Page 10 of Witchbane

The sound of the market grew louder as I rode closer. I smiled, hearing voices calling out their wares to villagers, mothers calling for children to behave, and two men discussing loudly and with barely contained irritation why one had grown far better carrots than the other, each hoping that the manservant in front of their stalls would make the right choice when buying.

I groaned to see the crowds. How typical that I should be here on such a busy day, I thought wearily. I wondered at the strange tiredness that had weighed on me since the festival. It came with a sadness I hadn’t experienced before – one I couldn’t seem to shift. It wasn’t like me to be miserable for hours, let alone for a month, but no matter how I tried to pull myself together, for some reason I couldn’t do so.

I batted away an insistent fly from Warrior’s black mane. As usual, whenever I was away from home, I kept alert for any sight of the auburn-haired girl I had fallen in love with. Warrior whinnied. I stroked his neck and wondered what might have caused him to react in such a way. I looked to my right.

I sensed her presence before I even saw her. My heart leapt. There she was: the girl with the turquoise eyes. My breath caught in my throat. She hadn’t seen me and was deep in concentration, holding a small open packet in the palm of one hand and pointing to it with the other as she explained something to a customer.

I urged Warrior to move closer to the stall.

‘Make an infusion by putting a large pinch of this in warm water an hour before you go to sleep,’ she explained, pushing a strand of hair from her face. ‘It will help you settle for the night. If you still have a problem after you’ve tried this for a few days, come to the house and I’ll ask my aunt or grandmother for alternative suggestions.’

The woman took the girl’s wrist and slowly drew it closer to her. She sniffed the concoction in the open packet. I smiled to myself as she grimaced and pushed it away.

‘It smells like old feet.’ Her tone was accusing.

The girl grinned. ‘I agree, but I promise it works. I can add something with a more appealing scent if you wish.’

The woman crossed her arms under her large bosom and pulled a face. ‘You’ll need to do something if I’m to sup something that smells that bad.’

The girl took the lid off a jar of what looked like crushed petals and added a small amount to the brown paper sachet before twisting the top of it closed.

‘There you go, Lila, try that,’ she said sympathetically.

The woman placed a ha’penny in her hand, took the small packet from her, lifted it to her nose and took a sniff. ‘Much better.’

The girl laughed, causing my heart to race at the joyous sound.

Unable to tear my eyes from her, I watched transfixed as I recalled the sensation I had felt as our eyes met that first time at the festival, and the warmth of her skin beneath her dress as I held her in my arms.

Her laughter died. She seemed to sense she was being watched and looked directly into my eyes, a defiant expression on her beautiful face, as if daring me to approach her.

Stunned by her reaction, I felt as if an invisible hand had thrust into my chest and gripped my heart so tightly it hurt. I hadn’t exaggerated her beauty, nor her effect on me; that much I now knew. She really was mesmerising.

Gathering my senses, I raised a hand in acknowledgment. Her gaze hardened. I was shocked to see that, instead of my happiness being reflected in her eyes, all I saw was loathing as she narrowed her eyes and turned away.

I had only been my father’s assistant for several months but clearly she wasn’t one of the locals who respected him and welcomed his hard work to rid the island of undesirables. I wondered why this might be. Could she be sympathetic to witches? I watched her tidying the bottles and packages on her stall, pointedly ignoring my presence. Why would this young woman, whom I presumed to be a herbalist, show such obvious disdain for the work my father and I did? Or was it simply that she, like many others, feared him and his power to deal with people other islanders accused of witchcraft? Surely she didn’t have any reason to fear my father or me? But if she didn’t, why had she so blatantly taken against me?

Saddened not to feel able to speak to her and thank her once again for coming to my aid, I watched hopelessly as she focused on a new customer.

‘Don’t bother with her,’ a woman said, resting a hand on Warrior’s shoulder. I looked down at her, intrigued that she should say such a thing. ‘She thinks she’s better than us because she comes from the manor.’

It took a moment for me to realise this was one of the women who had spoken to me at the May Day celebrations before I had asked the girl to dance. I was keen to find out more about the mysterious girl. ‘What do you mean by that?’

Her upper lip curled in distaste. ‘When you think who her mother was and what she did.’ She scowled. ‘I think we should be the ones looking down on that snooty piece, not the other way round.’

Her mother? Was this person implying that the girl’s mother was a witch? ‘I’m sorry, I’m at a loss to understand what you mean.’

‘Her,’ the woman snarled, cocking her head in the direction of the stall. ‘She might be Lord Thistlebury’s⁠—’

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by angry shouts as two men began exchanging blows. Others shouted and stepped in to try and stop them.

The woman I had been talking to rushed off to see what was happening and, relieved to be able to turn my attention back to the stall, I looked towards it – to find that not only was the girl no longer there, but all her produce had been cleared away too.

Frustrated at losing her, I tried to fathom how she had managed to pack up so quickly. I looked about me, checking all directions to see where she might be, but there was no sign of her. She had gone. Yet again.

A small group of people were staring at me, I presumed because they had noticed me watching her. I clicked my tongue, giving Warrior the command to walk on. As people moved aside to give Warrior space to pass through the crowd, I doffed my hat to those who greeted me, determined to hide my devastation at not being able to speak to her.

I reached the other side of the market square and dismounted at the address my father had given me. Tying my horse’s reins to a pole outside the building where he was holding his meeting, I greeted a couple of men who were exiting. They acknowledged me with a nod and a half-smile as I walked up to the front door. Again, looks of dislike masked by forced smiles. I sighed as I entered the building, hating that people were judging me by my role as my father’s assistant. As much as I knew I should not still be struggling with this aspect of my role, it was difficult to be found guilty because of my association with my father.