Moondance of Stonewylde (18 page)

‘You didn’t come to me last night at the Moon Fullness,’ she whispered eventually, her body on fire. ‘I waited for you all night, hoping you’d come.’

‘I never promised, Hazel,’ he said thickly, holding her head between his hands and looking intently into her soft brown eyes. ‘You shouldn’t wait unless I’ve told you to.’

‘But after last month I thought—’

‘Well you shouldn’t have. You know how it is. I’ve always made it perfectly clear. Anyway, I was caught up in this.’ He jerked his head towards the girl. ‘I’ll need your help with Sylvie. She has a strange kind of moongaziness, which is what Miranda was wittering on about. You may’ve heard of it before – how the women at Stonewylde can be affected by the full moon.’

Tenderly he removed the stethoscope from around Hazel’s neck, kissing the soft skin where her blond hair brushed the collar of her pink linen blouse. She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring, and took a ragged breath.

‘I believe my own mother was moongazy,’ he said softly. His hands brushed down to her breasts and Hazel opened her eyes wide, trying to concentrate on the conversation.

‘Really? I … I don’t think I’ve come across it. I remember my parents saying something about your mother and the moon, though they’re a little younger than she was of course. How strange.’

‘I need your help, Hazel,’ Magus repeated. ‘Let me explain …’

He guided her away from Sylvie’s bed and over to the armchair by the window, where he sat down and pulled Hazel onto his lap. She fell against his chest willingly and he held her close against his body, his other hand tracing her collarbones with the lightest of touches. The thin material of her blouse parted as his fingers found the tiny buttons, one by one. Hazel’s breathing quickened and a flush began to spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Magus continued smoothly, skilfully whilst Hazel dissolved into pure need.

‘This moongaziness is all part of the magical forces at Stonewylde,’ he said softly, his voice deep. ‘The effects are quite overwhelming
and it’s cruel to keep a moongazy girl locked up when the lunacy is upon her. Poor Sylvie’s desperate to dance when the full moon rises, and you know how over-protective Miranda is. She used to lock the girl in a small room to restrain her.’

‘How terrible! I never knew that,’ mumbled Hazel, shifting on his lap.

‘It must’ve been very upsetting for Miranda, watching Sylvie to all intents and purposes losing her mind every month, and of course the doctors didn’t have a clue how to help. So I’m trying a different, kinder tack – letting Sylvie dance to her heart’s content out in the open air, which is what she wants to do as the moon rises.’

‘I guess that’s better, as long as she’s closely supervised. Oh!’ she gasped.

‘I’ve taken on this responsibility to help Miranda, now she’s expecting. The effects of moondancing are quite harmless I’m sure, though last night Sylvie danced for hours in the moonlight and today she’s exhausted, drained of energy. But she isn’t ill and I really don’t want Miranda getting herself in a state about it, not in her condition. We don’t want to risk damaging the baby’s development in any way and we both know how Miranda’s prone to worrying where Sylvie’s health is concerned. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes,’ breathed Hazel, eagerly returning his caresses, her chest rising and falling rapidly. ‘Yes, I understand perfectly.’

‘I knew you would, Hazel. I knew I could count on you to help me. So just under-play it, would you? Sylvie will be fine. Put in a drip if necessary but make light of the whole thing to Miranda so she stops fretting. I’d be grateful to you, Hazel. So very grateful.’

The young doctor stared at him, mesmerised by the fiery intensity burning in his dark, velvety eyes. He crackled with it today; she could feel it in his touch, on his breath, and she shuddered with craving. He was charged with a different force that was irresistible. Her eyes were glazed with longing, her fair skin flushed with desire.

‘Let’s go for a walk up on the hills, shall we?’ he asked, one
long finger delicately stroking her bottom lip. ‘I’m free for a couple of hours and I’d love to spend them with you, Hazel. I know a lovely spot smothered in sweet clover where the butterflies dance. I think you’d like it there, under the blue skies with the swifts and swallows flying overhead and the sun beating down on our skin. Just as magical as the moonlight. Unless you’re busy, of course.’

