Bewitching Exclusive Excerpt
The Roses of Carterhaugh
by Melissa Widmaier
Marcail caught herself staring during the Eucharist, her body too warm to be pious. There was something about the cut of his jaw when he relaxed, when he truly listened, that reminded her of her father, a kindness most men rarely showed. Light from stained glass delicately painted the hall, giving the young knight a mythical aura. It made her consider things unfit for a maid, especially for an earl’s second daughter.
This internal scandal compared with her sister’s open rebellion, and the thought bore into Marcail’s chest. I’m supposed to be the sensible one.
She hadn’t even noted Father Ranald’s sermon. But Jonet appeared to have heard every word. She openly pierced the priest with her grass-blade eyes.
“That man has more brimstone in him than Hell,” she fumed as they scurried out of the hall and into the kirkyard. “Eaten by dogs, indeed.”
Marcail blinked and looked to Moris again. He was smiling and biting his lip. The knight answered her questioning glance with a snort. “It’s not like you to daydream, lady. Didn’t you hear the story of Jezebel? The windows were rattling with it.”
She sighed, unintentionally leaning into his arm. He did not correct for it. “I’m afraid I’m not myself today.”
Moris slowed his stride and pouted. “It saddens me to hear this. Anything I might do?”
“Yes,” Marcail answered too quickly, her throat tingling with unspoken truths. “Actually. Will you escort Jonnie to the chancery tomorrow? It would ease my mind a little.”
Moris blinked, straining to keep disappointment from his face. “Why?”
Marcail put on her best smile, the one that Da liked. “She’d be safer under your protection.”
The little charm almost worked. Moris blushed. “Yes, but I meant why does she need to see the chancellor?”
The question slammed into her like a gale off the sea. What could she say that wouldn’t reveal her sister’s recklessness? “Oh, uh, because…”
Jonet scowled and pushed in between them, breaking Marcail’s hold on the knight’s arm. “I’ve developed a sudden interest in the history of our estate,” she snapped. “And I should like to see some records is all.”
Moris laughed. Marcail thought it a pleasant baritone, like the twang of a bow, but perhaps she only felt that way because the barb was not directed at her.
“Doubt Chancellor Wulle will even let you through the door.”
Marcail jumped into the impending fray. “He will if you come with us.”
Moris relaxed his shoulders and unclenched his fists, turning away from scowling Jonet. “Us?” he muttered, staring into Marcail’s dark eyes. “You will be…”
Jonet ripped her sister from the trance. “Will you take us or not?” she hissed.
Moris sighed like a man bereft and nodded. “Yes. Fine. Fine. It’s absurd, but if it will keep you entertained, I’ll be your escort.”
All of the fear and trepidation vanished in a shimmer of light. “Splendid!” Marcail returned to Moris’s side and took his arm. “Our thanks, sir.”
Moris flushed but kept up a steady stride through the kirkyard.
They stopped in front of little Charlie. Jonet plucked a leaf from the yew tree, kissed it, and placed it on the gravestone. Her body quivered once and then she was off to the manor like an unbroken horse.
As she always did, Marcail stopped to stare, memorizing gashes in the stone. The crucifixion of the Lord stood out in deep relief, beside it a depiction of a woman and child in worship. Below that was the etch of a name, the small indentations of a tiny life.
Strange currents whipped about. After a few moments, she realized Moris was still standing behind her, a windbreaking tree, head respectfully bowed.
She smiled, grateful for like company, and took up his hand. Moris flinched but did not scold. Marcail felt a slight twinge in her chest when she realized he should have.
“Jonet tells me you dislike the sea,” she blurted, pulling him away from the sacred earth.
His face reddened again. “I don’t really, but…”
“But?”
The knight fidgeted. “Ken the selkies, lass?”
Marcail laughed. “Yes. I’ve always thought they were gentle creatures, friend to human and seal.”
“I’ve heard otherwise, but it matters not. They’re unnatural just the same. Both human and beast. I don’t like anything that smacks of the unseelie.” Moris crossed himself before leading her over the threshold of the manor. “I’ve sworn an oath to protect all from evil.” He bowed, holding her hand level with his lips.
Marcail trembled, wishing he would do more with that hand. “The Sìth are evil?” she muttered. She’d meant it as a declaration, a reminder her sister was in great peril. But, somehow, her heart had made it a question.
Moris dropped her hand and stood to attention. “Yes! May God in heaven protect you, lass! Do you not listen to Father Ranald? All magic is dangerous.”
Somehow, she had insulted him. Marcail swallowed and averted her gaze. “Ah, well. I’m glad of your sword then… to protect… me.”
Moris bowed again, a softer smile lifting his cheeks. “You’ll always have it, my lady.”
Jonet appeared in the doorway behind her sister, shadowed and still brooding.
“Ladies,” Moris amended. He took his leave quickly and so did they.
Marcail fought tears as they climbed the stairway to their room, back to the silence growing between them. Ah, Charlie, I think you are the fortunate one.
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