A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [114]
“For God’s sake, don’t leave the two of them alone together.”
“I won’t,” Matthew promised. “I’ll need you and Miriam to move into the gatehouse in hopes that will convince everyone Diana is there. They’ll figure out the truth eventually, but it may win us a few days. My keys are with the porter. Come back in a few hours, when we’ve gone. Take the duvet from her bed—it will have her scent on it—and drive to Woodstock. Stay there until you hear from me.”
“Can you protect yourself and that witch at the same time?” Marcus asked quietly.
“I can handle it,” Matthew said with certainty.
Marcus nodded, and the two vampires gripped forearms, exchanging a meaningful look. Anything they needed to say to each other at moments like these had long since been said.
When Matthew was alone again, he sank into the sofa and cradled his head in his hands. Marcus’s vehement opposition had shaken him.
He looked up and stared again at the print of the goddess of the hunt stalking her prey. Another line from the same old poem came into his mind. “‘I saw her coming from the forest,’” he whispered, “‘Huntress of myself, beloved Diana.’”
In the bedroom, too far away for a warmblood to have heard, Diana stirred and cried out. Matthew sped to her side and gathered her into his arms. The protectiveness returned, and with it a renewed sense of purpose.
“I’m here,” he murmured against the rainbow strands of her hair. He looked down at Diana’s sleeping face, her mouth puckered and a fierce frown between her eyes. It was a face he’d studied for hours and knew well, but its contradictions still fascinated him. “Have you bewitched me?” he wondered aloud.
After tonight Matthew knew his need for her was greater than anything else. Neither his family nor his next taste of blood mattered as much as knowing that she was safe and within arm’s reach. If that was what it meant to be bewitched, he was a lost man.
His arms tightened, holding Diana in sleep as he would not allow himself to do when she was awake. She sighed, nestling closer.
Were he not a vampire he wouldn’t have caught her faint, murmured words as she clutched both his ampulla and the fabric of his sweater, her fist resting firmly against his heart.
“You’re not lost. I found you.”
Matthew wondered fleetingly if he’d imagined it but knew that he hadn’t.
She could hear his thoughts.
Not all the time, not when she was conscious—not yet. But it was only a matter of time before Diana knew everything there was to know about him. She would know his secrets, the dark and terrible things he wasn’t brave enough to face.
She answered with another faint murmur. “I’m brave enough for both of us.”
Matthew bent his head toward hers. “You’ll have to be.”
Chapter 17
There was a powerful taste of cloves in my mouth, and I’d been mummified in my own duvet. When I stirred in my wrappings, the bed’s old springs gave slightly.
“Shh.” Matthew’s lips were at my ear, and his body formed a shell against my back. We lay there like spoons in a drawer, tight against each other.
“What time is it?” My voice was hoarse.
Matthew pulled away slightly and looked at his watch. “It’s after one.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Since around six last night.”
Last night.
My mind shattered into words and images: the alchemical manuscript, Peter Knox’s threat, my fingers turning blue with electricity, the photograph of my parents, my mother’s hand frozen in a never-ending reach.
“You gave me drugs.” I pushed against the duvet, trying to work my hands free. “I don’t like taking drugs, Matthew.”
“Next time you go into shock, I’ll let you suffer needlessly.” He gave a single twitch to the bed covering that was more effective than all my previous wrestling with it.
Matthew’s sharp tone shook the shards of memory, and new images rose to the surface. Gillian Chamberlain’s twisted face warned me about keeping secrets, and the piece of paper commanded me to remember. For a few moments, I was seven again, trying to understand how my bright, vital parents could be gone from my life.
In my rooms I reached