LADY OF THE MOUNTAIN
By
Lyn Armstrong
Book four in the Celtic series
Copyright © 2008, Lyn Armstrong
Published October 2008 by
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
The Celtic Series
The Last Celtic Witch
The Celtic Witch & the Sorcerer
Heart of a Warlock
Lady of the Mountain
Witch Hunter
Lady of the Mountain is dedicated to one of the most special people in my life. This incredible lady taught me to be fearless and to aim for the stars.
To treat everyone with respect and show compassion for those who don’t.
That happiness is a choice, not a result.
Therefore, with great honor, I dedicated this book to her.
My beloved mother,
Rose.
Chapter One
In the middle of an empty chamber, an enchanted golden staff stood upright, regal and tall. A rainbow of lights shot from its tip, illuminating the white room in a multicolored glow.
Drucilla’s gaze remained fixed on the staff of Merlin. She lowered herself to the cold marble floor and sat, her ankles tucked neatly beneath the magical gown of creamy silk. With a loving caress, the smooth material settled around her legs, its warm energy giving her comfort, as if she was not alone in this place of illusion.
But she was alone.
Alone in a hidden palace within
Drucilla sighed with longing. A stilled silence filled the chamber.
She looked up at the array of lights shooting toward the open roof of the chamber. High above her head, the black inner cavern of the mountain reminded her of the darkness beyond the palace walls.
She wondered what it would be like to go outside the mountain. To talk to people, walk through a market on a rainy day or see the blue ocean waters. These were experiences she could only read about and imagine in her library.
However, as much as she longed to experience these things, she would gladly give them all up for the gentle sensation of a man’s kiss. She touched her lips, her gaze drifting upward.
Being the daughter of the devil’s mistress, her knowledge of males was limited. Well, perhaps limited would not be the right word. She had never met a man before. Growing up in purgatory was not the ideal environment to seek companionship. Even there, her mother had sequestered her away from the other tortured souls.
When the day came that Mother brought her to earth’s surface, she thought at last she would have ordinary people to talk to, but she was mistaken.
What would it be like to have a family? To know who her father was or to have a surname?
“This is foolish,” she said with agitation, her voice echoing in the chamber. Pushing to her feet, she stood. “I must not waste my time on watching Merlin’s staff. It only makes me want something I could never have.”
Turning around, she jolted to find a silver unicorn watching her.
“Silas, you scared me.”
She ran her hand down his velvety nose. The tall unicorn swished his black tail back and forth. His black-tipped ears twitched, and his pearl horn glistened with millions of stars.
“How is it you can steal behind me without making a sound?”
Silas snorted and shook his head.
“I am glad you are here, my friend.” Drucilla grabbed the mane and lifted herself onto the unicorn.
“Take me to our special place. I am in need of the healing waters of Suilven’s springs.”
She was about to ride through the empty halls of the palace when the white walls darkened with a smoky hue, covering the sunny luster.
The unicorn’s head jerked up along with her own.
“Mother is home,” she said, her heart leaping with excitement.
Sinking her heels into Silas’ flanks, she raced along the halls to the wide marble stairway. The unicorn pounced into the air and flew over the stairs; its hooves floated above the gray steps.
Drucilla tightened her grasp on the mane, jolting forward when Silas skidded along the smooth floor of the entrance hall.
Regaining his balance, he turned and cantered toward the outside solar. Like her, Silas could sense her mother’s dark presence.
A cloying scent of old jasmine, subtle at first, became stronger as they neared.
Drucilla found her mother standing in the solar. A false sun beamed brightly through the glass roof, bathing her youthful appearance in splendid light.
The snug red gown she had made for her mother clung to her slender back and small waist. The magical velvet material fell to the floor, a long train splayed behind, giving her a regal appeal.
Drucilla rarely used her powers, but she did love to enchant her gowns with life. The one her mother wore was a perfect fit for her dominant temperament. Its deep color accented her smooth raven hair and pale skin. Drucilla felt not for the first time, a pang of jealously. She wished her own brittle and thick hair were as silky and straight—to be as beautiful as her mother.
Swinging her leg over, she dropped down from her unicorn and lowered into a curtsey.
“Mother, ’tis a pleasure to see you.”
“I told you not to call me that. My name is Torella.”
“I know, I know. I cannot help it. Though you look as young as me, I still see you as my mother.”
“Well, try to remember, darling.” She gave Drucilla a half smile. “I have a gift for you.”
Drucilla’s lips parted in surprise.
“I know you have been restless of late and I do hate that you must stay within the mountain, so I thought this might bring you happiness.” Torella placed her arm around Drucilla and turned her toward the corner of the room.
Waving her hand in an arc, her mother commanded, “Reveal.”
Upon a bed with lacy black curtains, a man of fifty winters appeared to be sleeping, his arms crossed over his chest.
Drucilla walked around the bed, studying his every feature. Even in the books she had read, no man ever looked so angelic on the pages. Wavy blond hair and slight winkles gave him a peaceful, kind face. His body was wrapped in blue and green plaid.
This was the first man she had ever seen in real life. Although much older than herself, he was pleasant to look upon.
“Who… who is he?” she asked.
Her mother glided around the other side of the bed and leaned over to kiss him on the lips.
He remained undisturbed.
“This is Laird Phillip Roberts.” Her mother glanced up, her green eyes shining. “Your father.”
* * * *
“
He had faced many obstacles in his life. Being the only male ancestor of the legendary Merlin brought with it certain expectations. Those expectations were cursedly hard to live up to. His abilities as a magician were limited without Merlin’s legendary staff. He had been searching for it all his life. Without the staff, his family fortunes were lost and success eluded Merlin’s kin—ill luck invading their every move—including him.
If only his father had taken better care of Merlin’s staff in his foolish youth. It would not have been stolen from his estate in
The attractive wenches always did distract his lovesick father.
Braen sighed and clenched his jaw. He would not make the same mistake. A woman would never divert him from his quest, no matter how beautiful. He would recover the staff and restore Merlin’s heirs with their ancestral power.
Just when he thought he had hunted it down in an old thatched cottage of a Welsh court jester, he was too late. After Braen threatened to turn the clumsy man into a warthog, the jester confessed he had stolen the golden rod for the sorceress while she distracted Braen’s father. She was a powerful lady of dark beauty. With one touch of her hand, she had sent the jester into a trance and he was willing to give her anything she desired.
He was about to throttle the pathetic thief when he had blubbered about someone who could help him find the staff.
The oracle.
It was rumored an old woman with the gift of sight lived in the remote highlands.
With little choice, Braen rode north until the grassy path turned to ice and his horse spent most of the day thigh-high in snow. How the highlanders could stand this cold miserable weather that changed within a swipe of a sword was beyond him.
Braen pushed his horse to cross an ice-laden stream. Snowflakes landed upon his eyelids, blurring his vision.
“Not far now,” he said, patting the horse’s warm neck. “The ancient oracle is said to be among these scraggy hills.”
The placid stream rose to the stallion’s stomach. His leather boots filled with freezing water, his feet stabbed with a thousand tiny daggers.
“Knowing the curse of the Ambrosius’, she is probably frozen to death.”
Reaching the embankment, he stopped his mount, and scanned the hills for any sign of life. The bay steed beneath him shifted restlessly, and the horse’s warm breath billowed out like a cloud. Beyond the thick trees on top of a hill, a curl of smoke floated upward, mingling with the gray sky.
“I pray that be the chimney of the oracle,” he said, and urged his steed forward.
The sight of a timber hut welcomed him, its dark wood contrasting against the milky snow.
Lowering his chilled limbs from his horse, he tied him to the railing and stomped the snow from his boots before knocking on the door.
The door swiftly opened. An elderly lady with a streak of blue tainting her gray hair greeted him.
Her lips pursed as she studied him, her keen brown eyes narrowing to slits. “Master Braen, you are taller than I expected,” she croaked.
“You knew I was coming?”
“Aye. Come in and warm yourself by the fire.”
The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight, and he sat in a rickety chair. He glanced around the untidy hut filled with a hanging turkey, pots and fragrant stale herbs.
The crackle of burning wood in the small fireplace swung his attention back to the oracle as she hunched over a cauldron, stirring the contents with a big wooden spoon.
“You seek the staff of Merlin,” she said without looking at him.
“Aye.”
She shook her head and muttered something he could not discern. The sound of the spoon scraping the cauldron’s edge was the only noise in the undersized hut.
Patience was a virtue he never did possess. Tapping his foot, he broke the silence. “Do you know where I can find it?”
Turning her head, bloodshot eyes peered at him. “I may.”
He arched his eyebrows, waiting for more.
Straightening, she lifted the spoon of black liquid and poured it into a bowl. The oracle hobbled over to him and handed him the bowl with steam steadily rising.
He smelled a hint of nutmeg and looked up at the oracle. “What is it?”
“Does it matter? You need to drink it.”
Without a thought, he tilted the bowl to his lips and drank the spicy liquid. The weathered features of the oracle blurred while the clutter surrounding him swayed. His eyelids weighted heavily. His arms and legs grew languid despite his heart racing with alarm.
Poison!
Using the last of his strength, he tried to stand, then fell to the floor with a thump.
His chilled skin trembled as if a mountain of snow weighed him down. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears. He took comfort in its steady rhythm. As long as he could hear that beat, he was still alive.
He tried to open his eyes, but they were seared shut.
A croaking voice whispered into his ear, “What do you see, Master Braen?”
See?
See?
His eyes were shut. What type of foolish…?
Suddenly, images of a bonny lass appeared in his mind. Sitting on the floor, she appeared like a noble statue. Her rich, black hair and delicate features were stunning. Her emerald eyes sparkled with life and gentle humor, yet also with a sense of loneliness. The cleft in her upper lip framed her pretty mouth—a rosy mouth soft for the sampling.
A bright light emanated beyond her slender form.
Merlin’s staff!
The gold metal glowed with power. Why did she have the staff? It was his to own. His birthright. Anger welled in his throat. He wanted to tighten his fist, yet his body remained paralyzed.
“Tell me what you see,” the oracle repeated.
“I see a lady, she has Merlin’s staff.”
“Aye, tell me more.”
Like a bodiless spirit, he flew through the enormous keep. Empty white chambers and wide halls dominated the strange abode. How could anybody live in such a colorless place?
Suddenly, he was outside and everything turned dark. Where was he?
“Inside a mountain,” the oracle answered, peering into his mind.
“What mountain?” he asked.
The oracle lingered in silence again.
“What mountain?”
A loud clap of two hands boomed near his head and warmth flowed within his body. Although still weak, his muscles came back to life and he raised himself from the floor.
The oracle sat in a chair opposite him, her gnarled hands gripping the edges of the wooden chair. Indecision flitted across her face.
“Tell me and I will give you gold.” Pulling out a bag heavy with coins, he threw them onto the floor near her feet.
Her small eyes widened at the bag, then shifted away.
Was that guilt on her face?
“Tell me!” He had enough of her reticence.
“Suilven’s Mountain. It is near the northwestern coast, across Fionn Loch. The terrain will be difficult and…”
The oracle peered around her hut, as if expecting the devil to leap out of the fireplace.
“And?”
“It will be dangerous, very dangerous.”
“I care not. Merlin’s staff belongs to his kin. It belongs to me.”
The old lady motioned for him to come closer.
He crouched near her.
She whispered, “Beware the dark sorceress that guards the mountain. You must kill her if you want what is rightfully yours.”
The image of the beautiful lady sitting upon the floor came to his mind. Surely, she could not be evil. But, she was the only one in the strange keep. Would he have to fight her for the staff? Perhaps he misread her eyes. If she were indeed evil, he must not let her use Merlin’s power.
“There is one more thing. The mountain is guarded by a powerful spell, keeping mortals out. You cannot break this spell unless you have the combined power of a sorcerer, warlock and wizard.” The oracle grabbed his arm and squeezed, her eyelids rapidly fluttering. “Go west for thirty leagues, to the Roberts clan. There, you will find a warlock and sorcerer.”
Her hand fell from his arm, and she closed her eyes, exhaustion claiming her wrinkled face.
Braen rose and walked outside into the snow. Finally, he was close to recovering the staff. He would convince the warlock and sorcerer to help him break the curse on
In one swift movement, he swung onto his horse and gathered the reins. Shrugging further into his cloak, he gritted his teeth and galloped into the dark forest with one vow.
He would fight to the death to claim Merlin’s staff.
_
Chapter Two
Appearing in the shadows of the oracle’s hut, Torella crossed her arms and watched the old woman stir the cauldron. The cloying smell of onions and turnips overpowered the small, messy abode. How did the woman stand to live in such filth?
“I know you are there, sorceress,” the oracle’s voice crackled.
Torella pushed away from the wall and chose each step with precision, careful not to trip over a broom or dirty pot. She entered the warm light cast from the fireplace.
“Did you think I would not hear the warning you gave the wizard?” she asked in a low voice.
The oracle turned and shuffled back to her chair, a long gray woolen coat draped over her shoulders. When she sat, a cloud of dust rose around her.
Torella’s nose twitched to sneeze. She turned her face and waved her hand in front of her.
The oracle peered up from the chair. “I fulfilled my pledge. The lad seeks the warlock and sorcerer, and is coming for Merlin’s staff.”
Torella sniffed and stared at the oracle with distaste; the woman’s wrinkles lined her face while she grimaced—as if all her joints ached, her brittle bones causing a once powerful woman into a feeble old hag. The oracle was everything Torella despised and feared.
After being alive for over three hundred years, Torella loathed everyone who aged. However, there was a time when she was mortal, and to stay young and beautiful she had to kill Celtic witches for their powers. But that was in the past and now she wanted something more powerful than timeless beauty—and the wizard would help her get it.
“Leave the lad in peace,” the oracle said, a crooked finger pointed at Torella’s chest.
“Cease peering into my mind, hag. Your pledge is done, and I have no use for you.”
“I have foreseen my death by your hands.” The oracle grasped both of the chair arms. “Hear me well, sorceress. Your immortality will not last.”
“If you mean to scare me—”
“Nae, perhaps I mean to sway you to cease your plans. Only death and sorrow will follow in the wake of your ambition.”
Torella allowed the bubble of laughter to escape her lips. “I care not.”
“Damn your soul to hell, Torella.”
“By the whims of the Gods, my daughter will pay for my damnation.”
“You would send your daughter to hell?”
“Aye. Why else would I keep her alive all these years?” She stepped closer to the oracle and leaned over to grab the woman’s oily chin. “You should thank me.”
Old withered eyes narrowed at her. “Pray tell why?”
Torella released her chin and turned around.
“In death, I will save you from growing older.”
With the wave of her hand, Torella heard the snap of the oracle’s neck. She picked up a green apple from the table and bit into the tart and juicy fruit.
Despite the oracle’s prophesy, this time she would succeed, and the ultimate power would be hers.
* * * *
“Why does he not wake?” Drucilla asked her unicorn, but Silas just shook his head and snorted.
After her mother abruptly left, Drucilla remained in the chamber to sit on the bed and stare at her father. She thought the day would never come when she was in the same room as the man who sired her. Laird Phillip Roberts. Was she able to take his last name?
Roberts.
Lady Drucilla Roberts.
“Good day, my name is Lady Drucilla Roberts, I am pleased to meet you.” She giggled into her hand. Her heart felt light and excited. For the first time, she felt a sense of belonging.
She stared at his handsome features. His coloring was so fair, with light blond hair and long eyelashes. Drucilla ran her fingertips along his high brow.
It was all so different from her own.
“I must take after my mother’s side.”
He stirred, and she jumped. Holding her breath, she waited for him to wake.
But, he only shifted onto his side and fell back into slumber.
Her shoulders slumped.
“Silas, if he does not wake soon, I will simply have to shake him.”
A shadow climbed along the walls, enveloping the room.
“Finally, Mother returns.”
No sooner where her words out, then her mother appeared beside her.
“I told you not to use that word,” Torella growled.
“I am sorry.”
Torella gazed down at Phillip. Her green eyes sparkled while a smile etched on her face. Drucilla tilted her head. Did her mother hold affection for Phillip after all this time?
“Retrieve the staff,” she ordered without taking her gaze from Phillip.
“Why?”
“Do not ask questions, do as I command!”
Gathering her cream gown in her hands, she ran all the way to the upper level where the staff stood in the middle of an empty chamber.
She hesitated. Every time she touched the staff it sent a cold tremor down her hand. Mother told her it was the staff’s way of fusing with her sorceress’ powers. Drucilla could not help but feel the staff did not want her to use its powers to amplify her own. But without the staff, she could not sustain the illusion of the palace. Whether she liked to touch the staff or not, it was necessary to use Merlin’s ancient power.
Squeezing her eyes shut, her hand closed around the golden rod and ice shot through her veins. The light the staff generated through the roof disappeared, leaving only the glow from the enchanted metal.
She lifted her skirts and ran out of the chamber.
Racing down the stairs, she heard a loud, angry voice echo through the halls.
“Where is my family?”
Was that her father shouting? Drucilla took the stairs two at a time.
The deep voice continued, “If you have done anything to harm…”
In her haste, Drucilla almost tripped on the last stair, but righted herself. Turning down the hall, she pushed her legs to its limits, wanting to meet her father and see why he was so upset.
She rushed into the chamber to find him asleep again.
Breathing hard, she looked at her mother. “Was he not… awake… before? I vow I heard… a male voice.”
“Nae,” her mother answered smoothly. “He has not stirred.”
Drucilla leaned over the side of the bed. His brows were furrowed, yet he remained asleep.
“Bring the staff over to me. I have need of your powers along with Merlin’s magick.”
“Oh, Mothe… Torella. Please do not use my powers. It always leaves me with a headache.”
“Cease thy whining. Do you want your father to wake or not?”
Drucilla looked down at her father and nodded.
“Then come here!”
Drucilla walked over to the other side of the bed. While holding the staff, her mother touched her shoulder and searing pain shot through her head. Hundreds of tortured voices screamed in her ears until she collapsed upon the marble floor.
Each time her mother drew on her powers, it left her weaker than the last. This time it took her a while to regain her strength before she could push to her feet.
Rising, she found her father sitting against the bed board, his blue eyes staring unfocused at Torella.
“Father?” she sat on the bed beside him. “Can you hear me?”
He faced her and tilted his head in bafflement.
“What did you do to him?” she asked her mother.
“I have made him happy.”
“You enchanted him by using my powers!” Drucilla’s breath burned in her throat as she glared furiously at her mother.
“You wanted your father, did you not?” Torella shoved her hands on her hips. “Well, here he is.”
“I did not want him to…”
“To what?”
“I wanted him to love me for… me.”
Torella laughed, demeaning her feelings. Her mother walked to the window and sniffed with disdain. “Have I taught you nothing, child? Love is for fools.”
Phillip’s voice broke through the silence. “My lady wife?”
Torella smiled and returned to the bed. “I am here, Husband,” she replied in a sweet voice.
She leaned over and kissed him.
“I have missed you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to return the kiss.
Torella then shifted her legs over to straddle his hips and opened her gown, allowing her breasts to fall out near his face. His glazed eyes widened with lust.
Drucilla turned in disgust and left the room. With mixed feelings, she walked down the white hallway. Was this how she wanted a family? Would her mother stay around longer now that she had a husband?
Guilt stabbed at her chest. Perhaps, it would not be so bad to have both parents living in the same abode. After all, Phillip did look happy when she left. Who was to say his life was any better outside the mountain? Was it bad to want her father to stay for a while? At least until he got to know her better?
Silas walked behind her and nudged her hand with his soft nose.
Drucilla sighed. “I wish I had someone look at me the way my father looked at Mother.”
The unicorn nibbled on her shoulder, and she jumped, giggling. “Silas, stop that.”
They walked passed Torella’s personal chamber and Drucilla halted.
The door was ajar.
“That is odd. Mother never leaves her chamber unlocked.”
Her mother warned her never to enter this room, which of course made her all the more curious. Due to either boredom or rebellion, she had tried repeatedly to open the door when Torella was away. It never budged. Her mother must have been in a hurry if she forgot to lock the door.
Drucilla turned to Silas. “Since she is occupied, I see no harm in taking a quick peek.”
The unicorn shook his great mane and tried to nudge her away from the door.
“Silas, I am going in. Either you keep watch or leave.”
He snorted in what seemed like disapproval.
Drucilla frowned at him and then entered the darkened room. It smelled of spices and stale herbs. Four large chests adorned with bones and rubies lined each corner of the chamber while ancient daggers and swords hung on the walls. A tall bookcase held old books and parchments. The musty smell of the paper added to the unusual scent in the room. Her feet moved over thick rugs embroidered with naked people entwined in different positions.
She strolled toward a long iron table; two candles sat on either side of a metallic bowl adorned with emerald stones and Celtic symbols of ancient sorcerers. Peering in, she found red liquid swirling inside. The tart scent smelled like wine mixed with dirt.
She went to put her finger in and taste it when a vision of a man riding a horse through the snow appeared. She snatched her hand away and leaned closer.
Even with the cloak pulled high, she could discern his appealing features. Snow flecks landed on his damp dark brown hair while his piercing hazel eyes stared miserably forward. His defined chin and aquiline nose balanced his round face, while neatly trimmed facial hair surrounded his firm, sensual lips making him look rigid and proud.
A smoldering flame swirled in the pit of her stomach while her heart hammered within her chest. This was a man she could be intimate with—a man that would know how to kiss.
With interest, she watched him within the enchanted bowl until he suddenly disappeared. Drucilla shook the bowl and the contents swished around, spilling onto the table.
“What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?”
Drucilla choked back a cry and turned to find her mother standing in the doorway.
_
Chapter Three
The wooden sign swung in the windy snow. In scarlet paint, the words Machara Inn were the sweetest words he had ever read. Weary and cold, Braen halted his horse near the entrance of the two-story inn. Without waiting for a stable lad, he swung down and led his poor animal to the warmth of the nearby stables. After pulling off the saddle and seeing to the mare’s comfort, he walked through the snow with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.
He opened the door to the large inn to find noisy patrons filled the room, laughing and carousing. The chatter stopped abruptly when he closed the door behind him. They all looked his way as he walked further into the inn and casually leaned on the bar. He glared at them, challenging their rude stares. One by one, they glanced away and resumed their conversations. He smiled to himself. With his height and broad shoulders, he never had anyone willing to defy him. Which was just as well; he was too exhausted to hold even a goblet of ale, let alone an actual sword.
“What will it be?” a tall, round man with red hair and beard asked him.
“I would like a hot meal and a room for the eve.” His gaze drew beyond the innkeeper to the buxom wench with cherry-red hair. Wearing a low-cut white chemise with a dark olive corset, she bent at her plump waist to retrieve a bottle from the lower shelf, granting him a delectable view of her bosom.
His body reacted with sudden interest, his member hardening beneath his breeches.
Her green eyes lightened when she saw him staring. She rose slowly with seduction, a saucy smile curving her full lips.
The innkeeper looked over his shoulder at the tempting lass. His bushy eyebrows drew together. “Keep your hands off my daughter,” he warned in a thick Scottish brogue.
Braen’s smile fell, and he asked in a flat voice, “The room?”
The innkeeper hesitated, then nodded. Obviously, he was more eager to take Braen’s coin than worried over the virtue of his daughter.
“This way,” he grumbled.
The floorboards creaked as he followed the innkeeper up the stairs.
“I hear the Roberts clan live in these parts. Can you tell me about the Chieftain?”
The innkeeper opened the first door on the right and waited for Braen to pass him.
“You won’t find information here,” the innkeeper said in a gruff voice.
“Do you not know of the clan?”
“Aye, but folks around here do not speak with strangers about the Roberts.” Closing the door firmly behind him, the innkeeper left Braen with more questions than answers.
