Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) (6 page)

The captain shrugged. “I’m known to be a good judge of character, mistress. But Mary here is even better. Perhaps one day, ‘twill be me in need of help from a stranger.”

“I am grateful,” I told them both. “You’ve no idea how much.”

“Course we do, lass,” Mary said. “Go along with Cap’n Murphy now. He’ll see you safely to where yer goin’.”

The man offered his arm, and I took it gladly, eager to put England far, far behind me.

* * *

He’d seen her! The woman...the girl...the witch!

But that was impossible. He’d watched her die, held her lifeless body in his arms, cried for her, even.

And yet, for just an instant he could have sworn....

Duncan had come with Samuel and Kathleen MacPhearson to the harbor, for they were two of the finest friends he’d ever known, and he’d be no kind of friend to either of them if he did not see them off and wish them well. He’d long since exchanged his dark robes for plain breeches and a white shirt, and he’d joined them here.

With Kathleen settled in their cabin aboard the Sea Witch—Duncan had writhed in bitter irony at the name of the craft—he and Samuel had gone back to the docks for a pint of ale and a long goodbye. They’d been talking with some other men of their acquaintance outside one of the taverns, when he’d glimpsed the small form of the woman. And though she’d been concealed beneath a dark cloak and hood, something about her had caught his attention and refused to let it go.

As Duncan looked on, the whore to whom she spoke reached out and yanked the girl’s hood down. And Duncan gasped aloud as he glimpsed her face. Her beautiful, haunting face. Huge dark eyes, and curling ebony tresses of hair. A face that had burned itself a place in his mind. He would not mistake that face.

She’d tugged the hood up again, almost desperately. He’d only glimpsed her for a moment. And he knew what he thought he’d seen was impossible. And yet ‘twas not possible he’d been mistaken.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that overwhelmed him. The feeling that this was the same woman he had seen die on the gallows. Though she couldn’t be. She couldn’t be.

He battled a burning need to see her more closely. To make sure. To know.

A spell. She must surely have been a witch after all, and he was under her spell. Imagining her face on strange young women. Thinking of her eyes each time he closed his own. Catching the scent of her hair on every stray breeze. ‘Twas unnatural!

And he was sounding like the fearful townsfolk who clamored to see witches burned or hanged or pitched into the sea. What he felt may be magnified, exaggerated. But ‘twas certainly natural. All too much so.

“Easy, my friend,” Samuel said in a low voice, one hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “She only looks like the dead girl. ‘Tis not her.”

“You saw?” Duncan asked.

“A brief glimpse of ebony locks is all I saw, an’ all you saw, Duncan. Get hold of yourself.”

“Nay, I saw more.” He strained his ears to listen as the girl spoke to the whore, and he heard her saying she must go to the New World, heard the whore mention the Sea Witch.

“‘Tis only the ale playin’ tricks on your mind, Duncan,” Samuel said softly.

Closing his eyes, Duncan whispered, “Aye. I suppose you’re right.”

But he didn’t believe the words he spoke. And the girl...she would be aboard that ship. That same ship, with Samuel and Kathleen. And if she were a witch, they could be in danger. And if she was not, then she should be dead. Hell, either way, she should be dead. But he was compelled, obsessed perhaps. Whatever drove him...he had to be sure. He had to.

Lowering his head, rubbing his temples, willing his lips not to utter the words hovering on his tongue, he said them anyway. “Samuel, I’ve changed my mind. I’m comin’ with you.”

When he dared lift his head, ‘twas to see his friend gaping. “Duncan?”

“I’m comin’ with you,” he said again.

“But...but the debt you owe your father–”

“I’ll send him what I owe as soon as I find employment in the New World. As easy to pay the debt off from there as from Scotland.”

Samuel stared and searched Duncan’s face, concern etched on his own. And then he glanced over toward the cloaked woman and the whore, but the two were already hurrying away, around to the rear of the building.

“What made you change your mind, Duncan?” His sharp gaze probed Duncan’s as he awaited an answer.

Duncan only shrugged. “A feeling,” he said. “Just a feeling in my belly that ‘tis the right decision. I can explain no more than that.” He met Samuel’s gaze. “Dinna ask me to.”

Samuel nodded, but again stared off in the direction the women had gone. “I dinna need to ask, I fear. Duncan, think! You saw the girl die.”

