Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection

by Lana Williams

  “I was told there are charms written into the book . . . by a Scotsman, I believe. Can you tell me what they say?”

  He slammed the book shut and shoved it back into the box, then closed the lid as well. “Get dressed,” he told her. “We’re goin’ back te the camp.”

  “But why?” she asked, getting up and following him over to the fire, where he started kicking dirt on it to put it out. “I want to know what the charms say. Please, tell me.”

  He stopped and stared at her, and this time though her sense of color was not clear, she could see the intensity of his eyes and it frightened her slightly.

  “Those are no’ prayers written inte the book,” he told her. “Those are spells. Works o’ the devil – or a witch.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought they were just – words of wishing to make someone feel better.”

  “Ye kent damned well they werena.” He shoved her clothes into her hands and started donning his plaid without his leine since she was wearing it. “Those are the works o’ the devil and ye came te me te read them te ye, becooz ye think I am a demon, jest admit it.”

  “Nay, that’s not true,” she said, pulling the leine off over her head and handing it to him. He took it without even looking at her nakedness and this bothered her, after the intimate time they just spent together. She hurriedly pulled on her shift and undergarments, and also her hose, followed by her gown and shoes as well. They were all dry from the fire, thanks to Onyx having made a drying rack with branches sometime during the night. She only wished she had her warm cape, gloves and hat right now.

  “Well, if no’, then thet must mean thet yer mathair is a witch, and I am willin’ te bet that ye are too.”

  “A witch?” she said with a laugh, wondering if he could have known she had considered possibly dabbling in the arts or trying a spell, though she’d yet to actually do it.

  “I’ve been called a demon or the devil me entire life, and I dinna like it. I willna have anything te do with witchery, so dinna ask me te read the charms again.”

  “But there might be something in them that can help my mother,” she protested. “Her mind is failing, and I swear I only want to use the spells to bring her back to normal.”

  “Dinna ye ken thet charms and spells are considered magic?” He pulled on his boots and laced the cord around them, sitting on a rock as he spoke.

  “Well, it’s only magic if one believes in it.” She finished dressing, not happy by this outcome, and also knowing that she now needed someone else to read the charms for her instead.

  “Magic may seem like a guid thing at the time, but nothin’ guid can come from using it.”

  “So you believe in it then?”

  “I dinna ken what I believe,” he said, standing up and strapping on his belt with his weapons attached. “All I ken is thet I willna be a part o’ the works o’ the devil, and I willna be around anyone who is a witch.”

  His words cut her to the bone, and her heart dropped in despair. “I won’t lie to you, Onyx, I believe my mother might be a witch because she paid someone to put those charms in the book. I’ve also seen and heard her doing some strange things thru the years.”

  “I dinna e’en want te hear this blasphemy,” he told her.

  “And I don’t know if I’m a witch,” she said. “I don’t think so. But I was hoping to try to use the charms and find out for sure.”

  “I told ye, I dinna want te hear it. And I canna believe thet someone like ye would e’en be considering tryin’ witchcraft. I really dinna ken ye at all.”

  “What does that mean? That you want nothing to do with me anymore?” she asked, sadly.

  He didn’t answer, just fastened his belt then looked up to her with those piercing eyes. “Let’s get goin’, Lady Worcestershire,” he told her. “The sooner we take the book back te England and me mathair is freed, the better.”

  He headed out of the cave and she quietly followed. He hadn’t called her Lady Love, so she knew things had changed between them. He hated her now and she regretted asking him to the read the charms in the first place. She wanted to go back to lounging in his arms and making love and feeling happy emotions. But now, things were different. He thought of her as a witch, and something about the whole idea seemed to frighten him.

  She headed out of the cave after him, happy to see it was no longer snowing. But she knew that meant they would be leaving for England soon, and she had hoped to stay with the MacKeefes for at least another few days, as she was enjoying getting to know the people and the place where Onyx lived. She knew very little about him, and felt like she was just starting to get him to open up to her, but now he’d probably never do that ever again. And she knew without a doubt he’d hate her even more once they got back to England and he found out that bringing back the book was going to do nothing to save his mother’s life.

