The moon was still high in the sky and the fire crackled beside her, warming one side of her while Lachlan’s naked body warmed the other. He looked so peaceful when he slept—almost innocent rather than a… a witch hunter.
Witch Hunter.
What had she done?
With one word, he was capable of killing her clan and everyone in the village. A chill washed over her body and she gently rose to dress. She must never touch him again. Never be in his presence longer than necessary.
Heaviness descended on her chest and Rhiannon looked into the darkened tree line. A shadow walked closer to the receding light of the fire. Someone had been watching them.
She stood in front of Lachlan, ready to defend him from the stranger.
The light of the fire cast a glow over the features of a thickset older woman. Her clothes were bright with different colors and a black scarf was wrapped around her short gray hair. An odd mole on her brow shaped into a half moon gave her an exotic look.
Rhiannon relaxed.
“I thought I would wait until your lover went to sleep,” the gypsy croaked and walked toward the fire.
A hot blush entered Rhiannon’s cheeks, and she averted her guilty eyes. “I pray your pardon, madam. I did not mean to dally.”
The gypsy smiled knowingly, her wrinkled blue eyes stared at Lachlan’s naked body longer than necessary. Feeling uneasy, Rhiannon stepped over Lachlan and covered his body with his cloak. “Let us leave before he wakes.”
The gypsy nodded and without a word ambled back into the black woods.
Rhiannon glanced down at her handsome lover. Nae, he was not her lover, but a killer—a witch hunter. She must keep reminding herself.
He moaned and sleepily turned on his side, pulling the linen cloak under his chin.
She followed the direction of the gypsy, the moonlight guiding her way.
“Make certain he does not follow you this time,” the gypsy called back to her.
Rhiannon waved her hand and behind her, and all tracks disappeared as if the gypsy and herself had never touched the grass. Maychance, when Lachlan woke he would think ’twas all a dream. She smiled to herself—a wonderful, erotic dream.
The gypsy waited for her; the forest became thicker and darker. They walked side by side without saying a word until they reached a wall of brush. Rhiannon wondered how the gypsy found this place in the dark. She never could, which was why they met in the clearing.
“Ee commaud speld yett.” The gypsy held up a pale hand and traced a crooked finger in a circle. The brush dissolved like honey in water leaving a doorway into a concealed cavern.
Rhiannon walked into the large cave. It was surprisingly warm. A small fire crackled in a stone hearth, a bubbling sound came from the cauldron hanging within. The scent of nutmeg and pine filled the air, giving Rhiannon a sense of tranquility and peace.
A wide bed covered with furs dominated a third of the cave and Rhiannon wondered not for the first time why one old woman needed such a large bed.
The gypsy went to the cauldron and Rhiannon sat on an oversized chair.
“I did not think you would come this eve,” the woman croaked and dipped a ladle into the cauldron, then poured steaming black liquid into a mug.
“I am sorry I missed my lesson yesterday. There are…complications at Gleich Castle.”
“You need not fear the witch hunter or his men.”
“You know of them?” Rhiannon accepted the hot mug from the gypsy.
“I have seen the witch hunter before,” she replied and went back to the hearth. “And again this eve.”
Rhiannon blushed and sipped on the hot concoction. The spices soothed her raw throat. She stared into the mug. “What is in this mixture?”
“You seem to have the witch hunter under your spell,” she said, evading her question.
Spell? Did he only make love to her because of her enchanted touch? It was not something she could control. Whenever a sorceress touched a man they lost their will to resist, lust ruled their actions and she could ask them to do anything she desired, no matter how absurd. It had amused Mary and herself in the past, but the thought of making a fool out of Lachlan seemed wrong, disrespectful.
Insecurity ached in her chest. Was he really attracted to her or was he enchanted?
The gypsy stood before her and tilted her chin up. Her blue eyes were young and bright, not that of an older woman. She stared into Rhiannon’s eyes. “You are afraid.”
