Witch from the Sea

“And what if a wife is neglected? She might turn elsewhere. What of that?”

“If she were my wife that would be the time to beware.”

“What would you do to her if she were unfaithful?”

He lifted me up suddenly and set me on the parapet. He laughed and it did indeed sound like the laughter of devils. “I should take my revenge, you may be sure. Mayhap I’d give her to the rocks.”

He lifted me down and held me against him. “There, I alarm you and that is not good for our boy. Why should you speak of such things? Have I not given you proof that you are my choice?” He took my chin in his hands and jerked up my face. “And you, are you a wanton then that you talk to your husband in this way? What of Fennimore Landor, eh? Did you not once think of marrying that man?”

“It was mentioned,” I said.

“Did he ask you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“I am amazed that you did not accept such a model of virtue.”

“It was after …”

That amused him. “After I had taught you what it meant to bed with a real man, eh?”

“Remember I was not conscious.”

“Enough though to realize, eh?”

“I knew that I had been deflowered.”

“What a foolish expression! Deflowered! Rather have you been flowered. Have not I given you fertility? Our son will be the flower and the fruit. Deflowered! I did you great honour and much good as you will admit.”

“Yes,” I said, “I think I will admit it here, where none can hear but you and the choughs.”

Then he kissed me again and in his hands which caressed my body was that tenderness which was the more precious because it was so rare.

Then he held me against the stone wall and he talked about the castle, how it was his stronghold and how he had walked the ramparts when he was a boy, how he had dreamed of possessing it and had played wild games in the dungeons and on the winding spiral staircases.

“There are stories of my ancestors which we pass on from generation to generation,” he told me. There was in his eyes a yearning and I knew he was seeing our boy playing in the castle, learning to grow up like his father.

“We have been a wild lot,” he said. “What a family you have married into! In the reign of King Stephen my ancestor of that time was a robber baron. He used to waylay travellers and bring them to his castle. He was called the Fiend of Paling. In the Seaward Tower”—he pointed to it—“he used to take his victims there and he would demand a ransom of their family and if it were not paid the victim would be tortured. He would give a grand banquet and bring him out for the amusement of his cronies. At night it is said that the cries of long dead tortured men and women can be heard in the Seaward Tower.” He looked at me sharply and I could see he was thinking of the child I carried. “There is nothing to fear,” he went on quickly. “It was all long ago. Then Stephen died and Henry II was our King. He was for law and order and extorting money for his wars through taxes, so he suppressed the robber barons by means of meting out dire punishments and the Casvellyns had to find a new means of sustenance.”

“I have seen men going in and out of the Seaward Tower.”

“My servants,” he said. “They are fishermen, many of them. They catch our fish and I have a fancy for it. They serve me in many ways. Down there in the lower part of the Seaward Tower are our boats. You may see them venturing out now and then. Have you seen them?”

“No.”

“You will know our ways in due time. I will tell you of another ancestor of mine. He had a fair wife but he was very fond of women. It is a failing—or it may be a virtue—in the men of my family. They adore women. They need women.”

“Are you telling me this to put me on my guard?”

“One must always be on one’s guard to hold a possession which is precious. You should remember that.”

“Should we both remember it?”

“Aye, we will. I was telling you of my ancestor.”

“The one who needed women and was unfaithful to his wife. Is that an uncommon story?”

“Not in my family, nor in any for that matter, I’ll swear, but where this Casvellyn was different was that, being in love with his wife who was a very fair lady, yet he could fall in love with another who was equally fair. The second lady was a very moral woman and although she greatly desired this Casvellyn he knew he could not have her—save by rape—unless he married her. He was not a man for a quick seduction and that be that. Nay, he liked marriage. He liked the cosy comforts of it. But he wanted more than one wife. So what did he do?” He turned me round, so that we were looking at the turrets of those two towers which faced landward. “There you see our two towers, Ysella’s Tower and the Crows’ Tower.”

“I did not know they all had names.”