Braen pursed his lips and frowned. He dropped his worn saddlebag on the floor next to the old timber chair.
With so much fear surrounding warlocks and the like, no wonder these people did not talk of the Roberts powers. If the church discovered a Scottish noble family had mystical powers, the whole family would be executed and their clan burned for harboring their secret.
He sat on the bed and took a deep breath then stretched his arms. He needed to find someone willing to trust him.
Lifting his shirt over his head, he lay down and placed his arms behind his head. He stared up at the high timber ceiling and absently gazed at a spider spinning an intricate design in the corner rafter.
The beautiful woman from his vision came to his mind. She seemed too innocent and young to be a wicked sorceress. But, he could see such beauty bewitching his father and the jester so she could steal the staff. He sighed. The lady of the mountain had Merlin’s staff, which meant they were enemies.
He would not be weakened by her physical charms. He was not his father.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Enter,” he called from the bed.
The redheaded wench sashayed into the room carrying a bedpan and a pitcher.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened when she found him lounging casually on the coverlet, shirtless. Yielding him a smile, she said, “I will just place this pan beneath your bed.”
Braen gave her a half smile and watched her every move. The wench was not as captivating as the lady of the mountain—but she would do.
Bending down in front of him, the wench again revealed her full breasts. Pushing the pan under the bed, she raised her eyes level with his waist and her gaze went to the bulge in his breeches.
The water in the pitcher splashed on the floor next to her and she leaped upwards, her face red with embarrassment.
“I pray your pardon.” She shifted her eyes and placed the pitcher on the high chest of drawers.
Braen rose and stood behind her, so close he could smell her extra sweet perfume.
He placed his hands on her arms and ran them down her soft skin. With her back facing him, she trembled beneath his touch. The wench had extra weight on her, and he appreciated it. It did not matter to him what size a woman was, he found them all desirable. Short, tall, thin, and like the wench before him, curvaceous. Women were exceptional creatures, and he loved everything about them.
Perhaps he was his father’s son after all.
Nae! He was in control. Always in control.
He pulled her against his body, allowing his erection to press against her round buttocks. She moaned and wiggled her backside, igniting a fire within him.
Leaning closer to her ear, he said softly, “I would like information about the Roberts clan.” He gathered her hair away from the nape of her neck and placed a lingering kiss to the skin beneath her delicate ear.
“’Tis forbidden to talk… oh. I like that.” Her chest rose and fell with her breathing.
“Come now, you can trust me.” He tugged on her earlobes with his lips, his hands roaming around to cup her breasts.
Breathless, she asked, “What would you like to know?”
“Everything about Lairds’ Callum Roberts and Tremayne Campbell.”
He resumed kisses upon her neck, nipping gently with his teeth.
“They… they live with Celtic witches in Gleich castle, two leagues north from here.”
“Hmm, you taste nice.” He unlaced the green corset beneath her breasts, and then covered both large orbs with his hands. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder, her breathing increased.
He reached into her loose white chemise and caressed her breasts. Using his forefinger and thumb, he rubbed her hardened nipples.
“Continue…,” he said.
“Well… Callum is a Celtic warlock and Tremayne is a sorcerer… oh that feels good,” she moaned, her hands reached around to rub against his groin. “They are both powerful, but as brothers in marriage, they do not like each other.”
He shifted to give her roaming hands better access, his member straining in his breeches for release.
Lifting his hand from out of her chemise, he gathered her skirt up to her waist and plunged down into her undergarment until he reached her wet feminine core.
“Do you like me touching you here?” he asked, pressing his fingers further past her inner lips.
“Oh… aye.”
“Tell me, is there something they seek or want?”
“Ah… um… Laird Phillip, the warlock’s father, is missing. Callum searches for him, but has no success.”
“Intriguing. And the sorcerer, Laird Tremayne?”
“I… I do not kn know…”
Her inner cavern tightened; she was almost at her peak. Swiftly, he turned her around and kneeled. Gently pulling down her bloomers, he lifted her skirt, placed himself between her thighs, and plunged his tongue inside her. The musky essence glided across his tongue, and he groaned with exquisite pleasure.
Beyond the thatch of red curly hairs, he gazed up at her glowing, pretty face. There was nothing like watching a woman find her zenith while his tongue lapped at her sweet entrance.
She tilted her head back and screamed while her core pulsated around his tongue. Her hands pressed the back of his head, urging his tongue deeper into her, holding him closer while he increased the pressure.
Her wave of pleasure receded, and she slumped her shoulders, a smile whispering across her face.
A knock sounded on the door. The wench jumped away from him, pulling up her undergarments and patting down her skirts.
The knock came more loudly and harder.
Braen rose from the floor to answer the door when the lass grabbed his arm.
“Please do not tell my father I am here.”
He winked at her and opened the door a crack while the lass hid behind.
The innkeeper tried to push his way through, but Braen leaned on the door jam, blocking entrance with his body.
“I am looking for my daughter, is she here?”
“Nae, and I am still waiting for my hot meal,” he replied coolly and rubbed the sides of his mouth.
“Well… eh, if you see her, tell her she has chores to do.”
He nodded and closed the door.
“Thank you,” she said, her hand clutched at her chest. “I must go.”
Picking up her hand, he placed a tender kiss on it. “’Twas a pleasure.”
The wench left and Braen wondered if he should relieve his own desires or seek food for his growling stomach. Opening the door, he decided he could wait no longer—he was starving.
Braen had a feeling the innkeeper deliberately kept him waiting so he would come downstairs for his food. That way he could watch his daughter and his patron simultaneously.
When he entered the main room and saw the smirk on the innkeeper’s face, he knew he was right.
Shrugging his shoulders, he sat at a table in the corner. He did not care. He got what he wanted—the taste of a woman and information. He needed only to travel to Gleich castle and convince the warlock and sorcerer that they must accompany him to
He winked at the wench at the bar, and she smiled. With the trencher of food, she weaved her way through people toward him until her father stopped her and took the tray from her hands. The morose innkeeper carried Braen’s food and dropped it on the table.
Braen chuckled. “I see you have found your daughter.”
The innkeeper growled and left.
“I would like ale as well,” he called to him. The larger man stopped and then continued without looking back.
A satisfied smile crept onto his face. He supposed he should not antagonize the poor man, but he could not help it. It was entertaining. The innkeeper returned with his ale and promptly left.
Taking a sip of the cheap mead, he peered over the rim of his mug. Two attractive people sat at a table opposite him. Judging by the expensive material of their fine garments, they had to be wealthy. Perhaps even nobility. However, the way they openly stared at each other with lust was anything but noble.
Braen picked up a chicken leg and bit into the juicy meat.
He studied the couple again. The lady had a darker shade of red hair than the wench, but no less appealing. Her blue velvet gown hugged the curves of her breasts while a pearl necklace hung delicately upon her creamy skin.
Notably distracted, the nobleman wore a kilt with a green cloak clasped by a black jeweled brooch. His features were that of an angel with golden hair and fair skin, but Braen had seen enough fierce Scotsmen to know that looks could be deceiving.
Braen stopped chewing when he saw the lady slightly lift her gown to one side while inclining closer to the nobleman. Covertly, the man snaked his hand under the table and ran it up her exposed thigh.
She giggled, her eyes sparkling with adoration.
Braen licked his lips. A sense of longing engulfed his stomach. It was one thing to dally with a wench and satisfy his physical needs, but something was missing. Something the couple before him, shared.
The lady whispered into the nobleman’s ear, and the man abruptly turned in Braen’s direction. Braen averted his gaze, not realizing he had stared too long at the couple while lost in thought.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, waiting for the man to challenge him. He was surprised when the man stared at him with a frown and mumbled beneath his breath. Was he chanting a spell?
Suddenly, the mug of ale by Braen’s side tipped over, splashing the mead over his breeches. Somehow, the noble had spilled Braen’s drink without even getting up from his table.
Braen pushed to his feet with mounting rage. He wiped away the residue, and then walked over to the couple. He had looked forward to drinking that ale.
As he approached, the noble rose to his full height, the same as his own.
“If you do not want people watching, then I suggest you retire to a room,” Braen’s defiant tone stabbed the air.
The noble’s eyes darkened with the insult, and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword at his waist. “You have insulted my lady wife.”
“I was not the one touching her in public.”
The lady placed a restraining hand on her husband’s arm, but he continued to stare at Braen with murder in his eyes.
The sweaty innkeeper rushed over, wiping his hand on his filthy shirt. “Is there a problem Laird Roberts?”
“Nothing that a good thrashing would not help,” the noble answered.
God's wounds . Trust his ill luck to start a fight with Callum Roberts, the very warlock he sought.
“My laird, allow me to discard this scum for you,” the innkeeper announced, brave now that the valiant warlock was nearby.
Braen stepped back and pulled his sword. “You are both welcome to try,” he said, his tone confident and defiant.
The lady rose and stepped from around the table. “There will be no fighting and no removal of anybody.”
“Alayne, you do not need to be a part of this,” Callum said.
“I already am and will not be the reason for you gentlemen to cross swords.” She stared at her husband, and he begrudgingly lifted his hands to concede.
She faced the innkeeper, “Master Niall, fetch this man another drink… my husband will pay for it.”
The dark look on Callum’s face caused Braen to laugh. To think, he was jealous of the noble’s intimate closeness with a woman. After seeing the wife take control of the situation, Braen wasn’t so sure he wanted what the warlock had.
Yet, he was grateful he did not need to fight the laird. The man would be worthless to him dead.
“Sir, wipe that smile off your face or I will allow my husband to teach you manners.”
Braen bowed and went back to his table. Picking up his food, he turned one of the chairs around and placed it at the noble’s table. Their eyes widened in shock as he sat down and began eating his chicken.
“We have given you no permission to sit with us,” Callum snarled.
Braen did not have an exact plan, instead acting on instinct. He had to think of a way to convince the warlock to help him.
“Oh, I think you will, once you hear what I have to say.” Braen faked a nonchalant poise and took another bite of his meat.
“Pray tell, what would a stranger to my land have to tell me?”
He took his time in swallowing the food that seemed lodged in his throat.
“I know where your father is.”
_
Chapter Four
Drucilla jumped at the sound of her mother’s angry tone. Pivoting on her heel, she faced the irate sorceress, whose ruby gown swished around her ankles as if the garment felt the sting of betrayal. If Drucilla did not know any better, she would think the enchanted material was readying to attack her.
“I… I saw the door left open,” she stammered, sweat beading on her upper lip.
Her mother glided into the chamber and went straight to the bowl. “Think you that is an invitation to invade my private chamber?”
Drucilla glanced down at her feet. Her arm was suddenly yanked as she was pulled closer to the sorceress. Face to face, she smelled wine on her mother’s breath.
“What did you see?” she asked.
“In your chamber?”
“Do not play coy with me! What did you see in the scrying bowl?”
“No… nothing, Mother.”
Her mother released her arm, pushing her away. “Leave me.”
Wringing her hands, Drucilla hastened to the door.
“Never return to this chamber again. If I find you have been in here—the consequences will be severe.”
Drucilla stopped by the door and nodded, then left.
Her heart raced with a new kind of adrenaline. Was this fear? Nae, after living in purgatory along with her mother’s quick temper, she knew what fear felt like.
Then why did her heart feel as if it was about to leap out of her body?
She walked down the empty hallway; a crisp draft caressed her face. The image of the handsome man caused her stomach to tingle. Her skin became sensitive to the smooth fabric of her silky white gown as the garment responded to the new sensations. Is this strange feeling because of the man in the scrying bowl? Who was this stranger and why did he appear in her mother’s enchanted wine?
“Good day,” a male’s voice called to her from the solar as she walked passed.
Drucilla halted and peeked back. “Father?”
Bathed in the sunlight from the glassed walls, the tall and regal angelic man stood with his arms open, a welcoming smile across his face. “Come give me a hug, daughter.”
Drucilla’s heart dropped to her stomach. Could this be real? Could she accept his love without suspicion as she had been taught to do all her life?
His smile faded as he watched her indecision.
The ache in her chest constricted.
Curse it!
She ran toward him.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as he gathered her into his arms and swung her around the room. Inside, a reasoned voice chided her not to believe in his love. He was, after all, under a trance. He did not even know her.
But another voice, a hurt young voice said to take whatever she could get from him. Take the love he offered and be thankful he was here.
“Oh, Father I have missed you.”
He placed her on her feet and kissed her on the forehead. “I have not gone anywhere,” he said, his brows set in confusion, “I have been here for you all your life.”
Drucilla wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she just smiled through her tears and nodded.
Resting her head against his warm chest, she wrapped her arms around him.
I pray you will never leave me.
Phillip pulled away and looked around the chamber, his gaze confused. “I know this may sound peculiar, but I seem to have forgotten my way. Can you show me to my chamber?”
She giggled nervously. “Aye, Father. ’Tis this way.”
Lacing her arm through his, she led him out of the solar.
What was she going to do? She needed a chamber filled with everything a male could want. What did men want? She thought of all the books she had read, the paintings of castles, knights and kings. Swords, aye, swords must be in the chamber.
They reached the upper floor landing when she turned down one of the many hallways. She would give him the large chamber facing the waterfall and gardens.
“Father, I am not sure the… the servant has done her proper duty in cleaning your chamber. Please remain out here while I go ahead and check for you.”
Phillip laughed. “It matters not to me…”
“But it matters to me. Part of my duty here is to make sure the palace runs smoothly.”
Crossing his arms, he smiled at her. “Then do as you please, milady.”
Drucilla slid between the crack of the door, mindful not to let her father see into the empty chamber.
The soothing sound of the waterfall echoed into the room while Drucilla stood on the bare floor. Opening her arms, she closed her eyes and whispered:
Take my knowledge
and use the dust,
fill this chamber,
detail is a must.
The room glittered and then filled with warm tapestries of knights on horses and scenic mountains. A large bed with furs appeared along with a long, red-cushioned bench near the foot. Three masculine chests sat along the wall, and mounted above were swords and shields, their polished metal gleaming from the candle scones on either side.
“Now, this is a chamber befitting my father.” Smiling to herself, she opened the door. “’Tis clean, you may enter.”
Phillip strolled in and surveyed the room. His curious eyes held a sense of confusion, yet the enchantment did not allow him to see through. Instead, his mind allowed it to be familiar to him.
Unwilling to face him any longer, Drucilla lowered her eyes and walked to the fire mantle, her hand resting on the smooth dark wood. Her head swirled with uncertainties. Was she doing the right thing? Or was she being selfish, allowing her mother’s intrigues?
Phillip stood next to her by the fireplace and held her hand. “What is amiss?”
“Father, are you sure you want to be here?”
“Where else would I want to be, if you are not there?”
She smiled and lowered her chin. Tears welled in her eyes again, and she cursed her raw emotions.
“Come, let us go for a ride,” he offered and walked to the window. “It is a lovely day.”
A frown etched on his brow when he looked outside at the gardens.
“What is it?” she asked and followed him.
“Who is that man talking to my wife?”
Drucilla leaned on the window and watched her mother walk through the gardens with her unicorn.
“I only see my unicorn, Silas.”
“Nae that is no unicorn, it is a man with curly russet hair and wide shoulders. He appears to be limping.”
She looked at her father and back to the garden. He must be confused. Aye, her mother was talking to the unicorn, but the sorceress did that from time to time.
She hoped the enchantment was not affecting Phillip’s mind in an adverse way.
Taking both his hands into hers, she said, “Perhaps we should get you something to eat.”
Before turning away, she watched her mother talk to the unicorn; her hand gesture stabbed the air while agitation twisted her beautiful face.
Was she angry with Silas?
* * * *
Drucilla led Phillip to the kitchen and cooked a hearty meal for her father. She enjoyed the easy conversation they shared and asked him about his youth. He showed her the faint scar on his cheek that he had put there to mar his features so the other lads would not tease him for looking handsome. She shook her head and they both laughed.
So this was what it was like to have a father. Although it took a while not to flinch when he hugged her, she tried to relax with his casual affection. Human touch was still foreign to her.
The sound of horse hooves echoed from the hallway into the kitchen.
Drucilla pulled her father up from the kitchen chair. “Come, I want you to meet Silas.”
He smiled and followed her outside the kitchen.
The unicorn clip-clopped his way toward her, the horn sparkled as he nodded his head when he saw her. She touched his nose and walked around to pat his warm neck. “Father, I want you to meet my unicorn, Silas.”
Phillip’s head tilted to the side with confusion. “Daughter, I do not understand. I see a man before me.”
Drucilla gasped. Not again.
“Nae, this is a unicorn.” She hauled herself up onto his back and leaned over his neck to rub his black-tipped ears.
Phillip looked horrified and stepped back. “I… I think I need to rest.” Turning, he walked away, shaking his head.
“Why does he think you are a…”
A heavy lump formed in her throat and shot to her stomach. Quickly, she slid off the unicorn and faced him.
Her hands clenched at her sides while her lips pressed together. Fury warmed her body causing her head to ache. “Reveal yourself!”
Silas shook his great mane.
“Do it or I will curse you with a thousand bee stings.”
The unicorn lowered onto one of its knees, his head tucked under. The smell of burnt fur wafted around the animal as it slowly turned into a man on his knee, his chin lowered. With short curly brown hair, gray eyes and a devilishly handsome face, the slender man looked up at her with remorse.
“You deceived me, Silas.”
He rose to his feet and stood in a long ivory gown. His ethereal eyes pleaded with her as he held out his hands. “’Twas forbidden to change in front of you.”
Smacking his hands away from her, she turned her back on him. “You are my only friend. I trusted you. You watched me bath and change clothes.”
“I will not ask for pardon; you are a beautiful woman. One I have wanted to make love to since I was sent here. But your mother said if I touched you in any way, she would lop off my horn.”
Drucilla’s head hurt with a mixture of emotions. “Make love to me? All this time you were watching me, desiring me…” She shook her head. “I do not understand.”
She went to leave when suddenly she turned back to him. “Who sent you?”
“The sorceress. I am to report everything you do. Well, at least until the day of your twenty-fifth birth.”
“Why are you not needed after that day?”
He swallowed and avoided her gaze.
“Silas?”
“I do not know.”
Drucilla thought there was more, but did not want to push him further. She had a great deal to consider; so much had happened. She met her father, saw a vision of a man that she could not get out her head, and now, her friend was not a unicorn but a real person, sent to watch over her by Torella.
“Do not be vexed with me, Drucilla.”
He went to embrace her when she stepped away, her emotions raw. “Change back and do not tell the sorceress anything.”
“But—”
“Be thankful I do not curse you after betraying me so. And from now on, cease watching me bath.”
Rubbing her temples, she walked away.
Why would her mother need someone to guard her until her twenty-fifth? It was not as if she could leave the mountain. There was one thing she did know—the sorceress did nothing without benefiting herself.
If she wanted answers, there was only one forbidden place she could find them–her mother’s personal chamber.
Chapter Five
Braen rose before dawn and left Machara Inn behind as he made his way through the highland’s craggy hills to
He regretted having to lie to the couple, claiming to know the chieftain’s whereabouts, but he was desperate. He needed the powers of the warlock and the sorcerer to break the curse on
The lone sound of horse’s hooves echoed in the early morn as he made his way across the bridge. The gate opened when he approached, and he studied the old gatekeeper in a thick overcoat.
“My laird is expecting you. Go to the top of the cobblestone road and a stable lad will help you with your steed.”
Braen nodded and urged his mount forward.
The sun had risen, but found it difficult to fight its rays through the thick snow clouds, casting a dim light upon the inhabitants of the keep. The town folk looked at him as he followed the steep road, their stares curious and suspicious. He admired the Roberts clan for their loyalty in keeping the magical aristocrats a secret. As an apprentice, he had practiced his powers in dark alleyways or behind closed gates for fear of being prosecuted as a heretic. Times were getting that you could not trust a disgruntled neighbor or friend from turning you over to the fanatical church prosecutors.
He studied the impressive keep. The outer battlement walls enclosed an array of colorful cottages along with an orchard. Next to that was a large tiltyard and square practice field. Even this early, several soldiers trained for battle, paying him little heed. Arriving at the top of the bailey, he narrowed his eyes at the small old chapel off to the side. With Celtic witches, a warlock and sorcerer in residence, he wondered how often the chapel was in use.
A skinny lad took his horse’s reins while he swung off the saddle. He placed a coin in the boy’s dirty hands. “Grant him an extra bale of hay.”
Giving him a toothy grin, the lad led his horse around the corner of a great castle.
Braen flicked the remaining snow off his cloak and surveyed the walls all the way up the top to the castle’s turrets. He had never seen a castle built on the side of a mountain before.
He pursed his lips. If he were under siege this would be the place he would want to defend.
“Greetings, Master Braen, please come in.”
His gaze swung down to the warlock’s lovely wife, Lady Alayne. She stood regally on the steps wearing an emerald velvet cloak and white gloves, her soft red hair adorned with jewels.
He bowed. “With pleasure, milady.”
Two soldiers closed the doors behind him, shutting out the cold winter morn. He strolled into the great hall with all the cockiness of a man with a plan. Then stopped in his tracks when he saw three women standing at the high table, looking at him with expectation. It was one thing to lie to an arrogant warlock, but quite another to deceive ladies. He cleared his throat and bowed.
Alayne announced, “May I introduced Master Braen Ambrosius.”
Braen bowed. “’Tis my greatest pleasure.”
“To the right is my husband’s mother, Lady Adela Roberts, and her daughter Lady Gavenia,” Alayne said.
Shifting restlessly, he glanced around the hall. Shields adorned the walls along with thick rugs, while an oversized fireplace behind the high table warmed the considerable chamber.
The mistress of the castle approached him. Her long brown hair was braided, giving her older features a youthful appeal. In a pink flowing gown, her gold-flecked eyes held his as Adela gave him her hand to kiss.
“Milady,” he said and placed a kiss on Adela’s warm hand.
“Sir, I hear you have news of my husband’s whereabouts. Pray tell me where he is,” her soft lilting voice almost broke his heart.
Gavenia, the young lass with golden hair and a wondrous bosom tightly held by her blue gown, walked forward. “Aye, tell us where my father is.”
He swallowed hard under the stare of the beautiful ladies.
After he obtained what he wanted, he would use Merlin’s staff to locate the chieftain. “I… I know where he is,” he lied smoothly. “But I will need Lairds’ Callum and Tremayne to help me.”
Just as he said their names, the warlock entered with another man closely behind him.
Adela chimed, “Ah, the lads have risen. Come, let us break our fast.” She motioned for him to sit on the lower table with the rest of the soldiers and servants.
He bowed when Callum greeted him.
Callum sat at the high table. “Allow me to introduce the husband of my sister and sorcerer, Laird Tremayne Campbell.”
The sorcerer looked familiar somehow. His raven hair and long shapely nose gave him an impression of someone. But who?
Tremayne’s dark eyes glared suspiciously at Braen. A flicker of oppression swept through him, and he wiped his hands on his breeches without anyone noticing. This did not bode well. He must remain calm. He had to convince them all, or else he would never gain the staff.
Callum called over to him. “Tell the clan what you told me.”
“He is trapped within a cursed mountain. A curse that only can be broken with the powers of a warlock, sorcerer and a wizard, such as myself.” Braen studied the mixture of emotions cross the faces.
Hope, suspicion and indecision.
The sorcerer looked at his wife and she shrugged her shoulders.
“He could be telling the truth,” Gavenia answered his silent question.
Callum asked, “How do you know my father is there?”
“I went to the oracle that lives south of the highlands. She told me…” What name did the lusty wench at the inn tell him earlier? “…Laird Phillip, aye, that’s right. Laird Phillip Roberts is held in this enchanted mountain.”
“Which mountain do you speak of?” Gavenia asked.
“Mount Suilven. I know the way and will lead the Lairds there,” he answered, hoping he sounded convincing.
