by Ann Gimpel
Frustration soured his stomach, and he dropped the other half of the second scone back onto its waxed paper doily. For a bright man, he’d just done a very stupid thing.
Not as dumb as all that, he told himself. He couldn’t link himself to a mortal. He might yearn for her, but building a life with someone without magic wasn’t possible. He’d watched many Druids fall in love with humans, and it never ended well. Naught but heartbreak lay along that course.
He’d have to soft-pedal what he was.
She’d die far too soon. Not embracing her witch heritage shackled her to a normal human lifespan…
A glance at his watch told him he barely had time to run home and change before dinner. Grateful to have something to do—other than longing for Katerina—he stood and hurried outside to his car.
Stripping her fledgling knowledge about magic held its own set of risks. Ones that had nothing to do with him. Sean had been right on target when he’d said Rhea would try again. Something had apparently altered in the paranormal realm, and the old witch was stronger than she had been. Strong enough to make a play for her blood kin. Whether she’d be able to launch another attack in the States was an unknown.
Arlen’s thoughts whirled from point to point, bouncing off one another. Maybe Rhea wasn’t stronger at all, but Kat’s proximity here in the U.K. had spawned her strike. He stared through the windscreen, driving on autopilot. Katerina traveled to the U.K. at least annually, and Rhea hadn’t bothered her before.
Why now?
He touched an electronic device, and ten-foot wrought-iron gates opened. Usually, his home was a peaceful spot, but he had too many unanswered questions to relax. He had to guess—and guess right—about a lot of things. If he didn’t, Rhea’s next effort might snag Katerina.
She loved the old woman. He’d seen the pain in her soul when she’d told him what happened to her great-great grandmother. Witches were an unscrupulous lot, and Rhea would leverage any quarter if it meant paving a path for the next Roskelly witch.
Something cold and slimy slithered down his spine as he got out of his car and sprinted inside. Arlen doubled up a fist and shook it. He hated premonitions of evil lurking in the wings because they so often came true.
Kat was waiting for him when he pulled into the King’s Arms’ circular drive. Relief rattled from his head to his feet, and he understood he’d been afraid she was going to ditch him just like she’d done the previous day. Her presence was a mixed bag, though, because it meant the bad thing he’d sensed was something other than her vanishing again.
She pulled the passenger door open before he could get out and hold it for her. “Whew. Didn’t know if I’d get back in time.”
Alarm bells tolled. He didn’t want to come off as heavy-handed, so he tried for casual as he asked, “Where’d you go?”
“Just to buy a few things. I only packed for two days. It’s easier when I travel light. That way, I don’t have to deal with checking any luggage—and the airline losing it.”
He guided the sports car back into moderate traffic and bit back a lecture on how it wasn’t safe for her to be out and about. It might not be, but he didn’t want to turn her into someone who was afraid to leave her hotel, either. “What kind of food do you like?” He glanced across at her. The strained look wasn’t as pronounced, but dark smudges still rode beneath her eyes.
She shrugged. “Most anything. I’m not big on fancy dining, but I like ethnic food.”
“East Indian okay?”
She chuckled, and the sound warmed him. “You’ve got my number, bud. I never met a curry I didn’t like.”
“I know just the place. How are you feeling?”
“Wiped out, but then I figure it will take more than a night’s sleep and a few meals to put everything in perspective.”
He waited, determined not to influence her in any way. If she began talking about magic, great. If not, he could wait. Not forever, though. She needed to know how to ward herself.
Back off. His inner voice was stern. He had an agenda—teaching her to use her power—but she had a host of most excellent reasons not to share it.
“Is anything wrong?” She turned toward him.
“No. I just have a lot on my mind is all.” He hesitated before adding. “All those other times you’ve been in the U.K., has—”
She saved him the trouble of picking neutral words by interrupting him. “Rhea’s never shown up before. I’ve turned that one over and over because it makes no sense. You said magic has a harder time flourishing where I live, so that might explain why she never bothered me in California.”
“Aye, but it doesn’t cover the times you’ve been here.”
She blew out a noisy breath. “Precisely. Anyway, I had an idea.”
Something about her tone clued Arlen he wouldn’t care much for it, so he opted for a joke. “Och aye, lassie. Women aren’t supposed to clutter their heads with such things.”
“Pfft. I want you to teach me how to time travel. Maybe if I go back to where Rhea is, talk with her—”
Arlen pulled the car into a handy parking spot. They were still a couple of blocks from the restaurant, but it was easy walking distance. He centered the Aston Martin between two other cars before he trusted himself to say, “’Twould be verra dangerous for ye to do that.” His brogue was thick, which told him how upset he was.
He reached across the console and clasped one of her hands in his. Her fingers were cold, so she must understand how risky her suggestion was.
“Lass. Listen to me. If ye chose to embrace the power within you, ’twill take months afore ye have any facility with it, mayhap longer. During that time, ye’ll be vulnerable as a newborn.”
A mulish look formed on her face. Before she could tell him to go to hell, he forged ahead. “That ritual ye have memories of. Rhea never got to the part where she carved a chunk out of your arm and fed it into the cauldron I saw in your vision, along with snakeskin, eye of newt, and a few other prime ingredients. The incantation would have sealed your fate as a dark magic-wielder, a sorceress as it were.”