“Aye. I’m not likely to forget it, Samuel.”

Still Samuel stared at him.

Duncan forced a smile. “‘Twas only a momentary lapse,” he said. “An’ my decision has naught to do with her. I only feel...a need to be away. To go to some shore so distant that I’ll forget the blood I saw spilled here. Forget...forget her.” But even as he said the words, he knew ‘twas impossible. He would never forget her.

Sighing deeply, Samuel nodded. “I’ll take you at your word, for now. And be glad of it, too.” He slapped Duncan on the shoulder. “ ‘Twill be the adventure of a lifetime, Duncan Wallace. I promise you that!”

“I have no doubt ‘twill be all of that and more,” Duncan said, but he wasn’t smiling the way Samuel was. Instead he felt physically weak, and shaky, as if a fever were coming on, and atop that was an icy chill in his heart—indeed, in his very soul.

* * *

He able to purchase space in a cabin for the passage to Boston Harbor in Massachusetts Bay Colony aboard the Sea Witch. He had his bag with him, the one containing all his worldly possessions, which amounted to a pathetically small bundle. He’d been planning to go on to Scotland as soon as he saw his friends off. But now his destiny seemed to be taking a sudden and unexpected turn. He was going to the New World, lured there, perhaps, by one of the very sirens he’d heard the seamen talk of. A witch. A specter. A dead woman crooked her finger, and Duncan Wallace followed. He felt foolish, too foolish to tell Samuel the truth–that he still believed he’d seen her.

But not too foolish to make inquiries about her once he boarded the ship. He tried to be subtle, and although a few of the other passengers did indeed say they’d seen a woman such as the one he described aboard the Sea Witch, just as many denied it.

The ship weighed anchor at dawn, just as planned. And Duncan stood at the rail and watched England—and with it an entire phase of his life—disappear into the morning mist. Before his eyes it became a part of his past.

Except for her. She was present, in his mind, haunting him, always. In his dreams she came to him. He could not shake her image from his every thought. Duncan haunted the decks, searched every group of faces for her cream-skinned beauty, but never saw her. And finally he asked the captain himself. For if anyone would know, he would. He met the man at the helm, overseeing his navigator and manning the wheel. A stiff breeze mussed his silvery hair, but he faced it as if loving it as Duncan posed his question.

Captain Murphy shook his head slowly. “No. Sorry, but I can’t say we’ve anyone aboard like that.”

“Are you sure?” Duncan asked. And he knew he must sound desperate, but he’d seen her. He hadn’t imagined it or hallucinated or dreamed it. He’d seen her.

The captain smiled. “I’m not so old I wouldn’t notice a beauty such as the one you’ve described, son. No, I tell you, she’s not aboard ship.” Then the older man frowned, searching Duncan’s face. “You don’t look well, young man. You be feeling poorly?”

The man’s face was more than speculative, and Duncan couldn’t blame him. This ship had departed not far from a town ravaged by the plague of late. If Duncan showed signs of illness, the captain would have no choice but to put him off in a dinghy, for the protection of the passengers and the crew. And the truth was, Duncan wasn’t feeling up to snuff, and hadn’t been since boarding this vessel. And he was worried. But he was also taking great care not to touch anyone else physically, and he stayed well away from the others as he searched the decks for his mysterious beauty. He had no desire to spread illness, if indeed he were becoming ill.

Samuel, of course, had been far too busy, in the confines of his cabin with his new wife, to notice Duncan’s behavior. All for the best.

“I’m fine,” he told the captain. “Tired, though. An’ a wee bit seasick, I fear.”

The captain nodded, smiling. “It will pass, once your stomach gets used to the rocking,” he said. “You haven’t told me your name, lad.”

“My manners are lacking. I am Duncan Wallace.”

“I thought I detected a hint of the Scot in your voice.”

“Aye, ‘tis true.”

“Captain Davis Murphy,” he said, extending a hand.

Duncan couldn’t shake, for fear of making the man ill. So he pretended to lose his footing, and gripped the rail. “If you dinna mind, Captain, I’ll be goin’ back to my cabin now.”

“Of course.”

As he left, Duncan felt the man’s eyes on him. And he wondered if he’d fooled the captain even for a moment.

