Witch Hunter

by Lyn Armstrong

  Torella smiled and turned to her subjects. “Leave us.”

  The sorceress stared at Lachlan, then back at Rhiannon.

  “You promised me entertainment, Grandmother.”

  Torella flinched, her lips pressed tightly together. “Do not call me that.”

  “But you are my grandmother, are you not?” Rhiannon goaded, enjoying the conflict of emotions ranging across the sorceress’ face.

  “The entertainment, my dear, is to combine our powers and rid the world of Celtic magick.”

  “Pray tell, how is that done?” Rhiannon asked.

  “Simple, really. We slaughter everyone one in your family right down to the last babe.”

  Rhiannon smiled, rubbing her hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lachlan stiffened. “Nae, Rhiannon. Do not do it!”

  “Silence.” Rhiannon slapped him again with the back of her hand.

  He clenched his fists. Rhiannon’s plea echoed in his mind. If I turn evil, you must hunt me down and destroy me.

  He studied her profile. She had lost her goodness. Her will to fight for her family was gone. Scanning the chamber, he searched for a weapon. There was nothing sharp in the room except for Rhiannon’s tongue.

  The sorceress walked down to the lower level and stood facing a stone wall. Torella flicked her hand and the stones crumbled away like sand, showing a wide view of the blue sea. The crisp ocean air refreshed the chamber’s staleness.

  Lachlan tried to undo the clasp on the collar but the blasted thing would not budge.

  Next to Torella, a white column pedestal appeared with a wide metallic bowl. From Lachlan’s high advantage point, he observed a strange red liquid within the basin.

  “Let us see what the witches are doing before we execute them,” Torella gloated. She waved her hand over the bowl. “Show me what I want to see.”

  A clear picture appeared of Gleich Castle’s great hall. The Roberts’ family gathered in a circle. The oldest Celtic witch, Adela stood in the middle holding the same necklace Rhiannon had thrown while on the scaffold. Their low chants vibrated through the bowl, whispering across the chamber.

  Torella chuckled. “They think they can find you using that worthless pendent.”

  Rhiannon showed no emotion. Lachlan noticed her hands while she rubbed them. She must still have cold fingers—like the old Rhiannon.

  “Their Goddess’ cannot save them from my wrath.” Torella stood in the middle of chamber facing the sea. “Come, let us end this.”

  Lachlan yanked the chain with all his might, but it would not dislodge from the pillar. Wiping his sweaty hands on the back of his loincloth, he tried the delicate latch on the pearl collar again.

  Rhiannon and Torella faced each other. With their arms above their heads, they touched palms.

  “Nos to order vox of sorcery neco Celtic veneficus,” Torella chanted in Latin.

  “We command the powers of sorcery to kill the Celtic witches,” Rhiannon repeated.

  Over and over again, they recited the same lines.

  A grain of light shone between them. Floating in mid-air, a green pyramid made of crystal appeared, slowly increasing in size. The sorceresses parted, allowing its girth to fill the room.

  “Success,” Torella crowed, her eyes reflecting the crystal’s light. “Fly like a bird and destroy every last Celtic witch and their off-spring.”

  The pyramid spun in circles, growing larger. It flew out the wall opening and over the sea faster than a cannon ball.

  Torella clapped her hands. “They are going to be surprised when the pyramid breaks through their protection barrier.” The sorceress picked up Rhiannon’s hands and kissed them both. “Let us watch them die when the crystal devastates their precious castle.”

  Skipping like a girl, Torella returned to the pillar.

  Rhiannon remained still. A tear dripped down the side of her cheek.

  Lachlan flicked the latch with his nail and it finally opened. He pulled the collar off and ran down to Rhiannon. “It is not too late. You can stop it from hitting Gleich Castle.”

  When she did not respond, he shook her shoulders. “Rhiannon, snap out of it!”

  Torella growled, “Know your place, slave.”

