Alien Warlord's Miracle

by Nancey Cummings

  She snorted. “You sound like a lunatic.”

  “And you sound like the devil’s own,” he hissed.

  Her hands balled into fists at the absurdity. In this day and age, a modern woman should not have to worry about accusations about witchcraft, especially one from a greedy neighbor who wanted her property.

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Are you brave enough to find out, Gilbert Stearne? Shall I curse you? Summon a demon to rend you limb from limb?”

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I hate to hurt you,” he said, just before he struck her in the temple.

  She collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth

  The tight blindfold pressed uncomfortably over her eyes. Her hands were bound before her, the rope digging into her wrists. A rough hand had her by the elbow and jerked her forward. Her feet tripped over uneven ground. She had a fair idea who played her captor: Gilbert.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “All will be revealed soon,” a woman said in a sing-song voice.

  “Felicity,” Elizabeth said. “What have you done?”

  “Only what needs to be done, witch.”

  “I’m not a witch.” How ridiculous. Had the blow to her head sent her back two centuries? These things just did not happen nowadays.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Felicity said.

  They marched in silence, and the ground grew increasingly uneven. At one point, it sloped, and she pitched forward. Gilbert’s harsh grip kept her steady.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Elizabeth said. “We can come to an accord.”

  “I will not bargain with the devil’s woman,” Felicity said.

  “I’m not a witch! This is preposterous. Is it money? The land? I’ll give you the property. I don’t even want it.”

  Gilbert’s breath hitched.

  Yes, that struck a chord. Hope flared in her chest. She would find a way out this if she could sway Gilbert.

  “The devil will offer many temptations, brother. You heard her speak to her demon. Do not lose faith,” Felicity said.

  Faith. She wanted to laugh. Gilbert was only interested in the land and he’d use his sister’s fanaticism to get that land. Faith, indeed.

  Her own faith wavered. Reven would save her if he knew but at the moment, his ship was likely taking off. She encouraged him to leave without saying farewell, so he’d never know that she had been accosted just outside the barn. There would be no rescue. She had to rely on herself.

  They finally stopped. Elizabeth held her breath, listening for a passing cart, another person in the forest, anything. All she could hear was the sound of rushing water.

  The river.

  She struggled, trying to pull away but Gilbert’s grip did not falter. Someone—Felicity, she presumed—yanked the blindfold away. She blinked, adjusting to the light.

  Felicity held a tattered book in one hand. “Elizabeth Halpine, you have been accused of witchcraft, which is a crime in the eyes of this land and a sin in the eyes of God, and punishable by death.”

  “Witchcraft hasn’t been a crime in a century,” she said.

  “So, you confess?” Felicity blinked, eyes wide and placid.

  “No! I am no witch, and you belong in Bedlam.” Reasoning would not work. Perhaps begging might save her. She turned to Gilbert, eyes wide and pleading. “Gilbert, please.”

  A soft expression fluttered across his rough features. He stroked the side of her face. It took all her willpower not to flinch away from his touch. “We could have been happy, you and I.”

  “We still can be.”

  “You led me on a merry little chase, you did.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry.” Tears filled her eyes. The world was so big, and the universe even bigger, and she saw none of it. She needed to live.

  “The witch weeps because she knows her fate is inescapable,” Felicity said, voice joyful.

  “I’m sorry I spurned you,” Elizabeth said. “You were right. I was snobbish and didn’t give you a chance. We can come to an agreement, yes? I could grow to love you in time.”

  He stroked her cheek again and leaned in, pressing his wet mouth to hers. His touch was all wrong. She couldn’t fight the revulsion that shuddered through her body. He nodded as if expecting that result.

  “You’re a talented woman, Elizabeth, but a terrible actress,” he said.

  “Please, Gilbert. You know she’s insane.”

  “Quite, but it serves my purpose. I want Sweecombe, and you’ll never marry me. Once you vanish, another victim of the beast, it’ll be up for sale, and I’ll be ready.”

