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My palm crushes against Malek’s cheek at his disrespect and he grabs me, pulling me out of the bedroom and into the apothecary.
“I could have you whipped for that, girl,” Malek says through clenched teeth. “But seeing that you are in a delicate state of affairs with your grandmother, I will show mercy. But the way I see it, you do owe me at least this.”
Malek’s lips crush mine and I struggle to free myself from his filthy grasp. He pulls me closer, and I bite his bottom lip. He pulls his lip slowly through my teeth, like my bite has no effect at all. He takes my face in one hand, pinching my cheeks, then slides a hand to my breast.
“I’ll take you here and now if you entice me like that again, lass. I like my women unbroken. I make you this vow, though. I’ll break you. I’ll break you in real nice.” He releases me and dabs the blood from is lip with the back of his hand.
“Be mindful of this, a little blood never hurt anyone, lass. You have fire in your belly. I like it. Keep that up and I’ll be calling on you again. Unfortunately, I have a rogue knight to hang this night.”
“Get out of my house, and never return!” I try holding back the hot tears now threatening to fall. “Leave now or I’ll find a way to kill you. I swear it. I am a witch after all, remember? You said it yourself. You never touch a witch uninvited.”
Malek chuckles. “Yes, lass. I remember.” He heads for the door, then turns and faces me once more. “Warn your man not to cross me again, girl. Had he held his tongue, your grandmother would still be in possession of her medicine, and you your virtues. I, myself, have no use for dung and dirt. I have no desire to reek of her stench. But I will take her remedy, nonetheless. Will make a good joke for my men when I shove some in their boots.”
My hands ball into tight fists, but I keep them tucked against my thighs, struggling to keep the angry words in. I have no desire to entice the devil to remain in our home any longer. I want to scream through my teeth and spit in his face that he is a demon, but I bite my tongue instead, holding the truths in. Malek is an evil man, yet the dog accuses me of witchery? I hope the poultice singes his nostrils and closes his throat.
He finally leaves and I latch the door. I head straight for the water barrel near the cookpot, my legs threatening to buckle. I scoop handfuls of water onto my mouth and scrub it until my lips plump and sting. I gulp a handful of water and swirl it around my mouth before spitting it into an empty cup. I want every hint of the demon free from my body, my face. I touch my breast and release it from my garments. I grasp a rag, dipping it into the barrel. I rub the coolness across my flesh, tiny lines of gooseflesh forming in response. I dare the tears to fall when I think about him touching me. No, I will not give him the satisfaction of occupying my mind. I refuse to let him possess me in the slightest. I make my way to the door again to be sure it is latched. For I will not open it again this night, no matter who declares to be calling.
I survey the apothecary for more beetroot, but weariness wins out in the end. I’ll make more poultice in the morning, but the events of the day are weighing heavy on me at this hour. I put some thyme in the kitchen and fresh water in the kettle for Gram’s tea if it’s needed. She’s still quiet now, so I step out of my day dress and into my bed. I fall asleep to the sound of her breathing and the weight of the heaviness in my heart. What if Sir Malek comes calling, makes good on his threat to break me?
Her coughing jars me awake and I am at her bedside in an instant.
“Gram, are you all right?”
“No, child,” she says through coughs. “I am not.”
I hurry to the apothecary, then remember that Sir Malek took the poultice. I dump some thyme into the kettle and put the kettle over the flame. I dip a cup in the water barrel and hurry back to the bedroom.
“Here, Gram. Take a sip of this water.”
I gently lift her head and give her a drink. When I lie her back on her pillow, I notice it right away. Her eyes are glassy pools, like the waters in the ocean of her life are collected there. She doesn’t see me, only the water that she cannot seem to blink away.
“Gram,” I say again. “Can you hear me?”
Her skin is pale and cold, like all the blood in her veins is now ice. Her cheeks are hollow, and her wrinkles are hanging, like her flesh is struggling to remain on her bones. I sit on the bed beside her, afraid my knees will fail me if I don’t. I know what I am viewing, hate what I am seeing. Death is a cold thing, a silent thing that creeps in like a bandit in the night. It doesn’t scream, doesn’t draw attention to itself. It is the whisper that settles in the ears, the shroud that covers you in its clutches. And it has come for my gram.
“Gram, what can I do?” My tears burn my face and fall on her cheek.
“There is nothing you can do, my Milla. I am dying. I’m sorry, my sweet child. I do not wish to leave you.”
She coughs again and I give her more water. She drinks until the cough subsides. I hold her hand against my chest, trying to warm it, but it will not accept my offering.
Gram clears her throat and looks me full in the face. “Milla, I am so proud of you. I need you to make me a promise.”
“Anything,” I say.
“Promise me that you will never stop wishing. Wishes are a good thing. Dreams are a gift. Keep dreaming, my Milla. Now, I have something for you.”
She reaches into her chemise and pulls out a single match. She places it in my hand.
“I put that there the first time I watched you wish on a match, a constant reminder that my girl still makes wishes, even when we had no food to eat. My girl still dreams, even though I have little to offer her.” Gram smiles and slides a finger over my tears. “Never stop making wishes, Milla. Even when something is hard to believe, believe in it anyway. Promise me.”
“I promise, Gram.” I slide Gram’s match inside the small pocket in my chemise and hold her hand again.
Gram nods toward the spot on my chest where I placed her match. “Now, when you make that wish, call on me, and all the love and faith I have in you will guide you.” She takes a breath for strength. “No matter where I am at that moment, my heart will be with you.”
It’s hard to get the words out, “You will always be with me, Gram.”
She closes her eyes, as if she were waiting for those exact words from me. “There is something else.” She clears her throat. “Reach under my pillow.”
