My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  "Damn it," Drake cursed, and the anger flooded him fresh, as if it had just happened, as if he'd just rowed his dying wife across the water. "She probably isn't even a real witch."

  Stephen pulled his collar aside, reveal­ing two ragged puncture wounds in his neck. The leather of his jack was stained dark, as was his shirt beneath. He had lost a lot of blood.

  "Jesus...!”' Drake breathed. His stomach churned as he imagined how Stephen had gotten such odd wounds. "What the hell happened?"

  "She's a baobhan sith." He touched the puncture wounds on his neck. "She—It...is a monster...like the tales. She is beautiful...and unnaturally strong. She drinks blood...and the rosary stopped her." He grabbed the rosary in his fist and held it tight.

  Drake's gaze narrowed as he stared into the darkness where the far-off island lay. So she was a baobhan sith. She could have saved Ceara yet had chosen not to.

  Bitch.

  "How is Deidra?" Stephen asked.

  "I know not. I've been here, waiting for you since yesterday."

  Stephen slowly got to his feet with a grunt. Drake stared back at the sea. The need to go to the baobhan siths island now pulled at his chest. But he had prepara­tions to make first—and Deidra's problem to take care of. The blood witch would wait. But she had much to answer for.

  Drake followed Stephen's slow progress to the inn, where they were greeted exu­berantly by the innkeeper.

  "Oh, aye, she's still here," he said, nod­ding enthusiastically to their query about

  Deidra. "Would you like to go up and see her?"

  Drake thought the ostler’s behavior odd, but Stephen didn't seem to notice. He limped wearily toward the stairs.

  Drake stopped him with a hand on his arm. He was sure he was not needed for their little reunion—and besides, Stephen would need rest and recovery before they could continue on.

  "You go on up and get some rest, I have some business to take care of. Let's plan on leaving tomorrow morn, aye?" That gave Drake nearly twenty-four hours to do what he needed to do.

  Stephen stared at him uncomprehendingly. In fact, it was as if he'd been listen­ing to something else. Drake glanced around the room, but it was empty except for two other patrons, and they were not speaking.

  After a moment, Stephen nodded. Aye, tomorrow."

  "Can I have that rosary?"

  Stephen’s hand slid inside his jack, and he pulled the black wooden beads over his neck, dropping it in Drake’s hand. Without another word he turned and continued on up the stairs.

  Drake watched his friend, concerned by his bizarre behavior. It was as if He’d been walking in his sleep. He’d lost a lot of blood and was probably in pain. Tomor­row, after some rest and food, he would better...and hopefully Drake would have some very good news for him.

  What surprised Stephen the most was that there was very little pain. In spite of all he had just been through, as well as the probable strain he'd put on his back by rowing, his back hurt no more than usual. More than anything else, Stephen felt numb and stiff. He also felt like he'd taken too much laudanum. The steps before him stretched on and on. As he dragged himself upward, only one thought kept him climbing. Deidra was somewhere at the top. Something was different, and Stephen didn't understand what it was. He felt dif­ferent. It was the blood loss, no doubt. Though the wound to his back had hap­pened twelve years ago, he still remem­bered the pain and the weakness from the blood loss. Nevertheless, it had not been like this. Or so he remembered. He had been completely incapacitated that time, unable to walk. And the blood fever had gotten him for a time.

  Perhaps that's what it was. The blood witch had infected him with something. His head seemed to be in a tunnel, sounds came to him from far away. Walk­ing was strange, too, as if there were a buffer between his feet and the steps as he climbed the stairs.

  And he heard things: a voice in his head—thoughts, really, but they weren't his own. The voice told him to return, go back to the island and to the blood witch. Each time the thought drifted through his mind, it exerted a physical pull over his body, dragging him down, making each step harder than the last. Pulling him back to the island.

  But he kept on. Deidra. He had to see her, had to hold her and talk to her. At the top of the stairs he realized some­thing was wrong. He'd been so pre­occupied with his own strange state of mind that he hadn't paid much attention to aught else. But now he felt it.

  He was being watched.