  All this just to grab the land she didn’t particularly want.

  Reasoning failed, and pleading just made it worse. Time to do something desperate.

  Elizabeth collided with Gilbert, using all her weight to knock him off balance. He stumbled, and she took that opportunity to run.

  She took no more than three steps before a heavy weight slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground. A rock dug into the soft flesh of her cheek.

  “See how the wicked flee when confronted the wages of their sin,” Felicity intoned.

  Gilbert hauled Elizabeth back to her feet and dragged her the river’s edge.

  Running away wasn’t an option, not unless she incapacitated Gilbert. Reason failed already. The best she could do would be to stall—and hope for rescue from a passerby, as unlikely as that might be.

  “What evidence?” she asked.

  “We have the sworn testimony of witnesses in the village that you have professed, on many occasions, to kissing goats, which are known to be a symbol of Satan himself.”

  “It’s a figure of speech. Nothing more.”

  “You said it to me just today,” Gilbert said.

  “Jonas Smith saw you conjure your demon in his house. He overhead your plans to murder him and bathe in his blood,” Felicity said.

  “The word of a drunk. I was not in the village on Christmas Eve. Did anyone else see this conjuration?”

  Felicity laughed in triumph. “I did not say it was Christmas Eve! Your lies have been rooted out, witch.”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip, frustrated at her slip. “You have the word of a drunk?”

  “Mrs. Simmons heard you speaking with your familiar when she came to your house.”

  “I was talking to myself! Surely it’s not a crime to think out loud.”

  Felicity shook her head and hummed. She opened the ancient tome and flipped to a dog-eared page. “I will apply the methods written in the Discovery of Witches to determine if you are a witch, Elizabeth Halpine. We will conduct the swimming test. If you have broken faith and renounced your baptism, the water will reject you.”

  She snapped the book shut, a pleased grin spreading across her face.

  Gilbert stuffed rocks into Elizabeth’s coat pocket. She tried to wiggle away, but her efforts rewarded her with a knock to the ground. Panic flared in her. She knew this test. A witch floated, the innocent drowned—sink or swim. The rocks in her coat would drag her straight to the bottom of the river.

  “Search for my witch’s mark,” she demanded. Being stripped naked would be humiliating, but it would buy some time, a few more precious moments of life. “If I have a familiar, as you say, I have a mark. Find it.”

  She removed her coat, but Gilbert’s hand stopped her. He licked his lips and looked towards her sister.

  “Lustful thoughts, brother?”

  “No, I just think we should be very certain—”

  Hope flared in her chest. Gilbert’s base desires could prove her salvation, or least a distraction.

  “I know my duty as a wife,” she said, voice lowered. She licked her lips and glanced down to his trousers, disgusted by her actions but desperate to flee by any means. “You can have me in your bed and my land. Please, Gilbert. I’ll beg. You can do as you like to me. I won’t protest.”

  His rough thumb brushed against h
er bottom lip, considering her offer. “Such pretty lies. Perhaps we can—”

  “She is formed as any other woman,” Felicity said sharply. “And would warm your bed as well as any other. The swimming test will suffice, brother.”

  Bloody hell, that woman had a one-track mind.

  “On whose authority?” Elizabeth demanded.

  “The Witchfinder General himself! Charged by Parliament to seek out the witches that foul this good and green land. Our grandfather served Matthew Hopkins well, and carried on his work, wrote this holy book.” Felicity waved the worn book in Elizabeth’s face. “I am privileged to carry on his good work.”

  Finding only fanaticism in Felicity’s eyes, she looked beseechingly to Gilbert. Surely one of the Stearne siblings could be reasoned with. “Gilbert, please. You know me. You know I’m not a witch.”

  He looked away, as if ashamed.

  Okay, no reasoning with him, either.

  “You will not get away with this,” Elizabeth said, resorting to threats. “This is murder. Everyone in the village will know it was you.”

