Pyre - A Novelette Featuring the Avebury Witches

Chapter 6

"How can you even think of food?" Rosy regarded Bill with disgust. He was sitting on a hay bale, tearing chunks out of the bread with his even white teeth, chewed, then bit into a piece of her mother's famous goat cheese.

"It's delicious," Bill said, swallowed the whole mess and reached for the tankard of country wine that was balancing precariously on the wooden partition between two of the horse stands. "I must admit, though, I wasn't too keen on that turnip mash. Nothing like a nice juicy piece of cooked ham, but I guess you wouldn't have that."

"No. We don't eat the creatures that serve us. Only their produce. Ouch." Rosy swatted at the midgets that zipped among the dust moats floating in the golden glow of a summer's evening.

Bill bit into his cheese again, then snatched a pickled onion from the earthenware bowl. "Wonderful produce. Give your mother my compliments. Mine has handed over her kitchen to that bloated ball of lard who calls himself a cook. His idea of fine dining is blackening meats on a spit."

The nausea rose again, but she fought it down. Swallowed the comment about typical witch hunter fare that had been ready to jump from the tip of her tongue. There was so little time left and that ever-hungry hulk insisted on wasting it with food. But then, he didn't know certain things.

Finally he was done, sighed contentedly and patted the horse blankets Rosy's mother had given to him. "Look at these, we can build ourselves a nice warm place for the night, eh?"

Rosy sniffed. "First you do what I did. You wash and change. Then you clean your teeth. I refuse to even come near if you whiff like a midden at midday."

Bill rose with a sigh and ambled towards the trough where mouthwash, soap and brush waited as a hint he hadn't taken. "Nothing has changed, right?" he said over his shoulder.

That was wrong. Worse even, things would change further but that was another thing he didn't know. For one last night he would be hers. She could lose herself in the familiar warmth, revel in his firm embrace and get transported away to a place where there was only fiery bliss. If she was lucky, more than once.

Perhaps loosening the knots she felt inside would give her ideas of what to do. For she needed to do something. She would not join the other White Wardens like a lamb to the slaughter, get transported to only the Woods knew where and leave half their kith and kin behind, at the mercy of the witch hunters. Nor would she dump Bill. Not again. Not after getting him back. The Keepers did not know her at all if they harboured such thoughts.

"I have nothing to change into," Bill stood at the stone trough, a jug of peppermint water in one hand, a bar of soap in the other. He turned around, a glint in his eye. "How about if I stick to the washing part and we forget the rest?"

"Mother has left you one of father's shirts. Clean up now, you big oaf, and we can talk."

"Talk was not exactly what I had in mind." Bill grinned before he pulled the shirt over his head and lathered his impressive torso. Rosy observed him through the silvery strands of hair veiling her vision, watched the shadows play with his rippling muscles until they got hidden by suds and caught herself smiling. For a moment she felt guilt, then she pushed it aside. This was her evening. Hers and Bill's, and theirs alone.