“What is in it for you?” the sorcerer asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing to slits while his arms crossed.
He pondered his answer for a while before speaking. “There is a family heirloom that was stolen from me. I want it back.”
The sorcerer scoffed.
Adela questioned, “And you say you are a wizard?”
“I am the last son of Merlin.” Braen smiled inwardly when he heard their gasps. He was used to the admiration for the legendary wizard of King Arthur. If he had the staff, he too, would be a powerful wizard of legends—not just a man with a few magical tricks.
Adela placed her delicate hand on her son’s sleeve. “This is what you have been waiting for.”
“Aye, I will go,” announced the warlock.
The sorcerer raised his voice, “I do not believe this man is telling the truth.” He sneered at Braen. “And I will not go to any damn mountain.”
God’s wounds! Braen’s heart pounded more loudly. He had lost his chance.
All at once, the three ladies talked over each other, arguing with the sorcerer while the warlock placed his hands behind his head and leaned back on his chair, a smug smile on his face.
The dark sorcerer held his hand up and the women stopped talking.
He rose and his wife stood as well. Tremayne said to Gavenia, “I will not leave the castle unprotected to chase another rumor of your father’s location.”
“Our daughter will be protected. My mother and I will see to that. You must discover if the wizard speaks the truth.” She placed his hands on his cheeks and stared into his eyes. “Please.”
Finally, he kissed her gently and nodded. “I will go. But, I do not promise the safety of your brother.” The sorcerer glared at the self-satisfied warlock.
Callum went to reply when his mother rose from the table. “Do not start lads. Instead, gather your provisions. You will all leave on the hour.”
Tremayne walked around the high table and stood behind him. Braen swiveled on the bench and rose, standing head to head with the distrustful sorcerer.
“If you are deceiving us, I will not be as tender hearted as the Celtic warlock. I will rip your arms off and shove them up your—”
“Husband,” Gavenia called from the stairway. “Come say goodbye to our daughter.”
After the sorcerer left, Braen sat back down, his stomach in knots. A serving woman placed warm bread before him, but he could not eat.
Adela sat on the bench next him, her back to the table and her soulful eyes glistening. “Do not worry about the sorcerer. He has a dark spirit, but the love of his family overpowers the evil.”
Guilt racked his conscious as he studied the gentle Celtic witch.
“If for some reason… your husband is not at Mount Suilven. I pledge to search this earth until I find him.”
She patted his cheek with a motherly hand. “I know you will.” Using hands on her thighs, she pushed up to stand. “In the process you will find what you want most, but did not realize it.”
Baffled, he stared after her departing back, her pink gown floating along the ground behind her.
* * * *
Drucilla’s soft shoes slipped off her feet effortlessly as she leaned against the white walls, around the corner from her mother’s personal chamber. If her mother was in the room, she did not want the sorceress to hear her coming. Tiptoeing around the corner, she found the door wide open, and heard her mother pacing inside.
Holding her breath, she pressed against the wall outside and peeked through the door jam. The chamber was naturally dark as there were no windows or light except from the candles lining the wall. Drucilla narrowed her eyes, trying to adjust from the brightness outside.
Suddenly, the sorceress stopped at a timber stand that held a thick ancient book with Dark Magick written in gold. She clutched the book to her breasts and absently drummed her fingernails on the cover. Bending over, she placed the book in a small timber chest beneath the iron table.
“I seal this chest with the devils mark,” her mother chanted, and waved her hands over the strongbox while it glowed with an eerie gray shadow.
What is in that book?
Her mother stood before the scrying bowl, her black gown swishing around her feet, the material weaved around her arms like an affectionate pet. Tilting her head, she poured a goblet of red wine into the bowl.
“Show me what I want to see,” she said, her voice commanding.
A violet mist floated out of the bowl and over the edges of the iron table, then it cleared.
Drucilla tried to push higher on her feet but could not see the picture from where she stood. As she lowered herself, one of the bones in her knee creaked. Her heart plummeted.
Suddenly, the door swooshed open further, her mother grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her into the room.
“Do you think you can handle being a sorceress? To have the evil it takes to work black magick?” The hysterical tone of her mother’s voice sent shivers down her spine. She did not know whether the sorceress wanted her to answer or not.
She pushed her closer to the bowl where a picture of three men rode through a thick forest. Drucilla recognized the man she had originally seen in the bowl, his virile appeal sent her pulse racing as he skillfully rode his horse between two other men. She could not drag her gaze away from his proud face. With his black cloak and white tunic unlaced enough for her to see a shapely collarbone, he was devastating in every way.
A ripple of excitement washed over her body. How would it feel to have such a man make love to her?
Her mother’s whisper cut the silence, “You must kill him.”
Her skin went swiftly from hot to cold. She stepped backwards. “What?”
“You must kill them all.”
“Why?”
“These men have powers you cannot imagine. One is a sorcerer, the other a warlock, and that middle man, the one that leads them, the man you seem to be transfixed on—is a wizard.” Her mother caressed her chin smoothly, her gaze directed upwards. “They are coming for Merlin’s staff and to seize your father.”
Drucilla moved forward, and touched her mother’s arm. “Nae, you cannot allow them to take father or the staff.”
The sorceress peered with disgust at Drucilla’s hand touching her. Drucilla pulled it away as if she had been burned.
“I have other plans to attend to. You are the lady of the mountain. You must protect what is yours and kill those men.”
“I cannot kill anyone.”
The sorceress’ eyes glowed red and Drucilla stepped back. When her mother’s eyes changed color, Drucilla knew she was about to be disciplined.
The black material of her mother’s gown snaked around her throat, cutting off her air. She clutched at the garment around her neck, wishing she had not made the enchanted gown.
“You are a sorceress and have evil powers running through your body. Never tell me again that you cannot kill,” her mother snarled.
The gown released its hold on her and Drucilla gulped air into her lungs while rubbing the burn mark on her neck.
Her mother’s emotions quickly turned when she gently touched Drucilla’s hair and smiled. “Darling, you must take care of these men or they will kill you and your father.” She kissed a lock of Drucilla’s hair. “You do not want that do you?”
Drucilla shook her head. She did not know what was worse, her mother’s fury or her manipulative affection.
“Tell me what you want.”
Patting her cheek a little too hard, the sorceress answered, “If they get past the mountain’s defenses, I want you to kill them quickly and quietly before your father encounters them. After all, we would not want him disturbed.”
She lowered her eyes and nodded. “It will be done.”
“Good lass.” Placing a cold hand on Drucilla’s back, she pushed her outside the chamber and slammed the door.
Panic welled in Drucilla’s throat. How could she warn the wizard not to come to the mountain? She could not leave without dying, but she must contact him to tell him to turn back.
She needed information.
Turning, she ran down the hallway and out the double doors to the front garden. Where was he? Taking the front stairs two at a time, she raced around the side of the palace, toward the stables. Pushing open the oak doors, she found Silas in human form, using a pitchfork to move a bale of hay into the stalls. A sheen of sweat glistened off his bare muscled chest. Having discarded the long tunic, he wore only tan braies. He straightened up and dropped the pitchfork. His half-naked body incited a warm feeling throughout her, but she pushed it aside.
“If your mother catches you here—”
“I need your help,” she blurted and swallowed a lump in her throat.
He stared at her and then limped over to a bale of hay to sit. His curly russet hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it aside. He lifted a straw to his mouth and casually opened his legs, a hand resting on his thigh. His admiring gazed roamed her body and her nipples strained against her white chemise.
“How… how did you get your limp?”
His head turned as if he did not want to discuss it. Finally, he responded, “A punishment from the sorceress.”
She stepped further into the stables. “Can you help me gain access to her personal chambers?”
“Do not be a fool. You cannot disobey the sorceress.”
“I am not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“Tell me how I can get inside the room and I will leave you alone.”
He studied her for a long time. “Did you wonder why I was forbidden to show you my male form?”
She shook her head.
“Because your mother feared you would increase your sorceress’ powers.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Your ultimate powers are gained from sexual energy. A sorceress can take the energy from anyone having pleasure and feed her magical powers. Whether you watch someone making love or experience it, your powers increase significantly.”
“So if my powers increase, do you think I can move through walls like my mother?”
“Aye. You have the blood of a sorceress. You can do anything she can do. If you know how to access it.”
Drucilla thought for the while. She had to test the theory.
“Show me,” she ordered.
“Pardon?”
“Pleasure yourself, so that I may gain powers from your energy.”
He shook his head. “Now you think I am a fool. If your mother finds…”
“She will not.”
He looked at her, his gray eyes strangely changed. It was a look Drucilla had seen when her father stared at her mother.
Slowly, he unlaced his breeches. With a lopsided smile on his handsome face, he pulled out his member.
Drucilla had never seen one before and her eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of her head. She swallowed and licked her lips; her gaze flicked up to his eyes as they bore into her face.
His hands rubbed up and down the shaft and Drucilla shuffled from foot to foot. What was she supposed to do? Her mouth went dry while her lungs demanded more air than before.
“Watch me and look for the opportunity to gather my energy.”
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the hay bale. His breathing increased and so did the tingling sensation between her legs. She clenched her hands and watched every muscle moving in his arm as it glided and pulled himself.
She wanted to go over and touch him, and when a purple light floated around his body like a cocoon and she unconsciously walked to Silas. Her hands raised palms outward, and the light floated toward her, filling every pore of her skin with erotic sensations.
Silas grunted loudly, pumping his shaft faster as a white fluid burst forth.
The sexual energy increased, filling her body as if she were the one experiencing his final peak. Throwing back her head, she stiffened and groaned with him. A new sense of power thrummed through her body, making her feel invincible.
By the Gods, that was amazing!
“Your eyes have changed from green to black,” he said, uneasiness lacing his tone. “Go, before your powers fade.”
She licked her lips and smiled, her body screamed for more pleasure, but she resisted its pull. “Thank you.”
Running out of the barn, she returned to her mother’s personal chamber and knocked on the door. In sooth, her mother would have left the mountain by now. The sorceress never could stand to stay around Drucilla for long. Silence greeted her on the other side.
After looking both ways down the deserted halls, she closed her eyes and envisioned the chamber within.
A wave of nausea rose in her throat, and her head reeled with dizziness. She opened her eyes to find herself inside the chamber.
“It worked,” she squealed, and gloried briefly in the moment.
She looked at the timber chest beneath the table, her desire to break into the strongbox and read the book was almost overwhelming. Instead, she went to the metallic bowl her mother used for scrying. The red wine remained in the bowl; its tart smell tickled her nose.
Standing with her hands on either side, she said, “Show me what I want to see.”
A violet mist bubbled from the liquid and flowed over the edges, soon it disappeared and the vision of the wizard appeared.
He rode ahead of the other two men, his face one of determination. Drucilla’s heart pounded faster. How was she going to warn him?
Silas had said, “You can do everything the sorceress can do.”
Could she really transport just her spirit yet leave her body behind? If she tried and her whole body transported, she would surely die outside the mountain. Swallowing hard, she looked at the wizard. He was riding into danger. If she did not stop him, she would have to kill him.
Her heart ached with the thought—she must try.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and said the words she hoped would work.
Ground my body to the floor,
And allow my spirit fly,
Take me to the wizard,
Please don’t let me die.
Chapter Six
Tired and stiff from riding most of the day, Braen swung from his horse and tied him to a tree branch. “I will be back in a moment,” he called over his shoulder as he walked further into the thick forest for privacy. If he did not get away from those ill-tempered knaves soon, he would end up killing them both.
He had never met two men who hated each other as much as they did. Having to spend the whole day breaking up their feuding was exhausting. Thankfully, he needed them only until the mountain. After that, he did not care if they sliced each other apart.
Shifting his hair out of his eyes, he leaped over a fallen log and found a tree to relieve himself. After seeing to his business, he pulled up his breeches and turned to find a willowy lady in a pure white gown staring at him, amusement dancing in her black eyes.
“Where did you come from?” he asked and then moved backward. “You are the sorceress!”
He pulled his sword from his scabbard.
“I am here to warn you,” she said, and took a step toward him. “You must turn back.”
Her raven hair softly floated around her shoulders while the white gown she wore seemed to drift above the ground as if she had no feet. Her clothing denoted innocence, yet the sexual appeal of her dark eyes was devastating.
He cleared his throat. “I will turn back once I have Merlin’s staff.”
“The staff is not worth your life.”
“I believe it is.” He ventured to close the distance between them. Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the sorceress, but his hand went through her body.
He stood close to her and smelled a floral scent. He could feel the heat of her body, but could not touch her. She breathed heavily, as if his nearness affected her as much as him. A blush tainted her pale cheeks.
He wanted to kiss her pink lips, to taste her mouth.
He tilted his head lower to kiss her as she lifted her chin.
“Master Braen,” Callum’s call broke the still air and the sorceress stepped back, fear shining in her eyes.
“Turn back, I beg of you.”
Then she disappeared, the intoxicating flowery scent remaining behind.
Adjusting his erection, he shook his head with frustration and replaced his sword back in its leather scabbard. Braen jogged back to where he left the men on the horses. Impatiently they waited, each with a sour face.
“What is amiss now?” Braen asked and lifted himself up onto his mount.
“Naught is amiss, except this oaf believes he knows how to run my keep better than I,” Callum exclaimed and urged his mount to continue on the path.
“That is because I do,” Tremayne remarked and rode beside the warlock. “I have had more experience in running castles and defending the
“The
“Oh ho, young pup, if we are going over the feuding years, then let me remind you—”
“Cease your arguing!” Braen interrupted and shifted his mount between the men. Except for the horses’ shoes sinking in the packed snow, he enjoyed the short silence. “I have seen the sorceress who guards the mountain.”
“What happened?” Callum asked.
“She warned me to turn back or die.”
“That sounds like my mother,” Tremayne said.
“Pardon?” Braen gasped.
“Did this woman look like me with dark hair and is around the age of twenty-five winters?” the sorcerer questioned.
“Aye, she did.”
“That is my mother. The sorceress. Do not allow her to seduce you, one touch from her hands and you will be powerless against her insatiable desires.”
Braen’s erratic thoughts swirled through his mind. “How can your mother be so young and beautiful?”
“She is immortal and cannot grow old.”
“Thanks to you,” Callum threw the comment at Tremayne.
“I did not have a choice…”
Braen drowned out the argument as he thought of the exotic woman. She did not seem evil. Beautiful, aye, so very beautiful, but evil? Perchance he misjudged her. He had to be alert from now on. He could not fall victim to her lovely charms.
Using a slight pressure in his thighs, he urged his mount to ride faster. He wanted to get to
* * * *
Torella laced up the soft material of her gown and it tightened across her breasts, arousing the sensitive peaks to harden. Her daughter certainly had a wonderful mystic imagination to create such delightful gowns. Each garment contoured to her body and sensual personality. When she was excited, the gown shifted across her skin with arousal.
Leaving Phillip’s chamber, she closed the door behind the exhausted chieftain. The man had a sexual stamina of sex slaves half his age, but eventually, even he needed to rest, leaving her wanting more. The candles flickered as she walked down the white halls. This was the only place her dark blood conflicted with the good magick of Merlin’s staff. As if the walls themselves wanted to purge her from its palace. She never did like this place. Instead, she preferred the darker chambers of her stone castle in the hidden
She ran her hand along the cool railings of the wide staircase. Where was her daughter? Torella would never admit it to her daughter, but she would miss her after the girl turned twenty-five. She sighed and walked down the hallway leading to her locked chamber. Whether she was happy with the outcome or not, the girl must die. Was it not the only reason she kept the lass alive all these years?
Besides, the older her daughter became, the more curious she got. The last thing she needed was her daughter finding her true sorceress’ powers and the book of Dark Magick.
Torella arrived at her chamber when Silas ran up to her, shirtless and puffing.
“What are you doing in male form? What if my daughter sees you?” she said, infuriated at his disobedience.
“She is… is asleep in her chamber,” he stammered and blocked the door.
A shuffling noise sounded from inside the chamber and Torella frowned. “Did you hear that?”
“Nae, I heard nothing.”
She pushed Silas out of her way and waved her hand over the door. “Unwind my lock,” she chanted and a silver light glowed around the edges and the door creaked open.
Rushing in, she spun around, expecting to see someone but no one was there. She narrowed her eyes and sniffed the air. A light sweet scent lingered.
Drucilla.
She tapped her chin with her long fingernail. She did catch her daughter in here this morn. Could her aroma lurk this long?
Shrugging her shoulders, she turned on Silas, her eyebrows arched and her lips pursed at the muscles bulging in his arms. She walked toward him, and he stepped back, his eyes clouding with concern.
“Was there something you wanted, Silas?”
“I… I…”
“You hastened to my chamber for a reason,” she purred.
He swallowed hard. She could feel the fear and arousal drip from his aura, and it sent her senses reeling. He backed against the wall, seemingly unwilling to allow her to touch him. To control him with her magical touch that sent all men to their knees with want.
His small nipples hardened as she slinked closer to him, sweat gleamed upon his skin while a bulge protruded from his breeches. She had not even enchanted him with her touch, and already his body responded to her nearness.
“I asked you a question—answer it,” she demanded and stood so close to him, she could smell the scent of hay on his breath.
“I wanted to make love to you,” he said, his eyes flickered with indecision.
He was lying.
The dimple in his chin increased with a foolish grin. She stared at him; a delicious thought came to mind. “Sex would be pleasurable, but I want something more— ritualistic.”
She sat on the bed and positioning her palms behind her, supporting her weight.
His face paled; a noticeable shiver glided over his body.
“I am waiting, Silas.”
Insolent lad . “Turn!”
Silas lowered onto one knee and gradually transformed into the magnificent unicorn. His black tail swished behind his powerful white hind legs.
Rising from the bed, Torella donned her black cloak. Upon the iron table sat a small golden box, she opened the lid and lifted out a pearl-handle dagger.
“Come to me,” she commanded.
When the unicorn hesitated, she whacked his rump. “Come—to—me.”
Silas slowly turned to face her, his sparkling horn offered to her.
Rising the knife, she sliced a sliver off his horn. The unicorn released a tremendous cry.
“Oh, cease that noise,” she said, shaking the ringing from her ears.
Silas’ horn dulled in color then returned into its natural shape, while the piece she held in her hand turned black.
The unicorn slinked outside, tears in his round eyes but she did not care. Excitement greater than sex bubbled up in her throat. Soon, she would have enough of his horn to make the potion.
Chapter Seven
An eerie howl vibrated through the halls and Drucilla jumped. She never could find the source of the unusual noise, but lately it was recurring more often. Whenever she questioned her mother, she would shrug it off and say it was probably a draft escaping through the mountain.
Drucilla went to her father’s chamber and knocked gently on the door. When no answer came, she peeked through a crack to find her father was still asleep. Disappointed, she closed the door.
He certainly sleeps a lot .
Sighing, she went to the upper floor to where Merlin’s staff stood, beaming colorful lights through the roof.
Circling the rod, she said aloud, “How am I going to stop that stubborn wizard?”
She could not allow him to reach the mountain.
But, if she returned to her mother’s chamber, she would surely be caught the next time. It was only by Silas’ intervention that she escaped before her mother entered. She must remember to thank him next time she saw him.
Sitting down, she crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands to stare at the golden stick. It was glorious. No wonder the wizard wanted the staff’s power to create anything he wanted.
Drucilla straightened.
“I can create the exact bowl as mothers.”
Dusting her hands, she rose and placed her palms out. “By Merlin’s powers I ask for a sorceress’ scrying bowl… oh, and red wine too.”
A heavy metallic bowl with red wine inside appeared in her hands. Gathering it to her chest, she steadily walked out of the chamber. Peering in both directions, her heart pounded with fear of discovery. Careful not to spill the wine, she hastened down the hallway to her own room.
The door closed behind her and she breathlessly leaned against it. Except for the roaring fire in the fireplace, the chamber was dark. Even outside her three arched windows, the false light faded into a sunset, replicating the end of a typical day. Soon, the only light in the mountain would be from the glow bugs that lived on the mountain ceiling. Her personal stars, she liked to think of them.
“Candles on,” she commended, and several candles around the chamber ignited with flames, throwing light into the chamber.
Usually, she liked having such a spacious room, with her large bed on the other side of the wall and a corner all to her gown making, but the muscles in her arms screamed for her to drop the heavy bowl. Walking as fast as she could, she went to her oak table with a glass mirror and swiped off all her fripperies and jewels.
Unloading the heavy burden, she straightened the ache in her back and swung her numb arms.
She smiled to herself. “I will show the wizard what stubborn really is.”
Waving her hand over the wine, she chanted, “Show me what I want to see.”
The wine bubbled, and a violet mist rose.
The vision of the wizard appeared in a small room. He was alone with a tub of steaming water by his side. The taut muscle of his buttocks stretched the fabric of his breeches as he bent to take off his boots. Firm, sleek contours captured her gaze and she moistened her dry lips.
Drucilla giggled with a delicious thought.
She closed her eyes and chanted the spell to separate her spirit from her body.
Instantly, she was behind the wizard without him knowing. With the spare boot near her feet, the wizard hopped on one foot, trying to take off his other boot. Raising her hand, she made the boot rise behind him and kicked him in the ass.
Losing his balance he fell into the tub, clothes and all.
She laughed so hard her sides ached.
He came up spitting and splattering, brown hair flattened against his face.
She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I warned you to turn back.”
He shot to his feet and water splashed over the sides. With his hands on his hips, he glared at her. “You will regret you did that.”
She burst with laughter again.
He swung his booted leg over the edge of the tub, and it squelched with water as the other followed. He bent over, pulled off the remaining boot, and tipped the water out.
Feeling naughty, she smiled at him. “You seem a little soggy.”
A frustrated growl escaped his lips. He threw the boot at her and it went straight through her spirit.
“You cannot touch me,” she taunted and swayed from side to side.
“I know,” he snarled. “It just made me feel better.”
“Give up your pursuit and I will leave you alone.”
“Never!”
“Then I will stay until you do.” She glided over to the single chair in the room and sat with her hands across her chest.
“By all means, I welcome you to stay,” his tone was smooth and rich. He stared intently at her and arched an arrogant eyebrow. Slowly, he peeled off his damp tunic and dropped it to the floor in a heap, then he unlaced his breeches, pushed them down and stepped out of them, his sensual eyes never leaving hers.
She tried not to break his gaze, to resist the lure of surveying his body. A lump formed in her throat as her skin prickled with heat. Damn him! She lowered her eyes to his thick neck and then down his hairless chest rounded with tight muscles that lead to his flat abdomen. His arms looked strong, as if he could lift her up without effort and lay her on the bed…
She shook her head.
Look away, look away .
Purple light swirled around his body and floated over to her.
He was aroused.
The sexual energy floated to her spirit, enticing her being into a higher state of arousal. She heaved an affronted sigh and shifted her gaze. Hoping he would not see the lust in her eyes.
He walked over to her, making no attempt to hide his nudity. At the same level as her face, he stood with an impressive erection nestled against black hairs.
She could not suppress a gasp of admiration. A quiver of erotic energy surged through her spirit. She looked up to his face; smug humor tugged at his lips.
“’Tis a shame you cannot touch it.” He lowered his face to hers. “I see you crave to do so.”
Drucilla tightened her lips—rage flaring through her spirit. “If I could touch you, I would slap you.”
He straightened, and a deep rumble of laughter washed over her while his member waved in front of her face, taunting her.
He granted her a view of his tight buttocks as he went back to the tub and stepped inside the water.
She sighed and licked her lips. She would give anything to sink into the tub with him, to run the bar of soap over his tanned skin. Yet, he was so arrogant and stubborn… it made her so angry and aroused at the same time. Curse him for being so handsome and virile!
Rising with as much dignity as she could muster, she walked over to the tub and stood over him.
