Songs of Love & Death

She pushed him away with all her strength. He crushed closer, as if he might force her…

But then he put hands to the tree and thrust violently backward, as if breaking bonds, breathing hard, eyes bright and wolfish in their hunger.

A hunger that pounded in herself.

He went to one knee. “Miss Darby, will you marry me?”

She stared, then snapped, “Of course not!” from an instinct as sharp as that which snatches the hand from a burning pot.

His eyes still shone. “You must, you know.”

Martha backed away, but the infernal tree blocked her. “Must? From a kiss. A kiss forced upon me? I fear you’re mad, sir!”

And he looked it, with those wide, burning eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I will be if you reject me. Why do you refuse?”

“Why? My father was a canon. Yours is a viscount. You will be a viscount one day. I have an extremely modest portion to bring to a marriage and no idea of how to behave at court.”

“I don’t live at court,” he said, rising to his feet. “And I don’t need your portion, but in fact you bring a dowry of immense value.” He stepped forward. “Let me kiss you again.”

Martha pushed him away. “Stop that! I know what you’re about. You’re trying to seduce me.”

“I’m trying to marry you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He sighed and looked up. “I thought an oak would have some power.”

“What?”

He took her hand—“Come”—and dragged her toward the church.

“What are you doing? Stop this!” Martha stumbled along, unable bring herself to scream. They turned a corner, and there at last were people—two gravediggers, chest deep in the ground. “Sirs!” she cried.

“I want to marry this lady,” Loxsleigh interrupted. “Will you stand witness?”

The men grinned, showing crooked teeth. “If you wish, sir.”

“I do.” He tossed them both a coin. “Come.” He dragged Martha onward.

She grabbed a headstone. “You’re drunk, sir. You must be. It would serve you right if I took up your offer.”

He stopped, beaming. “Do, please, my marrying maid.”

“Your what?”

“You, my dear, my darling Miss Darby, are my marrying maid. I have sought you high and low, long and far, despairing of ever finding you in time. But here you are, and here I am, and all is wondrous!”

He grasped her waist and swung her around in the air. Nothing so alarming, so wonderful, had ever happened to Martha Darby before. She swatted at his head, beat at his shoulders, and when her feet touched the ground again she exclaimed, “You’re mad, or drunk, or both!”

“Not a bit of it!”

But then he swooped down to dig his fingers into the long grass by the edge of the path.

Mad, Martha thought, tears gathering in her eyes. Tragically, the man was mad.

“See.” He straightened, showing her a small golden earring as if it were a wonder of the orient. “Is it not wonderful?”

“You must return it to its owner,” Martha said gently.

“Of course, but it’s proof, you see.”

“Proof of what?”

“That you’re my marrying maid. How soon can we be wed?”

“Mr. Loxsleigh, I am not going to marry you.”

He shook his head, as if she were a moonling.

Martha reached for the only weapon she had. “I’m promised to another.”

That did cloud his sun. “Do you love him?”

Martha couldn’t quite lie. “We are very well suited,” she said and set off along the path toward the street, toward people. Sane people.

He passed her and spoke walking backward. “You don’t love him. Of course you don’t. A marrying maid wants no other. I wonder why I didn’t find you years ago.”

“Perhaps,” she said tightly, “because we belong in different spheres and still do.”

“Ah! Your father was a canon. Did you live close to the Minster?”

The safety of the street lay ahead, but he blocked her way. “Yes.”

“And in the long years of caring for your father, did you mostly stay at home?”

“Of course.”

“That explains it, then. Faery powers can’t work in powerful Christian spaces.”

Fairies. He was a worse case than she’d feared.

He turned and opened the gate for her. “If I try to explain, you’ll never believe me.”

“Quite likely I won’t,” she said, safe at last on the street.

“Martha, my dear, just say yes.”

She looked him in the eye. “No.”

“Come to Five Oaks.”

“No.”

“What harm can it do?”

“Said the spider to the fly.” She marched on. Aunt Clarissa’s house was in view. Martha had never been so glad to see it.

“Come to Five Oaks,” he persisted. “It will change your mind. But if it doesn’t, I’ll bother you no more. And that is a painful promise for me to make.”

Martha was struck by his sincerity and slowed her steps. “Why?”

He didn’t immediately answer and seemed to be calculating her reaction. “If you don’t marry me,” he said at last, “I will die.”

“Die of love? We hardly know each other!”

“Simply die. And not just me. Many others.”

Mad, mad, but she was suddenly unable to abandon him. If she went to his home, she would be with her mother. Aunt Clarissa would know where they went. Perhaps his father didn’t realize how sad a case he was. There might be some way to help him.

“Very well,” Martha said at last. “I will visit Five Oaks.”