A Gypsy's Thief

by Titania Ladley

  Outside the keep, the winds howled as the snowstorm blew in. In the aftermath, they clung to one another, the only sounds in the room that of the crackling of the fire and their ragged breathing. She ignored the soreness in her back and instead focused on the erotic sensation of their perspiring, warm bodies melded together, of his cock still buried to the depths of her soul. Even now as they stirred, silently caressing one another, she could smell the aroma of their passion. She marveled that it could all bring raging need for him back to the surface once again. Yet the entire encounter, every stimulated sense, brought reality crashing back.

  Regret moved in, hovering over her like a dark storm cloud. She could stay here like this forever, but forever was only for immortals and souls on the other side. No matter if she chose to stay indefinitely or nay, time would eventually tear her from him. And Catriona never wished to go through the pain of departure again.

  Bloody hell, when would the snowstorm end?

  * * * * *

  Indeed, the storm lasted for days on end. So with John stubbornly refusing to transport her until the weather had calmed, she was forced to remain in his hedonistic abode.

  Since arriving at John’s estate, Catriona had been afforded the luxury of a bed for the first time in months. Salena had loaned her a gown that first night, the soft fabric snug but heavenly against her skin. It had been a long time since she had indulged in such blissful yet simple sensations as that of a true bed and clothing meant only for slumber. Unable to resist the respite and comfort of having an actual roof over her head that protected her from the raging blizzard, she had agreed to stay for just one more day…which had led into another day, and then another. She now had been here at John’s estate for nearly a week.

  Salena’s bold, hedonistic suggestions, as well as Catriona’s fears of further intimacy and avoidance of heartbreak where John was concerned, had her that first night insisting John show her to the safety of her own assigned quarters. His bed had been heaven that day he had made wild love to her, but she would not be tempted by it or expected to occupy it without her own space to flee to if need be. Exhausted, she had not protested when he had ushered her into the suite that adjoined his chambers by one thick oak door void of a lock. A tray of cheese and wine had welcomed her, yet another example that his continued hospitality showed no boundaries. As the storm dictated, one night had led into two, two into three, in which she made a concerted effort to remain in her chambers to avoid the three of them while refueling herself for her departure. Holed up in her suite the entire time, she allowed only one maid by the name of Adda to come and go in order to provide her with meals and assist in her toilette and bathing. She spent many late-night hours curled in bed watching John’s shadow move across the light below the adjoining door, listening to the bandit prowl about. Burning for his touch.

  Fully sated once again this night, clean, dry, fragrant down cushioned her and tumbled her into instant, blessed slumber. She did not want to think of returning to the harrowing days of her recent past, of hunger, cold, fear and constant running. Instead, she burrowed into her temporary warm hiding place, away from that cruel outside world, away from the powerful and vengeful Scots king, James VI.

  And she dreamed…

  “Me Catriona, how could ye have betrayed me so?”

  She turned slowly, as if her body had been swallowed up in a deep puddle of mud. That voice…was it Duncan’s? Ever since his horrid burning ordered by the king for witchcraft, she had not once been able to reach him on the other side. It had always troubled her, always made her feel so lost and alienated from him. Why was it that she could reach almost any spirit without difficulty, but she had not been able to contact her very own dead husband?

  “Duncan? Is that ye?” Hope bloomed in her chest.

  “Aye, ‘tis yer husband.” He stood there, the fire that surrounded him imposed over an endless darkness at his back. The orange, angry flames outlined his thin frame making him appear even more slender than she recalled.

  Something troubled her instantaneously. What was it… Oh, God, forgive her, but why did her heart not leap at first sight of him as it always had before his passing?

  “But…but why? Why have ye finally come to me, and in a dream, no less? Ye ken verra well, ‘tis not me normal mode of contact with the dead.”

  Though the fire rose higher behind him, a biting chill blew in, ruffling her nightshift. She hugged herself in search of warmth and stared at him, still puzzled by her vague indifference to him. Aye, he was a handsome man with his jaw-length auburn waves and eyes of gold that had always stirred her sex. But now, now at this moment, it was not so in the least. It perplexed her that her legs did not carry her to him, that her heart did not leap with passion.