“Clothes disappear,” she whispered and his wet garments vanished.
He opened his eyes. “What did you say?”
“Gown appear.” She granted him a wicked smile as a frilly pink gown appeared on her arm. She dropped it on the floor and leaned over him. “We will see how far you travel in a bonny dress.”
Returning to her body in the mountain with the sound of his growl made her stumble over to the bed and collapse with laughter. Oh, the look on his face.
Chapter Eight
Tightening his grip on the reins, Braen lowered his head, shielding it against the falling snow. He was still fuming over last eve’s humiliation. Though he had extra clothes in his saddlebags in the stables, he still had to walk downstairs and through the main inn room in a woman’s pink contraption. Just his cursed-luck, Callum and Tremayne sat at a table, eating as he passed by. The roar of laughter followed him all the way outside and into the stables.
Callum rode up beside him on the moorlands slushy path. “Pray your pardon, milady, is the weather too cold for you?”
Callum and Tremayne laughed while Braen seethed with fury. The sorceress would rue her actions.
“I must admit,” Tremayne chuckled, “Mother must have acquired a sense of humor since I saw her last.”
Callum added, “Aye, and a wicked imagination.”
“Good fashion sense, too,” Tremayne laughed and Callum followed.
“Enough!” Braen glared at them. “The next man who jests will do so at the tip of my sword.”
The men covered the laughter from their mouths and coughed.
Irritation settled in the muscles of his face, the cold seeping into his bones.
After a long silence, Callum asked, “What powers does a wizard claim?”
Braen cast his gaze at the warlock. “As an apprentice to my father, I was taught the magical lore of Merlin. I have the same powers, but without his staff, they are weakened to small gestures.” He ducked beneath a low branch heavy with snow, and continued, “A wizard can touch anything solid and read the events of… the sorceress!”
Braen jerked on the reins at the sight of the sorceress imperially standing on the path. The hood of her green velvet gown covered her head, but he knew it was she.
“You fools. Return and you will not be harmed,” she said, her voice steady and ominous.
Braen went to dismount when Callum put his hand out. “Do not approach her. She is dangerous.”
He pushed the warlock’s hand out of the way and swung off his mount. He pulled out a small glass box from his saddlebag. This time he came prepared for her. He slowly walked toward her. “If you think a change of clothes will persuade me…”
She waved her hands and the horses bucked on their rear legs, throwing the other two men from their saddles. All three mounts raced back the way they came.
“Dammit Sorceress, that’s my horse!”
A ghost of a smile flittered across her lips; her green eyes sparkled then turned serious. “It will only get worse from here. You have been warned.”
She vanished.
Pocketing the glass box inside his cloak, Braen ran back to the men on the ground. Callum rose to his feet, brushing the mud off his breeches while Tremayne remained on the ground, face pale and strained.
“What is amiss?” Braen asked the sorcerer.
“My ankle feels like a battle ax has sliced through it.”
Callum sat on his hunches and went to twist the ankle when Tremayne yelled in pain.
Gritting his teeth, Tremayne growled, “Do not do that!”
Callum sighed and pulled off his gloves. “I suppose I have to save you again.”
“I do not need…”
“Cease your prattling and prepare to be healed,” Callum admonished. Placing his hand on the injured ankle, his voice rose;
I call upon my Celtic ancestors to help me heal,
Upon this remote moorland, restore this sorcerer’s leg
He has a cranky disposition, of this I do feel,
But, we’d be here forever, if we wait for him to beg.
“Oh, what wondrous wit,” Tremayne said with sarcasm. After a moment, he pushed a laughing warlock aside. Rising up he twisted his ankle freely around and muttered something close to thanks and turned away from them.
“How are we going to get our horses?” Braen asked, scanning the deserted hillside.
Tremayne placed his hand on Braen’s shoulder. “Just don’t let the sorceress steal my clothes.”
Within a blink, he transformed his body into a kestrel falcon. Brown and black feathered wings expanded in rapid beat as he hovered over them, the sorcerer’s garments remained in a pile on the ground. The bird flew beyond the hill in the direction of the horses.
Braen sat on the damp ground and Callum soon followed. The warlock went to open his mouth to speak and then closed it, bafflement on his face.
“What is it?” Braen asked.
“I was thinking. Why does the sorceress use these tricks?”
“She does not want us to arrive at the cursed mountain.”
“That is the intrigue, my friend. Why does she not just kill us rather than put obstacles in our way. One would think she wants us to remain on the path with willful resolution,” Callum said, his blond brows slanted into a frown.
“Nae, the sorceress pleaded most convincingly for me to turn back.”
“In sooth, Lady Torella can be manipulative, but that does not sound like the sorceress I know.”
From behind them, the sound of horses floated on the breeze. Braen stood and gave his hand to Callum. “Whatever she is devising for us, it is unimportant. The next time she appears, I will capture her.”
“How?” Callum grasped his hand and rose. “No binds can hold her, she is too powerful.”
Patting his side pocket, he felt the reassurance of the box. “You will find out.”
They traveled for the rest of the day without seeing the sorceress again. It had finally stopped snowing when the sun slipped beneath the gray clouds and they made camp for the eve. An overhanging hill gave them cover while a fire breathed warmth into the human burrow.
The men fell into a deep slumber after a simple meal of bread, dried meat and ale. But Braen could not sleep. He leaned against the dirt wall and wrapped a fur coverlet around his shoulders. In a hypnotic state, he stared unfocused into the reddish-orange flames. His thoughts went to the sorceress again. He wondered if she had given up. Much to his chagrin, he was a little disappointed. The look of lust in her dark eyes when he stood naked in front of her haunted him all day, making it damn uncomfortable to ride a horse.
What would her warm mouth have felt like if she had opened up her lips and taken his member inside? Would she run her sweet tongue up the length of him, or gather all his cock in her mouth?
He smothered a groan and closed his eyes. Stop thinking about her.
Suddenly the cavern became stifling. He needed to cool down. Throwing off the coverlet, he shot to his feet and stormed away. He could not let a woman dissuade him from his quest. Not even one as beautiful as the sorceress. Had his father held the same conviction he would not be out here in this rotten land of snow, mud and bogs?
He climbed the steep hill and stood on top. Moonlight shimmered through the break in clouds, illuminating the barren moorlands with a blanket of snow. A sharp, crisp breeze whistled passed him, and he breathed deeply of the damp grassy scent.
Suddenly, he had a feeling of someone watching him. He turned to the side and found the sorceress staring at him with an air of isolation. A thick ruby cloak trimmed in black fur covered her body; its hood cast a shadow over her face. She raised her hand and uncovered her head, her black hair gleaming in the moonlight, the whites of her eyes sparkling.
He remained motionless, unable to do or say anything; the vision of her was so perfect.
Her spirit glided across the moors, and he closed the distance between them. He tapped the side of his clock pocket—the box was still there.
“You are a stubborn warthog,” she said in a soft, low voice. The innocence of her green eyes contrasted against the high, exotic cheekbones and thick red lips of a sensual woman.
God’s wounds ! He just wanted to kiss her, to show what it was like to be made love to by a wizard. She tilted her head at him, as if she were curious with his lack of words.
He finally spoke. “Perhaps, I continue onwards so I could see you again.”
Even under the moonlight, he saw the becoming blush creep into her ivory cheeks.
“However, I beg your forgiveness.” He palmed the box within his pocket.
“What for?” she asked.
He crouched down at her dainty slippers. “For this.”
Gently, he placed the glass box between them. A hissing sound erupted from the box along with a strong scent of steel. Mirrored walls instantly grew around them, shaping into a small chamber. Everywhere he looked, images of the sorceress and himself reflected off the walls.
Her spirit was trapped.
The sorceress’ eyes widened with shock. She pressed her hand over her mouth and twirled in a tight circle. Her eyes narrowed with fury, and she ran over to a mirror and beat against it, then went to the other side of the chamber and tried to smash her way out. But the walls remained solid.
“Let me out, or I’ll—”
“Your powers will not work in here. Only a wizard’s whisper can summon magick.”
She paced backward and forward, glaring at him with malice.
“I should probably warn you that your spirit has solidified. Wherever you left your body, it will feel everything you feel in this chamber.”
She stopped and then raced up to him and slapped him across the face. The sting of her hand print burned on his cheek.
“Let me out!”
She went to slap him again when he caught her hand and pulled her body against his. The color of her eyes went from emerald to red while anger fueled her heavy breathing. He held her stare, the curves of her body melded against him, hardening him into an erection. He knew he was not supposed to touch the sorceress, but he could not help himself. His wizard’s powers infused his mind with images of her lying on a bed thinking about him, desiring him.
Raising his hand, he cupped the side of her smooth cheek.
She blinked, the color of her eyes changed back to green. Swiftly, she reached up and roughly kissed him. Lightning shot though his being and he returned the passionate kiss, opening his lips to taste her tongue as it plunged inside his mouth. A sense of urgent need drove him closer, to touch her, smell, taste and love her.
Crushing her body in a frenzy of passion, he felt her hand grapple at his cloak, trying to push it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, and she pulled his tunic over his head. No sooner had he dropped his shirt to the floor then she unlaced his breeches and crouched to pull off his boots. He chuckled at her eagerness, and she smiled up in return. This was a woman who knew what she wanted, and he liked it. No coy seduction, just heated passion melding between two bodies. Pure and unashamed.
Drucilla burned with an aching need to feel the masculine body she saw at the inn. She wanted him naked—now.
Hurriedly, he whipped off her ruby cloak and it floated to the floor. With deft fingers, he undid the laces of her blue gown and pulled it over her shoulders along with her white chemise, the garments surrounding her feet.
He pulled his breeches down and kicked them to the side. They stood before each other, naked and aroused. The sexual tension between them was thick and intoxicating. His appreciative gaze devoured her body, assuring her she was beautiful, desirable.
She took a deep breath, suddenly anxious. This was her first time, and although she wanted to leap into his arms and have him plunge into her, she was unsure of herself. The books did not prepare her for the emotions she experienced with the nearness of a naked man.
He lifted her hand to his lips. His eyes seemed to read her thoughts as he touched her skin. “Let your instincts guide you,” he said and led her over to his cloak to lie down.
The mirrors above reflected her image, fiery cheeks and lips reddened from his kisses. She looked completely different—a woman anticipating a promise of pleasure.
He lay beside her, propping up on his elbow.
Her body screamed for his touch, for his kiss. But, she allowed him to set the pace, even if it was agonizingly slow. He ran his fingertips over her stomach and down her legs, then back up to her chin, blazing a trail of heat and prickling her skin.
With his index finger, he tilted her face to him and smiled at her. “I will be gentle.”
Leaning over her, he kissed her again, his lips coaxing her tongue to dance with his while she arched toward him, pressing her sensitive breasts against his solid chest.
He shifted his weight above her and she opened her knees. His hardness nudged against her satin flesh, and an aching fire shot through her body while the heavy beat of her heart pounded in her ears. Her mouth went dry when nervously she reached down to touch his shaft.
She clasped her hand around the width and slowly pushed and pulled as she saw Silas do. She studied his face as it changed from simple lust to restrained passion, his eyes boring into hers as if she held the key to his body, his soul.
Such power she held; it was forbidding and pleasurable at the same time.
The veins on his neck stood out as his breathing feathered over her face. He lowered his head and plundered her mouth while she shifted her hand in perfect rhythm. She wanted him to find his peak, in her hands, under her control.
He went to move, but she held him tight. “I want to watch your face as you release your seed.”
“As you wish.”
Tilting his hips, he rubbed himself between her hot, wet sheath. She regained his full length in her hands, this time it was slippery with her essence, arousing her. Her hands slipped over the tip and back. He made no sound, except for the heavy breathing escaping his perfect lips.
She tipped her chin up and kissed him, drowning in the manly taste of his mouth.
Suddenly, his whole body stiffened and he pulled away from her kiss. In the throes of passion, he roared and it vibrated through her being while hot fluid glided passed her hand, onto her flat abdomen. She rubbed it against her skin and then onto her breasts. It excited her, tantalizing her further.
The sharp scent was erotic, and she wanted to douse herself in its powerful essence.
He lowered his head and licked her breasts. She giggled low in her throat and stretched her arms above her head, giving him full access.
“Hmm, take it all,” she whispered breathlessly.
He grabbed her breasts and ran his tongue around the orbs, then sucked the nipples, one at a time. Oh, she had never felt so free, so vulnerable and excited. She could lie here all day and allow him to do anything he wished with her as long as these feelings never ended.
Brazenly, his tongue lapped lower as if he could not get enough of her skin mingled with his seed. She shook her head.
Oh, such a wicked boy .
She watched his naked round backside in the mirrors above as he climbed down her body and settled between her legs. Two hands pushed her legs further apart, exposing her to his perusal. Heat infused her cheeks with his intimate study of her most private place, yet the dampness between her legs increased under his scrutiny.
She jolted when a finger glided down her cleft, parting her lips. It was joined by a hot tongue that circled her receptive bud, lapping up and down her tender flesh. A fiery energy scorched beneath her skin as his skillful tongue swept in and out of her.
She arched her back and grinded herself against his mouth in a frenzy of uninhibited desires.
He rose on his knees and lifted her ankles to rest on his shoulders. A sinful smile formed on his lips, and he turned his head to kiss the skin on her calf.
“I love your slick insides pulsating on my tongue,” he said with a deep and husky voice.
His shaft rested on the outside of her core, and she wiggled closer to him, her body begging him to enter her. The wizard’s eyes glimmered with a sinful glee. Taking his member, he guided it to her entrance, watching her face intently.
She cupped her breasts and turned her face, waiting for the first time a man would enter her body.
Bit by bit, he nudged inside her until he came to her maidenhead. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction to her sexual naivety. He paused but then continued past the barrier. It felt dry with friction for a moment then her muscles relaxed and accommodated his size. Tipping her hips, she set the tempo while he matched her movement, grinding hot flesh to flesh. She turned her head back to see the mirror reflection above her. He held her ankles while thrusting into her, wild and abandoned. She was so wet, so open and could not get enough of him.
His body glistened with sweat, and her hair stuck to her face while they panted and writhed together. Physical fervor taking her beyond thought, heightening her senses until she screamed. Glorious waves of pleasure washed through her.
He then shook violently, thrusting and jarring, he poured himself into her while a trickle of sweat dripped off his temples. He looked raw and exposed, young and alive.
His brown eyes stared at her with unadulterated worship. She smothered a giggle. In the position they were in, they looked somewhat silly. She allowed her legs to fall, and he lay next to her, his breathing still labored.
She took a deep sigh, a certain peace settling over her spirit. She had no idea intimacy would make her feel so—complete.
Braen licked his lips, wishing for a tankard of ale to wet his dry mouth. He looked at the sorceress. Her black hair fell over the side of her face, framing her delicate ear. She was sensational. If only circumstances were different.
“I do not even know your name.”
“Drucilla,” she replied and smiled.
“Drucilla,” he said her name, enjoying the way it rolled off his tongue.
He kissed her cheek and then rose to a sitting position. The weight of her stare on his back warmed his insides as he grabbed his breeches and pulled them up to his waist, then shoved his feet into his boots. He twisted around and ran his hand through his hair. What was he going to do with her?
If he had a choice, he would stay in the balmy comfort of the glass box and make love to her again. But, he would not let her beauty command or distract him from his quest. His family relied on him obtaining Merlin’s staff. Until it was in his hands, they were cursed with ill fortune.
Harding his features, he rose to his feet and averted his gaze from her loveliness. “I am sorry, Drucilla. I have to leave you here.”
“Pardon?” Her angry tone cut through to his heart and he turned his back on her as she quickly donned her clothes.
“You will stay here until I have Merlin’s staff.”
“You… you…”
He waited for the foul oaths to sting his ears. When nothing came, he turned back and she punched him in the stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he bent over in pain.
Pivoting, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot in agitation.
He straightened his bruised and sore stomach. He went to touch her stiff shoulders, but lowered his arm and stepped backward.
Do not lose control .
“I am sorry,” he said quietly and walked to the mirrored wall. “By the blood of Merlin, liberate me,” he whispered and instantly arrived outside, the cold blasting his warm body. He looked down at the glass box that sat at his feet, the original size was no more than a handful, but it held a bundle most precious.
He picked up the box, a miniature sorceress glared at him, her arms folded.
“Release me!” she yelled, but it only came out as a small whisper.
He blew her a sad kiss and placed the box safely in his pocket.
When he arrived back at the cavern, he found Tremayne awake.
“Master Braen, if you want to get some sleep, I will take the next guard,” Tremayne offered and rested his back on the clay-wall.
“No need,” he said, “I have captured the sorceress.”
Tremayne jolted and hit his head on the cavern roof. “Pardon?”
“I have the sorceress trapped in here,” he explained and held out the glass box.
Rubbing his head, Tremayne leaped up. “That is not possible, my mother would never…”
The sorcerer’s words stopped as he stared at the lady in the box.
“I do not think this is your mother,” Braen said. “She was a maiden.”
“This lady is not my mother.” Tremayne took the glass box from him and held it closer to the flame. “Yet, she looks almost identical to her.”
“Let me out,” a tiny voice bellowed.
Tremayne looked at Braen. “She must be one of my mother’s minions. In which case, you must destroy her.”
Braen snatched the box from his hand. “Nae, she is no threat to us now.”
“My mother will come for her, and when she does, we are all in peril.” Tremayne grabbed his arm. “Kill the lass. She is evil. I can sense it.”
Braen glanced at the lady in the box; she was silent and deathly pale.
“Please, release me,” she asked, her eyes pleading to him.
His heart clenched, and he forced himself to look away.
“Kill her!” Tremayne’s harsh voice broke through his thoughts. “She is dangerous.”
Callum stirred awake and rose to stand beside Tremayne. “What vexes you?”
Braen ignored them both and held the box up. It was one thing to imprison the lady of the mountain and another to allow Tremayne to kill her. Without thinking, he blew on the glass. Burnt steel invaded his nose as the box exploded, releasing the sorceress.
She stood before him, exquisite and vulnerable, tears streaked her cheeks.
Tremayne muttered a fail oath and went to grab her, but his hand went straight through her body. “Argh,” Tremayne snarled. “Tell my mother to stay away from my family.”
She wagged her finger at him. “I do not know your wretched mother.”
“Your mistress,” Tremayne returned, his eyes darkening. “Lady Torella.”
“Torella is your… mother?” she asked, shock replaced anger upon her face.
Braen stood back, curious to know how everything connected.
“Aye, she is.” Tremayne replied.
“Torella is my mother.” If her face was pale before, it was now the color of snow as her eyes shone with uncertainty.
All three of them stood with their mouths open.
Callum stepped forward. “Is my father, Laird Phillip Roberts, still alive? Master Braen said he was in the mountain.”
She shook her head, her hand touching her brow.
Terrific, she will tell them I lied. Phillip is not captive in the
“Phillip is your father?” she asked. “Who are you people?”
“Is he alive?” Callum growled.
“Aye, my father is alive and I will not let you take him away,” she said, her tone bordering hysteria. “So you either turn back or I will show you how evil I can be.”
Within seconds, she vanished.
“Dammit, Braen, why did you have to let her go?” Tremayne said and returned to his bedroll.
“You just found out you have a sister and all you can think about is how I let her escape?” Braen returned. He was amazed that Phillip really was in
Callum sat down on the spot. “I have another sister? But how?”
Tremayne threw a piece of stale bread at Callum’s back. “My mother and your father fucked, it’s that plain.”
He twisted around with rage in his eyes. “My father would never take another woman. He loves my mother too much.”
“The sorceress is not just any women; she has the power to seduce. You, of all people, should know that,” Tremayne replied.
“Are you impugning the honor of my father?”
“That woman is proof your father was not faithful.”
Callum shot to his feet when Braen stood between the two. “Enough!” He glared at them. “Let us consider the battle plan. We know that your father is definitely at
Callum nodded, his arms crossed over his chest.
“And that your sister,” Braen pointed at both of them, “is the lady of the mountain, perhaps a sorceress, but I am not convinced she is evil like her mother—your mother,” he pointed to Tremayne.
They nodded.
“I still want my family heirloom, and we still need to rescue Laird Phillip. So I purpose we keep a vigilant eye for both of the sorceress’ and travel faster.”
“Agreed,” Tremayne said.
“Aye,” Callum added.
Tremayne picked up his blanket from the ground. “Besides, if that lady really is my sister, she has a lot more to worry about than us.”
Braen jerked his head up. An unwelcome tension stretched across his shoulders. “Why?”
“Judging by her age, she does not have much longer to live.”
Chapter Nine
“Two brothers.” Drucilla paced the floor. A single candle flame flickered in her chamber. “I have two brothers.”
In looks, they were complete opposites. Where one had light hair and soft features like her father, the other was dark and unapproachable, like her mother. Then there was the one called Braen. Although still furious from his entrapment, she could not discount the touch of his hands upon her body and the way he looked at her as though she was more attractive than her mother. His persuasive copper eyes caused her to feel drugged as if she had swallowed one of the sorceress’ desire potions.
She must stop these foolish reflections. Aye, she made love to him. But, he was still the enemy, and at the first chance would no doubt capture her father, steal Merlin’s staff and leave her for dead. She would not succumb to his body again.
A light knock came on the door and she opened it. Silas walked into her chamber in unicorn form.
“There is no need for pretence,” she said and closed the door behind him.
Lowering his luminous horn, he transformed into an attractive virile man, leaning on one knee. He rose gracefully. The long beige tunic swept the floor, and a silver rope tied around his waist emphasized his slim lean form.
His mouth opened to speak but clamped shut when he saw the scrying bowl. “What have you been doing?”
Unhooking the cloak’s clasp around her neck, Drucilla dashed over to the bowl and covered it with the heavy garment. She stood in front of the table, blocking his view. “You have your intrigues…”
“If the sorceress found out—”
“She won’t if you do not tell her.”
“If I do not tell her, she will have me tortured until both my legs are useless.”
Drucilla grabbed his forearms. “Please, keep this between us.”
He stared at her from behind half lowered lids. A purple light swirled around his aura and Drucilla smiled. He was aroused by her nearness. Was it her touch?
She smiled. She could use this to her advantage. Edging closer, she pressed her body against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. The familiar sweet scent of hay lingered on his breath.
“If you keep my secret, I will kiss you.”
“A kiss? That is all I get for risking my life?”
“And you can watch me bath under the waterfall anytime you like,” she added, enjoying the power of his arousal. The warm energy seeped into her body, making her feel alive and giddy with magick.
He licked his lips, his hypnotic gray eyes seared into hers. “We have an accord.”
Tilting her head, she closed her eyes and pressed her open lips to his. His kiss was surprisingly gentle and sent a shiver down her spine, her arousal mingling with his. Although she enjoyed the earthy taste of his mouth and the way his tongue mingled with hers, Silas did not have the same sexual impact as the wizard.
She pulled back and smiled. “That was delicious,” she said. “The power is intoxicating. I need more though, if I am to defeat…”
“Defeat who?”
Drucilla turned her back on him. She was not good at lying.
He circled her, studying her closely. “You seem different.”
Her hand flew up to her neck nervously. “I do not know what you mean.”
“If I did not know any better, I would say you had sex recently.” He leaned closer to her and sniffed. “I smell a man’s seed on you. But how could that be? You would have to leave the mountain to…”
“I do not know how it happened, it just did. I went to the wizard, and he trapped me in this—”
“Your mother will kill me.”
She laughed at his somber face and patted his firm chest. “Oh Silas, you worry too much.”
Her touch changed his appearance. His face held a passionate beauty, almost unrefined with animalistic desire. She inhaled deeply, enjoying her newfound powers—her womanhood.
