Into the Woods (36 page)

It had been raining a full week; at least, it would be a full week in two hours or so. The rain still fell, an endless drizzle, and most of the land around the cottage was covered in puddles that grew together until her yard looked like a lake, or another spring-fed pond.

Declan was well enough to leave the cottage. He pretended that he was not, but he couldn't fool her. He stayed out of guilt, she knew, afraid that if he left she'd immediately disappear. He wasn't quite ready to say good-bye. Neither was she, to be honest.

She'd tried to make the rain stop, she really had, but nothing seemed to work. She tried to think and feel dry, and picture the sun, and she tried to feel the warmth inside her the way she'd felt the storm. Nothing worked. She suspected that until her heart stopped crying, the rain would continue.

And she didn't know if her heart would ever stop.

"Get away from the window," Declan muttered.

She turned as he rose from his chair, illuminated by the small fire he'd started to warm the room. A fire should not be necessary, not in the first days of August, but the lack of sun for a week had seemed to sap the warmth from everything.

"Why can't I make it stop?" she whispered.

"It'll stop, eventually." He didn't seem concerned, but he had to be. Of course, he didn't know what she'd screamed at her attackers the night they'd tried to burn her at the stake; he didn't know that she'd screamed in anger that the rain would never stop.

"I don't want to be a witch," she whispered, fighting down the panic. "I know this doesn't make any sense to you, but when I thought it wasn't true I didn't mind what people believed. When I thought I had no powers and never would, the rumors didn't bother me. They were just... silly rumors. Now that I know it's true, I'm terrified."

Declan crossed the room and turned her about so she could no longer look out the window at the ceaseless rain. "Witch is just a name," he said, his hands on her shoulders. "You have a gift, a power no one understands. If you feel you must mark yourself with a title to explain away your gift, why not call yourself an enchantress, or a healer? Or a rainmaker."

"I just want to be a woman," she said softly.

Declan smiled at her, that heart-grabbing grin that warmed her from the inside out and made her think maybe she could love him, no matter what.

"Matilda Candy, you are a woman first and foremost. Never doubt that for a moment."

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her so she couldn't move away, trapping her warmly in his embrace and kissing her so softly and sweetly she felt as if she were melting.

In that moment she forgot that she was a witch and a rainmaker, and let herself be the woman she wanted to be. She allowed herself to love Declan, for now.

They undressed each other without hurry, lingering over long kisses and stopping on occasion to let their hands roam over newly exposed flesh. It had been so long—a hundred years surely—since they'd touched each other intimately; it seemed as if they were making love for the first time. She wanted to savor every passing second.

Declan lay down on the rug in front of the dying fire, drawing her down with him. Completely unclothed they lay there face-to-face, her leg cocked over his, his hands roaming over her flesh as if he'd never touched her before.

With her face against his neck she whispered I love you, so softly he could surely not hear her. She couldn't keep him, so she couldn't make that confession. Not now, not ever. But they could have tonight; they would always have tonight.

Declan rolled onto his back and tugged her along, guiding her with patient hands until she rested on his chest. She straddled him so that his arousal touched her intimately, setting off a shower of sparks inside her.

He rocked up, barely entering her. She pushed down, forcing him deeper inside her, closing her eyes to savor the way their bodies fit together.

They made love slowly, relishing every moment, every long, easy stroke. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, and still her hips moved against his in a rhythm that was timeless and primal, as love and lust mingled into one delicious bundle.

Deep inside she grew warm, wonderfully, delightfully warm. There were no worries here, no regrets. Her heart was full, her body—and soul—had found its mate, and nothing else mattered. Nothing.

As the need grew, their pace increased. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel, just feel. Every plunge took Declan deeper inside her than before, every stroke carried her closer to completion.

She cried out when her release hit her, shaking her from the inside out, shattering her into a million pieces. Declan found his own on the ebbing waves of hers, pumping his seed into her as she milked him with trembling muscles.

