Minerva sighed and withdrew a small, fur-covered sack from the folds of her skirt. “Very well, faery, but ’twill be naught but more of the same, I can tell you.”
Evelyn gripped her rosary tighter as the old woman muttered a singsong verse over the bag and withdrew three stones, lining them up on the tabletop. To Evelyn, they resembled small chips of bone.
“Ye see?” Minerva asked Haith. “’Tis as it was when last I asked.”
Haith leaned forward, peered at the objects. “The Death stone—it worries me.”
“But the Good Fortune stone is also present.” Minerva gathered the pieces in one gnarled hand and dropped them back into the sack with little clicking sounds. Evelyn let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
Minerva continued. “And you know as well as I, the Death stone doesna always meandeath.Oft times it means simply”—the next words the old woman spoke seemed whispered directly in Evelyn’s ear—“…anew beginning.” Evelyn shivered. “Now, best you do as you bid the maids and seek your bed.”
Haith dropped her forehead into her palm, and Evelyn could see her shoulders shaking. She didn’t understand this cryptic witchery and had no desire to learn of it, but she felt pain at this woman’s obvious worry over her husband.
“I’ll not sleep,” Haith sniffed.
“You must try, for the babe. She canna keep her wee eyes open.” Minerva reached across the table, and Haith placed her palm in the old woman’s.
“Alright,” Haith whispered. “Good night, Minerva.” She rose from the bench and blinked when her eyes fell upon Evelyn, as if she’d just realized the woman sat at the table with them. “Good night, Lady Evelyn.”
Evelyn gave her a smile and a nod. “Good night.”
When Haith was gone, Minerva dropped her own head into her palms, and Evelyn could see that she had paled. The ends of her frazzled gray hair drooped.
Evelyn cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Min—Minerva,” she asked, and the old woman angled her head sideways to peer at her. “Are…are you ill?”
“Am I ill?” Minerva gave a low chuckle. “Nay, lass. Just old. Old, and verra, verra weary.”
“Oh.” Evelyn did not know what else to say.
Minerva continued to stare at her for several moments, almost through her, it seemed to Evelyn. She had the insane urge to cross herself.
“And what of you, Sister Eve?” she said at last. “Will you return to your convent now?”
The mere suggestion caused Evelyn’s throat to burn. She managed to croak, “Nay. Never. That place is not…notgood.”
Minerva nodded as if she completely understood. “So you’ll stay on at Hartmoore, then, will ye?”
Evelyn frowned. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’twantto stay here—Lady Simone resents me, and although I know Nic—Lord Nicholas—would not refuse me, I feel I have caused him irreparable heartache.”
“Aye. Ye have.”
Evelyn nodded. “I wish…I wish that I could just go to sleep, and when I awoke, I would be far away from this place, these memories. Where none knew of me and where I could start my life anew.”
“Do ye, now?” the old woman asked.
“Yea.” Evelyn looked directly into the witch’s eyes, and her stomach clenched.God, forgive me for what I am about to suggest.“Minerva, can you…can you do that?” she half-whispered.
“Not in the way yer thinkin’, lass,” the old one said with a wry smile. “But mayhap we can help each other all the same.”
Excitement and fear tangled in Evelyn’s stomach. “How?”
Minerva gained her feet slowly, as if it pained her to do so. “Soon enough. You just hold yer tongue and be ready should I give you the word, ken?”
Evelyn did not understand at all and, in truth, could think of one hundred things less frightening than giving over her future into the hands of an old, sarcastic sorceress.
But she promised, “I’ll be ready.”
And she meant it.
