by Ann Gimpel
“When would I have had the chance?” Kat asked dryly. “You were so busy reading me the riot act, it didn’t leave much space for anything else.”
“This goes against a pact I made with my own mother,” Liliana spoke slowly, “but when we next see one another, I owe you a rather long conversation.”
“Why did the two of you go to such lengths to keep me in the dark?”
“We had good reasons, but they’ll have to wait until we’re together. I’ll not risk such a conversation to modern electronics.”
“Good enough. I can wait.” Kat nodded abruptly.
“You will come to our nuptials?” Arlen urged. “Your daughter talked me into the entire masculine portion of the wedding party donning kilts.”
“Kilts, eh? Tough to turn down an opportunity like that. I’d be delighted to attend—if you still want me there.”
“Of course, we do,” Arlen said. “I’m looking forward to meeting you. I understand more than you think about magical secrets and living two lives. One in the ‘normal’ world and the other in a secret spot where you go to great lengths to avoid discovery.”
Kat leaned closer to the phone. “Come sooner than March, Mom. Please. I want you to meet Arlen and see his house. It’s this wonderful old place that—”
“Our house,” he corrected her.
Liliana chuckled. “I’m liking you more with each passing moment. Probably a good time to hang up.”
“Aye, while I still have a toe in positive territory?”
“Something like that. I love you, Kat. See you soon. Maybe sooner than you’d like.”
“Not possible, Mom. Plan on staying with us. There are enough rooms here to house an army.”
“We’ll see. I may book a room. Houseguests and fish both begin to smell after three days. Bye for now.”
The connection clicked off, and Arlen started to laugh. “Can’t say as I’ve heard that expression before.” He exhaled briskly. “For a moment there, I was afraid all was lost.”
“Me too. Not lost, exactly, but Mom has a hellacious temper. I expected her to tell me I’d made my own bed and slam down the phone.” Kat settled onto the floor in front of him with her back against his legs. “In truth, I’m shocked she capitulated. It was your Druid disclosure. Why on earth would she be so overwhelmed by it?”
He slid off the couch and sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against him. “Druids are the only weapon left against evil. If your mum identifies as a witch—and let’s assume she does—it’s been one of those behind closed doors, dark of night relationships. Even so, she’d recognize Druid power as a key element keeping her wicked kinfolks in line.”
“Probably right. I hate to admit it, but you usually are.”
He grinned. “Now there’s a piece of progress. Music to my ears, darling.”
“Speaking of progress, how’s your part of our paper coming along?”
“Mostly finished. I need to look up a few more references.”
She snorted. “Only because you can’t tell the truth about where your knowledge came from. Having been there confers quite an edge.”
“I’ve tried not to take undue advantage of it. The hardest part about living so long is when I have to drop out of sight and start over as someone else. It’s grown far harder what with fingerprints and National Insurance numbers and DNA. I tell ye, lass, I guard my blood closely. No doctors or hospitals for me.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. The living a long time thing.” She leaned her head against his chest. “I suppose I’ll be around as long as my other witchy kin.” She shook her head. “Wonder when Mom was going to get around to telling me that part? Hell, I wonder how old she is?”
“The other woman in that vision of yours I intercepted. Your grandmother. Is she still alive?”
Kat twisted her head to look at him and drew her brows together. “I have no idea. I attended her funeral, but that might not mean much other than she faked her death.”
“Something else to ask your mum about.”
“The list is long.” She grinned. “Were you done working for today?”
“I could be. What’d you have in mind?”
“We might go out to dinner—later. I really liked that East Indian place.”
He keyed into her wording. “If dinner is later, what’s now?”
She turned in his arms, a wicked smile in place. Whenever she looked like that, she reminded him of a reincarnation of Aphrodite, and his response was immediate.
They’d had so much sex, he had tender places, but he wasn’t complaining. Ever accommodating, his cock swelled, well on its way to a full-blown erection. He cupped both her breasts and rubbed her nipples through the wool of her sweater.
“Aye, lassie?”
She wriggled a hand between them and curved her fingers around his swelling appendage. “We could make love, but first I have something to show you.”
“So long as it involves removing all your clothes, I’m all for it.”
She let go of him and twisted out of his arms. “Patience, darling.”
Something between a groan and a growl bubbled from him. “I used to consider myself a patient man—but ’twas before you came along.”
Kat rolled to her feet. “Back in a flash.”
“I could follow you. That way, we’ll be closer to a bed.”
Silvery laughter followed her exit from the great room, but she didn’t take him up on his offer, so he remained where he sat.
True to her word, she reappeared in the archway at the far end of the room, her long, dark skirt swirling around her stocking-clad feet. “I have a surprise for you.”
He cocked his head to one side, cataloguing different ways to have sex. Not that they’d missed many. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll find out.” She stopped by the bar and selected a bottle of red wine and two long-stemmed goblets. Tucking the bottle beneath one arm, she picked up a corkscrew and returned to where he sat leaning against one of the room’s many sofas.
