Becoming the Witch

By J. M. Davies

As Miss Elizabeth Marshfield, I’ve never had a choice. My marriage to Sir Charles Dempsey is arranged. Love plays no role in this, but my sizable dowry does. On my eighteenth birthday, as I promise to honor and obey, eerie voices unlock a curse and an ancient magic I didn’t know I possessed, and they won’t rest until I answer them.
My husband suspects I ‘m mad—and mad, I may well be. But this cold-hearted brute cares naught for me as his mistress warms his bed.

I don’t know who I am anymore. Even the blacksmith, Barnaby, can’t disguise his contempt, despite saving me from a fall from my horse. So why does this insolent man affect me so? He reveals he’s a Roma called Raven, and the birthmark of the moon I have branded on my wrist proves I’m entwined in his destiny. Even talking with him could mean the hangman. But my heart has spoken, and I know nothing will ever be the same.

For once—I will choose my fate, even if it leads to a noose around my neck.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. M. Davies
• Release date: Jan 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463973080

J. M. Davies

BIOGRAPHY J. M. Davies, Jen, is originally from Wales in the UK, but now lives with her family in a small town in New England close to the city of Boston, the coast, and the mountains. Both countries are huge sources of inspiration for her writing. Since she could read, Jen has enjoyed an eclectic taste in books, but loves all things romance, and from her love of the written word stemmed from the desire to create her own satisfying stories. Although, a shortie at only five feet tall, she has a big heart and hopes that is evident in her storytelling. She is mom to four boys, five, if you include her husband, an adorable rescue hound called Ella, and two cats, Skittles and Blackjack. Yup, you guessed it; she has a sweet tooth, and loves chocolate, mostly Cadburys! When she isn’t writing paranormal or contemporary romance, Jen manages a local writers group called Writers Supporting Writers on FB as she loves inspiring others to pursue their dream. She loves discovering old treasures at yard sales and revamping them, watching Grey’s Anatomy, Homeland and Game of Thrones, walking on the beach, cooking, road biking and when there’s time the gym. She loves to chat to readers and below are some ways to stay in touch with the latest news about her books and competitions. If you haven’t read any of Jen’s book sign-up for her newsletter, and you’ll be entered in a draw for a free book! https://mailchi.mp/f285b8da4cf4/romanceauthorjmdaviesuk FB Author page https://www.facebook.com/Jennifer-Owen-Davies-YA-J-M-Davies-Adult-1421409368089313/ Website http://www.jenniferowendavies.com/ Email [e-mail] Twitter https://twitter.com/jendaviesuk Instagram Jengal124 Blog https://welshjensblog.blogspot.com

Book preview

Becoming the Witch | J.M. Davies

Becoming the Witch

by

Author J. M. Davies

This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by J.M.Davies

Visit J.M.Davies official web-site http://www.jenniferowendavies.com/ for the latest news, book details, and other information.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2019

Author J.M.Davies

Cover Art provided by G.S.Prendergast.

Copyediting provided by Faith Williams from the Atwater Group.

Other books by J. M. Davies

The Rise of Orion series

Capturing the last Welsh Witch

The Witch’s Heart

Revenge of the Witch

Destiny of the Witch

Other titles

The Vineyards of Allegretti

Marnie’s Plan

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my writer friend, Jennifer Smith for her constant support as I thrash out plot outlines and writerly woes at Starbucks. Also, Dianne Donovan for reading through the manuscript with her critical eye searching for errors that I am blinded to. My editor, Faith Williams for her kindly worded prompts, which help me create the best story possible. I would not be able to complete any book without my husband Paul Davies, and my children who provide unwavering support while I write, which makes it all worthwhile.

Chapter 1

August 1815

The sun burst to life in a glorious blaze of pinks and purple streaks across the horizon, heralding the dawn of a new day. Miss Elizabeth Marshall pushed a snorting Arabian Spirit hard over the long row of thick hedges and galloped across the grassy field as sheep raised their heads, bleating. Everything would change after this fourteenth day in August 1815. Hawkswood Manor—her home—would belong to a distant cousin.

