Capturing the Last Welsh Witch

by J. M. Davies

  She stepped closer, glancing at the table in front of the colorful witch, whose other hand rested on top of a milky-white crystal ball. The witch stroked her hand over the ball in a smoothing motion and Ella lifted her gaze to stare at the woman. Breathing in all the senses around her, there was nothing: the scent was normal. The woman was human and absolutely no use. Her dark wig slipped to reveal a patch of bleached hair underneath. A roar of disappointment clawed at her belly.

  “Come on, a tenner and I’ll read your fortune. I’ll tell you if you’re going to meet Mr. Right or Mr. Wrong or if you’re going to travel the world. Come on, a tenner, and I reveal all your secrets.”

  Ella’s blood boiled. A fury jettisoned from inside that had her reaching forward toward the woman to shake her. Realizing what she was doing, she sharply dragged her hands down. This woman knew nothing of the future; she was merely an actress, a con artist trying to earn a living. Some unsuspecting and yet willing victim placed a ten pound note in the witch’s hand and she swiveled away, beckoning for the customer to enter her covered lair. Behind her was a small enclosed tent and she quickly strode inside as the customer followed on her heels. Ella let out a deep breath and turned away. Well, that was it. What on earth did she do now?

  The room swirled around and the heat licked at her feet. She couldn’t swallow and her skin felt on fire. She had never been burned in any of her previous lives but she had felt the heat of the poker branded on her shoulder. Wincing, she tore through the crowds, needing fresh air, and pushed past men and women, not stopping as people toppled and twisted away or grunted as she nearly knocked them over. Voices called out to her but she ignored them as she raced and ran away to safety. She didn’t stop in the hallway but charged upstairs past the gruesome body in the coffin and hurtled down the carpeted hallway, past all the portraits of the people of importance who had once owned or lived at Tregowen House.

  She knew where she was going and took a sharp left, fleeing down the end of the corridor and opening the door that led to her private quarters. Once inside, she slammed the heavy oak paneled door behind her and shut out the rest of the world. She breathed in the past and let their voices echo around her, and she stepped away. The room had been painted a different color, and the bed wasn’t hers; neither was the furniture. There was nothing of hers inside the room: it was simply a shell, a place she had once slept in for a while. There were no feelings of love here, only heartbreak and loss. The wide wooden floorboards creaked as she stepped over them to the farthest long window that overlooked the front red brick walled gardens. She studied the long stretch of immaculate lawns directly in front before she gazed at the dark woods where she had met Barnaby that fateful night. The day was turning into early evening and it was already dark. The not quite full moon hung, suspended by an invisible thread with the mottled gray patches like ghostly eyes watching her and waiting.

  A hand rested on her shoulder, and she swiveled around, ready to thump or throttle whoever was there. With her right hand tightly coiled into a fist and raised above her jaw, she posed, waiting to hit out, but Marcus faced her and grabbed her hand with his.

  “Ella, stop. I know being here is difficult for you but when you run off like that, you draw attention—namely security—after you. This is a National Trust house—you cannot just run around like you own the place.” His dark gaze stared at her and she laughed, unable to hold it all inside.

  “I did once!”

  He sighed and swept her into his arms, clinging onto her tightly; she blinked away the memories of this room—the hurt, the pain—and snuggled into his warmth, resting against his hard chest as she sniffled. Removing his hand from her waist, he grabbed her hand and walked with her to stand next to the window and stared outside. Ella lifted her hand and pointed to the far right.

  “Over there are the stables, and that’s where Sir Charles shot my horse Arabian Spirit dead. He said the animal was wild and uncontrollable, but that wasn’t the case. I adored her. He liked to be in control, and it was one of the ways he tried to break me. Another was locking me in my room for days with no food. The servants were ordered not to speak to me. They were told I was mad and that being locked away was for my safety. Of course, it wasn’t like that in the beginning. For the first two months, I was treated with mild curiosity. I came from England. I was an orphan, but I had an inheritance, which was quickly put to use by my husband, who seemed to plot my demise after the second month and after the discovery of my growing friendship with Barnaby.”

