Highland Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Unknown

  Only those involved in the healing arts—and especially Elementals like her and her family—knew of this alphabet. The wrongful prosecutions of the church—Catholic and Protestant alike—forced them all to use such a secret tool to hide their worship and connection to nature. Monika scooted from Thomas and backed away. “How do I know you’re not trying to trap me with this?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What would stop you from labeling me a witch and seeing me burned at the stake?”

  “What motivation would I have for doing such a thing?” Thomas frowned and placed his hands on his hips.

  “Perhaps you are with the Church, trying to cleanse the land with covert methods.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “I am far from being pious, my dear. You could just as easily turn me in for what I claimed. The Church hardly needs proof for an accusation. Their trials prove guilt.”

  He had a point and was indeed trusting her as much as she was putting her trust in him. All she need do is cry werewolf. If he was what he claimed, the priests only needed to wait until the full moon to watch him transform. But if he didn’t transform, what would they do to her for wrongfully accusing him?

  Monika regarded her basket and stood. “I have to know your condition is real.” She stepped toward her basket on the desk, untied and unwrapped the leather harvesting gloves. “Since you’re in a testing mood, if you are what you say you are, then you know wolfsbane will harm you.” She inserted her hand into one of the gloves.

  Thomas clenched his fists at his sides, uncertainty in his gaze.

  “Due to the poisoned properties of wolfsbane, I use these gloves to gather the herb.” She stretched her hand toward him. “Touch this glove.”

  “You want to see the remnants of the herb burn me.” He nodded. “I understand.” He stalked forward—his cold steel gaze trained on her. Clasping the glove as if to shake her hand, Thomas grimaced as his skin hissed and thin tendrils of smoke rose between them.

  She yanked her hand back, releasing him, her breathing labored. She gawked a moment, stunned at the revelation, then pulled the glove off and replaced it and its mate in her basket. “Very well.”

  Thomas’s top lip curled for a moment, almost like a snarl. He turned his back on her and sauntered to the table at the center of the room to sit on one of the four wooden chairs.

  Grabbing a small jar of burn ointment, she followed and pulled a chair beside him. “Please give me your hand.” The scent of honey, olive oil and witch hazel swarmed thick between them as she applied the herbal mixture to his palm. “I’m sorry.”

  “As I said, I understood why you made the request.” He smirked. Thomas was definitely pleasing to the eye.

  She focused on tending his burns. “What is it you’re asking of me?”

  “To translate the text.” His voice was thick and grainy.

  “Are you in a lot of pain?” She stopped applying the ointment.

  He snorted. “This is nothing compared to the transformation.” He touched her chin with the curled index finger of his other hand. “You worry for naught.”

  Her pulse quickened and she swallowed to alleviate the dryness in her throat. “I’m a healer. It’s my job to worry about those under my care.”

  He rubbed his thumb along her jawline.

  She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze while she leaned away from his caresses and finished applying the ointment with quick strokes. Monika seethed. Not that Thomas’s attentions were unwanted, but he took liberties with her far too early. They had just met and he thought he could touch her as he pleased? Rising from the chair, she snatched the cork and ointment jar and padded back to the desk. With shaking hands, she returned the liniment to her basket.

  “There are years of work notes in here,” she said, flipping through the book and turning page after page of her mother’s entries. “But she didn’t spend more than a few months on the werewolf cure. Why do you want the entire book translated?”

  “I don’t.” He leaned his rump against the edge of the desk. “I’m only interested in the cure for the curse. I’ll pay your for your time, of course. Once we’re done, you can have the book, as well.”

  “Did Sparenland tell you my mother was the author?”

  “No. Actually, I have been all over the Holy Roman Empire, consulting with many healers to get this book translated. No one would do it for me. They felt the same way you did, that I was trying to ensnare them into admitting they were witches and would be burned as a consequence. I can hardly blame them with the atrocities that have occurred over the last several decades. I was lucky enough one person finally told me who the author was and where I could find her—I’m assuming based on the notes—and here I am.” His ice-blue gaze searched her face. “Even if I can’t find the cure, Monika, I want to at least be able to control it. I have avoided friendship.” He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “Avoided companionship,” he whispered, staring at her mouth with hunger in his eyes. “I cannot live thus.” His mouth descended upon hers and she pushed away from him.

  Scrambling from the chair, she turned her back to him and gripped the edge of the desk. She wanted nothing more than to slap the man across the face. How dare he? But she needed that book. Yes, Thomas was very attractive and had a certain allure, but he was being completely inappropriate. She sighed to calm her frazzled demeanor and whirled to face him. “I made a mistake coming into your room alone. I thought I made myself very clear in the hall that I was here as a healer. If you want someone to warm your bed, Herr Carr, I’m sure the innkeeper can provide a willing woman.”

  His eyes softened and he nodded. “You’re right, of course. I tend to be more aggressive during the moon cycle, especially regarding the weaker sex. Admittedly, I find you very attractive, so it’s that much harder to control myself. Forgive me.” Thomas turned the book on the desk, so it faced her. “If I promise to keep to our business, would it be too much to ask for you could start translations now? I am rather anxious, considering how close I am to getting answers after all these years.” His brows lifted and he donned the apologetic smile he wore at the door.

