Wild about the Witch Page 4

  When his work day ended, he called for her at the castle, and despite Mellie’s dark looks, she accepted his invitation to dinner at his house. She asked if she should change her clothes, looking down at her jeans and pale lavender t-shirt. While she liked the freedom of movement the clothes offered, they were a bit dull. Foolishly, she wondered what Shane would think of her in one of her ball gowns.

  “Ye’re fine as ye are,” he said. “I must beg your forgiveness for smelling of goat.”

  She caught a whiff of him when he opened the car door for her, and smiled to herself. He smelled like grass and wool, two of her favorite scents, with just a hint of the good soapy fragrance left over.

  She had a moment of alarm when no one was at home when they arrived. He showed her into a sitting room and waved his hand. “Watch some telly or play on the computer if ye like. I’ll just take a quick shower, then make ye something to eat.”

  “Your mother or father willna be home?” she asked.

  “They’re at the inn until late every night,” he explained. “I usually go help out if it’s busy, but they’ll live without me. Danny might be home later.” He smiled guilelessly at her, and she didn’t think he had impure intentions.

  All of Mellie’s warnings echoed in her mind. She wondered if she should escape while he was in the shower. How could she possibly be alone with him in his house? Her brother would kill him if he found out, and then deafen her with his yelling.

  But then he clicked at a small black thing and the big screen on the wall sprang to life before her eyes. It was glorious. He poked at something else on a desk and another screen lit up a few moments later.

  “This computer’s just games, so click whatever ye like.”

  He left her alone and no force on heaven or earth could have made her leave. After gaping at the telly for several minutes, she got up and looked at the computer. Feeling ignorant, she poked at it to no avail, sometimes getting something to pop up on the screen, but not knowing why or what to do with it. Giving up, she sat at the desk until Shane returned.

  He nearly took her breath away when he pulled up a chair right next to her. He was squeaky clean, his hair still wet and dripping onto his snug t-shirt. She found herself mesmerized by the small dark spots smattering his shoulders and wished she had escaped when she had the chance.

  “Is it not working?” he asked, reaching over her. She frowned and admitted she’d never used a computer. “Never? Not even in school?”

  She wanted to cry. Mellie was so well educated, and apparently so was Shane. Perhaps everyone in this time was. She shrugged, not wanting to admit her aunt had taught her at home. He didn’t notice how upset she was and clicked a few times.

  “We only had a few at my school,” he said. “And they were shite. Anyway, it’s easy. Just click on whatever ye want. Ye canna break it, I promise.”

  He took her hand and placed it on the wee oval thing, pressed her finger down. She nodded, seeing what he was talking about, and relieved she wouldn’t be able to do any damage.

  “I’m going to heat us up some spaghetti, only be a few minutes.”

  “Ye must let me help,” she said, getting up.

  He pushed her back into the chair. “Ye’re a guest, dinna be thick. Kill some zombies or something.”

  Now that she knew how to operate the tiny arrow, she immediately clicked on a folder labeled with Shane’s name. It was full of tiny, colorful pictures and she clicked one at random. Music began to play and a cartoon monkey danced across the screen. By clicking on it, she could make it jump for fruit and every once in a while it congratulated her. It was so fun, she didn’t notice Shane come back until he plopped a bowl in front of her.

  “Ah, that stupid game,” he said.

  “I quite like it,” she said.

  He laughed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “It’s so embarrassing. I did that one when I was twelve or so. They’re all mostly garbage, but there’s definitely better ones than Monkey Mayhem.”

  “Do ye mean to tell me ye created that game?”

  “I did all those,” he said, tapping the screen and running his finger over the pictures. “I get along all right with coding, I just dinna like it much, and as ye can see, my artistic skills are sorely lacking.”

  “It seems like magic,” she sighed. He laughed again and looked uncomfortable. “Ye’d really rather work on a farm?”