  “Stupid wench, would ye rather be in contact with him?”

  His accusing, hateful tone made sudden fear crawl through her abdomen. “Him? D-Duncan…do not speak in such riddles, and with yer voice so verra obnoxious in tone. I ask ye, husband, are ye not glad to see me?”

  He moved toward her, his black cloak swaying as he sauntered across the darkness. She could see now that his eyes had turned into flames, so very much like the devil’s abode. Catriona gasped, trying desperately to retreat, but she could not move. Her legs seemed to be anchored in place, and would not obey her mind’s commands to run. She could almost hear her pulse pounding all around her, mocking her with her own apprehension. The flesh over her bones felt cold, oh-so-very cold, even though fire raged around her.

  ‘Tis only a dream, Catriona. ‘Tis only a dream. She recited it to herself over and over, but it did not seem to lessen the rising trepidation that sliced through her abdomen.

  He floated closer until his eyes were a finger’s thickness from hers. Terror tore at her chest and a scream lodged in her throat. She could smell acrid ash, burnt flesh, his horrid breath. Despite the foul odors engulfing her, Catriona pulled on every breath fighting to get air into her lungs. If she did not get away soon, she feared she would faint right into his vile arms.

  “Ah, me wife—nae, whore—what is the matter? Do not like what ye see?”

  “Duncan, please do not do this to…” The skin upon his normally handsome face began to rot before her very eyes. Wiggling, squirming maggots suddenly feasted on his pale flesh. She watched, horrified, stunned and unable to move, as the critters went to work and devoured his skin, leaving behind nothing but skull and cracked bone. A sickening new odor, one of festering filth and vomitus, filled her nostrils making her stomach toss and turn with nausea.

  His wicked laughter echoed around her. Flames continued to burn in his eyes, yet now, the fire hung suspended behind the open sockets surrounded by grayish-white bone. She looked down to see his dark clothing had faded away and the maggots continued their quest down his entire body.

  “Duncan, nae! Please, do not laugh so wickedly. ‘Tis awful, ‘tis horrid! Are ye hurtin’?”

  He did not speak again. Instead, his skeleton stood there trembling as his heinous guffaws turned to a sort of cackling, evil tune. It grated on her nerves, made her long to run as far from this reprehensible man as possible. Why was he haunting her this way? Why? And how had she ever loved such a detestable man?

  ‘Tis just a dream, Catriona. This is not Duncan’s spirit, it is not—cannot be—the spirit of yer dead husband!

  “Catriona.”

  The deep, raspy voice made her jolt. It sounded so pleasant, so kind in comparison to Duncan’s hateful tone. She wiped the tears and turned her back on her dead husband. “Who…who goes there, I say?”

  An elderly man clad in a dark brown monk’s robe appeared at her right. His silver beard hung long and thick. It glowed in stark contrast against the garment. He glided nearer and she arched her eyebrows at first sight of his eyes. White. Save for the black dilated pupils in the center, his eyes were entirely snow-white, set in the wrinkled mass of his leathery face. One gnarled hand clutched a tall crystal staff. She noted the unusual gold medallion d
angling long from his neck, so lengthy it hung below the pointed beard.

  Where had she seen it before? The stone, so green, so…pure and beautiful. Familiarity nagged at her intuition.

  Catriona angled more to face the stranger. “Who…ye’ll be tellin’ me at once, I say, who are ye, sir?”

  “Mmm, throughout the long ages, they have practically christened me as Lorcan. By all means, feel free to do the same, Miss Catriona.”

  “Lorcan? Why, I do believe John spoke of ye a time or two. Come to think on it, as I recall,” she chuckled melodiously, the horror of past minutes now forgotten in the dream phase, “he referred to ye as a daft old wizard.”

  The darkness surrounding them swirled with flames, though a distant brightness haloed the edges, like the sun clamoring to get through a storm cloud.

  Lorcan scowled, his bushy silver eyebrows bunching together as one. “Eh, that blasted John Lawton.” He lifted the staff and stirred the flames, sending up plumes of smoke. “Arrogant bore, would you not agree, Catriona?”