‘No, no,’ she gasped, pulling her blouse together and scrambling off his lap to her feet. Her knees buckled and she nearly fell, but Magus reached out and steadied her with a knowing chuckle. Hazel’s tousled hair fell about her red cheeks as she fumbled to fasten the buttons. ‘I’m not busy at all. I can sort out the drip later – there’s no urgency. You’re right; Sylvie’s fine, just tired. I’ll put Miranda’s mind at rest and make sure she understands that.’

‘Oh Hazel,’ he murmured. ‘I knew I could rely on you to do the right thing for me. So …?’

‘Yes! I’d love to see the sweet clover where the butterflies dance. Take me there, Magus, please. Right now!’

He smiled as Hazel hastily crammed the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope back into her doctor’s bag. He now knew exactly where her loyalties lay, and how to keep them there.

As the Hall filled with visitors and the Village bustled with Lammas preparations, Sylvie spent the next few days in bed. Hazel hydrated her with a drip and Miranda had to keep her warm even though the days and nights were hot and sticky. Under Magus’ black gaze Clip hypnotized her again, reinforcing the same mantra as before. She repeated his words obediently, her moonstone eyes startling in her wan face. The dark shadows under her eyes emphasised their silvery softness as she dutifully reiterated how much she longed to give all her moon magic to Magus.

Privately Clip had his doubts whether she’d be able to take it again, particularly with the added burden of charging the eggs, which had taken every last drop of her energy. He knew that
what he was doing was an abuse of his gift, but he’d always given in to Magus and this episode was no exception. Magus would take Sylvie’s moon magic with or without his co-operation, and he told himself that his hypnotism made it easier for the poor girl. He tried to assuage his guilt by visiting Sylvie regularly, much to Miranda’s annoyance. He liked to sit in her room, whether she was awake or asleep, and slip into meditation. He hoped that maybe he’d transfer positive energy to her just by being close.

The extent of Magus’ concern was to barrage Miranda with instructions about feeding Sylvie and making sure she regained the weight she’d lost. Clip felt sorry for Miranda, who was losing her independence along with her figure. She was desperate for Magus’ affection, returning like a puppy to be kicked again and again. Clip witnessed her humiliation on several occasions, but his admonishments to his brother had little effect.

‘I hope you’ll be joining us for the Lammas celebrations tomorrow?’ asked Clip. He was sitting in Sylvie’s bedroom with the windows open to the warm late July afternoon, and Miranda had just returned from the library. After three days she no longer felt that Sylvie needed to be watched constantly – all her daughter seemed to do was sleep or lie silently gazing at the ceiling – and she resented Clip’s intrusion. Surely they were entitled to some privacy in their rooms?

‘Lammas? Yes, I suppose so. What’s involved? I don’t need a costume do I, like at Beltane?’

‘No, this is the celebration of the cereal harvest and most of the rituals focus on the crops and the Corn Spirit. It’s not quite the same as the magic of Beltane and the Green Man, nor the holiday atmosphere of the Summer Solstice. But it’s a lovely festival nevertheless.’

Miranda eyed him suspiciously from Sylvie’s doorway. Why did he keep turning up like this? Sylvie didn’t need babysitting and seemed to be on the mend now from the strange lethargy that had taken her over since the last full moon. Clip irritated her with his concern, and also hampered her attempts to entice
Magus to stay. Every time he came striding down the corridor to see how Sylvie was doing and Miranda thought to entertain him, there was Clip lurking about like a pale shadow.

‘I’m sure I’ll take part,’ she said. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Clip, I …’

He smiled at her and settled more comfortably in the chair.

‘Please ignore me, Miranda. I’m happy just to sit here quietly and meditate. You get on with whatever you need to do. I’m preparing myself for the festival tomorrow.’

She frowned at this and came into the bedroom, fiddling with a jam-jar of wild flowers on the dressing table. The young lad Harold had brought them up earlier, saying a friend of Sylvie’s had sent them for her. Several petals had fallen already onto the scrubbed pine surface, and Miranda brushed them into her palm.

‘Preparing yourself in what way?’

‘Focusing my energy. Concentrating on what Lammas really means. It’s one of the Celtic cross-quarter festivals, part of the old farming calendar. Of all the eight festivals we celebrate here, it’s perhaps the one most closely linked to our need to survive and the bounty of the Earth Goddess. And of course as a farming community, that’s vital to us.’

