The Star Witch

by Linda Winstead Jones

  But she could not afford to call upon her powers of destruction. What if this time the use of those dark powers completely destroyed her magic? It was a chance she couldn’t take.

  Not unless the time came that she had to choose destruction and put protection aside, once and for all.

  Even though she could not kill, she was not entirely unprepared for the evening. In the pocket of the elaborate pink gown she had chosen purposely to annoy Captain Hern, there rested a vial of a harmless potion. Well, the potion was almost harmless. With any luck Hern would try to ply her with wine before he attempted to seduce her. One taste, and in short order he would fall into a nice, deep, and very suggestible sleep. While he slept, she’d whisper in his ear, and he’d wake in the morning believing he’d gotten what he wanted. Perhaps she’d even suggest that they were not well suited physically, and he’d look elsewhere for female companionship during the remainder of his visit.

  Isadora shouldn’t have access to the ingredients necessary for such a powerful potion. The emperor was cautious, and his wife’s witch was not allowed free run of the palace. She was especially not allowed access to Level Seven, where the witch Gadhra and her apprentices worked. But since Gadhra was often consulted about the empress’ pregnancy, Isadora had come to know the old woman well. Gadhra could be persuaded, on occasion, to slip a few nonlethal herbs to a fellow practitioner.

  Empress Liane continued to tell Isadora that it was time for her to take a lover, and goodness knows Lucan Hern was handsome and intriguing enough to stir something inside her. But she would not be ordered to any man’s bed. If and when she decided the time had come to take a lover, she would make the choice for herself.

  After Will’s death, she had been determined to live alone for the rest of her days. Lately, she had begun to doubt the wisdom of that decision. Seeing Sophie and her Kane, hearing the girls from Level Three laugh and smile when their favorite caller appeared, even watching Liane when she spoke about her husband, made Isadora question her resolve. Alone was, well, lonely.

  Love remained impossible, but companionship, and even pleasure, could one day be hers for the taking.

  But not today.

  The ugliest and most boorish of the two sentinels knocked on Captain Hern’s door, and it opened immediately, as if the man who had demanded her presence had been waiting on the opposite side of the door. The captain looked her up and down, smiling as he took in the pink gown she wore. He himself wore a lush purple robe that draped from the full-collared neck to the floor. How many weapons did he wear beneath that robe, she wondered. Would he use one or all of them if he caught her slipping the potion into his drink?

  Hern offered his hand. When Isadora did not immediately take that hand, he lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly. It was tantamount to an order. She slapped her palm against his, and he drew her inside. She had no idea if the sentinels would wait outside the door, in case she tried to escape, or if they would now return to Level One.

  Not that it mattered.

  “You didn’t wear blue as I requested,” Hern said as he led her across the main room.

  “No, I did not. Your requests mean nothing to me.” The coverlet on his large bed, which was positioned against the far wall, had been turned down, and candles of many shapes and sizes burned on the tables that were scattered about in the spacious room. Through the sitting room doorway to the right she spotted the now-empty tub and a padded chair, as well as one end of a table. Hern had been assigned very nice rooms, almost equal to the empress’ quarters on Level Five.

  “I don’t suppose it matters, since you will not be wearing the gown for very long.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, and then she spotted the small table where a silver tray, a decanter of wine, and two fine, crystal glasses sat.

  “As a matter of fact, you may take it off now,” Hern said in an insistent voice.

  “Now?” Isadora yanked her hand from his in annoyance. “Do you want nothing more than a warm, unwilling body beneath yours? I suppose I should be grateful. If this deed is done quickly, I’ll be able to see to my mending tonight before I go to sleep.”

  Her annoyance amused him. “You won’t have the time nor the inclination for mending tonight, Isadora, I promise you that.”

  She answered with a small, indignant huffing noise and turned to see that he held out to her a purple robe similar to the one he wore, only the one he offered her was much smaller than his. “You travel with nightclothes for any paramours you might find along the way?”

