Into the Woods (31 page)

"Why don't we just tie her to the hitching post out front and get this over with," Reggie moaned. "Or just tie her up in here and set the cottage on fire. It'll take forever to get that stake planted."

Henry grabbed Matilda by the hair, forced her to her feet and dragged her into the night. The rainmaker followed. Reggie was already taking the stake down from his horse. Wendell lent a hand, since the length of wood was quite heavy.

"Vanessa wants this done right," Henry said, gesturing to the clearing before him.

"Vanessa?" Matilda whispered. She'd always thought the woman vain and selfish and useless, but evil? Only someone truly evil would have a part in this.

Henry turned his face to her and smiled, even as he continued to hold her by the hair. "She's entertaining your beau at the moment, to make certain we have time to complete this task properly. Once you're gone, burned and dead forever, then it'll rain." He cast a glance to the rainmaker. "Right, Cox?"

Cox hesitated only momentarily before whispering, "Right."

* * *

Gretchen ran, faster than she'd ever run before. Hanson was ahead of her, for once, his legs pumping as he flew down the path.

She couldn't believe what she'd seen and heard. They were going to burn the witch!

Hanson threw open the door to their house and together they fell inside, breathless, frightened, shaking.

"What on earth?" Stella asked as she came to her feet, setting her mending aside. "I thought you two were in bed."

"It's... it's..." Hanson said, unable to catch his breath.

"Come quick!" Gretchen said breathlessly. "They're going to burn the witch!"

Stella glowered at her. "I have told you a hundred times. There are no witches..."

"Miss Matilda!" Gretchen shouted. "They're going to burn Miss Matilda because they think she's the reason it's not raining!" She looked desperately around the room. "Where's Father?"

"He's gone to see Mr. Herrin about getting a job at the mill, just until things improve around here. When he gets home he will be distressed to hear that y'all are still making up your outrageous stories."

Gretchen went very still. "You don't believe us," she whispered.

"There are no witches," Stella said sensibly. "And there are certainly no witch burnings. I don't know what possessed y'all to sneak out of the house and then come back here with this preposterous tale, but..."

Hanson looked at Gretchen, his eyes wide and frantic. Perhaps he suspected, as she did, that this was all their fault. She'd seen the farmers listening this morning, as she'd told Mr. Harper about Miss Matilda's powers.

"We need Mr. Harper," Hanson said, and then he turned and ran.

Gretchen was right behind him. They both ignored their stepmother's shouts to come back.

* * *

Matilda could do nothing but watch as the men dug a hole in the ground and planted the stake. The dry earth was hard, so they carried buckets of water from the pond to soften it.

She'd never cared that people thought her a witch, had more often than not found it amusing, but then she'd never suspected that anyone would resort to this.

Vanessa was keeping Declan occupied, and he'd probably given her the potion by now. While she burned, they would likely be kissing, laughing, whispering of matrimonial plans. Declan was going to seduce the woman he wanted as his wife, a woman who knew full well what was about to happen here.

Matilda wondered if Declan would take a sip of the potion himself, for courage. She wondered if he would be making love to Vanessa while she herself burned.

Reggie and Wendell stopped their work, wiping at their brows and drinking from the bucket they'd carried from the pond. Her bucket, her pond.

Wendell walked toward her, grinning with unabashed meanness all the way. "I need to rest a few minutes," he said breathlessly. "Henry, why don't you do a little of the grunt work and let me hang on to the witch for a few minutes."

Henry didn't think much of the idea. He argued briefly, but when Wendell insisted, he grumbled and tossed Matilda roughly away so that she fell against Wendell's potbelly.

Wendell caught her with fingers that grasped her arms so tight tears came to her eyes. He didn't seem inclined to let her go or loosen his grip.

"I always did think you were mighty pretty," he whispered, his sweaty face pressed against hers. "And you wouldn't have nothin' to do with me. Wouldn't even dance with me at the Founders' Day Celebration." His eyes narrowed. "You think you're too good for me, is that it? Well, before you burn, maybe I'll give you a taste of what you missed by not being nice to me when you had the chance."

