Free Witchstruck by Victoria Lamb Page A

house.’
    ‘Very well.’ Sir Henry nodded to one of the guards, who had just come back in. ‘Have you searched her room? What did you find?’
    ‘Nothing, sir,’ the guard said, ‘except this, which was under the Lytton girl’s pillow.’
    He was holding up the small white stone my aunt had given me to ward off those who were observing me.
    Bedingfield looked at me. ‘Explain.’
    I managed a maidenly blush, which was not hard given the way the Spaniard had been glaring at me throughout Bedingfield’s questioning, and hung my head.
    ‘’Tis a love stone, sir. Just a girl’s trick, nothing more. You place it under your pillow for a se’ennight, and at the end, you . . . you dream of your husband-to-be.’
    There was some muffled laughter around the room at this fanciful explanation. Even Bedingfield’s usually stolid features held the faintest hint of a smile. I noticed that Alejandro was not amused, however, but continued to watch me sternly from the window.
    The guard looked down at the white stone dubiously, then hurried to set it on the table before Bedingfield, as though just touching the thing might mean he’d have to marry me.
    Bedingfield picked up the stone and turned it over in his hand. But it was only, after all, a small white stone, with no markings or carvings to reveal its true purpose, and he could find nothing remarkable about it.
    ‘I’ll show the stone to Dent when he arrives. He’s an expert in these matters and may be better able to tell us what it is.’ He dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand. ‘Take young Meg to her room, and make sure she stays there. I don’t want her slipping away before the witchfinder arrives.’
    I found myself being led away to my chamber and imprisoned there in the darkness, without even the comfort of a candle. While the young guard coughed and shuffled his feet outside my door, I lay fully clothed on my straw mattress and tried not to imagine how it would feel to dance in agony at the end of a rope.
    It was almost dawn when I heard the door creak open and someone come in.
    In the gloomy half-light of my chamber, it was hard to tell who had come to visit me, though I could see that it was a man. One of the guards, perhaps, eager to torment me before I was taken away for good? I sat up groggily, ready to shout for help, but the man was too quick for me.
    He kneeled on the edge of my mattress and clapped a hand to my mouth. ‘Hush, little witch,’ said a now familiar voice, heavily accented. ‘You don’t want to wake the whole household, do you? I’ve paid good coin for five minutes’ speech with you, and I’d like to get my money’s worth.’
    I stared into Alejandro de Castillo’s dark eyes.
    Slowly and cautiously, he removed his hand. I threw myself back against the pillow. ‘Five minutes’ speech? Or five minutes’ pleasure?’
    Alejandro raised his brows, seeming to consider this question seriously. His gaze moved down and settled on my stockinged feet. I drew them up at once, hiding my feet beneath the folds of my gown.
    ‘If that had been my intention,
mi alma
,’ he replied coolly, ‘I should have asked for longer than five minutes.’
    I was not sure what the words in Spanish meant, but the look in his eyes was unnerving.
    ‘Perhaps five minutes was all you could afford?’
    Alejandro sat down beside me on the mattress, though I could see he was careful not to allow our bodies to touch, even briefly.
    ‘You are a cat, Meg Lytton. You like to draw blood with those vicious claws of yours. But you do not have nine lives to lose, I think. So I have come to see what I can do to help you avoid the noose. If you wish to avoid it, that is.’
    I stared up at him through narrowed eyes, wondering what to make of this. Why would a Catholic novice help an accused witch avoid torture and execution?
    ‘No,’ I forced myself to reply, though my voice shook. ‘I’m looking forward to the noose. Nothing better than a good hanging.’
    To my