Wild about the Witch Read online

  Lord Ashford seemed to read her thoughts from her rapidly growing look of panic. “It’s difficult to reach me. You may end up regretting this choice you made.” He paused and looked down at her. Not unkindly, but she definitely felt his censure as he reminded her this was all her own doing. “You can return to Belmary House and ask for Miss Saito. If she’s still there, she’ll try to get a message to me, and I will try to find you a means back to your time.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs and trying, Lord Ashford,” she said, trying to sound teasing. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath, her resolve coming back to her.

  “Ye’ll be fine, lass,” he said, his faint brogue getting stronger as he tapped her under the chin. With a last glance at his pocket watch, he smiled at her. “Don’t miss your train, don’t talk to anyone, and good luck, my dear.”

  Chapter 2

  Quinn Ferguson paced restlessly in front of the inn where he’d spent a sleepless, tormented night. His baby half-sister was alone in some terrible future. Having figured out their brother Lachlan was still alive, and consequently realizing he, Quinn, had been keeping the truth from her, she took matters into her own hands and went after him.

  Her wicked moods made sense to him now. He’d thought at first she was having trouble adjusting to her newly discovered status of extremely wealthy heiress and all the attention that brought upon her, but now he knew she must have been plotting for several weeks. The wee brat. He couldn’t wait to see her again. First he’d hug her fiercely, then set to wringing her neck.

  He stopped pacing and looked down the street for any sign of Lizzie. He’d said in no uncertain terms that he would leave at first light, and if that scheming opportunist thought he’d wait a moment past, she was wrong.

  He didn’t know who he was angrier with, or who was more at fault for this predicament, himself or Lizzie. He was still too upset to be rational and pushed aside his own culpability, placing it all squarely on that self-seeking spinster. Damn it if he didn’t want to find a reason to forgive her, though. No, that wouldn’t do. She’d tried to sell his sister to a debt-riddled member of the nobility, as if a title could ever be compensation for Catie’s happiness.

  His heat level was good and high when Oliver Cliffstone rode up on a fine and fast looking horse, two groomsmen riding behind him on equally fine animals. The groomsmen dismounted and one of them handed his reins to Quinn with a bow. Quinn took them automatically, scowling at the English lad who purported to be in love with Catie. At least he wasn’t a lord of anything. Oliver’s boots hit the ground and he turned and smiled at Quinn, eager to help.

  “I’ve brought my best horses,” he said. “We’ll make excellent time.”

  Quinn sighed, and feeling bad about it, punched Oliver in the nose, feeling the bone crack under his knuckles. Oliver yelped and leaned over, clutching his face.

  “I told ye,” Quinn said defensively.

  “Yes, but I didn’t think you would really do it,” Oliver garbled through the blood that poured from his nose.

  Quinn handed him a handkerchief, and motioned for the groom to get something bigger and more absorbent. “Now ye know I mean what I say,” Quinn told him. “Will ye still be riding with me to Scotland?”

  He fully expected the lad to take his horses and go home, but to his surprise, Oliver nodded vigorously, sending blood drops flying.

  “It will take more than that to stop me,” he said.

  “Good lad.” Quinn clapped him on the back, wondering why this one hadn’t been given more consideration in the campaign for Catie’s heart and riches.

  He seemed solid, had plenty of money, and clearly loved her. He remembered Lizzie saying he was too young, not ready to settle, but it was probably more along the lines of Oliver’s mother not offering her a reward for forwarding the relationship. He glanced to the east. The sun was rising, they needed to be on their way.

  “Mount up again,” Quinn said. “Just keep your head tilted back and ye’ll be fine.”

  “But what about Miss Burnett?” he asked, his eyes owlish and nervous over the rag he pressed to his face.

  “She’s late,” Quinn said gruffly.

