Capturing the Last Welsh Witch

by J. M. Davies

  God, he was unbearable. So arrogant. “Women like what they see.” Ha. Ella opened her mouth, ready to protest, but as she tried to be shocked, she wasn’t. Soaking in his features, she had to admit, he was a gorgeous hunk of controlled strength and masculinity with his square jaw, straight nose, and dark, intelligent eyes. She stared as his suntanned hand, which combed back his closely cropped but thick hair, and noticed the light stubble scattered across his chin and above his lips. It made him even more handsome and dangerous-looking. She believed him when he said women liked what they saw. She did. Ella also imagined that he knew exactly how to please them in every possible way, which made her mouth water. Swallowing away her growing desire, she reminded herself that she needed to figure out a way to get rid of him, and to escape.

  Life was never fair.

  In all her lives, only once had she came close to real love. It was her second life and the year was 1676. She had survived the squalor of a childhood in the plagued-infested city of London and the Great Fire of 1666 that destroyed thousands of houses and churches but mercifully took few lives. The upside of the fire, which started in King Charles II baker’s house in Pudding Lane, was it vanquished and eradicated most of the disease-ridden rats, which diminished the plague, although it left large numbers of people displaced and homeless. However, her father, a vicar, after losing his wife the previous year, had already made the decision to move back to his family’s residence in Oxworth. They lived on a modest but respectably sized estate with a housekeeper and a few servants. Life was better, the air clean and sweeter.

  And Isabella grew up happy and carefree with little care for society or her place in it, but eventually she turned sixteen and her child-like features developed into that of a young woman, and it drew many stares and glances from the gentry and locals. However, when it became common knowledge that she had little in the way of a dowry, her suitors fled. Despite being told she was a beauty with a bonny personality, it seemed money carried more weight. Only one pursued her endlessly. One young ardent suitor refused to back down and overwhelmed with his persistence and the fact he was strikingly handsome. She fell head over heels in love with Sir Robert Jackson. Robbie, her nickname for him, was a nobleman by birth, but that didn’t stop the love affair that blossomed.

  Of course, he convinced her the romance must remain a secret for both their sakes, as both families were against any involvement. Naively, she agreed and when he suggested a clandestine marriage, it should have alerted her but she believed he loved her. Without banns or a wedding license, she agreed. After the hasty nuptials were conducted in a tavern several towns away from her home by a man dressed in ill-fitted clothes who said he was an ordained clergyman, she was blissfully happy for a few short days but the Elusti arrived and put an end to that and her life.

  The Elusti spun a compelling story of how they believed Isabella was a vixen who dabbled in witchcraft and had spellbound him. Because of the lingering history of the Pendle witch trials, and hangings, he believed them. Robbie had achieved what he truly wanted, and fearing it more trouble than his worth to argue, didn’t need much persuading of Isabella’s guilt. He didn’t need much convincing and when his parents arrived, it was clear they were instrumental in the Elusti’s involvement. They threatened him with exposure. If he surrendered Ella for inquisition, they would keep the fact she was a witch a secret, sparing his reputation and honor. Deep down, Robbie couldn’t survive without his fortune, which his parents threatened to retain unless he married a lady of worth; fearing such scandal, he agreed.

  It wasn’t until the noose was placed around her neck for the second time in as many lives that she knew she had died this way before. As the rope squeezed around her throat and the air left her lungs, a flash of her past execution rose up to greet her before everything faded away.

  No, love never lasted for Ella, no matter who she was or what year she lived. Love was fleeting. It left her alone, afraid, and usually at the hands of those who wished her harm. If now her time was at an end, so be it; at least there would be no more heartache. Maybe her destiny was to be alone. Her heart squeezed and she forbade the welling tear to fall. Love came and went. She rubbed her neck with her free hand, feeling the tightening of the noose, and blinked the bitter memories away, hardening her heart against sharing it with anyone.

  “So where are we headed? I thought I’d be in a prison cell by now. Not some battered, foul-smelling truck. What’s the plan, Nate?” She wriggled, feeling uncomfortable, and her arm ached, but she wasn’t going to say anything. She needed to find out what he intended to do.