  She could not help but let out a resounding giggle. “Aye, ye may certainly say that again, wizard. Now, how is it that ye ken me name?”

  He lifted the medallion from his chest, his bony hand trembling. “Because of this, and because I have seen into the future. My foresight…well, ‘tisn’t always correct, but I have a very strong sense here. You—you have to be his chosen one. It must be so. It must!”

  “Chosen one?” Her voice rose high and disbelieving. “Seein’ into the future, ye say? That is utterly insane! I must admit, I tend to agree with John’s characterization of ye.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The winds stirred and she caught the subtle scent of anger mixed with ancient flesh and some odd mixture of ale and ginger. Lorcan lifted his staff and drove it into the blackened space beside his foot. The ground shook beneath Catriona’s feet. She gasped, attempting to aright herself before falling.

  “Bah! Do you not see into the past yourself, in a sense, into the afterlife?”

  “Aye…aye, that I do, sir.” Under her breath, she mumbled, “But how could ye ken of somethin’ that is none of yer affair? And why is it that ye cannot just speak forthright and dispense with the bloody riddles?”

  Lorcan threw the rod down and crossed his arms over his thin chest. “None of my affair? Hmph! So, if you are gifted enough to see into the afterlife, then what, lass, could be so daft about an old wizard seeing into the future? Opposites and yet alike, wouldn’t ye say? Why, I ask, being as gifted as you are, do you not just see it as truth rather than riddle?”

  Catriona didn’t know if it was the fuzziness of the dream state she found herself in, or the old man’s twisted form of logic, but she seemed to be growing weaker, groggier and extremely confused. It made it very difficult for her to reason out exactly what the sorcerer alluded to.

  “Look, ‘tis time for me to be on me way, far, far from the king and his men, just as I have been tellin’ yer friend John. So please, if ye would be so kind as to excuse me…” She turned, but the twiglike fingers that clamped around her upper arm possessed far more strength than she had assumed would be the case. Forced to look into the white, almost marbled eyes, she shivered in revulsion.

  “I insist ye unhand me, sir.”

  “Be forewarned, I will return to you when the time is right.”

  “Nae, I-I appreciate yer…generosity, but nae, I shall forego that invitation, if ye please.”

  Lorcan grinned, revealing a row of surprisingly white teeth. “‘Tis not your choice, milady.” He threw his head back, cackling, and clutched the medallion once again. “‘Tis that of destiny’s choice. Oh, aye. No doubt about it now that I see for myself.” He held up the amulet and studied it. His gaze moved back and forth between the unusual green stone and Catriona’s eyes. “Mmm, like it or not, seems to be out of your hands, lass.”

  “Nae…I must be on me way, I tell ye! I must! Neither ye nor John nor King James’ entire bloody army will keep me from me quest.”

  His image began to fade into the inferno. Though she could no longer see him, she could still hear his voice, hear him begin to chant as the fires around her intensified.

  “Oh, Catriona Graham of Scotland afar, to avoid the bloodshed of hatred and war. Your gift and your heart, your pillar of life, ‘twill lead to an eternity as your chosen one’s wife.”

  “I’ll be repeatin’ it one last time—nae! Old man, do not go without explainin’ such a twisted riddle! Old man, I—”

  She heard the ragged breathing before she saw him. Heart thudding in her chest, she turned to see Duncan stalking her once again. His eyes were still ablaze with hateful flames.

  “Nae…” She backed away, but her foot slipped off the edge of darkness.

  “Ye will burn, witch…just as I did,” Duncan said, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

  “Duncan, how can ye treat me so? Oh, ‘tis a dream. ‘Tis a nightmare, Catriona,” she murmured to herself as she receded further into nothingness.

  But the next step sent her tumbling right into the flames. Searing, unbearable pain engulfed her body. She could feel the sensation of her back pressed against a wooden stake, her body being roped to its rough length. The smell of her own singed flesh and hair made her nauseous.

  “Burn, witch, burn…” Whose voice was that? The king’s? Lorcan’s? Duncan’s? Or perhaps John’s? Lord help her, but she could no longer tell one from the other. Catriona could not think, could not breathe, but she managed to force out one final scream.