  Hadn’t he just proven that he meant what he said? No matter that Lizzie was desperate to get back to her own time, and leaving her here was consigning her to being miserable for the rest of her days. Part of him, the mean bastard part, felt a bit of satisfaction at that. She’d caused him plenty of misery. The other part of him, the idiot part, adjusted his saddle more slowly than usual.

  “It’s only just dawn. We should wait for her. I can’t think what would keep her from this.”

  Quinn raised a brow at him. Awfully confident for having just taken a fist to the face. “Ye know so verra much about Miss Burnet now, do ye?” he asked.

  Quinn thought about telling him about Lizzie’s part in keeping Oliver from being a serious contender, but it seemed petty. Oliver turned redder than his blood soaked rag and shook his head, grimacing in pain at the sudden movement.

  “Er, certainly not. But she seemed that way last night. Determined to be here this morning, that is.” Oliver looked at him hopefully. “Perhaps you might explain exactly what is going on?”

  “Ye’ll probably think me mad if I tried,” Quinn said. “Best ye know that ye might not be home for a while.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Oliver said, still not getting back into the saddle. “Of course, Catie’s safety is the first concern, but I can’t help but be a bit worried about Miss Burnet. When I dropped her off last night, she did seem quite desperate.”

  Quinn swore and paced a step, realized he still held the reins and jerked to a stop. He couldn’t think standing still, and remembering Lizzie’s tear streaked face the night before didn’t help align his scrambled thoughts. He knew, even better than the sympathetic Oliver, how badly Lizzie wanted and needed to go with them.

  She’d begged him to forgive her and give her a chance to explain. Did he even want to hear what she had to say? His sister’s future had been nothing more than a transaction to her, while she waited to get back to her own time. And what had he been? A distraction.

  He adjusted the girth, which didn’t need either loosening or tightening. Ah, but what a lovely distraction it had been. She made him laugh and caused a fire to burn within him that no woman had ever done before. It had to have been difficult for her, being torn from all she knew, to adjust and adapt. It made him wonder what parts of her he’d fallen in love with were real.

  The little cracks of understanding that had opened were filled with fresh anger when he recalled his awkward, heartfelt avowal of love. He’d asked her to come back to the farm with him, and foolishly believed she’d wanted to go, when all the while she’d been scheming.

  Lizzie Burnet had survived well enough in this time before she met him, she’d have to go on surviving without him. He shoved aside his guilt and worry, as the needles of her betrayal jabbed at him. Pulling himself into the saddle, he turned his dark gaze on Oliver.

  “I’m leaving. If ye choose to follow or not, it makes no difference to me.”

  Chapter 3

  Lizzie Burnet was hungry. She had a madman with a gun randomly hitting her whenever he got annoyed at something, hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep in the past four days, and her escape attempts kept failing. She shouldn’t have been worried about food, but she felt pretty strongly that Solomon Wodge, that asshole nutjob time traveler, was going to kill her, and she didn’t want to die on an empty stomach.

  She put her hands on her waist and tried to stretch a little in the saddle, without calling Wodge’s attention to her. He’d been muttering to himself and poring over a ragged spiral bound notebook he kept tucked away in his waistcoat pocket, and thankfully ignored her for the last several miles.

  Her dress hung loosely at her sides, having ditched her corset at the first disgusting inn they’d stayed at. She didn’t want to die wearing a corset, either. She stared daggers at the back of Wodge’s
head, not wanting to die at all. Strange waves of resolve sometimes washed over her during their stealthy, exhausting trip to Scotland, and she got one now, so began planning another escape attempt.

  When he’d trained a gun on her and told her she had to go with him, she thought she was instantly doomed, but then they followed Quinn and Oliver along their route to Scotland, and she hoped to escape. Going with Quinn to the Highlands had been the thing she planned to do, and if she could stay alive long enough to get there, if she could find a way to break free from Wodge, she could meet up with them and possibly get home.

