Free The Ground She Walks Upon by Meagan McKinney Page A

her.
    Her heart was near to bursting with terror. The raw energy of flight took hold of her and she ran out of the dressing room. Her dingy blue gown caught on a chair and toppled it, but still, the carved double doors out of the apartment were almost within her sight. She held out her hands as if to reach them, but an arm lifted her by the waist and slammed her into the down mattress of the lord's bedstead.
    "You bloody urchin! Show me what you've taken from here or, by God, I'll bring you and your grandmother in front of the magistrate. "
    " 'Tis nothing! 'Tis nothing!" she cried out as he grappled with her on the mattress. When he had her pinned, he forced open her grubby fingers and found the three damning blond hairs that clung to her palm.
    "What is this?" His eyes were the cold color of the Irish sea. "It looks like my hair...?"
    "I'm not a witch. I'm not... I'm not... " She sobbed.
    He looked down at her as if noticing her agony for the first time. The tears on her grimy cheeks left rivulets of clean skin in their wake and her worn blue gown, patched and dirty, seemed to disgust him. "Damned well you're no witch. There is no such thing, you foolish girl. "
    She stared up at him, not comforted at all by the fact that he believed her, not when his face loomed terrifyingly above her, like Satan come to her in the night.
    "Come along. Confess. What were you going to do with my hair?" He shook her as if that would get the truth from her. "Were you thinking in that absurd head of yours that your grandmother could put a spell on me?"
    If she weren't so terrified, she'd think he almost looked amused.
    "Nay," she whispered, glancing at the palm he held open, " 'tis just the opposite. My—my friends call you a warlock—"
    "Your friends. But not you?" He looked closely at her, demanding she speak the truth. He seemed to be truly curious of her answer.
    "I—I don't believe you are, but they said they would prove that you were one if I gave them a lock of your hair. " She looked at him. Her answer seemed to take him aback.
    "You were here in defense of my honor?" he asked slowly.
    She nodded.
    He lifted his head and laughed as if unable to control it. The sound should have been pleasant, but it was harsh and mirthless, as if he knew no other way to laugh, as if he knew no joy in his life. With the devilish slant to his eyebrows, she suddenly could see how some people had acquired the notion that he was indeed a warlock.
    "Tell me, child, who these people are who dare to call me a warlock, " he said, taunting her.
    She stared up at him, silent, a mutinous set to her jaw.
    "Come on, tell me. Otherwise, " he drew closer until they were eye to eye; she, locked beneath him on the green velvet counterpane of the bed, unable to struggle. "Otherwise, I'll call in the magistrate. "
    Her lower lip trembled only slightly. She would be jailed and punished for stealing. So be it. She would not betray her friends.
    "I'll not tell you. Hang me if you must, " she answered, breathless with terror.
    "Hang you," he scoffed as if he found the idea ridiculous. But because it played so well on her fears, he let his gaze flick down to the palm he still held with an iron grip and said, "Confess, you wild creature, or I'll flay the skin from this hand if you don't. "
    She whimpered, holding back new tears. She would not cry again. She would not. She glanced at the offending hand, defiance hot on her face. "I will not betray my friends.... " The words died on her lips.
    His gaze followed hers. She stared at a gold ring that gleamed on his small finger, a gold ring wrought of Celtic tracery in the shape of a serpent. It was the Trevallyan adder, of course. She could see that now. What she could not understand was why his ring exactly matched the one on her hand, the one Grania had given her many years ago at her birth, the one shoved onto her chubby index finger because it was still too big for her other fingers.
    "They match," she whispered, utterly