  “Were you and Barnaby lovers?”

  Ella gasped and massaged her neck as she stared at him and then back into the darkness. “I wish we had been. God, I wished it were so but no. For all that Barnaby was, he wouldn’t take another man’s wife, even if he wished to. He was a Romanian gypsy and I’ve yet to meet a more loyal or honorable man.”

  “Did you love him?”

  Ella pivoted around. There was no point to this conversation; it was in the past. Even if Barnaby was Marcus, he didn’t have a clue and the man was dead because of her.

  “It doesn’t matter, Marcus. We didn’t get the time to explore our feelings for each other. Sir Charles put his plan into action and our fate was sealed. After we were both captured, I watched him die before my very eyes, trying to save me. Down there is where I discovered who I was and it’s where I met Ariana.” She pointed out into the midnight blue sky and in the distance, a tiny flame of yellow light glowed.

  “Oh, my God, there’s a light out there, Marcus. That’s right where the ancient stones are. We have to go there.”

  Marcus peered in the direction of her finger. A glimmer of a light waved in the utter darkness, as if beckoning for them.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Trudging out into the misty and now freezing eerie night was not uppermost in Marcus’s mind but he’d come this far and he wasn’t about to let Ella wander out alone. Watching the perimeter and dark corners, it was impossible to know whether anyone was out here lurking or lying in wait, which he didn’t like at all. He had pointed out several times that the light had since disappeared but it signaled that someone had been here. He’d grown angry when she refused to listen to his protest to return in daylight; she’d stomped off in a huff and declared that he was scared of the dark. That made him laugh out loud and earned a scowl from Ella. She didn’t know his history and he had no desire to share it with her, but he had completed an extensive number of tours, executing them in the dead of night. The big difference from then to now was when he was in the game, he was totally prepared and geared for that mission. He knew the conditions—hell, he’d earned the badge of experience dealing with the terrain of Afghanistan, fighting in the war zone—but here, with her at his side, the danger was insurmountable and the risks too great. He swore as he followed the stubborn woman.

  Marcus didn’t have a face for this enemy but as he marched into the darkness, his back tensed as his ghosts sat on his shoulders, watching. He didn’t know what the Elusti might use or what their ultimate goal was. He didn’t know their weapons or what to expect while lying in wait. He was going in blind and he cursed at their exposed position. Ignoring everything else, knowing he had to deal with the situation, he followed behind her sure footsteps like a lamb to the slaughter; he watched all around, listening for any sign of company, and then he would toss her over his shoulder and hightail it out of there. He wasn’t good when it came to sensing a woman’s emotions but Ella was different. She didn’t moan or complain; she held back her tears as she retold the story of her life as lady of the manor. She had suffered in each life. She had never found peace. He ground his teeth as he fought the growing rage and need to kill this man, Sir Charles. What kind of man would shoot an animal as a display of power or abuse a woman the way he had Ella so cruelly? As for this man Barnaby, why didn’t he simply take Ella when he had the chance? He didn’t seem much of a man either, especially if he knew the rumors and suspected what Sir Charles was up to.

  God, this tiny
woman who, in the freezing fog, was searching for answers, unwilling to give up, had suffered incredible torture over the years and yet she endured. She wasn’t a basket case. She was a living, breathing woman of incredible strength and resilience, if only she would slow down and be reasonable.

  “Ella, are you trying to lose me? It’s as dark as Guinness out here, which makes me feel the need for a stiff drink after this little adventure. But seriously, Ella—stop.” He grabbed her arm and swiveled her around. The moon glowed behind her, illuminating her pale blonde hair and heart-shaped face. Her pink lips were plump and her blue eyes sparkled. Her stubborn face told him she was intent on her mission but another face stared back at him.

  A picture clear and sharp.

