there’s a witch in your house, and quickly, I don’t have high hopes for her continued safety.”
“It must have to do with Berwick,” Hancock declared. “Bloody witches. Always causing trouble.”
“Berwick?” My pulse kicked up a notch. I recognized the name. One of the most notorious witch trials in the British Isles was connected to it. I searched my memory for the dates. Surely it had happened well before or after 1590, or Matthew wouldn’t have selected this moment for our timewalk. But Hancock’s next words drove all thoughts of chronology and history from my mind.
“That, or some new Congregation business that Matthew will want us to sort out for him.”
“The Congregation?” Marlowe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Matthew appraisingly. “Is this true? Are you one of the mysterious members?”
“Of course it’s true! How do you imagine he’s kept you from the noose, young Marlowe?” Hancock searched the room. “Is there something to drink other than wine? I hate these French pretensions of yours, de Clermont. What’s wrong with ale?”
“Not now, Davy,” Gallowglass murmured to his friend, though his eyes were fixed on Matthew.
My eyes were fixed on him, too, as an awful sense of clarity settled over me.
“Tell me you’re not,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn’t keep this from me.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Matthew said flatly. “I promised you secrets but no lies, remember?”
I felt sick. In 1590, Matthew was a member of the Congregation, and the Congregation was our enemy.
“And Berwick? You told me there was no danger of being caught up in a witch-hunt.”
“Nothing in Berwick will affect us here,” Matthew assured me.
“What has happened in Berwick?” Walter asked, uneasy.
“Before we left Chester, there was news out of Scotland. A great gathering of witches met in a village east of Edinburgh on All Hallows’ Eve,” Hancock said. “There was talk again of the storm the Danish witches raised this past summer, and the spouts of seawater that foretold the coming of a creature with fearsome powers.”
“The authorities have rounded up dozens of the poor wretches,” Gallowglass continued, his arctic-blue eyes still on Matthew. “The cunning woman in the town of Keith, Widow Sampson, is awaiting the king’s questioning in the dungeons of Holyrood Palace. Who knows how many will join her there before this business is done?”
“The king’s torture, you mean,” Hancock muttered. “They say the woman has been locked into a witch’s bridle so she cannot utter more charms against His Majesty, and chained to the wall without food or drink.”
I sat down abruptly.
“Is this one of the accused, then?” Gallowglass asked Matthew. “And I’d like the witch’s bargain, too, if I may: secrets, but no lies.”
There was a long silence before Matthew answered. “Diana is my wife, Gallowglass.”
“You abandoned us in Chester for a woman? ” Hancock was horrified. “But we had work to do!”
“You have an unerring ability to grab the wrong end of the staff, Davy.” Gallowglass’s glance shifted to me. “Your wife ?” he said carefully. “So this is just a legal arrangement to satisfy curious humans and justify her presence here while the Congregation decides her future?”
“Not just my wife,” Matthew admitted. “She’s my mate, too.” A vampire mated for life when compelled to do so by an instinctive combination of affection, affinity, lust, and chemistry. The resulting bond was breakable only by death. Vampires might marry multiple times, but most mated just once.
Gallowglass swore, though the sound of it was almost drowned out by his friend’s amusement.
“And His Holiness proclaimed the age of miracles had passed,” Hancock crowed. “Matthew de Clermont is mated at last. But no ordinary, placid human or properly schooled female wearh who knows her place would do. Not for our Matthew. Now that he’s decided at last to settle
“It must have to do with Berwick,” Hancock declared. “Bloody witches. Always causing trouble.”
“Berwick?” My pulse kicked up a notch. I recognized the name. One of the most notorious witch trials in the British Isles was connected to it. I searched my memory for the dates. Surely it had happened well before or after 1590, or Matthew wouldn’t have selected this moment for our timewalk. But Hancock’s next words drove all thoughts of chronology and history from my mind.
“That, or some new Congregation business that Matthew will want us to sort out for him.”
“The Congregation?” Marlowe’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Matthew appraisingly. “Is this true? Are you one of the mysterious members?”
“Of course it’s true! How do you imagine he’s kept you from the noose, young Marlowe?” Hancock searched the room. “Is there something to drink other than wine? I hate these French pretensions of yours, de Clermont. What’s wrong with ale?”
“Not now, Davy,” Gallowglass murmured to his friend, though his eyes were fixed on Matthew.
My eyes were fixed on him, too, as an awful sense of clarity settled over me.
“Tell me you’re not,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn’t keep this from me.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Matthew said flatly. “I promised you secrets but no lies, remember?”
I felt sick. In 1590, Matthew was a member of the Congregation, and the Congregation was our enemy.
“And Berwick? You told me there was no danger of being caught up in a witch-hunt.”
“Nothing in Berwick will affect us here,” Matthew assured me.
“What has happened in Berwick?” Walter asked, uneasy.
“Before we left Chester, there was news out of Scotland. A great gathering of witches met in a village east of Edinburgh on All Hallows’ Eve,” Hancock said. “There was talk again of the storm the Danish witches raised this past summer, and the spouts of seawater that foretold the coming of a creature with fearsome powers.”
“The authorities have rounded up dozens of the poor wretches,” Gallowglass continued, his arctic-blue eyes still on Matthew. “The cunning woman in the town of Keith, Widow Sampson, is awaiting the king’s questioning in the dungeons of Holyrood Palace. Who knows how many will join her there before this business is done?”
“The king’s torture, you mean,” Hancock muttered. “They say the woman has been locked into a witch’s bridle so she cannot utter more charms against His Majesty, and chained to the wall without food or drink.”
I sat down abruptly.
“Is this one of the accused, then?” Gallowglass asked Matthew. “And I’d like the witch’s bargain, too, if I may: secrets, but no lies.”
There was a long silence before Matthew answered. “Diana is my wife, Gallowglass.”
“You abandoned us in Chester for a woman? ” Hancock was horrified. “But we had work to do!”
“You have an unerring ability to grab the wrong end of the staff, Davy.” Gallowglass’s glance shifted to me. “Your wife ?” he said carefully. “So this is just a legal arrangement to satisfy curious humans and justify her presence here while the Congregation decides her future?”
“Not just my wife,” Matthew admitted. “She’s my mate, too.” A vampire mated for life when compelled to do so by an instinctive combination of affection, affinity, lust, and chemistry. The resulting bond was breakable only by death. Vampires might marry multiple times, but most mated just once.
Gallowglass swore, though the sound of it was almost drowned out by his friend’s amusement.
“And His Holiness proclaimed the age of miracles had passed,” Hancock crowed. “Matthew de Clermont is mated at last. But no ordinary, placid human or properly schooled female wearh who knows her place would do. Not for our Matthew. Now that he’s decided at last to settle
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