  He turned and frowned down the stairs. The ostler stood at the bottom of the stairs watching his progress. The moment Stephen caught him watching, the ostler smiled and nodded and waved Stephen up.

  "Can I bring you something to break your fast, sir?"

  Stephen started to refuse, for he wasn't hungry. In his recollection, the ostler had not been nearly so hospitable when he was here before, but he realized he needed to feed his blood, regain his strength.

  "Meat. Bring me meat—and don't over­cook it."

  The ostler nodded and backed away.

  Stephen continued down the narrow corridor until he reached the room where he and Deidra had stayed the night. He knocked briefly before pushing the door open.

  His mind was such a thick muddle that it took him a moment to comprehend the scene before him.

  Deidra was tied to a chair beside the bed, arms bound behind her, ankles bound to the chair legs, her mouth gagged. Something was wrong with her head...her wild curls were wilder than usual, and a red band marked the clear smooth skin of her forehead. Luthias Forsyth stood beside her, turn­ing at Stephen’s entrance. A rope dangled from one hand.

  "Stephen Rossi So good to see you. Did you find your blood witch?"

  Stephen’s mind struggled to grasp what was happening, to find a quick and effec­tive solution for this predicament, but he could not focus on anything except Deidra. Something shifted in his chest; the leaden feeling made way for some­thing dark and primal.

  His eyes fixated on her forehead, the raw wound. The rope in Luthias's hand.

  She'd been thrawed.

  And the strange lethargy that had gripped him broke. He ran at Luthias, grabbing the front of the man's robes and throwing him across the room.

  It was clearly the last thing the witch hunter had expected from a cripple, judg­ing from the stunned look on his face as he crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor.

  Stephen reached for his dirk, but it was gone. He’d left it in the blood witch's belly. He went to Deidra's chair, some part of his mind wondering at his dimin­ished—though not absent—pain. He fumbled with the gag at the back of her head.

  Luthias started bellowing. "Kyle! Boyd! Get up here!"

  The clamber of boots on the stairs meant Luthias's henchmen were coming for him. Stephen’s fingers tugged urgently at the knot. He finally worked it loose and removed the gag. Deidra gulped a deep breath and blurted out, "Your back! It is better!"

  He had no time to respond. Luthias attacked him from behind, clasped fists slamming down across his back. Stephen barely felt it. He whirled and backhanded the witch hunter, who stumbled back into a wall.

  The door burst open and four men crowded into the room.

  "Get him!" Luthias cried.

  The men rushed Stephen and knocked him to the floor. Once he was down, they kicked him. He was again surprised that he didn't feel more. He heard Deidra cry­ing and begging them to stop, but that seemed far off, in the distance. The blows kept coming—to the back and ribs and head—until his odd, altered conscious­ness finally slipped away.

  Chapter 14

  Deidra's eyes squeezed shut and tears streamed down her face as she called out to every animal that could hear her. Help me. Her forehead stung, the skin raw from the rope Luthias had wrapped around her head and twisted tighter and tighter until the rough hemp had broken the skin. A thrawing was not much, considering, and she knew there was far worse to come.

  Luthias was on his feet again, rubbing his jaw gingerly and wincing. "Drag him downstairs and
put him in the wagon."

  Deidra opened her eyes to see the men dragging Stephen out of the room. "Ste­phen!”' she whispered, but he was past hearing. He had returned to her only to die. She should have stayed at the beach. She should not have come back. Luthias would not still be here and Stephen would be safe.

  But there was no point in dwelling on what-ifs. She had done none of those things, and now they were both in serious trouble.

  Luthias watched her, saw that she still gazed at the empty doorway. They were alone in the room. Rage filled her heart as she stared up at the man who system­atically destroyed her life.

  "You can’t save him now!”' he said. “And you can't save yourself this time."

  She only stared, her eyes narrowing.

  "There it is!”' he mused, gazing down at her but keeping his distance. "There is the evil I knew lurked behind those angelic eyes. You want to kill me,"

  "One doesn't have to be a witch to want you dead. One has only to know you, and know what a flat-minded man you are."