Rhiannon nodded. “My dark powers are surfacing more often.”
“And you fear you cannot control them.”
Rhiannon glanced away. Shame heated her cheeks.
“We will invoke your sorceress’ side and practice the dark arts. With full knowledge, you will be able to control that which is evil.”
“I do not know. My mother—”
“Is a Celtic witch and does not understand you or your powers.” The gypsy took her mug from her and placed it on the side table. Gathering her hand, the gypsy helped Rhiannon to stand. “If you suppress your dark side, it will fester within until it controls you instead of the other way around.”
The gypsy walked her over to a chest and pulled out a thick ancient book with Dark Magick written in gold across the leather cover.
Rhiannon tried to take the offered book, but the gypsy snatched it away. She held out her palm.
“Oh.” Rhiannon searched the pockets in her kirtle and pulled out a small linen bag of jewels. She went to drop the bag into the gypsy’s hand when the woman shook her head.
“I do not want your gems this time.”
“What do you want?”
She pointed to the necklace around Rhiannon’s neck.
Rhiannon clasped the pendent in her hands. “This silver necklace is of the Robert’s crest. It is not worth as much as the emeralds. Why would you want it?”
“My reasons are my own.” The gypsy straightened, even though her height still did not reach Rhiannon’s shoulders.
After a long pause, Rhiannon undid her necklace and handed it over. The gypsy flipped through several crusty pages and then shoved the open book into her hands. The woman hobbled over to a small chest on a wooden table near the hearth and carefully placed the necklace within.
“Where did you get this book?” Rhiannon asked. She held her place in the book and flipped over the front cover.
“I stole it from a sorceress. Now read the passage,” she demanded.
Rhiannon tilted the book to garner the light from the fireplace and read aloud:
“Be thy sorcerer born from a female seed,
powers conjured from the devil’s breed.
For a maiden to travel when evil calls,
a sorceress must learn to walk through walls.”
She looked up from the book; the shock of discovery hit her full force. “I can walk through walls?”
The gypsy smiled and nodded. “Concentrate on the surroundings outside. Intent drives your power.”
Rhiannon closed the book and placed it on the table. She closed her eyes and thought of the forest outside the cave, the thick brush and trees swaying in the shadows. She opened her eyes.
Nothing.
She was still inside the cavern.
“Focus your energies on where you want to be. See yourself on the other side of the wall,” the gypsy said.
Rhiannon shook her clammy hands. Closing her eyes again, she envisioned the wooded area. The tangy smell of moss growing on odd-shaped boulders. The feel of soggy grass beneath her feet and the twittering sounds of night insects piercing the still air.
A chill swept over her body, taking all her energy, even her strength to stand. She crumbled to the ground, her hair covering her face. With a great amount of effort, she pushed up on her hands and lifted her head.
She was outside!
She did it!
She traveled through the cave wall.
The damp leaves stuck to her hands when she rose unsteadily to her feet. Her heart pumped harder and she
remained breathless, but it was worth it.
“Well met, milady,” the gypsy said and clapped her hands when she walked outside.
“Thank you,” Rhiannon cried and hugged the woman’s round shoulders.
The gypsy patted her on the back. “You are not strong enough to practice any further than a nearby wall. In time you will be powerful to go anywhere in the world with a mere thought.”
Excitement darted through her. Could she really visit her aunt in France anytime she wished?
“Come, there is much to learn before sunrise.” The gypsy led her inside and Rhiannon looked around the forest, still in awe of her newfound powers.
Rhiannon returned to Gleich Castle just before the sun brightened the evening sky. She was exhausted but elated. The siege entrance loomed before her.
I could try to walk through it.
She shook her head. She was too tired to practice her craft. Instead she pushed the square rock that opened the solid door. The wall shifted and she lowered her head to walk through the passage. Once on the other side, the wall returned to its place and Rhiannon turned to find Lachlan leaning against the castle wall. His arms were crossed and his eyes closed. He looked to be asleep while still standing.