  “Hey, don’t knock old Maisie. She’s a classic.” He turned the music down, and lifted his thermos to sip at his coffee.

  “And she belongs in a museum or the dump. Doesn’t the FBI pay you enough for a decent car?”

  He flicked his eyes over at her,

  “Look, Ella, I left my SUV with my neighbor and borrowed his truck. I did this to buy us some time. Don’t make me regret it. There are a few questions I need to find the answers to and I’m not getting much help from the agency. Therefore, I’m taking a little detour, which may or may not get us killed. But either way, I will not simply hand you over right now.” All the earlier easy banter faded. His voice was a dry monotone and deadly serious.

  Sitting up straighter, Ella wondered why he was taking such an interest.

  “What sort of questions?” She raised her eyebrows and edged closer. What was going on inside his head? Would he help her or was this another ploy to land her in more trouble? He said the word us—what did he mean?

  When he pulled the truck over into the service station, he parked and turned his body sideways to stare intently at Ella. His arm rested along the back of the seat and he nodded casually in the direction of a small diner.

  “You hungry? I know you must be. Maybe it will stop the shaking. I don’t need to be your enemy, Ella. If you stop fighting me, I may even be able to help you. I feel somewhere along the way we have our wires crossed and I need to find out why. I want to know what’s your involvement with the Elusti. And why are they after you?”

  Ella shook and she couldn’t stop when her blood sugar was low, which happened when she depleted her energy after using magic to start the fire. She needed rest and food. At the moment, Ella was cruising on adrenaline and her survival instincts, but it would not last long.

  Nate dug in his jean pocket and pulled out a small set of silver keys. As he leaned over, her chest stole her breath and tickled her nose. She could smell his subtle cologne, a fresh mix of musk and him, all male. Her heart catapulted at his closeness and for a second, she thought he would kiss her. Instead, she heard the click of the handcuffs unlocking. Freedom. She could bolt right now. She might even make it; she was a fast runner. But he had taken a risk by not taking her in and he wasn’t the Elusti. His coffee bean eyes flashed at her with an alertness that told her to wait, and she nodded.

  “You’re right. I need to eat and then we can talk.”

  They settled in the corner table of the mostly empty diner and a pleasant middle-aged woman with short bobbed hair took their order.

  “Look, we don’t have much time. My name isn’t Nate Williams, it’s Marcus Drayton, that was my undercover name. I want you to trust me, Ella. We’re going to my friend’s place in New York. He’s a Navy SEAL too—well, he was. I think he will be able to help.” He discreetly peered around the dated diner with the jukebox playing softly in the background. A young waitress wiped down the laminate counter, but her gaze never left them.

  “Marcus Drayton, it suits you but as for trusting you, how on earth do you expect me to do that? Anyway, how can your friend help?” She grabbed his hand to gain his attention. When he looked across at her, she drew in a deep breath. Just touching his warm skin sent a zing of electricity that rippled through her hand, shocking her. Being this close to him was a hazard and should come with a warning. She removed her hand and picked up her glass; the cold, refreshing liquid steere
d her back on track. Ella liked his real name, why he had chosen to come clean about it now she wasn’t sure, but it was simply another detail he had lied about.

  “He’s a genius. He’s called the Gateway. He can hack into any computer system and I need information. You and the professor—was it love at first sight?” He raised his eyebrows and narrowed his gaze as he waited for her response.

  Why did he want to know?

  “Excuse me...” Ella choked on the water and squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable about the directness of his question about Aidan. She stared at her hands instead. Their relationship was not like any other that she had with men. She thought this time, because there were no emotions involved, no feelings of romance or love, that she would be safe. How wrong she had been. With her hands clasped together, she sighed and sat back.

  “It’s just you don’t seem that upset at his death. That is, of course, assuming that you didn’t kill him.”