  “No. I ordered the robe made especially for you. The emperor’s seamstress has worked long hours to have this finished for tonight. You should be honored. Among the Circle, this color is reserved for those of great importance, rather like the emperor’s crimson.”

  “I would rather be naked,” Isadora responded, her teeth clenched.

  “As you wish,” Hern answered.

  Isadora took the robe, yanking it from Captain Hern’s grasp. It was made of a fine fabric, perfect for a cold night but not too heavy. She edged toward the table where the wine sat. “Will you turn your back while I change?”

  “If you wish. Of course, if you need assistance with buttons or ties or the like, I’ll be glad to—”

  “I’m sure you would be more than happy to assist.” She shooed at him with her hand, and while he did not go away, he did turn, presenting a wide and finely shaped purple-clad back to her.

  Glancing at Hern to make sure he wasn’t peeking, Isadora grabbed the vial from her pocket, uncapped it, and poured the contents into the bottle of wine. That was her only choice, since both glasses were empty. She would simply decline his offer of drink, citing nervousness or a dislike for wine. When that was done, she dropped the vial into her pocket and began to unfasten the buttons of the gown. Removing it without assistance would be difficult, but not impossible. She had chosen this gown not only for the color Lucan did not like but for the fact that she could slip in and out of it without help. How else could she be expected to sneak out while he slept the sleep of the drugged?

  “You’re certain you don’t need any help?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine, Captain Hern. Please be patient,” Isadora said as she shimmied the gown over her hips.

  “I have never claimed patience as a trait.”

  “How sad for you,” she said as she kicked the gown aside and pulled on the robe, leaving her foundation garment in place. She’d never worn such a thing until coming here. Her own simple dresses did not require such a contraption, but many of the finer gowns did not fit correctly without one of the blasted things beneath. “I understand a patient lover is a man to be much admired.” When the purple robe was fastened as far as it would go—which was not far enough up or down to suit her—she turned and steeled her spine. “You may turn around now.”

  Hern turned slowly, looking her over with an all too easy to read expression in his eyes. She did not understand why, but he truly did want her.

  Maybe in the morning, he’d think he’d actually had her.

  Lucan had prepared for this evening with meditation and an abbreviated session of the hroryk elde. He could see all that which he was meant to see. The Star Isadora wore on her finger infused her with magic and energy, and the woman positively glowed. No one who had not been trained for years to recognize the power would see the light and feel the pull of energy, but he did.

  Unfortunately, he also saw deception.

  Her robe’s buttons began mid-breast, but she had clasped together the collar high on her chest so he could not see much flesh. Those buttons ended not far below the apex of her thighs, so no matter how demurely she tried to stand, her legs could not be completely concealed. They were fine legs, strong and shapely, and he could not wait until they were wrapped around his hips.

  Lucan suspected that would not happen tonight, not unless he was willing to lie with a woman who truly did not want him. He was not. Most men, women, too, were ignorant of the knowledge that in linking bodies
there was more than pleasure. There was also a sharing of power, a mingling of sacred energy. Sex, properly practiced, fed one’s vitality and enhanced one’s spirit.

  The darker side of sex was just as powerful. If a body was taken rather than shared, or abused in any way, the results were not the same. Instead of feeding one’s power, such dark bonds sapped much-needed energy and made the soul turn dark.

  He would not force himself on lsadora, but that didn’t mean he was going to allow her to walk away untouched. Seducing her was going to take more than one night. Was she worth the time and effort necessary? Was any woman? Even if she were not, the Star was worth any sacrifice—including seducing an unwilling woman until she was more than willing.

  He walked to her, and she stiffened. Instead of touching her intimately, he removed the pins that bound her hair and watched the thick strands fall around her shoulders. He ran his fingers through the unbound locks and watched the whirl of her dark hair as it flowed through his fingers.

  “I wish for you to admit that I would never hurt you,” he said.