She tried to tiptoe past him, hoping not to disturb his slumber.
“Where have you been?” his deep voice broke the silence of the still morning.
Her heart dropped and her empty stomach churned. She could not answer him. She did not even want to face him.
Lachlan pushed away from the wall and stood in front of her. “Did you finally meet up with your lover?”
He wrapped her forgotten cloak around her chilled shoulders. Rhiannon wished she could disappear into the soft fabric still warm from his hands.
“Was I not enough for you?” he accused, his tone rough.
What could she say? That making love to Lachlan was the most erotic experience of her life. That she doubted anyone could come close to what he made her feel.
Rhiannon studied her hands, her muscles becoming more lethargic. “I am going to bed.”
She moved to walk around him when he stepped in her way. His rich masculine scent and presence effected her emotions, creating a yearning she could not control. Her body wanted his touch, wanted him inside her again.
“Perhaps, no man can satisfy you,” he said, his voice gravel.
Only you, Witch Hunter. She responded quietly, “Perhaps.”
“So that is where we stand.” He held her chin up, his lips only a breath away from hers.
Kiss me, kiss me. Rhiannon closed her eyes, willing him to do her bidding, but he sneered and moved away. Leaving her chilled, wanting more and her heart aching.
Tears stung her eyes, and she lowered her head and ran around him.
She cursed her weakness. Most men she dismissed with a wave of her hand, but Lachlan was different. She was vulnerable with him. What he thought of her mattered, hurt or thrilled her. Pulling the edges of the cloak around her neck, she rushed inside.
Chapter Eight
’Twas early in the morn when a knock woke Grigor from a sound sleep. He opened the door to find Mary standing in the hallway. Normally, he would have her flogged for waking him, but he needed her acquiescence...for now. Schooling his features into agreeability, he motioned her in. Swaying her hips as she walked, she gave him a seductive grin. Women were ruled by their lusts and insecurities, and this wench was no different.
It amused him that no one else saw through Mary’s brave exterior. She was just a poor commoner filled with uncontrollable envy for her noble friend.
He crossed his arms and released an extra loud sigh. “’Tis such a shame.”
“What is?” Mary asked.
“Since nobody is willing to tell me the truth about Lady Rhiannon, I will have to bring the king’s regiment into the village to search for answers.”
Mary remained silent; the pulse on her neck appeared to throb faster.
Grigor smothered a smile and continued, “A lot of good people will lose their homes, including you. It does not seem fair that she…gets to live in this big, luxurious castle.”
“Surely, you…you would not let the soldiers destroy my home. It is not much but…”
“I cannot help anyone who does not help me,” he said pointedly.
Grigor imprisoned her voluptuous body in his arms. “However, if you testify she is a witch at Edinburgh, you may be the mistress of my large estate, Baird’s Glen. If not…” He abruptly released her and walked a few paces forward. “I dare say you will lose all.”
He heard a whisper but could not make out the words. He turned on his heel, his heart beating with hope. “What did you say?”
She lifted her gaze, her eyes glassy. “Rhee is a Celtic witch.”
Grigor wanted to whoop with joy but contained his enthusiasm. “And you will testify in the Justiciary courts?”
She nodded. “Just do not send any soldiers.”
“Of course,” he said in a smooth voice and bowed.
Baird’s Glen was almost his for the taking. But he must not get too overconfident. Mary had agreed to be his witness, but ’twas not enough. One peasant’s word against an aristocrat would not hold as much conviction as a confession from the witch.
He needed more.
With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed Mary to her knees. Lifting his nightshirt, he grabbed her red locks tight within his fist.
“This time, swallow it all.”
She opened her mouth and he pushed his erection inside, inch by inch. He imagined the witch in the torture dungeon, her naked body bloody and bruised. Lady Rhiannon would plead for his mercy and he would grant her none.
Grigor felt his heavy orbs tighten at the vision.
Very soon, it would be Rhiannon begging to suck his cock.
