Witchfall Read Free

willing.’
    ‘Aye, God willing,’ she agreed, seeming to recall her surroundings. But she continued to watch our mistress and the courtly Spaniard with an eager, narrowed gaze.
    As the music and dancing began to draw to a close, I hurried back from the Great Hall to prepare the Lady Elizabeth’s bedchamber for her return. The sheets and bed-covers would need to be shaken out and freshened with herbs, her pot wiped clean and any soiled rushes swept away. Down one of the darker corridors, with only one guttering wall torch to light the way, I found my path blocked by a tall hooded man in dark robes.
    ‘Forgive me,’ I murmured, and tried to slip past the stranger, but he caught me by the arm.
    ‘Not so fast, Mistress Lytton.’
    A Spanish accent. I looked at the man more closely,seeing a cruel dark face under the cowl of his robes. It was one of the Catholic priests who surrounded King Philip at court, whispering poison in his ear against the English. I disliked being cornered by such a man, particularly in this lonely place, surrounded by long and menacing shadows that seemed to creep in closer as we faced each other.
    My tone was cold. ‘Do I know you, sir?’
    He looked down at me through the flickering torchlight, studying me as a man might study an insect before he crushes it beneath his heel. ‘Not yet,’ he said lightly. ‘Nor should you ever wish to. My name is Miguel de Pero of the Inquisition.’
    I shuddered. So he was one of
them
, the terrifying Spanish priests whose sole purpose was to torture and destroy any who did not follow the Catholic faith – but most especially those who professed any heretic beliefs or who were suspected of witchcraft. Against my will, I recalled Alejandro’s grim description of the Inquisition’s methods. Red-hot irons taken straight from the fire and applied to the flesh, spiked cages and barrels to break the limbs, heavy stones and chains that loosened the tongue, and the fearsome rack that could stretch a man’s spine until it snapped: these were but a few of the horrors in store for those under suspicion, innocent or not, who did not immediately confess their guilt.
    ‘I see you know our reputation,’ he murmured, the shadows thickening around us as he spoke. ‘Though a girl who consorts so frequently with a novice of the Order ofSantiago de Compostela need not fear the Inquisition, surely?’
    My heart ran cold at these words. What did he know?
    Señor de Pero nodded, seeing my expression. ‘Yes, your growing intimacy with Alejandro de Castillo has not gone unnoticed at court. He may seem a humble novice to you. But Alejandro is the son of a great nobleman, with a wealthy family awaiting his return in Spain. If Alejandro marries at all, he will be expected to marry a woman of noble Spanish blood.’ His voice grew stern. ‘Not the serving girl of a suspected traitor.’
    ‘What do you want from me?’ I whispered, guessing the answer already but needing to hear it from his lips.
    But the priest did not reply. He had stiffened, staring over my shoulder with a hint of anger in his frowning eyes.
    I turned. Alejandro was striding along the dark corridor towards us, his cowl thrown back to reveal a tense expression. At the sight of him I wanted to shout his name with relief, yet somehow managed to bite my tongue. I did not want him to get into trouble with his superiors. Finishing his training meant so much to Alejandro, I could not have borne it if my words or actions meant he were refused a place among the other priests of his Order.
    ‘Meg?’ Alejandro demanded, reaching me swiftly. He caught my hands in his, his intent gaze searching my face. ‘Why are you so pale? What was Señor de Pero saying to you?’
    ‘Señor de Pero? Oh, he was just . . .’
    I hesitated, not wishing to be the cause of an argument between Alejandro and his masters. But when I turned back, the corridor was empty except for its host of listening shadows.
    The black-robed priest had