  Chapter 10

  The clan sat together for the meal, at one big trestle table set up in the center of the hospice. It was the only place large enough to house everyone who stayed at camp during the winter since it was too cold to cook or eat outdoors.

  Onyx sat between Aidan and Ian. Lovelle sat between Clarista and Storm’s half sister, Isobelle, and was directly across from Onyx.

  He had the chest with the Book of Hours in it under the table, not wanting to let her near it now that he knew she was a witch.

  “So, ye had yer birthday present after all, didna ye, Dagger?” asked Ian with a smile.

  Onyx’s eyes were focused on Lovelle as he chewed, and he wasn’t really paying attention to his friends.

  “What do ye mean?” he asked, his gaze never leaving the witch.

  “Ye ken . . . yer present. Lady Lovelle,” said Aidan, letting his pet squirrel crawl around the table and eat from his trencher. “Ye bedded the baroness, so ye had a better present than we were goin’ te give ye after all.”

  “I dinna want te talk aboot it.” He looked down to see Tawpie looking up at him from the floor. The wildcat kitten showed her teeth and then hissed at Ian before jumping up onto Onyx’s lap. He ran a hand over her fur as he continued to eat.

  “So how was couplin’ with Lady Lovelle?” asked Ian in a low voice.

  Lovelle obviously heard her name because she looked up. Onyx didn’t want her to hear what he was saying, so he continued his conversation in Gaelic, knowing she wouldn’t understand.

  “She tricked me,” he told them. “She is a witch and jest wanted her book of spells back, but I’m goin’ te make sure she ne’er gets it.”

  “A witch?” asked Aidan, and Onyx hit him on the leg under the table.

  “Speak in Gaelic,” he told him. “I dinna want her te hear.”

  “She disna look like a witch,” said Aidan in their language, cocking his head and inspecting her across the table. Lovelle knew she was being talked about and Onyx watched her just raise her chin defiantly and look the other way.

  “Why would ye say such a thing?” asked Ian, shoving bannock, flat bread, into his mouth. “She is the most proper English lassie I’ve e’er met, no’ te mention a very bonnie one as well.”

  “She asked me to read somethin’ te her from her book thet was written in Gaelic,” Onyx told them. “’Twas charms.”

  “Thet sounds charmin’,” said Aidan with a smile.

  “’Tis no’ charmin’ ye fool. I am talkin’ aboot spells. Curses. Hocus Pocus . . . magic.”

  “Ye dinna really believe in all thet, do ye?” asked Ian.

  “I read it in the book,” he said. “And ye’d be surprised what kind of clishmaclaver is in there.”

  “Blethers! I dinna believe ye,” said Aidan, grabbing his pet squirrel when Tawpie decided to jump onto the table and take a swipe at it.

  “Look fer yerself,” he said, picking up the chest from the floor and slamming it down upon the table. “It’s witchery, I tell ye, and she is only goin’ te bring trouble te us and our land if I dinna get her outta here soon.”

&nb
sp; He threw open the lid of the box and grabbed the book from inside. Something about this book, or mayhap it was the box, made him feel ill. Almost as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Not unlike the time Aidan decided to lock him in the larder, the cool, small room where the clan stored their food, and not tell anyone where he was til hours later. Onyx had felt as if he were going to die at that time. Or mayhap he did, as he wasn’t sure if he’d fallen into one of his own spells of death then or not. But by the time they found him, he was feeling very anxious and also confused.

  “Right here,” he said, flipping to the back of the book and pointing to the charms. Ian and Aidan looked over his shoulder as they all read the charms at the same time.

  “What have you got there, boys?” asked Clarista, her words making Lovelle look up to what Onyx was doing. He and his friends were engrossed in reading the book – her book, and they were so preoccupied that they didn’t even answer.