Depleted, happy for the moment, she dissolved atop him, sinking down, lying on his chest and taking a deep breath. Her heart pounded, her body trembled. She did not think she would ever move from this spot. She certainly didn't want to.

Declan's hand settled in her hair, threaded in the tangled strands. "Marry me," he whispered. It wasn't a question, it was a command.

"I can't."

"Don't say you don't love me."

She shook her head but said nothing.

"We belong together."

She lifted her head and looked down at him. In the firelight, his eyes were warmer than usual, deeper and more tempting. But she knew who she was, and she knew full well what she could not have.

"No," she whispered. "You're done with Tanglewood, Declan. You have no more reason to stay here. Arrington knows who you are, and you will never, ever be king."

She saw the anger in his eyes, the hurt. "Maybe I don't want to be king."

"That's all you want," she argued. "It's why you're here. I knew it the first time I saw you. If it doesn't happen in Tanglewood, you will make it happen somewhere else."

He laid his hand on her cheek. "With you."

She shook her head. "No. I will never marry, I will never have children, I will never be the kind of woman you need as your wife." Arguing with him made her angry all over again.

"What if there's already a baby?" he whispered. "What if we made one just now?"

"We didn't," she answered lowly, knowing he would hate her when she told him what she'd done. "I've been taking a special tea to prevent such an occurrence."

That news angered him. She saw the pain and rage in his eyes and the set of his jaw. "Since when?"

"Since the morning after the first time we tested a love potion that wasn't really a love potion. I knew you and I would, eventually... maybe I just hoped," she whispered. "In any case, I thought it wise to be cautious, since I knew there was no future for us." She'd known all along that Declan was a bright and wonderful gift she could not keep, hadn't she? She'd fooled herself into thinking otherwise, now and again. Too many times, to be honest. "I knew you wouldn't stay," she whispered. "No matter what you said, no matter what I wanted, I always knew we wouldn't end up together."

"So this is it, huh?" he asked angrily, a trace of grief in his voice. "What we had was just... temporary, and now we're finished."

She nodded.

He closed his eyes, but a moment later they flew open. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" All she heard was the crackle of the fire, Declan breathing, her heart pounding.

"The rain's stopped."

She stood slowly and went to the window. Moonlight shone on still puddles. "You're right." A few clouds danced across the sky, but already they were breaking apart, drifting away.

She turned as Declan was standing, the task made only slightly difficult by his healing injury. "You can leave in the morning."

He pinned his eyes on her. "I can, can I?"

"It would be for the best. I know the roads will be a mess, but Stella said they found your horse the morning after the storm began. It's a quick walk through the woods to their place, and from there you should be able to make it back to town. Or wherever you're headed."

"You have this all thought out," he muttered beneath his breath.

I've thought of nothing else. "I suppose I do."

"You have everything figured out, so nice and tidy," he snapped. "Are you leaving?"

She shook her head. "Not right away, at least. I'll see how things go. Stella seems to think no one believes the stories about me bringing the rain. I'm not sure I believe that, but if I can stay here for a while longer, I will." She looked around the room. "I have so many things here. I'd hate to leave them behind, if I have another choice."

"So you don't want to leave your things behind, but you don't mind tossing me out on my ear," Declan snapped, reaching for his clothes. "Fine, Matilda. I think I know when I'm not wanted."

Not wanted? Heaven help her, she wanted Declan most of all. She watched him dress in his trousers and the shirt she'd washed and mended as best she could. He even gathered his shoes and socks from the other room and sat down in the wing chair to put them on.

He was leaving. Now. "You can wait until morning."

"Why? We're done, right? Why the hell should I stick around and torture myself."

"You'll get lost," she argued weakly.

He laughed at her, but there was no humor in that harsh laughter. "I used to live on the Hazelrig property, remember? There's moonlight to light the path, muddy as it might be."

She gathered her own clothes, feeling suddenly vulnerable and very naked.

"Have Doc Daly take out your stitches in a couple of days. Or another doctor," she added quickly, "if you're not in Tanglewood."