  Abruptly, his body flew across the room until he slid along the marble floor. He coughed, his ribs burning as if there were cracked. “Rhiannon, she will kill you once your family is dead. You would be the last Celtic witch.”

  Torella shoved her hands on her hips. “She has no witch left in her. Besides, why would I slay her?”

  Lachlan grabbed his sides and tentatively rose to his feet. “Because she is more powerful, younger, and…more beautiful than you.”

  “Nobody is more beautiful than me,” Torella whined. She stared at Rhiannon and back to Lachlan, uncertainty entering her eyes. “I can look just like her anytime I want.”

  Waving a hand, Torella turned her gown into the rich color of green, matching Rhiannon’s, while her face altered into the heart-shaped loveliness of her granddaughter.

  From the bowl, the witches’ chants grew louder and more insistent.

  Rhiannon swayed; her hand went to her head.

  “I will be young and beautiful forever. I am immortal,” Torella’s voice was laced with hysteria.

  “You will never be as beautiful as she. Rhiannon, I love you.”

  From behind the sorceress, Rhiannon stumbled a few paces. Her hair changed back to gold, her eyes were a clear blue matching the sea beyond the wall.

  Rhiannon uttered in a low voice, “What have I done?”

  Torella turned and snarled, “Damn you.”

  The sorceress attacked Rhiannon, her hands around her throat. Rhiannon used her weight to trip Torella, and they both fell to the ground.

  The witches’ chants echoed through the chamber, making it hard to hear anything else.

  Lachlan shuffled across the room, but sometime during the fight, Torella had changed her appearance to mirror Rhiannon. He did not know who was who while the women rolled over and over.

  Unexpectedly, the weight of a knife pressed upon his hand. He grasped the handle and recognized the bronzed hilt. It was his dagger. How did it appear in his hand? Did Rhiannon’s family have anything to do with it? He shrugged and shuffled closer. He had only one chance to use it.

  Rhiannon’s thick yellow hair covered her face when she awkwardly rose. The other woman lay unmoving on the floor. Rhiannon smiled at him and opened her arms. Lachlan could not trust his eyes, but he must trust his heart. The chosen one cannot harm his mate.

  Without another thought, he stabbed Rhiannon in the chest. The look of shock clouded her blue eyes.

  “How did you know?” she asked in a gravelly voice.

  Lachlan lifted her right hand and showed the burn mark. “As a sorceress, you are immortal. Yet in human form…you can be harmed.”

  She slipped to the marble, her appearance changing back into the young sorceress. Within moments, her skin aged through the years until it peeled from her body, the bones turning into dust.

  Torella was dead.

  The ocean disappeared, replaced by thick trees lining the horizon. The castle shook and rumbled. The ageless furnishings toppled over.

  Lachlan ran to Rhiannon. She was unconscious but still breathing. He tapped her face. “Wake up, wake up!”

  Rhiannon heard Lachlan’s voice call to her from the depths of darkness. She wanted to remain comfortable in the abyss. No pain or disappointment. No evil or good.

  “Please, my love. Come back to me.”

  The sorrow of his tone called to her soul. She must fight the dizziness. Fight for him. Her eyes fluttered open and pain shot through the back of her skull. She groaned and touched her head. Refocusing her vision, she saw Lachlan’s brilliant smile. He kissed her lips and gathered her into his arms. “Thank the Gods.”

  “You do not even believe in them,” she moaned while he helped her to her feet.

  “I do now.�
� He went to the pillar and caught the bowl before it tumbled to the floor. “Hurry, there is not much time.”

  “I do not know if I can stop the crystal,” she said.

  “You can do it, Rhiannon. I know you can.”

  She nodded. The movement caused a piercing ache to shoot through her head. She squinted and swallowed her nerves. She placed her hands on the edges of the bowl, and the red liquid swished to the sides. She closed her eyes. “I call upon my Celtic ancestors. Destroy the evil threatening my family.”

  She waved her hand over the basin. “Show me what I want to see.”