  John sat upright at the bloodcurdling cry. “Holy gods of eternity!” He flipped the blankets aside and leapt naked from the cozy warmth of his bed. It did not take but a second to locate his braies and don them. John strode across the room and yanked open the door that adjoined his chamber to hers.

  He could see that dawn had arrived, by the pink and orange shimmer lighting the pane of the window just beyond the bed. Disappointment stabbed at him, for he knew that meant the end of the snowstorm and thus, her inevitable departure.

  She lay on her back on the down mattress, her arms and legs outlined by the morning’s light as she flailed and kicked at the covers. By the waning firelight that remained in the chamber, he could see the look of utter terror on her face each time she turned toward him. Her beauty had been tearstained and marred by emotion. It made him long to cleanse those rosy cheeks with soothing kisses. His heart ached and twisted in his chest even as he stalked to her with the long, impatient steps of a man on a dogged mission.

  “Catriona.” He eased a hip onto the bed next to her. His hands stilled her arms with a gentle grip. John shook her just enough to bring her to awareness.

  “Nae!” She screamed it out in agony. The loose, blue-black tresses streamed over John’s hands, the fine texture reminiscent of unruly spun silk. Inhaling, he caught a soft floral scent—perhaps loaned by Salena? He noted the clear complexion had returned to its normal tawny tone, the diminishing firelight dancing in obscure shadows and light upon its perfection.

  “I do not wish to burn. Please, Duncan, why are ye doin’ this to me—nae!”

  The man’s name on her lips made John’s teeth grind. Concurrently, the thought of her burning at the stake, and the terror she must be dreaming of, sent his heart into a painful, thudding protest. “Catriona. You must awaken. ‘Tis all right. You are not burning. You are safe here with me in my home.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, two dew-dappled, drowsy emeralds set within the beauty of her heart-shaped face. He tore his mesmerized stare from those confused orbs and glanced lower at the movement of her chest. It rose and fell in short, panicked spurts of breath affording him a delectable glimpse of full, smooth breast. Eternal gods, how it stirred his blood, made him fight the urge to take her this very minute with swift, unbridled passion!

  “J-John?”

  Ah, to hear his name upon her lips in such a relieved, almost endearing tone. To see the light of relief in her eyes when the fog of the nightmar
e gave way to the reality of his face. And to feel her damp hands now clutch at his upper arms with inconsolable need… Every bit of it, every tiny nuance did something to his soul’s core, made him feel all warm and glowing inside.

  “Aye, ‘tis me, your lifesaving thief.”

  “Oh, John!”

  She threw herself into his arms. It had been too many days since last he had enjoyed her charms and held her body to his. He gasped inwardly, stiffening at the abrupt display of impassioned emotion. The scent of warm, pliant woman filled his lungs and drifted into his blood like a potent, intoxicating ale. For one long moment, he held his arms out in indecision, but she clung to him with desperation, molding her body to his as they both sat upon the bed. Unable to resist one second longer, he closed his eyes on a sigh and gathered her snug to his chest.

  “Shh, shh,” he rasped, combing his fingers into the thickness of her hair as he rocked her body with his. “You are fine now, my Cat, just fine.”

  She shook her head, her voice muffled by the flesh of his chest. “Oh, if ‘twere but true!”

  He pulled her back and stared into the eyes of a frightened lass. In that moment, his soul melted into hers, it seemed. John fought the urge to crush his mouth to hers, to claim her as his once and for all. He had never in all of his days been so utterly bewitched by a woman’s beauty. And oh, how it unnerved him to the point of madness!

  “‘Tis true, Gypsy. I vow to keep you safe for as long as you will allow it.”

  She snapped her jaw shut and gaped disbelieving at him. “B-but, ye do not even ken me.”

  He could not help but slide his hands up so that his palms cupped her face. John dragged one thumb across her full bottom lip and watched, pleased when her eyes went limpid and she turned her face into his palm.

  “True, I know you but intimately, though I wish to know every nuance of you, as well, everything that makes these alluring eyes of yours narrow in anger or twinkle with glee. And everything in between.”