The Silver Rose (5 page)

“Isn’t it?” Miri whispered, wondering how well Marie Claire knew her, wondering how well she knew herself anymore. “I suppose I do sound like young Carole, cursing her former lover. This is what Simon Aristide has reduced me to, these horrible black emotions that tear me up inside.”

Tears burned Miri’s eyes and she blinked them back fiercely. “That—that is why I try never to think of him.”

“Then I am sorry for ever mentioning the man’s name. I only thought that you should be warned. I shall pray very hard that your paths never cross again.” Marie Claire gently brushed aside the sole tear that had escaped to trickle down Miri’s cheek. “But I really do feel you should leave Faire Isle.”

“Because of Simon?”

“No, because you should have never come back here in the first place.”

Miri gave a tremulous smile, attempted to jest. “What! Are you so tired of my company already, Marie?”

Marie Claire’s eyes clouded with a look full of such wistfulness, such loneliness, it pulled at Miri’s heart. “No, child. Having you here has meant the world to me. But this island is no longer any place for you. It holds nothing but memories of a time that is gone forever.”

“The same is true of you,” Miri protested, but Marie Claire only shook her head with a sad smile.

“I am an old woman. Memories are all that are left to me. But you are too young to dwell in the past.” Marie Claire stroked back a stray wisp of Miri’s hair in a tender, motherly gesture. “You may not have asked for my advice, but I am giving it to you. Leave Faire Isle, go back to Bearn, and marry that young man who adores you.”

Miri felt herself blush. “You sound like Gabrielle. No doubt she has been writing and complaining to you about my folly.”

Unlike Ariane, Gabrielle had not been nearly as resigned or understanding when Miri had mentioned her desire to return to Faire Isle. It had been the one remark that had been able to snap Gabrielle’s attention from the latest canvas she’d been working on.

“Are you completely insane, Miribelle Cheney?” In her agitation, Gabrielle had waved her brush, scattering stray flecks of paint about the room. “Why would you want to go back to a place where you’ll be lonely and miserable, to say nothing of possibly being in danger? When you could stay right here and marry the man who has been your devoted slave ever since he met you? Wolf has been so patient, but neither of you is getting any younger, my dear sister. You clearly love the man, so what in heaven’s name are you waiting for?”

Miri had been completely unable to answer that question. She reached inside the neckline of her gown and drew forth a large oval locket suspended from a silver chain, her mind filling with the image of the man who had given it to her. A bold, sable-haired rogue with piercing green eyes and blade-sharp features . . . Martin le Loup, as he liked to call himself. Miri was one of the few people who used his given name of Martin instead of Wolf.

She had never accepted a present from any man other than her father and she had been reluctant to allow Martin to fasten the costly locket about her neck. Martin had a flair for drama and could be given to making flamboyant, impassioned speeches. But he had completely disarmed Miri this time with a pleading glance and by uttering a single soft word.

“Please . . .”

Rather shyly, Miri displayed the locket to Marie Claire. “Martin gave this to me the day we parted.”

The surface of the locket was etched with the likeness of a wolf baying at the moon. Miri fumbled with the catch, opening it to reveal the minature clock encased inside.

Marie Claire squinted at the words etched on the other half of the locket. “Forgive me, my dear, but my eyesight is not what it used to be.”

“It says
Yours until time ends.
”

“Ah! A very romantic fellow, this Martin of yours.”

Miri’s lips twisted ruefully. “Oh, yes, Martin is indeed that. Romantic, passionate, and—and full of such vigor at times it can be quite exhausting. Life with him would always be a grand adventure and I do care for him, very deeply.”

Marie Claire regarded her quizzically. “And so?”

Miri closed the locket and tucked it back into the bodice of her gown with a deep sigh. “I’ve already had far more adventure in my life than I ever wanted. I crave quiet, Marie. Sometimes I don’t think I am suited to be any man’s wife.” She gave a wry uncertain laugh. “Gabrielle always said she was afraid I would end up an eccentric old woman, living alone with dozens of cats. No doubt she is right.”

“Speaking of cats!” Marie Claire gasped, straightening sharply as she stared at a point past Miri’s shoulder.

