by Holly Kelly
Her heart sank. He did not feel the same way she did. In fact, he seemed repulsed by the idea. Why did she not think this through? She was no siren; he would not be making life and death decisions based on his attraction to her. Or lack of. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I mean, if you don’t—"
“Hope,” he said softly, his eyes now on her. She blinked back tears, desperate for them not to fall.
Hope nodded and closed her eyes. “Yes?”
“You'll have to kiss me,” he said.
Hope’s heart took off in a sprint as her eyes flew open. “What? But I thought you didn't want to. I mean, there’s no need to feel obligated.”
“You think I don’t want to kiss you?” His brows pressed together.
“You weren’t exactly jumping for joy at my request.”
“I have never wanted anything more. Truly. But it pains me that you have to make the first move.”
Hope found herself once again unsure of herself. “I . . . I must confess. I don’t know how. I have never kissed a man before.”
He chuckled, raising her ire. Her expression must have shown her disapproval, because he said, “Don’t be mad, my dear, innocent Hope. Give me your lips and close your eyes, and I will show you how to kiss.”
Reluctantly, she pressed her lips to his and closed her eyes. Warmth lit inside her, starting as a pinprick in her belly and growing to a roaring flame as he worked his magic. His mouth, coaxing and caressing hers, caused desire to rise in her. She opened herself to him and found herself leading, demanding. Exactly what she was demanding, she did not know, she only knew she wanted more. She felt his arms come around her and gasped.
His lips pulled away only to trail down her neck as he mumbled against her skin, “Keep your eyes closed. Don’t break the spell.”
“How are you doing this?” She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him lift her up and wrap his hard body around her in an embrace so overwhelming, she’d swear it was real.
“Don’t think,” he whispered. “Just feel.”
Once again, his lips found hers and she did just what he said, caught up in his heat as he made love to her with his mouth. The experience was overwhelming—his taste, his scent, the feeling of being encompassed by him. He felt powerful, with a strength like no other. Yet with her he was gentle, caressing her like he was a faithful follower and she his beloved goddess. It seemed an impossible feat, to feel so small, yet so powerful in his arms.
Far too soon, the warmth of his body began to fade. She shook her head, knowing the magic was fading. “No. Please, don’t leave me.”
“I am sorry, love,” he said, breathless. “I have used too much power as it is.”
His lips left hers. Tears trailed down her cheeks as cool air washed over her, turning the heat to ice. A sob shook her chest as she found herself alone. Opening her eyes, she stifled a gasp. Conall’s face was ashen, his eyes dull.
“I shouldn’t have used so much power,” his voice rasped as his eyes drooped. “Now I cannot protect you.”
Hope shook her head. “You don’t have to. You told me what to do. I can protect us both.”
“I . . . shouldn’t have,” his eyes closed as he breathed, “kissed . . . you.”
“But you did not,” Hope said. “I kissed you.”
He did not respond. It was like before. He appeared dead, though she knew he wasn’t. Hope found herself alone—a dangerous place to be with a witch bent on destroying her. Regardless, she could not bring herself to regret that kiss.
Chapter 17
Lavinia rushed through her chores as she fought back the nausea. That stupid school teacher could cost her everything—her husband, her status, even her life! If she had to, Lavinia would destroy the perky little woman and use her entrails to cast a binding spell. And Conall? If she were truly wicked, she’d crush his skull like a melon and burn his corpse. But she wouldn’t. She’d simply hide his head in a more secure place. Besides, one never knew when one would need a henchman. If her husband ever discovered what she was, she’d definitely need one.
Rushing out to the well, she drew a bucket of water. Once the floors were mopped, she’d be done and free to pursue her art. If only Matthew weren’t so pious, she could open up to him about who and what she really was. But Lavinia knew her husband well enough to know, wife or not, he’d have her burned at the stake. He thought he was so righteous, but Lavinia knew better. He had more than his share of darkness inside his heart. It’s what drew him to her in the beginning. And being the wife of the pastor, she was the last person anyone would suspect to be the cause of the town’s supernatural troubles.
“Wife!” Matthew’s voice boomed.
Lavinia’s heart took off in a sprint. What was he doing home at this time?
He came bursting into the kitchen. His eyes immediately searched the room, his countenance lightening when he saw she was busy with her chores.
“What’s the matter?” Lavinia asked.
“That school teacher is up to no good. Did you know she came to school with a sprig of rosemary in her pocket? I know you don’t understand the significance of that, but I do. Rosemary is what the heathens use to ward off an enemy.”
“What are you going to do with her?” Lavinia leaned her mop against the wall and stepped to her husband’s side.
“There isn’t anything I can do . . . yet. When asked about the herb, she simply said she’d gathered it to use in her stew. That lying witch! I know she’s up to no good. I could tell there was evil in her the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“Do you intend to accuse her?”
Matthew shook his head. “Not yet. I want the full support of the town.”
“You have their full support.”
Matthew shook his head. “I can’t simply throw an accusation out there with only a sprig of rosemary for my reason. I need more to go on.” He turned to her in earnest. “You can get it. You’re a woman. Pay her a friendly visit and search for the evidence I need. I can tell you what to look for.”