Declan didn't answer, but left the cottage with a slam of the door. He didn't even say good-bye.

* * *

Vanessa and Raleigh traveled and lived in his wagon. It rained often in the three weeks following their marriage, dampening their bed, but Vanessa didn't mind. The wagon didn't ride smoothly; it jerked and lurched and bounced its way down the road. Vanessa didn't mind.

Every night for those three weeks Raleigh performed his husbandly duties in the back of the wagon with the same ineptitude and brevity and awkwardness he had called upon on the night he'd taken her virginity. She did mind, but not very much. She loved him dearly, and she was sure that with a little patience and time he would learn to pleasure her.

She tried to teach him, she tried to direct him, but he was oddly resistant to her simplest request.

He often seemed to be cold, the chills usually coming at night and most often when it was raining outside their leaky home. When the chills came, he buried himself beneath every blanket they owned, and still he shivered. Sometimes Vanessa touched him and felt the unnatural chill, as if she'd married an icicle.

Three weeks to the day after they left Tanglewood, they each suffered a moment of painful clarity. Vanessa opened her eyes one morning to discover that she slept next to an ugly, odious, despicable man who had no real skills or ambitions and was probably the worst lover in the Western hemisphere.

Raleigh's moment came an hour or so later, as they rode down the bumpy road. He found himself married to a shrew who could not manage to keep her mouth shut for longer than it took her to take a deep breath, a woman he would never be able to satisfy.

Vanessa was tempted to beg a ride home and throw herself at her father's feet and beg his forgiveness. After the past three weeks dressed in the same raggedy, stained dress, living in a wagon for God's sake, she was not too good for a little begging.

Raleigh was tempted to dump his shrew of a wife by the side of the road, but he didn't. She was his responsibility now, like it or not. By noon Vanessa felt a hint of love again, a shadow of the passion that had driven her to Raleigh on a bad, stormy night, and she forgot why she'd been so morose all morning. Raleigh felt a swelling tide of love before suppertime, and forgot why he'd ever been unhappy with his beautiful bride. He made up for his hurtful words in the back of the wagon after they'd shared a plate of beans. He loved and wanted her so much, all he had to do was look at her to be ready. One quick thrust inside her and he spent his seed.

He told Vanessa he loved her and tried to go to sleep, hoping that in the years to come they would not have bad days like this one, days when the love seemed to disappear like fog in the sun. When, just as he was drifting off, Vanessa punched him in the shoulder and uttered a filthy curse, he knew his hope was most likely in vain.

They did not know it yet, but by that time Vanessa was already carrying Raleigh's child, the first of nine she would bear him in the years to come.

They would all look just like their father.

* * *

Two weeks of sunshine and mild, windless nights repaired the landscape in and around Tanglewood. The farmland that had not been washed away by the storm survived, and some of the crops thrived. The rain had come just in time.

Matilda learned all this from Stella, who dropped by the cottage at least twice a week. Matilda had no desire to leave her cottage, not just yet. She was afraid, still, to look into the faces of the residents of Tanglewood, afraid that Stella was wrong, and they knew she really was a witch. And hated her.

She continued to make bread and candies and beauty supplies for Mr. Fox, but she did not deliver them herself. For a price—coins and candy—Gretchen and Hanson delivered two baskets full for her, on Friday as usual. The twins had been especially obliging lately.

They had confessed to Matilda their part in that terrible day, but she had forgiven them. She could not forget that they had saved her life, and she knew she would never be able to repay them.

They no longer called her witch, at least not where she could hear.

Warren Arrington had apparently developed a sudden passion for his cook, Lettie Mae Pickles. He'd pursued her for a full week, courted her unrelentingly, Stella said. Last she'd heard Lettie Mae had finally consented to be his wife, and her five brothers—pig farmers from just outside Jackson—moved into the big Arrington house, bringing their wives and children, and a few favorite pigs, with them. They had already turned the place upside down.