When Miri twisted around to see what had so startled the older woman, she spied a familiar black cat perched on the ledge outside the window, back arched in displeasure as the wind ruffled its fur.

“Necromancer!” Miri exclaimed. She rushed over and forced open the casement, allowing her cat to leap inside. Necromancer landed gracefully on four snowy-white paws, the only part of him that was not dark as midnight. The cat’s arrival sent Marie Claire’s birds into an uproar, flapping and squawking so loudly she was obliged to fling a cover over their cage.

Despite her familiarity with Miri’s cat, Marie Claire appeared a little disconcerted. “Bless me! How did that creature get here, all the way from your cottage in the wood? And however did he manage to find you?”

Miri closed the window and shrugged. She had given up wondering a long time ago how Necromancer managed anything. Even to a woman like herself who respected the intelligence and unusual abilities animals often displayed, Necromancer was uncanny. He was old, well past the age of fifteen in human years. He was no longer as swift as he used to be and his fur was thinning in patches near his ears, but he still possessed an eerie skill to track Miri wherever she was. She supposed the superstitious would call the cat her familiar. To Miri, he was simply a much-needed friend.

“You old fool,” she scolded fondly, bending to gather the cat in her arms. “You are growing much too ancient to go prowling so far—”

She checked abruptly as Necromancer skittered away from her. Fur standing on end, he emitted a furious hiss.

“Merciful heavens,” Marie Claire cried. “Whatever is wrong with the beast?”

Miri didn’t reply, her attention riveted on Necromancer. She experienced a strange empathy with all creatures of the earth, but never had her ability to communicate been as marked as it was with this one small cat. Necromancer had alerted her to approaching danger on many occasions, saving her life.

She crouched down, her gaze locking with the cat’s great golden eyes, her thoughts melding with his. The warning that he sent caused Miri’s heart to still.

“You are in great peril, daughter of the earth. The one whom you have long dreaded has returned to your isle. The witch-hunter, Aristide.”

Miri tried to draw in a lungful of air and found she couldn’t. Her mind reeled with disbelief.

“You—you are certain of this, Necromancer?”
Miri thought desperately.
“You have seen him?”

The cat’s golden eyes blinked in confirmation. Miri sank back on her haunches, feeling the blood drain from her face. So much for Marie Claire’s hope of praying the man away. Miri reflected how right she had been all these years to avoid talking about Simon. It was as though merely by uttering his name aloud this afternoon, she had conjured up the devil.

But why? Why had Simon come back to Faire Isle? Surely he had done enough damage to the women of this island. What more could he possibly want?

“You,”
was Necromancer’s alarming reply to her thought.
“This time the witch-hunter has come looking for you.”

Miri closed her eyes, realizing what must have drawn Simon down on her, made him reconsider sparing her from charges of witchcraft. The gossip that was spreading about her, the reputation she had gleaned as this Lady of the Wood. And all because she had broken her promise to Ariane to live quietly. Well, she would have time enough to castigate herself for that later. At least she hoped that she would.

She jumped when she felt Marie Claire’s hand rest on her shoulder. The woman’s uneasy gaze darted between Miri and her cat.

“Miri? What is going on? What is wrong?”

Miri parted her lips to speak, only to clamp her mouth closed, reconsidering what she had been about to say. If Simon was coming for Miri, there was no reason to alarm Marie Claire or get her involved. The old woman would only seek to protect Miri, end up placing herself in harm’s way.

Struggling to her feet, Miri corraled Necromancer and scooped him into her arms. “N-nothing is wrong. Necromancer is only worried because—because of the weather. Storms always upset him. I need to get him home, Marie.”

“But surely it would be better if you both remained here, waited for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t think this one is going to do that,” Miri said grimly, but she managed to paste on a brittle smile. “I—I have other animals back at the cottage. My pigeons, the rabbits. S-so much to do. I really
must
be going. I will—will visit you again in a few days.”

She hoped her stammered explanation would be enough to fool Marie Claire. The former abbess had never been quite as good at reading eyes as Ariane. Not giving Marie Claire a chance to question her further, Miri brushed a kiss against the older woman’s cheek and ducked out the cottage door into a world where the sky seemed to have grown that much darker, the wind even sharper.