  “Onyx found my mother’s Book of Hours,” Lovelle told her, taking a bite of pottage from her trencher and then a sip of heather ale. She’d never tasted this kind of ale from the Highlands before and rather liked it.

  “Oh, I used to have a book like that years ago,” Clarista said. “That is before my first husband sold it for the coin he could get.”

  “Did yours have charms written in the back?” she asked casually.

  “Charms?” asked Isobelle from the other side of her. “Isna thet something like . . . spells?”

  “Well, I’m not sure,” Lovelle said. “I was told by my mother there were charms in the back, but I can’t read them as they are written in Gaelic.”

  “I’ll read them fer ye,” said Isobelle, reaching her hand across the table. “Onyx, let me see the book.”

  Onyx looked up, and so did Ian and Aidan. They had horrid looks upon their faces, and Lovelle could not even imagine what it was they were reading.

  “Nay,” he spat, closing the book and pushing it back into the chest. “Ye dinna want te see this, Isobelle, it is witchery o’ the worst kind.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What does it say?”

  Ian told her something in Gaelic, and the whole table listened.

  “Really?” asked Isobelle, “I canna believe it.”

  Then Aidan said something else, and Isobelle’s eyes opened wide and she shook her head.

  “What are they saying?” asked Lovelle, taking another sip of ale, pretending as if she wasn’t all that concerned.

  “I canna tell ye,” said Isobelle. She gave her a funny look, then got up and left the table.

  Then the chieftain who had been listening said something else in Gaelic and everyone became quiet. She’d had enough of this nonsense, and stood up and reached her hands out across the table. “Give it to me,” she told Onyx, but he just put his hands around the box and shook his head.

  “’Tis my mother’s book and it was stolen many years ago. Now, I demand you return it to me at once.”

  “Ye’ll no’ have the book until after ye leave MacKeefe lands,” said the chieftain. Lovelle just shook her head in disbelief.

  “Clarista?” she said, looking to her for help. She could see the indecision upon the woman’s brow, but when her husband gave her an order in Gaelic, she just shook her head sadly.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Lovelle, but I can’t go against my husband’s wishes.”

  “This is ridiculous.” She reached out for the box again, but this time Tawpie showed her sharp, elongated teeth and took a swipe at Lovelle’s hand with her paw. Lovelle pulled away quickly from the cat’s extended claws, just managing to miss being scratched. She couldn’t believe that even the cat was against her.

  She pushed away from the table, rushing from the room into the cold outdoors, even without her cloak. She didn’t know where she was going, nor did she care, just as long as it was far away from Onyx and this silly game he played with her.

  Onyx watched Lovelle leave the room in a huff, and it was all he could do to keep himself from running after her. But he couldn’t now. Not after the chieftain gave the order that no one would decipher the text in the book for the witch. And anyone who even talked to her would have to answer to him.

  Onyx knew the man was angry at him for even bringing her here in the first place, but he didn’t have a choice. His mother’s life was at stake and he would do anything at all to help her. He felt bad about exposing the contents of the charms and also that she was a witch, but he had to protect his clan, so they needed to know.

  “Let me see that box,” Clarista said to Onyx.

  “Clarista,” her husband warned her. “Didna ye hear me warnin’?”

  “I’m not asking to see the book,” she said. “Just the box. It looks familiar.”

  Onyx took the book out of the chest and slid the box across the table.

  “Aye, I’m sure this is the one I remember seeing years ago. Onyx, where did you get it?”

  “I found it hidden in the cave. Me mathair put it there wit’ the book.”

  “Ah, I thought so. This is the box she had you in when she brought you to the camp twenty years ago.”

  “What?” he asked, not understanding what she meant. It almost sounded as if she was saying he wasn’t born there after all.

  “Clarista,” her husband called out. “Haud yer wheesht!”

  “Why should she?” asked Onyx. “What is it ye’re tryin’ te tell me?”

