Skirts bunched in sweaty fists, Rosy opened the garden gate she had left unlocked on her way in. She was still surrounded by walls, but now there was soil under her feet, the whisper of grass, hazel branches and leaves beckoning for her to join their dappled shade. She jumped over ornamental squares of boxwood framing the lushness of grass and dove into the soothing embrace of the trees. Only then did she stop, her chest still heaving, her lungs sucking air with a little squealing sound on each breath she took.

She had found shelter not a minute too late.

From the alleyway came a group of men, festively clad in black, the buckles on their hats gleaming in the sunshine, their collars as white as the clouds above. Had they not been at the burning? Or were the witch hunters a race apart, not to be touched by the grime and dirt caused by their evil handiwork?

A mewling sound escaped Rosy's lips, and she caught her breath. But they were not close enough to hear her. Their voices, however, rang across, like hammers hitting metal fetters.

"Master Grimaldus, there's nobody here."

"I can see that for myself, Master Ignatius. But I'm telling you, there was that young woman, she ran away after the witch had died. Into that alley. I saw her. That's highly suspicious, don't you think?"

A third man spoke, his face hidden by the bushy growth of a black beard. "Master Grimaldus, we have humoured your instincts, but other than a bit of ash, I see no witch." He shook out his sleeve in a gesture of distaste, and he and his companions erupted with laughter.

Back in the shadows, hidden by the trees, Rosy balled her fists. Not that there was anything she could do.

"Hear, hear Master Lentulus, well spoken," Ignatius said. "Methinks, there might have well been a girl, but she must have slipped into one of the houses. And those open only with keys, not with magic. So, nothing to worry about. Anyway, maidens are such silly creatures. One never knows what they will do from one moment to the next."

Sparks shot from the buckles of the hats as the other men nodded their agreement and then withdrew back into the alleyway they had come from.

Rosy released breath she had not realised she was holding and air shot from her lungs in a painful rush. Nobody heard her; apart from the distant noise of the crowd and the measured pacing of a guard on the wall the place was still deserted. But not for much longer. Soon, the citizens would return, to their houses, to the well.

In and out of the trees she wove, as light as a dandelion seed, towards the old oak tree where the outer gate waited for her. Once it had been part of a lovers tryst. Now it stood between her and the orchard outside. She had not dared to leave it unlocked, somebody might have noticed.

A few more steps, and there she was, slotted the key into the lock, turned it and slowly pushed open the obstacle so it wouldn't creak. She slipped through and closed the gate from the other side, then ducked behind the hawthorn bushes. Her skirt snagged on one of the spikes, but it slipped off the next second as if the plant was apologising for having trapped her.

Moving along with bent knees she reached the first apple tree, then straightened. Now she could walk more freely— movement on her right made the bushes rustle, as a tall man rose from behind the shrubbery.

Rosy's heart fisted.

"I knew it was you. Knew you would come today as soon as they announced the burning." Bill pushed the twigs aside and stepped towards her. He looked like a farm hand, wearing no hat on his blond curls, nothing but an open shirt and leather riding breeches. To top it all, he wore no stockings in his flat shoes.

Rosy willed her galloping heartbeat to calm down. "Shouldn't you be out with the others? What is your father going to say?"

"I made sure to fall behind on my Latin, so he let me stay in my chamber, to study."

Bill came closer, the afternoon breeze tousling his unruly blond curls. The moustache he had been growing the last time they met had disappeared, and his cheeks were smoothly shaven once more.

Rosy's heart fisted again, this time for a different reason.

Bill reached out to her. "I want to talk to you."

"No, you don't. There is nothing left to say. And I better be gone." As she turned, his fingers closed around her arm.

"Hear me out!"

No time for that! She yanked her arm free of his grasp."It's over. Any minute the citizens of Marlborough will return to their houses, and more guards will come."

For a flicker of a moment, she wondered whether he was stalling deliberately. Grounding her, for the others to find. But that was not his way.

Or was it? Enna must have thought she too was safe. Until she wasn't.

Bill raised his chin. "Fine, I'll come with you. I told mother I would go fishing, so she won't come after me. You walk, I'll guard your back."

He pushed her gently, and Rosy found herself moving against her will, her skirts swishing through the grass, his footsteps following behind—

"Ho there, who are you?" a rough voice shouted from behind and above.