Clutching Necromancer to her, she raced toward the shed behind the cottage where she had stabled Willow. The wind tangled stray wisps about her eyes and she paused just inside the shelter of the doorway to catch her breath. A part of her had always known she was fated to cross swords with Simon Aristide again one day. She had believed that when the time came she would be able to face him, tough and unflinching.

But with the prospect looming before her, her heart raced. She felt as though the scarred tissue of an old wound had split open, leaving her raw and vulnerable. Necromancer twisted in her arms, stretching up a paw to pat urgently at her chin.

“You have no time to waste, daughter of the earth. You must hide yourself. Aristide may be a great predator, but he does not possess the skill necessary to track you.”

That was perfectly true, Miri thought. She was familiar with every glade, every rock, and every cove of this island. There were at least a dozen places she could secrete herself where she would never be found. She could flee just as she and her sisters had done all those years ago.

The reflection left a bitter taste in Miri’s mouth and something inside her revolted. No! She’d be damned if she’d go to ground like a terrified rabbit. This was
her
island,
her
home. She would not be driven out a second time.

Miri’s mind worked furiously, trying to calculate how much time she had. Simon could not know where she now lived, but he would find someone to betray her. He was infernally good at that. The witch-hunter would track her to her little cottage tucked deep in the woods.

And then . . . Miri’s mouth set in a grim line. This time she would be waiting and give Simon Aristide exactly the kind of reception he deserved.

Chapter Two

T
HE DEVIL HAD
returned to Faire Isle.

Doors slammed closed, frightened mothers herded their children inside, and alarmed faces peered out through cottage windows as Simon cantered Elle through the lanes of Port Corsair. He was accustomed to the fear he engendered, had once done his best to inspire such terror, a useful tool of his trade. Now it only left him feeling tired and isolated.

They obviously remembered him well on Faire Isle, despite how much his appearance had altered. Strange, because he felt so removed from the young man who had invaded this island years ago. So arrogant, so infernally self-righteous, believing that he knew all about the nature of evil, only to discover that he knew very little about the darkness that could lurk in the human heart, least of all his own.

Le Balafre, they had called him in hushed whispers, the Scarred One, and Simon had reveled in the fearsome title, young fool that he was. He had stormed onto Faire Isle with an army at his back, determined to find the legendary
Book of Shadows
and bring the sorcerer Renard to justice.

Justice? Or had it merely been revenge? Even after all this time, Simon wasn’t sure. Either way, he doubted it made much difference to the women of Faire Isle. All around him, he could still see the scars he’d left on this small community. Shops that had been burned to the ground and never rebuilt, cottages with gaping doorways and windows. A litter of rubble, broken hopes, and disrupted lives. The towers of the abandoned convent at the top of the hill loomed over him, all the more stark and bleak because of the keening winds and lowering skies.

Simon stared up at the empty buildings, feeling as though he was passing through a graveyard of every mistake he’d ever made, all those regrets he scarce dared examine for fear his entire life would unravel in his hands.

He guided Elle onto the road that led into the woods, leaving Port Corsair and its silent reproach far behind him. The overburdened clouds looked ready to unleash a furious hail of rain at any moment. He might have done better to bide his time at the harbor inn and wait for the storm to pass.

But time was against him. The Sisterhood of the Silver Rose waxed stronger and more cunning by the hour. Simon believed the witches’ next attack would finish him. It was damnably hard to swallow his pride and come seeking aid from a woman he’d once betrayed. But delay would not make facing Miri Cheney any easier.

As the forest closed around him, Simon reined Elle to a walk. Thunder boomed, lightning flaring down the road ahead like the ordnance of some distant battle. Not the best place to be during a storm, although in Simon’s view, these woods were not a good place to linger at any time.

The moss-covered trees were like towering giants, their roots sunk deep in the dark secret places of the earth. Gnarled branches swayed in the wind, their leaves whispering of ancient mysteries, druids, fairy folk, and sorcery. The perfect place for a witch to dwell.

Simon leaned forward to give Elle’s neck a pat, more for his comfort than for hers. The eerie aspect of the wood should have rendered the mare nervous. Although Elle was restive, he could have sworn it was more the eager excitement of a horse scenting journey’s end.

