Page 40 of The Noldrin Witch

Morgaine lifted a hand as if granting permission to proceed.

“Why do you look so much younger and more beautiful than the other witches?”

Morgaine burst into a coughing fit so violent the witch nearly spilled her brew. It took her a few moments to recover, but eventually she was once again in a condition to speak.

“My connection to magic is stronger, dear Elise,” Morgaine replied, clearing her throat. “That is why life runs through me in greater abundance. You’ll see, once you gain a proper hold on your own magic, and if not, Seth would always be there to aid you, just as Devon does with the rest of the coven.”

A chill ran down Elise’s back at the memory of the final part of the festival, the one Morgaine had so carefully avoided. She had seen just enough to figure out the rest from high above on the broom. Had she known those were the traditions of the craft earlier on, she might have reconsidered, but by now she was far too deep in the matter to complain.

*****

Three days had passed since the festival, and Elise hadn’t yet felt any significant change besides now being trusted to stir the potions in the cauldron. Morgaine had wanted to get her started in the final step of potion-making as soon as possible, suspecting her application for employment would require such a noble skill.

Her magic had yet to surface enough for her to blend everything to perfection, but that would only matter if she was to become the head of the king’s magical staff, which was rather unlikely.

Elise rose to the tender singing of Bruno somewhere near the glass wall of the kitchen. The lingering remains of a dream still clouded her sight as she made her bed. She had dreamt of the duke. He had looked painfully handsome atop his black horse, and just as in the two times she had seen him before, he had arrived in time to rescue her from some fresh disaster.

If only one could live in dreams instead of waking to the hardships of reality. Elise went sighing and twirling toward the kitchen to open the door for the bird, allowing it to stretch its wings and enjoy the increasingly warm breezes of spring.

She was still in her chemise, her hair a disastrous tangle from an intense night of dreaming. She had just poured water into the kettle to start the tea when someone knocked at the door with the determination of military recruitment. She feared that, just as in Lady Patrice’s house, a passing army had decided to make a stop by the forest.

Elise passed a hand over her rebellious dark curls and grabbed a cape hanging from a beam by the receiving hall. She was ready to open the door when the sight of a familiar horse near the window startled her badly enough to halt her in place.

“Morgaine!” she cried. Instead of opening the door, she sprang toward the witch’s bedroom to announce that the duke was here. A tremor shook her entire frame.

Once inside the high-ceilinged chamber, Elise hurried to the enormous bed where Morgaine rested. The thing alone occupied nearly a quarter of the room. She had first assumed it was meant for an entire family of six, but it existed solely for Morgaine’s personal enjoyment.

“Morgaine, there’s someone at the door,” Elise murmured desperately, as though Kurt possessed the supernatural ability to overhear whispers through walls.

The witch muttered a complaint and rolled across her bed, tangling herself further in the satin sheets as she groaned in displeasure.

“Who could be so insensible as to come calling at this hour of the day?”

“It’s the duke!”

As if brought back to life by some powerful spell, Morgaine sat upright on the spot. She battled to untangle her sinful frame from the sheets and nearly threw herself out of bed.

“What are you doing here? Get dressed,” she urged.

Elise was practically dragged toward the Tailor’s Room where all her dresses were stored. Morgaine, with a quick eye for anything remotely tempting, gathered a dress so scandalous that Elise instinctively recoiled from the choice.

“That dress is not finished. I haven’t even added the ruffles and piping at the seams,” Elise complained, but the witch was already shaking the thing open, ready to dress her as though she were nothing more than a decorative doll.

“We have to hurry, darling,” Morgaine insisted. “We need to keep ourselves on his good side for our plans. I know Bromheim men better than anyone. You’ll see.”

Without having much time to comb her hair or make certain the dress was properly arranged to preserve at least a suggestion of modesty, Elise was hurried toward the door to receive her visitor.

The moment the door cracked open, the duke was already preparing to take his leave. Elise’s heart raced like that of a hunted rabbit when the tall gentleman turned to her.

His eyes grew wide as the full figure of Elise came into his awareness.

“Good morning, Kurt,” she greeted, feeling his gaze discreetly wander over her while she fought desperately to keep the color in her cheeks from rising into a revealing red.

“Elise,” Kurt said with a slight bow, though the sharp swallow that followed revealed he was not nearly as composed as he wished to appear. “I came to make certain you remain safe. As a representative of Metz and the Kingdom of Bromheim, I am deeply ashamed that a newcomer’s first visit to our lands should end in such an unfortunate affair. I am pleased to inform you that the thief has been brought to trial. You may rest assured.”

Elise was momentarily distracted by the broadness of his shoulders and his slightly messy light brown hair when a raspy sound came from behind the door.

“How attentive.”