The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1)

  The Wishing Well

  by

  Avril Borthiry

  Copyright © 2016 by Avril Borthiry

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Can the ancient power of a pagan well truly change destinies?

  Two people, intrinsically linked, are at the center of this spell-binding tale of love and magic. Their lives, and the lives of those around them, have been profoundly affected by a single event. A brief moment in time that, if altered, will right so many wrongs.

  Is it possible to turn back time? To change the paths of those whose hearts have been broken? Whose lives have been lost?

  Perhaps. The power of the well is great, but there is another, far greater power at work in the world.

  Of all the forces under Heaven, love is the most powerful.

  It changes everything.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  William paused at the edge of the clearing. As a boy, he had feared this place and the woman who lived here. Odd, he thought, to be afraid of someone he had never even set eyes upon. Local folk said she followed the old religion, practicing the dark arts to appease the ancient gods. They said she could pull back the mortal curtain and speak with the spirits beyond. She was a grwach, a witch, a seer. Even now, as William surveyed her humble dwelling, a worm of apprehension wriggled in his gut. Not that he feared the woman any longer. In an odd reversal of feeling, he now feared the stories about her might have been exaggerated. Or worse, untrue. He needed them to be true. He needed her help.

  The little cottage appeared to be part of the forest, as if it had sprung from the earth like the surrounding trees. Its timbered walls and thatched roof were almost entirely covered in moss, which gave the appearance of a soft green quilt. From a hole in the roof, a thin line of smoke snaked up into the fading leaves of an overhead oak. A single shuttered window peeked out from beneath the eaves, beside a weathered wooden door sitting snug in its frame.

  Silence filled the space. No birds sang in the trees, no creatures stirred in the undergrowth. The damp air felt listless, laced with the pungent odors of early autumn, wood-smoke…and something cooking. William’s nostrils flared at the smell of food and he gritted his teeth against a twinge of nausea.

  “Get on with it,” he muttered, stepping forward. He raised his fist to knock, taking a breath before landing three solid raps against the door. Moments later, with a creak one might have expected, the portal yawned open. William tensed in anticipation of what, or who, he was about to see.

  Since childhood, he’d carried a conjured image of the woman, fear and prejudice creating an ugly picture. She was surely ancient, a hunched figure with ghoulish features, akin to a gargoyle perched on a church roof. No doubt she had an unkempt pelt of gray hair, bony fingers, and black piercing eyes. Her voice would be harsh, much like that of a crow.

  By all the saints, how wrong he had been. The sight that he now beheld was nothing like he had envisioned.

  Firstly, she was not ancient. Not young either, but the years had apparently done her little harm. Hunched? Hardly. Small in stature, the woman stood straight as a reed and was equally as slender. Her hair did indeed have a few silver threads running through it, but chestnut hues prevailed in the thick braid that hung over one shoulder. Her face, fine-lined and clear of blemishes, wore a slight frown. Only her eyes–as dark as he’d imagined, seemed to indicate the passage of time. William sensed the presence of an old soul peering at him from those black depths. It seemed to reflect wisdom and, at that moment, a good measure of curiosity.

  “Are you lost?” she asked, raking a swift gaze over him. Another surprise. Her words had a soft lilt to them, like that of his Welsh grandmother.

  William shook his befuddled head. “Nay.”

  After several moments of silence, the woman raised a brow. “So, am I supposed to guess the reason for your visit?”

  “Um.” William blinked and shook his head again. “Nay. It’s just that you’re…you’re not at all what I expected.”

  She folded her arms. “Is that so? What, then, did you expect?”

  “I thought you’d be more…um…old.”

  “With warts aplenty and clawed hands, no doubt.” A corner of her mouth twitched. “Few dare approach my door. I’m wondering what has driven you to do so.”

  What indeed. Desperation? Nay, madness, more like. What William sought amounted to blasphemy in its darkest form, may God forgive him.

  “Iorwerth said you might help me,” he replied, forcing himself to hold the woman’s gaze. “My name is…um, William.”

  Her frown returned. “Did he indeed. Help you with what, um William?”

  “I want…um…no, just William. I want… I need to ask something of the ancient well. Iorwerth said you know of its magic. How it works. How I might use it to get what I want.”

  He held his breath, half expecting her to laugh or chide him for his foolishness before closing the door in his face. Instead, her frown deepened as she studied him. Moments passed while the woman’s scrutiny continued. When she finally shook her head, William cast his gaze downward and drew a fresh lungful of air. Please don’t refuse me. I’ll do anything.

  “You should not be here, young ’un,” she muttered, more to herself, it seemed, than to him.

