Chapter Twenty-Four

R ory stood in front of the ruins of the witch’s hovel, wrapped in his cloak. Even the warm wool garment couldn’t stave off the chill in his bones. The cold seeped into him, and he feared he’d never be warm again. Beside him, King and Henry rubbed their hands together and blew out their breath. Henry shook his hair to dislodge the droplets of the rain that had finally ceased falling.

“Do you think she’s coming?” King asked.

“She’ll be here,” Rory said.

“I wish she would hurry.” Henry looked about him, lip curled in distaste. “I don’t like it here.”

Rory knew what he meant, even without Henry expressing it clearly. As soon as they neared the ruins of the hovel, a feeling of gloom and darkness had fallen over him. He’d felt it last night as well, though he’d paid less attention to it because he was frantic about Frances. But he couldn’t deny it now, couldn’t deny the way a weight seemed to settle on him and push his shoulders down and down.

“This is a bad place,” King said. “The house that stood here has been gone for years, and no one has built here again. I don’t think anyone ever will.”

“The evil ye feel is the residue of the curse,” said a voice from behind them.

Rory turned around and saw the old woman standing behind them, the hood of her ragged black cloak pulled over her head so only her face was visible.

“Ye brought the curse back, and now we will dispel it once and for all.” She moved forward, slowly, painfully. Rory followed her with his eyes, turning as she made her way around the men to face them. They stood around the wet black logs where the fire had burned the night before. Now the witch bent and muttered at the logs. Then there was a spark and a fire flickered to life.

Rory wondered if she’d had a tinder box hidden beneath her cloak. Then he caught King’s wide-eyed look and realized that no strike of flint would have made those wet logs burn so quickly, if at all.

The witch seemed to sway, and then take a deep breath. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at each man in turn. “I havenae much time left. Have ye made yer decisions?”

The men didn’t speak, and Rory closed his eyes, afraid she would ask him first.

“George Oxley,” she said, using King’s formal name. “Ye have found true love with Violet Baker. Will ye renounce it and reclaim your title and lands?”

King cleared his throat, and Henry put a hand on his shoulder. Rory put a hand on the other shoulder, offering his support.

“No,” King said, finally, his voice strong and deep. “I reject the sacrifice of the heart ,” he said, repeating a line from the counter-spell. “I’ll live with the consequences of the curse.”

“So be it,” the witch said, and Rory reared back as the fire seemed to leap higher, the heat of it searing his face. “Ye are free of this place and my sister’s hold on ye. Ye have paid in full for yer misdeed. Ye!”

Henry started as she pointed a bony finger at him.

“Me?”

“Aye, Henry Lewis, Duke of Carlisle. You have found true love with Lady Katherine Malfort. Will you offer a sacrifice of the heart and reclaim your wealth and properties?”

He looked at King and then Rory. Rory raised his brows. Henry swallowed and squared his shoulders. “No. I—” He leaned closer to King. “What was that thing you said?” King muttered it to him, and Henry said, “Right. I reject the sacrifice of the heart.”

“So be it.” Once again, the fire seemed to expand outward, the heat of it singeing them. “Ye are free of this place and my sister’s hold on ye. Ye have paid in full for yer misdeed.” She turned to Rory. “And last, but certainly not least, Lord Emory Lumlee. Ye have found true love with Genevieve Brooking. Will ye renounce her for the return of your first wife and bairn?”

Rory took a breath. “I don’t know if you possess witchcraft or these tricks”—he indicated the fire—“are merely legerdemain. But I don’t believe you have the powers you claim.”

“Rory!” Henry said, but Rory kept his gaze on the witch.

The witch raised her white brows. “And I ken ye were the one with the most faith.”

“I did have faith until I kissed my daughter goodbye this morning. She told me about your conversation yesterday. You admitted you can’t bring anyone back from the dead. You said no one can.”

The witch had the decency to look sheepish. “Aye, she told ye, did she?”

“Did she misunderstand? Are you claiming the power of resurrection?”

The witch shook her head. “Nay. She understood. If ye had chosen yer first wife, I wouldnae been able tae bring her back.”

“Wait a minute now,” Henry said. “Was this all a sham? Could you have restored my wealth and properties?”

“Nay.” She looked at King. “Nor given ye yer title back. I dinnae hae that power. I never did.”

“Then there was no curse and no counter-spell,” King said.

“Och, there was a curse. My sister was a powerful witch, and she cursed ye. I have less power, and my counter-spell was weak, but it isn’t withoot power.”