  “Here?”

  He nodded.

  “I was hoping you would let me take it home. It is, after all, my mother’s book and rightfully belongs to me.” She clenched her jaw.

  “I agree, the book is yours, but, to be frank, I don’t feel comfortable letting it go until I have the pages translated. I’ve held onto it for a very long time and…well, have become quite attached to it. It’s been my only hope for a cure and I’m just not ready to part with it yet. I’m sorry.” He pulled the chair out and urged her to sit with a gesture of his hand. “I promise to give you payment each day for your efforts and when the job is finished, I’ll hand over the book. You can even hold onto the translated pages until the end and we can make an even exchange. Will that suit our arrangement?”

  How she wanted to grab the tome and run! But if Thomas did as he promised, she could take it home in just a day or so. Surely it wouldn’t take too long to translate the materials. But that also meant she would be returning to his room. Meeting in an open space was out of the question. Anyone who saw her translating the strangely beautiful and curly script could cry witch. It was her reputation or the book. Or…

  “I’d like to add a condition to our arrangement.”

  His brow furrowed. “What are you proposing?”

  “You leave me alone in the room. Go out into the tavern and be seen by others. They’ll know, then, that you and I are not together.”

  “And if they ask why I am not with you?”

  Monika held her tongue for a moment while she tempered the insults fighting to tumble from her mouth. “Then, Herr Carr,” she growled. “I would think you would be gentlemanly enough to defend my honor and state you have hired me to compose some herbal remedies for your sick father back in your home town. You might also be kind enough to state how improper it is for us to b
e alone.”

  He chuckled and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Very well. I do have some errands to attend to.” He leveled his eyes at her and narrowed them. “But I am trusting you to stay here and keep to our agreement. The book doesn’t leave.”

  She clasped her hands behind her, laced her fingers and squeezed, repressing her anger. “You have my word.”

  His steel gaze assessed her before he nodded. He crossed the room to his bed and grabbed his satchel, which he slung over his shoulder. “I shall return in a few hours.” Thomas winked at her before he closed the door on his way out.

  Monika closed her eyes and counted ten breaths before she slammed her fist onto the desk. He waved off her reputation as if she were a bothersome child! She paced the room until her face stopped burning, drew a deep breath and sat at the desk.

  Slamming through the drawers to find writing instruments, she snatched a quill, some ink and parchment, and opened her mother’s book. After a few moments of reading the entries, the aggravation eased from Monika’s body and tears filled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

  Everything Katrina created with her herbal remedies had detailed notes of what did and didn’t work, who they were for and in what doses. Some of the remedies Monika had learned from her own trial and error through the years, incorporating what she could remember from Katrina’s teachings. Monika was overjoyed to find many recipes for tonics, tinctures and blends she still hadn’t learned to perfect. Many of the villagers would be relieved she finally had her mother’s notes.

  As much as she would have loved to continue exploring the pages, she had a job to do. She flipped through the tome until she came upon the first mention of Marcus Sparenland. Monika had never met the man and, as a result, mystery surrounded this monster from her past. Wilhelmina had always been told to take Monika away whenever they knew Marcus was due for a visit.

  “Why can I not help Mama when this man comes to call?” she’d asked her grandmother.

  “Because your parents have requested it so,” Mina responded. “Now stop asking me, child. You are the best helper for the errands they are too busy to do themselves. You are helping your mother. Besides, your parents have good reason. Trust them.”

  Then Marcus Sparenland had destroyed her family…and, after ten long years, she would finally find out why.

  Chapter Four

  Monika jerked when Thomas touched her shoulder.

  He chuckled. “Did you not hear me enter?” Meandering to the table, he took off his satchel, then set it down and faced her. “How did you fare?”

  She blew at the page, on which she had just finished writing, trying to dry the ink. “Well, I’ve transcribed a number of entries, but don’t see anything close to a cure…yet. However, I did skip ahead and find a recipe she’d perfected, which is a ward against a werewolf.” She handed him a scrap of parchment.

  Thomas skimmed his eyes over the piece of paper. “Too tired and distraught to write a full entry,” he read aloud. “But I’ve refined the recipe to these ingredients: wolfsbane is the element of water; agrimony is air; betony is fire; fumitory is earth. The herbs and the elements are an effective ward, and even prevent the werewolf from transforming, thereby making the wearer of the charm safe.” He grinned wide, excitement brightening his eyes. “At last! So I might be able to wear such a charm to keep the curse at bay?”

  Monika shook her head. “Read on.”

  His smile faded and he regarded the note once more. “But they will kill the one who is cursed.” Thomas sat, shoulders slumping, and continued to read. “I will resume my studies on the morrow. So mote it be. —KK” He tossed the paper onto the table and rubbed his face. “Well, at least it’s progress.”

  “I would caution you to avoid using that recipe until I learn how she came to this conclusion and what had her so distraught. Of course the wolfsbane should be avoided, but it does sound promising. I’m at the beginning of her studies, where she started using well-known remedies. So far, none of those proved to have any merit.”

  “What did she mean, ‘Wolfsbane is the element of water’?”