  It sounded like the expression of a calculated conclusion. Calculated or not, her words stabbed at William’s conscience. No, he should not be there. He should be on his knees in a house of God, praying for the strength to accept his fate and the will to carry on with his life. Instead, he was ready to sell his soul, if need be, to the pagan disciple standing before him. Desolation threatened to swamp him. It seemed as if his sanity teetered on the edge of a crumbling precipice. He clenched his fists and raised his eyes to hers again.

  “Please, hear me out,” he said. “I don’t know where else to go. I don’t know what else to do.”

  She studied him a moment longer and then stepped back as if to allow him entry. “Very well, I’ll hear you out, but leave your preconceptions about me at the door.” She gave him a somewhat sardonic smile. “Or I’ll turn you into a toad.”

  Despite the woman’s flippant threat, William felt no fear as he crossed her threshold. To the contrary, he felt a measure of relief, as if he had achieved a small victory. The pungent odor within–the same stifling blend of cooking, wood smoke, and damp earth–wrapped around him like a cloak. His stomach objected, and he swallowed against his nausea as he glanced around the modest home.

  No surprises here. It was as he might have expected. Various dried plants h
ung in neatly bound bunches from the ceiling. A small fire burned in a central fire pit, casting a golden light and flickering shadows across the walls. Above it, a suspended pot simmered with whatever odorous concoction lay within, scattering the wood smoke that wound its way upward. A table and two chairs sat against one wall, while against another stood an oak cupboard, its doors carved with strange symbols, some of which looked oddly familiar. At the back of the cottage, obscured by shadow, a pallet took up the space in one corner.

  The woman settled onto one of the chairs and indicated for William to take his place in the other.

  “Do you believe the stories about the well?” she asked as he took the seat beside her.

  He glanced away for a moment. “Aye.”

  The sound she made might have been a laugh. “Liar.” The chair creaked as she leaned toward him, firelight giving her face a devilish hue. “You merely hope the stories you’ve heard are true. Hoping is not the same as believing.”

  “I want to believe.” His throat tightened. “But I’m afraid that what I wish for–what I desire–is out of reach. You see, I want—”

  “I already know what you want.” The woman’s gaze fell to her lap.

  A chill ran over William’s skin. She knows? How? Confronted by potential evidence of her power, he felt a fresh twinge of apprehension. Then his focus shifted, distracted by a sudden soft hissing sound that seemed to surround them. Rain hitting the roof, he realized, hearing a telltale rumble of thunder somewhere off in the distance. A similar hiss came from the woman’s mouth as she raised her dark eyes to meet his gaze once more. “The one who carries your heart also carries your child.”

  The hair on William’s neck lifted and he fought a desire to cross himself. The truth in her words removed any remaining doubt of her abilities. “Aye,” he answered, swallowing against his astonishment. “Will mother and child live?”

  “It seems so. I see the child–a girl– in your future.” Another rumble of thunder rattled across the sky, closer this time. “But it might not be the future you hope for.”

  Another chill had him suppressing a shiver. “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor can I explain.”

  Frustration furrowed William’s brow. “You speak in riddles. Can you help me or not?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I make no promises.” With that, she rose, went to the oak cupboard, and opened it. As she searched within, she mumbled, the words unintelligible.

  “Ah,” she said, at last, something clasped in her hand as she straightened. “Here it is.”

  William’s awareness of the woman’s actions was overshadowed by the meaning behind her cryptic words. “So, you cannot see my future clearly? Yet you know the child lives?”

  She turned, fixing him with her dark stare. William flinched, struck by the sudden impression that her outward appearance was an illusion. Did someone or something else lay hidden behind her benign countenance?

  As if the woman had read his mind, an enigmatic smile curved her mouth. “Nothing is ever certain, young ’un. For this to work, your mind must be free of all doubt. You must believe that what you ask for will be granted and you must keep your wish secret. Most important of all, take heed of your chosen words, for they may have far reaching consequences.”

  For this to work? William’s heart leapt. So, there’s a chance, then. The rest of her words, however, created a shadow of foreboding in his mind. “What kind of consequences?”

  She bent to his ear as if sharing a secret. “In order to change your future, you must first change your past, a perilous responsibility. Our destinies are inexorably interwoven with others. Together, they form a delicate tapestry. Your wish must not adversely affect the surrounding threads.”

  “Change my past?” William squirmed in his seat, struggling to grasp such an implausible concept. “Is such a thing possible?”

  “That’s up to you.” She set an item before him. “And you’ll need this.”

  William’s brows raised as he studied the object. It appeared to be a large gold coin, or medallion of sorts, attached to a chain of equal color. He lifted it and traced the curious symbols carved on its surface. It was, he realized, no cheap token.

  “What is its purpose?”

  “’Tis the offering, to be cast into the well as you speak your chosen words.”

  He frowned. He’d expected advice in the form of an ancient rhyme or pagan spell, perhaps, but nothing of material worth.

