Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) by Maggie Shayne Page B

impropriety will not be tolerated here, mistress. You might learn it now as well as later. Unmarried young ladies do not go about—”
    “I am not unmarried,’’ I blurted. And my own words surprised me, for I had loathed liars for as long as I could remember. Yet the man’s attitude reminded me so much of the arrogant priest who had murdered my mother that I could not help but wish to take precautions. “My husband died, during our crossing.”
    “You’re a widow-woman, then,” he said. His gaze roamed down my body, to my slippers, and up again. And I did not care for the shadow that darkened his eyes. Nor for the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.” ‘Tis still unwise to travel alone, mistress, but at least not quite as scandalous.”
    “I am weary, sir. My journey has been very long. Pray, direct me to the home of my aunt before I fall from the saddle.”
    “Ah, yes, your aunt. I’m sorry my news is not better,” he said. “But your aunt has been taken ill. A physician came from Boston, as he does once in the month, when the roads are passable. He examined her and said there was nothing to be done.”
    “What ails her?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
    “Old age,” the man said. “Her heart has worn itself out. She’s all of fifty years, you know.” He shook his head sadly. “But ‘tis good that you came. She needs caring for, being so far from Sanctuary proper. ‘Twill be good for her to have you there.”
    “I'll go at once. If you’ll just—”
    “Yes, yes. Follow this road, mistress. It runs along the coast, all the way to the very tip of the peninsula. High on the cliffs above the sea is where she and that man of hers, God rest his soul, built their cabin. Though the good Lord only knows why. ‘Tis no more than two mile.”
    “Thank you, sir.” I snapped the reins lightly, and the mare, though likely as weary as I, lunged forward. Perhaps she sensed this journey’s end was at hand. Or perhaps she simply found the little man as distasteful as I had.
    I found the cabin just as the man had said, on the cliffs, with the mighty sea and its waves crashing below. But unlike Elias Stanton, I saw immediately why my aunt had chosen this site. I could envision no place more magnificent. Surely the gods themselves would gladly place their thrones along such majestic cliffs, while far below the rolling power of the sea paid homage.
    The log cabin was humble but neat. And there was a crooked shed, which housed a cow and some hens, though the cow looked as if she’d been neglected of late, her ribs showing, her bag swollen. Though ‘twas fully dark, no light shone from within the cabin. But of course, I could see quite sharply in darkness by now.
    I took Ebony into the shed, relieving her of saddle and bridle, and rubbing her down as best I could with a rag that hung from a peg on the wall. Quickly I gathered hay from the small stack outside, and a pail of water from the well for her, and for the poor cow as well. And then I took up my sack and went to the cabin.
    The door creaked as it opened, and I stepped inside to see a frail form hunched in a rocking chair beside a dwindling fire. I moved closer and softly whispered, “Aunt Eleanor?”
    The graying head came up, turning slowly toward me in the dim room. The dying fire was the only light, so I stepped closer that she might see me better, and knelt beside her chair. “Aunt Eleanor, I am Raven, the daughter of your half sister.”
    Her parched lips parted, and her eyes widened slightly. “Lily’s girl? You be Lily’s little girl?”
    “Yes, Aunt Eleanor. Lily’s little girl.”
    “Saints be praised,” she whispered, and tears brimmed in her clouded eyes. “Oh, mercy, child, I thought I would never live to see you.” She opened her arms, and I embraced her. Her thinness made me wince, but though weak, she squeezed me tight. Sheer joy gave her that strength, joy at seeing me. A welcome I’d neither expected nor hoped