Lavinia smiled. “I will, husband. I’ll do it for you, but I want you to do something for me.” She stepped close and toyed with the button at his chest as she raised her pleading eyes to him.
His eyes took on a predatory glint. “But it’s in the middle of the day. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a bit of the devil in you, too.”
Lavinia shook her head. “Just a desire to provide you with a child, my love.”
“As long as your motives are pure and not filled with lust. The act between a husband and wife is for procreation only. Any pleasure gained is for the husband only.”
“I understand.”
Matthew left twenty-five minutes later to return to his ministration.
Lavinia felt a twinge of pain in her lower back. She worried for a moment about her baby. Perhaps she shouldn’t have seduced her husband in the kitchen. She shook her head. A few herbs would nourish the child.
She should probably tell Matthew she was pregnant, but she knew full well what would come next—months of celibacy. No, she wasn’t ready for that. She’d keep her pregnancy hidden as long as she could.
She sipped a cup of raspberry leaf tea and gathered her supplies. She would see the school teacher just as her husband asked, but she doubted she’d let her in to chat. And Lavinia had no intention of finding evidence to lead to the woman’s arrest. That would be much too dangerous. They couldn’t have any inkling that Lavinia might be involved with the headless horseman. And the woman would undoubtedly talk.
No, there were only two ways out for Hope. She must leave Tarrytown or die. The latter scenario being the safest.
Chapter 1 8
Hope’s heart pounded as her feet hit the road. She hastened her steps, anxious to get home. Not only did she worry the witch would intercept her on the road—the sprig of rosemary did little to add to her comfort—but she also hated that she’d had to leave Conall at the cabin. With everything going on, it was likely the safest place
for him. Please don’t let him wake while I am gone!
After all, it had now been four days. The time has passed for her decision to be made. She was living on borrowed time. But she could not leave, not yet. She had to figure out how to break the spell. Converting Conall to Christianity had not worked, and she was desperate to see him whole again.
Perhaps then we could share many more kisses.
The thought came unbidden to her mind. The feel of his mouth on hers—the way it worked magic with her senses. His arms lifting her up, pressing her against him. The warmth and hardness of his strong body under her hands . . .
“No, I will think of it no longer,” she said, determined to follow through on her promise even as her heart sank at the prospect of living without the type passion she’d felt in Conall’s arms. “Hope, when did you become so shameless?”
“Shameless?”
Hope spun around and came face to face with Lavinia.
“I certainly hope you are not serious.” Lavinia lifted a carving knife so that her eyes peered over the blade.
Hope’s eyes widened as panic seized her heart. She turned and sprinted toward her cabin. If she could only get past the salt, Lavinia would—
Pain flared in her scalp as she pitched backward. Hope slammed against the ground and found herself lying on the road.
Lavinia’s sneering face came into view. “You think you can outrun a witch?”
Hope struggled to catch her breath. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Which part? Come on, Hope, be more specific. If you mean what am I going to do with your liver, I'm going to use it to predict the sex of my first child. Or perhaps you meant what am I going to do with your heart? I have reserved that to determine if my husband is faithful to me. or maybe you wanted to know what I'm going to do with your lungs? Those—”
“You are an evil woman with a heart as black as pitch,” Hope said.
“I assure you,” Lavinia said, “it’s as pink and healthy as yours. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, your lungs will show me my future self. And your blood, it is the most important of all. Your blood I will use it to steal away the years of your life and reserve them for myself. That is, if you are as sickeningly virtuous as you seem to be.”
“So,” Hope said, doing her best not to panic, “you are not only a witch, you are a murderer.”
“I am willing to do what it takes to be the most powerful witch in the New World. I will be at the mercy of no one.” Lavinia lifted a chain from around her neck. A large ruby in the shape of a teardrop dangled from the silver chain. “Do you know what this is?”
Hope shook her head.
“This is a talisman of my own creation. It is the link between Conall’s two halves. Without this, he would be dead. If I destroy it, he will die in minutes. It also gives me control over his body. I tried to take control of his mind, too, but he was too strong-willed for that. So, to complete my designs, I must break him. Weaken him. Only then can I seize his free-will. But then you came along and messed up my plans.”
“What are your plans?”
Lavinia laughed. “Power. It’s always been about power. Do you have any idea how much magical energy Faery contains?”
Hope shook her head.
“I could literally rule the world with that much power. And Conall is the key. Can you even guess how angry I am at you for messing that up? For giving Conall hope?” She raised an eyebrow. “Quite literally, it seems.”
“And what of your soul?” Hope said. “Eventually you will have meet your Maker.”
“I don’t plan on ever dying, but if, on the off chance I do, I expect to exist happily in the bosom of Morgana,” Lavinia said.
“Somehow,” Hope said, “I think the devil might have something to say about where you reside. Hellfire and damnation is what awaits a person such as you.”
Lavinia laughed. “I don’t think so.” The knife rose above Hope. “And now you will see what happens to those who cross me. Don’t expect to die quickly, Hope. You don’t deserve a quick death.”