* * *

The journey was going to be exciting, I knew it from the moment we set sail. I spent much of my time sewing, mending my old clothes while wearing the ones the captain had sent to my cabin. I was grateful that I’d have presentable clothing to wear when I met my aunt Eleanor. But more of my time was spent on the decks of the magnificent vessel, staring out over the endless waters. I did so by night, of course, for I could not risk being recognized. But I loved the night, and always had. There was a magical quality about wandering the decks alone, with no one else about save a few crewmen doing their jobs.

There was something about the sea that moved me. Such a magnitude of power surging beneath the tall ship. I was mesmerized by its endless rhythm, its mystery. And the wind that made those sails billow never let us down. I heard the captain remark more than once that he’d seldom seen the weather more cooperative. I only smiled to myself, and silently whispered thanks to my mother for all she’d taught me.

But as Captain Murphy approached me one night, I saw a certain grimness in his eyes. And I frowned at him. But he merely smiled in return, easing my mind somewhat.

“How are you enjoying the journey?” he asked me.

“Tremendously! I saw a great fish,” I told him. “Big as a house, way off in that direction.” And I pointed.

“Then your eyes are better than my lookout’s, mistress. He’s reported no such sighting.”

I lifted my chin a bit. “No, neither did the crewmen I pointed it out to. I fear they didn’t believe me.”

“Of course they did. ‘Twas a whale, dear girl. They’ve seen them before.”

I nodded. A whale. My vision had reached a whole new level now, enabling me to see much farther than the mortals aboard. And my other senses were sharper, too. These things amazed me but troubled me, also, for they only served to remind me how very little I knew of my new nature.

I have some news which might disturb you,” the captain said. And as I tilted my head, he went on. There’s a man aboard ship who’s been asking after you.”

My heart froze. I swore it stopped beating as I recalled the hooded figure who’d attacked me. And the captain must have seen my reaction in my face, for he paled.

“What man?” I asked. “What did he look like?”

“Young, dark hair and brown eyes. Said his name was Duncan Wallace.”

I caught my breath, but the captain was still speaking.

There’s no need for you to fear him. I told him no woman such as he described was aboard. But ‘tis of no matter, at any rate. I plan to put him off soon.”

“Put him off?” I felt my eyes widen. He mustn’t.

The captain nodded. “I’ll wait until we reach a port, if I can, but if his symptoms continue, it will have to be sooner. I can’t risk everyone aboard for the sake of one soul.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, searching the captain’s face. “I know you to be a kind man, Captain Murphy. Why would you do such a thing?”

The captain lowered his head. “I believe the man to be ill.”

My eyes grew still wider. “No,” I whispered. Not him, not the man I thought of nightly, the man who visited me in dreams I knew would never be more than that. The plague?” I asked, breathlessly, thinking of my father, and little Johnny, and how helpless my mother and I had been to help either of them.

“I can not know that. But ‘tis not a risk I can take.”

I nodded slowly. Duncan Wallace. He was more than just a man who’d touched my soul. He was a priest, or would soon become one. A man who was associated in some way with the priest who’d murdered my mother. A man who’d tried to save us. Who’d seen us die. Was he following me? And if he was, then to what purpose? Did he know, or suspect that I lived still? Would he execute me again himself if he knew what I was? Was he working with that horrible old man? Or was there some other reason?

I could not trust him, despite his honorable and brave actions that cold dawn. Despite the feelings his touch had brought to life inside me. I could not trust him.

But I could not let him be put off this ship, for he would surely die. He’d tried to save my life, no matter what his intentions toward me now. I owed the man.

“I’ve had experience with the plague, Captain Murphy,” I said quite softly. “I could easily tell by examining the man if it is that or some other illness.”

The captain frowned at me. “You could be ill yourself, mistress. Even the ship’s physician refuses to go near the man to examine him.”

I shook my head firmly. “I will not become ill. I’ve cared for countless victims and have never become ill.” He still looked reluctant. “Surely you’d not wish to send a man to his death needlessly?” I asked him.

“Of course not. But, mistress, I thought you feared this Wallace.”

I shook my head. “No, I do not fear him.” I should, I thought, but somehow, I couldn’t manage to convince myself to be afraid of the brown-eyed priest. I cleared my throat. “Nor do I trust him. Captain, if I could look on him without him seeing me....”