“Take care, Drucilla. The more you indulge your powers, the more you will hunger for sex until it consumes your every waking thought.” He gathered her into his arms. “Even now, your eyes are turning black.”
She smiled. Her body ached with need—a need the erotic wizard woke inside her. By the time he arrived, she would be ready to defeat him.
“Then we will not indulge,” she said, pressing against his body. She licked Silas’ warm lips. “Perchance, we could still kiss though?” She drew an invisible pattern on his chest. The energy she received from his desires would fuel her powers—it would have to do.
His face softened, and his eyes lowered to where she touched him.
He was under her spell. If only the wizard were as easily enchanted.
“Curse that girl,” Torella growled at the vision of Silas and Drucilla embracing in her scrying bowl. Her daughter had finally succumbed to her sorceress’ desires and somehow discovered her unicorn was a man.
The rotten horse .
Silas had one last duty to perform, and then she did not need him anymore. After the next full moon, it would not matter how powerful her daughter became from sexual energy. She would not be able to stop the curse of a devil’s mistress.
Torella slammed the door behind her and searched for Phillip. Damn the long halls in this palace, it took forever to walk anywhere. Why did her daughter insist on a large abode?
She closed her eyes and thought of the chieftain, his golden hair and thick lips, his sleek torso and trim waist. Suddenly, she transported herself to the leafy garden where Phillip practiced sword training in a simple tunic and breeches. The mist from the nearby waterfall laid a moist sheen over his long hair tapered to his neck with a tie. He did not register that she was there, his blue eyes remaining focused on the technique of battle—the man’s body was shaped like a God’s.
A smile formed on her lips, and she sat on a marble bench surrounded by lavender flowers. She breathed the rich scent and relaxed her shoulders. Everything was coming together. Over the past year, many obstacles had shielded her from gaining the ultimate power, but that never deterred her ambition. No Celtic witches, warlock, sorcerer or wizard could stop her. She was too powerful—and by far more cunning. Her greatest ally is patience, and being immortal, she could afford to wait. The day would come when she ruled the world of darkness.
Torella smiled at Phillip when he acknowledged her, his sword lowered to his side.
These weak mortals all played nicely into her plans. She called to him over the roar of the waterfall, “I have distressing news, my laird.”
His face fell with concern, and she resisted the smile tugging on her lips.
“Pray tell,” he said and hastened to her side on the bench.
“Three desperate warriors ride toward the mountain as we speak. They are our enemies and come to brutally kill our daughter.” Torella watched his emotions closely, enjoying the horror that passed over his eyes.
He shot to his feet. “I will not allow that to happen, my love.”
“Aye,” she offered her hand for him to take and regally rose. “I am certain you will not.”
“When do you expect these barbarians?” His tone was firm and self-assured.
“Perchance, the next sunrise.” She ran her hand over his damp tunic and kissed his mouth, gently biting the bottom lip. “You are the greatest swordsman in Scotland. I am sure you will swiftly deal with these men. Remember, they will show no mercy to Drucilla if you fail.”
Phillip’s chest muscles stiffened under her hand.
“I will not fail.”
Chapter Ten
Braen stretched his arms, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. He had been dealing with apprehension all day, since Tremayne told him his sister did not have long to live. Braen wanted to question him further, urge the sorcerer to tell him everything, but he remained silent.
Braen sighed. What was it to him that she had tribulations? She was trying to keep Merlin’s staff from him. He would not get involved. He let her out of the box didn’t he? Surely that was enough. He had to stay focused on getting into the mountain and finding the staff.
So why did he feel like a disloyal knave? Curse it all, he had to know.
“Stop!” He pulled on his reins to face the sorcerer. “Tell me why your sister is going to die.”
Tremayne’s face creased into a smug smile. “I told you he would ask before the sun reached its peak.”
Callum chuckled. “Aye, I knew his eyes twinkled for the lass.”
Braen fumed at their ill humor. “Wonderful, the only time you both agree. By the way, you are wrong. I feel… nothing… for the minx.”
They proceeded to laugh harder.
“Just tell me.”
Tremayne’s smile faded, his dark eyes, somber. “It is the curse of being the offspring of my wicked mother. Be it son or daughter, we must face it upon the day of our twenty-fifth year. The Gods steal our soul and send it to hell to be tortured for all eternity. This way my mother does not pay for her sins, and heaven and earth are balanced.”
“How did you escape the curse?” Braen asked.
“By knowing the name of my mortal father, I redeemed my evil blood in a ritual that I found in my mother’s book of Dark Magick.”
Callum added, “But even that did not completely work.”
“Aye,” Tremayne agreed. “There was one last vow I needed to complete the ritual and save my life.”
“What was that?” Braen asked.
“Love.”
“Love?”
Tremayne nodded. “Only the love of my wife saved me.”
The horses’ shoes crunched the snow, breaking the silence of the endless moorlands. Braen squinted into the distance, the glare stinging his dry eyes. “So for your sister to live, she must do this ritual and find love?”
Tremayne and Callum nodded, both staring at him expectantly.
“Nae, do not look at me like that.” Braen turned away. “I will not be manipulated to love any woman, no matter how fair she is.” I am not weak like my father.
“Then she is doomed,” Tremayne added.
Braen’s horse sidestepped beneath him while the other horses raised their heads, the whites of their eyes showing. “The horses’ are skittish,” he said and leaned over to pat his mount’s neck.
Callum pointed ahead. “Look there.”
On the rise of the next hill stood the lady of the mountain. Braen’s heart raced as he rose up on his stirrups to get a better look. Drucilla stood in her gray cloak, the sunset streaming behind her back creating a glow around her slender form.
“What is she up to now?” Tremayne asked suspiciously.
Suddenly, five shadows stood by her side.
Wolves.
Her hands gently caressed a black creature on both sides of her. They snarled in their direction, and even from his distance, Braen could see the gleam of their sharp teeth.
The men were having a hard time controlling their mounts as fear drove their animal’s survival instincts.
Drucilla pointed at Braen and the ferocious pack ran down the hill toward them.
Callum’s horse reared up, he fought to keep the stallion still. “What are we going to do?”
“Get off your horses,” Tremayne shouted.
Tremayne threw his reins at Braen and he struggled with both horses. “Where is he going?”
Callum shrugged as they watched the sorcerer walk confidently toward the oncoming wolves.
“He’s going to get mauled,” Braen hissed.
“Perhaps. But, he has tamed wolves before.”
“Let us hope these are just as amenable. Otherwise, once they are finished with him, they will be coming for us.” Wrapping the reins around his gloved hand, Braen pulled his sword with the other and held his breath.
The wolves surrounded Tremayne, barking and snarling while he stood with his head high and folded his arms across his chest. His gaze remained straight ahead as if taunting his sister.
“What is he doing?” Callum asked.
“I guess he is claiming his space.”
The wolves came close to biting his legs but did not connect with his flesh. Once they became quiet, they sniffed his legs and one by one, they fell back and sat at his feet, their tongues lolling out while panting.
Tremayne then looked at each one and patted them on the head. Their tails wagged while he spoke softly to them. Then they bounded back up the hill and ran past Drucilla. Her growl was louder than the wolves as she twirled around and disappeared.
Braen laughed low in his throat. “I admire her persistence.”
“Aye, until she kills us,” Callum said ominously.
Tremayne joined them and took his horse’s reins from Braen. “If my sister wanted us dead, then we would be so. She has the same powers as my mother; however, she may not yet know how to use them.”
“I pray that she never finds out,” Callum said and swung onto his mount. “Are you coming?”
Braen stared at the top of the hill where the sorceress had stood. He wished things were different. He wanted to hold her, to talk about the curse on her life. Did she even know about it?
“Master Braen?” Callum interrupted his musings.
The two men looked down at Braen from their horses.
“Are you ready?” Tremayne asked.
“Aye.” Braen nodded and lifted himself into the saddle. “This boggy path should lead us straight to Mount Suilven.”
They rode up the steep hill. As they cleared the rise, instead of the last rays of sun glaring into their eyes, a tall shadow blocked their view.
Braen pulled on the reins, despair lodged in his chest. Looking east and west, a massive stonewall barricaded them from continuing forward.
“I will strangle that lass when I get my hands on her,” Braen growled.
Callum laughed. “Did you not just say you admired her persistence?”
Tremayne said, “It looks to go for several leagues in both directions. This will add many days to our journey. Or…”
Braen looked at Tremayne’s wicked grin. “Oh no,” Braen shook his head. “You are not using magick to fly me over the wall.”
“That is a wondrous idea,” Callum agreed. “We will have to leave the horses here, but at least we could continue on foot.”
“You two may fly over, but I will climb, thank you very much,” Braen protested.
“Very well then.” Tremayne shrugged.
They gathered their provisions and pulled off the horses’ saddles. Braen sadly watched as his bay horse ran free with the others. He liked that stupid stallion.
Tremayne transformed into a falcon hawk and flew over the wall while Callum mumbled a spell beneath his breath. His body soon floated upwards.
“This is where Merlin’s staff would be practical,” he grumbled. Slinging his saddlebag over his shoulder, he climbed the stones one at a time. The wall seemed to go on forever. The muscles in his arms and thighs burned while sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them.
The saddlebag seemed to weigh more than it did when he started. He scanned up to the top of the wall, not much further now. Gritting his teeth, he absorbed the pain and pushed through the ache. If he faltered, he would fall to his death.
“The damn warlock could have taken my bag with him,” he mumbled and pushed his wobbly legs to take another stone.
“Tsk, tsk, such bitter words for your ally,” Drucilla’s silky voice floated down to him.
He looked up to find her sitting on the top of the wall, her legs crossed while her white gown and cloak floated around her feet.
He clenched his jaw. “Leave me be, woman.”
“And miss seeing you struggle?” The tinkling of her laughter was annoyingly sweet.
“Argh.” Braen raised another stone higher—the muscles in his arms shaking.
“I could lower you safely back to the ground,” she offered.
“Nae!”
“All right,” she answered, and hummed a tune while drumming her fingers on her knee. “Ah—do not fall.”
“Thanks for the counsel,” his voice held an undertone of cold sarcasm.
“My pleasure.” She hummed a tune again, and peered at the sky. “It really is pretty out here, I do not get out of the mountain much, well, until recently—”
“Do you mind leaving me be,” he grunted and hauled himself higher.
“I am certain I have already answered you,” she replied in a serious tone.
With the last of his strength, he reached the top of the wall. He rolled over on the wide stones, his hand clutching his chest while gasping for air, his arms and legs weak and limp.
The last orange rays of sun streaked across the sky as Drucilla’s lovely face hovered over his line of vision, her raven hair falling beside her pink cheeks. Damn her for being so beautiful when all he wanted to do was throttle her. That was if he even had the energy to hold his arm up.
“You look exhausted,” she said.
He was not about to let her know she had affected him. With a resolute willpower, he tightened his stomach muscles and sat up. She floated backward when he pushed to his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow. He shifted his saddlebags upon his shoulder. “I am not spent, and I will be coming for you. So you can flutter around in your spirit form, but when I get to the mountain, I will spank your buttocks until you beg for clemency.”
She glided back, and he advanced, his gaze locked on her cagey grin.
Why was she smiling at him? She should be terrified.
With one more step, his foot did not contact solid rock. Swiftly, he stumbled over the side of the wall and fell through the air. His last thoughts were of his stupidity and the sudden look of delight as Drucilla watched him fall.
Thwack!
He landed in a tall stack of hay, breaking his fall.
“Braen!” Callum called to him while Braen struggled to climb out of the hay. Finally, he fell down the stack and rolled to the damp ground near two sets of muddy boots.
Their laughter roared in his ears as he managed to right himself and leaped to his feet. Scowling, he looked up to find Drucilla laughing just as hard as her brothers.
“Whoever placed this hay here for me, thank you,” Braen said to the men and dusted straw off his clothes.
“’Twas not us,” Tremayne offered. “We did not know you were up there until you hit the ground.”
Braen’s mouth opened while he stared at them.
Callum pointed upward.
Braen refused to look up at the sorceress again. He would not thank her; she was the reason he had fallen in the first place. Lifting his head and hoping his dignity would follow, he marched north along the path, not caring if the others followed.
He walked until the darkness completely engulfed the land. While the moon was high and full, casting blue light upon the moors, it was not safe to travel any further.
He dropped his saddlebag and waited for the men to join him.
“How much further?” Callum collapsed on the ground.
Braen pointed at a solid shadow on the other side of a small loch. “See the mountain that looks like a gray pillar?”
Callum and Tremayne nodded while squinting through the darkness.
“That is Mount Suilven, named by the Vikings.”
“We are here?” Callum asked, astonishment lacing his voice.
“Aye, we are here,” Braen replied. “Tremayne, when the sun rises, I want you to take to the skies and see whether there is an opening.”
The sorcerer nodded.
Braen continued, “Callum, you and I must conjure a spell to break the mountain’s curse, involving all three powers, united as one.” He faced them both with determination. The weariness etched on their faces mirrored the sore muscles in his body. Nevertheless, he would not give up. He had come too far. “We will find your father and take back what is rightfully mine.”
Chapter Eleven
Drucilla’s smile faded as apprehension swept through her. Although she was having fun, the men were almost at the mountain. She had failed to keep them at bay.
Relentless fools .
Especially the wizard. She had known he was walking to the edge of the wall, but wanted to watch him fall. Of course, she summoned a stack of hay for him. However, he was acting so damn stubborn and arrogant. She could not help herself in luring him to his demise.
“Spank my buttocks,” she grumbled and shrugged out of her cloak. “I would like to see him try.”
Slamming the door behind her, she stormed down the hallway toward her father’s chamber. Her cream-colored gown floated in a tail behind her, swishing to mirror the tension increasing within her. What was she going to do if they broke through the mountain’s defenses? Her mother warned her she must kill them. They would take her father away along with Merlin’s staff, leaving her in an empty mountain with no food or shelter.
She could not let that happen.
Arriving at her father’s chamber, she knocked lightly on the door.
“Enter,” a masculine voice called from the other side.
Drucilla opened the door and found her father cleaning his weapons.
“Ah, my daughter, I am glad you have come. I want you to find a safe place to hide for the morrow. I do not want these heathens to capture you, should they get passed me.”
“You know of the men coming?” Drucilla asked.
“Aye, your mother told me everything.”
She stiffened in shock. “Everything?”
Did he know one of the heathen’s was his son?
“Does the name Callum mean anything to you?” she asked, watching his expression closely.
“Nae, should it?”
Mother did not share everything .
“That is the name of a warlock.”
Phillip lifted another broadsword from the wall and cleaned it with a cloth. “I need to gather all the weapons in the castle.”
“Father,” she said and took the sword from him and replaced it on the wall. “There is something you should know.”
Phillip touched her cheek and gave her an uncertain smile. He gathered her into his arms. “I won’t fail you, Drucilla. No one shall take you away from me.”
A lump formed in her throat and tears welled in her eyes.
“I will keep you safe,” he murmured against her hair and kissed her head.
Guilt infested childhood hurt and loneliness, making her want to cry all the harder. She had to take the enchantment off her father and tell him the truth, but then he would be angry with her and leave her to live alone again.
Curse those men for coming, threatening her relationship with her father. Callum had his father all his life; was it so wrong for her to want more time with Phillip?
He wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Do not worry, my dear. All will be well,” he said soothingly.
She swallowed and nodded. “Can I get you something to eat?” she feebly asked.
“Nae, I am content.”
Drucilla bit her lip and left her father to his weapons. Perhaps, she still had time to fix things.
Walking down the hall, she was lost in her thoughts when she heard Silas’ voice around the corner. He must be speaking with her mother. She should hide in a room and allow them to past or else Silas may be punished for being in male form in front of her.
Opening a door, she stood behind it—their voices sounded muffled through the oak.
“You have got to tell her,” Silas pleaded.
“Nae, she does not need to know,” her mother replied coolly. “Would you want to know your soul was going to hell in two days?”
Drucilla stifled a cry with her hand.
“Allow my daughter the chance to enjoy her last days on earth.”
“There must be a way we could save her, a counter spell or—”
“Nae! There is nothing,” her mother snapped. “You should be more concerned about what will happen to you.”
The sound of her mother’s footsteps retreated into the distance, along with Silas’ boots. Drucilla opened the door to an empty hallway. Her hands shook with dread.
She would die in two days from a curse. In two days, she would be twenty-five. What had her mother said? Her soul would go to hell? She could not go back there. She would not be one of the tortured souls she had seen growing up. They would hover above her, moaning and crying in their never-ending pain. In time, she had learned to shut them out, to survive, but it always left her in fear of becoming one of them.
The bitter chill of betrayal ran through her veins at the thought of her mother knowing all along of her pending death, and keeping it from her. Tears blurred her vision and she ran back to her chamber. She had only two days left with her father.
She collapsed on her bed, a sense of numbness overwhelming her.
Two days left.
Only two days.
The eve crawled by as the false light outside rose, bringing in the new day. Drucilla tossed and turned in bed, panic and despair keeping her awake. Unfortunately, the daylight did not bring with it any sense of peace, but it did give her time to find clarity on the solitude of her life. If she had one last wish, it would be to discover the world outside her books. With someone who truly loved her. By day he would match his wits against hers and by night, make passionate love with the same amount of zeal. She wanted a man who was exciting and handsome, passionate and humorous, yet gallant and noble.
A man like the wizard.
Drucilla swung her legs over the edge of the bed and wiped her tired, gritty eyes. She must forget about the wizard. Aye, he was fun to play with and a great lover, but he did not care for her. He only wanted the staff.
And what did any of that mean to her now that she was going to die?
But, she would not go with defeat in her soul. She would fight for what was hers. Her father and the staff. They belonged to her and she would not give them up easily. They were all she had.
Donning a yellow gown trimmed in black lace, she combed her hair and braided it down her back. Today would be a long day. She walked to her table and lifted the black velvet cloak that hid the scrying bowl. Grasping a silver goblet of red wine, she took a sip, allowing the rich, full-bodied texture slid around her mouth before the liquid smoothly burned a path down her throat. Tipping the goblet, she poured the rest into the metallic basin.
“Show me what I want to see.”
The dark wine bubbled, and a violet mist floated around the edges. A vision appeared of the wizard, warlock and sorcerer. They had traveled beyond the loch and stood side by side at the southwestern base of the mountain.
Braen’s husky voice echoed through the wine. “Tell me what you saw when you flew around the mountain.”
The sorcerer answered, “The summit is broad and is surrounded by vertical cliffs. I did not see an entrance of any kind.”
“As one, none of us can enter, but using the powers of all three, we have a chance of breaking the enchanted barrier,” Braen said.
Curse those men and their imprudent powers ! Drucilla leaned closer to the bowl. Please don’t work, please don’t work.
“Men, link your arms and repeat after me,” Braen ordered, his brown eyes determined and narrow.
With the power of wizard, sorcerer and warlock
We call upon the ancient forces of earth
Lift the curse covering this mountain
Allow us to enter and discover its worth.
The mountain rumbled loudly around Drucilla, she looked up while dust and pieces of the ceiling fell around her. She ran to the window to see bits of rock falling in the garden and splashing in the waterfall. She rushed back to the bowl.
Outside the mountain, rocks moved to open a portal for the three intruders.
She clenched her hand until her nails imprinted her palms. “Men! Curse them all.”
Soon, they would enter a series of long tunnels below. Drucilla tucked her hair behind her ear. If they went down the wrong passageway, they would be lost for days. She gloried briefly in wicked delight.
She envisioned the wizard and instantly transported to where he stood in the mountain cave, her brothers entering behind him. They did not see her as she ran over to the mouth of a large tunnel that led deeper into the mountain. She casually leaned on the rock wall, and cleared her throat.
All three swiveled in her direction, their bodies stiffening on guard. She giggled, enjoying the fear on their faces. No wonder her mother loved being evil. Perhaps her mother’s blood ran thicker inside her than her father’s.
Braen schooled his features with indifference and boldly stood so close she could smell his breath. A part of her wanted to step away, in case he noticed her spirit was embodied, but her heart demanded that she stand her ground and soak the nearness of him into her soul.
His copper eyes stared into hers, studying her, acknowledging her as a woman. His emotions changed from frustration to desire. Her body tingled with anticipation, her skin aching with a need to be touched. She glanced down at his lips and remembered the sensation of them as they captured her mouth. She sighed and looked back into his eyes.
He offered her a cocky smile as if he knew the erotic desire he held over her. She went to push him away, and he instinctively reacted by grabbing her wrists. His eyes widened with contact of her flesh.
“Not in spirit this time, sorceress.” Irritation and longing lacing his words.
He quickly planted a kiss on her lips and Drucilla melted beneath his onslaught.
Orange light illuminated the dark cave as the other men lit their fire sconces.
She broke the embrace. “You fool. There is more danger in these tunnels than you realize. Unearthly monstrosities not even I can control.” Touching her lips, she transported back to the safety of her chamber.
“I must not do that again,” she admonished herself, pacing on the Egyptian rug.
She went to the scrying bowl and watched the men.
“You had her, and all you did was kiss her,” the sorcerer said, irritation evident in his tone.
“Let it go,” Braen returned, his eyes challenging the sorcerer.
“Well, which tunnel do we choose?” Callum stepped forward and they stared down five different possibilities.
Please don’t let them choose the middle tunnel .
“Drucilla said not to go down this one,” Braen said, pointing to the second tunnel on the left.
“It certainly is the largest of them all,” Tremayne added.
Callum walked to its entrance. “Let us go then.”
A shiver of excitement flowed through Drucilla. If they took that tunnel, it would lead them down into the earth for many days. Could her ruse actually work?
The sorcerer followed Callum into the tunnel while Braen stayed back. His gaze drifted from one opening to another.
“Are you coming?” Callum called, the glow of his flame brightened his flaxen features.
“Stop!” Braen called to them.
Drucilla’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“’Tis a ruse,” he added.
“How do you know?” Tremayne walked back to the wizard.
“I just do. The sorceress is too clever to give us the path to her holdings. Nae, this tunnel is the wrong way.”
Callum joined them, facing the entrances. “Then which one is it?”
Braen raised his nose and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” Callum and Tremayne asked in unison.
“That flowery scent,” he said and walked toward the second tunnel. “I smell her.”
“How do you know it is she?” Callum asked.
He faced them, arching an elegant eyebrow. “I would know her exquisite scent anywhere.”
Drucilla tightened her lips and resisted the need to throw something across her room. Instead, she watched them walk down the right tunnel toward her palace and unknowingly into their greatest nightmare. It was only a matter of time before it would awake.
A knock sounded on the door. “Drucilla,” her father called.
“Come in,” she answered and covered the bowl.
Her father entered, dressed in full battle clothing with a shape broadsword wrapped around his waist, bow and arrows draped over one shoulder and a dagger strapped to his calf.
Silas followed him in; he too was dressed for war. In a black tunic and gray breeches, he fashioned the same weaponry as her father.
“Silas has agreed to protect you while I fight,” her father said and quickly looked out the window.
“That is unnecessary.”
Silas faced her. “Your father has asked me to take care of you.”
She scowled at him. “I do not know why.”
Silas tilted his head, suspicious with her harsh comment.
“I do not want anything to happen to you.” Phillip gathered her into his arms.
“Father,” she pushed him gently back. “There is something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
Drucilla swallowed hard. She could no longer stand the guilt of deceiving her father, keeping him here against his will, as she had been trapped all her life in one way or another.
Silas blocked her. “You must not,” he said, his eyes filled with fear.
She pushed him aside.
Dark shadows lined the wall bringing with it an oppressive air.
Mother.
“Silas you must turn back into a unicorn,” she whispered.
“It is too late. She already knows,” he replied.
Torella’s sensual, young form transformed into the chamber in one of Drucilla’s handcrafted black gowns, her cleavage dipped deeply into the satin fabric. Her scarlet eyes glowed and Drucilla stepped back by habit.