The piercing sound of musket fire rang out as the knife flew from Lavinia’s hand.
Lavinia’s eyes snapped up, wide and searching.
“Ha.” Lavinia smiled when her eyes landed on something. Hope reached out to push Lavinia away from her, but something caught her by the wrist. Hope’s heart pounded in fear, but then her wrist brock free and Hope scrambled away.
“I think it best you step away from Mrs. Jones,” a familiar voice said.
Hope looked up and saw Mr. Henry, a smoking musket in his hand.
“Or what?” Lavinia chuckled. “You already fired off your musket, old man.”
“You may be right,” he said, strolling up close to the witch, “but that don’t mean I am unarmed.” He slid a nine-inch jeweled saber out from under his shirt.
Lavinia paled as she stumbled to her feet and stepped back. “Where did you get that knife?”
Mr. Henry raised an eyebrow.
“You would not harm a defenseless woman,” she said.
“No,” he sneered. “But you ain’t no defenseless woman. You are a wicked witch.”
He lifted his knife to strike her down when she raised her hand and shouted, “I am pregnant!”
His knife hovered as doubt clouded his face. “You are lying.”
“No,” she said, her hand raised. “I swear.”
“Swear to Morgana.”
“I swear I am pregnant,” Lavinia said. “If I am lying, may Morgana strike me down.”
Mr. Henry frowned. “You are comin’ with me. We’ll see what your sainted husband thinks about his wife bein’ a witch.”
“He’ll never believe you.”
“He’d believe me enough to have you searched. And if I know witches, they will always be found with their herbs and tools. Between my word, Hope’s word, and the evidence they find . . .”
Lavinia reached in her pouch, uttered a few words, and threw something at the ground. Hope was blinded by a flash of light for a moment. When her eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness again, Lavinia was gone—a smoky haze the only evidence she’d been there in the first place.
“Well, don’t that beat all,” Mr. Henry said, looking around. His eyes fell on Hope.
“Thank heavens you passed by this way, Mr. Henry.”
“Providence is smiling on you, Hope. Now I think it best we get you home.”
Hope nodded. “That is the safest place for us both. Lavinia cannot enter my home. It is protected.”
“Now how did you learn to protect yourself from a witch?”
Hope pressed her lips together. Should she tell him? Show him Conall? What would he do? She wasn’t as worried for herself, but she did not want him harming Conall. More than ever, she was determined to save him. She just hadn’t figured out how.
But Mr. Henry was the kindest, dearest man she’d ever met. And if she hoped to restore Conall, she would need help.
Hope swallowed her fear and took a leap of faith. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
Mr. Henry looked suspicious. “Someone who knows a thing or two about the supernatural?”
“You could say that,” she answered.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “You can introduce me to your friend later.”
“My friend is in my home.”
“If she knows so much—”
“It’s not a she; it’s a he.”
“There’s a strange man in your home? Do you two—has he taken advantage of your good nature?”
“What?” Hope gasped, heat filling her cheeks. “No. It’s not like that.”
“I certainly hope it isn’t. I am not opposed to reloading my musket and forcing him to do right by you. Though it may take time to bring in a proper reverend.”
“I am not going to marry him, Mr. Henry. Even if I wanted to, I cannot.” Her voice broke as emotion squeezed her chest. Her cabin came into view and her heart took off in a sprint. Conall was near. She
always felt tremendous relief having him close by.
Mr. Henry frowned. “It sounds like you are already in love with the man.”
“I do love him, but I am not . . .” She was about to say she wasn’t in love with him, but she could not say the words. The truth was, she might be in love with him. She truly did not know what she felt. She was a jumbled of emotions—affection, exasperation, attraction, frustration . . .
Still, it did not matter what she felt. She could never have him. They lived in two different worlds. They were not meant to be.
“Does he love you?” Mr. Henry asked.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. He cannot stay in the colonies anyway.”
“And you cannot leave? It’s not like there’s anything significant keeping you here, dearie.”
Hope shook her head as she put her hand to the door handle. “It’s complicated.” She paused before opening it. “Now, I want you to keep an open mind, alright.”
“You would be surprised how open my mind can be.”
They stepped into the room. Hope eyes were on the bed. Conall’s head bulged from underneath a light blanket.
“Looks like your friend isn’t here,” Mr. Henry said.
“He’s here, all right,” she answered as she moved to sit down next to Conall. Her heart pounded as she took the edge of the blanket and pulled it back.
He was still sleeping.
“Hope Jones,” Mr. Henry said, “why do you have the head of an elf on your bed?”
She turned to him in disbelief. “You know what he is?”
Mr. Henry did not look nearly as shocked as she thought he would. In fact, he did not look shocked at all, simply suspicious with a hint of disapproval.
“Are you the one who killed him?” he asked.
“What?” Hope asked as panic filled her. She turned back to look at Conall. “He isn’t dead. He cannot be.” Tears welled in her eyes. Did Lavinia break her necklace in retribution?
Conall’s eyes fluttered for a moment and then they opened. Hope felt weak with relief.
“I am not dead yet,” Conall said. “But when I do die, I would not put it past Hope to be the cause of it.”