Linda Barlow by Fires of Destiny

the foodstuffs for Merwynna. "God’s blood, this is enough to last a month. Alix, love, I'm starving." He plucked out an apple and bit into it.
    "So am I," said Lacklin, helping himself to a pear.
    "Merwynna only grows plants and herbs. She depends on me for other things," Alexandra protested. But her knapsack was full today, so she too took a piece of fruit.
    "Who is this Merwynna anyway?" asked Lacklin. "I've heard of her, but I don't know much about her."
    "She's the local witch," said Roger with his mouth full. "I'm amazed you haven't tried to exorcise her, or whatever one does to witches."
    "She's not that sort of witch. She doesn't consort with the devil. She’s a wisewoman. Her gods are the Old Ones, the spirits of trees and rocks and hollow places. They're the ones she prays to, they're the ones who assist her in her magic."
    Both men stared at her. "Christ, Francis, listen to her. You're worried about the corrupt practices of the papists, but at least they're Christians. This girl is a bloody pagan."
    She laughed. "I'm not."
    But Roger was serious. "Whatever gods the old woman worships, people are certain to think she's in league with Satan. Power such as hers is considered evil."
    "Nonsense. There's nothing evil about Merwynna—she cures the sick and practices midwifery—women's arts, in other words. She rarely casts spells. I know, I've been her protégée for years."
    Roger cursed softly. "You're Sir Charles Douglas' daughter; you can't be the next witch of Westmor Forest. Are you mad to mix in such doings?"
    She bristled. "There's no danger, no harm at all in what I do. She's my friend."
    His handsome face was thunderous. "Don’t be a fool, Alexandra. What d'you mean, no harm? Witchcraft is a crime punishable by hanging. Do you want to end your life on the scaffold?"
    Her own temper flared. "Who are you to be so judgmental? With the sort of life you lead, you're in more danger of ending your life on the scaffold than I!"
    Silence greeted this remark. She thought she saw them exchange a lightning-fast look. Twisting her fingers together, she stared down into her lap. Now I've made them suspicious, she thought nervously. When, oh when, am I ever going to learn to control my too-ready tongue?
    "What else have you got to eat in there?" Lacklin asked, pointing to her knapsack. She risked a glance at him. He was, as usual, cool and unruffled. Was there anything, she wondered, that could ever shake his self-possession? Just as no one would ever be able to penetrate his guard in a fencing bout, no one would ever understand the mind or heart of him either.
    "Here, take whatever you want."
    Lacklin removed a chunk of cheese, saying, "May I share some of this with you?"
    "No, thank you. I'm not hungry." She no longer felt easy with either of them. Lacklin was dour and cold, and as for Roger, he was damnably moody. One minute he could be the pleasantest man she had never known, and the next he was an angry, opinionated bully. He had been like that as a boy, too: she remembered how often they'd argued with each other. She'd adored him, it was true, but she’d never cared for the way he used to order her about.
    She glared at him, but he was looking at the ground, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration or annoyance.
    Francis Lacklin said, "Here, Roger, have some cheese. And stop worrying. I’m sure Alexandra knows what she's doing."
    Roger looked up and Alexandra felt the power of his dynamic brown-eyed stare. His eyes were beautiful. They drew her, lured her, bewitched her. Gazing into them, she felt something leap inside her. Once again she was burning with the memory of the way he had touched her on his first evening home. Her belly tightened and her heartbeats thickened as she yearned to feel that delicious touch again.
    "Give me a piece," Roger said to Lacklin, not dropping Alexandra's gaze. He spoke her name: "Alix. You're my oldest, dearest friend. It frightens me to think of you tangling with such a crime