  “How can say such a thing when I don’t know you well enough to believe that to be true?”

  He would be insulted, but it was true enough that Isadora did not know him. She didn’t know that he was destined to be Prince of Swords, that the Circle of Bacwyr was an honorable institution, that it was his legacy to protect, not to harm. And so he forgave her.

  He cupped her breast and frowned at the resistance his palm encountered. “You did not remove your undergarment.”

  “No. It’s rather complicated, with hooks and eyes and ribbons, and since it only covers my top half, it won’t get in the way of what you want from me.”

  “You don’t know what I want from you, Isadora. You don’t have any idea.”

  She took a deep breath, and her breast filled his hand. He wanted the softness, the give, the reaction of her nipple against his palm. “Take off the robe.”

  “I just put it on!” she protested. “Have some wine first,” she added quickly, backing out of his embrace and pouring one glass of wine. One only.

  So that’s where the deception was located. Lucan took a deep breath and once again shifted his mind to the place the wizards had taught him to access. It had taken years, and the method was not yet perfected, but he could see many things when he guided his mind into this state.

  There was no death here, so at least she wasn’t trying to kill him. That was rather a relief. Still, the deception itself was in the wine.

  “You will join me, won’t you?” he asked.

  “I don’t care for that particular wine,” she responded.

  Lucan lifted the single filled glass. “All right. While I drink, you rid yourself of that damned undergarment. Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” she said reluctantly, turning her back to him and unfastening the robe.

  Lucan did not swallow the wine. In fact the liquid barely touched his lips. He watched Isadora’s back as she dropped the robe and began to unfasten the undergarment that bound her breasts. He quietly poured a small portion of the wine onto the rug at the foot of the bed, aiming for a wide dark blue stripe that would not show the stain. She was smart enough to look at his glass and realize that he had not consumed whatever drug she’d intended for him, if he didn’t dispose of more than a few drops.

  Isadora’s body was elegant, well-shaped and strong, with fine, flawless skin and gentle flowing lines and curves, much as it had been in his dreams. Why did she not see why he would prefer her over a trained concubine? He did not want sex simply for release. It was the sharing of energy that called to him, the shared pleasure that fed his spirit. Even if Isadora was not in possession of the ring he desired, he would be drawn to her.

  Undergarment discarded, she lifted the robe and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Before she had a chance to fasten the buttons once again, he placed his wineglass on the table and walked up behind her. His arms circled around her, and his hands slipped into the parted robe and found warm, silky skin.

  “I will not allow you to be sorry I asked for you.”

  He was a big man, and of course the potion would not take effect right away. Isadora closed her eyes as Hern’s wide palms settled over her bare flesh. She should not enjoy the feel of those hard hands on her skin, not so much, but she did. Instinctively, she reveled in the touch. It had been such a long time...

  “I am already sorry,” she whispered, though her body was anything but sorry. It was sheer neglect that made her feel this way, she reasoned. She was tired of being alone, tired of sleeping in a cold bed without touch, without tenderness. Any man’s caress, even that of the ugliest and most unpleasant sentinel in the palace, would likely elicit the same physical response. That didn’t mean she wanted Lucan Hern’s touch.

  His hands raked up and cupped her breasts, and his fingers very gently tweaked her nipples. She gasped at the intense response, and when he rubbed his rough palms against the pebbled peaks, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply experience that which he offered. After all, he would soon be insensible, so there would be nothing between them but this. There was no reason to fear something that would not, could not, happen.

  She expected him to falter, to grow weary, but the caress continued. In fact, his touch on her breasts and her stomach grew bolder and more sure. Her knees began to go weak. The room grew hot.

  The room grew so hot that when Hern drew the robe down and let it fall to the floor, she didn’t protest or try to cover herself. The cool air against her flesh felt good. His hands on her breasts and his hard body pressed against her back felt even better, and between her legs she throbbed. Heaven above, she wanted him.

