The Witch Stone - Emily Oakes Page 0,3

she breathed a sigh of relief. It looked the same as when she had left it, the thatched roof blessedly free of smoke and fire. Wildflowers perfumed the air. Wild vines clung to the walls, camouflaging the cottage against the backdrop of the woods.

She drew in a shaky breath. She’d been half expecting to find a pile of ash where the cottage once stood, and the relief made her tremble a little. She lifted her shaking hand to knock on the door. It swung open before she made contact.

Hawthorn stood in the doorway; her hunched shoulders draped in an earth-colored shawl. Her deeply lined face was contorted with grief, all but her eyes. Her eyes were somehow devoid of sadness. They were shiny dark pools of wisdom. She was every little girls’ dream grandmother. Even older girls. “Rowena, my dear. I’ve been expecting you.”

Rowena collapsed into her arms. She sobbed against her shoulder. “Shh, it’s all right now.” Her husky voice was a soothing balm to Rowena’s bruised soul. Hawthorn stepped back and put her hands on Rowena’s shoulders. “I know what you’ve seen.” She took off her shawl and draped it around Rowena’s shoulders. It was warm and smelled like rosemary.

“How?”

Hawthorn helped Rowena sit on a straw-stuffed cot beside the fire. “I’ll get you some tea.” Hawthorn shuffled away to some wooden shelves overflowing with vials of dried herbs. She plucked one from the shelf and took out the cork with deft hands. She wafted it under her nose then poured some into a mug. She busied herself further by ladling some stew into a bowl and tearing a chunk of bread from a loaf. “We’ll just let that cool a bit.”

Hawthorn sat beside Rowena and put an arm around her, drawing her into her warmth. “They took them all,” Rowena said. A lump lodged in her throat at the thought of Isabel being dragged by those rough hands. She looked at the crackling fire and saw the village burning. The flames licking at the cottages, the women screaming. It was too much. She snapped her head away, almost putting out her neck.

“I know.”

“I was so worried they were going to find you.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Despite the warmth of the cottage, Rowena shivered. Hawthorn stood up and fetched the bowl. “Here, this will make you feel better.”

The bowl warmed her numb hands. Steam smelling of thyme wafted up at her face, invigorating her hunger. She sipped from the bowl, savoring the hearty flavor. As the food warmed her from the inside, the lump in her throat eased. She dunked the bread into the broth and scooped up a chunk of carrot. Devoured it in seconds. Before she knew it, the bowl was empty and her stomach full. Hawthorn took the empty bowl. “There’s a girl.”

“The village is gone.”

Hawthorn handed her the tea then said, “I know what you saw.”

“It was horrible.” She swiped at a tear. “They destroyed it all. My Isobel. My poor Isabel.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hawthorn took Rowena’s spare hand and squeezed.

“What about Isabel?”

“They took her by her hair. Ripped out a chunk like a weed.”

“Drink your tea, dear. It will help you sleep.”

Rowena raised the tea to her mouth and inhaled steam smelling of sweet lavender mixed with the earthy aroma of valerian root. She took a small sip to test the temperature and found it just to her liking, the tea, however, tasted like dirt. “Thank you. Thank you, Hawthorn.” She placed the tea on the floor.

“Get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“I want to talk about it now. I need to.”

“Very well. What do you want to know?”

“Why are they doing this?

“They have their reasons. None of them good ones. They will realize their mistakes one day. Right now, you need your rest.”

Hawthorn helped Rowena out of her clothes and into a cotton gown. Once again, she passed Rowena the drink.

Rowena managed a laugh. “You really want me to drink this don’t you?”

Hawthorn placed a calming hand on Rowena’s head and stroked her hair. “It will help relax you, dear.”

Rowena took a sip of the bitter herb drink and frowned. The hot sour liquid coursed down her throat, making her wince.

“You’re never going to snag a mate pulling those sorts of faces,” cackled Hawthorn.

“Maybe if it tasted better than an old boot I might look more pleasing to the eye.” Rowena quickly downed the rest of the foul-tasting liquid and passed Hawthorn the