  Even though Quinn hated her for betraying him, he wouldn’t let her be killed by a maniac. She hoped. That’s all she did the last few days, hope. That, and daydream. Her favorite was meeting up with Quinn and Oliver at last. Quinn would stride forward on his long, muscular legs and knock Wodge’s block clean off. She liked to imagine teeth flying out of his mouth, in grisly, bloody detail. Then, with his boot on Wodge’s unconscious neck, Quinn would gather her into his arms and tell her she was forgiven, he still loved her. Definitely a side effect of no eating or sleeping, and regularly getting hit in the head.

  Wodge was an odd duck, having terrifying but fascinating chatty moments. She wanted to get as much information as she could from him, as he’d clearly been traveling all over the ages for some time. She wondered if he started out barmy or if all the time jumping had done it. It was nearing dark on the the first grueling day of their journey that she got him to admit why they were following Quinn.

  “I do not hold with witches,” he told her in his posh professor voice, completely at odds with his hodgepodge clothing choices and penchant for casual violence.

  “But Quinn isn’t a witch,” she said, at first relieved that it was all a misunderstanding.

  She would have bet her life on that. Quinn didn’t hold with witches either, his brother having been lured away to another century by one. He just didn’t have crazed murder tendencies like Wodge did.

  “Then why were you going to Scotland?” he asked in an annoying voice that said he knew the answer.

  She didn’t know what to say to that, not wanting him to know that Quinn was trying to get to the future to find his sister, hopefully getting her home in the process. “He’s only trying to help me get back to my own time,” she finally admitted. “But I swear, he’s not a witch.” She didn’t say she suspected they were going to find a witch once they reached their destination, a Highland castle.

  He merely looked at her pityingly and muttered, “A plight on the world, mucking about with time, using their evil enchantments …”

  “You do it,” she said.

  “I use portals,” he said disdainfully.

  “What if the portals are there because of enchantments?” she asked, earning herself a hard whack across the eye.

  She didn’t engage him much in conversation after that, though she was desperate to know when he originally hailed from. She’d asked him outright and he’d just laughed. She really hated him.

  Oh, she wanted to see Quinn again. She knew they were close from Wodge’s obsessive tracking them, but hadn’t glimpsed him. They stayed at different inns and she overheard Wodge arguing with himself about hiding in the woods tonight. She imagined being tied to a tree couldn’t be much worse than being tied to a chair in whatever manky inn he chose, and at least it would smell better.

  If only she could get close enough to yell out a warning. The closer they got, the more worried she became that Wodge would succeed. The more hungry and tired she got, the less she cared about herself, but maybe she could save Quinn.

  “We ought to be there tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. She made a point not to make eye contact, but nodded. “Lovely weather, yes?”

  It was lovely, she had to admit. Breezy, but not yet too cold, and it had only rained on them once during the journey.

  “I’m a bit hungry,” she tried, since he seemed in one of his solicitous moods.

  She got a drink of water from him the day before when he’d begun spouting Shakespeare. Out of habit, she quoted where he left off, instantly regretting it and fearing a smack, but they actually completed an entire scene from Hamlet, then he gave her a drink.

  “That’s a shame,” he said, kicking his horse further ahead and ignoring her.

  She no longer thought about jumping off her horse and running. Wodge was fast on his skinny legs and it hadn’t worked the first two times she tried it. He always made sure to choose the most worthless nag available for her when they changed horses, so galloping off was never an option.

  She knew they were close, having gone at a relentless pace trying to keep up with Quinn. They’d traveled dangerously late into the nights and pushed the horses to their limits. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon, maybe even tomorrow. She resolved to get some sleep, no matter if it was on the cold, hard ground, and eat roots if she had to, to regain a little strength. She no longer felt confident about surviving this trip to the Highlands, but hoped to punch Wodge one more time.

  She smiled to herself, feeling his nose crack under her fist, and that gruesome memory got her through the rest of the day’s ride. She slid off her horse and lay on the ground while he puttered around setting out a bedroll for himself. She would have to huddle under the horse blanket if she wanted any warmth, but her body was so stiff and sore, she didn’t care at the moment to deal with it.

