“I beg of you, leave her be. I will give you anything.”
The witch hissed, “You do not have anything I want.” She turned and disappeared.
“Wait…” Gavenia called after her but it was too late. Rhiannon’s mother left without seeing them.
That’s it!
He had witnessed enough to pressure Rhiannon into confessing. If she did not plead guilty for witchcraft, he would threaten to take her mother to trial for consorting with a witch. Baird’s Glen would be his by winter.
He held Mary’s head and released his seed inside her skillful mouth, envisioning the lovely captive that would soon be his.
Chapter Ten
The spell she conjured disappeared and Rhiannon stared at the empty space in shock. No wonder her family did not tell her about the hex. They were afraid of her. Afraid she would turn completely evil on the day of her twentieth. What were they going to do to her? Lock her up so she could not hurt anybody? Did they think by not telling her, she would go calmly with them, be easily fooled as they walked her into the dungeon?
She did not blame them. In sooth, she was just as afraid of herself. No matter how much she tried to understand her darker side, command her powers, the fact remained—she could not control it. Everyday she felt the sorceress inside her grow stronger. Every time she became angry, an overwhelming sense of evil filled her being, and her hunger for the sight of blood increased.
She shuddered inwardly with dread.
Her forehead tingled again and she rubbed the oily spot. She finally understood why her brow had itched all her life. Her grandmother placed a potion upon her skin. She was hexed. It was the reason why her hair had turned from black to yellow. Her fate in life had altered with the curse. On the dawn of her twentieth year, evil would overtake her Celtic ancestry of good magick. She would be the reason the earth would slip into darkness.
She could not be responsible for harming her family, for destroying the world.
Her legs wobbled with panic, her chest constricted making it hard for her to breathe. Rhiannon slid down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor.
She lowered her head into her hands and sobbed.
What was she going to do?
A callused hand touched her and she jumped.
Lachlan crouched before her, his expression unreadable.
Had he been in the chamber and seen everything? Somehow, it did not matter anymore that he knew she was a witch. What difference did it make now? Her soul would soon go to a place she most feared. The sinking despair in her throat was hard to swallow.
“I am evil,” she whispered in a tormented voice.
Gut wrenching sobs wanted to escape her aching chest, but she held them back until nausea churned inside her empty stomach.
Why did he not say anything? Why was he just staring at her?
Of course, he was going to be like all the others. She waited for him to recoil from her—be afraid like the villagers. Or worst, clap her in irons and drag her away from her family.
He reached out to touch her face and she flinched.
Lachlan’s hand paused mid-air, his nutmeg eyes flashed with hurt, then softened. His rough palm cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing the fresh tearstains from the corner of her eye.
A compassionate smile flitted upon his lips and he shook his head. “What are we going to do with you?”
He gathered both her hands into his and helped her up from the floor. The moment she stood, he collected her into his arms and held her against his chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart soothed her like warm mead on a winter’s eve. She took a deep breath; the comforting masculine scent of wool and leather filled her, healing her despair.
She should not accept his compassion, nor partake of his affection and allow her armor to fall, even if it was for one moment. However, her need for acceptance and understanding outweighed her heart’s protective nature. Could he truly accept her for who she was? Celtic witch and sorceress? Good and evil?
Tilting her head up, she peered into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts.
His fingers weaved through her thick hair and held the back of her head. He kissed her lips with the softness of a whisper.
Rhiannon returned the kiss with savage intensity, as if she could absorb his inner strength through his lips.
Her world shattered into darkness and Lachlan was the only light, the only warmth to keep the demons at bay. She clung to him, his body, his confidence. A violet mist floated in waves around his aura. The sorceress inside her yearned to drink from his sexual energy, filling her powers, her soul with nourishment.
She needed his touch to chase away her despair.
Her hands clawed at his tunic, trying to undress him as swiftly as possible. She craved the feel of his skin against hers. A consuming passion overwhelmed all thoughts. He had to be inside her. Make her forget.
Rhiannon ripped the laces open on her gown, revealing her breasts, aching to rub her sensitive peaks against his body.
A deep rumble of laughter escaped his mouth when she pushed him back until he fell on the bed.
Rip! The curtains tore from the overhanging rods with Lachlan’s weight.
Rhiannon gasped and then giggled.
The dimples deepened on Lachlan’s cheeks, his eyes glazed with want.
She shrugged from her clothes as he fiddled with his linen braies, shifting out of his pants.
Standing at the base, her gaze lingered over the naked man on her bed, his legs dangling over the edge. His impressive member was bold and superior, nestled against coiled, black hair. Every inch of his torso rippled with muscles that flexed when he propped up on both elbows. He appeared so delicious lying on her bed. And he was hers.
All hers.
He sat upright and held out his hand. She laced her fingers with his and straddled his lap. Her breasts were mere inches from his mouth, tempting him with her pink-tipped nipples.
His stare latched onto her breasts, but she was not going to lean further forward, if he wanted them, he had to pursue them. With his hand supporting her back, his warm, moist tongue licked a straight line from the base of her breast, over the nipple and onto the top crest.