She gripped the reins tighter at the injustice of her life that gave her no choice in any matter concerning her own future. Letting her long hair blow wildly across her back in the morning breeze, she embraced the coolness as it ruffled through her thin cotton sleeves. In a few hours, she would belong in name and body to another; like a prized stallion, she had been bought and paid for. And as such, she would have to conform to the rules of society.

She didn’t expect Sir Charles to love her, but she hoped a fondness might grow and from that tiny spark, maybe something deeper would emerge. Refusing to let the tears fall, she charged over the fields as the hooves beat hard into the dark earth. Lowering herself close to Arabian’s silky ears, she whispered as he flew across the damp grass, feeling as one with the animal.

But I will have you, my sweet. And we will win him over in our own way, for Sir Charles, I hear, is an excellent horseman. And I’ll wager, he enjoys a good race.

She smiled and rubbed her nose, sniffing the familiar scent of the beast beneath her trousers, determined to make a go of married life. She would be a dutiful wife. As Arabian Spirit snorted and shook his head, she brought him to a stop and maneuvered him around to stare down over the clear rolling green hills of Gloucestershire with the fields, lakes, sheep, and cattle spread before her like a painting. The tears streamed down her cheeks—the only ones she would allow herself. Up here, all alone, she gave way to the tumult of emotions roaring inside her.

A short while later, back at the manor in the stables, light footfalls and a shriek made her shoulders tense as she stroked the chestnut and cream horse.

Mistress, stop right there. You’re to come with me right now and get cleaned up. You’ve a wedding to get ready for.

Elizabeth didn’t turn around. She knew her maid Kitty stood there with her hands clutching her motherly hips in an attempt at being annoyed. They were like sisters, telling each other all their secrets. A fresh surge of tears held her from turning, and she wiped her hands over her front, stalling.

Come now, miss. Your intended won’t be happy with you smelling of horses, will he? You need some rose water to smell sweet for him.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She had confided to Kitty her nervousness about the wedding night and what that would entail. Taking a deep breath, she faced her friend, who covered her mouth with both hands as soon as she caught sight of her. Elizabeth wiped the back of her hand across her muddy cheek and stared at her filthy clothes. When she descended her horse earlier after the long ride, she had tripped and landed in a pool of dirty water.

Oh, my good Lord, you’re a right mess. Come along. We don’t want Sir Charles to catch you looking like a common farmhand. Do you think he will let you wear those breeches you insist upon when you’re married?

Well, they are more suitable for when I’m mucking around in the stables. And I can sit astride, which is more comfortable. A dress is impractical with all the bending and shoveling I do. She bent over, flashing her behind and making Kitty laugh.

Oh Lizzie, I’m not sure getting married is going to turn you into a proper lady, but you must try, miss. Promise me.

She nodded, knowing that her husband would have the right to administer punishment if he deemed it necessary. Not knowing the measure of the man, she didn’t want to give him any reason to find fault with her, at least not on their first day as husband and wife.

I did not desire a husband and particularly not one I hold no feelings for, but I am resigned to my situation, Kitty. My parents are no more, my home is entailed to another, and my inheritance is bound with my marriage to Sir Charles. I will have nothing, unless I marry, and no means to support myself. I can play the pianoforte well, paint a reasonable picture, and sing without your ears hurting. Oh, and I can bake some tasty biscuits. But earn a living? What experience do I have of that? What good am I except to carry his heirs? No—I have no choice but to marry this man. But I promise you, I will do all I can to be a good wife.

She knew little of the man she was to exchange vows with. But Papa said he was an honorable man. A friend. Thus, the marriage agreement had been drafted with his solicitor to protect her as he departed for the war in America.

Kitty stepped closer, avoiding the steaming piles of horse manure. She swiped her hand across Elizabeth’s face, where her thick, wavy hair stuck to her cheeks. Don’t change too much, miss. The right man will love you for who you are, like my David.

Elizabeth stared at her friend, whose bright-blue eyes bulged with tears. She took a step to hug her but stopped short, not wanting to dirty the maid’s clothing. Kitty’s eyes widened as if alarmed, but she stepped closer and breached the gap. Her mouth spread into a smile and she wrapped her arms tight around her. They hugged, cried, and snorted with laughter.