  A piece of bread bounced off her arm and landed in the dirt and she practically inhaled it, actually looking around for edible roots or berries. Not that she’d recognize them if they were there. He mixed up some oats with water from his jug and offered her a bit, pouring the soggy slop directly into her hand. Once again she scarfed it down.

  “Thanks, Solomon,” she said, not caring if she got slapped.

  The few bites had restored her gumption. Let him get close enough, she thought. He ate his oats while staring at her. She stared right back until he finally nodded.

  “I’ve come to the conclusion you are a victim in all this,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief.

  “That’s awfully astute of you,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  He didn’t notice or didn’t care. She hated how he treated her as if she was as insignificant as a beetle he could crush under his boot at any moment. She hated that she was starting to believe it.

  “I do not think you had anything to do with your being in the wrong time,” he continued. Oh, he meant a victim of time travel, not of him, the gun-toting kidnapper. She couldn’t work up the energy to roll her eyes. “I do not hold with witches,” he said.

  “Yes, I’m aware,” she sighed.

  “Excellent. I propose we work together. If you help me, I will get you back to your proper time.”

  “That’s a tempting offer, Solomon,” she said, and this time he caught the sarcasm. Instead of a painful blow, he gave her more bread and a smile.

  “I could get you back to the moment you left. No one would even know you’d gone. This last year here would be yours alone, and no one would be the wiser.”

  That did tempt her. It was worse than a blow to the head and in her weakened state, the thought that this could all just be a memory made her dizzy.

  “You’re lying,” she said.

  He shook his head placidly, not the least offended by her disbelief. She knew then that he could do it, just as he said. She could get her life back. In fact, she never would have lost it. She could walk back downstairs at Belmary House and find Trent—

  She dug her fingers into the dirt and caught her breath. She didn’t want to find Trent, or start up the endless rounds of auditions of her old life. She wanted to find Quinn and make things up to him. Nothing was more clear to her than that.

  But the last time they were together, he could barely look at her, he was so disgusted by her behavior. What if she stayed here and it was all a waste of time?

  “Okay, Wodge. Just tell me what to do.” She tiredly l
eaned against a tree as he smiled at her again and gave her more food.

  Chapter 4

  As the train sped toward Scotland, Catie relaxed into the window seat, entranced by everything that whizzed by outside. No one sat next to her and the older lady across from her barely nodded before sticking round things in her ears and concentrating on a flat tablet with moving pictures on it. Catie longed to get a closer look at it, but didn’t dare, remembering Lord Ashford’s warning not to speak to anyone. But he’d told her to get something to eat, so when a girl about her age walked past with her arms laden with goods, she took a chance and asked her where she got it.

  “Shop in the next coach,” she said, hardly glancing at her.

  Catie didn’t understand what Lord Ashford was so worried about. The people here didn’t seem to give a hoot about her. She made her way toward the shop, quivering with excitement to feel the train’s smooth movement under her feet. She found she didn’t need to hang onto the seats at all and entered the shop with a delighted grin smeared all over her face. The train, the shop, the shop in the train. It was all so wondrous.

  She didn’t know where to begin. Nothing looked like food straight off, and she picked up different packages to read the ingredients, finally choosing a ham sandwich, a bright red package of something called Doritos, an apple and a bottle of pink lemonade, because it looked so pretty.

  “Free biscuit with the sandwich, miss,” the elderly gentleman told her, pointing to a display. She took one off the top and got her wad of bills out of her pocket, nervously waiting for the total and hoping she wouldn’t make too much of a fool of herself.

  Merciful heavens, it was expensive! Lord Ashford had warned her not to make a fuss but she couldn’t help gasping when the man told her the amount. She handed him a ten pound note and frowned at the change. She certainly wasn’t rich in this time and prayed she’d have enough for the taxi she was supposed to take once she got to Inverness. At least the biscuit was free.