  Her gaze darted back at him. His eyebrows furrowed together, and he leaned forward with his chin resting on the bridge of his hands as he waited. His dark eyes scanned her features as if he were trying to read her thoughts. Ella ran her tongue over her lips as she contemplated her answer and leaned on the table to face him.

  “I didn’t kill Aidan. I would never do that but I think the Elusti did. My life’s complicated…” She shrugged.

  “Try me, Ella. Complicated is my middle name and I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up.”

  At that moment, the blonde waitress who’d been watching them intently decided to turn up with their two plates of food—steak, rare for him and a chicken salad for her—which broke the cozy spell. She put the plates down, and smiled broadly at Marcus. Her long eyelashes fluttered with a brazen look that made Ella want to scratch her eyes out. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her food and willed her irrational emotions to calm down. She stabbed her tomato with her fork.

  “Can I get any sauces for you? Anything at all—just let me know.” She flashed a brilliant smile, showing her perfect row of white teeth.

  “Nope, we’re all set.” He gave a brief smile and dismissed her, snapping his attention back to Ella.

  The waitress drilled holes in her with her glare and she smiled back at her sweetly as she moved away. Jeez Louise, he was telling the truth. The young woman could not take her eyes off him. Ella lifted her gaze once more as the waitress whispered to her friend and pointed over in their direction.

  How dare she behave this way in front of her, as if she were invisible. For all she knew, she could be his wife or lover.

  Ella stabbed her fork into the chicken, shoved it into her mouth and chewed to stop herself from saying anything. Swallowing the rubber-tasting piece of meat, she sucked on her lower lip as she contemplated her options. Should she tell him the truth about Aidan? No matter what he said or did, she couldn’t trust him. He was playing some kind of game and this was simply delaying the inevitable. But she could play along for a bit and figure out what his role was in all of this. She continued to pick at her food.

  Marcus cut up his steak and piled his fork full, swallowing his food with relish. He devoured the entire meal and cleaned his plate until he’d scraped up even the gravy.

  “Aidan wasn’t my boyfriend, at least not in the way you or anyone imagines. It was all for show. He wanted companionship more than intimacy. He was a historian, a writer. For all his social graces, he was rather shy and introverted. I don’t think he liked people much, to be honest. Last summer, I was a student in one of his courses and I bumped into him at the museum. He’s quite a bit older than me—sorry, he was. God, it’s all so much to take in… Anyway, he gave me A’s in my class and told me I was a bright student and should consider taking a full-time course. One thing led to another. He was persuasive when he wanted something. He was also a martial arts expert; he’d trained in Thailand. He insisted I be able to protect myself, and strangely enough, we connected. That move I made on you was called the Buffalo Punch. He taught me that—he liked to practice. The relationship was uncomplicated.” Ella pressed her eyes shut, remembering scenes from the last night that now haunted her. She’d been so careless. So stupid.

  “There’s more but...”

  Feeling his stare burn her cheeks, she opened her eyes. His face remained stiff, contemplative, and devoid of emotion. Marcus rubbed his thumb back and forth over his full lips as he patiently waited. Ella’s heart slammed into her ribs, as heat infused her cheeks. How could she begin to tell him the rest? What would he think? And why should she care? Maybe he already knew? Time ticked as she weighed whether to release anything more about herself.

  “I cannot help you if you don’t tell me everything, Ella.”

  Marcus stared at her but he moved his hand to reach out and grab hers. The thumb that once had been stroking his lips now rubbed the skin on her hand and a heart-stopping pounding began in her chest. Her body responded to his touch by melting and liquid heat spread through her veins, sparking a fire in her belly. Ella’s open mouth formed an O; she had not been caressed by a man in such a long time and she gasped at the escalating need. Right from the start, Aidan had made his intentions perfectly clear. His interest was not sexual. At first, she was shocked, and suspected that perhaps he was gay, but soon learned that wasn’t the case. A couple of weeks into their relationship, when she thought he would try to kiss her, Aidan announced that wasn’t what he wanted from her, and that he was not into forming emotional attachments.

