A Coven of Her own

by Saskia Walker

  “Do not lay your hands on my woman!” Cullen ordered.

  His woman? Her legs grew weak.

  His words only seemed to anger the bailiff. He dragged the point of his blade down her breastbone, drawing blood, and ripped the fabric apart, exposing once and for all exactly how much of a woman she was. The fine lawn tore easily. Her skin stung, and her blood boiled.

  The crowd of onlookers exchanged opinions, and many looked at her with sympathy. Sunny swallowed, realizing her mistake. She should have kept schtum. Pulling the torn shirt together, she attempted to cover her bared cleavage.

  “I am the bailiff in these parts,” the man declared, pointing his sword now at Cullen. “It’s my job to seek out and punish criminal acts.”

  “No crime has been committed,” Cullen replied angrily, his hand on the pommel of his sword, “but there will be, should you touch my woman again.”

  The bailiff chortled. “Your mind is clearly addled, for you are a nobleman and yet this strange creature you call your woman... have you lost your faculties?”

  Sunny looked around the crowd.

  There was no one else of color amongst them.

  In her time, Raven’s Landing was a diverse community. It was 1820 though, and the likelihood of them having seen anyone of mixed race or ethnic minority was possible, but slender. She was dressed in men’s clothing and accompanying a man whose reputation was currently under a cloud. They’d walked into it, but there was no other way to reach Cullen’s rendezvous point.

  Across the cobbles, the crowd thickened, observing the stand off from a safe distance. She saw sympathy on many faces, curiosity on the rest. She had the feeling they’d have let them walk on by, if it hadn’t been for the overbearing interference of the trader, and the bailiff.

  For a moment she thought Cullen would walk away, but he didn’t. Instead he unsheathed his sword, and assumed a fencing position.

  Sunny’s jaw dropped. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Not content with the blood of one man on your hands, Thaine?” The bailiff spoke more to the onlookers, as if trying to impress them, but he didn’t put his sword away, and assumed a fighting stance. “Are you sure you wish to add to your misdeeds by confronting the law bringer?”

  “The only injustice here is delivered by you, bailiff,” Cullen responded through gritted teeth.

  “Cullen, be careful.”

  Several men in the crowd cheered Cullen on.

  The man in charge wasn’t universally liked, Sunny figured.

  “I will have you in the stocks before mid morn,” the bailiff declared in a warning tone.

  Cullen looked the bailiff up and down with some doubt, then stepped forward, clashed his sword against his opponent’s, then defended and quickly returned.

  Sunny watched, astonished.

  Their blades rang again, the sound of steel on steel magnifying the fear she felt. If Cullen sustained an injury in some bizarre machismo exchange, she’d never forgive herself—and as for the threat of the stocks and punishment, it just didn’t bear thinking about. Her dream truly had become a nightmare.

  They traded blows, their weapons lancing.

  Cullen wielded his sword again, easily deflecting the bailiff’s weapon. “If you challenge a swordsman with no good cause, Sire, you should be prepared for him to take you down.”

  Then, unbelievably, Cullen turned his back on the bailiff.

  Sunny cried out, fearing for his life.

  With a quick maneuver, he turned on his heel. His blade shot out as he spun around. The bailiff, who was moving at full pelt to pierce his opponent’s back, was brought up short by the point of Cullen’s blade against his cravat.

  Sunny’s heart stalled.

  The bailiff dropped his sword.

  “On your knees, blackguard!” Cullen stated.

  “I’ll run you out of Cornwall,” the bailiff bit back.

  “No need, for I leave on the turn of the tide. Now, on your knees.”

  Laughter and jeering rang out in the crowd.

  Muttering under his breath, the bailiff dropped to his knees.

  Cullen waved her over , leaving his opponent kneeling on the ground, cursing.

  Sunny crossed to his side.

  Cullen stared down at his opponent. “I will trouble you no more, if you let us go in peace.” He grasped Sunny’s hand. “Come, we will depart this place.”