Pleasure shot through her veins.
He repeated the caress on the other breast and she arched her back, her hair falling behind her.
The violet mist increased in power, infusing Rhiannon in a cocoon of ecstasy.
Spreading her knees further apart, she lowered herself until the tip of his manhood nudged her damp center.
The musky scent of her arousal filled the air between them. He grabbed the back of her head and roughly kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers.
When the erotic ache between her legs became unbearable, she could no longer stand teasing his cock with her moistness. In one swift movement, she speared his member inside her eager passage.
They groaned together.
His hot flesh filled her being. Forcing all thoughts out of her mind, she allowed instinct to take over. They moved in perfect sync as she rose up and pushed down—each time warmth washed through her stomach, pooling slick moisture between her thighs.
The stubble on his cheek rubbed against her chest, his heavy breathing mingled with her own.
With his hands on her waist, he grated her hips in circular motions, causing him to rub against her inner walls. Rhiannon growled with heightened arousal. She could not pull air into her burning lungs quickly enough.
“Wrap your sweet legs around me,” he murmured into her ear, and then sucked on her lobe, driving her insane with pleasure.
Lifting up slightly, she obeyed. Within each other’s arms, they hugged tightly. It was the closest two people could get, and the intimacy tugged deeply within her heart.
The realization hit her full impact.
She loved this man…this witch hunter.
He jerked his rigid staff higher into her, and she felt something burst inside with pulsating waves flowing through her. She shudde
red and convulsed, screaming his name repeatedly in her head.
She ground against him, their slippery bodies sliding together, hot and erotic.
His thick voice said on a husky breath, “That’s it my love.”
Her body shattered again into a thousand pieces.
Lachlan released an animalist growl deep in his throat. Clenching his jaw, he squinted and spilled his seed, imbedding himself inside her. Their joined bodies melded as one until their breathing slowed.
Snaking his arm around her, he flipped her onto the bed. They lay facing each other, smiling with physical satisfaction.
I am in love with the witch hunter.
Reality’s cold hand blew all warmth from her body. Her smile faded. He knew she was a witch. He had the proof he had been looking for.
“Why…why did you make love to me?” she asked, dreading his answer.
Lachlan’s smile fell and he turned to lie on his back. He entwined his fingers across his chest and stared at the ceiling. Deep in thought, he sighed. The silence grew thick when he did not answer.
Her nerves thinned to breaking point. “Answer me!”
Turning his head, he said, “I do not know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to be honest with me.”
He propped up on one elbow and lifted a damp strand of hair from her face. He leaned down to kiss her and she pulled back.
“I am a witch!” Rhiannon sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed, her back facing him. “There, I said it. I confess.” She shifted to face him. “Now what are you going to do about it?”
Rhiannon swallowed. She was forcing him to decide on his duty or her. She had to know.
He licked his lips, his eyes boring into hers. “Rhiannon…”
He looked away, but not before she witnessed indecision in his eyes.
Lachlan rose from the bed and dressed himself. All of a sudden, she felt vulnerable being naked in front of him. Rhiannon slipped on her cloak and cinched it tight at the neck.
He walked over to her, placed his hands on her arms. “I will be gone for a few days to gather my men from the countryside. Please, do not leave. We have much to discuss.”
Rhiannon was now the one to shift her gaze away.
He tipped her chin back to face him. “Please.”
She nodded, even though all warmth had left her eyes and her heart. Lachlan was gathering his men to escort her back to the king’s dungeons. He could no longer to be trusted, and it broke her heart.
He smiled and placed a light kiss on her lips. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, but she held them back. Even though Lachlan’s lips seared her own, he was the enemy.
The Witch Hunter.
Abruptly turning, he left without a backward glance. The chamber seemed colder without him.
Laughter drifted through the window and Rhiannon walked over to see who was so happy when she was utterly miserable.
Peering over the edge into the bailey, she saw her family gathered near the well. Her mother chased after her father with a bucket, water sloshing over her cream gown as she tried to throw the contents at Tremayne. He ducked and weaved before getting drenched, then he chased after her. She laughed and dropped the empty bucket before skirting away.
Her grandparents stood near the well. Their hands clasped together, they laughed and shouted encouragements to their daughter. Uncle Callum smiled and placed his hand around his wife’s waist, the look of pure adoration glistened in his eyes when he nuzzled her neck.
They all had unconditional love with their chosen ones. Even her Aunt Drucilla found her match with the wizard and lived an adventurous life in France.
Assailed by the terrible sense of envy, Rhiannon shrugged further into her cloak. Trust her to fall in love with a man who would see her burned on the stake. A man who judged all witches to be evil.
In her case, he was right. Come next week, the dawn would bring her twentieth, and the sorceress would overpower the Celtic witch within.
Laughter floated up to her window again and she never felt so isolated and lost.
Her mother raised her gaze to Rhiannon’s window and smiled at her with sad eyes, then blew her a kiss with her hand. Her heart ached from the simple gesture that meant so much. All this time her mother knew of the hex. No wonder she was so protective of her.
Lachlan ran down the castle stairs and went to her father. Their heads bowed in deep discussion, then both looked up at her window.