  An image appeared of Gleich Castle nestled within the mountain range. The green pyramid still flew through the air, getting closer and closer.

  “It did not work,” Rhiannon yelled.

  He grabbed her hand. “You have got to believe in yourself. Believe in both of your powers. Good and evil. Combine them, Rhiannon. You can do it.”

  She watched the pyramid; its mass was already half the size of the mountain. Her heart raced. While the chamber fell apart around them, she focused on the ancient magick of a Celtic witch, and the power of sorceress. For the first time, she granted them full control over her body.

  Grabbing the sides of the bowl again, she fixed her gaze on the pyramid when it entered the protection barrier with little resistance.

  Intense power wrapped around her body. Her hands shook from the extreme energy.

  “Stop!” she commanded.

  The crystal halted, hovering above Gleich Castle. A green glow illuminated the dark village. The bowl showed her family running into the bailey, their emerald faces staring at the pyramid.

  “Return to a pebble,” she ordered.

  The pyramid shriveled to the size of a rock and fell to the ground. It landed at her mother’s feet.

  Cheers erupted from the village.

  Her father placed his arms around her mother’s shoulders and glanced up into the night sky. “Bring her home, lad.”

  Lachlan pulled her into his arms. “You did it!”

  The side wall crashed near them and they jumped. He pulled her hand. “Come this way.”

  She yanked back. “Nae.”

  “We cannot stay here.”

  She smiled at him. “Trust me.”

  Pulling him back into her arms, she transported them out of the crumbling castle and into the cozy great hall of Gleich.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Forcing his eyes to open, Lachlan fought the nausea that overwhelmed him. “I do not think I could ever get used to that,” he said, holding onto Rhiannon.

  Her blue eyes twinkled. “You will.”

  Still within each other’s arms, they glanced around the deserted chamber. “Everyone must still be outside,” he said.

  She released her hold on him, but he tightened his grasp. “Before they come in, I want to ask you something.”

  She smiled. “What?”

  “Well, I have wanted to ask you this for some time now, but you kept disappearing on me.”

  “Pray tell, what is it?”

  Lachlan opened his mouth.

  “They are in here!” Callum shouted from the doorway.

  All the family members piled into the great hall, shouting and carousing. Excitement filled the once quiet hall.

  Rhiannon waved to them, her smile lighting the chamber with warmth. She quickly turned to him. “What did you want to ask?”

  “I…”

  Tremayne swooped his daughter up into his arms and twirled her around. “I am so proud of you.”

  Everyone gathered around, talking at once and hugging her.

  “What did you want to say?” Rhiannon called over the noise, trying to look at him around the many heads in their way. She shrugged, laughing when her uncle lifted her up into the air.

  He should just wait. Allow her family this time to congratulate her. He stared down at his inadequate outfit. Although everyone gave him odd looks, they did not comment on his loincloth and oiled-skin.

  He felt ridiculous.

  Curse it! He was not going to wait. With two fingers in his mouth, he produced a whistle that pierced the air. The hall fell silent.

  He pressed through the family members until he reached Rhiannon. Taking both of her chilled hands and rubbing them in his own, he peered deep into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

  The weight of everyone’s stares went from him to her.

  “Are you sure?” she questioned.

  “Utterly.”

  A long pause stretched the tension in the air.

  A wide grin broke across her face. “I accept.”

  “Huzzah!” everyone shouted.

  Before he had a chance to kiss her, Tremayne turned him around and shook his hand. “I am pleased to have you as my son. Lomand Castle is in need of a new lord.”

  “You are not returning to rule the Campbell’s fortress?”

  The sorcerer peered over Lachlan’s shoulder and winked at his wife. With Rhiannon’s arm linked to hers, she beamed a smile at him in return. “This is where Gavenia wishes to be. Besides, I have grown accustomed to infuriating my wife’s brother.”

  Rhiannon nudged her way through the crowd to stand beside Lachlan. “Allow me to introduce my Aunt Drucilla and her husband, Braen Ambrosius.”