  He quickly led her away.

  The onlookers moved back to allow them to pass. She noticed how the men lifted their hats in respect and the women ducked their heads. It felt good to feel his strong hand embracing hers. However, she had the feeling they weren’t clear yet.

  Cullen was focused on the shoreline ahead.

  She risked glancing back at the crowd. She feared they might come after them in search of more entertainment.

  Two men had ventured after them, and one was the trader who’d challenged them earlier.

  Annoyed, Sunny drew to a halt and glared at them.

  The wind lifted and thunder rolled overhead.

  They continued to follow.

  She let out a curse her mother used—Arabic words that used to put the fear of god into her as a child—wishing them all cursed if they took a step closer.

  She put out her hand in a halt sign.

  Astonishingly the men halted instantly, as if frozen to the spot.

  “What in god’s name did you say to them?” Cullen asked.

  “Nothing in god’s name,” she said, laughing, as amazed as he was. “It’s a curse my Moroccan mother used to say when she was really angry.”

  “You must teach it to me,” he replied with a laugh, and hurried her along.

  She looked back over her shoulder again, needing to be sure.

  The two locals in pursuit were just as before, standing still as if frozen in time. Beyond them the crowd blurred in her vision, but one face remained, and just before Sunny turned away for the last time. She thought the face looked familiar—a man with a widow’s peak.

  But no, it couldn’t be.

  He watched her with interest, and then his eyes flashed silver.

  She blinked and he was gone.

  She turned away and clung to Cullen, darting alongside him.

  “You may have to come with me aboard the Gloriana,” he announced in a matter of fact tone, “for I cannot leave you in peril, lass. Either that or I stay, and defy my debt of honor to be by your side.”

  A disbelieving laugh escaped her.

  I’m still dreaming, right, she thought, and grinned.

  He returned her grin, his eyes twinkling again. “Now that I witness your beautiful smile, lass, I know why they called you Sunny.”

  Sunny’s heart fluttered in her chest, her emotions running high.

  “You risked your life for me,” she whispered, and glanced at him as they hastened away. She could still scarcely believe it was true.

  He seemed startled by her remark. “What sort of a man would I be, if I did not?”

  I wish I could keep this dream forever, Sunny thought, or—better still—keep the man!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Witchcraft, Cullen decided. He’d seen it before in Raven’s Landing, and there was no way to explain what had happened with their pursuers otherwise. Sunny was one of the magical women in the area, a secret trade passed down from generation to generation.

  Nevertheless, Cullen rued the fight, unavoidable though it was. The lass had stolen his affections and he would defend her to the death—a notion she seemed to find shocking.

  A pity it was market day. Folks traveled from far and wide to buy and sell their wares in the marketplace, and he hadn’t wanted to stop and explain himself to anyone he knew. The small feminine hand inside his clung tight, and that pleased him.

  When they reached the far side of the town, he headed along the shore edge toward the caves at the cliffs. Nathaniel had told him there would be a boat lodged in an old cave they used to frequent as children. He was fortu
nate to have a good friend like Nathaniel, who had stepped in and offered a solution, although Cullen couldn’t help wondering how Nathaniel had gained him passage aboard a passing ship so quickly.

  Dark clouds gathered overhead. The weather had turned since dawn. This did not bode well. The ship may have to wait for calmer waters, or, worse still, be unable to drop anchor at all, in order to collect him. On the horizon, he could just see the shapes of the fishing boats heading back in to the harbor with their catch, cut short perhaps by the turn in the weather.

  The cliffs reared up at their side, and he craned his neck in an effort to determine the outcrop of rock that would indicate the old hiding place. The winds buffeted against them, and the sea was getting rougher. At the shore edge, seaweed rolled on the crest of the edgy waves.