Kat’s expression altered from stubbornness to revulsion. “Great-Great-Grannie wouldn’t have done that. She loves me.”
Arlen got hold of himself. Which was more important? Preserving Kat’s memories of her great-great-grandmother, or making certain she fully understood how serious yesterday had been?
He didn’t have to think long. “Of course, she loves you, but she loves her allegiance to the Roskelly witch line more. Ye studied the Camerons. I’ve read some of your papers. Do ye recall their seers? Their wise women? The ones who were always skulking about on the sidelines during every important battle?”
He tightened his grip on her hand, but she didn’t pull away. “There wasn’t anything about wise women—or witches—in any of the accounts I read. Nor were Roskelly women buried in the crypt.”
“They wouldn’t have been. The Camerons used the Roskelly witches to their benefit, leveraging their power to mow through rival clans.” He paused for emphasis before adding, “Drawing on the witches’ power and viewing them as equals are two different matters entirely.”
Katerina dragged her gaze up to meet his. “What did the witches get out of the deal?”
“They avoided the hangman’s noose or being burned. Witches didn’t fare well once the church grew strong.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment. “Talk about a stupid question. I’m not firing on even close to all cylinders. I suppose it’s also why I never read about any witches or sorcerers or magic of any kind. If the Camerons admitted to using such tricks, they’d have been censured by the Church, forced to abandon their wicked ways.”
Arlen offered her credit for jumping to the right conclusion, but she’d studied old Scotland as extensively as anyone. “I want to say one more thing, and then I suggest we eat. If you return to Inverlochy’s ruins, there’s a good chance the same thing would happen again. Rhea would pull you through to her time.
She figured out how to do it once, so the next attempt would cost her even less magical output.
“Once there, though, you’d be stuck. She’d be far more careful to guard against losing you.”
Kat tilted her chin at a defiant angle. “You could come with me.”
“Your faith in me is touching, but my magic is no match for hers.”
“You beat her once.”
Something about her tone warmed him. “I got lucky. Might not be so fortunate a second time.” He didn’t add Rhea would bring reinforcements. Witches had no trouble manipulating power from beyond the grave, and there were a whole lot of dead Roskelly witches.
“Teach me, then. You say I have magic. Maybe with both of us—”
She was so intense and so lovely and so determined, the reserve he habitually used as a shield crumbled. Her spirit sang to him, and he yearned to possess her. He shut off everything but the moment, leaned across the console, and crushed his mouth over hers. He had no idea how she’d react, and he half expected her to wrench her body away.
Instead, she kissed him back, tasting of summers and promise and hope, things he’d left behind long since. Her lips were full and firm as they traded bites with kisses, tongues sparring with one another. Bent at an uncomfortable angle, his cock thickened and pressed against his trousers.
What he was doing felt wrong, but also right in a way little else had in his long life. He’d never married because duty to the Druids overshadowed everything. Kissing Kat wasn’t about duty or Druidism or any of the other things that filled his days. It was indulgent and sweet and hot and amazing. Even with the console between them, she molded her upper body against him, and the press of her full breasts tantalized him. What would she look like naked? How would she feel as he sank into the dark, slick mysteries between her legs?
Once fantasies of fucking her engulfed him, he tugged his mouth from hers. If he didn’t stop now, he might not be able to. His heart hammered against his chest, and he was breathing hard. The sexual part of his nature rarely got any airtime, and his cock and balls ached and throbbed, reminding him they resented the hell out of being discounted.
Katerina pulled away, eyes glittering with lust and longing. “We’d best get that dinner well in hand.” She sounded breathless, and evidence of her arousal thrilled him.
She wanted him too.
He laughed softly. “Aye, or we’ll end up in the back seat for a wee tumble, and it’s far too small to offer much in the way of comforts.”
“Somehow”—she ran her tongue over her lower lip—“I don’t think we’d notice.”
He released her hand and got out of the car, meaning to come around to her side, but she was already standing on the curb, bag slung over one shoulder, waiting for him. He slipped a hand under her elbow and steered her toward the restaurant. It had many secluded tables tucked into dark corners, but maybe it would be better not to tempt fate with too much privacy.
She was a damned attractive woman, and she had a whole lot on her plate. Adding an affair to the equation would be foolhardy. As if she read his thoughts, she leaned into him. Her scent, vanilla laced with rosemary, was heady, and he breathed it in.
He started to tell her the kiss had been a mistake, that he’d been presumptuous, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. Katerina might not be aware of her magic on a conscious level, but she could spin a love charm with the best of her departed kin. Now that he was looking for it, he felt its subtle edges nudging him.
The chill that had assailed him earlier trickled down his spine in warning, and his erection subsided fast. Something was very wrong here, and he had to figure out what it was before too much more time passed. He’d come within an angstrom of unzipping his pants and having her straddle his lap.
No more kisses. Hell, no more hand-holding. Not until I sort this out.