She glided up to Drucilla and slapped her across the face. The sting on her cheek burned her skin, but she glared at her mother all the same. She would not back away in fear. Not this time.
“You fool. You were supposed to kill the men.”
Drucilla raised her chin and slapped her mother back. “I will not kill anyone.”
Chapter Twelve
Trickles of escaped water dripped down black walls. Braen shifted the flame sconce into his other hand when he stepped over a moist boulder. He peered into the sinister darkness; the tunnel seemed to narrow as they traveled deeper into the mountain.
He stumbled on a jagged rock and straightened. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk without tripping on the uneven ground.
“Are we even in the right passage?” Callum asked, his voice echoing down the tunnel. “It is getting cramped in here.”
“Aye,” Braen said. “I am sure of it.”
“Again, he is sure of it,” Callum repeated behind Braen. “Your instincts had better be right, because I am getting a bad feeling about this place.”
“This is the right way.” Braen swung around and stared at them. “I sense Merlin’s staff is closer than ever before. It calls to me, to my soul.”
The stench of rotten eggs mingled with feces burned the insides of Braen’s nose, and his eyes watered.
“Orrr, what is that?” Callum asked, swiping in front of his face.
Braen shrugged his shoulders.
“Whatever makes that smell cannot be good,” Tremayne added.
“Let us keep going.” Braen nudged a stone out of the way.
“I do not—”
“Shh,” Braen held his hand over Callum’s mouth.
“What is amiss?” Tremayne whispered.
“Did you hear that?” Braen asked. A sense of dread prickled the back of his neck. “It sounded as though something moved up ahead.”
They extended their arms with the flames to light the path, but only endless dark stretched beyond them.
“I did not hear anything,” Tremayne said.
“Something is in here with us.” Braen leaned over to touch the walls. Perhaps he could get a sense of what lived in these tunnels. The palm of his hand pressed against the damp, rocky wall. Torment, hunger and chaos seeped through his hand and up his arm. “I think we are in trouble.”
A slithering reverberation scuttled among rocks. Braen stood perfectly still, his ears straining to hear more. A piercing bark with the sound of thirty hounds combined whooshed through the tunnel, making his blood turn cold.
“What was that?” Tremayne pulled his sword.
“Dear Gods,” Braen faced the men. “It is only a myth. It cannot be here.” He ordered Callum, “Give me your flame.”
Taking all the sconces, he threw them ahead of them, bringing a cold darkness to their backs. “Those noises could only come from one creature… the Questing Beast.”
The slithering noise rustled closer. Braen pulled his sword; his hands slippery on the handle, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Where did it come from?” Callum asked, his voice wavering.
“Merlin’s parchments tell of a beast borne of a human woman, an incestuous princess who slept with the devil. Many knights have searched for the beast, but all have failed to kill it.”
A dark shadow filled the height of the tunnel. Braen swallowed hard, his muscles tensed as he held his sword, waiting for the creature to move into the light. The only sound emitting was the heavy breathing of men.
Two green eyes penetrated the darkness. Braen stepped back and heard the other two do the same. His pulsed raced as his heart pumped an erratic beat. The Questing Beast released a loud bark, deafening Braen as it vibrated throughout his body.
“Stand still, men,” he ordered, gripping his sword tighter.
Slowly, the devil’s abomination moved into the pitiful light of the flames. The serpent’s neck slithered forward, attached to a leopard’s body with the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a deer. Its forked-tongue hissed, and then the bark of hounds erupted from the beast.
“How do we kill it?” Tremayne asked.
“We don’t.” Braen backed up another step. “All we can do is fight until it kills us.”
Tremayne pushed him aside.
“Don’t…” Braen shouted as Tremayne lifted his hands to use his powers, but the creature snarled and hissed, impervious to the attempt.
“You cannot use your powers on a creature sired by the devil. You will just end up vexing him.” Braen pushed the sorcerer behind him when the creature advanced.
“He is immune to all powers?” Callum asked him.
“Aye.”
The beast leaped over the flames and Braen stood his ground. “Run, I will stay and give you time to escape.” He swiped his sword through the air; the serpent’s head snapped only inches from his face.
Tremayne and Callum squeezed beside him and slashed with their swords, pushing the beast back. “We are not going anywhere,” Callum announced.
The creature barked again, and Braen’s ears rang. It was so close he could smell its putrid breath, reeking of dead bodies. He needed a plan. It was only a matter of time before they tired. Braen wracked his memories of his apprenticeship when learning the art of Merlin’s teachings. What had he read about the Questing Beast? Ugh, this was a fine time to forget!
The beast knocked over Tremayne and Callum sliced one of its legs. It flicked Callum with its head, and he flew backward.
“That is it!” Braen proclaimed, and then the creature turned its slimy head toward him. He backed against the wall as it advanced on him. He crouched and shuffled through his saddlebag. The drool from the serpent’s head dripped on his face. Anticipating his imminent death, he finally felt the round small vial in his bag. The beast opened its foul mouth and was about to swallow him when Braen threw the vial into its mouth. The creature pulled back, the vial crushed between its powerful jaws.
Braen pushed to his feet, holding his sword out, the jagged wall rough against his back.
The beast moved to strike, but it swayed on its legs. It leaned to one side, toppling against the wall, and then it stumbled toward Braen.
He leaped out of the way, just in time before the beast landed at his feet.
Tremayne and Callum rose slowly, staring down at the creature. “I thought you said magick would not work,” Callum said.
“Magick will not work, but a powerful sleeping draught will.”
“How long does it last?” Tremayne asked and picked up his sword.
“I gave him enough to knock out an army of men. I would guess half a day, one full day at the most.” Braen slung his saddlebag over his shoulder.
“Let us away, then. I do not want to be here when it wakes,” Callum said and sidled against the wall, avoiding the serpents head.
* * * *
Fury burned in her mother’s eyes and Drucilla stood with her hands on her hips, refusing to break her glare. All the pent-up frustrations gathered in the pit of her stomach. She had lost her childhood living in purgatory, trapped in a mountain, lied to, betrayed—and she had enough of being subdued into something she was not: her mother.
“Ladies, please,” her father placed his arm around Drucilla’s trembling shoulders.
Her mother wagged a finger in her face. “If I did not need you alive—”
“What?” Drucilla asked. “Finish your sentence, Mother. If you did not need me alive for the next two days, what would happen?”
Her mother turned an accusatory glance at Silas, but he held up his hands and shook his head.
“I overheard you.”
“What do you mean?” Phillip asked.
“Stay out of this,” Torella snarled.
“Tell me the truth for once,” Drucilla demanded. Heat burned in her face, and she felt as if she would release the contents of her stomach.
The sorceress took a deep breath and then sniffed with a haughty scowl. “Very well. You will die on the rise of the next sun. Your soul will be taken to hell to pay for my sins.”
“This is your curse?” she asked, incredulous. How could her mother stand so regal and cool? Did she feel no compassion for her daughter at all? No remorse or love?
“Aye, well, your curse for being of my loins.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“I made a fatal mistake in telling my son. I would not do that again.” Torella turned to Silas. “Drop those weapons. You look like a fool.”
Silas unlaced his scabbard and sword, then shrugged off the bow and arrows.
“Turn back into the animal you are,” she commanded and walked over to the window. “Damn that ridiculous beast. They are almost here. I can sense my son.”
“I do not understand any of this,” Phillip interjected. “Your son is one of the heathens you want killed?”
“Aye,” Torella answered. “If you do not fight them, they will attack the palace without reserve.”
Phillip pulled his sword and gave Drucilla a kiss on the forehead. “Find a hiding place, my daughter.”
He ran out of the chamber.
“Father,” Drucilla went to follow when her mother blocked her path. “You must stop him from fighting his son.”
“If you had killed them as I told you, he wouldn’t have to do the duty for you.” The black garment snaked in angry jerks around her mother’s feet.
Drucilla’s own white gown came to life with defensive energy roaming through the soft fabric. “I will break the enchantment over him.”
“He will leave you,” Torella hissed, voicing Drucilla’s fears.
“Maybe he won’t,” she whispered.
The black material twisted around her waist and squeezed her tightly. “You will not do anything but protect yourself until your twenty-fifth.”
The edges of Drucilla’s gown pulled on the black, tugging it off her waist. Drucilla opened her palm and shot a heavy energy at her mother but she absorbed the impact with little effect.
She laughed at her attempts of defiance. “Think you are more powerful than I?”
The sound of swords clashing outside filtered into the chamber. Drucilla ran to the window and found her father fighting the sorcerer.
“Do not harm him,” Callum yelled.
Pulling his sword, Braen’s gaze jerked up at her and then narrowed to slits when her mother joined her at the window.
Torella grabbed a handful of Drucilla’s hair and dragged her back. Pain shot through her scalp, and she stumbled across the thick rug. Suddenly, she lifted off the floor, her mother using her powers to pin her against the wall.
“Silas, help me,” Drucilla called to the unicorn.
His eyes rounded with uncertainty.
Her mother laughed. “Think you that insipid animal could help?”
Drucilla struggled against the invisible force, her gaze pleading with her friend.
The unicorn pawed at the floor and tilted his head down, then rammed his horn into the sorceress.
Torella screamed and arched her back. Silas stumbled backward, dark blood dripping from his horn. The hole in her flesh instantly closed, and she faced the unicorn, rage darkening her face.
The sword left on the floor flew into Torella’s hand, and she advanced on Silas.
“Nae, do not…” Drucilla closed her eyes when her mother raised the sword toward the unicorn. A high pitch cry rent the air, and Drucilla eyes shot open. Silas fell to his knees and rolled onto his side, silver fluid oozing from his head. In her mother’s hands, the sparkling white horn turned to black.
“This will complete my plans,” Torella held the horn in the air.
“Mother.” Tears formed in Drucilla’s eyes. “How could you?” She had hoped that somewhere in Torella’s dark heart, there was a spark of good. Perhaps even… love. The heartache ripped through her soul.
Torella pursed her lips, waved her hand and Drucilla fell to the ground in a heap.
“I will miss you,” her mother offered, “but you must die, Drucilla. There has to be balance.” She blew her a sentimental kiss. “Goodbye.”
Drucilla pushed up on her hands to see her mother vanish.
She crawled over to Silas, watched his fur turned from white to ash-gray. She cradled his head on her lap, and he transformed back into a man. “Do not die on me, Silas.”
He grabbed her hand. “Get the staff and take it into the far reaches of the mountain, so they won’t find you.”
She shook her head. “I do not care anymore.”
“You must go, before they come for you.”
“I will not leave you.”
Her tears dripped from her cheeks onto his curly hair. His eyes glazed over with death, his head rolling to the side.
She wanted to crawl into a ball and cry, but the sound of battle outside pulled her out of her despair. Her father was in danger. Rising up, she transported herself to the room with the staff. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the horrible chill when she touched it. Slowly, she reached out and grabbed the golden rod. The metal did not send waves of ice though her body, but was warm to the touch.
Lifting her head, she transported down to the garden.
Both Callum and Tremayne defended themselves, never pressing the attack, but keeping Phillip from running them through with the sword.
“Father, stop fighting us. We are here to save you,” Callum said and leaped out of range of Phillip’s blade.
“I am not your father!” Phillip maneuvered to the left and knocked Tremayne off his feet. The sorcerer went down hard, his head hitting the ground with a thud.
“Please, drop your sword,” Callum demanded.
Phillip and his son clash swords, metal against metal, skill against skill, their abilities matching. Drucilla swallowed, she could not take it anymore.
“Father!” Drucilla called, but he remained focused on the battle. She yelled louder, yet he continued, sweat dripping from his temples.
The wizard circled Phillip, and just when Callum tripped and her father was about to plunge his sword into him, Callum stepped in and defended the deadly blow. “I tell you we are not here to harm you.” Braen parried while Phillip lunged.
“I do not believe you, swine.” Phillip charged again, knocking Braen’s sword from his hand; it landed in the lower garden. Braen jumped down the small embankment toward his blade, but Phillip stood over the exposed wizard, the tip of his sword at his throat.
There was only one way Drucilla could stop her father from killing Callum. Taking a deep breath, she tightly squeezed the staff. “Take the enchantment off my father and return his mind to what it once was.”
Phillip swayed. Confusion crossed his face while disbelief dulled his blue eyes. He lowered the sword and Braen stepped back. “What am I doing here?”
Her father fixed his gaze on Callum sprawled on the ground, and he dropped his sword and ran to him. “Son, son!” He shook the warlock’s shoulders.
Braen went to Tremayne and helped him to his feet, while Callum groggily rose with his father’s help.
Once on his feet, Callum grabbed his father into a tight hug and held him. “I thought I had lost you,” he said.
Confused, his father rubbed his face and gave him a hearty pat on the back. “I… remember. Everything.” He stared at Drucilla. “I tried to save Gavenia when the sorceress took me. And then, the next thing I remember is accepting Drucilla as my only child, and Torella as my wife.”
“Oh, Father.” Callum covered his cheek. “Mother will not like this.”
Phillip walked over to Drucilla, bewilderment and anger shining in his eyes. “Are you really my daughter or was that part of your lies?”
Drucilla flinched as if he had slapped her. “Torella told me that you were my father. I was born in purgatory almost twenty-five winters ago.”
“I do remember a dream when…” Phillip’s voice rose in surprise, “That was your mother.”
Braen asked, “When is your twenty-fifth day?”
“With the next sunrise.” She lowered her head, tears tumbling down. It was over. She had no fight left in her. “You are all free to leave. I will not stop you.” She looked Braen in the eyes and held out the rod. “Here is Merlin’s staff.”
The moment he touched the staff the palace behind disappeared along with the waterfall and lush gardens. The only light was from the fire sconces the men brought with them and the ethereal glow of the rod.
“What happened?” Braen asked.
“My palace was created from Merlin’s staff. It now belongs to you, so my spell has vanished.” Drucilla sat on a boulder. “Please, you must go before my mother returns.”
“Come with us,” her father said.
“I cannot leave the mountain. If I do, I will die,” she answered and lowered her head into her hands. She had lost. She expected the wizard to crow, to gloat about how he was the master of the staff. That was what her mother would have done. Instead, he sat beside her and nudged her over to give him more space.
“I am not leaving you here,” Braen said and shoved the staff back into Drucilla’s hands. The palace reappeared, and he stared at its magnificence. “Do not misunderstand, I will take Merlin’s staff with me when I go, but I will stay until you no longer have need of me.”
“Well that’s just fine,” Tremayne said. “We have Phillip so let us return to Gleich Castle.”
“Nae,” Phillip said. “I am staying with Drucilla. If the sorceress is coming back, then I will face her standing side by side with my daughter.”
Tears watered her eyes as her father offered his hand for her to rise. He opened his arms, and she flew into them. “Please forgive me, Father. I just wanted to know you.”
“Shh, I understand,” he replied, rubbing her back with comforting hands.
She looked at Callum from over her father’s shoulder; a broad smile lightened his face. “I guess if my father can forgive you, then so can I.” He opened his arms and hugged from behind her. “Welcome to the Roberts clan.”
Tremayne stood outside the family circle, a dark scowl on his face.
They broke apart and Callum put his arms around his father’s shoulders and walked him toward the palace. “Allow me to explain everything that has happened in your absence. For instance, Gavenia had a wee bonny lass.”
Callum’s voice drifted off into the distance while Drucilla faced her older brother.
“A Campbell?” her father’s high voice echoed back to them and Tremayne grinned.
She studied his dark features that were so much like her own. She could feel his suppressed rage, the same dark energy that lay within all sorcerers.
“I am sorry for tipping you off your horse, and the wolves, and the—”
He held his hand up. “I know. Mother can make you resort to foolish acts of violence.” Tremayne inhaled a deep breath and released it. “I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“For having to live with her as your only source of human contact.” He stepped closer. “I know what that is like.” He lowered his head and fumbled with the edge of his black tunic. “I never had a sister before.”
“I am new to it as well.”
Slowly, he opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace, a cry of relief escaping her lips.
“I only wish I could remember the ritual,” he said sadly.
Her head jerked up. “What ritual?”
“The ritual that can save your soul come the morrow.” He studied her face. “Mother did not tell you?”
“Nae, she did not.”
He shook his head. “I am not astonished. I cheated the curse with knowledge.”
“This ritual, where did you find it?”
“In the book of Dark Magick.”
Excitement leaped into her heart. “I saw Mother lock that book in a chest in her chamber.”
“Let us retrieve it then.” Tremayne raced up the stairs toward the entrance.
Drucilla scanned the gardens for Braen, but could not find him. Would he leave without saying goodbye?
“Come on, sis.” Tremayne waved at her from the doorway and she smiled. Sis, no one had ever called her that before. She liked it.
Arm in arm, they walked into the palace. Phillip and Callum were nowhere to be found as they walked the extended halls toward Torella’s chamber.
“The door is magically locked,” she said.
Tremayne smiled and grabbed her hand. Together they transported into the chamber, she picked up the chest, and they transported back out. They returned to the main stairway, and she placed the box on a step. They used their magic to try to open it, but it only bounced the chest against the stairs.
Tremayne tried to pry it open with his sword, but to no avail. It was sealed shut.
Phillip and Callum rounded the corner, dirt smudges on their clothes. “Where have you been?” asked Tremayne.
Phillip placed his arm around Drucilla. “I am sorry, my daughter. But, we were outside burying Silas.”
A knife sliced through her heart as she remembered her friend. “I am so terrible. Here I am concerned with my mother’s book when my dear friend is dead.”
“Silas would have wanted you to find a way to live,” Phillip said. “Callum told me of the curse.” He sat next to the chest. “Does this book you seek have the answers?”
“Aye,” Tremayne replied. “And this strongbox will not open.”
Callum and Phillip tried to pry it open, but nothing they did shifted the lid.
“What are we going to do?” Drucilla asked.
“Step aside.”
Drucilla’s heart leaped at the sound of Braen’s voice. Her head jerk around to watch him walk boldly into the group. As he passed, he winked at her, softening his granite face.
“Do you have Merlin’s staff?”
She nodded her head and passed him the rod. He did not touch it, instead pulling her closer into his arms. His strong hand snaked around her waist while his other hand ran down the length of her arm, causing a trail of sensual heat upon her skin. He guided her wrist so the tip of the staff touched the chest. The warmth of his body seeped into her back while the tangy masculine scent of him invaded her senses, sending tingles to the pit of her stomach.
“With the power of Merlin’s blood, I command this chest to open,” he whispered near her ear like a lover’s kiss.
The lid glowed with a silver light, releasing a burnt metallic smell.
Callum opened the lid.
The chest was empty.
If Braen were not holding her close, she would have collapsed.
“Torella must have taken it,” Tremayne said.
They all turned her way with sorrow and regret on their faces. She turned in Braen’s arms and tears tumbled unashamedly down her cheeks. He held her head against his chest, the strength of his arms soothing her fears.
He kissed her moist cheek. “Anything is possible. Do not give up hope.”
With a breath caught in her lungs, she looked up at his shining eyes. “You are right. Anything is possible. When I needed a scrying bowl, I asked the staff to provide the exact one my mother used.”
“Could you do the same for the book?” he asked.
“Maybe.” Standing the staff on the ground, she inhaled. “I seek the book of Dark Magick.”
Floating in midair, a thick ancient book appeared with golden words Dark Magick scribed on the front. Drucilla plucked the book from the air and it weighed heavily in her hands. “Tremayne, could you help me find the ritual?”
He smiled and nodded, then gave Braen an odd look.
Drucilla glanced at Braen curiously, but he avoided her gaze. Was there something she was missing?
Chapter Thirteen
Braen felt the weight of Tremayne’s stare. He knew what the sorcerer was thinking. For the ritual to work, he had to be in love with Drucilla.
Love.
Love was for the likes of the other men in the room. Did he not see first hand how Callum’s wife controlled him at the inn, and Tremayne resisted this expedition to the mountain, yet his wife convinced him with just the bat of her eyelashes?
The whole reason for his quest—to be a legendary wizard and break the ill fortune cast upon his family—stood within reach, and yet he did not take it, all because of a beautiful woman. He must be mad.
He certainly had no right to judge his father. He had become what he most feared. A woman controlled his destiny, literally held it within her hands. Braen stared down at the top of Drucilla’s head. She sat on the stairs with her brothers on either side, flicking through the yellowed pages of the old book. Her silky raven hair fell forward, and she tucked the strand behind her ear, exposing the soft curve of her neck.
His chest ached with torn emotions. Aye, he hated to feel controlled. But, how could he leave her? She needed him, even if she did not know it.
However, she also needed someone to love her, and he just did not know whether he could feel that for anyone. Sure, he was attracted to her, and the mere nearness of her made his heart race with fever, but was that enough to call love?
“Braen, it is already afternoon. We do not have much time,” Tremayne said, interrupting his thoughts. “We have found the ritual and will perform it in the solar.”
Drucilla gracefully rose to her feet and stared at him, fear glistened in her eyes. He gave her a confident smile that he did not feel. Holding out his hand, she entwined her fingers with his.
He hoped what he felt for her was enough.
They entered a spacious chamber with no furnishings. Braen was amazed at the beauty of the room with glass surrounding the walls, an unknown source of light streamed into the chamber, bathing Drucilla in her yellow gown with the glow of an angel.
A blade was shoved before him, blocking his vision of the sorceress.
He frowned. “What is this for?”
Callum answered as he gave Drucilla a long sword. “You will need to draw blood for the ritual.”
Tremayne placed his hand on Braen’s shoulder and shielded him away from Drucilla overhearing them. “I do not know what you feel for my sister, but we will not chance our only ritual. All the men will step into the circle and sacrifice their blood for her.”
Braen nodded and they all gathered in the middle of the chamber.
Drucilla held the book along with a sword that seemed too heavy for her. She looked so small and vulnerable, he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But, comfort was not what she needed right now. She needed to live beyond the next day.
“Let us begin,” Tremayne said.
Drucilla nodded and stared at Braen. Then she clutched the open book to her chest and awkwardly used the tip of the blade to slice her hand. Blood oozed over the sword as she scrunched her nose. She faced east and then ran the sword’s tip along the floor in a circle, encasing them in the ring.
She dropped the sword and took a deep breath. Opening the book she read in a loud voice, “Be this the day before my birth. I, Drucilla Campbell Roberts offer my blood as a blessing to the Gods. I pray you redeem my sorceress’ heritage with my mortal father’s ancestry. In the name of Laird Phillip Roberts, I seek redemption.”
She glanced at her father, and he beamed with pride.
Tremayne said, “Gather around Drucilla in a circle and do the same.”
One by one, they took their daggers and sliced their hands until blood dripped within the ring on the floor.
“Do as I do,” Tremayne continued. “Hear me now, oh great Gods. I am Laird Tremayne Campbell. I share my enchanted blood with my sister’s.” He stepped forward and grasped Drucilla’s bloody hand, mingling their blood. “Release her soul from this curse.”
He gave her a firm nod and stepped back.
Then Callum did the same and kissed her cheek.
Her father repeated the steps and hugged her.
Braen was the last, his heart thrummed loudly in his chest. “Hear me now, oh great Gods. I am Braen Ambrosius, son of Merlin. I share my enchanted blood with my… beloved.” He heard the gasp come from Drucilla, and he captured her gaze. He grasped her hand, and the warmth of her blood smeared with his own and kissed the back of her hand. “Release her soul from this curse.”
Tremayne and Callum quickly stepped back as if expecting a lightening bolt to strike them. But nothing happened.
“Was it successful?” Drucilla asked, scanning their faces.
“I was expecting at least a green light or something,” Callum answered.
“It did not work,” Tremayne answered in a flat voice.
