"Will I have a… a scar?"
"No."
Rising, he put on his cap; then, reaching into the pocket of his coat, he withdrew three brown eggs. "Th-thank you."
Taking the eggs, she placed them on the table. Those who came seeking her aid rarely paid in coin. "You are welcome, Mr. Linder."
He gaze slid away from hers. "Would you… ?" He cleared his throat. "Would you go… go walking with me… to… tonight?"
"I do not think that would be a good idea," she replied gently. The last time she had gone walking with him, he had kissed her. It was her first kiss. She thought it was probably Mr. Linder's, as well. It had been awkward and unpleasant and not something she cared to experience again.
His blush deepened. "Good day to… to you, then, Mistress Flanagan."
"Good day, Mr. Linden."
She stood in the doorway, watching him walk away. From time to time, in moments of weakness, she had considered marrying John Linder, not because she loved him, but because she yearned for a child, a daughter with whom she could share her gift, the way Granny O'Connell had shared her magick with Brenna when Brenna was younger. But it was only a foolish girl's foolish dream. Marriage had brought only misery and servitude to the women in her family. Early on, she had vowed that no man would rule over her.
Brenna lingered in the doorway, one hand resting on the jamb as she watched the sun sink behind the distant hills in a blaze of crimson and ochre and lavender.
She blinked and Roshan DeLongpre stood in the yard before her. Startled, she took a hasty step backward, her hand flying up in a gesture to ward off the supernatural, for surely that was what he was, to have appeared so suddenly out of nowhere. And if he wasn't a warlock, then…
"What manner of man are you?" she asked, disliking the faint tremor of fear underlying her tone.
He lifted one brow in wry amusement. "What manner of greeting is that, Mistress Flanagan?"
"Answer me, or be gone, sir!"
Roshan glanced over his shoulder. "Was that young Linder I saw leaving here?"
"Perhaps."
"He will not survive your death."
"What do you mean?" she asked, alarmed by his words. Though she didn't love John Linder, she was fond of him, flattered by his infatuation, in awe of his talent.
"He's going to kill himself the day after you die."
She opened her mouth but words failed her.
"He must love you very much."
She didn't know what to say to that, and so she said nothing.
Roshan regarded her for several moments. There was always the possibility that if she simply disappeared, Linder would still throw himself off a cliff. It was a chance Roshan was prepared to take. The boy meant nothing to him. If it was John Linder's fate to commit suicide, so be it. It was Brenna Flanagan's life that concerned him. Now that he had seen her, he knew he could not let her perish.
"Who are you?" she asked at length.
"I told you. Roshan DeLongpre."
"What are you?"
He considered her question a moment, wondering if the truth would serve him better than a lie, and decided it would not.
"A friend," he replied. "I mean you no harm."
"You are no friend of mine, sir. And I believe you not." And so saying, she stepped inside and closed the door firmly behind her.
"Brenna, wait!"
"Go away! You are not welcome here!"
"Brenna, I've come here from the future."
"'Tis impossible."
"Nothing in this world is impossible," he replied. "You should know that."
"How far in the future?"
"When I left, it was the year two thousand and five."
Even through the wood of the door, he heard her gasp in disbelief. "What manner of magick brought you here?"
"I'm not sure. But here I am. And I want to take you back with me before it's too late." His own words surprised him but, once spoken, the decision was made. He had no intention of living through these primitive days again, nor did he intend to leave Brenna behind to suffer the plagues and poverty to come.
Brenna put her back to the door and closed her eyes. Dare she believe him? What if he spoke the truth? What if her life was in danger and he was the only one who could save her? With her own eyes, she had seen him in her scrying mirror, seen him conjure her portrait, a portrait no one knew existed save for herself and John Linder. Deny it though he might, Roshan DeLongpre must be a powerful sorcerer.
Dare she trust him?
No! Not now. She would not bid him enter her cottage after the setting of the sun, when a dark wizard's magick was strongest. If he could indeed travel through time, then he possessed sorcery far stronger than her own magick. And if he delved into the dark arts, as she suspected, she feared she would have no defense against him.
"Come back tomorrow," she said, "when we can speak in the light of day."
"I can't do that. We must leave this place now, tonight. Tomorrow will be too late."
"Do you think me a fool, sir, to go off with a man I do not know?"
"You know me," he said. "Why do you not trust me?"
"I know you not!" she denied vehemently.
"You recognized me when we met. You said, " 'tis you.'"
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes. It was true. She had dreamed of him one night, a dark dream filled with violence and blood and death.
His blood.
Her death.
She opened her eyes, overcome with a cold sense of dread and foreboding. If she went with him, she knew she would surely die, not at the stake, but by his hand.
Roshan paced outside her door, wondering how he could persuade her to trust him. He could not storm the house since she had withdrawn her welcome; therefore, he must somehow lure her outside.
Concentrating, he sent his thoughts winging through the night. If he could not go to her, then she must come to him. His mind touched hers and then, to his amazement, she pushed him out of her mind.