One of his large hands held her bound wrists, the other reached out to grope at her breasts.

"Before you burn," Wendell whispered, "I'll show you what it's like to have a real man. Seems a shame for you to die without knowing what you missed."

Matilda looked down, struggling ineffectively against Wendell's clumsy fondling. He'd hit her next, the way he'd hit his wife, and then he'd... she didn't want to think about what he had planned for her. He was so much stronger than she, what could she do to stop him? Her heart beat so fast, she was afraid it would burst, her mouth was so dry she could barely make herself speak.

Declan had told her she should never be afraid. He'd told her a remarkable woman should have no fear. In that moment she vowed that she would not end her life this way.

"Let go of me," she whispered.

"I'm not through with you," he muttered. "I don't think Henry or either of the others would mind if I stole off with you for a few minutes." His grip on her wrist tightened and with the other hand he reached around to grasp her backside and pull her up against him.

Maybe Wendell was stronger than she was, but he was not smarter. He was dim and mean and simple and always had been.

She lifted her face boldly and looked him square in the eyes. No fear. "Tell me, Wendell," she whispered. "What do you think happens to a man who forces himself upon a witch?" There was no dread in her voice, only calm assurance. "What do you think you might find beneath the covers when you wake in the morning? A shriveled, blackened, lump of coal nestled between your legs where your privates used to be? Or perhaps you'll wake in the middle of the night to find a fire blazing there. A hot, charring, cooking..."

"That's enough," he said hoarsely, a light of real fear flashing in his eyes as he released her.

She didn't think twice, but took the opportunity to run. Her hands were bound but her legs were not, and she ran toward the woods. She could hide there, if only she could reach the forest in time.

"Hey!" Wendell shouted.

She ran past the rainmaker, but he didn't even try to stop her.

Henry fired one shot into the air and then he shouted. "Cox, if you don't stop her, we'll damn well burn you at the stake!"

The rainmaker cursed, but took off after her. His legs were so long, she knew she had little chance—yet still she ran. She had almost reached the complete blackness of the forest, safety, when he caught her from behind, and they both fell to the ground.

"Let me go!" she shouted into the ground. He pressed her into the dirt, heaving as he breathed heavily. "You know I'm not the cause of the drought. Tell them!"

Cox lifted himself up but kept a firm grip on her bound wrists. He dragged her up and spun her around. The others had already begun to gather kindling to place at the base of the stake.

"I'm sorry," Cox whispered as he shoved her into Henry's hands.

* * *

Vanessa had met Declan at the door herself, telling him that she'd given the servants the night off. The domestic staff would be close by, in their quarters, Vanessa told him, but their visit would be uninterrupted. They would not be disturbed.

Perfect, Declan thought as she escorted him to the parlor. Absolutely perfect.

Vanessa had gone all out this evening, wearing a white gown flocked with lavender flowers and wearing the requisite pearls at her throat and ears. Her cheeks were pink, her lips lush. And she left him absolutely cold.

"You brought wine," she said, taking the decanter from him and placing it on the table at the end of the green sofa. "How sweet."

"It's elderberry wine," he said. "Nothing special."

She sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside her.

"Come sit with me and let's talk," she said, batting her eyelashes. "I heard what Daddy did to you, and I'm just mortified. Why, I'd do anything to make it up to you, Declan, just anything."

Yes, he couldn't ask for a more perfect opportunity than this one. Vanessa was here and agreeable, and Arrington was out for the evening. All he had to do was offer her the wine, and he was set. Done. On his way to getting everything he wanted, everything he'd planned so long and hard for.

"I do hate it that you have nothing, now. I did so hope that there could be more for you and I," Vanessa said sweetly. "I can't marry a penniless man of poor stock," she said with a wave of her hand, and then she looked squarely at him. "No offense intended."

"None taken," he said softly.

"But I do hope that you and I can be friends, Declan. Good, good friends." She puckered her lips and leaned toward him. Her gown was low cut, so low cut the pale globes of her breasts were practically thrust toward him.

He had no desire to kiss her; his fingers did not itch to touch her offered breasts.