  “My thanks, but I already have an offering. A gold ring. It belonged to my grandm–”

  “Pah! It will not be enough.”

  Still fingering the medallion, William shook his head. “But I cannot… I mean, I have no way to compensate you for such a valuable item.”

  She scoffed. “Your perception of its true value is misplaced. Besides, it will be returned to me in time. It always is.”

  “Returned to you? But how can that be, if I’m to—?”

  “Remember, choose your words with care. You will have one chance, and one only.” The witch straightened and stepped back. “That is all. I can do naught else for you. Begone now.”

  William flinched at the abrupt dismissal. “But I have more questions.”

  The woman’s eyes took on an icy glaze. “To which I do not have answers.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but faltered, his intent halted by a sudden and tangible change in the atmosphere. A previously unperceived link between them had been severed, he realized. He had what he came for. To press the woman further would serve no purpose. Stifling a sigh, he rose to his feet, clasping the medallion to his heart. “I must thank you, then, for your guidance. You have given me hope, at least. Forgive me, but I never learned your name.”

  “I am called many things,” she said, a gleam coming to her eye. “It depends on whom you ask.”

  An odd little prickle lifted the hair on his neck. William nodded and turned to leave, but paused on the threshold.

  “Why?” he asked, not daring to look back at her. “Why did you help me?”

  He heard a faint sprinkle of laughter. “Go home, young ’un. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  *

  William shrank into the shadows at the back of the log pile, apprehension knotted beneath his ribs like a fist. At day’s break, he’d sneaked into Rothwyn under the guise of a stonemason, mingling with other trades and craftsmen arriving to begin their day’s work.

  He prayed Beth had received the message, prayed she would come. This would be the last time they’d have to meet in secret, each fearful of discovery. After what he’d seen and experienced in the forest, all doubt had been expunged from his mind. Soon, there would be no reason to fear anyone or anything.

  William had heeded the witch’s warning and taken three days to consider all that had happened of late. What, in his past, needed to be changed? What could he ask of the well that would give him what he wanted without risking other destinies? Without disturbing the tapestry she spoke of?

  A single event several weeks earlier, he at last concluded, had changed the course of his life, their lives. It had been a minor incident with major consequences; a moment in time that had steered him onto an unwanted path. With that in mind, he’d chosen his words and formulated his wish. He assured himself there would be no adverse consequences, no chance of it endangering others. It would serve only to give him what he desired. William fingered the medallion tucked inside his tunic and dared to presume a different destiny. A moment later, he heard a soft footfall, and his heart flipped as the person he loved above all else appeared before him.

  “Oh, my love, I dare not linger too long.” Eyes wide and fearful, she glanced over her shoulder, the breeze lifting the silk veil to reveal her honey-gold braids. “You take such a risk being here.”

  William hesitated, absorbing the vision of the woman who’d stolen his heart. He ached to touch her, to kiss away her melancholy and make her smile as she once had. Despite her condition, she’d lost weight since t
he marriage. Although a flush sat upon her cheeks, her features had hollowed and her gown sat loose about her hips. The slight swell of her belly, while still inconspicuous enough to avoid attention, drew William’s eye.

  “Does he know?”

  “Not yet. I want to delay telling him as long as possible. He must believe the child is his.” She sighed and rubbed her hands down the front of her gown, a gesture that, William knew, indicated anxiety. “What did you want to tell me, William? Iorwerth said it was urgent.”

  Again, he hesitated, tormented by unwanted images of another man–no matter if the man was her husband–touching her. He gave himself a mental kick. Such thoughts could now be ignored. Soon she would be his again, as she used to be, touched by no one but him.

  “I’ve found a solution,” he said. “This will be your last night, nay, our last night within these walls. Tomorrow, everything will be different. You and I will be together as we should be.”

  The color on Beth’s cheeks faded. “How can that be possible? What do you mean to do? Oh, William. Do nothing foolish, please. It’s too dangerous.”

  William gave a soft grunt and looked around him. Not even a year ago, Rothwyn had been a timbered Saxon stronghold. Now, under the command of their new Norman lord, workers buzzed around the wooden scaffold that framed the burgeoning walls of stone. The construction of the castle’s keep was almost complete, the gatehouse already erected, and the perimeter of the curtain wall was being reinforced and extended.

  William’s gaze drifted to the old well. At one time, the land surrounding it had been open, offering unlimited access to all who dared seek its magic. Now it lay ensconced within Rothwyn’s ever-expanding boundary, the stories of its magic already fading into the past.

  “Trust me, little bird,” he murmured. “This cage will not hold you captive much longer.”

  “But I don’t—” A shout rang out, followed by the frantic barking of a dog. Moments later, the portcullis clanked upward on oiled chains. “God have mercy, he is returned early. I must go. Please, William, do nothing foolish.” Beth touched his arm. “Promise me.”