After making our beds, James walked over to the last bench in the chapel, pulled out a candle from his bag, and lit it. The small flame cast a warm glow and large dancing shadows across the sloping ceiling as he retrieved the cheese and bread from earlier as well as two pieces of dried beef that he then set on the bench.
“Here,”he said, handing me a section of the beef atop the bread.
“Thank you,”I said gratefully as I took a bite. After a long day of traveling, it tasteddivine, possibly the best thing I had ever eaten.
“You say you’re a writer, but what do you write? Are you a poet like the Duchess, or a playwright like Shakespeare? Perhaps a storyteller like Nashe?”he asked, slicing off a bit of cheese and handing it to me.
“Truthfully, I have not written anything as grand as those you speak of, but I hope to one day write a book such as Nashe’s. However, it is all but a dream.”
“If your true passion lies in the pages of a book, that is what you must do, regardless of what society tells you,”he said, taking a bite of bread.
I sighed.“I wish it were that simple, James, but women are not afforded that kind of freedom,”I told him as I picked at my food, the conversation souring my stomach.
“Well, if for no one else, I will read your books,”he said, with a sweetness in his tone that warmed me from the inside out. No man had ever talked to me as an equal, and it caught me off guard. I smiled, filling my mouth with food as I did not know how to respond to his kind words.
We ate the rest of our dinner in shared silence, brought on this time by contentment, not annoyance.
“You take this one,”James said, standing up and pointing to the two benches farthest from the door.“It’s less drafty here.”
His kindness was in such sharp contrast to how he had first treated me when he thought me to be courting him, I was left wondering if I had been as cruel to the other men the night of the ball. Like James, I was a good person compelled to do something that didn’t feel right. Humans are seemingly just like animals in that way—if cornered, they strike out.
Moving a small wooden box between the two makeshift beds, James set the candle upon it. I lay down on my bed and watched the flame’s warm light reflecting off the cold fieldstone walls. My heart fluttered momentarily as James lay down, his face half lit with candlelight. He looked handsome with the dark shadows cutting across his sharp jawline. I had seen a different side of him today, a soft, caring, intelligent side, and nowthat I had a glimpse of the true man he was, my heart and my mind were in battle. This was not the time to be drawn to a man. Gran’s life was in my hands, and I needed to keep my wits about me.
As hard as I tried to push it down, the feeling within me returned relentlessly. I realized what the feeling was—butterflies. In my mind, Gran’s words echoed:Allow the butterflies in your stomach to be your guide. Should you feel them stir, focus on that sensation and heed its message. Let your intuition be your compass.
I looked at James as he lay down on his bed, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. I was close enough to smell the rich aroma of pine and cinnamon mixed with woodsmoke clinging to him. To be alone in the same room with a man was scandalous enough, but even more so in the house of the Lord.
As if he could feel my eyes tracing the edge of his body, he rolled over and looked at me. Our eyes locked and time stopped once more. I was lost in the forest of his eyes as the flame’s reflection danced within them. I lay still as stone, fearing that if I moved, I might break the spell we were both under. He moved forward into the empty space between our beds, close enough that I could feel his warmth, and then his lips parted.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Water into Ice
My heart quickened, and I closed my eyes, thinking he was about to kiss me, but instead, he leaned in and blew out the candle flickering on the small box between us. Thanking the heavens he could not see the embarrassment reddening my cheeks in the darkness, I rolled over and feigned sleep.
I awoke the next morning just as the first rays of morning light were breaking the edge of the horizon, casting a soft glow through the chapel’s windows. James remained asleep on his bench as I rose quietly, taking care not to disturb him. With my bag in hand, I headed toward the door, eager to collect the water from the well while he slept. I needed to read the spell’s instructions carefully once again to ensure I didn’t miss any steps. Keeping my footsteps light, I made my way over to the door. Turning the old iron handle, I pulled the door open slowly to avoid the creaking of the old hinges and then made my escape into the cold morning air.
The world outside lay under a sheer veil of fine snow, muting the colors below into a ghostly pale version of their once vibrant hues. I left a trail of footprints over to the spot where the earth broke away, revealing the healing waters of the well. As I approached, I noticed a small evergreen beside it, festooned with pieces of fabric, tied to its branches. It resembled the duke’s grand tree decorated for the ball, but these were not decorations—they were offerings to the well, tokens of gratitude for its healing powers. The tree’s boughs bore the weight of countless offerings, a testament to the many who had sought solace and healing in its presence over the years.
As I came upon the break in the earth where the spring emerged, the sun began bathing the frozen land with its warming touch, peeling back its frosty veil. As I peered into the small pool before me, I caught sight of shimmering reflections below—coins and other metal offerings glinting beneath the surface. It was yet another way for people to pay thanks to the spirit that guarded the well. Standing in the churchyard of St. Mary’s, I realized that this act of leaving offerings was an ancient pagan ritual, preserved and honored even within the confines of the church grounds.
Placing my bag on a large rock, I stole a quick glance back at the chapel before pulling out Gran’s book. It was wrapped in a wool shawl that should have been draped over my shoulders under my fur cape, but I had used it to conceal the book of spells during our travels instead. I hastily unwrapped it and opened it to the page I had marked with a crow feather.
“With a copper bowl gather water from the well but do not overfill it nor spill a drop. If you do so, you must wait a day’s time to try again, or the spell will not take. Draw the symbol of theAnsuz rune beside the well and repeat these words three times,‘Wisdom from this water’s well, counteract, reverse this spell,’”I read aloud.
Carefully, I wrapped the book back into the shawl and tucked it away into my bag, then retrieved the copper bowl and small glass bottle. I stepped toward the well, then knelt down by its pooling waters. In the thin dusting of snow next to the well, I scrolled a slanted F, the rune of Ansuz, with the tip ofmy finger. Pulling forth the color of the rich soil below, the rune stood out in contrast to the frozen ground around it.
The edges of the water clung heavy with ice, but the center was full of clear flowing water. Looking above me at the strips of fabric blowing in the light wintry breeze, I pulled up my wool skirt and ripped a small strip of my petticoat off, tying it to a smaller branch that had not received an offering.
I leaned forward with the small copper bowl and whispered,“Wisdom from this water’s well, counteract, reverse this spell”three times into the wind before scooping the water from the center of the well. I had successfully managed to not overfill the bowl and grabbed for the bottle resting in my lap. Holding the bottle out, I held my breath as I slowly poured the water from the bowl into the bottle. I had almost completed the task when a rabbit hopped out from the underbrush of the tree, startling me. In that split second, my hand moved, and the last drops of water poured from the cup and fell toward the ground. I watched in dismay as the drops fell, my heart sinking with them. In that moment, fear jolted something awake within me, and the temperature plummeted as if death itself had entered the room, freezing the drops of water in mid-air. Without a second’s hesitation, I lunged forward, extending the bottle just in time to catch the ice droplets as they fell into the open neck of the bottle. Then, as suddenly as the bitter chill had come, it fled. I quickly capped the bottle and tucked it safely away in my bag. Stunned, I stepped back, almost tripping over my bag. Had I done that? Had I turned the drops to ice in that moment of panic? Did I have powers such as Gran?
“You should have woken me,”a voice rang out, making me jump.
I turned to see James standing at the head of the well. Panicking, I quickly wiped away the rune symbol into a blur of snow and dirt. Had he seen what had just happened? Would he think me a witch? I glanced down at my feet, relieved to see that the book still lay hidden away in my bag.
“I did not want to wake you,”I managed to say.
“I see you have collected the water.”