  A delicate, untainted face with her hair coiffed and pinned back into a waterfall of rich auburn curls. She wore a gown of lavender silk; diamonds glittered at her neck and he stared at her breathlessly through the long window that looked into the dining room at the grand house he worked at. She was a rare beauty, young, and smiling. Lady Elizabeth had arrived not two days ago, all excited and eyes wide at her new home, but as he stared at her much older and very stern-looking husband, this was not a match made of love. Was she here because of his money? A stirring inside his breeches told him it was no business of his.

  It was none of his affair except she stirred his heart and watching her as she was swept around the grand room as the violins played, he found himself entranced by her.

  Marcus coughed loudly and searched the trees around him before he pinned his gaze on Ella. That scene he pictured—he’d never seen it before and yet it was like a sharp memory. He couldn’t speak as the night surrounded him and he stood in the mushy earth. The damp smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He was caught. Dreams as a child had captivated him, dreams he outgrew as a man but now he faced a woman who had appeared to him in them. With his hands on his hips, it was like atoms colliding and spinning around him or he was on a fast merry-go-round, swirling him around. He wanted to get off because the dizziness wouldn’t let him focus and think straight. He needed to process and understand what he was seeing.

  Marcus opened his mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t form. He battled inside his mind with everything that he had learned from Ella over the past couple of days and the words that his mother Josephine had spoken about, so matter-of-fact.

  Your father was a soul-shifter. Ella’s your mate. I didn’t think you would live to discover your fate.

  Damn it, he had never fainted in his life but an overwhelming sense of spinning out of control shifted his balance.

  “Marcus, what’s wrong?” Ella stood so close to him he could smell her sweet jasmine and a hint of orange. The scent drew him close and the need to touch her rose. He stared at her as if for the first time, gazing into the depths of her vivid blue eyes that seemed to say whatever it is, tell me; I can take it!

  “I know you…I’ve met you before.” He forced the words out but as they left his mouth, the air was sucked out from his lungs as the realization of what that meant sank in. He dropped to his knees on the ground.

  Ella quickly crouched down next to him, kneeling on the ground, her hands on his shoulders. “Oh, God, Marcus, you’re scaring me. Of course you know me. What the hell is wrong with you—are you ill?”

  Finally, he sat back on his haunches, letting out his breath and he rubbed his shaky hands down his jeans.

  The night he died was bitterly cold, just like this one, and the moon stared down upon him as a witness. His back jerked violently as his arms were wrenched from their sockets. A hulk of a man dressed in a brown leather tunic and wearing a black face mask continued to wield the long whip, lashing it across his back and slicing the skin open raw. Blood dripped in tiny rivulets down his back. Waves of pain assaulted his brain but he absorbed the sensation. He had learned over time how to let his soul wander above, not feeling the bite and sting of the sharp leather. But he twisted as two men dragged forward a woman whose beautiful gown was torn to shreds and her bodice ripped open, revealing her naked and heaving breasts. Her hair was disheveled and hung in matted curls. Her gaze heavy and dazed. A guttural roar tore from his throat and he pulled on the ropes that bound him to the wooden posts. To torture him, he accepted—but her? He would kill them all. The dirty scoundrels dragged Lady Elizabeth to stand next to him and pushed her onto the ground on her hands and knees. Then they untied his bound wrists and shoved him toward her.

  His legs gave way and he fell in a heap next to her. He moved his arm to lift her face from staring at the ground to look at him. His body dragged over the damp earth, his chest bare and he was covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, but he didn’t care and it didn’t stop him from tasting her just once. He pressed his lips to hers softly. Whatever their plan was, he knew they weren’t leaving here. He grabbed her around her shoulders and held her tight against his chest.

  “Know I will find you. This isn’t over. I will search for you always and they will suffer.”

  The look of wonder on her face as she stared at him as if he was mad gave him a spurt of energy; he released her. He jumped up and twisted around but a single shot fired from a pistol. He stared, stunned, gazing quickly back at her frantic and hopeless stare. He opened his mouth as blood dripped down the front of his chest and poured down his skin like a gushing well. A scream sounded behind him. All he could see was the beautiful and perfect face of Lady Elizabeth as his heart stopped beating and his life ended.

