Witch Hunter
By
Lyn Armstrong
Copyright © 2009, Lyn Armstrong
Published March 2009
by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
Edgewater, Florida
All rights reserved
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Lyn Armstrong’s Celtic series:
The Last Celtic Witch–Book One
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com and www.amazon.com.
The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer–Book Two
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com and www.amazon.com.
Heart of a Warlock–Book Three
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com and www.amazon.com.
Lady of the Mountain–Book Four
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com and www.amazon.com.
Witch Hunter–Book Five
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com, available soon at www.amazon.com.
Dedication:
I would like to dedicate this book to my loving grandmother, Bobby.
The matriarch of our clan, this wondrous lady brings a sense of warmth and light to everyone she meets. Her generous loving spirit inspires my characters and my life.
I love you, grandma.
* * * *
Acknowledgements:
I would like to thank Tiffany Mason for helping me create blurbs and titles for the Celtic series. Without her, I would have no hair left on my scalp.
A big thank you goes to Kimberly and Sarah for their historical help.
My mother, Rose for being my last line of editing defense before submitting to the publisher—you are fabulous.
Big thanks to Jessica Berry for being the best editor. I feel very blessed to have her keen eyes and sharp intellect on my manuscripts.
Last but not least, Leigh Collett, the marketing guru of Resplendence. Your charming and
infectious spirit warm the cockles of my heart.
Thank you ladies for giving the Celtic series a home.
This book was written in memory of the thousands who were accused,
tortured and killed due to ignorance and fear about witches.
May their innocent souls find peace.
Blessed Be
Lyn Armstrong
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
“Make our horses go faster, Rhee.”
Lady Rhiannon Campbell laughed at her long-time companion as they raced their sable highland ponies across the open glen. It may be the sorceress within her, but Rhiannon loved it when that wicked gleam entered Mary’s jade eyes, her bonny, oval face flushed with exhilaration.
Rhiannon threw her golden braid over her shoulder to peek behind at her personal guards. Even their warhorses struggled to keep pace with her purebreds.
Her rebellious spirit settled in her stomach with bittersweet satisfaction. Lowering her head over the pony’s neck, a sinister smile tugged on her lips. She was going to get into trouble for using magick in the open, but it was worth it for the intoxicating euphoria that coursed through her veins.
“Hold on to the saddle horn,” she yelled to Mary. Closing her eyes, she summoned her powers. A yielding heat prickled the skin down her back. “Swift and agile, allow our steeds to soar through the air.”
With a jerk, their horses’ hooves lifted a foot above the soft grass as they flew through the air. Traveling faster than any normal animal, they covered leagues within moments. It was not until they reached the base of Ochil Mountain that Rhiannon pulled the magick from their mounts. The horses touched the ground, slowing to a walk as if they had not exercised at all.
“Huzzah!” Mary wielded her hand through the air, her wavy, auburn hair disheveled from the wind.
Rhiannon granted her a half grin and slid from the saddle. She walked her mount over to a nearby tree and tied the reins to a low branch. Her heart still raced from the thrill, but her stomach had turned queasy. She lowered herself to the grass to lie down. Picking a thick, green blade, she popped it in her mouth; the taste was bland on her tongue. White puffy clouds endlessly floated by and Rhiannon allowed her muscles to relax, enjoying the cool breeze caress her heated face.
“If I had the powers of a Celtic witch and sorceress, I would enchant a thousand handsome men to give me all the exotic jewels I could ever want.” Mary collapsed next to her, resting her hands behind her head.
“Do not envy me, Mary. Because I have the power of good and evil, my family watches me with wary eyes. Even the villagers treat me differently than the rest of my enchanted family.”
“They are jealous,” Mary said. “You are more powerful than your mother and father combined.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe they are waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“I know not. However, there seems to be something my family does not want me to know. A secret everyone keeps from me.” Rhiannon turned to her friend, a dull ache in her chest. “Do you know what it could be?”
“Nae. I do not.” Mary sighed; her large breasts rose and fell within the tight confines of her pink gown. “Although, I am not surprised. Everybody hates me, including your mother.”
Rhiannon lay back down. “Do not be vexed. She hates me too.”
Mary scoffed, “She does not. Lady Gavenia is just overly protective.”
“Aye, she is going to protect me to death.” Rhiannon flicked the chewed piece of grass. “I just wish I were not so…special.”
Mary turned on her side; the mild smell of perspiration invaded Rhiannon’s senses. She studied the striking features of her friend’s face. A violet mist gathered around Mary’s body that only she could see. This was one of the few times Rhiannon enjoyed being part sorceress. It granted her the ability to see sexual energy, feed from it, empower her senses with it. Mary’s sea-green eyes were hooded with half lids, gazing at her with a seductive look—her friend was aroused. And it excited her.