‘I see,’ she said, rearranging Sylvie’s things on the dressing table. Her daughter was asleep again, a little smudge of colour now in her cheeks, but otherwise still very weak and lacklustre.

‘I know it’s all still strange to you,’ said Clip, his grey eyes gentle, ‘but maybe it would help if you learned more about our customs here and what they actually mean.’

‘Help?’

‘Help you to really integrate into our community. Everyone at Stonewylde has grown up with this in their blood so it’s second nature, but not for you. Take the corn dollies, for instance. For the past week or so, every child and many of the adults have been busy weaving corn dollies. It’s something everyone does in the last week of July. Have you seen any of them yet? There are lots of different designs, from the simple little favours and knots to really complicated designs, spiral plaits and so forth. Our
children understand the symbolism behind this straw-work, and why we weave and plait these tokens.’

‘I’m sure I can appreciate the symbolism,’ said Miranda stiffly.

‘With your mind maybe, but not in your soul,’ he replied. ‘You need to feel it, not just know it. Tomorrow, if you come up to the Lammas field for the sunrise, I think you’ll find it enlightening. Lammas is quite a low-key event and many Hallfolk don’t bother too much with the sunrise ceremony. Some only take part in the picnic at lunchtime, and some only the evening ritual in the Stone Circle and the party afterwards in the Barn. But please do come at dawn and spend the day with the folk.’

‘Doubtless I will, provided Sylvie’s well enough to leave on her own.’

‘Good!’ smiled Clip. ‘It’s a shame that Sylvie can’t come too, but she does seem to be making a little progress at least. I’m sure it’ll do her good too, in the long run, if you’re both fully integrated members of the community. That child you’re carrying will be a born and bred Stonewylder and he needs his mother to be part of it too.’

‘He? Do you know something I don’t?’ she asked sharply.

‘He or she,’ he corrected with a twinkle in his eye. ‘A slip of the tongue.’

It was still shadowy as Maizie shut the door to her cottage and shooed four of her children along the lane that led up into the hills. They joined the huge throng of Villagers trooping along the stony track to the special place where the Lammas sunrise ritual was held every year. Maizie gazed with pride at her sons walking ahead as she fell into step with Rosie, both bundled in their shawls against the pre-dawn chill. The three little ones slept in the Nursery, and would join them in the Lammas Field later. Maizie watched Yul walk with a spring in his step, tall and strong, talking quietly to Geoffrey and Gregory. Both boys looked up at Yul as they walked, one each side of him, listening carefully to what he said.

Maizie thought back to Lammas last year, and how different
it had been. She recalled Alwyn’s bad temper and how he’d cuffed Gregory hard, making the boy’s nose bleed. Yul had left earlier, not walking up with the family so as to avoid his father, and had then felt guilty all day because his younger brother had suffered in his place. She remembered Rosie crying when Yul missed the picnic after Alwyn sent him back down to the Village on some trumped-up errand. Alwyn had been out of sorts, knocking back far too much cider, fumbling with the sickle when it was his turn to reap. She’d had to practically smother little Leveret when her grizzling enraged Alwyn; she’d feared for the child’s safety and this had made the crying worse, as Leveret picked up on her fear. She remembered the humiliation of Alwyn, snoring loudly, being carried back to the Village in one of the carts normally reserved for the small children, the elderly and the heavily pregnant. She smiled to herself and thanked the Goddess for the happiness her family now enjoyed.

‘Mother, do you think Robin will ask me today?’ Rosie said quietly, not wishing her younger brothers to overhear.

‘Aye, seems likely,’ said Maizie. ‘You been at the dairy a six-month now and ‘tis plain the boy’s smitten with you.’

‘Oh, if he gives me his favour I shall wear it so proudly!’ said Rosie warmly. ‘Robin is my dream come true! And I’ve brought the one I made him to give in return, just in case. I’ll be the happiest girl at Stonewylde if Robin asks me to walk with him!’

‘He’s a good lad, Robin, and from what I hear, turning out to be a fine dairyman too. You’re old enough now, Rosie, for your first sweetheart. But young enough too to change your mind if he don’t measure up.’