Witchfall Read Online Free PDF Page B

while I fetch a physician to examine you.’
    Alejandro had waited for me to finish attending the princess. He was leaning by the window, one fist clenched against the stone, staring down at the broad rolling River Thames below. I could see from the way he held himself that something was eating away at him inside, and when he turned to me, his face spoke of the same frustration.
    ‘It is my fault,’ he muttered. ‘I should have done more to prevent this calamity. I knew they were coming to question the princess this morning, yet I did nothing. I thought thatby agreeing to accompany Father Vasco, I could somehow protect you. But in the end . . .’
    ‘You did protect me. They took Blanche instead of me.’
    ‘
Si
.’ He closed his eyes briefly, as though on a wave of pain. ‘And God knows what Mistress Parry will suffer at their hands.’
    ‘You did your best, Alejandro.’
    ‘No!’ Alejandro slammed his fist down onto his sword hilt. His fierce eyes flashed open, glaring at me. ‘I did my duty to my master King Philip and to Spain, yes, but what of my duty to you? You are my betrothed. What of my oath to protect the Lady Elizabeth? I failed both of you, and because of this failure, Mistress Parry has been taken by the Inquisition, and the Lady Elizabeth has fallen sick.’
    ‘Her ladyship needs rest, that is all.’
    ‘You know this for sure? You have seen this in your . . . your scrying bowl?’
    I heard the anger and self-recrimination in his voice and tried not to get angry myself. ‘No,’ I said curtly. ‘But her illness is a nervous disposition, and comes and goes with her moods. It is not likely to be mortal.’
    There was an odd snorting noise behind us, then a muffled crash. I turned. Father Vasco was lying on the floor beside the settle, his priestly cap tumbled off and his robes awry.
    Alejandro drew a deep breath, then went to help the old priest to his feet. He spoke to him in Spanish, his voicesoothing and conciliatory. But the irascible old man brushed him aside.
    ‘
Donde esta la princesa?
’ he demanded hoarsely, peering about the empty apartment, then his watery eyes lighted on me and narrowed. An old memory seemed to click into place as the priest stared at me. His voice was slurred, yet still coherent enough to condemn me thrice over. ‘Wait,’ he continued in stilted English, ‘I remember you. You are the little witch from Woodstock.’
    ‘No, Father,’ Alejandro said hurriedly, ‘your illness has made you forget. The accusation of witchcraft was false, do you remember? This girl is innocent.’
    Alejandro tried to lead him back to the door, but it was too late. The priest had my guilt locked into his head now.
    ‘No, I remember truly. This one is a witch.’ Father Vasco pointed a bony finger in my direction, his large emerald ring gleaming in the sunlight. ‘We burn witches in Spain.’
    ‘We burn priests in England,’ I countered, thinking of all the Protestants condemned to a hellish death since the arrival of the Spanish Inquisition.
    But I was afraid. For the first time since a kitchen maid had accused me at Woodstock Palace, I knew how it felt to be exposed as a witch – only this time my accuser was no young girl, but an elderly priest revered by the Order of Santiago.
    I lifted my own finger and pointed back at the old Catholic priest.
    ‘Forget,’ I commanded him, wiping the slate of the old priest’s mind. My voice shook, for I knew how vital it was to get this spell right. His word alone could see me brought before the Inquisition as a suspected witch. ‘Let no memory bind, let the past be blind, drive thought from your mind . . . and leave us!’
    The priest had a weak mind, easily brought under enchantment. Caught up in my improvised spell, Father Vasco’s face emptied of all his cruelty and hatred. His hand dropped to his side. The old man turned and weaved unsteadily towards the door, leaving the princess’s apartments without another word or a