She leaned into the warmth of her friend and said over her shoulder, not wanting to see her eyes, I thought I had more time. Papa said I wouldn’t get married until I turned one and twenty, but with him lost to me, that time is here. I don’t get the chance to find the right man, Kitty. I must make this work, or I will be miserable, so I will do my best to make him happy.

Aw, miss, Kitty said, once he knows you like we all do, he cannot fail to fall in love with you.

Elizabeth squeezed her friend tighter, praying that would be the case. I’ll miss you, Kitty, more than you will ever know. But your place is here with your loved ones, and I’ll not part you from them. I’ve been told I will have a good lady’s maid. I have been assured that I will be well looked after and educated in the ways befitting my station, she said, repeating the exact words Sir Charles had said when he discussed the move to his ancestral home at Tregowen House, his main place of residence. She buried her face in Kitty’s shoulder, inhaling the light fragrance of lavender, and wished things were different.

~~*~~

Standing now in her wedding dress made of delicate white tulle with lace embroidered with tiny primroses and leaves felt surreal. Staring into the mirror, she barely recognized the young woman looking back at her with rosy cheeks and dark, tight side ringlets. The rest of her hair was gathered at the back in a tight bun with a pretty garland of rosebuds and green leaves sitting upon her head.

Holding her neck with her slim hand, she turned to examine her features again, wondering whether Sir Charles might find her a little pleasing. Kitty slipped on a three-tiered pearl choker, closing the clasp at her neck, and walked around to study her. Elizabeth ran her hands over the necklace that belonged to her mother, a woman she never knew.

You are beautiful, Lizzie, and I wouldn’t be half surprised if Sir Charles doesn’t fall a little in love with you the moment he sets eyes on you. And before you know it, you will have several bairns to fuss over.

As Kitty laughed, Elizabeth remained silent, staring long at her reflection in the mirror, touching the cool pearls. She wished her mother still lived, today especially, for there were many questions she wished to ask which were left unanswered. Not only was today her wedding day, but the anniversary of her birth as well as her mother’s demise. Today, she turned eight and ten years old. Trying to imagine being a wife seemed hard, but a mother? The walls of the room closed in and she didn’t have enough air to breathe as she clutched her chest, gasping.

Maybe—maybe it will help fill this emptiness inside, she said vacantly, not expecting a response. But Kitty broke down in tears and hugged her so tight she could barely catch her breath.

No tears, Kitty. I will write to you often and you must write back with all your news. Who knows, if I am lucky enough to bear children, I will have need of your insight, having raised half your siblings. Would you visit if I have a need of you?

Of course, Lizzie. If the new master will spare me. I’ll be there to help in any way I can.

It’s a deal then. If the need arises, I will send a note, and I will plead with my cousin to spare you. There—it gives me great comfort to know I have you as a friend, Kitty.

Loosening her grip, she sniffed and dabbed her face to restore her composure. Kitty handed her a small glass of mulled wine and, knowing the day ahead of her, she sipped, allowing the liquid to warm her inside. After the ceremony, they would return to Hawkswood for a simple wedding feast. The servants and some of the tenants would celebrate later after she and Sir Charles had retired, but she had left instructions with Mabel, the housekeeper, to ensure the staff all had wine and food to share in the occasion.

The walk from Hawkswood Manor down the winding gravel path to the small family church surrounded by dense woodland was quiet, and she was grateful because she couldn’t muster any words. Mabel and Percy, the butler, were the only people to accompany her and witness the ceremony. Staring above at the thick, rolling white clouds, hundreds of blackbirds swarmed the air, flapping their wings and cawing in the blue sky, flying away. A solitary bird dropped to the ground and landed, unmoving, at her feet.

She gasped at the sight of the small feathered creature and crouched to inspect it. She nudged its wing with her gloved hand to check whether it was dead. What a delicate beauty. How sad. As the tips of the glove touched the bird, an electrical pulse of heat burst from the pit of her stomach. The force of the energy that flowed through her veins and charged through her fingers shocked her, almost knocking her over.