  “You drugged me,” she said, unable to protest too loudly.

  “I did not.”

  She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything here in this room. Maybe her simple supper, eaten hours ago, had contained a potion to elicit passion, or else Hern had coated the purple robe she’d worn so briefly with a poisonous compound that made her react this way. The intensity, the unexpected delight, the need...it couldn’t be real.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered as he moved her hair aside so he could lay his mouth on her shoulder.

  Hern’s lips on her skin made Isadora gasp, and she almost reeled against him. “I’m not beautiful, not like—”

  “You are,” he interrupted before she could finish her protest.

  For a moment, just a moment, she allowed herself to believe that she was truly beautiful. She allowed herself to believe that the man who touched her thought she was beautiful. Hern caressed her as if she were precious and fragile, as if he had a great regard for how she reacted. Fingers traced skin that had been untouched for such a long time, and she felt each fingertip to the center of her being.

  Any moment now Captain Hern was going to pass out, so she did not worry about where this dangerous exploration might end. She just enjoyed the caress of his hands and the illusion of beauty. She felt his arousal pressing into her backside, and yet he did not seem to be in any hurry. Perhaps Hern thought they had all night; it was best that he continue to believe that was true.

  He said he did not possess patience, but his hands and his mouth moved with a determined laziness. Isadora found herself leaning against him, falling back while his hands caressed and he kissed her neck and her shoulder with talented lips that aroused her. She seemed to be caught in a hazy world that consisted of only sensation. Sensation that wafted through her body and befogged her usually clear mind.

  When Hern laid his hand low on her stomach, she had a fleeting and horrible and unexpected thought: Don’t pass out before this is done.

  He turned her around so she faced him, and she did not protest. He lifted her easily and laid her on the bed, and still wearing his long purple robe, he came with her. His hands spread her legs, gently and yet forcefully, and he ran long fingers along the tender skin of her inner thighs. Up and down, not quite touching her where she throbbed for
him, he caressed her.

  Isadora was not a shy, retiring maiden who was ashamed for a man to look upon her as Hern now did. She would not pull the covers over her body and hide from him, not when he so obviously liked what he saw. Not when she was a fully grown woman who did not shy away from anything or anyone.

  The mouth that had kissed her neck and her shoulder so well brushed against her belly, and Hern trailed his tongue there. He kissed his way up her torso, finally finding and capturing one nipple and drawing it deep into his warm mouth. Isadora threaded her fingers through his black curls and arched up into him. The sensations he awakened danced through her entire body, from the top of her head to the toes that curled.

  If he stopped now, she would die.

  Her breath came hard and just short of gasping, and when he laid his hand between her legs, she bucked slightly and moved against his caress. The tip of his finger made small, quick circles against a very sensitive place, while his mouth moved from one breast to the other. She arched up against him, against his mouth and his hand, and he slipped a finger inside her...and then another.

  The orgasm should not have caught her by surprise, but it did. It came quick and hard, and she cried out while release whipped through her body. Not only where he touched her, but everywhere...from her head to the toes that curled, to the center of her femininity where long unused muscles clenched and released. She grabbed a handful of dark, curling hair, as Hern continued to draw her nipple into his mouth. As her movements slowed, so did his. As her senses returned to her, he lifted his head and looked her in the eye.

  “By the way, love,” he whispered, “I didn’t actually drink any of the wine.”

  Isadora’s eyes widened, but she didn't try to escape. He had expected some response to his touch, but he certainly had not expected that reaction to be so wonderfully extreme. Her sexual release fed him, and apparently fed her as well. The magic he had always sensed around her glowed brighter than ever before.

  He took her right hand in his, studied the Star of Bacwyr she wore upon her middle finger, and then took the tip of her finger into his mouth and sucked gently. If he asked her to give him the ring she would, but he wanted her to offer it to him entirely of her own free will. She trembled as he slowly pulled the finger out of his mouth. When that was done, he guided her hand to his erection.