Touch of a Witch by S.G. Slade

Author:S.G. Slade [Slade, S.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sam Grosser Books

When Sarah reached the house in Water Lane, Nick was waiting for her and John was nowhere to be seen. Nick leaped from his chair to greet her and held her tight against him. She nestled into him, absorbing the smell of him, the strength of his body, his warmth. His lips were against her hair, brushing it with gentle kisses, and she wondered what insanity had turned his wife away from such caresses; the God of the Puritans surely demanded too much. After a time, he loosened his hold on her and she drew back a little, but she remained in the safety of his embrace. ‘Where is John?’ she whispered.

‘Safely asleep. We stopped at an apothecary on the way and got a sleeping draught. He is peaceful now, praise God.’

She nodded and they turned, still holding hands, and stepped to the fire. She settled herself before it and he sat close to her so that when she lifted her head she could only meet his eyes, staring intently into hers, his mouth but an inch from hers.

He said, ‘John accused you of bewitching me.’

She frowned, searching to understand words that seemed to make no sense. ‘But I thought it was because of Tom,’ she said. ‘Because he thinks Tom seduced him through witchcraft …’

‘It is that. But he also claims you have bewitched me to love you.’

‘He has lost his mind,’ she said. But the truth of the charges frightened her, for truth has a way of being heard and she knew of no magic against it. She had never thought to harm anyone, only to stir up Nick’s passion more keenly and to act on his desires: she had never sought to bring him to her against his will. And why should it matter to John, anyway?

‘There is more,’ Nick said, lifting her chin with a finger and tilting her head up towards him. He was watching her as though he would read every thought through the window of her eyes. She tried to smile, but dread was weighting the very blood in her veins and she could barely summon the strength she needed to move her lips.

‘He has said that if I marry you before God and He does not strike you down, he’ll believe you are no witch.’

‘But you cannot marry me.’ The pity of it struck with new force and she hated his wife afresh.

‘We can handfast in church, and it will buy us some time.’

‘A handfast is binding,’ she said carefully, though the thought of it was tempting. ‘You’re not free to make me promises you cannot keep. You’ll end up in prison.’

‘Better that than you at the end of a rope,’ he answered.

‘No,’ she said. She couldn’t let him endanger himself on her account. He was innocent of all of it, and she would have him stay that way. ‘There must be another way.’ She needed to talk to her mother – her mother would know what to do.

‘There is none,’ he said.

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