* * * *
Only the soft muffle of Rhiannon’s slippers upon the stone floor interrupted the quiet while she hastily walked through the hallways. Soon the servants would rise to start their morning duties and she wanted to return to her chamber without her mother knowing she had been out all eve.
A door creaked open and Rhiannon quickly sidled against the opposite wall. Mary closed the guest’s door behind her without looking up. What was her friend doing sneaking out of the Inquisitor’s chamber?
“You are up early,” Rhiannon’s voice cut the silence.
Mary jumped and turned. “Leave me alone,” she answered and ran her hand through her messy locks.
“What were you doing in Master Grigor’s chamber?”
Mary raised her head and scrunched her nose. “Since you are never around, I had to find someone else to fuck.”
Rhiannon grimaced. The image of the older man on top of Mary’s soft, lithe form made her feel ill. Her friend must truly be lonely if Grigor had lured her into his bed.
She stepped closer to Mary, but her friend sidestepped out of her reach, a guilty flush on her face.
Rhiannon paused and tilted her head. “I need to sleep, but let us meet at the lake in the afternoon?”
A spark of light went through Mary’s green eyes, then it dulled and she lowered them. “I…” She went to say something but stopped. “Grigor told me not to talk to you.”
“Since when do you follow orders from the likes of him?” she accused.
“The likes of him? I am low born just like him.” Mary scowled and walked passed Rhiannon. She called over her shoulder, “I am sorry our presence offends your noble sensibilities.”
“Mary!” Rhiannon watched her friend walk toward the stairs. “Mary!”
What was going wrong with her life? One day everything was fine, and the next her whole world turned around. Feelings she had for one person, she now felt for another, for the enemy of her clan. Perhaps she deserved Mary’s sneer. They were usually inseparable, but since Lachlan arrived, she hardly had any time for her childhood companion.
She must change that. Their friendship was everything to her, and r
ight now, she needed someone on her side. Someone to talk to about Lachlan. Rhiannon yawned and walked to the end of the hallway. Her skin prickled with sensitivity, alerting her to high energy emanating from within the castle.
Someone had summoned a Goddess. But who would go against the rule of no magick? And why? Shaking exhaustion off her weary body, she followed her instincts to the upper west chamber. The hair on her arms lifted. Behind the door, a Goddess had to be present. Slowly, she opened the door a crack and peeked in to find her grandmother talking to Goddess Triana.
A white mist sparkled around an alluring blue lady, her transparent body floated above the floor. Her white hair sashayed around her shoulders as if she was beneath the water. Her full eyes shone vibrant green while her black lips pursed with concern.
“We must remove the hex on Rhiannon,” her grandmother said. “We are running out of time.”
“I am sorry Lady Adela, only the chosen one can save her,” Triana replied in a lyric voice.
Hex? Chosen one? What were they talking about?
“There must be something we have not thought about…” Adela’s head jerked up and she pivoted, striding toward the entrance. Her grandmother yanked open the oak door.
An embarrassing blush heated Rhiannon’s face and she averted her gaze. “I pray your pardon. I did not want to interrupt.”
“’Tis unladylike to listen upon others without making your presence known, Rhiannon.”
“I am sorry, Grandmother.” Rhiannon tucked her hands behind her back.
“Come in, child and be quick about it. We do not need the Inquisitors to see the Goddess.”
Rhiannon hastened inside, and Adela closed the door firmly behind her. She smiled at the beautiful Goddess but the deity looked gravely at her. “Grandmother, what is this about a hex—”
“Where is your necklace?” Adela interrupted.
Rhiannon touched her bare throat. “I…I…”
“Did you lose it?”
“Aye,” Rhiannon lied, knowing they would both see through the falsehood. But how could she tell them she gave it to a gypsy that was teaching her the dark arts?
A long pause stretched in the chamber and Rhiannon cleared her throat. “I overheard you say something about a hex,” she changed the subject.
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