Drucilla’s bottom lip trembled, but she held back her emotions and ran out of the chamber. Phillip went to go after her when Callum held him back. “Let her go.”
Braen faced them all. “I am not letting her go,” he said, daring them to challenge him. When they did not, he turned and chased after her.
He took the stairs two at a time, following her to the second level. Once he got to the landing, he looked both ways. A door closed at the end of the hallway. He ran to it and knocked gently, when he heard no reply, he opened it and went into a spacious chamber, larger than any he had seen before. Colorful rugs lay upon the floor while bolts of many materials surrounded a wooden spinning wheel. A wide bed sat to the other side of the chamber, pink curtains fluttered in the breeze from arched windows, shadowing the slim form lying on the bed.
So this was her room where she dreamed of him. Seeing the gentleness and color of the chamber, he saw into the heart, to the lass beneath the outer bravado.
He pushed aside the sheer curtain. She lay on her stomach, her shoulders shaking from crying into the pillow. He sat next to her and ran his hand over her smooth black hair.
“You called yourself evil once,” he said and she stopped crying but did not look up. “But it is not true. Your father’s pure blood surrounds your sweet soul.”
He shuffled on the bed to lie beside her and pulled her chin tenderly for her to face him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder. “’Tis a soul worth saving.”
“There is no use,” she sniffed.
“I will find a way. This I pledge to you.”
“What about… about all those horrible things I did to you,” she asked, her voice caught on a sob.
He chuckled softly while staring into her watery green eyes. Her nose was red and her cheeks puffy, she looked adorable. “I enjoyed the sharp banter and the challenge. You certainly had me intrigued with every ploy.”
She laughed. Her sweet smile returned and Braen could have leapt with joy.
“Your face looked so comical after I kicked you in the tub,” she giggled.
“Hmm, I still owe you for that.” He winked with a smile.
She remained silent in his arms, her face falling into seriousness. “Make love to me.” When he did not respond she added, “If this be my last day, then I want to remember what it is like to feel you inside me.”
He placed a provocative kiss upon her soft lips. A warm floral scent surrounded him, arousing him while he eased his body closer to hers.
He stared into her emerald eyes and palmed her soft cheek. An abnormal cool breeze washed over her body, and he snatched his hand away, alert to the change in her. “Your eyes have turned black.”
She nodded. “Do not be afraid. When we are excited, I gain sexual power from your aura.”
“Is this the evil side of a sorceress?”
“Perhaps.”
“Does my energy bring you extra pleasure?”
“For certain.”
“Then I am happy to oblige.”
Drucilla’s shoulders relaxed, and she released a breath as if she worried about what he thought. He shook his head and captured her mouth. She was a distraction, a hunger that he could not satisfy, and in this moment, he would grant her anything.
Drucilla pushed all her insecurities and thoughts of the morrow out of her head as she allowed raw instincts to take over, inducing a mindless passion she longed for. With her energy empowering the enchanted garment she wore, the laces unwound as if they felt her eagerness to be unclothed.
Braen propped up on one elbow and watched. “Are you doing that?”
“In a sense—my gown uses what I feel and reacts on its own accord.”
Shock and intrigue registered on his comely face. He smiled and allowed her gown to completely strip itself from her body. She shifted to the side and pulled the material out from under her, then slipped out of her soft shoes, throwing them over the edge of the bed.
Braen rose to his feet, his finger and thumb stroking his chin, his eyes piercing.
She put her hands behind her head, puzzled. What was he up to?
He turned on his heel and left.
Sitting up, she watched him walk away. “Where are you going?” Panic shot through her.
He stopped and winked at her. Then went to the corner with all her various materials. “Are these magical too?” He picked up a few bolts of cloth.
“Aye.”
“Good.” Rummaging through the material, he finally straightened, his back facing her. Drucilla heard a loud rip and she tried to peer around the pink bed curtains to see what he was doing.
He turned with an arm hiding behind his back. Every step he took closer to her caused a brighter purple energy to radiate from him. He stood, looking down at her with lust in his eyes. The iridescent light floated into her, revitalizing her soul with unquenchable desire.
“Lie down and close your eyes,” he ordered.
She grinned and obeyed, her mouth suddenly dry. The rustling of clothes came from the side of the bed, and she itched to peek at his glorious, hard body.
“Put your hands behind your head, the way you were before,” he ordered in a low, husky tone. “That’s it. I like to see your beautiful breasts raised up.”
She felt his weight lean on the bed, and then a moist tongue flick her nipple, sending millions of lightening bolts straight to her groin.
“Hmm, lovely,” he said, his voice washing over her like warm honey.
She went to open her eyes.
“Uh-uh. Keep them closed.”
Drucilla stretched her body; her skin tingled with increased anticipation, her breasts jiggled, her nipples raised wanting to be touched.
Unexpectedly, the smooth feel velvet fabric glided across her stomach along with the pressure of Braen’s warm fingertips. He made a trail up the side of her body and glided down the valley between her breasts. Passing over her abdomen, the sensual material seared a path down her leg until he finished at the tips of her toes. She sighed with the erotic, cool feel of the cloth against her body.
He ran his hand over every inch of her flesh, avoiding her most sensitive parts that ached for his attention.
Around the outside of her breasts, he circled with the velvet and blew hot breath across the erect peaks. His rough-skinned hands traced a path down her arm and entwined his hand with hers. He lightly kissed her lips—his tongue entered her mouth and danced with hers. His essence mingled with hers, hot and moist.
She arched against him, enjoying the different textures against her skin. Soft, hard, gentle and coarse, she craved for him to touch her swollen breasts, to touch her slippery loins. She rubbed her legs together, and her damp flesh pulsated with need, causing her to groan.
The soft velvet material wrapped around his hand ran over her nipples, back and forth, the feathery sensation engulfing her whole body. She twisted and writhed on the bed, wanting more, needing more.
His hand lowered to her mound, and she opened her legs as he dipped the material over her quivering bud. It felt deliciously unusual as it slid up and down her slit. She arched against his hand, moaning. He placed two fingers on her entrance, and she tipped her hips so he could enter her. In and out, his long fingers plunged, filling her aching core while he massaged the cloth onto her receptive center.
Blood rushed through her veins, her senses threatening to overflow with pleasure. His soft lips closed over her nipple, suckling it into his warm mouth.
Sheer ecstasy cascaded through her being. Taking a deep breath, she screamed, her insides pulsing with abandonment.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her in wonder.
“You are magnificent,” he said.
Releasing her hands from behind her head, she pushed him onto his back. He chuckled low in his throat and threw his hands up. The hard contours of his muscular length beckoned her appreciation.
“Your turn,” she said.
Excitement bubbled beneath her breasts when she twisted around and lay across his leg, her mouth only a breath away from his glorious erection. “I wanted to do this the first time I saw you naked at the inn.”
“Do what?” he urged, a knowing grin on his face.
Grabbing the base, she licked the length of his shaft all the way to the satin tip. He groaned and closed his eyes. The purple mist thickened in color, and she absorbed the energy as if she were the one pleasured.
God’s wounds that feels wondrous.
This time she opened her mouth and glided his member past her lips, filling her mouth. She sucked on the virile source of his masculinity, running her tongue around the smooth ridges. The erotic power she held over him sizzled within, along with the violet sexual energy dripping from his body while she pleasured his cock in her mouth.
She enjoyed watching his face squeeze and release, hearing his moans. With the black velvet still wrapped around his hand, he held it to his nose and inhaled. She groaned, aroused by his filthy mind.
Flicking the tip with her tongue, she rose and straddled his hips.
“Do you like my scent?” she asked, her gaze devouring his hooded eyes. His wispy brown hair fell over his brow making him look almost boyish and devilishly handsome.
“Aye,” he answered, “Delicious.”
She slowly lowered herself onto his long, engorged flesh. It filled her completely, merging their bodies together as one. Resisting the urge to writhe, she remained still, allowing the flow of their mutual sexual energy to satisfy her soul, enhancing her powers. She was speechless, never had she felt so complete—so emotional.
The muscles in his arms flexed when he placed his hands on her hips and rocked her back and forth. Each movement brought with it intolerable divine pleasure, driving her mind beyond this world and into a state of euphoria.
She gritted her teeth and braced herself for ultimate bliss.
“This is how a sorceress takes a wizard,” she growled in a primitive voice she did not recognize and grinded her hips down on him, possessively working his shaft with her slick inner core.
He tilted his head back and groaned. She thrashed about in torment, finding her final threshold while he shuddered and poured his seed into her.
They both released a sigh of satisfaction when she collapsed beside him. He opened his arms, and she snuggled to his side, resting her head on his chest.
Drucilla glanced outside the large arched windows. Darkness found its way into the chamber; the sun had rested for the day. She wanted to capture this moment forever, the musky scent of Braen and the contented feel of her body. It would be the only thing she held close to her heart when she traveled back to hell.
A single tear escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek to land on Braen’s chest. He tilted her chin up to face him and kissed her on the lips.
“The day has not yet ended,” he said with compassionate eyes.
She shied away from him. “’Tis no use.”
“Drucilla, I need to tell you why the ritual did not work.”
A black shadow creped along the walls, dousing the flame in the fireplace. Braen visibly shivered. “Why is it cold all of a sudden?”
Drucilla jerked her head up; her realization was as icy as the chamber. “Mother is here!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Where is she?” Braen asked as they both leaped up from the bed and hastily dressed.
“Judging by the thinness of the shadows, she is downstairs.” Drucilla bent down and placed her feet into soft slippers.
After strapping a sword to his side, Braen walked around the bed and grabbed both her shoulders. “Stay here.”
“My father is down there,” she said.
“Your brothers will protect him.”
“And who will protect you?”
He turned his head as if he did not want to answer. His brow crinkled in thought when he faced her. “Where is Merlin’s staff?”
“It was left in the solar, but if you touch it, the palace will disappear along with everyone else in it.” She reached up on her toes and kissed his lips, endeared that he wanted to protect her. “Besides, she will not harm me. She needs me alive until the sun rises.”
Entwining his hands in hers, he nodded and they ran into the darkened hallway and down the long staircase. The extinguished wall candles left the palace in an eerie darkness.
They just arrived at the bottom of the stairs when she heard her father groan in pain.
“Father!” She ran to him and cradled his head. Drucilla could barely make out the blood that matted the blond hair on his forehead. She waved her hand and flames returned to the candles and fireplaces throughout the palace.
“I am all right,” he returned roughly, trying to get to his feet. “I shall kill that—”
“Father, you mustn’t anger her,” Drucilla pleaded. “She is too powerful.”
Braen ran ahead and her heart filled with dread.
“Father, please stay here.” He went to use the wall to support himself, but fell back to the floor.
“Aye, I will stay.”
Drucilla raced to the solar to find Callum wildly flaying about in the air and Tremayne pinned to a chair, struggling to release his hands.
“Give me the horn,” Tremayne growled.
Torella stood in a red glimmering gown, a black horn held in place by a golden chain wrapped around her waist. “I think not,” Torella answered, “This horn will allow me to break the protection barrier around Gleich Castle, and now that I finally have the potion completed...”
“The Celtic witches will not let you harm my daughter,” Tremayne retorted.
“They could try to stop me,” she responded with a conceited smirk.
Braen ran past her with a goblet of water.
“Ah, the wizard finally joins us,” Torella purred. “Bringing a drink? Has my daughter made you the palace servant?”
Braen stood near Tremayne, flicked the edges of the gold chalice and the water turned to ash as he poured it over Tremayne’s hands, releasing the invisible hold.
“Drucilla!” her mother called. “Bring me Merlin’s staff and let us show these foolish men what two sorceress’ can do.”
Drucilla went to the wall where the staff was propped.
“Nae, do not give her the power,” Braen warned.
Torella was about to lift her hand in his direction when Drucilla blocked her mother’s view.
“Come to me,” she commanded. “Let me use your powers combined with the staff.”
“Nae,” Drucilla said. From the corner of her eye, she saw Braen go to Callum and throw the ash at his feet. Her brother tumbled down to the marble floor.
“Nae?” Torella repeated, her eyes swirled blood red.
Drucilla shifted uneasily, her palms sweating, but she held her head high. “I will not do your bidding.”
“Ungrateful lass.” Torella stepped closer, intimidating her. “If not for your soul, I would have killed you when seizing your first breath.”
Pain clenched her heart, but she fought back the tears. “Perhaps you should have, but I am here now, and I still have the eve. If you do not leave, I will break this staff and trap you here forever.”
“You would not dare.”
Drucilla gulped. “I have naught to lose.”
Torella stood close to her, her eyes glared at her with venom. “If you want to be trapped with these men then so be it.” She waved her hand and Drucilla tightly shut her eyes, waiting for the pain.
When she opened them, the sorceress had vanished, leaving the air light and free.
Braen gathered her trembling form into his arms, comforting her.
“What did I miss?” her father asked from the doorway, swaying on his feet.
Callum ran to him and Drucilla waved her hand, producing an overstuffed chair for her father.
Her brother placed his hand on Phillip’s wounded head and said, “I call upon my Celtic ancestors to help me heal…”
Callum’s face turned pale.
“What is wrong?” Drucilla asked.
“My powers, they do not work,” he answered. “I feel no heat radiating from my hands.”
Tremayne waved his hand at a sword lying on the ground and it did not move. “I have lost my powers too.”
Braen turned to Drucilla. “I feel different as well, weaker.”
“Dear Gods.” Tremayne rushed to the front door and went to go outside when his body thrust back by an unseen power. “She has trapped us and bound our powers.”
A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to find Braen looking at her. “You still have your powers, otherwise, the palace would be gone and the sorceress would be trapped as well.”
They all stared at her.
“I have got to get out of here,” Tremayne’s voice rose. “She will go after my daughter to use her powers.”
“I do not understand,” Drucilla said.
Callum answered, “Rhiannon has the blood of a Celtic witch and a sorcerer. Good and evil united as one. The baby’s power is stronger than anyone could imagine. If Torella ever captures Rhiannon, not only will she be in danger, but the world will darken under Torella’s wickedness.”
“You can still transport,” Tremayne accused. “Take us back to Gleich Castle.”
Drucilla backed away from his fierce desperation, shaking her head. “I… I cannot.”
“You must, she will kill my wife to get to my daughter!” He shook her shoulders roughly.
Braen pushed him away. “If she leaves the mountain, she will die.”
Tremayne released a raw growl of frustration and turned his back. “I knew I should not have left them.”
“There has got to be another way,” Callum said and bowed his head, trying to ram his way through the door only to find himself thrown clear against the wall. He moaned, rubbing his lower back.
Tension tightened within the air. She had to do something.
“I will take you back,” she whispered and lowered her eyes with hopelessness.
“Nae, I forbid it,” Braen strode back to her.
She forced herself to look at him. “I shall die on the morrow anyway. I may as well be of use before I go.”
“We could still find a way to save you,” Braen offered, his tone full of the same hope she had lost.
Drucilla shook her head. “I have a niece.” She swallowed, her eyes watering. “I need to try.”
Callum gave her a hug. “There is a chance that Torella lied to you about leaving the mountain.”
“Aye, she would have said anything to keep you under her control,” Tremayne added.
Drucilla nodded, but did not feel comforted by their words.
“Are you all insane?” Braen said. “You are asking her to kill herself.”
“Drucilla.” From the chair, Phillip raised his hand, and she ran to him, kneeling at his feet. “This is a decision you should not make lightly.”
“I know.” She stared up at Braen. “I want to help… my family.”
Standing, she walked into Braen’s opened arms and then kissed him lightly on the lips. With her fingers entwined with his and Merlin’s staff under her arm, she went to her father and held his hand. “Tremayne and Callum, join hands with us.”
Tremayne sadly mouthed the words, thank you, and she nodded. The sound of her heart deafened her ears as icy fear snaked through her body. Braen squeezed her sweaty palm and she memorized his face into her mind.
Bowing her head, she said aloud, “Take us to Gleich Castle.”
Chapter Fifteen
Torella appeared outside the protection barrier of lily flowers that grew through the snow. In the distance, lights twinkled at Gleich Castle and the village below. She glanced at the bright full moon while a cold breeze whistled through the surrounding white forest.
She reached her hand out, and the tips of her fingers burned. No evil could pass the border… that was until now. She smiled with anticipation and pulled Silas’ black horn from her golden belt. Crouching down, she touched the tip of the horn to the edge of the flowers surrounding the keep. The petals on the white lilies curled and blackened as if burned by fire.
The spell was broken.
She stepped over the dead flowers, their weak petals crunching under her ebony boots. Triumph pursed her mouth. She closed her eyes and thought of her granddaughter.
Her body reappeared in the upper level chamber in the castle. The deserted room was filled with the tender energy of her son and that Celtic witch he married. There was an unfamiliar scent to the room. A sweet aroma she had not smelled since Drucilla was born.
The scent of a baby.
She rubbed her chilled hands together and walked over to a small wooden crib adorned with iron Celtic symbols. Lying asleep was a sweet baby girl with long eyelashes and tight curls, as black as her own hair. Plump, rosy cheeks moved as the baby sucked on her thumb in her sleep.
“Greetings, Rhiannon. I have sacrificed much for you,” she cooed and bent over the crib. Gathering the bundle into her arms, she lifted the sleepy baby into the air. Her little blue eyes fluttered opened and stared down at her with confusion.
“I am your grandmother, but if you call me that, I will chop off your thumbs.”
Rhiannon giggled.
Against Torella’s will, a smile formed on her lips. “You will take the world, and I will be there to see it divide into darkness.”
Tucking Rhiannon into the crook of her arm, she retrieved a metal vial from her pocket and uncorked the lid using her teeth. A disgusting sour odor wafted up her nose, and she held the potion away from her. “Worry not, wee lass. This is not going to hurt.”
Gurgling sounds came from Rhiannon as she kicked her legs and held her pudgy hands out for the bottle.
She tipped the vial and a silver drop fell onto the baby’s forehead and disappeared. A sigh of relief broke from Torella’s lips, and she replaced Rhiannon in her crib. “We will be together again after you have seen twenty winters.”
“Get away from her!” a female’s distraught voice interrupted her serene moment.
Torella pivoted around to find both the Celtic witches standing in the chamber, the stench of fear filled the room and Torella fed off the energy. She walked toward them, calm and self-assured. “Is that any way to greet family?”
Adela replied, “You are not family.”
The young witch ran around Torella in a wide berth and checked on Rhiannon’s well being. Picking her up, she held a joyful baby to her chest.
“What did you do to her?” Gavenia demanded.
Torella’s smile faded as she snarled, “She is cursed.”
Adela stepped forward, her eyes darkening. “Remove it.”
“Too late, witch.” Torella glided casually to the table, a ruby jewel caught her interest and she picked it up to study it in the candlelight.
“Torella! She is just a baby. Please,” Adela pleaded.
Pocketing the jewel, she released a droll sigh. She had done what she had come for. Rhiannon would seek her out. The lass would not be able to help herself. By then the girl’s powers would be full and she would be susceptible to Torella’s influence. All she had to do was wait.
She was about to leave when the chamber filled with more people. Phillip, Tremayne, Callum, Braen and her daughter appeared near the bed.
Damn that girl!
Fury filled her being, and she released a loud scream that vibrated throughout the land, knocking over everyone in the chamber. Within four steps, she grabbed Drucilla’s gown at the chest and hauled her up into the air, Merlin’s staff dropped from under her arm and clattered on the stone floor.
“How did you know you could leave the mountain?”
Drucilla shook her head. “I did not know.”
“You would risk killing yourself for these… these people.” She waved her hand around to the scattered bodies on the floor.
“They are my family,” she replied defiantly and waved her hand, shoving Torella back with an unused power, breaking her mother’s punishing grip. Drucilla’s powers had increased. She must have bedded the wizard.
“Well your family is about to watch you die,” she said, enjoying the look of terror cross Drucilla’s pale features.
Braen’s ears rang, and he shook his head. A baby cried in the background, and it slowly pierced louder while the ringing lessened. He glanced up to see Torella lunge for Drucilla, and then they both disappeared.
“Nae!” he yelled and shot to his feet. “Where did they go?”
Adela ran to her husband and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his face. “I knew you would return one day.”
Gradually, everyone stood and hugged each other.
“Please, someone tell me where the sorceress would take Drucilla. I have to save her.” Braen grabbed Adela’s arm. “Do you know?”
Adela released her husband and stood in the same place Drucilla had been. Waving her arm through the air, she closed her eyes. “They are nearby.”
“Where?” he asked.
She opened her eyes. “They are on the highest turret on the castle roof.”
Gavenia swayed her baby, soothing her into silence. “Tremayne, can you transport us there?”
Tremayne shook his head. “Nae, our powers have been bound. I do not know when they will come back.”
Callum helped his father to his feet and sat him on the bed. “Then we must run.”
Gavenia gave the baby to Adela and followed Tremayne and Callum out the door. Braen turned to leave when Phillip stopped him. “Save my daughter.”
Braen clasped the chieftain’s hand in his. “I intend to.”
When he picked up Merlin’s staff a warm power seized Braen’s body. He straightened his shoulders and pounded the golden rod on the stone floor. A blue light shot from the tip of the rod and engulfed Braen. It felt peaceful as it zigzagged through and around his body, transforming him into a ball of blue light. With only thought guiding him, he floated out of the chamber and shot through the hallway, passing everyone at great speed. He zoomed up a spiral staircase numbered with hundreds of steps until he flew out the passageway onto the castle roof.
He transformed back into a full-bodied man, Merlin’s staff secured in his hand.
“Daughter, you have a champion,” he heard Torella’s voice coming from one of the turrets.
He ran eastward to find Drucilla standing on the edge, her body stiff.
“Release her,” Braen commanded.
Torella laughed. “Why would I do that? Once the sun rises—which judging by the orange colors in the sky, will be soon—her soul will be ripped from her body and sent to hell.”
“Bring her down, now!”
“Do not get feisty with me, lad.” She strolled to him, her eyes changing color mesmerizing him with a promise of untold pleasure, her hips swaying.
“Do not let her touch you,” Drucilla called.
But, it was too late; she ran her finger down his chest and it burned with sensual yearning. His head swam with dizziness, fogging his thoughts and judgment. Without resistance, he leaned toward her, wanting her. Her eyes turned green, the same color as Drucilla’s.
He shook his head and vaguely heard her voice calling to him.
Fearful and desperate.
Torella’s hand was on his hardened member, stroking it with erotic heat powering though his skin.
Drucilla!
He pushed the sorceress away. “Your touch sickens me.”
Her stunning face darkened, her red lips thinning. She waved her hand, and Merlin’s staff flew out of his reach to balance erect on the edge of the wall next to Drucilla.
She laughed again, the eerie noise sending shivers down his spine.
“The sun is almost here, but you have a choice. If you go for my daughter, I will not push her over the side, but your precious staff will fall to its doom, breaking the power of Merlin throughout your family.” She stood by his side. “If you go for the staff, we will be entertained as we watch my daughter fall before her soul is taken by the Gods.”
Linking her arm through his, she walked him closer to the wall. “Decide soon, though. The sun is about to rise.”
Tears poured down Drucilla’s eyes as she turned her head to see the coming sunrise. “Save Merlin’s staff,” she cried. “I am dead either way.”
“Ohhh,” Torella crooned and tilted her head. “She is right. Personally, I would save the staff and let her fall.”
His heart ached with hopelessness.
“You have three seconds,” Torella said. “One, two…”
Chapter Sixteen
“… three!”
Drucilla closed her eyes, waiting to be pushed off the wall.
An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her backward to safety. She opened her eyes to see Merlin’s staff leap over the edge and fall.
Her mother’s cackle grated against her nerves while the sorceress watched the staff plummet toward the ground below.
Drucilla turned in Braen’s arms, her breath caught in her throat. “You saved me.”