  Marcus inhaled a deep lungful of air and his head snapped sharply up. He had lived before and died. The night sky above him was clear and a million bright lights twinkled, saying hello. Marcus jumped up and shook off the grass and dried leaves stuck to the wet patches on his knees. As the missing pieces to his past were placed, he knew with certain knowledge what lay beyond the trees but he needed confirmation that he wasn’t simply going insane. Grabbing Ella’s hand, he raised her off the ground. She stumbled to follow him, but he marched them straight ahead through the tall evergreen and oak trees.

  “Where are you going? How do you…Marcus, speak to me!”

  At the concern and the confusion in her voice, he turned abruptly around and raised his hand to stroke her cheek; his thumb rubbed on the high cheekbone and he drank in her perfection. He pressed his forehead onto hers and kissed her parted lips tenderly before he wrapped his arms securely around her waist and joined their bodies in a tight union. The kiss he gave Ella was slow and soft. He didn’t demand; he took his time, savoring the feel of her soft lips as he stroked and kissed her. Tasting the sweet and tartness of her mouth that was her alone.

  When she softened against him, he broke the kiss and moved his head back a fraction to stare into her huge eyes that waited for his explanation as his heart beat like a war cry. He couldn’t bring forth words. He slackened his embrace and tugged her through the croft of trees as the moon shone down on them both. There, before them, as they pushed back the overgrown bushes, Marcus fixed his gaze on the misshapen and some snapped in half pale gray monolithic stones, of which there was nine. One lay completely on the ground like a felled tree.

  “I remember bringing you here and meeting the moon goddess with her flowing flaxen hair and milky complexion as she talked to us all and told us of what was to come and who we were. I remember thinking I should leave, that I had only meant to bring you to her, not stay, but as I rose to leave, her hand stilled my movement and she spoke directly to me without the need for words. From that moment on, everything changed and yet like the sands of time, everything she said came true and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  Marcus reached for both her hands and pulled her as he walked backward, leading them into the center of the stones.

  “I’m a soul-shifter, too, and that night, as Ariana spoke to me, I longed to tell you of my love for you but I wasn’t sure you felt the same. Times have changed but there’s a lot that hasn’t. I still don’t know the face of our enemy and yet he is out there.”
He wrapped his arms around her, feeling for the first time in his life this was absolutely right and that no matter what happened, he would do everything in his power to keep Ella safe and with him. He kissed the top of her head.

  “Ariana isn’t going to appear. I remember her telling me that was the last time she would make such a journey, that we were on our own and that by telling us what we needed to know that was all she was able to do or she would be cast out of the heavens by the angry gods. We need to leave it isn’t safe here. You’re exhausted and so am I.”

  As they moved away from the stones, the bushes rustled, twigs snapped and several hefty men dressed entirely in black stood with guns aimed at them. Marcus quickly pushed Ella behind him but the numbers weren’t in his favor at all. The row of mercenary-looking soldiers parted as a man of medium height with dirty blond hair, narrow gray eyes hidden behind square spectacles, and a pointed nose strode forward. Ella gasped behind him and she pushed into his shoulder, trying to charge forward, but Marcus grabbed her arms and held her next to him as she twisted and kicked out at his legs.

  Damn it, she hurt. She was a real vixen when she was fired up but charging after the guy was only going to end with her getting hurt. The professor had no qualms when it came to hitting a woman; he’d already seen him in action and damn it, he needed to think before they made a move but time was slipping away.

  “You bastard, you’re alive. I should’ve known you were behind this.”

  She struggled against his hold. Marcus stayed silent and analyzed the scene. He gripped her firmly, not wanting her to break free as he glared at the men and their rifles and mass of weapons strapped around their waists. He’d brought a small army along and all he had was a gun and his knife. Nice move. Had they been under surveillance the entire time? How did they know she was here?