  “All life comes from four elements—water, fire, earth and air. And everything in our world embodies one or more of those elements. She believed if she used herbs that contained all four elements, she would bring about balance. She speculated the curse was actually a disruption of a person’s natural harmony, thereby creating a supernatural being.”

  Thomas nodded. “I see. How difficult is it to gather those herbs for the ward?”

  “Not too difficult. Some are actually in my garden. Why?”

  “I’d like you to bring them on your next visit. I’ll pay you for them, of course.”

  “As I said, I wouldn’t recommend doing anything with that recipe until we know more.”

  He smiled. “Thank you for your concern.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late, so I won’t keep you any longer. You’ve done very well, Monika.” Reaching into his satchel, he produced a small leather pouch and retrieved two gleaming coins. Thomas rose from the chair and grabbed her hand, pressing the coins into her palm.

  She gasped. “These are gold.”

  “And there’s more where this came from.”

  She gawked at the small fortune in her hand before she shoved it toward him. “Herr Carr, I cannot—”

  “Please…Thomas. I insist. May I call you Monika?”

  She frowned. “No you may not, Herr Carr. This is far too much money for the amount of work I did here today. This sizable sum and your insistence to keep behaving inappropriately toward me has me questioning your intentions.”

  “Monika—”

  She glared at him.

  “Fräulein Konrads,” he amended, raising his hands in surrender. “No one has done what you’ve done for me thus far. I am merely showing you my gratitude.”

  “I want to be very clear about our arrangement. I make no guarantees. I don’t want you coming after me for your money, or worse, if I cannot accomplish your goal. Please keep in mind, there may not be a cure…and you have to accept that inevitability.”

  He chuckled. “I understand, but I have complete faith in you.”

  She pursed her lips. “And I am not part of the arrangement.” She tried to give him back the coins.

  He crossed his arms and smiled. “I will not take those back. They are yours and you have earned them.”

  “But—”

  “Are you trying to insult me?” His brow furrowed.

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Then it’s settled.” Thomas strolled back to the table and tucked his pouch into the satchel.

  She sighed and dropped the coins into the purse at her waist. Monika gathered her basket and the pile of papers, including the parchment on the table. She gazed at the book, aching to wrap it in her arms.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done today. I look forward to your return on the morrow.”

  She nodded and dragged her eyes away from the tome. “Good day to you, Herr Carr,” she whispered. Monika left the inn and stood outside, waiting for Herr Schmidt. However, the more she thought about the text she’d translated, the more excited she became. Too fidgety to wait for the farmer, she strolled down High Street, through Vollstadt’s townsfolk milling about on their daily business, and headed back to Kostbar at a brisk pace.

  Monika finally had her mother’s book. Everything else of her parents had burned in the fire. This was a precious piece of not just her mother, but generations of her family. Absolutely irreplaceable. Many of the pages had been handed down as far back as her great-great grandparents. When her father had created the wooden binding, her mother had organized and transferred all the pages from the family journals into this one tome. What a treasure! And I’ll have the cure! Almost an hour later, Monika returned home, exhausted but inspired by today’s developments.

  Grabbing a few of the fresh vegetables Herr Schmidt had given her, she set them aside for the soup pot
already at the hearth and stored the rest in the small root cellar dug in the corner of the room.

  She chopped a quarter of the cabbage, a carrot, a turnip and a leek, plopped them into the soup pot and stirred. Sprinkling in a few more herbs, she covered the iron pot and swung it back over the hearth, where she coaxed the fire with a wave of her hands, keeping the flames modest but warm enough for the brew to simmer.

  The door rattled from a knocking visitor. Monika swung it wide to reveal a grumbling Edda. “Behave yourselves, boys!” She released an exasperated sigh as her three boys filed into the cottage with dirty faces, skinned knees and elbows, and arguing over who had won their wrestling match. Edda put her covered basket on the floor by the threshold. “Peter, sit!”

  The twelve-year-old did as his mother commanded and clamped his lips tight.

  Edda grabbed Michael and Wolfgang—seven and nine respectively—by the scruff of their necks and shoved each of them into chairs…and Wolfgang smacked Michael across the table. “Enough, Wolf!” Their mother pinched each of their necks and silenced them. Shaking her head, she turned to Monika and donned a broad smile. “Good day, dear.”

  Monika chuckled and fetched some ointment—which Edda’s husband Helmut used frequently for burns—and knelt before each of the boys to clean their scrapes and dab on the liniment. Since the boys couldn’t sit still for anything longer than a few minutes, Edda shooed the three of them out of the cottage to go back home. She picked up her basket from the floor and handed Monika two loaves of warm barley bread as payment. “Fresh from the oven and made with love,” the older woman said with a wink.

  Monika hugged her neighbor. She peeked out the door at the boys skipping across the platz, smacking each other and running around in circles, and chuckled. “Would you like a slice with some honey and butter?” she asked as she held up a loaf. “Irma and I just churned some yesterday. I thought you might like to indulge.”

  “Don’t mind if I do!” Edda pulled up a chair. “I see a certain twinkle in your eyes, girl. What has you so cheerful?”