  Lachlan bowed and shook their hands. “I met your aunt in Edinburgh. Where did you take King James?”

  Tremayne smiled at his sister. It was uncanny how alike they looked.

  Drucilla replied, “His Majesty took a potion that seemed to erase his memory of events.” Her brows furrowed with mock concern. “In fact all records regarding our family have mysteriously been destroyed.”

  “Thank you,” Rhiannon said softly. “Thank you all.”

  Drucilla added, “Save your thanks until you see the most glorious wedding gown I am going to create for you.”

  Braen chuckled. “Beware, milord, her enchanted gowns have a way of biting.”

  They laughed, but Lachlan did not understand the jest.

  Aunt Alayne scooted into the circle with a bundle in her arms.

  “Oh, Alayne, you had the babe,” Rhiannon gushed.

  Callum proudly placed his arms around his wife’s slim shoulders. “’Tis a wee bonny lass and we have named her…Rhee.”

  “I would like to offer a blessing to the newly betrothed,” Gavenia shouted over the noise.

  Everyone turned to her. Rhiannon sidled next to Lachlan and placed her arm around his waist. She tipped up on her toes and lightly kissed his lips.

  He felt a sense of belonging, of being home. Contentment wrapped around him like a coverlet.

  Gavenia continued, “May our Celtic Gods and Goddess’ bless you with health, happiness and many fat babies.”

  “So be it,” her grandmother called.

  “So be it,” the family repeated.

  “I know ’tis late, but let us celebrate!” the chieftain announced.

  Tremayne and Gavenia clasped their hands and the bare tables filled with steaming trenchers of food and wine.

  While everyone sat, Lachlan pulled his lovely betrothed to the side. “Can you please clothe me?” he asked.

  She covered her mouth and giggled. “I do not know. I liked you as my sex slave.”

  “Rhiannon,” he said in a serious tone.

  She nodded and waved her hand. A surcoat of fine green and blue material appeared on his body, making him feel like the noble again. He smiled at her, his heart bursting with adoration. How incredibly blessed he was to have an enchanted witch by his side.

  “After all this, do you still want to marry me? Even though I remain part sorceress.” The candlelight softened her delicate features.

  “Sometimes,” he said, touching her smooth cheek, “a little bit of wickedness is a good thing.”

  The End

  About the Author

  Born in Queensland, Australia, Lyn Armstrong has a passion for writing historical romance with an erotic element. This sel
f-confessed romantic wrote her first novel in the early 1990’s and has been writing ever since. Along with touring the countries she writes about, Lyn has served on the board of Florida Romance Writers. When she is not lost in the mystical world of Scottish lairds and enticing witches, she enjoys spending time with family and friends.

  Also available from Resplendence

  Publishing:

  The Last Celtic Witch by Lyn Armstrong:

  "As charming and magical as Celtic legend itself, a truly enjoyable read and wonderful debut!"

  Heather Graham

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  A painful death… a prophecy foretold.

  Pursued by evil forces for her powers, recluse Adela MacAye foresees her own agonizing death. She must seek the chosen one to produce an heir and pass on her Celtic powers. To fail would be the end of good magick, plunging the world into darkness.

  Conjuring a fertility spell she is led to a sensual chieftain who is betrothed to the sorceress that hunts her. Time is running out as fate and the future pursue her.

  Plagued by enemies and undermined by sabotage, handsome Laird Phillip Roberts must save his clan from bloody feud by making an alliance through marriage... a marriage he does not want. After a night of white-hot sensual delights with the alluring witch, his heart commands he break the pledge of peace. With treachery around every corner, will he be too late to save... The Last Celtic Witch?

  $4.50 e-book, $12.99 print

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  All she really wanted was one naughty night before returning to her life as a sheltered country spinster! Crawling beneath a bed in London’s most notorious brothel was beyond the pale, even for known eccentric Arabella Spencer. Little did she imagine that lust, desire, and yes, love was just within her grasp.

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