Free The Lady of Secrets by Susan Carroll

sought to take the blame. Usually some poor old beggar woman like la Mère Poulet, often not right in her wits. Under the pain of torture, she would spin tales of her own, accusing others of witchcraft.
    What began as a small lie would fan into a frenzy like a hot coal dropped into a pile of dried straw. Meg had heard tales of villages nearly depopulated of their women until reason prevailed, bringing an end to the torture, the trials, and the hangings.
    Seraphine continued to complain of Bridget Tillet. “Stupid girl. What could she possibly have been thinking?”
    “She didn’t think. She was too frightened. Not that I am making excuses for her, but you can imagine what it must be like for an unwed girl to find herself with child, the disgrace of it. Her family, her entire village could turn against her, drive her out. How vulnerable, helpless, and terrified such a young woman would be. Exactly the sort of girl my mother used to …”
    Meg trailed off. She seldom spoke of Cassandra Lascelles, not to anyone, not even her good friend Seraphine. Seraphine said nothing, merely watched her, waiting.
    Meg swallowed and continued, “My mother was wont to prey upon desperate girls like Bridget, using their plight to persuade them to join the coven of the Silver Rose. She offered them protection, freedom from shame and want, even promised eventual wealth and power.
    “All she required in return was a blood oath of loyalty. They could even bring their new babe as long as it was a girl. My mother, you see, had no use for a male of any age, so if any of the girls bore a son, he had to die. The poor little boy was left abandoned on a hillside, exposed to the elements, to perish of starvation.”
    Meg’s eyes stung. “I often wondered how many of them died, wailing out for the comfort of a mother who never came, crying until their voices grew too weak.”
    Seraphine wrapped her arm about Meg, who rested her head upon her taller friend’s shoulder, the rain pouring down outside, a blur before her tears.
    “Do you know the worst of it, ’Phine?” she asked when she was able to continue. “My mother wrought these horrors in my name. Megaera, her Silver Rose as she insisted upon calling me, the daughter who was expected to become a powerful sorceress one day and conquer the world.”
    “A madwoman’s dreams,” Seraphine gave her a bracing hug. “You were a child, as innocent as any of those girls Cassandra lured in with her lies. You were not responsible for anything she did and you are no longer her Silver Rose. You are now the Lady of Faire Isle.
    “The past is as dead as your mother, Meg. Let it go.”
    Meg mopped away her tears with the back of her hand, wishing it could be that simple. “At least things will end better for Bridget Tillet than it did for those girls who fell prey to my mother’s lies.
    “Monsieur Tillet is angry with his daughter at the moment, but he will forgive Bridget. Denys Brunel may not be the sort of husband he would have desired for his daughter, a poor fisher lad with not even a cottage to call his own, but I am confident he will consent to the match rather than see his daughter further disgraced. The banns will be cried and they will be happily wed.”
    “Or at least forced to be so.”
    “No, truly. I think Denys and Bridget do care for one another. Bridget, I am sure, loves him deeply.”
    “She loves the illusion of her young swain, the person that she believes him to be. Perhaps it would not be wise to inquire how she feels in ten years’ time.”
    The exact amount of time Seraphine had been wed. Meg caught the bitter edge in her friend’s voice. When she peered up at her, Seraphine moved away, locking her arms over her bosom.
    “Tomorrow morning, I shall return to Faire Isle,” Meg said. “What will you do?”
    “Why, I shall go with you. What else did you think I would do?”
    “I think you should return to your husband.”
    Seraphine’s only reply was a hard laugh. She