Witching Hour Read Online Free Page A

might both regret later.
    But if she went to him now, with all her doubts and her troubles,
    he might interpret her need for comfort and reassurance rather
    differently, and that would simply create more problems.
    'And just now I have as many as I can handle,' she muttered
    against the moan of the wind.
    She buried her hands in the pockets of her cape, her fingers closing
    round the familiar shape of her small pocket torch, and it was that
    which decided her where to go for her walk. Her original intention
    had been to follow the lane round, perhaps even as far as the
    village, but now she knew she wanted the open spaces of the
    stretch of moorland behind the house. Even in summertime, it
    seemed bleak, the few trees bent and stunted under the power of
    the prevailing westerly gales, but Morgana loved it, in particular
    the great stone which crowned its crest.
    It was an odd-looking stone—a tall thick stem of granite with
    another slab balanced across its top. In some guide books it was
    referred to as the Giant's Table, but locally it was known as the.
    Wishing Stone because it was said that if you put your hand on the
    upright and made a wish, and then circled the stone three times,
    the top slab would rock gently if the wish was to be granted. At all
    other times, of course, it was said to be immovable, but Morgana
    had always thought that a really desperate wisher could probably
    give fate a helping hand with a quick nudge at the cross-stone.
    Sometimes she'd wondered if there had once been other stones
    there, so that the hillside above Polzion had resembled Stonehenge
    or Avebury, until people had come and taken them for building.
    Yet it was intriguing that they had left this one, and she had asked
    herself why often. Maybe it was because they sensed its power, or
    more prosaically perhaps it was because the cross-stone had
    proved more difficult to shift than anticipated.
    Anyway, there it stood, like a mysterious signpost to a secret in the
    youth of mankind, surviving the initials which had been carved on
    it, the picnics which had been eaten in its shadow, and all the
    attempts of vandals to dislodge it, squat and oddly reassuring in its
    timelessness.
    As she picked her way across the thick clumps of grass and
    bracken, the wind snatched at her hood, pulling it back from her
    head, and making her dark hair billow round her like a cloud. She
    breathed, deeply. This was what she had wanted—the freshness of
    damp undergrowth and sea salt brought to her on the moving air.
    Rob would think she was mad if he could see her now, she
    thought, stumbling a little on a tussock of grass, but then he hadn't
    been born here as she had. In fact she'd often wondered what had
    prompted his father to buy the Home Farm in the first place.
    Perhaps under his rather staid appearance he was really a romantic
    at heart, remembering the pull of the boyhood holidays he
    mentioned so often. Certainly Morgana doubted whether his wife's
    wishes had much to do with his decision. Mrs Donleven's roots
    seemed firmly grounded in the Home Counties.
    Morgana was out of breath by the time she reached the wishing
    stone. The wind had been blowing steadily against her all the way,
    and by all the natural laws the stone should already have been
    rocking precariously on its pediment. But it wasn't, of course. She
    leaned against the upright, regaining her breath, and looking about
    her. She could see the lights of Polzion House below her, and
    away on the right those of the Home Farm. She couldn't see the
    village, because it was down in a hollow in the edge of the sea,
    where the surrounding cliffs provided a safe harbour for the
    fishing and pleasure boats.
    She thought suddenly, 'This could be the last time—the very last
    time that I stand here.' She put her hand on the stone and it felt
    warm to the touch, but perhaps that was because she herself
    suddenly felt so cold.
    It couldn't happen, she told herself passionately. This was her
    place,