  Just as he began to think he’d missed the entrance to the cave, they came upon it and he pointed it out to Sunny, ushering her inside. It was just as he remembered it, smaller perhaps, but sheltered and haven-like. There was a drifting tide of sand against one wall, from the high tides of the spring. Against the other sat the rowboat Nathaniel had arranged for him.

  “Nathaniel thought of everything. I’ll be able to row out to the Gloriana when she sails into the bay, without drawing too much attention to myself. They are collecting a cargo of tin along the coast and Nathaniel has paid them a good price for taking me on board. I don’t want to draw any more fuss.”

  One glance at her told him she wasn’t taking his words in.

  He sighed and dropped his knapsack, flinging off his cloak and laying it down on the sandy floor for her to sit upon. He had a look around and reassured himself the cave was safe enough to give them cover until the ship dropped anchor. Once he’d seen it pass into the bay, he could make his way on board with the least attention.

  Now he had time to tend to the woman.

  She was shocked after her injury, and his sorry status with the bailiff had no doubt frightened her. The man would never have spoken to him in such a way had it not been for the mishap the week before, for which he unjustly carried the blame. He glanced over to where she sat huddled against the rough wall of the cave, her eyes focused vaguely on the mid-distance, her thoughts far, far away.

  He strode out of the cave to cup his hand in the sea water and returned to run it over her wound. “This will sting, I’m sorry.”

  He poured the water over the wound, cleaning it. She flinched, but not much, and made no sound. “You are brave, lass.”

  She gave a wild sort of a laugh.

  He squatted down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Now, tell me, what has startled you so? It’s as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Oh, trust me, ghosts don’t scare me.” She gave a weak smile. “It takes more than that to spook me. Although I have to admit I’m pretty spooked right now.”

  She had a faraway look in her beautiful brown eyes. They gleamed with some knowledge he didn’t understand. She was a strange, fey woman. “There’s magic at play here.”

  “You aren’t kidding.” She gave a disbelieving laugh.

  “No, I meant you, lass, it’s witchcraft, isn’t it? I’m in league with a witch.” Even as the thought had occurred to him, he realized the idea didn’t shock him as much as it might have done. Cornwall was full of tales of white witches and those not so white, women and men who could weave magic with their words and spells. Raven’s Landing was legendary for such goings on.

  “I wish I were, because then I might understand this, or have some control over it.”

  “Tell me what you mean, tell me about where you are from, your place.”

  Even as he asked her–and yes, he did mean to find out what was behind her sudden change of mood and her earlier comments–he brushed his fingers over the shirt that bunched and nestled between her soft, full breasts, and stroked the malleable flesh, weighing it gently and sighing as it took its effect on him. Something about the wench made him grow drunk on her presence. Was it witchcraft?

  He would never tire of looking at her—he knew that much with certainty. She was so pleasing to the eye and had a peculiar way about her he hadn’t found in any other woman, some spark, some lack of shame or the like. No simpering maiden and he liked that, he hungered for more of it. It would be difficult to leave Cornwall, doubly so since she had come into his life. Would she accompany him on his travels? He would try to convince her.

  “The place I live in, well it’s here, but it’s not here.” She looked sad. “I think I’ve gone back in time, I mean, I’ve come back in time...to you.”

  Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. Come back in time? Her brain was surely addled.

  She looked at him with sudden, dark intensity glistening in her eyes and then she looked away and stared at the cave walls. “You think I’m mad, don’t you?”

  “What you are saying makes little sense. Maybe you gave your pretty head a bash last night.” He was eager to draw her attention back to him.

  “Maybe I did.” She gave a sad sigh.

  He sensed confusion in her, rather than madness, and wondered if she were weaving some strange tale to amuse him. Her eyes were still focused on the far wall of the cave. “You’re not from these parts, I can see that, but you’ve no need to try to impress me with tall tales.”

  “No, Cullen, please listen.” Her eyes shone with tears, and she gripped his arm with sudden desperation. “I thought it was a dream, but it isn’t.” She shook her head. “I’m meant to be in the future, two hundred years from now.”