"Stop," Bill hissed and Rosy froze. He turned around, while she clung to the flimsy shelter thrown by his shadow.

He shouted at the wall. "If you've gone blind, Master John, you shouldn't be standing guard. I hope you're not deaf now as well?"

"Ah, Master William. Impossible to see things for those cursed trees," the voice hollered back. "I keep telling the council they should cut them down. Far too dangerous so close to town."

"Sure, sure," Bill yelled in return."Should you see my father, tell him I'm taking a break from my studies. My eyes are going crosswise."

This time, laughter sounded from the wall. "What good is this bookishness, lad? You should have been out, watching the spectacle. Off you go, and may the Lord watch over your path."

"And yours." They both listened to the sound of boots tromping away until they were alone among trees and the buzzing of bees.

It's so peaceful here, Rosy thought. So— normal. Enna was dead. How could life just go on? Suddenly, she couldn't bear Bill's company anymore, grabbed her skirts and darted away.

That man had always been persistent. Of course, he would come after her. "Slow down, will you? They can still see us from the walls."

"It's your shirt they'll notice. Just stay where you are."

Doggedly, Bill trailed every step she took. "I come with you, to make sure you're safe. What were you thinking, going to the marketplace?"

What a question. A friend in desperate need would have been the response, which she didn't bother to give.

They emerged into a clearing and Rosy stopped so suddenly, Bill bumped into her back. His hands touched her behind, and she hopped aside.

"Please, Rosy, what about us—"

She turned around in a swirl of skirts until their faces were almost as close to each other as they had once been. "I told you before, it's over. There'll never be an 'us'."

"But there was," he said in a tone so reasonable it would have befitted a Keeper. Flushed from running, he was breathing hard.

Memories stabbed her heart. Those precious moments when they had lain together. Her hand had a will of its own, moved out and pushed a stray lock from his forehead. He grabbed her fingers and held them against his cheek where she sensed the familiar warmth, the tiniest trace of stubbles. Rosy yanked her hand away.

"I don't want to lose you. The hunters might have caught you. Then you would have been next to die. While I was waiting for you behind the gate, I heard voices. It was them, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but they thought they'd made a mistake, decided I lived in town and went away."

Bill's gaze turned towards the scorched earth then back to her. "You were lucky, your coif must still have been in place when they spotted you."

What? Rosy's hands flew to her head. He was right, the wretched thing had slipped, and a long braid of her hair had escaped.

Bill reached for it and toyed with the white-blond tuft that frizzled from the end. "If that had been out in the open, you would never have got away. Promise me, you won't take any more risks."

With a sigh, he released her braid, allowing Rosy to restore her treacherous headgear.

"I promise. Now let me go."

Once more, she strode ahead; once more he followed behind. Beech leaves rustled in the sweet summer wind as Rosy entered the woods proper. From ahead came a whinny, a snort and the stomping of hooves.

Molls.

The chestnut whinnied once more in greeting and tossed its head. Nostrils open wide, the mare took in Bill's scent, then nudged him with her large head.

"Oh you," he said into one of the silky ears. "I've been missing you too."

Rosy huffed and loosened the tether.

"Heavens, please wait a moment. We're safe here, we can talk. You can't just tell me it's over and run away. I know who and what you are. I don't care. So what have I suddenly done wrong?"

His dear face drooped with almost comical depression. He would never understand. And he meant what he said. He loved her.

But he was the son of the Lord Mayor of Marlborough, Chief Warden of the witch hunters. And she was what his people called a witch. No good could ever come of that.

"Bill, you're telling me to run but at the same time, you want us to continue. How?"

"I know, I know. The garden is too dangerous. But you found us so many beautiful places in the woods."

Rosy mounted her horse. "Until one day somebody works out why a hat keeps appearing on an apple tree. The wrong someone. As they say—the jug goes to the well many, many times. Until one day it breaks."

Please let me have your comments. Or your votes. Or both. XD Wattpad stories are for free, but Wattpad writers thrive on reader feedback. And if you really like this story - maybe you would like to mention this to your friends? Thank you!

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The image is of Saoirse Ronan. Bit modern, but somehow I thought it would fit, even if the hair colour is not right. Rosy to me looks more like the lady on the cover. The music is a beautiful and haunting compilation of Wiccan-inspired music which I thought fitted better here than Two Steps from Hell... This chapter is dedicated to black_tigress32 thank you for reading and voting on the Avebury Witches!