Strange as that notion struck him, Elle seemed at home here. Any tension, any unease was all his. Perhaps it was because for the last quarter mile, he kept remembering the last time he’d stood face-to-face with Miri Cheney. Her silvery-blue eyes as cold as a winter sky, she had aimed a pistol directly at his heart when fate had intervened in the form of an explosion, throwing them both to the ground. Would Miri have really pulled the trigger? Had she learned to hate him that much?

He would soon have his answer . . .

The thick canopy of trees and the storm-ridden sky robbed the afternoon of much of its light. As the road narrowed, Simon squinted to discern the way ahead, trying to compare what he saw with the directions he had been given.

Knowing that Miri’s former home, Belle Haven, was lost to her, Simon had made inquiries at the inn regarding her present whereabouts. The Passing Stranger was the sole male bastion on this island populated by petticoats. Although the men were not as frightened of him as the women, the habitués of the taproom regarded him with dour suspicion.

Simon had always found that if he scattered enough coin, he could loosen someone’s tongue. The one who had finally betrayed Miri to him was not one of the rough-hewn seamen or fisher lads, but another woman. She’d come creeping into the taproom with a shawl flung over her head, a faded creature with hard, shrewish features. Although she had trembled with fear, she had dared to seek Simon out.

“I—I hear you are looking for the Lady of the Wood,” she said in such a quavering voice he had to bend closer to hear her.

Simon nodded.

“And—and you are paying?”

Simon had been hard-pressed to conceal his astonishment. His memory of the women of this island was that they were doggedly loyal to one another and especially to their beloved Lady of Faire Isle and her family. As he pressed several coins into Madame Alain’s eager work-reddened hands, he felt a curious mingling of contempt and pity for the woman. That had not stopped him from acquiring her information.

“Just follow the road through the forest. Eventually you’ll see a path split off leading deeper into the wood itself. Just follow that path and it’ll take you straight to her cottage.”
His money clutched tight in her fist, Madame Alain had stifled a sob and bolted, although Simon was not certain what she was running from, him or her own guilt.

As he neared the track Miri’s betrayer had spoken of, Simon realized there was one fact the woman had failed to mention. There was not one path, but two forking off from the road in completely opposite directions. As Simon reined in, hesitating over which way to go, he was startled to discover that his horse had definite opinions on the subject.

Elle tossed her head, pulling toward the least likely of the paths, the one that was less traveled and more overgrown. Simon did all he could to hold her back as lightning lit up the wood again. He spied something so astonishing he thought if he had been a horse, he would have reared back.

Elle merely strained at the bit, redoubling her effort to surge down the path. Simon barked out a sharp command, hauling back on the reins in a way that demonstrated he’d tolerate no more of her nonsense. When he finally settled the mare, he peered down at the creature he’d spotted, still unable to credit his eyes.

There was something almost supernatural about the cat squatting calmly at the fork in the paths, in this wild place, upon this wild afternoon. Its wind-ruffled fur was as black as ink except for the snowy white of its paws. Simon blinked, half-expecting the creature to vanish. But the cat’s amber eyes blinked back at him, stirring in him a memory of a long-ago night upon a windswept hill at the far side of this very island.

Simon had charged forward, his heart thudding with the fear and eagerness of his very first raid, hoping to catch a coven of witches in the act of performing their satanic rites amidst the towering circle of standing stones. What he’d found was a beleaguered Miri fiercely fighting off the other girls in her effort to save the cat slated for sacrifice.

The brazen young hussies had scattered in terror at the sight of Simon, but Miri had determinedly stood her ground, freeing the small black cat bound to the stone altar. That had been the first time he and Miri Cheney had ever clapped eyes upon each other. The witch-hunter and the witch.

No, Simon thought ruefully. They had not been that to each other, not way back then. He had only been a boy with so much yet to learn and she had been little more than an appealing child with fey eyes and a winsome smile.

This creature staring at him surely could not be the same cat Miri had rescued that night, not after all these years, could it? Simon cocked his head, studying the cat intently. Although he felt like a perfect fool, he called uncertainly, “Necromancer?”

The cat meowed for all the world as though it acknowledged its name, then with a saucy flit of its tail, it vanished up the path. When Elle strained to follow, Simon made no effort to stop her. If that was indeed Miri’s cat, and why else would such a tame creature be out here in these woods, then it was undoubtedly streaking for home.