He gave her a half smile. “Of course I would… I love you.”
Placing her hands around his neck, she reached up and kissed him, her heart overflowing with love for the wizard.
A thunderclap boomed across the land and a gusty wind blew through the turret, but Drucilla and Braen held tightly to one another. She buried her head against his chest.
This was it.
She would die. Her soul tortured for eternity. Tears streamed down her face, her heart breaking.
Just when she found love, it would be torn away from her. She closed her eyes tightly shut. “I do not want to see the sun,” she called above the roar of the wind.
Suddenly, she was lifting from the floor while still in Braen’s arms. She opened her eyes and gasped. A green light surrounded them in a cocoon.
“What’s happening?” Braen shouted.
“I do not know.”
Drucilla look down to find her mother shaking her fist at them, her angry words barely audible.
“Look,” Braen pointed to the east, the sun’s ray warmed her face against the chilly wind. They floated downward, lowering until their feet touched the floor.
“I… I am still alive,” Drucilla said, happiness sparkling in her chest.
Her family stood near the wall, smiles on their faces and cheering, “Huzzah!”
When the wind died down, they raced over to her and hugged her. Even a lady whom she had never met embraced her. “You did it. You both did.”
Drucilla shook her head. “What did we do?”
Tremayne placed his arm around her and beamed at Braen. “When the wizard sacrificed his powers for you, showing the Gods that he loved you unconditionally, they deemed you worthy to be saved.”
“Just in time, too,” Callum announced, smacking Braen’s shoulder.
“Ungrateful lass,” Torella scoffed. “Do not rest on the seemingly peaceful days. Soon, young Rhiannon will come to me and darkness will descend upon your petty short lives. And there is nothing any of you can do to stop it.”
The sorceress vanished, her laughter drifting on the wind.
The lady with the golden hair like Callum’s fell to her knees and cried while Tremayne gathered her into his arms. “Let us return to Rhiannon.”
She nodded and allowed Tremayne to guide her back through the passageway, and Callum followed.
Drucilla turned to Braen. “We need to do something to help their baby.”
“I agree.”
He opened his arms, and she folded her body to his. “I never thought I would be so pleased to be alive.”
He kissed her on the lips, warming her body against the winter chill. “I think I have a plan on how we can help your niece.”
Drucilla arched an eyebrow.
“But I will need your help. Can you take us down to the bailey?”
She nodded and tightened her hold around his toned waist.
They directly appeared in the bailey below and two soldiers guarding the castle door, jumped back in surprise. “’Tis all right, men. We are here to help the Roberts.”
They suspiciously watched them when Braen ran up the stairs and took a fire sconce to brighten the area. The sun had yet to reach the foggy bailey. He returned, leaping the stairs two at a time. “We need to find Merlin’s staff.”
“Would it not be in a thousand pieces?”
“I am hoping Merlin made the staff to withstand anything,” he explained, sweeping the flame from side to side across the ground.
“The fog is too dense. We need to shed a grander light.” She waved her hand in an arch. “Let Merlin’s staff blaze with life.”
A yellow glow cut through the mist, beaming from around the corner. They ran around the castle and found the rod intact, laying in the undergrowth.
Braen picked it up and Drucilla felt power surge through his hand in hers.
“Hold on tight,” she said and transported them to the same chamber she had arrived in.
Her father’s face lit up when she appeared with Braen. He sat next to a pretty woman, a baby snuggled in her arms. Phillip stood, his wound noticeably absent. He hugged her. “You are alive.”
“Aye, thanks to the wizard.”
Phillip turned to Braen and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I am proud of you, son.”
“Thank you.”
Drucilla sat next to the woman with braided brown hair; her eyes softened when she studied her face. “I see you have your mother’s features, but your father’s noble heart.”
“Phillip told you who I am,” Drucilla stated.
“Aye, and I am happy to welcome you here.” The lady glanced at Drucilla’s father with adoration. “Any daughter of Phillip’s is a daughter of mine.”
The rest of the family came through the door and gathered around them, their faces glum, their hearts heavy as they stared at the babe. “What are we going to do about the curse on Rhiannon?” Gavenia sobbed.
“Lady Gavenia, Tremayne, please hold the baby,” Braen said, his tone serious while he upheld the staff.
The young blonde lady took the baby from her mother’s arms and stood beside Tremayne while Braen faced them.
“I cannot undo the curse, however, I can add a blessing.” Braen pounded the staff on the floor and chanted.
When darkness calls this young lass and she has lost the light
A man worthy of a knight’s honor, an able hunter pledged to fight
He will find her, the only one who can,
Bring her back home and return her to the clan.
Braen touched the baby’s cheek and jolted. “I foresee this child will be shadowed by dark forces and death. Guard her well and do not judge the man with the cross on his chest. He will bring her back to you.”
The couple thanked Braen and Drucilla stepped back, impressed with his powers. With the magick of Merlin’s staff, he could help people all over the world.
“Please stay with us as long as you want,” Phillip offered Braen. “We are indebted to you.”
Braen shook his head. “Nae, I must go. I have an apology to make to my father.”
Drucilla’s heart dropped. He was leaving her?
“For what?” Tremayne asked and his wife elbowed him in the ribs.
“That is personal,” she whispered.
“That is all right,” he said and held up a hand. “I was a condescending fool and judged him weak for allowing a beautiful woman to control him.” He stared at Drucilla, and she resisted the tears in her eyes.
Please do not let him see me cry.
“But I see that I was wrong,” he continued and walked closer to her. “There is only one thing better than to release one’s stubborn control to a beautiful woman.”
“What is that?” Callum asked.
“To love that beautiful woman.” He picked up her hand and placed a tender kiss on it. “Drucilla, this earth may be strange and brutal, but if you allow me, I would like to show its splendor and magnificence… as my wife.”
Her heart pounded. The chamber went silent, all faces looking at her.
“Are you sure you have the right woman,” she laughed and cried the words.
“Aye, I am certain.” His eyes glowed with warmth, and she melted inside.
“I accept.”
The room burst into a series of huzzahs and hugs. As she made pledges to return to the family, she watched the wizard laugh and jest with her brothers.
Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Braen glanced over and wielded his way through everyone to reach her. He kissed her moist cheeks and folded her in the circle of his protective arms.
She had everything she ever wanted.
A family and love that was true.
It was time to release past hurts. She was no longer trapped, lonely and cursed as the lady of the mountain.
She was a woman with a future.
A woman in love with a wizard.
Read on for a special preview of Witch Hunter ,
book five in Lyn Armstrong's Celtic Series
Available January 2009
At
www.ResplendencePublishing.com
Chapter One
The cool wind clawed at Rhiannon’s golden braid as she raced her sable highland pony across the open glen. Her long-time friend, Mary Mackay laughed from her horse beside her; her bonny, oval face glowed while her wavy auburn hair flicked in the breeze.
“Make our steeds go faster, Rhee,” Mary shouted, a wicked gleam in her jade eyes.
Rhiannon peeked over her shoulder to find her personal guards struggling to keep up. She smiled and lowered her head over the pony’s neck. Her rebellious spirit settled in her stomach with bittersweet satisfaction. She was going to get into strife for using magick in the open, but it was worth the exhilaration coursing through her veins.
“Swift and agile, allow our horses to soar through the air,” she chanted. She turned to Mary and yelled, “Hold on to the saddle horn.”
With a jerk, their horses hardly touched the ground as they flew along the glen’s soft grass. Traveling faster than any normal animal, they covered leagues within moments. It was not until they reached the base of a mountain, Rhiannon pulled the magick from their mounts. The horses slowed to a walk as if they had not exercised at all.
“Hazzah!” Mary waved her hand in the air, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Rhiannon granted her a half grin and slid from the saddle. She walked her mount over to a nearby tree and tied the reins to a low branch. Her heart still raced from the thrill, but her stomach turned queasy. She lowered to the grass to lie down. Picking a thick, green blade, she chewed on it, the taste bland in her mouth. White puffy clouds endlessly floated by, and Rhiannon took a deep breath, allowing the breeze caress her heated skin.
“If I had the powers of a Celtic witch and sorcerer, I would enchant a thousand handsome men, gifting me all the exotic jewels I could ever want.” Mary collapsed next her, resting her hands behind her head.
“Do not envy me, Mary. Because I have the power of good and evil, my family watches me with wary eyes, even the villagers treat me differently than the rest of my enchanted family.”
“They are jealous,” Mary said. “You are more powerful than your mother and father combined.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe they are waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“I know not. However, there seems to be something my family does not want me to know. A secret everyone keeps from me.” Rhiannon turned to her friend, a dull ache in her chest. “Do you know what it could be?”
“Nae. I do not.” Mary sighed; her large breasts rose and fell within the tight confines of her pink gown. “Although, I am not surprised. Everybody hates me, including your mother.”
Rhiannon lay back down. “Do not be vexed. She hates me too.”
Mary scoffed, “She does not. Lady Gavenia is just overly protective.”
“Aye, she is going to protect me to death.” Rhiannon flicked the chewed piece of grass. “I just wish I were not so… special.”
Mary turned on her side to face her, the mild smell of perspiration invaded her senses and Rhiannon looked at her beautiful friend. A violet mist gathered around Mary’s body, her copper eyes hooded with half lids, gazing at her with a seductive look. Rhiannon’s heart beat faster, yet her muscles became languid.
Slowly, Mary leaned over and placed her soft lips on Rhiannon’s mouth, her plump breasts pressing against hers. Rhiannon opened her lips and allowed Mary’s tongue to dance with hers. The sexual energy from her companion seeped into her skin, filling her body with arousal. The erotic feeling was intoxicating. One she enjoyed since their curious youth. Hidden from prying eyes, they would explore each other’s bodies, and Rhiannon found that sexual energy fueled her powers beyond anything she had ever experienced. A forbidden obsession they enjoyed many times.
Mary’s hand cupped one of Rhiannon’s breasts, her finger gliding along the edge of her low-cut gown, heating the skin beneath.
“We have not done this in a while,” Mary said in a low tone, her sweet breath wisped across her face.
“Aye, I have been occupied.”
“With what, pray tell?” she asked, her eyes changing from lust to irritation.
Rhiannon shifted her gaze away from her friend’s probing eyes. She did not want anyone to know what she was doing with her days. It was bad enough she had to hide from her family, but it was worse hiding the truth from Mary.
“Mother has me engaged with duties.”
“Duties?” Mary arched an eyebrow and lightly flicked Rhiannon’s nipple as if punishing her for lying. “Since when do you care about duty?”
A shock of pleasure coursed to her groin, making her deliciously moist. She enjoyed the familiar sensations, the comfort of another woman’s body. However, Rhiannon licked her lips nervously. She did want to tell her secret. The pressure of keeping it to herself was toiling on her conscious. “Pledge to me you will never repeat this to anyone.”
Mary nodded, her eyes glistening. “Aye, I pledge.”
She unlaced Rhiannon’s corset and shifted the loose chemise fabric over her breasts, allowing the breeze and sunlight touch her sensitive nipples. Mary’s pink tongue darted out and lapped at an erect bud.
The ache between Rhiannon’s legs increased and she rubbed her inner thighs together. Gathering her thoughts, she continued, “I… I have…” She looked away. “Never mind.”
Mary jolted up. “You have been practicing the dark arts?”
“I did not say that,” Rhiannon’s words rushed out.
“You did not have to.”
Rhiannon looked at the blue sky and rubbed her forehead. A bad feeling entered her chest. She should not have said anything. The old gypsy warned her to keep their rituals a secret, even from her closest friend.
Mary smiled. “You are a bad lass,” she crooned in a seductive tone and then kissed her again, her tongue dancing with hers. “I like your evil side.”
Her friend’s words sliced through her core.
“I am not evil,” Rhiannon pushed her away, no longer aroused. “I am just… curious.”
“Curious about the forbidden? How unlike you,” she replied sarcastically.
“I can handle the dark arts and I will prove it.”
Mary laughed. “Prove it to yourself or to your mother?”
The sound of horses’ hooves interrupted Rhiannon’s retort. Frowning, she causally laced up her gown while Mary undid hers, exposing her voluptuous breasts.
Rhiannon sat upright. “What are you doing?”
“I do not know about you, but I feel like having a man between my thighs.”
Two castle guards halted near Rhiannon’s horse, their faces relieved to find their charges safe and sound. Master Rob, the youngest son of the sheriff scowled down at them, his bulky form seated stiffly on his horse. “Milady, you must not leave our company. If your father found out we had lost you…” The guard stop mid-sentence. His eyes bulged as he watched Mary walk forward, her full breasts swayed as she slowly undressed, a smile of encouragement on her face.
Mary and Rhiannon had always loved to entice men from their duties. A couple of years earlier, they seduced a traveling monk. Since then, they would join in making love with a few select soldiers. Rhiannon’s personal guards knew her sexual appetite and indulged her tastes, but today, she did not feel like joining. Mary’s cryptic words about her being evil whooshed over her like the icy highland wind. She took a deep breath, thoughts of her forbidden powers weighing heavily on her. If her family knew she practiced the dark arts with the old gypsy, they would bind her powers and lock her in her chamber for the rest of the season.
She rubbed her forehead again, her heart heavy. She grew tired of hiding who she was.
From her clan, from the world.
She longed for someone to accept both the good and evil side of her nature. To accept all of her. However, she did not blame them. Truth be told, she was afraid of herself, along with everyone else. Afraid of the evil power that coursed through her veins. Would she one day turn into someone that could not be controlled? Someone who would hurt her family, her people?
Absently, she watched the guards swing from their saddles and quickly undress. Master Seamus, a tall soldier of twenty-four walked toward her, his erection boldly posturing. She shook her head and he stopped mid-stride, his face fallen. Turning around he joined Mary and Rob on the ground. Both men ran their tongues over her friend’s body. She writhed on the thick grass, her breathing labored, eyes closed.
Violet energy deepened in color around the three. The light swirled in a cocoon and Rhiannon held out her hand, its power calling to her as if it were a living creature. The energy floated over to her and gathered around her hand like a warm glove, sizzling every inch of her skin while it climbed up her arm, saturating her soul. The pleasure they gained moved through her being. Even though she sat far away, she experienced the same sensations. Touching, smelling, tasting the threesome in the throes of passion.
Mary opened her lips and took Rob’s member into her mouth while Seamus kneeled between her legs and slowly pressed his cock inside her. Their moans traveled over to Rhiannon, luring her to join them.
She rose and had begun to walk toward them when a sudden storm swept over the land. Black clouds thundered overhead as wind picked up dead leaves from the ground. Apprehension etched on the guards’ faces and they quickly stopped what they were doing and donned their armor and clothes.
Sighing, Rhiannon went to her horse and climbed up on the saddle.
“Damn your mother and her emotional powers!” Mary said as she quickly dressed.
Rhiannon lead her horse over to her friend. “We must return to the keep. Judging by the storm, she is obviously vexed with me again.”
* * * *
The sweet aroma of heather mingled with the familiar horse scent filled Lord Lachlan Fairbairn with a sense of peace. Even though he came from Scotland’s lowlands, he loved the rough and rugged countryside of the highlands. The craggy mountains, endless glens and challenging moorlands—the grand wilderness resonated within his taut chest. Although he appreciated the grandeur of the mountainous landscape, it was hard to enjoy the solitude when the nasally sound of Master Grigor Livingstone droned on over the leagues from Stirling Castle. Even thirty of Lachlan’s men traveling behind them could not drown out his incessant talking. Like himself, he was a Commission of Justiciary, sanctioned by King James VI. They had the authority to bring witches to trail. However, that was where the similarities ended. Lachlan looked over at the bony man sitting on top of a warhorse that was too big for him. Grigor had sunken cheeks and gray eyes, a hooknose and thin lips. His body seemed to be lost in a fur coat while his head held a blue velvet cap with a limp feather dangling to the side of his face. He had a feeble appearance, but his viciousness was renowned throughout the land.
“Master Grigor,” Lachlan interrupted his tirade on peasants. “Why is it that you requested to come with me on this investigation? Surely, there were other commissions you could have taken.”
His beady eyes narrowed at Lachlan. “You may be called the witch hunter, but I have more convictions than you. Since the accused is from a particular noble clan, I thought you needed someone with more… experience.”
Lachlan took a deep breath, resisting the need to smack Grigor’s smug smile from his face. He tightened his fingers around the reins. “I am called the witch hunter because I am an excellent tracker and no one can hide from me. Nonetheless, I do not torture the accused for confessions. So far, all of the witches have been nothing more than luckless souls with vengeful and ignorant neighbors that falsely incriminate them. When I find proof of witchcraft, that person will be sent to trail.”
Grigor scoffed at him. “That is why I accompany you, milord. To make sure you gain the proof you need.”
“Think I am a fool? You came to gain the proof you need. I know His Majesty has offered you something in return for the conviction of a noble witch. What is it? Gold, title—”
“Land,” Grigor returned with a knowing grin.
“What land?” Lachlan asked even though he unfortunately knew the answer.
“Baird’s Glen.”
Lachlan swore under his breath. The king had promised him the same land. He studied Grigor intently.
Grigor continued, “Whoever returns the witch to Stirling Castle with a confession or proof will be granted the best land in the northern highlands.”
Lachlan felt sick to his stomach. Everything he ever wanted was within grasp and now he had Grigor fighting for the same goal. He could not live on his cruel father’s graces any longer. The son of seven brothers meant he inherited nothing but a name and distain from the earl. Owning land in the highlands was everything Lachlan dreamed of, everything he sacrificed to gain the king’s favor.
How far would Grigor go to obtain Baird’s Glen?
“There will be no torture,” he warned. “His majesty wants this case handled delicately, yet thoroughly. The Roberts and Campbell clans are strong allies of the king. An accusation cannot be stated until there is evidence of witchcraft. All we have is a rumor. We must use tact and discretion.”
Grigor’s eyebrows slashed across his face and he tightened his lips. “Tact and discretion? A witch is a witch, whether they be commoner or aristocrat. If they deal with the devil, I will see them hanged and burned,” Grigor said, malice lacing his words.
Lachlan shook his head. If it was not for the king’s command to take Grigor with him, he would have had the man bound and gagged and left behind in the last tavern. He smiled at the vision of the skinny man squirming on the cot, his red face furious.
A crack of thunder boomed above them and Lachlan jerked his gaze up. The skies had been blue with only a few clouds marring the horizon. Suddenly, a black cloud rolled in with incredible speed. He had never seen a storm so swift.
“’Tis witchcraft,” Grigor exclaimed, the feather in his hat flickered in the blustery wind.
His men muttered among themselves, their horses restless beneath them.
Lachlan did not want to leap to conclusions, but it was hard to explain the unusual weather. “Keep moving forward,” he shouted over the wind.
They crested a hill to find a magnificent castle built on the side of a mountain, its battlements expanding around a village, protecting the people from the hostile weather. Lachlan pulled his cloak up around his neck.
“Look down there!” Grigor pointed to the valley below.
Four people galloped across the field, heading toward the castle. Two men wore green tunics, the tartan of the Roberts guards and the two ladies wore regal gowns that flowed over the horse’s rumps. One had auburn hair, her features determined and unwavering, trying to keep abreast with the lady in front.
However, it was the young feminine leader who mesmerized Lachlan. Her blond braid swung in the wind, whipping around her shoulders. Her face glowed with a satisfied smile as if she relished the freedom of a reckless ride. Her pale blue gown did nothing to hide the curves while her body moved in rhythm to the horse’s gait. Her laughter drifted up to them on the rise and Lachlan could not resist a smile. He was not used to seeing such wildness in a woman, such passion for life.
She whipped her hand around and pulled something from her hair, the braid fell apart, allowing her golden tresses liberty in the wind.
“She must be a witch!” Grigor accused. “No God-fearing lady would tempt the devil in such a way.”
Lachlan frowned, but did not pull his gaze from her.
“Look at her hair, unbound and free.” Grigor nudged his mount forward. “I dare say that is Lady Rhiannon Campbell. I have heard of her legendary beauty. She has the looks of an angel but the temperament of a devil.” He twisted to face Lachlan. “I am certain she is the one we are to investigate. Perhaps she summoned the storm to…”
“Enough!” Lachlan glared at Grigor. “Let us at least talk to the lass before condemning her.”
“And if she does not confess under scrutiny?”
“Sooner or later, she will use magick—a witch cannot help it,” Lachlan said.
“Whoever gains a confession or proof first, will own Baird’s Glen.” Grigor finished Lachlan’s line of thought.
He returned his focus back to Lady Rhiannon. The gates opened, allowing the young group to disappear beyond the fortified walls.
Witch or no, Baird’s Glen was going to be his.
Also Available from Resplendence Publishing:
The Last Celtic Witch by Lyn Armstrong:
"As charming and magical as Celtic legend itself, a truly enjoyable read and wonderful debut!"
Heather Graham
New York Times Bestselling Author
A painful death… a prophecy foretold.
Pursued by evil forces for her powers, recluse Adela MacAye foresees her own agonizing death. She must seek the chosen one to produce an heir and pass on her Celtic powers. To fail would be the end of good magick, plunging the world into darkness.
Conjuring a fertility spell she is led to a sensual chieftain who is betrothed to the sorceress that hunts her. Time is running out as fate and the future pursue her.
Plagued by enemies and undermined by sabotage, handsome Laird Phillip Roberts must save his clan from bloody feud by making an alliance through marriage... a marriage he does not want. After a night of white-hot sensual delights with the alluring witch, his heart commands he break the pledge of peace. With treachery around every corner, will he be too late to save... The Last Celtic Witch?
$4.50 e-book, $12.99 print
Taken with the Enemy by Tia Fanning
Name: Mathews, Brenna Marie
Rank: Sergeant
Date of Birth: September 21st, 1976
Occupation: Combat Medic, United States National Guard
My captor tells me that I’m not a prisoner of war, but how else can I see myself? I was abducted and brought to an unknown location in the middle of the desert. I’m sequestered behind a locked door and bars cover my windows. I even have an armed guard who takes me for walks.
But he, the nameless captor responsible for my care, claims otherwise. He tells me that he’s not my enemy, that if he was, I’d already be dead. He promises to release me when the time is right. He says I’m safer now—with him—than I was before.
Despite his reassurances, I do not feel safe. Though he has treated me kindly, given me every comfort a prisoner could ever want or need, I have to find a way to leave—and soon. I don’t understand how it’s possible, but my captor knows me. He knows my past, he knows my secrets, knows just what to say to move me… and what to say to break me.
I have been taken by the enemy… and I must find a way to escape before I’m taken with him.
$4.50 e-book $12.99 print
Wish Me Up, Rub Me Down by Melinda Barron
Book One of the Desires of the Lamp Tales
With no love life to speak of, BBW Anya Bartholomew lives only for her job. This dedication has paid off. As a successful advertising agent, she has risen in the ranks of her firm to be the top moneymaker.
But at the insistence of her two best friends, who claim she needs a break from work, Anya takes a weekend vacation to the small town of Pleasant, Maine. While shopping at an antique shop, she rubs a lamp that looks as if it could belong to Aladdin himself.
Things will never be the same.
Back at work on Monday morning, Anya finds that her boss has given her a new account… for a lamp factory. However, her clients—two very handsome, very sexy men—are more than what they seem.
They're pleasure Djinn. And they have come to fulfill five of Anya's most secret sexual wishes.
$4.50 e-book
Fiery Ember by Celia Kyle
Ember Ellason is a darned good secretary. True, she’d like to be more, but since her father’s passing, her step-mother has taken over as
Paul Ashe needs a new ad campaign and he’s found the perfect company with the perfect proposal in Ellason Advertising. Too bad his body is a little too interested in the voluptuous
Will this Cinderella tale end in happily ever after? Or will Ember be separated from her panties—and her prince—for ever more?
$3.00 e-book
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