  “The village will be glad to see the back of you,” Felicity said with ease. “They were more than happy to testify about your wickedness.”

  “The Baldrys. They will be here any day now, and they will wonder where I am.”

  “True, they have fallen under your sway, but the time apart will lift the veil from their eyes. They will rejoice to find you gone.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. She refused to believe that. “Mrs. Baldry won’t simply accept that I’m gone without a word.” Not after she spent the last two years as a recluse.

  “People go missing on the moors all the time. They slip and fall in the marsh. We all know how you love your evening walks.”

  Fear coiled in her stomach. Mrs. Baldry would believe just that very thing. She lectured Elizabeth too often about her walks in the dark. “My solicitor. He won’t accept a story that I’ve fallen into a bog and drowned. There will be an inquiry. Everyone in the village saw me with you and your brother on Christmas Day. Suspicion will turn to you,” she said, desperately reaching for anything that might cause doubt.

  “Enough,” Felicity said, drawing herself up to her full height. “I charge you, Elizabeth Halpine, with witchcraft and will offer you to the water. If you have not broken your covenant with God, he will accept you into the water.”

  Gilbert grabbed her bound hands and pulled her to the water’s edge. She dug her heels in, forcing Gilbert to drag her. “Reven! Reven!”

  “Do not call your familiar now, witch. It cannot help you.”

  Her heart pounded, thudding in her ears. A low growl vibrated in her body. She couldn’t prevent Gilbert from hauling her to the water, and she could only scream pointlessly for Reven as the henchman tossed her in.

  Her back hit the frigid water. The shock of the force and the stinging cold made her gasp. She swallowed water and coughed, arms and legs pumping to keep her head above water.

  Her soaked garments grew heavy and pulled her down.

  Reven

  He checked the chronometer again before walking around the shuttle for a visual inspection. The shuttle’s computer finished its calculations. Probability of success failed to improve, not that he expected any. He could leave as soon as he put on his helmet.

  The barn door sat open. Reven went to pull it shut and found a familiar clothbound book discarded on the ground. Before he could question if the sketchbook had been thrown in anger, a sharp, metallic scent teased his nose.

  As well as the scent of another male.

  Gilbert hurt Elizabeth. Again.

  His fingers curled into a fist. He should not have let her placate him last night but instead should have hunted down the male and broken every bone in the hands that dare to hurt his mate.

  Wormhole and chronometer forgotten, he followed the tracks in the mud and the scent of blood. They headed into the forest, breaking branches and trampling a trail that any youth could follow.

  He calmed his breathing, forcing himself to move stealthily. The abduction happened recently. The blood was fresh. They could not be far.

  When he heard voices, he crouched to listen. The growl that rumbled out of him was not a warning but a promise. The male would pay.

  Reven broke through the underbrush. The male’s eyes went wide, and his face paled as the dark-horned warrior came for him. The male shoved Elizabeth into the river, and she disappeared under the surface.

  His heart nearly burst with fear. He had only a moment for one action: vengeance or save his mate. It was no choice at all.

  Shouting his rage, he knocked past the male and dove in after his mate.

  The freezing water stung but only for a moment. He grabbed Elizabeth’s limp body, heavy with water, and pulled her to the surface.

  He laid her on the ground, a sound of distress in his throat at discovering her lips blue at the edges. Hastily, he tore off the outer layer of her soaked garments. She needed to be warm and dry, but she wore too many damned clothes. Frustrated, he ripped the fabric.

  “Demon!” A rock struck him on the head and his horn cracked on impact.

  He did not have time for primitive rock-throwing Terrans. Elizabeth was in distress. She could not stay here. She needed medical help.

  Reven scooped her up into his arms and ran towards the shuttle. Once inside, he sealed the door. No one could break it down, not if they hurled all the rocks in England.