Before she joined him on the floor, she turned and stared at the fireplace. The wood smoldered and sputtered before a small flame wound through it. Kat stared harder at the fire until it was burning nicely.
“Nicely done.” He took the wine and glasses from her. “You’ve quite an aptitude for magic.”
She shrugged, looking pleased. “I have the very best teacher of all.”
He chuckled. “Aren’t we the original mutual admiration society.”
She settled next to him, and he took the corkscrew from her and proceeded to open the wine. After a quick glance at the label, he whistled. “Thirty-year-old cab. This must be a special occasion.” Pouring the fragrant dark liquid into the goblets, he handed her one.
“It is.” Kat nodded and clinked her glass against his. “To us.”
“A solid toast, lass.” He drank deeply, savoring the complex flavors in the fine, old Cabernet.
Kat set her glass aside and reached into a pocket, withdrawing an oblong box wrapped in tissue. Color splotched her cheeks, and she smiled softly. “I bought you a gift. To celebrate our engagement.”
He waited, but she still clutched the box. “Are ye planning on giving it to me?” He switched to Gaelic. “Or will ye just tease me with it?”
The color across her cheekbones deepened. “I guess I’m afraid you won’t like it.” She thrust the box into his lap.
Arlen placed his glass next to hers on a nearby table. Curious about her gift and touched she’d gone to the effort of selecting something, he pulled the tissue aside, revealing an ancient-looking wooden box carved with sacred Druidic runes. His heart beat faster as he unlatched a brass fastener. Nestled within were two golden rings—one larger, one smaller—set with faceted red stones that reflected light off their surfaces. Next to the rings was a necklace of finely woven gold. Craftsmanship like that had died out of the world long ago.
Kat was watching him, her heart in her eyes. “I b
ought our wedding rings. Do you like them? They’re not too much? Sean said you have a pendant that goes with the necklace.” She looked down. “I’m babbling. Sorry.”
Emotion spilled through Arlen, thickening his throat. “Lass. These cost a fortune. Ye shouldna have—”
She held up a hand. “Do you like them? More importantly, are you angry I didn’t consult you about our rings?”
“How could I be angry? They’re beautiful. I love them, but not nearly as much as I love you.” He held out his arms.
She scooted into them and plucked the larger ring out of its silk-lined cradle. “Hold out your hand,” she said and slipped it into place on his finger. “Excellent. It fits.”
“How could it not?” he retorted. “If Sean mentioned the pendant, he must have told you these rings were cast with magic.”
“He did, but I wasn’t certain I believed him.” She paused a beat. “So you recognize them?”
“Indeed, I do. These rings graced the hands of the first Druid lord and his lady. How Sean found them is anyone’s guess.”
Kat gifted him with a Mona Lisa smile. “Maybe he had them all along.”
Arlen laughed. “Knowing Sean, perhaps he did. The man is nothing if not a packrat.”
Her smile broadened.
“You are so lovely, he murmured, “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”
“Not in the last hour or two.”
He tightened his arms around her and brought his mouth down atop hers. Her body came alive against his, and passion pounded through him. The air developed an iridescent hue as magic spiraled outward from where they sat, kissing one another.
He raised his mouth from hers long enough to say, “Ye’re mine, lassie.”
“Nay,” she corrected him, aping his brogue. “We belong to each other.”
You’re reached the end of Timespell, first of the Elemental Witch books. I do hope you’ve enjoyed it. Please leave a review while the book is fresh in your mind. Doesn’t have to be fancy. A line or two will do it.
Time’s Curse, next of the Elemental Witch books will join this one soon. There’s a lot to explore in this world of witches and Druids. Meanwhile, if you’re hooked on Scotland and time travel, you’ll love my Dragon Lore books. A sample from Highland Secrets, the first volume from that series follows.
In case you want a sneak peek, Chapter One from Time’s Curse is at the very end.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in many webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over sixty books to date, with several more planned for 2018 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
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Book Description, Highland Secrets:
Furious and weary, Angus Shea wants out, but no matter how he feels, he can’t stop the magic powering his visions. The Celts kidnapped him when he wasn’t much more than a boy and forced him to do their bidding. He’s sick of them and their endless assignments, but they wiped his memories, and he has no idea where he came from.
Dragon shifters are disappearing from the Scottish Highlands, and the Celtic Council sends Angus to investigate. He meets up with Arianrhod, legendary virgin huntress from Celtic myth, in Fire Mountain, the dragons’ home world.
Arianrhod prefers to work alone, mostly because she harbors a dirty little secret and guards her privacy for the best of reasons. She’s not exactly a virgin, and she’d be laughed out of the Pantheon if the truth surfaced. Despite the complications of leading a double life, she’s never found a lover who tempted her to walk away from her fellow Celtic gods.
