted him with a new lover. Who had laughed at him, and then set her lover to murder him.

How could he have ever thought of bringing a woman into his Idyll? How could he forget Ariadne, whom he had loved and trusted, and who had betrayed him?

Not once, but three times. Once when she set Theseus to murder him, and again when she plotted to resurrect the Game against all promises to the contrary.

And once, the very first time, when Ariadne had taken from him that one thing he loved above all else.

His child.

Ariadne had been a whore, too. That’s all women ever were.

Whores.

How could he have forgotten that? Furious now with remembered betrayal rather than at what Elizabeth had said, Weyland reached forward, grabbed one of Elizabeth’s ankles, and pulled her off the table so hard she cried out in pain as she hit the floor.

“Cold-hearted bitch,” Weyland said, and then left the kitchen, retreating up the stairs to his haven, his desperately incomplete sanctuary.

Antwerp, the Netherlands

“Louis.”

Louis turned. Charles had entered the small walled garden of their house, and now stood a pace or two away. Louis had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even heard him enter. He tried a smile of welcome, and, failing, turned back to the apple tree at which he’d been staring sightlessly before Charles entered.

Charles stepped close and put a hand on Louis’ shoulder, making the man turn back to him. “Louis, I know how you feel.”

“Sweet gods, Charles, we must find a way to save Noah from Asterion…this Weyland.”

“Louis, what can we do? The instant I step foot back in England Asterion will seize Noah and—”

“Then let me go to England. Let me save her.”

Now it was Charles whose gaze hardened. “And what will happen if you set foot back in England, eh? What happens then? We lose everything. In our peculiar circumstance, my friend, your foot is as dangerous as mine.”

Louis finally dropped his eyes away from Charles’ face. “There must be a way.”

“Then if there is, we shall find it. Louis, I do not like what Long Tom had to say. I do not want to see Noah made Asterion’s whore.”

There was silence for a few minutes, both men walking to a bench and sitting down.

“What about James?” Charles said eventually.

Louis grunted derisively. “James might aid her. Might. But I do not trust him. Besides, I do not think he would be able to act secretively. The entire nation would know James, Duke of York, had returned to England within the hour of his so doing. After that he would not be able to secrete away a mouse, let alone Noah.”

“Nay…And if I sent another? A man experienced in the arts both of action and most secret diplomacy?”

“I would be best!”

“Aye, but…” Charles allowed his voice to drift away, and again silence fell between the two men.

“Charles…” Louis said after a moment.

“Aye?”

“The problem is that you and I are so closely connected that if either of us set foot in England Weyland would know and seize Noah before we could get to her.”

“Aye. So…”

“What if I set foot in England a day or so before you? Just a day or so, hid amid all the excitement generated by your imminent arrival. Would Asterion then realise my presence? Would he think what he felt was just your impending arrival?”

Charles’ eyes narrowed as he thought. “Maybe, Louis. But, dear gods, you’d have to move fast. You’d have a day, perhaps two. Anything more and Weyland would be able to tell that what he felt was not only my impending arrival. You’d have but a breath in which to snatch her.”

“A breath is all I would need.”

Charles thought, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Charles, let me do it, I beg you! A day or two, and I would have her. Damn it! We know where she is! Even if Weyland does summon Noah, then I could find her on the road to London, or even as she enters London.”

“Gods, my friend, we’d have to time this so carefully.”

“Charles…” Louis almost growled the word.

Charles finally nodded, and sighed. “If we fail…”

“I will not fail.”

Clearly troubled, Charles stared at Louis, then nodded again. “You will need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Louis grinned, relieved. He put a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “I will rescue her, Charles. Have no doubt.”

Woburn Abbey, Bedfordshire

The Reverend John Thornton walked very slowly behind and to one side of Lady Anne Bedford and Noah Banks.

It was a beautiful late spring morning. The sun beat down with an unseasonable warmth, and the air had a languid quality about it, as if it contained all the heaviness of midsummer instead of the usual sprightliness of spring. Those deer and rabbits that saw the walkers moved away only sluggishly as if they were too exhausted to be bothered with panic.

The women wore broad-brimmed straw hats against the sun and light summery clothes. Thornton guessed they’d spent half the morning finding and then airing last summer’s bodices and skirts. But Lady Anne had been insistent; the moment she’d looked out upon the sun-swathed park she’d proclaimed that the day was too beautiful for anyone to spend indoors.

His position to one side and slightly behind gave Thornton the opportunity to study the two women.

Lady Anne, now in her sixth month of yet another pregnancy, looked drawn and tired, and Thornton wondered why she’d insisted on this walk. The day was beautiful, yes, but she might have been better instructing one of the footmen to set a chair on the lawns for her leisure rather than insisting on this meander through the parklands.

On the other hand, Noah looked as lovely as ever. She was a special woman, as he had every reason to know. For the past nine or ten years she’d been his lover, gracing him with her body and presence on two or three nights a week. He was in love with her. Worse, he was addicted to her. Whenever they lay together he embraced not only Noah, but also the land.

Always, when they made love, Thornton could feel the land rise up to meet him.

Do you feel it, John Thornton? she would whisper to him, and he would weep, and hold her, and say, Yes, I feel it.

Thornton had lost count of the number of times he’d begged Noah to marry him. He was desperate for her, and he was plagued by nightmares of losing her. Marry me, he would beg, marry me, and never leave me.

She cried whenever he said that, and laid a hand to his cheek. I cannot, she would say. I must leave, eventually.

Thornton was not sure how their love affair had kept itself secret for so long. He wondered if the countess suspected; she certainly knew Thornton loved Noah. She had once asked him directly if he held a “special affection” for Noah. He replied truthfully that he did, but that she would not have him.

Noah later told him that the countess had taxed her with Thornton’s apparently unrequited love, and that Noah had told the countess what she so often told Thornton.

She could not marry him. She could not marry any man, for she would eventually have to leave.

The countess was perplexed as much as Thornton was increasingly desperate.

He studied Noah now as he strolled along, hands clasped behind his back, eyes heavy-lidded against the sun.

At sixteen Noah had been lovely.

At twenty-five she was stunning.

Her glossy brunette hair had darkened a little more with age, but it was still striking. When they made love Thornton would sink his hands into its thick, cool mass, and often fantasised about losing himself within it completely. Her pale luminescent skin was as exquisite now as it had been at sixteen, and her eyes, ah, those eyes…when she smiled at him, slow and warm, those eyes glowed with such intensity that Thornton imagined he could feel their heat burning into his face.