But the track that the cat led them down was scarcely worthy of the name. The trees closed rapidly around them, branches and leaves slashing at both Simon and his horse. The ground became too treacherous with thick roots and hidden chuckholes to make riding safe any longer.

Simon dismounted and led Elle, shoving back limbs to clear the path. From time to time he caught the rustle of bushes, the glimpse of a shadow that was the cat. The little black devil was either leading him toward Miri’s abode or else to some dark center of the forest where he would be hopelessly lost.

Either way, it was too late to turn back. The sky grumbled and Simon felt the first cold splash of rain upon his cheek. He needed to find shelter for himself and Elle and find it soon.

Just when the path seemed in danger of disappearing entirely, he was heartened to spy a clearing in the distance. Smoke curled in wisps from the chimney of a small stone cottage. He’d lost sight of the cat, but this had to be the place. Who else but Miri would live in such a godforsaken place with only the beasts and birds of the wood for neighbors?

Leading Elle past the thick trunk of an oak tree, Simon strode forward only to feel the ground shift. He lost his grip on the reins as he was swept roughly off his feet, the world rushing past him in a dizzying blur.

Stunned by the unexpected assault, it took a moment to comprehend what had happened. He was entangled in the rough cords of a thick net, swaying yards off the ground, trapped like any witless rabbit blundering into a hunter’s snare. The taut ropes of the net gouged his face and arms. Simon might have experienced a grudging admiration for Miri’s ingenuity in arranging this little surprise if he had not been so alarmed for Elle.

The mare had been spooked when he’d been caught in the trap. As he twisted to look for her, one of his boots ripped through the mesh of the net. He saw no sign of Elle. If she had taken off in panic, plunging blindly through the woods, it would be a miracle if she didn’t end up breaking a leg. The sword Simon might have used to cut himself loose was strapped to her saddle.

As for his knife, it was tucked in the boot that now dangled through the hole in the net. As Simon struggled to work his foot free so he could reach the weapon, the branch of the tree that held him creaked ominously.

He swore roundly, not knowing how the situation could possibly get any worse. That was when the clouds opened up and it started to pour.

M
IRI HUDDLED IN THE DOORWAY
of her cottage, heedless of the wind and rain lashing inside. She eyed the dark figure trapped in the net high above the ground with a mingling of grim satisfaction and awe.

With his wild mane of dark hair, massive body, and fierce cursing, Simon Aristide seemed more ferocious beast than man. She could not make out his face from where she stood, but he must have been able to perceive her hovering upon the threshold of the cottage.

“Miri!”

Her name was borne back to her on the wind like the infuriated roar of a dragon. Even though the witch-hunter was in no position to be a menace to her, she shrank back involuntarily. She started when Necromancer brushed up against her ankles, the cat taking shelter beneath the hem of her skirts.

“I got him,” Miri said somewhat breathlessly.

The cat glared up at her.
“Wonderful. Now close the door. I am getting soaked.”

Necromancer slipped past her, retreating deeper inside the cottage. Miri hesitated, despite the rain that spattered her face and dampened the front of her gown. A deafening clap of thunder sounded, followed by a jagged flash of lightning, heightening the peril of Simon’s predicament. She ought to just slam the door closed, leave him to his fate.

But she fretted her lower lip and fingered the hilt of the knife sheathed in her belt, the blade sharp enough to easily cut him free . . .

“Miri!” Simon bellowed out her name again. “I know you are there. Get out here right now and cut me down or I swear I will—”

He choked off into impotent fury, but the implied threat was enough to harden Miri’s resolve. She backed up, starting to close the door when his voice roared out again.

“For the love of God, woman. At least go find my horse.”

His horse? Miri froze, horrified that she had overlooked a detail so important. Alerted by Necromancer, she had watched from the cottage for Simon’s approach, her attention fully focused on the witch-hunter, waiting as he had walked right into her trap.

She had never seen his mount, but she should have had the wit to realize he hadn’t marched all the way here on foot. He must have been leading his horse and now the poor beast, bewildered and terrified by the fate of its rider, had torn off in a panic. Miri bolted out into the rain, not even taking time to snatch up a cloak.