Slowly, Mary leaned over and placed her soft lips on Rhiannon’s mouth, her plump breasts pressing against hers. Rhiannon opened her lips and allowed Mary’s tongue to dance with hers. The mist from her companion seeped into Rhiannon’s skin, filling her body with a hot tingling sensation. The erotic feeling was exhilarating. One she enjoyed since their curious youth. Hidden from prying eyes, they would explore each other’s bodies. Rhiannon found that sexual energy fueled her powers beyond anything she had ever experienced. A forbidden obsession they enjoyed many times.
Mary’s hand cupped one of Rhiannon’s breasts, her finger gliding along the edge of her emerald low-cut gown, heating the skin b
eneath.
“We have not done this in a while,” Mary said in a low tone, her sweet breath wisped across her face.
“Aye, I have been occupied.”
“With what, pray tell?” she asked, her energy changing from lust to irritation.
Rhiannon shifted her eyes away from her friend’s probing observation. She did not want anyone to know what she was doing with her days. It was bad enough she had to hide from her family, but it was worse hiding the truth from Mary.
“Mother has me engaged with duties.”
“Duties?” Mary arched an eyebrow and lightly flicked Rhiannon’s nipple as if punishing her for lying. “Since when do you care about duty?”
A shock of pleasure coursed to her groin, making her deliciously moist. She enjoyed the familiar sensations, the comfort of another woman’s body.
Rhiannon licked her lips nervously. She did want to tell her secret. The pressure of keeping it to herself was toiling on her conscious. “Pledge to me you will never repeat this to anyone.”
Mary nodded, her eyes glistening. “Aye, I pledge.”
She unlaced Rhiannon’s corset and shifted the loose chemise fabric over her breasts, allowing the breeze and sunlight touch her sensitive nipples. Mary’s pink tongue darted out and lapped at an erect bud.
The ache between Rhiannon’s legs increased and she rubbed her inner thighs together. Gathering her thoughts, she continued, “I…I have…” She looked away. “Never mind.”
Mary jolted up. “You have been practicing the dark arts?”
“I did not say that,” Rhiannon’s words rushed out.
“You did not have to.”
Rhiannon looked at the blue sky and rubbed her forehead. A bad feeling entered her chest. She should not have said anything. The old gypsy warned her to keep their rituals a secret, even from her closest friend.
Mary smiled. “You are a bad lass,” she crooned in a seductive tone and then kissed her again, her tongue curled around hers. Her friend pulled away and probed into her eyes with a smug grin on her pink lips. “I like your evil side.”
Mary’s words sliced through her core.
“I am not evil,” Rhiannon pushed her away, no longer aroused. “I am just…curious.”
“Curious about the forbidden? How unlike you,” she replied sarcastically.
“I can handle the dark arts and I will prove it.”
Mary laughed. “Prove it to yourself or to your mother?”
The sound of horses’ hooves interrupted Rhiannon’s retort. Frowning, she causally laced up her green gown while Mary undid hers, exposing her voluptuous breasts.
Rhiannon sat upright. “What are you doing?”
“I do not know about you, but I feel like having a man between my thighs.”
Two castle guards halted near Rhiannon’s horse, their faces relieved to find their charges safe and sound. Master Rob, the youngest son of the sheriff scowled down at them, his bulky form seated stiffly on his horse.
“Milady, you must not leave our company. If your father found out we lost you…” The guard stopped mid-sentence. His eyes bulged when Mary walked forward, her full breasts swaying as she slowly undressed, a smile of encouragement on her face.
Mary and Rhiannon always loved to entice men from their duties. A couple of years earlier, they seduced a traveling monk. Since then, they would join in making love with a few select soldiers. Rhiannon’s personal guards knew her sexual appetite and indulged her tastes, but today, she did not feel like joining. Mary’s cryptic words about her being evil whooshed over her like the icy highland wind. She took a deep breath, thoughts of her forbidden powers weighing heavily on her. If her family knew she practiced the dark arts with the old gypsy, they would bind her powers and lock her in her chamber for the rest of the season.
She rubbed the tingling spot on her forehead, her heart heavy. She grew tired of hiding who she was. From her clan, from the world.
She longed for someone to accept both the good and evil side of her nature. To accept all of her. However, she did not blame them. Truth be told, she was afraid of herself, along with everyone else. Afraid of the evil power that coursed through her blood, her soul. Would she one day turn into someone that could not be controlled? Someone who would hurt her family, her people?
Absently, she watched the guards swing from their saddles and quickly undress. Master Seamus, a tall soldier of twenty-four winters walked toward her, his erection boldly posturing. She shook her head and he stopped mid-stride, his face fallen. Turning around he joined Mary and Rob on the ground. Both men ran their tongues over her friend’s body. She writhed on the thick grass, her breathing labored, eyes closed.