“What power?” Rory demanded. “You can’t clear the smear —as your spell says.”

“Sassenach,” she said, and spat. “Ye always take everything too literally. Do ye not see that afore ye ever came here, ye’d already lifted the harm of the curse? Ye did it all on yer own when ye sacrificed of yerself, when ye sacrificed yer heart, and gave it tae another. Ye never needed me to dispel the curse. Ye did it yerselves.”

“Then why this masquerade?” Rory gestured to the ruins of the hovel. “Why pretend you could change the past?”

The witch sighed. “My sister’s curse was evil. She should never have spoken it over ye, nae matter the harm ye did. Afore I die, I wanted tae make certain that harm was gone from the world. I wanted tae wipe the slate clean, ken? For her sake. I thought if I forced ye tae make a choice between what ye’d lost and yer loves then I’d ken if the power of the curse really had been released.”

“And what is your verdict?” King asked.

The witch looked at Rory, her pale eyes searing into him. “What choice would ye have made?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It was an impossible decision.”

“It was, especially considering it meant giving up yer unborn bairn.”

Rory opened his mouth to chastise the witch further, but then her words all but struck him in the chest. He took a step back, and King caught his elbow, holding him upright. “My unborn—”

“Ye didnae ken about the bairn,” the witch said with a nod. “Yer wife only suspects. She doesnae ken for sure.”

Rory shook his head. “But you cannot possibly know—”

“I may not be a powerful witch, but I still have glimmers of the sight. And I ken what I saw. Yer wife will bear ye a child.”

Rory closed his eyes and pictured Genevieve’s face. She smiled at him, sweet and beautiful as he looked down at her. But then her face turned into the pale, waxen visage of Harriet. She looked as she had the night of the carriage accident. He’d gone to the coaching inn where they’d brought her body, and when he pulled back the sheet covering her, she was so pale, her golden hair damp and flecked with mud. She was beautiful even in death, her cruel eyes staring up at him lifelessly. There had been a smaller bundle beside her, wrapped in another sheet. Rory’s hand had hovered over it, shaking so very badly.

He felt as though that hand hung above the body of his son for an eternity before he’d lowered it and turned away. He’d never known his son’s face. Now he never would.

His heart thudded in his chest, so heavy it was as though someone had filled it with lead. His stomach roiled, and he thought he might vomit. Henry moved to his other side, taking his arm and propping him up, so he stood tall between King and Henry. Slowly, he raised his head and peered at the witch with eyes blurred with tears. “Thank you.”

“Nae need tae thank me,” the witch said. “I ken how much ye love the lass, and that proves tae me ye three have been purified of the evil of the curse. And now it’s time we went our separate ways and ended this once and for all. Aye?”

“Aye,” Rory said, King and Henry’s voices joining him.

In the next instant, the wind kicked up and seemed to swirl about them. The clouds covered the sun, shrouding all four of them in shadow, and then the fire went out in a puff of black smoke. The smoke seemed to linger, and for an instant, Rory swore he saw the image of the witch’s sister, the one who had cursed them, in that smoke.

And then it was gone, leaving behind the lingering scent of sage.

When he looked around, the witch’s sister was gone too, and the three men stood alone.

*

Genevieve sat in the corner of the inn’s public room with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Before her sat an untouched plate of food and a cold cup of tea. Frances was on the other side of the room, playing a game with Joshua and Georgie. Genevieve thought it might be some version of thimblerig, but she didn’t object. After all, what was the point now? Her time as Frances’s mother would end soon. Would she wake up and find herself in her mother’s home in Devon, or would she suddenly look about the inn and not know why she was here? Any moment, she knew her world would change, and she was terrified and uncertain how to prepare.

Violet paced the room, her skirts swishing as she moved, while Katie drummed her fingernails on the table. The other women had been informed of this morning’s decision as she had, but though they’d exchanged sympathetic smiles, they hadn’t discussed their husbands’ decisions with her. Genevieve thought she knew why—their husbands would choose them, while hers would choose to give her up. Would she completely disappear from their midst? Would they even miss her?

No. Rory had said it would be as though they had never known each other. At least she could be grateful for that. Frances had experienced enough loss. Genevieve couldn’t bear to think of the child sad and heartbroken from another. But then, she wouldn’t be heartbroken. She’d have her mother back, and that was right. The child needed her mother.