  “Absolutely. Not much money in it, though,” he said with a shrug. “Which is why my parents want me to go to programming school. I’ve been slacking too long, they say.”

  Catie learned he was nineteen, and apparently had to make his decision quite soon. He acted as if he would end up doing what his parents wanted, which she admired on principle, but hated to see him unhappy. She wanted to tell him she understood completely. Having to get married to secure a large sum of money when she didn’t care at all about such things, and only wanted to live peacefully on her aunt’s farm seemed quite the same dilemma to her.

  When they were done eating, they watched a program that moved her to tears it was so dramatic, then he took her back to the castle. A perfect gentleman, or at least as much as he could be with the lax rules of the day. In fact, as she thought about it, she decided he was more of a gentleman, because he acted properly on his own, with no chaperone to berate him if he did wrong.

  Between exploring the village with Mellie and wandering the castle grounds with Shane, the week flew past, and she only worried about Lachlan for the few minutes each night before she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  On the day he and the witch were to arrive home, Mellie asked her if she was nervous about seeing her brother again and she realized she’d been deep in denial, her stomach plummeting at the thought. She could barely make conversation, and begged off taking a drive in the golf cart with Shane. When she wasn’t helping Mel clean, she spent the day pacing and wringing her hands.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” Mel said. It was late and they were due any time. Catie wore her long dress, thinking it would be difficult enough for Lachlan to adjust to her being there. If he saw her in jeans and a t-shirt, his head might explode. “He won’t be angry,” Mel assured her.

  “Have we even been speaking of the same person this last week?” she asked, unable to understand why no one seemed afraid or even the least bit intimidated by her brother.

  Mellie only laughed, then tilted her head to the side. “I hear the car,” she said. “They’re going to be so shocked.”

  Which was it? Was everything going to be fine or were they going to be shocked? Mellie’s eyes were glued to the door, and unable to stand the suspense, Catie ran and hid in the pantry. Not entirely sure it was the right decision, she was stuck there for the moment. She pressed her ear against the door and listened to Mellie greet them, her voice sounding overly loud and jovial.

  The witch sensed something was off right away and asked her what was wrong. Catie’s vision started fading and she clung to the door handle. What would she see when she came out? She prayed she wouldn’t be blinded by a spell, finally hearing Mel call to her to come out. Swallowing hard, she edged around the door. Mellie squeezed Piper’s hand and took off. Catie was on her own.

  Lachlan swore and looked like he might faint, but Catie only had eyes for the tiny dark-haired woman beside him. She didn’t seem dangerous at all. In fact, she had a kind, though somewhat confused and nervous, expression on her pretty face. Catie blinked a few times, but the woman didn’t change or waver, grow horns or fangs or sprout a tail. Catie pinched herself to make sure she still had her wits about her. She had no point of reference, but felt fairly certain she wasn’t being enchanted.

  Lachlan advanced and wrapped her in a hug before shaking her and dragging her to meet the woman. Piper Sinclair’s eyes welled up with tears as she hugged her as well. The twenty-first century certainly was huggy. Catie stiffened, but no agonizing pain or creeping shivers came from Piper’s touch. What was going on? She shoved away and star
ted to cry, feeling foolish, but unable to stop.

  The fact that Lachlan was alive and well, and not mentally or physically shackled to a witch overwhelmed her with relief until that same fact fired up the anger she’d almost forgotten in the past week.

  He was not in danger. At all. She had ruined her chances for a good marriage in her own time, risked her life to come here, stolen poor Miss Burnet’s ability to get home, and for nothing.

  “Catie, lass, what is it?” he asked, leading her to the bench to sit.

  She shook with rage and took several steps away from him.

  “Let me get you a little something to drink,” Piper offered, hurrying to open a bottle of whiskey. “Such a shock. A little nip will take the edge off.”

  Catie wondered if that’s how she would do it, get her under her power through food or drink. She pushed away the proffered glass and turned back to Lachlan.