  Cursing and clumsy in his haste, he removed the rest of her wet garments before placing her on the exam table. For a terrible moment, he didn’t know what course of action to take, to treat the head wound or to get her warm and dry.

  He recalled an incident when, as a clumsy youth, he sustained a gash on the head while assisting his father with vehicle maintenance. It bled profusely, despite being shallow. His mother wrung her hands with worry, but his father said that head wounds bleed freely. It appeared worse than it was.

  Despite the blood matting the back of her head, she retained the ability to walk and speak. The head wound could wait. Reven’s priority was to warm Elizabeth’s core temperature.

  He retrieved a towel from the overhead bin and dried her wet limbs. Her skin raised in tiny bumps at the hair follicles. The phenomenon did not seem to pain her, but it agitated him.

  “Reven? I knew you’d find me.”

  Her chattering teeth distressed him. That could not be correct.

  “I will always find you,” he said. He found a spare suit of flex armor from the shuttle’s storage. Sized for a youth, it would keep her warm. “Put this on.”

  She frowned. “Is that a man’s suit?”

  “A child’s suit.” He didn’t remind her that all Mahdfel youths were, by default, male. He helped her into the armor, one leg at the time and lifting her to her feet to pull it up.

  Once he closed the final fastener, the suit automatically resized itself to fit her body. The arms shortened and the waist came in snugly.

  “Oh dear, I look like a man,” she said. The armor covered her from foot to her neck. Light gray, the durable and flexible fabric skimmed the shape of her body.

  “You most certainly do not. No male looks that good in armor.”

  She smiled wanly as she sat back against the exam table. “I can’t believe you’re flirting with me.”

  “I can’t believe you’re worried about the gender assignment of clothing,” he said. Gently, hands on her shoulders, he guided her down on the table. “Lie still for a moment. I need to find out what they did to you.”

  “Just a bump on the head.” She touched the back of her head and flinched.

  “Remain still. You are not a medic.”

  “Neither are you.”

  A hint of pleasure tugged at the corner of his mouth. If she had the strength to argue with him, she would make a full recovery.

  Her eyes went wide. “I feel it doing something. What is it doing to me?”

  He checked the screen. No seri
ous trauma beyond the laceration. “Hair follicles blocking the damaged tissue have been removed. It is now cleaning the wound and covering it.”

  “It’s shaving my hair off?”

  “Just a little.”

  She batted his hand away, displeased. “Will I have a bald patch? I’ll have to wear a hat anytime I go out in public. Or wear my hair down. This is horrible.”

  “Vain little Terran,” he chided.

  “You like my hair.”

  “But I like having you healed more than I admire your hair.” He gave a reassuring smile, despite his own concerns.

  Her eyes softened, and the worry line between her brows vanished.

  He wanted to comfort her, to stroke her back, and fold her into his arms, where she would be safe and warm, but he resisted. Interfering now would compromise the medical treatment.

  Terrans were resilient, but she had surgery just days prior, and then tossed into freezing water, and suffered head trauma. All of that, and she worried about her head follicles. Surely her mixed-up priorities were a sign of a brain injury.

  “Can you hold my hand?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Holding her hand should not interfere with the machine’s work.

  He needed to break something, preferably that slimy Gilbert’s face, but Elizabeth needed him, if only to hold her hand.

  The machine chimed when finished. Unable to hold himself back, he pulled her in for a crushing embrace. She was so tiny, and the universe had no mercy. How could he ever hope to keep her safe? It was an impossible task.

  “I feared I lost you,” he said.

  “I wasn’t scared, too much. I knew you’d find me.”

  He pushed back to hold her at arm’s length and looked her seriously in the eye. “You can never go back. Those Terrans will kill you.”

  She nodded. “I mean… I just can’t… witchcraft? They were going to murder me because they thought I was a witch.” She kept repeating her words, as if her mind could not process the event.

  “You do not need to worry about them again. I’m not leaving you in this primitive time to be sacrificed to superstition.”

  “What do you mean?”