  He went onto explain that he had seen the effects of such relationships, and did not want to be held slave to them anymore. At the time, Ella didn’t believe him, but having Aidan as a pretend boyfriend provided her with a cover that was too tempting to resist, enabling her to hide behind the facade. There were nights that they shared a bed, usually after a heavy session of fighting. But they never kissed or touched each other intimately. They became friends. Only, he had deceived her from the beginning. She was nothing more than an artifact or specimen he hoped one day to possess and keep in a glass container, like the many displays at his beloved museum.

  “I can’t, Nate. You wouldn’t understand.” She shook her head, feeling a fool again. Part of her longed to explain, but she could not trust him or put him in danger. She pulled her hand away from his.

  He wiped his mouth with the napkin and signaled for the check. “It’s Marcus, and I’m all you’ve got. Didn’t it occur to you for one minute as to why the professor would choose you? Sure, you’re beautiful, but beautiful women are a dime a dozen. You were played. He wanted you for a reason. You’re telling me jack shit, and I know there’s a whole lot more to this.”

  The chair scraped across the linoleum as he pushed it back. He pulled out a couple of crumpled twenty dollar bills and slapped them down on the table. Ella stood up and walked away from the table. He let her pass in front of him and once outside, grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him.

  “The Elusti kill people, Ella, and call it a necessity. They’ve been protected by the government before for God knows what reason. I won’t work for any organization that helps, aids, or justifies the killing of innocent people. Hell, even murderers get trials. The people the Elusti slaughtered didn’t. If you’re one of them, Ella, so help me, I’ll kill you myself…” he whispered softly against her neck as his face nestled in her hair.

  Small, warm breezes like kisses caressed her skin intimately. Shivers skittered down her spine. Her breathing stopped as her heart catapulted into the star-filled sky. In her five lives, no man ever had such a magnetizing effect on her. She blinked and her heart thudded.

  “I’m not…but I do know them. They’ve hunted my people for centuries, and they won’t stop until they have me.” She stared into the inky depths of his eyes, hypnotized and unsure why she was revealing anything to him.

  “Why?”

  As she stared at his soft, moist mouth inches from hers, a pulsing ache for him to touch her grew. “Because I’m the last of my kind. They’ve kille
d all the rest.”

  Marcus pushed back and shook his head. His dark eyes, like burning wood in a smoldering fire, left her motionless and a captive. He roughly pulled her chin up. “What do you mean, your kind?”

  How many times in her lives had she been asked that question? More than once and yet the irony was that in most of her previous lives, the only explanation that people accepted who’d hunted her was that she was a witch. Twice, she had been convicted and hung as one. Blinking up at him, she oddly found herself wondering how old he was as lines formed around his eyes, and one eyebrow lifted as he spoke. Sighing and unable to look at him directly, she gave him the only answer she was willing to give.

  “I’m a witch.”

  ****

  Marcus gripped the stirring wheel, and twisted his hands as if he were strangling the life out of someone, namely Ella Masters. A witch. For one goddamn minute, he thought she was really going to be honest and transparent. He should have known. Did she take him for a fool? If her answer was meant to be amusing, it had the opposite effect. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he should take her straight in and hand her over to the FBI to sort it out. God, his head ached. He didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be explained scientifically; at least, that’s what he told himself, but for some unknown reason, the idea of handing her case over to anyone else was unsettling to say the least. A long held obligation to a young woman no older than Ella gripped his reasoning.

  He’d given up all that mumbo jumbo, psychic crap a long time ago. Ghosts, witches, other life-forms: he’d heard it all before. Each one, he discounted and dismissed. Magic was a bedtime story, a fantasy, and he was too old and jaded for those. He knew firsthand that harboring such illusions was extremely dangerous. He’d barely lived through his mother’s spaced-out journeys, or second sight as she called them. The doctors called it paranoid delusions, which meant she spent most of his childhood locked away in a psychiatric hospital, heavily medicated. Her confession of being a witch hit the mark and pierced him like nothing else could. Did she know of his past? That was impossible.