A moment later, the dazed bird fluttered and flew away. She stared in amazement and fear. Did I do that? Glancing back at the servants, she saw they were caught up holding hands and missed the plight of the feathered creature. She removed her gloves and studied her hands, which throbbed with heat. Elizabeth rubbed them and replaced her gloves, putting what happened behind her as she stood and walked past the headstones in the graveyard, headed for the church.

The yew trees that edged the stone wall swayed and the leaves rustled on the floor. A brisk chill invaded, and her fingers continued to plague her. She clenched her hands up and as she did, the leaves flew skyward. She stared in wonder as they rose and fell as she opened and moved her hands. But growls at the edge of the woods drew her attention away and the leaves fell to the ground in a pile. Elizabeth had never known wolves to inhabit the woods, but her eyes zeroed in on a pack of large, vicious beasts that stood at the perimeter of the trees. One large gray wolf stepped forward, raised its snout into the air, and howled. She opened her mouth to tell the others, but the creatures twisted around and vanished from sight.

Did you hear that? Elizabeth asked, gazing at the servants.

What, dear?

That howl? It sounded like a wolf?

Milady, there are no wolves around here. They have been extinct for years.

How amazing. The creatures she saw resembled the wolves from the books in the library, and they stood still, as if sensing something strange too. Staring around, the air stilled, as if pausing to take a breath. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the edges of the trees, certain the wolves were still there in the shadows. Goose bumps broke across her flesh as the temperature dropped. A strong, earthy scent filled her nostrils, and more growls surrounded her. Other odors assailed her and a desperate need to run away called. But unfamiliar voices burst to life and whispered around, rooting her to the spot. Elizabeth swirled in a circle, searching to see who they belonged to. The light from the sun vanished and the world plunged into a blinding darkness.

Mabel screamed. Oh Lord, have mercy upon us all! The world is coming to an end.

Nothing scared Elizabeth and she peered into the inky sky, seeking the sun and mesmerized by the spectacle unfolding around her. She had read about a solar eclipse but had never witnessed such an event when the moon passed in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the earth. The eeriness surrounded her and swallowed her whole as terrifying voices whispered vile words to her, filling the silence.

You will hang. Murderer. Witch!

They echoed back and forth until she couldn’t bear it any longer; she covered her ears but stared into the dark, endless void.

Be careful, mistress.

At this warning, she jumped. This time, she recognized the voice even though she couldn’t recall the name. In that moment, time suspended, and the scenery changed. Elizabeth stood up high, perched on a wooden platform before a roaring mob. The executioner yanked her closer to the long rope that dangled in front of her. A giant of a man lifted the noose and placed it over her head.

"No."

Don’t struggle, mistress. I’ll make it quick.

The yells from the crowd called for her death. Rotten, foul-smelling vegetables hit her face and slid down her chest as she stood there. She would die today; there was no saving her, for they had judged her guilty, and she would pay with her life.

Elizabeth cried out, No, please, I didn’t kill him. I helped him.

Staring at the faces before her—neighbors and people she had helped birth their babes—not one stepped to defend her. With her hands tied, she stared up at the snowy sky, praying these last few moments would be over soon. May God forgive them. Glancing at her executioner dressed in black, she couldn’t see his eyes, but stared at the wooden lever where his hand rested. He gave a quick nod and she readied herself. The creaking and sudden jolt stole her air. The floor vanished from beneath her feet and she dangled, twisting in the air. The world blurred. She jerked and twitched, desperate for air. But in seconds, the yells dimmed to silence.

Two arms gripped her and jolted her hard, snapping the trance that swamped her. The sun peeked behind the gray clouds, and she stood in the church yard once more, with Sir Charles studying her with his cold, flat eyes. He spoke, but she didn’t hear the words, still lost in what had taken place. As he pulled her, she shoved his chest to free herself and realized what she had done.

Oh, Sir Charles, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be so forceful. I had a fright and needed air.

"A solar eclipse can understandably be scary, but it is a