Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

They didn't go to Highwood Abbey. Neither of them wanted to deal with servants, introductions, or having to maintain some semblance of propriety until they could retire at dark. He couldn't wait that long, Desmond thought. So when the carriage pulled to a halt before Belladonna's small cottage, he didn't wait for the driver. He simply opened the door, jumped down before it had even come to a full stop and then reached for her.

Lifting her from the vehicle, he didn't place her feet on the ground. Instead, he carried her to the door as the driver made for Highwood Abbey.

"What, in heaven's name, are you doing?" She asked.

"Carrying you over the threshold. Isn't that what a man is supposed to do for his new bride?"

Somewhat sardonically, she asked, "And in this one particular fashion you choose to bow to tradition? We've done nothing else in the regular way thus far!

"Some traditions need to be broken," Desmond said dismissively. "But any tradition that allows me to hold you in my arms… that, Belladonna Crane, is one worth keeping."

Her expression shifted into one of dismay. "My goodness. I hadn't thought of that."

"Thought of what?"

She glanced up at him, "That I would no longer be a Goodwynne."

Desmond smiled. "You may call yourself whatever you wish so long as I can call you mine."

The very second they stepped into the cottage, she tensed in his arms. "Someone has been here."

"How can you tell?"

"I can feel it," she insisted.

"It was likely Mrs. Frye returning your things," he said.

"No. This is not Genie. Nor was it you sister. This was a man," she said. "A very angry one."

Desmond didn't question her further. Her instincts for such things quite renowned, after all. "Reverend Stalker?"

"Possibly," she said. "No, probably. But he is not the only man in Highgate to be angry at me. The good Reverend has turned so many against me. People who came to me for years on end for remedies and such will not longer even look at me, much less speak to me. He has done everything in his power to make my life here as unpleasant as possible."

Once fully inside, he set her down and closed the door. "Is anything missing or damaged?"

She looked around. "Not down here. Not that I can tell, at any rate."

"I'll check upstairs," he said. "Wait here."

"He's not here now," she insisted. "I know he's gone… it's just echoes. I can feel that he was here. Well, that someone was here."

Desmond sighed. "I'd feel better if you let me take a look first. The man is a lunatic. Who knows what he might have done." He knew it was a point she could not argue, but still she hesitated. Finally, she gave a nod.

Leaving her below, Desmond climbed the stairs to her chamber. It was small and painstakingly tidy. There was only, as far as he could see, one item in the entire room that was out place. Walking over to the bit of fabric on the floor, he bent down to retrieve it. The cotton was worn from wear, nearly transparent from it, in fact. And a man's muddy boot print marred it.

Anger rushed through him. This wasn't about his religious beliefs, or any concern he had for the community because he perceived her as a threat. What he'd done was quite personal. Intimate. Rife with carnal implications. He wanted to possess her and his lust, Desmond realized, was what truly fueled Stalker's anger.

"Desmond?"

He heard her call from the foot of the stairs. "Stay down there. I'll be down shortly. I think it might be best if we go to Highwood Abbey, after all."

She came up anyway, and halted when she what was in his hands. "Why are you holding my shift?"

"It was on the floor," he said. Not wishing to hide anything from her, he showed her the muddy streaks.

Her eyes widened and he could see the fear in them. "He's never been so bold… Let's leave, Desmond. Let's go to London. Right now."

If it was only him, he'd have done so gladly. But this was her home. It was everything that was familiar to her. It was also everything that she loved. "I would take you to London in a heartbeat, Belladonna, if it is what you truly want. But you've no real desire to be there, do you?"

She looked away then. "Of course not. But I can't stay here and live in constant fear of him… Constant fear of what he might do to you. He nearly killed you once already!"

"I've no intention of living in fear of him. Nor of allowing you to do so. I have every intention, my darling, of stopping him, by whatever means or necessary. And the first time, that was simply a lucky shot."

"I do not want you to have to do that," she said. "There will be so much violence if we remain here."

"If we run, will the threat of violence be eliminated… or only postponed?"

"I can't say."

"You can," he said. "You can look, can't you? In your leaves or your cards?"

"You don't believe in those things," she told him somewhat sharply.

"I'm reconsidering a lot of things I did and did not believe in before meeting you, Mrs. Belladonna Crane."

She stared back at him for a moment. "I'm afraid."

"Of what you might see?" He asked.

"No. I'm afraid of what you might see… and that it might alter how you view me."

"I could promise you it will not, but it comes down to faith, Belladonna. I believe in you, but you'll have to believe in me a little too," he told her softly, even as he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly for a moment.

Eventually, the tension receded from her and she gave a slight nod. "It's bound to happen sooner or later… that you will see this side of me. It might as well be now… There is no guarantee, of course."

"There never is. But you'll attempt it?"

She nodded. "I will try. Typically, it is very difficult for me to see things that pertain to me. Of course, this no longer only impacts me, does it? Now it's about you and even about your sister." She glanced down at the chemise now clutched in her hands. "Come with me. We'll see what we can do."

Desmond followed her back down the stairs. She went immediately to the barren and cold fireplace where she tossed the chemise inside it. From there, she held out her hand. Once more, he saw those flames dancing on her fingers. Then she leaned forward and blew, her breath fanning that flame until the scrap of cloth and the wood beneath simply erupted. Then she dropped to her knees before it, peering into those flames with eyes that seemed to see far beyond the here and now.

Desmond felt the hair raising on his arms as he watched her. He'd seen fortune tellers before, at fairs and the like. He'd considered it nothing more than tawdry entertainment, a performance to be paid for. But he realized instantly that was something else altogether. There was power there, within her and surrounding her.

Slowly, he became aware of her voice, speaking so softly that he could barely hear her. The words themselves were inaudible, but her voice hummed with a kind of power that he recognized even without fully understanding what was said. The flames began to shift and dance in a way that he had never seen before. This was no simple fire. He'd seen a waterspout once, when traveling in the Americas. The funnel cloud twisting from the water to the sky in a way that made it impossible to determine direction. And those flames spiraled a bit like it had.

"Remarkable," he whispered, as those flames began to take shape. Within them, he could see a shadowy face, but that face grew clearer and clearer until he saw Reverend Stalker. The face was contorted with rage, with pure evil.

Just as quickly as it began, it halted. The fire died down until it was only a normal blaze. Her voice went quiet. A stillness settled over the room that felt both at once peaceful and yet filled with anticipation.

"He means to kill me," she said. "I knew that before, or feared it. But I hadn't seen it. Not till now. He means to see me hanged for the crime of witchcraft."

Desmond shook his head. "That hasn't happened in this country for decades. Whatever the villagers may think of you, surely they would never permit such a thing to happen."

She shook her head. "No. I don't think they would. But I don't think he means to let them know. He intends to do it in secret. He believes you are dead, or hopes it any rate. No one has seen you in the village, after all."

"Then perhaps they should," he said. "No. They should see us. And everyone should know that are you now Mrs. Desmond Crane. There is protection in that."

"Or there is more danger for you. He's already tried to kill you once!"

"And showed his hand in the process," Desmond insisted. "We'll not be taken unawares again. Trust me to protect you."

"I do. But I worry that you have never encountered evil like him."

"And you have?"

"No. But others in my family have. Some were burned. Some were hanged. Others drowned. People like me have been hunted for years. And it does not matter how little or how much power we have. Only what others think we have."

"He's not this doing this because of any ability you have," Desmond stated. "He's doing this because he wants you. Because his mind is perverse and twisted and his desire for you is twisted as well. Inseparable from this anger and hatred for women. And I somehow doubt that you are the first."