  "Hmm.. .I'm not so sure about that."

  There was no sense in talking to him. He heard what he wanted and twisted all else to fit his warped view of the world.

  She sat up as straight as she could, tied to a chair, and met his gaze directly.

  "What will you do with Stephen?" she asked, keeping all fear and uncertainty from her voice.

  He paced away, fingers steepled in front of him. "In many ways, Miss MacKay, he is worse than you are. He aids and abets a witch using trickery and lies. You were born evil. Perhaps you cannot even help what you are. Mr. Ross, however, made a conscious choice. He chose evil."

  She shook the stray curls out of her eyes and raised her brows for effect. "Maybe I bewitched him."

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, that is possible. That is what we shall find out."

  She gave him a narrow stare. If cursing was in her power, she cursed him now.

  Let all you do to others be visited upon you. "If you hurt him, I vow you will be sorry."

  "You think I am stupid? I know you. I have watched you for twelve years. If not for your creatures, you are as powerless as any other woman. And I would never be so stupid as to allow an animal around me when you are near."

  Deidra was well aware of that. She had called to the animals, but they had not come. She felt them, but they were not near and they could not come near, though some tried. Duke lurked outside the inn, waiting for his opportunity, but a man with a club guarded the inn, and he swung it hard every time Duke came near. It seemed hopeless. She wanted her father, who seemed invincible. She wanted him to hold her while she cried, then make it all better, but she was alone and beyond tears, at the brink of a hollow cavern of despair that she was tempted to fall into. This man had made her his life, made it his lifelong purpose to destroy her and everything she loved. He was the evil thing. Ubiquitous, destructive, driven by hate. And he couldn't even see it.

  One of the men clomped back up the stairs. His eyes bounced off Deidra, afraid to meet the witch's gaze.

  "Untie her," Luthias ordered.

  The man shuffled forward and knelt beside her chair. His fingers worked the knots at her ankles, his gaze watchful, as if he expected her to leap at him even though her wrists were still bound behind her. He circled the chair and untied her wrists. She stood and backed away, rubbing the circulation back into her cold, numb hands.

  The man grabbed her arm and pushed her out the door, "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

  "To trial," Luthias said behind her.

  "Here? How can you try me here? No one knows me! Who will testify?"

  "You’d be surprised. You've had contact with a handful of people since you've been in town."

  She tried to look over her shoulder incredulously, but the man shoved her harder, and she almost fell down the stairs. “And what would they testify to?"

  "I cannot reveal my case. If I take you home, your blood witch parents will try to kill me. And unlike you, they might succeed. But worry not; they are next once I'm through with you."

  Fresh panic clawed at her chest. This idea that her parents were blood witches was preposterous, and yet, just like his obsession with her, he seemed married to it, unable to see reason or logic. "What have William and Rose ever done to you? They've never harmed you and have helped so many!"

  Downstairs the ostler averted his gaze.

  The other patrons kept their heads down, but Deidra felt their stares as they passed.

  "They offend God!”' Luthias answered. "So they offend me. It is unnatural. Those people they allegedly healed are not truly healed; they are now the devil's servants. Witches just like them."

  Outside it was cool, the smell of salt and fish strong in the air.

  "Then you have much work before you, because they have healed hundreds of people."

  “Aye," he said, his voice taking on a deeper tone. "It is a war I and other God-fearing men fight. I have always known God created me for something great, some important task, and it has finally become clear to me in these past weeks."

  They stopped at a wagon. Stephen was sprawled in the back, still unconscious. A horse was harnessed to the wagon. Deidra considered her options. Duke was nearby; she felt him. The horse was not intelli­gent, but it was wise to her. It would do whatever she ordered. Tail swishing, the horse turned her head to look at Deidra. Men stood on either side of the animal, holding its reins and harness. It was old, a nag, and just getting free from the men, if it was possible, would no doubt injure Stephen. And if the horse did get away and was caught, it would no doubt be killed. No, Deidra needed to wait for something that had a chance of success.

