Page 21 of A Lullaby for Witches

When I saw him waiting with his hands in his pockets, I nearly lost my breath at how beautiful he looked with the wind in his dark hair. The weather had turned cool, and though I shivered beneath my shawl, Jack was only in his shirtsleeves and vest. He must have felt my eyes on him, for he turned and gave me his crooked smile. “There’s my wildflower.”

I fell into his arms, hungry for his touch and the heat of his lean body against mine. I knew I should tell him about the child, but a part of me was frightened that it would change everything between us. It was such a perfect moment, with the crashing waves behind us, his arms wrapped around me and his chin tucked over my head. Our hearts beat in unison, the wind binding us tightly together.

“There’s something I must tell you,” I made myself say.

He pulled away slightly, tilting my chin up to him. “What?”

He was looking down at me with such heat in his clear blue eyes, such longing. Had there ever been a woman so adored, so loved? “Nothing,” I said, managing a small smile. “It is nothing.”

I led him away from the rocks and into the woods where he took me with no less passion than he had the first time or the hundred times since then. Afterward, we lay on a bed of damp autumn leaves, my shawl wrapping us together in a cocoon. Above us, a canopy of black branches fanned out against the dark lavender sky. I was in such a daze of contentment that I hardly realized he had said something.

“Maggie,” he said, twining a finger through my hair, “there’s something I have to ask you.”

I caught my breath. Here, at last, was my proposal.

But it was not a proposal, nor even the pretty words to which I’d grown so accustomed. “The stories about you...that is...” He cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “How much is true?”

I didn’t need to ask him what he was talking about. I tamped down my disappointment. I suppose it had only been a matter of time before he would ask. “You want to know if your ‘little witch’ is indeed practicing some dark art, is that it?” He didn’t say anything, but I could see the confirmation in his eyes. I sighed, sitting up. “Very well. Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, he sat up and gave it to me. It was a beautiful hand, large and strong, fingers elegantly tapered at the tips. Taking my time, I drew my finger down the meandering lines of his palms, my featherlight touch eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

“Your love line is very deep,” I told him. “You love intensely and with your whole being. But it is not long.” I raised my gaze to meet his, and found that he was staring at me with an unreadable expression. “I hope that means you will not be unfaithful to me,” I teased.

Abruptly, he took his hand back. “I don’t like this, Maggie,” he said. “It’s all nonsense anyway, isn’t it? You can’t truly see all of that, can you?”

“It’s as true as any preacher’s sermon,” I told him.

Jack went very still, as if just struck by an unpleasant thought. “You can’t...that is, you can’t see into the minds of others, can you?”

I nudged him in the side, amused by his discomfort. “Why, do you have dark secrets you’d rather keep hidden from me?”

“Of course not,” he said gruffly.

If only I did possess such a power, I might have saved myself considerable heartache. “Here, look at this.” If he didn’t want to see the truth, I could at least show him a pretty trick. Taking up a dead aster, I held it between my thumb and finger and murmured the words I knew so well. Jack’s eyes went wide as the withered leaves uncurled back to life, pink color returning to the petals.

I had never shown my magic to anyone before, and my heart was beating fast, my palms sweating. I had not thought that I would care, but I suddenly realized how very important it was to me that Jack understood what I was. Who I was.

“Maggie,” he said, his voice husky and almost breathless. “I don’t know if I should be afraid, but I can’t seem to be anything other than amazed. My remarkable girl.”

We watched the aster complete its transformation in silence, until the last petal had opened and I let the sea breeze carry it away.

“I want to speak to your father,” Jack finally said.

I must not have heard him correctly. We had built many castles in the air that started out in just such a way, and I assumed that was what he was doing now. Propping myself up on my elbow, I arched my brow at him. “Why, whatever for, Mr. Pryce?”

“Don’t, Maggie,” he said. “I’m in earnest.”

And indeed he was. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked as if his next breath relied on my answer. My heart raced, my thoughts in a jumble. I wanted my child. I wanted love. I wanted to be my own mistress and escape the stagnation of my parents’ house. The first two only required a man, but the third required a husband. A husband would give me certain freedoms, yes, but I would be no less beholden to him than I was to my parents now. I studied Jack out of the corner of my eye. Would he expect me to work in his family’s store? Or would he keep me home to raise his children? Would he tolerate my wild ways and let me go where I would? Or would he grow bored with me after he had captured his prize? The chill that we had kept at bay with our lovemaking returned.

“And what of your parents?” I asked him. “Do they approve?”

His pursed lips and the way he evaded my eyes was all the answer I needed. “I am a grown man,” he said, almost as if he was reassuring himself and not me. “If they do not approve, then what can they do to stop me?”

A great deal, it turned out. Nearly a week later when I saw him next, Jack admitted that his parents had threatened to withhold his inheritance from him if he were to marry me, small though it must have been.

“What need have we for money?” I drew my finger down the length of his torso, teasing at his waistband. “I shall charge for my midwife services, and you are strong and clever. Why, my brother George would give you a position at the shipping office if I were to ask, I am sure of it.”

But Jack didn’t say anything. A cloud seemed to have settled over us, a wall of thorns springing up around our castle in the air.

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