A thick violet mist deepened around the three. The light swirled in a cocoon and Rhiannon held out her hand, its power calling to her as if it were a living creature. The energy floated over to her and gathered around her hand like a warm glove, sizzling every inch of her skin while it climbed up her arm, saturating her soul. The pleasure they gained moved through her. Even though she sat far away, she experienced the same sensations. Touching, smelling, tasting the threesome in the throes of passion.
Mary opened her lips and took Rob’s member into her mouth while Seamus kneeled between her legs and slowly pressed his cock inside her. Their moans traveled over to Rhiannon, luring her to join them.
She went to rise when a flash of black caught her eye. Rhiannon turned her head to find a mysterious woman in a sable cloak watching her from the trees. She was so stunning with raven hair and delicate features. Rhiannon just stared at her, mesmerized. The woman smiled and blew her a kiss, then disappeared beyond a shadow.
Pushing to her feet, she searched the area, but the lady was gone.
Who was she? What was she?
A shocking sound of thunder caused her to glance at the once clear sky. Threatening gray clouds swept overhead while wind picked up dead leaves from the ground, swishing in a circle around the group. An ominous storm soared over the land, one that could only be created with elemental magick.
Apprehension etched on the guards’ faces. They stopped what they were doing and donned their armor and clothes.
Sighing, Rhiannon went to her horse and climbed up on the saddle.
“Damn your mother and her emotional powers!” Mary said as she quickly dressed.
Rhiannon led a horse over to her friend. “We must return to the keep.” She glanced up at the darkened skies. “She is obviously vexed with me again.”
* * * *
The sweet aroma of heather mingled with a familiar horse scent filled Lord Lachlan Fairbairn with a sense of peace. Even though he came from Scotland’s lowlands, he loved the rough and rugged countryside of the highlands. The craggy mountains, endless glens and challenging moorlands—the grand wilderness resonated within his taut chest.
Yet, while he appreciated the grandeur of the mountainous landscape, it was hard to enjoy the solitude when the nasally sound of Master Grigor Livingstone droned on over the leagues from Edinburgh Castle. Even thirty of Lachlan’s men traveling behind them could not drown out his incessant talking. Like himself, Grigor was a Commission of Justiciary, an Inquisitor sanctioned by King James VI. They held the authority to bring witches to trial.
However, that was where the similarities ended. Lachlan looked over at the bony man sitting on top of a warhorse that was too big for him. Grigor had sunken cheeks and gray eyes, a hooknose and thin lips. His body seemed to be lost in a fur coat while his head held a blue velvet cap with a limp feather dangling to the side of his face. He had a feeble appearance; however, his viciousness was renowned throughout the land.
“Master Grigor,” Lachlan interrupted his tirade on peasants. “Why is it that you requested to come with me on this investigation? Surely, there were other commissions you could have taken.”
His beady eyes narrowed at Lachlan. “You may be called the Witch Hunter, but I have more convictions than you. Since the accused is from a particular noble clan, I though
t you needed someone with more…experience.”
Lachlan took a deep breath, resisting the need to smack Grigor’s sneer from his pale face. He tightened his fingers around the reins. “I am called the Witch Hunter because I am an excellent tracker and no one can hide from me. Nonetheless, I do not torture the accused for confessions. So far, all of the witches were nothing more than luckless souls with vengeful neighbors falsely incriminating them. When I find proof of witchcraft, that person will be sent to trial.”
Grigor scoffed at him. “That is why I accompany you, milord. To make sure you gain the proof you need.”
“Think I am a fool? You came to gain the proof you need. I know His Majesty has offered you something in return for the conviction of the noble witch. What is it? Gold, title—”
“Land,” Grigor returned with a knowing grin.
“What land?” Lachlan asked even though he unfortunately knew the answer.
“Baird’s Glen.”
Lachlan swore under his breath. The king had promised him the same land. He studied Grigor intently.
Grigor continued, “Whoever returns the witch to Edinburgh Castle with a confession or proof will be granted the best land in the northern highlands.”
Lachlan felt sick to his stomach. Everything he ever wanted was within grasp, and now he had Grigor fighting for the same goal. He could not live on his cruel father’s graces any longer. Being the youngest of seven brothers meant he inherited nothing but a name and distain from Lord Richard Fairbairn, Duke of West Firth. Owning land in the highlands was everything Lachlan dreamed of, the reason for everything he sacrificed to gain the king’s favor.
How far would Grigor go to obtain Baird’s Glen?
“There will be no torture,” Lachlan warned. “His majesty wants this case handled delicately, yet thoroughly. The Roberts and Campbell clans are strong allies of the king. An accusation cannot be stated until there is evidence of witchcraft. All we have is a rumor. We must use tact and discretion.”
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