Witchrise by Victoria Lamb Page B

with me, it will not seem such a hardship.’
    Richard made a choking noise under his breath. ‘Have you no shame?’ he muttered, averting his eyes from such unwanted intimacy, then turned on his heel and headed for the back door. ‘I think William’s in the stables. I need to find him and arrange which horses we can take.’
    I ignored him, smiling back at Alejandro. I did not want to deceive the Spaniard into thinking we would definitely marry, for I felt sure that possibility was becoming more remote every day. But I loved Alejandro, and would do whatever he asked to ensure that he looked after himself properly.
    ‘Pack up what you need, Meg, and say your goodbyes,’ Richard threw back curtly over his shoulder. ‘We leave for Hatfield first thing tomorrow.’
    The weather stayed cold but dry for the next two days as we made our slow way cross-country from Oxfordshire to where the Lady Elizabeth made her lodging at Hatfield House, a remote country mansion where we had lived very happily the year before. The road was uneven, little more than a dirt track in places, but while Alejandro winced at the worst bumps and jolts, he said nothing, his jaw set hard, never once calling a halt.
    I sat beside him on the cart, cross-legged, and played at cards with him, then dice, then listened while he read aloud to me from a long poem by Ovid which he had borrowed from my father’s library of books, translating smoothly from the Latin as he read.
    We slept at a rough tavern on the first night, too tired to do more than close our eyes, but on the second day had not been riding many hours before we came in sight of the narrow, smoking chimneys at Hatfield House. With the sun hidden behind clouds, the great house looked shadowy and a little sinister. The windows on the west side were all shuttered against the daylight, like a row of blinkered eyes. The entrance yawned dark at the centre, shrouded in ivy.
    I shivered, studying it as we approached. I had never seen the place look so grim and unwelcoming.
    ‘Look, I can see the house plainly now!’ William exclaimed, driving the cart. He turned and grinned back at me. ‘We are nearly there, little sister. Still thirsty?’ We had finished the last of our meagre supplies the night before and had not thought to ask the tavern keeper for more on our departure that morning.
    ‘My throat is a little dry,’ I admitted, then looked across at Alejandro, who had fallen asleep in the chill sunshine, wrapped in travelling furs.
    His face looked beautiful as an angel’s now that the lines of pain had been straightened out, his body relaxed as he slept, one arm slung over my mother’s chest of magickal instruments – which I had insisted on bringing away with me – his short dark hair ruffled by the breeze.
    I had been examining my mother’s ring on this last leg of the journey, for I was still curious to know its purpose. So far we had no word from Master Dee about it, and the only way I could think of discovering its use would be to wear it.
    Now the ring glinted in the sunlight, inviting me.
    I slipped it onto my finger and held it up, admiring the way it caught the light. At once I felt more awake, stronger somehow, as though I had just drunk one of Richard’s healing draughts. And my finger began to tingle, growing almost hot.
    I frowned, turning the ring on my finger. The heat was not uncomfortable nor unpleasant. Indeed, it was rather like the tingling itch I felt in my fingertips when the power descended upon me. But this heat seemed to be trickling back along my hand and wrist, up my arm and into my shoulder bones, spreading warmly towards my heart . . .
    Richard kicked his horse into a trot, riding past with a quick glance down at Alejandro, and I hurriedly slipped my glove back on, concealing the ring.
    ‘Best wake your sleeping prince,’ he told me, unsmiling. ‘See, they have heard the horses.’
    Sure enough, the entrance door had been thrown open, and I recognized