Roshan swore under his breath. In all his years as a vampire, he had never met anyone, male or female, who had the ability to shut him out. Truly, Brenna Flanagan was a most remarkable woman! And if he could not convince her that he spoke the truth, she would die before the sun rose on a new day.
"Brenna! Dammit, woman, listen to me! We have to leave this place, now!"
"Be gone from here lest I put a spell on you and turn you into a hop toad!"
He swore under his breath even as he fought back his laughter. A toad indeed!
Once again, he gathered his preternatural power around him. "Come to me, Brenna Flanagan," he called softly. "Let us walk together in the moonlight and share our thoughts and our secrets."
"Nay!" she retorted. "Be gone!"
Cursing softly, he resumed pacing back and forth in front of her cottage. What could he say to entice the woman to come out, or, better yet, to invite him inside?
How much time did they have before the mob came to drag her away?
"Brenna…" He frowned, overcome by a sudden urge to hop away, find a lily pad in a nice shallow stream, and catch flies. And then he laughed out loud. "It will not work, witch woman," he called loudly. "You can't turn me into a frog or a newt."
He heard a crash from inside the house and grinned as he imagined her throwing something against the wall.
"Come to me, Brenna Flanagan," he cajoled. "You know you want to."
Brenna blew out a sigh as she began to sweep up the broken crockery. Why had her spell failed? It had worked countless times before. It was a harmless spell, one that lasted only an hour or two. Why was he so handsome? Why did his voice appeal to her so? Even now, she could hear it in her mind, a deep dark voice that promised pleasure beyond compare if she would only yield her will to his.
But she could not, would not, put her life in his hands! She dared not trust this dark stranger with his hypnotic voice and fathomless midnight blue eyes. Warlock or wizard, she would not open her door to him this night!
<
br /> For the next hour, he called to her, beseeching her to come to him before it was too late. And while he tried to coax her from the safety of her house, she conjured a dozen spells to send him away, her anger and frustration growing as each one failed.
Going to the window, she peered outside. She could see him, just there, pacing in the moonlight, a tall dark form that seemed to be a part of the night, a part of the darkness itself.
He moved with effortless grace, as if he walked on air instead of solid ground.
He walked in the light of the full moon and cast no shadow.
She was trying to absorb this bit of witchery when she saw flickering lights moving through the woods beyond her cottage. As the lights drew nearer, she heard the sound of voices.
Men's voices, filled with anger and laced with fear.
"Brenna, we're out of time!" And even as Roshan spoke the words, he vanished from her sight.
She drew back from the window, her heart pounding in her chest, as a man's voice demanded she show herself. A low growl rose in Morgana's throat as she rubbed against Brenna's ankles.
"Come out, witch! And bring your familiar with you!"
"Aye, come out and meet your fate, witch!"
Amid cries and curses, the men began pounding on her door. With a shriek like a woman in pain, the door exploded inward amid a flurry of splinters. Rough hands seized her and dragged her outside.
Kicking and scratching, Brenna tried to wrest free, but to no avail. Heart pounding in terror, she watched as they stripped a young tree of its branches. She screamed as they tied her to the stake and stacked the branches at her feet, along with a handful of kindling.
She glanced at the faces of the men, men she knew, men she had healed in the past. They refused to meet her gaze. In the glow of their torches, their faces looked grotesque, devilish.
She struggled against the bonds that held her as the pile of kindling grew higher. Her stomach churned with fear. Terror choked her until she could scarcely breathe.
Why hadn't she gone with Roshan? Where was he now, when she needed him? Why, oh why, hadn't she listened to him?
She cried out as the men circled her, putting their torches to the bits of wood at her feet. She stared in morbid fascination at the tiny flames that sprang up around her. Soon they would be licking at her ankles, catching at the hem of her dress. How long did it take to burn to death? She blinked the tears from her eyes. Oh, Lord, this could not be happening!
But it was. Nausea roiled in the pit of her belly. She felt lightheaded, as though she were about to faint, and then she prayed that she would faint, that she would be unconscious long before the fire consumed her.
The men clustered in front of her, all of them making signs to ward off the evil eye lest she try to cast some spell on them before death claimed her.
Heat seared her skin. Soon the flames would reach her.
She was sobbing now. Acrid smoke filled her nostrils. She cried out as the first tiny finger of flame singed her skin.
"Stop! Oh, please, stop!" She sobbed the words over and over again. It had to be a nightmare. She couldn't die like this, not here, not now.
The men stared at her, their eyes wide. One of them was chanting something. A prayer for her soul? Or some incantation to turn away evil?
She cried out in terror as the heat of the fire breathed against the backs of her legs. Soon she would feel the bite of the hungry flames against her skin. She opened her mouth to scream, felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw a dusting of silver motes shimmer in the moonlight, and suddenly Roshan DeLongpre was there, standing between her and the mob.
Power crackled in the evening air, like the sizzle in the atmosphere before a storm.
There was an abrupt silence as the men brandishing torches became aware of his presence.
"Who are you?" Henry Beech demanded boldly.
"Your worst nightmare." Roshan bit back a grin as he repeated a line he had heard in a movie.