Genevieve clenched her hands together more tightly as the minutes ticked on. She had no idea how long the men had been gone. She looked at the clock and then forgot the time immediately. The tension in the room threatened to strangle her. Even the children seemed to feel it. They spoke in hushed tones and played quietly.

Booted footsteps sounded on the stones outside, and the three women exchanged frightened glances. The visitor might be someone unknown to them, a random traveler, but somehow Genevieve knew he was one of theirs.

The door opened, ushering in a blast of chilly air, and King entered, sweeping his hat off his head and smiling. His gaze searched the chamber until he found Violet. Genevieve’s heart ached at the look that passed between the two. Violet was not one to show emotion, but her wobbly smile testified to the depths of her feelings for the former marquess. King crossed the room in three steps, wrapped her in his arms, and swung her around. “It’s done,” he said. “We’re finally free of the curse and, I dare to hope, witches.”

His words were quiet, but Genevieve heard them, and it was impossible not to see the relief course through Violet’s body as she visibly sagged against him. Her brothers looked up from their game, judged the situation to be all that it should be, and went back to playing.

Any moment now Genevieve was certain she would feel differently. She would disappear or this place would fade away. Why hadn’t it happened yet? Was Rory still with the witch? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to interrupt the moment between King and his wife.

And then the door opened again, and the Duke of Carlisle swept inside on a swish of cold air. “I’m back!”

The duchess’s fingers had closed around the edge of the table where she sat across from Genevieve, and now she rose unsteadily. “Is it—” she began.

“It’s over,” he said. “I’m penniless and without property and all yours.”

The duchess laughed. “Perfect!”

He pulled her out of her seat, bent her backward, and kissed her.

“Whoa!” King said, laughing. “Not in front of the children.”

The duke looked up. “Close your eyes, children.”

Genevieve swallowed the fear that threatened to overcome her. She’d clenched her hands so tightly they ached. Rory hadn’t returned. Of course he hadn’t returned. She should have known she’d never see him again. Could the others still see her?

The room seemed to tilt, and she closed her eyes. This was it. This was the shift she’d been waiting for. A cold blast of air hit her, and she tried not to cry out.

Then warm hands closed on hers, and she opened her eyes and looked up at Rory. She blinked, trying to make the illusion disappear. But he was very real and very solid. He pulled her up from the chair, and she stumbled. The muscles of her legs were as tight as the rest of her body, and they wouldn’t cooperate.

“Some welcome this is,” he said.

Genevieve looked about and saw the others in the room staring at her with concern in their eyes. Was she a stranger to them? But she couldn’t be. Rory was still holding her hands and looking down at her.

She looked up at him, sinking into his amber gaze. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “I’m exactly where I should be.”

She shook her head. “Shouldn’t I disappear or not know you or—”

“No.” His hands tightened on hers, and he tugged her out of the room and into a small private chamber, closing the door behind them. This room was dark and cold, but Genevieve didn’t care.

“The witch never had any power to do as she promised. And it appears we—the other men and I—shed the curse all on our own. Because we fell in love and put the happiness of another above our own.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either, but what I do know is this is finally over. I’m ready to go home and start our lives, the four of us.”

“Four?”

He raised his brows. “You, me, Frances, and the baby.”

Her hand flew to her belly as her eyes went wide. “How do you know? I’m not even sure yet.”

“The witch told me. I suppose she’s not entirely without magic.”

Genevieve squinted at him, still trying to understand. “You’re not going away?”

He shook his head. “You’re stuck with me now, wife.”

“I won’t forget about you? I won’t lose Frances?”

“Not unless she plays at hide-and-seek and wins. In all honesty, we should probably discourage that game.”

“Rory,” Genevieve said.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Kiss me.”

He bent, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. The kiss and the feelings it caused were very, very real. When his lips touched hers, all the fear and foreboding disappeared. She broke away on a laugh, joy bubbling up inside her.

“It’s over,” she said.

He smiled. “It’s over. I’m rid of this curse, and I have you.”

“Rory, I love you so much.” She gripped his coat, suddenly desperate to tell him how she’d been feeling for weeks. “I couldn’t tell you before. I didn’t…” She wasn’t certain of the words. It wasn’t that she hadn’t trusted him, but she’d been so afraid she’d lose him. She’d been scared to admit, even to herself, that she loved him if he might reject her.

But he’d chosen her. He’d made his decision, and she was so in love with him. So very, very happy.

“I love you too, Genevieve. Now stop crying”—he caught one of her tears of happiness on his fingertip—“and kiss me.”

She did.