  “Ian,” Clarista called her husband by name, though they’d usually called him Chieftain or The MacKeefe to avoid confusion with Onyx’s friend by the same name. “We made that promise to Fenella years ago. And now that she is taken prisoner for her crimes, I think Onyx has the right to know.”

  “To ken what?” Onyx asked, and noticed every eye in the room on him.

  “You are not Fenella’s son,” she said, getting an angered look from her husband.

  “What do ye mean?” Aidan said from beside him.

  “We’ve known Dagger since he was a bairn,” said Ian. “He’s always been part o’ the clan.”

  “Yes, he is part of the clan,” she said, “but Fenella rescued him as a baby.”

  “What kind of nonsense is this?” asked Onyx. “If thet were true, me mathair woulda told me. And she always told me aboot me faither –” Suddenly, his mother’s words back at the pub came to mind. She’d spoken of the man as her husband only, and when Onyx had called him his father, she had sounded as if she’d had something to tell him.

  “He wasn’t your father, either,” said Clarista with a sad shake of her head.

  “Clarista, no more,” warned her husband, but she just continued.

  “Onyx, it’s way past time you knew the truth. We kept it from you and everyone in the clan because we thought if word got out, harm would come to us.”

  “Kept what from me?” he asked, although he felt as if he already knew the answer.

  “When Fenella came back from her trip to England, her husband was dead – and she had a baby. That baby was you,” said Clarista.

  “Mayhap I was born in England.”

  “She wasna pregnant when she left, and she was only gone fer less than a month,” added the chieftain.

  “So what does that mean?” Onyx asked, feeling himself becoming very anxious. “Whose child am I then?”

  “We dinna know, Onyx,” said the chieftain. “Yer mathair ne’er told us. All she said was that ye were an English baby thet some earl put in thet chest and wanted dumped inte the sea.”

  Onyx stood so fast that the bench he was sitting on nearly toppled over, causing Ian and Aidan to have to grab onto the table in order not to fall.

  “Take it easy, Dagger,” said Ian, “ye almost gave us a spill.”

  “So me own parents didna want me?” he asked.

  “I . . . I don’t really know the details,” said Clarista, pushing the box back across the table. “I’m sorry, Onyx. I should have told you years ago, but Fenella was sure if word got out, the English would be at our door looking
for you.”

  “And ye didna think it would matter te me?”

  “We couldna put the clan in danger, son,” said the chieftain.

  “Dinna call me son!” He grabbed the box and shoved the book inside, taking it into his arms. “It seems te me I am no one’s son.”

  “Dagger, sit down and finish eatin’,” Aidan pleaded with him.

  “Nay,” he said. “Now I ken I’m English and dinna belong here. I’m no’ one of the clan, so I dinna wish te be here anymore. I will gather me things and also the witch and leave anon.”

  He left the table and ran from the hospice, not stopping until he made his way into his small cottage, throwing the box down atop a pallet that was torn from his earlier expedition. He paced the floor, madder than a hornet.

  “Why didna they tell me I am English and no’ one o’ the clan?” he asked aloud. Then he paced back the other way. “Me mathair lied te me. Arrrrrgh!” he cried out, taking his hand and swiping the items atop a nearby table to the ground. The things clattered to the floor loudly.

  That’s when he saw the witch standing across the room, her arms crossed in front of her, hugging her own body. His eyes met Lovelle’s, and neither of them said a word at first.

  “I heard what you said,” she finally spoke. “Is it true? You are English and not really a MacKeefe after all?”

  Suddenly, a memory he willed himself to forget four years earlier surfaced, and he knew if he didn’t tell someone, he was going to burst. Though he still wanted to keep his distance from her, not sure what to think of her anymore, he knew he was like her now. English. And that thought didn’t fare well with him at all.

  “Sit down,” he said, pointing to the torn-up pallet. She didn’t move at first, and the caution was evident in her eyes. “Please,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths, hoping he wouldn’t have one of his little death spells again right now since he was so upset.