He stared grimly at the flames slowly eating their way toward Brenna's feet and legs, shuddered as he imagined the fire moving over his own body. Preternatural flesh was especially vulnerable to fire. If he was going to save her without sacrificing himself, it had to be now.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he let out a roar; then, with preternatural speed, he was at Brenna's back, his fingers ripping through the thick ropes that bound her as if they were made of paper. Flames burned his hands, seared the skin on his forearms.
Cradling Brenna against his chest, he willed the two of them away from the smoke and the fire and the mob.
Brenna was still clinging to Roshan when the world stopped spinning. Glancing around, she saw they were deep in the heart of the woods that lay to the west of her cottage. It was a place she recognized instantly. She came here often to gather herbs and plants. She came here to celebrate the new moon. It was here that she came to cast some of her spells.
"Are you all right?" Roshan asked, setting her on her feet.
She looked up at him, her body still trembling with the aftereffects of her close brush with death. "Y-yes. I think my legs are burned a little. Are you hurt?"
He nodded. Had he been mortal, the burns would have been of no real consequence, but he was no longer mortal and the heat of the flames had blistered the skin of his legs and arms and burned the palms of his hands.
"Morgana!" she exclaimed. "They will kill her."
He shook his head in disbelief. "You're worried about a cat?"
"She is not just a cat. She is my… my friend."
"Your familiar, you mean."
"That, too," she replied candidly. "I cannot let them kill her."
Roshan grabbed her by the arm when she started walking back toward the cottage. "Hold on. I didn't risk going up in flames to save your life just to have you walk back into the fire."
She shook off his hand. "I am going."
"You stay here. I'll get the damn cat."
He didn't wait for her to answer. Dissolving into mist, he returned to the cottage, or what was left of it. The men had torched the house. There was nothing left of the stake but ashes.
Materializing, Roshan looked around for the cat. "Morgana," he called softly, "come to me."
A faint meow drew his attention. Following the cat's cry, he found her in a sack, hanging from a tree. Apparently the mob had decided to let the creature starve to death, if it didn't suffocate first.
Setting the sack on the ground, he debated opening it, then decided it would be quicker and safer to carry the cat back to Brenna while it was still in the sack.
The cat hissed and clawed at the inside of the sack until they reached Brenna. Dropping the sack on the ground, Roshan untied the cord that secured it.
The cat jumped out of the bag and into Brenna's arms, where it meowed loudly, no doubt complaining of its ill treatment. After a moment, it purred and licked her face.
"So, Brenna Flanagan," Roshan said, "do you believe me now?"
* * *
CHAPTER 4
Brenna blew out a deep breath. How could she doubt him now? Whoever he was, wherever he had come from, he had saved her from a horrible fate.
"How badly are you burned?" Roshan asked.
"Not too badly. What of yourself?"
"I'll be all right."
Nodding, Brenna knelt beside a large green plant with long spiky leaves. It had been a gift to her from a wandering traveler years ago. Breaking off a piece, she split the spiky leaf in half, then gently rubbed the thick jelly-like substance found on the inside of the leaf over the burns on her legs.
When she was finished, she looked up at Roshan, a question in her eyes.
He shook his head. Though painful, the burns would heal in a few days.
"It will ease the pain," she said.
Roshan frowned. It had been centuries since he had relied on any kind of human remedy.
"Do it," he said.
Lifting one singed pant leg, Brenna frowned as
she began to smear the cool gel over his blistered skin. Odd, that his burns appeared to be more serious than hers when his ankles had been covered by his trousers and boots, and hers had been bare.
His trousers. She had never seen any quite like them, nor felt such material.
She couldn't help noticing that the fastening in front was most peculiar…
Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she quickly treated his other leg, then the skin of his forearms and his hands.
"Is that not better?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.
Roshan nodded. "Thank you."
"You… you… are welcome." She was shaking now, overcome by the realization of how close she had come to death. But for this man, she would be dead now.
"Hey," he said, drawing her into his arms. "You're all right. It's over."
She looked up at him, her body trembling uncontrollably. "You… you… saved my… my life. And Morgana's. I… thank you."
He gave her a squeeze. "Happy to help," he said lightly. But he knew he would never forget the sight of Brenna being bound to that stake, the flames licking at her ankles, the look of terror in her eyes.
He stared past her, wondering what his next move should be. He had done what he came here to do. Brenna was safe, at least for now. For a moment, he contemplated going to see his family. Tonight was the night he had been born. If he went to his father's house, would he see himself as a newborn child? Tempted as he was to go, it didn't seem wise. He looked at Brenna, wondering what the book Ancient Myths and Legends would say about her, now that he had changed the course of her life.
"All we need now," he remarked, "is a place for you to spend the night."
She wriggled out of his arms. "I could stay with John Linder."
"No." He dismissed the idea out of hand. "Is there anywhere else you could go?"
But even as he asked the question, he knew he wouldn't trust anyone else to look after her. So, where could he take her where they would both be safe?
He thought about it for a moment, but there was really only one choice. "I'll take you to my place," he said, wondering if he could transport both of them into the future. "I suppose you want to take that cat."
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