  Luthias watched her closely, as if he anticipated an escape attempt. Deidra climbed into the wagon beside Stephen. She lifted his head into her lap and pushed his hair out of his face. After a moment the cart moved, taking them through the village.

  He was so pale, and his skin was cold. Her heart contracted with the sudden intense fear that he had died. She put her fingers to his throat. There was a pulse. The band squeezing her heart eased, leav­ing her skin feeling odd and prickly and her limbs shaky.

  She brushed his hair back, wondering what had happened on that island to make him so ill. Was he hurt? Then she saw the marks on his neck. Two circular scabs. They looked like a bite—jagged and red around the edges. She touched them, wondering if they would infect his blood. He felt far from feverish, though.

  The wagon halted in front of a building.

  "Get out," Luthias snapped.

  Deidra started to remove Stephen’s head from her lap when he groaned, his brow furrowing and his head turning to the side,

  "Stephen," she whispered, placing her palm against the side of his face. "Ste­phen, can you hear me?"

  His hand came up, touching hers. "Your forehead..."

  "It's fine." And it was, for now at least. She was so overwhelmed by all that was happening that her forehead was the least of her concerns, "I'm going to get us out of

  this."

  He gazed up at her, eyes so pale and blue as he said, "I love you, Deidra. I came back because I love you."

  She wanted to respond but couldn't. Her throat thickened, clogged with tears, and she couldn't squeeze the words past. She managed a tremulous smile and mouthed, I love you. too, but then her arms were seized and she was yanked from the wagon. Stephen's head hit the bottom of the wagon with a thump.

  Her mind scanned the area, but there was nothing of use to her. Some cats and rodents. All of the dogs were locked up. All of the large beasts had been herded out of town or were locked up in barns and paddocks.

  This horse and Duke were all she had. She would find a way to make use of them.

  They dragged Stephen out of the wagon. He was able to get his feet beneath him, though he seemed unstable. Luthias's men pushed them both into the building.

  It was a meeting house of some sort. A long table sat at the front of the room, and benches filled the rest of i
t. Two men with long, square beards were already seated at the table, and they stood when Luthias entered. Two other men and a woman sat in the "audience."

  A black robe lay over one of the benches. Luthias picked it up and swung it around his shoulders, becoming official. He lovingly smoothed his palms over the robe and picked a piece of lint off the front before going to the center chair at the table.

  "We are here today to review the mat­ter of Deidra MacKays complicity with the devil in witchcraft and the involve­ment of Mr. Stephen Ross," he intoned. He took his place at the table, and the bearded men sat when he did.

  Stephen and Deidra were brought for­ward.

  "Miss MacKay, how do you plead to these charges against you?"

  "I ken not of the devil, sir. I am a Chris­tian woman."

  His eyes narrowed on her. He turned his sharp gaze on Stephen. “And you, Mr. Ross?"

  Stephen swayed like a reed in the wind. He squinted across the room for a long moment, then said, "What was the ques­tion?"

  Luthias's mouth thinned in irritation. Are you Miss MacKays accomplice in car­rying out the devil's work?"

  Stephen scratched his head, as if con­fused. "I do not understand the question."

  Luthias rolled his eyes. "You are not a dunce. Prithee stop acting one; this part is not nearly so convincing."

  "She just said she did not know of the devil!”' Stephen protested. "So how could I help her do something that she knows nothing about? You see? Your question is what makes little sense when looked at logically."

  Luthias gestured to someone in the audience. A woman came forward and stood close to the table. She was an older woman, her graying black hair pulled back into a tight chignon at the base of her neck. Her lips and the skin on her throat were drawn tight, as if she was very ner­vous, and her hands contributed to this impression by being clasped very tightly in front of her.

  Luthias said in his most polite and interested voice, "Tell me, Dona, what you saw when Miss MacKay came to town."

  "Well, sir," she said, turning her body so she faced Luthias and no one else. "That woman came into town with that man. I was catching a chicken to prepare for din­ner when they passed my house. All of the chickens went mangit, racing after her and squawking in such a manner ye wouldna believe. I called my dog to go out and herd them back, but he were already gone, racing after the couple. My cat left, too."