Attraction ignites, hot and so urgent Arianrhod’s carefully balanced life teeters on the brink of discovery. Angus is everything she’s ever wanted, but he’s far too close to her Celtic kin to keep her secret safe. Angus wants her too, but she’s a Celt. He’s hated them forever, and she’s part of everything he’s lain awake nights plotting to escape from.
Can they risk everything?
Will they?
If they do, can they live with the consequences?
Books in the Dragon Lore Series
Highland Secrets, Prequel and Book One
To Love a Highland Dragon, Book Two
Dragon Maid, Book Three
Dragon’s Dare, Book Four
Highland Secrets, Chapter One
Angus Shea stroked beneath icy waters off the northern tip of Ireland, blending his energy with a pod of Selkies. The sea creatures cut through choppy waves in front, behind, and above him. He’d rather dive and play in the deeps with them—and if it were any other day, he would have—but he needed to keep an eye on the skies, so he edged toward the surface, pushing his head free.
Celene, a coal black Selkie he’d done more than swim with, drew close enough her lush pelt stroked his skin. He draped an arm around her, and she nuzzled his neck with her snout.
“Where have you been?” She spoke deep into his mind. Accommodating vocal chords were part of her human form, not her seal, and he’d never learned the Selkies’ lyrical language.
“I spent a little time at my home in Scotland, but mostly I’ve ranged far from the Irish Sea.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.” She nipped playfully at his shoulder with her squared-off teeth.
“Prying ears are everywhere.” He leaned into her warmth, enjoying a respite from the cold water.
“We could go where no one would hear.”
He was tempted, so tempted he toyed with saying yes and taking a break from watching for the dragon he expected. Dragons interpreted time in their own way, and the damned thing might not show up today or tomorrow or even this week. If it showed at all.
How much could he tell the Selkie?
An answer crowded on the heels of his question.
Nothing.
Angus shuttered his mind, so the creature swimming by his side couldn’t read it. Much as he yearned to talk with someone, anyone, about the impossibilities the gods tasked him with, prudence won out. Not that this assignment was worse than any of the others, but he’d finally figured out they’d never end.
I could say no. Tell them I’m done.
He cut off the bitter laugh that wanted out. Whoever had the balls to refuse the Celts risked swift and certain punishment. He could hear Gwydion, master enchanter, or Ceridwen, goddess of the world, laughing their heads off—before they cut out his tongue or killed him on the spot.
“You don’t have to say a word.” Celene went on, almost as if she’d peeked into his thoughts before he took care to protect them. Selkie laughter buffeted him, spraying him with a warm, rich melody mixed with salty water. “I’m curious, but I miss your body.”
He missed hers too. She’d been his only break from solitude for more years than he wanted to admit. He cast another glance skyward. Though he tried to be subtle, he heard a smug murmur near his ear and knew he hadn’t fooled the Selkie.
“You wait for an Ancient One.” The tenor of her mind speech shifted as she shielded it from anyone who might be close. Without stopping for him to corroborate, she forged ahead. “We can take up the banner and watch for you. My kin will let us know.”
Angus picked his way carefully, as if he walked through a field of unexploded ordnance. “I appreciate the thought, but no one can know of my comings or goings, lass.”
“We know more than you think.” Celene batted him with a flipper. “In trut
h, very little escapes us, but here isn’t the place to share what I heard about your latest mission.”
Concern rippled through him. If the Selkies knew, who else might? Hell, he didn’t know much beyond his assigned meeting place with the dragon, and they’d be heading into danger.
What else was new? Danger was so second nature, his adrenaline pumps barely flinched at anything these days.
“Come with me.” Either Celene was oblivious to the turmoil rumbling through him, or she ignored it. She swam from beneath his arm and herded him toward shore. “There’s a secluded glade deep in marsh grass. No one will find us, and my kin will keep watch for the dragon. I already asked.”
The Selkies would do their best—and maybe today it would be enough—but they were no match for evil that had sunk its roots deep into the fabric of the Old Country and the rest of this world. It was why the gods stooped to using him—half-mortal, half-divine, or whatever the hell he was—to do their dirty work. Arawn, god of the dead, revenge, and terror, caught him skulking in the time-travel tunnels when he wasn’t much more than a boy and trapped him, cutting off any possibility of return. To make certain Angus remained, the god altered his memories, so he had no idea where he came from.
Now almost twenty-five years later, Arawn and the others still came up with enough for him to do that a life to call his own was out of the question. The carrot they dangled was the truth about his birth, but they never came close to divulging it. The stick was his fear of what they’d do, if he told them he was done.
Over time, he’d stopped asking about his origins. He cared, but it wasn’t worth the energy to run up against their stony faces and cunningly crafted half-truths that revealed exactly nothing. Despite his reservations about a quick dalliance with Celene—and maybe missing his rendezvous with the dragon—he was sick of his self-imposed isolation.