They reached the restaurant, and he held the door open for her. Once within, he requested a brightly illuminated table. Confusion, disappointment, and hurt feelings swirled through her mind. He did his damnedest to redirect her with neutral questions about the Inverness clans. Her automatic answers held a chilly edge, but at least the love charm dissipated.
He’d have to be far more cautious until he knew more. She might not wield power consciously, but her magic burned so bright it formed a conduit. One that could come back to bite them both in the ass.
Chapter 7
Katerina trudged up six flights to her room. Arlen had been unfailingly pleasant and proper through dinner, but the brief chink in his persona that had surfaced when he kissed her had sealed itself so thoroughly she questioned whether the kiss had even happened. The restaurant had plenty of out-of-the-way corners, but he’d asked the maître d' to seat them in a well-lighted spot.
Clearly, he regretted kissing her. Did he have a wife stashed in a medieval manor house? Or maybe a girlfriend or two? He didn’t seem the philandering type, but he was a man, and they had a habit of thinking with their dicks.
She flashed her key card over the scanner, and the door to her room popped open. As she walked inside, she corrected herself. If he’d been out to exercise his appendage, they’d have ended up in bed. He might think with his cock, but he didn’t give it the upper hand.
She winced. This made twice she’d offered herself up.
“And twice he turned me down.” She kicked the door shut behind her, feeling like the slut of the year.
After wading through his thoughts about the local clans, she’d asked a lot of questions about magic over their meal. He’d answered them all, while cautioning her to take a few more hours before she set what would be an irrevocable course.
Irrevocable.
Arlen had used that word so many times, she’d wanted to scream at him to pick something different. Binding, for example. Or irreversible or unalterable or unchangeable.
She slumped into an easy chair pushed into a corner. She should kick off her boots, but she didn’t feel like bending to unlace them. The problem she’d pointed out earlier, the one about why Rhea had shown up now and not on any of her other trips to the U.K., festered.
If she could figure it out, she might have an edge. Despite Arlen’s graphic description of the ceremony her mother and grandma had interrupted, she couldn’t make herself believe Rhea would be so cold-blooded as to lock her into a future without any choices.
I suppose she thought it was best for me.
Even so, Kat answered herself, I was a child. No nine-year-old has the maturity to agree to a lifetime commitment to sorcery. Or anything else.
A chill, uncomfortable sensation slithered down her spine, almost as if something she couldn’t see was loose in the room. She scanned the well-lit space, but nothing amiss jumped out at her.
She fished in her bag for her tablet and brought up the Internet, typing in Druid to freshen her knowledge base. Maybe Arlen had been wrong about her great-great grandma. No reason for Druids to know much about witches…
The unpleasant feeling left, replaced by something warmer. The creeped-out feeling she wasn’t alone persisted, but she shoved it aside to concentrate on the articles populating across her screen.
Time passed. She made notations as she read, grateful she had access to academic archives. After an hour, she’d come to the conclusion there were two distinct interpretations of Druidism, one linked to pagan practices and mythology, and the other whitewashed behind a veneer of modern rationalizations. If the former was to be believed, Arlen could certainly know a whole hell of a lot about witchcraft, since a Druid’s primary task was to provide a shield against evil and keep it from seeping into the world.
Breath whistled from between her clenched teeth. She sagged against her chair and relaxed her jaw. The other realization she’d come to was that while she viewed nine-year-olds as children, it hadn’t been the prevailing view three hundred years ago. If Rhea was actually born in 1723—a fact Kat was still having trouble wrapping her mind around—she hailed from an era when children were treate
d as smaller versions of adults. No one lived very long, and youngsters began working as soon as they could fold their pudgy little fingers around rakes, hoes, and other tools.
“Why am I making excuses for her?” The sound of her voice startled Kat, but she kept talking out loud to the empty room.
“Because I can’t let go of her caring about me. It’s really hard to envision her as a cold-blooded Svengali, who only wanted to use me to further her own agenda.”
A bitter laugh spewed from her. She persisted in viewing everything in modern terms when she’d be far better off adjusting her perceptions. This wasn’t about how things were now, but about how they’d been historically.
Like her revelation about children working almost from the time they could walk.
She felt antsy. Sitting any longer wasn’t in the cards, so she laid her tablet on a nearby table and got to her feet. She should try to sleep, but she was too wound up. Maybe a walk would be just the thing to settle her. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Probably not too late for a stroll.
She shrugged back into her raincoat, gathered her bag and her electronics, and let herself out into the quiet, carpeted hall. Not wanting to run into anyone, she took a back staircase and a little-used rear entrance. Kat was halfway down the block before it dawned on her she’d been afraid she’d run into Thomas. He’d worked the night shift before.
She slowed. What would have been wrong with seeing him? She owed him an apology for how badly she’d treated him. Feeling torn, she stopped, unsure whether to go back and find the doorman or press on.
What the hell was wrong with her? She usually didn’t have any trouble deciding what to do. Nor did she have issues sleeping. Making a firm commitment to seek out the doorman later, she pushed on, walking fast.
She felt odd, unsettled. Like herself, yet not. The eerie bifurcation that had begun in the lecture hall was growing steadily worse. The only time she truly regained her sense of who she was had been when she was with Arlen.