Curses! He saw her. Rhiannon pushed away.
A clip-clop sound echoed against the cobblestones and Rhiannon peeked over the window’s edge. Lachlan gathered the reins from a stable lad and swung on his black warhorse. He galloped out of the bailey appearing at ease on his powerful stallion.
She admonished herself for missing him.
She was about to pull away when her gaze was caught by a movement in the shadows of the castle’s stables. Grigor stood with his arms crossed, glaring at her in the window. Even she could see the arrogant smirk appear upon his sunken face. A chill ran down her spine and she stepped out of view.
In the distance, Rhiannon heard the rising chain of the portcullis gate. Lachlan was leaving. No matter how she felt about him, foolish or otherwise, the reality was he would perform his duty as an Inquisitor. When he returned with his men, he would demand to escort her to Edinburgh for a trial. And there would be nothing she could do about it.
Unless…
Rhiannon ran to the chest at the end of her bed and pulled out several articles of clothing.
If she were not here when Lachlan returned, he could not take her to Edinburgh. Without a conviction, her family would be safe from the reputation of witchcraft.
It would be best for all if she simply disappeared. Run as far away as she could before her twentieth. When the hex took place, her family would be safe.
Would they even miss her? She had caused them a lot of trouble with her wild ways. They had carried a great burden all her life.
She shook her head and continued packing.
Tears fell, leaving wet spots upon her clothes.
“This was best for everyone,” she said aloud.
After scrawling a short missive to her family, she crept to the kitchens and gathered food for the journey. Her pulse raced with discovery. Hastily, she walked down the hallway to her chamber. She was almost at her door…
“What do you have there?” Grigor came around the corner and rudely peered into the basket.
She shielded away. “Naught that concerns you.”
“Hungry, are we?”
“Aye.” She lifted her chin and opened her door.
He blocked her doorway with his arm. “I have something to discuss with you.”
Fear shot through her. She tried to talk passed the obstacle in her throat. “I will see you in the solar this eve.”
He smiled and leaned closer to her. His breath reeked of onions. “I look forward to it.”
His arm finally granted her access to her chamber and she quickly closed the door behind her. She did not have much time. Thankfully, the sun had finally sunk, leaving glittering stars and a cool eve to make her escape.
A knock on her door made her jump. She quickly hid her supplies under her bed.
“Enter.”
Mary sauntered in wearing a new pink gown trimmed in black lace. Her friend ran over to her and kissed her on the lips. “I am sorry I have been acting so foolish of late.”
Rhiannon stepped back. “That…that is quite all right.”
“I have missed you so,” she said, her eyes scanning the chamber.
“And so have I.” Rhiannon walked to the fireplace to warm her perpetually cold hands. “There has been so much happening. I miss talking to you about it.”
“Oh, do tell.” Mary stood behind her and placed her arms around Rhiannon’s waist, gently kissing her neck.
They usually touched each other with the casual hand of a lover, spending many chilly nights making love, but
this time Rhiannon did not want the attention. Even though her body responded to Mary’s caress, she felt awkward, as if she were betraying Lachlan.
She scoffed at her misplaced loyalty to the witch hunter.
“I am leaving, Mary,” she blurted.
“What?” her friend stood back.
Rhiannon turned around. “Lord Lachlan has found out I am a witch and I must leave this eve.”
“Why not use your powers to kill him. It would be simple enough for you,” she said.
Rhiannon stared at her friend and noticed something was strange about her. She quickly dismissed it and pulled out her travel supplies to place them on her bed. “Nae. There is more to it than just him.”
Mary stood beside her and picked up her hand. “When will you leave?”
“Right now.”
“Now!” Mary shook her head. “You cannot go now.”
“’Tis my only choice. I cannot wait for the witch hunter to return.”
Mary nodded, her eyes staring into the flames. Suddenly, she jolted and kissed Rhiannon hard on the lips. “I must go.”
The door was closing when Rhiannon called out, “Goodbye.”
She had one more thing to do. Waving her hand in an arch, she said, “Reveal the door.”
The oval door appeared and automatically opened for her. She stepped inside her small hidden chamber with rows of potions, herbs, books and pots. Reaching up to the top shelf, she pulled down a yellow silk bag of blue powder.
Dipping her fingers in, she pulled out a pinch and threw it up in the air. It sprinkled over her in a fine dust. “Shield my aura from my family.”
A slight tingling made her skin itch, but she ignored the effects. She took a deep breath of relief. Her family would not be able to use the scrying bowl to find her. She walked out of the magick chamber, and the pine door disappeared.
She tucked the linen sack of clothes and supplies under her arm and glanced around her chamber one last time. It was too risky to find her parents and hug them. They would know by her energy she was up to something. Nae. She must leave without anyone knowing.
’Twas best for all.
Using the east stairs the servants usually traveled, she snuck out through the kitchens and ran to the stables. Male voices were coming toward her, so she ducked into a stall until the stable lads left for their supper. She crept along the stalls until she found her favorite Highland pony. Quickly saddling the horse, she led it out into the night air, toward the secret siege door.
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