  Two hundred years hence? He laughed heartily, then he caught sight of the reprehension in her eyes and guilt stole into his heart. He stared at her. “What makes you think you’re from a different time?”

  “I live here, here in Raven’s Landing, but in the twenty-first century.”

  Annoyance hit him. “This is ridiculous talk.”

  She shut her eyes, one hand clutching at her hair, the other on the locket at her throat. “How can I explain it, when I can’t even understand it myself?” She growled with frustration. “If only I could show you,” she murmured, seemingly to herself.

  He stood up and paced across the cave, turning back to look at her. She was yearning for his understanding, he felt her reaching across the space to him. He shook his head. No, it was nonsense. It had to be madness.

  “Wait,” she said, clambering to her feet. She darted toward him, holding the locket she wore at her throat. “Look here.” She held the locket up to him, her hands shaking as she prized it open. “Look inside.”

  He was wary, but did as she requested. Inside the locket was a small miniature likeness of Sunny, standing by a doorway. It was incredible work, for it looked almost real, as if she were standing right there inside her own locket. It was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Can you see it, on the photo, the cottage, see how different it looks?“

  He glanced at the doorway, the walls. Astonished, his gaze ran over the miniature again. The beams above the doorway were well worn, as if they had been there many years, the plasterwork in dire need of attention. It was indeed the cottage, though. Nathaniel’s aunt’s home. “It is as if...as if it is old already.” He said it without thinking.

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes, you see, this is a photograph of me in my own time, at the house.”

  He felt uneasy. “The artist has painted it this way.”

  “No, it’s not a painting. It’s what we call a photograph. In the future, we can capture an image like this, with a device called a camera.”

  He shook his head, understanding far from being within his grasp. And yet...He looked at her. Her eyes were filled with hope.

  Everything about her was unusual and forthright, that much was true. And she didn’t even own her own shoes, for heaven’s sake. Could it be true? It made sense of her strange ways though, and the odd things she had said. He couldn’t deny that. Confusion battled within him, his mind and his heart at odds.

  “I
f it is true,” he couldn’t believe he was even considering it, “how have you come back to 1820?”

  She shook her head. “If I knew that...” She slumped and sat down again.

  Every instinct in his body told him she was telling the truth, or at least believed in her convictions, but reason defied it. He squatted down beside her. “I want to believe you. I see your likeness in the miniature and the age of the cottage there, but I cannot wrap my thoughts around it.”

  “You aren’t the only one. I moved to Cornwall and found myself living in a place where pagan traditions are kept alive and mysticism is everywhere, but this is far beyond my understanding.”

  Her expression made his chest tight.

  “You moved here?”

  “From London. I inherited the cottage where we met. It was my grandmother’s.”

  “The place was given to you, and you have no husband to claim it and keep it?”

  “No. No husband, nor do I need one.” She smiled at him, seemingly more at ease. “Women in my time can do such things without the need for a man.”

  “You perhaps, but not all women, surely?”

  She covered his hand with hers. “Don’t worry, there are still some things we need men for.” Her eyes held mischief.

  He laughed softly. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She was speaking the truth, as hard as it was for him to accept. But what did it mean? His mind moved beyond the obstacle of reason and ran with the possibility. “If your words are true, it makes our curious meeting even stranger, don’t you think?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes. I was asleep in my own bed, and then I woke up in your time.”

  Yes, he saw it now, how shocked she’d been, standing there in her strange undergarments. They were different in every way, and yet they had been drawn together for some reason. There was an odd similarity of their situations though. “You are lost. I’m trying to find a home. We seem to share the fact we are wandering souls, Sunny, in search of our destiny.”

  “Yes, it’s true,” she murmured, looking into his eyes. “I wonder if that’s why I’m here. I dreamt of you often, before. You spoke to me in the dreams, but I couldn’t understand the words, not until last night.”