"How about some wine?" he asked, rising from the sofa and leaving Vanessa hanging there, leaning forward.

Her eyes snapped open and she said, as if nothing had happened, "That would be lovely."

He knew his way around the Arrington parlor. Glasses were kept near Warren Arrington's stash of whiskey. Declan grabbed two of them, set one down, lifted it again. Finally, he banged the second glass, rim-down, onto the bar with decisiveness. Dammit, he would not ingest anything that would take Matilda from him.

Declan poured Vanessa a small glass of the wine, watching all the while the way the potion caught the lamplight, the way it seemed to sparkle and swirl, dancing in the glass as if eager to be set free to do its work. He handed the glass to Vanessa.

She took the offered wine with pale, slender fingers. "Why, thank you, Declan."

Declan held his breath as she raised the glass to her lips.

"You know," she said, bringing the glass down before taking a sip. "I think Daddy is being completely unreasonable about the whole situation. He didn't have to take everything from you. That's just so cruel." She shook her head and lifted the glass to her lips again.

Lamplight shone on the ruby-red potion, making it twinkle seductively. Everything he needed was in that glass, everything he wanted. Everything he'd always dreamed of.

Everything but the woman he loved. Reaching out with a lurch and a snap he jostled the glass before Vanessa could drink. The contents spilled onto her white dress, staining the bodice.

"You clumsy oaf!" she shouted, coming to her feet. "This gown is ruined, do you hear me? Ruined!" For the first time, he saw something genuine in her eyes. He saw petty anger, selfish rage.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching for what remained of the love potion. "I never should've come here."

Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and she reached out to touch his arm. "No, don't go. I'm sorry I lost my temper. It's just that I did so want to look nice for you tonight." She smiled, took his hand, and placed it over her breast. "And see what you've done," she whispered. She took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling beneath his hand.

"I shouldn't be here," Declan said, anxious to get to Matilda and tell her what a mistake he'd almost made. He would beg her to take him back, if necessary. He would do whatever he had to do.

"Don't you want to hold me, Declan?" Vanessa whispered. "I'm an untouched lady," she said batting her eyelashes. "A virgin who will go to her marriage bed intact. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to touch me, or that I can't touch you."

Untouched? He seriously doubted it. In the past Vanessa had always seemed passionless, cold, but at the moment she looked at him like she wanted to eat him alive. She licked her lips, making sure he saw her flickering tongue, as she laid her hand on the flat of his stomach and inched it downward.

He backed up quickly. "Vanessa, this is not right." He only wanted to take the love potion and escape. He'd pour the wine onto the road and make Matilda love him again the right way. The only way.

Another flash of anger sparked in her eyes. "It's gracious of you to show such respect for me, Declan, very gentlemanly, in fact, but what I want from you right now is..."

The front door opened with a bang, and frantic footsteps sounded in the entryway.

Vanessa muttered, "Damnation!"

Declan backed gratefully away from her, and turned to see Gretchen in the doorway.

"He's here!" she shouted, and a moment later her brother, who had been searching other downstairs rooms, joined her. "Come quick," she said. "They're going to burn the... they're going to burn Miss Matilda!" She was red-faced, shaking, and breathing heavily.

"What?" Declan set the decanter aside and walked to the doorway.

"Pay no mind to them," Vanessa said sharply. "Everyone knows this child tells nothing but lies."

That was true, and yet... He looked down at the children. "Calm down and tell me what happened."

They told him everything, ignoring Vanessa's interruptions. Declan went cold as he heard what they'd seen, or what they'd claimed to see.

"Get out of here, you brats, and take your lies with you," Vanessa snapped.

Gretchen pointed an accusing finger at Vanessa. "She knows all about it! I heard one of them say that Vanessa wanted it done right, that she was supposed to keep you here so you'd be out of the way!"

It all came together with sickening clarity: the note, the dismissed servants, the apology, and the attempts at seduction he'd endured since coming into this house tonight.

Declan turned to face Vanessa. How had he ever thought her beautiful? There was no beauty on her face, none in her heart.