  “Why did ye come here?” she demanded. “Why did ye leave?”

  His face fell and he rested his hands on the table. She saw him thinking, deciding what he was going to say. What lies he was going to tell her. She was sick of it.

  “What’s happened? Has something happened to Quinn? Tell my why ye’re here, and alone.”

  She choked on a laugh and shook her head. He wasn’t even going to lie, just ignore her question altogether. “Nothing’s wrong with Quinn,” she said. Even in her intense anger, she couldn’t let him think there was something wrong with their brother. Not the way both of them had let her think he was dead for months. “I want to know why ye left.”

  Piper put her hand on his arm to keep him from exploding at her, but Catie couldn’t feel grateful. “Oh, Catie. It’s such a long story. Maybe we should all get some sleep and Lachlan and I can explain it to you in the morning,” she said.

  Catie refused to look at her, continuing to glare at Lachlan. “I am so verra sick of being lied to.”

  He wiped his hand over his face and nodded to Piper, who looked like she might try to intervene again. “It’s fine, love,” he said, patting her hand and smiling at her tenderly before turning to Catie.

  Catie stepped back, stunned. Lachlan was in love with Piper. He wasn’t bewitched, just besotted. She should have been happy. She tried to be grateful that all was well, but only felt stupid. She’d acted the way they treated her, like a reckless child. She’d ruined everything.

  “I do want to go to bed,” she said, new tears flooding her cheeks. “I dinna want to speak anymore tonight.” She felt ashamed at putting off the confrontation. Another childish move.

  “Of course, honey,” Piper said. Her kindness scraped like ragged fingernails on Catie’s nerves. “Lachlan, tell her it’s all right.”

  Before her brother could say another word, Catie ran to her room and slammed the door.

  Chapter 5

  Even though they were supposed to be besties now, Wodge still tied Lizzie to a tree and she was achier than ever throughout the ride the next day. He was giddy at how close they were and near dusk, he pointed out the castle to her.

  “The witches do it in the woods,” he said, spurring his horse to go faster.

  She almost laughed, thinking that should be a bumper sticker. However this ended, she wanted it to end already.

  “Why?” she asked. He’d been chatty all day, but hadn’t said anything useful or even lucid. She’d almost given up hope on getting any solid information. “And how do they do it?”

  He shrugged. “There’s something about that land,” he said. “Probably an ancient evil. Evil’s how they do it, by the way.”

  She nodded, used to the evil talk after five days of it. “How do you do it?” She’d asked that question and he’d ignored it so many times, she didn’t think he would answer.

  “Portals,” he said impatiently.

  “Yes, but how?” she pushed.

  He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I know where they are though, and where they go, and that’s what matters.”

  Indeed. She prepared her face for a possible wallop. “How did you first find out about them? Was it an accident, like what happened to me?”

  He whirled around fast and she flinched. No matter how prepared she thought she was, she didn’t want to get hit again. He stared at her and chewed on his thin bottom lip.

  “My father disappeared into one when I was fifteen. I found out he’d been doing it for a while. However, that time, he never came back.”

  “And you’re trying to find him?” She frowned, oddly disappointed.

  “Something like that.” Wodge’s lip curled unpleasantly, clearly lost in his memories.

  They paused while he took a long drink from his canteen, begrudgingly offering her the dregs.

  “That’s it?” she asked, positive she was stepping over a line, but unable to drop it. “This is all just a sad, abandoned son story?”

  He laughed as if she’d told a hilarious joke. “Oh my dear,” he said, his laughter stopping as abruptly as slamming a door. “I see how you view me.” He waved off her attempt to deny it, his eyes completely void of any recognizable emotion. “But trust me when I say you never want to meet my father.”

  She watched his back as he ducked under some low hanging branches, all desire to taunt him drained from her. Unnerved, she tried to change the subject.

  “So, er, the portals. There’s one around here? Or do we have to go back to London?”

  “There’s one in the village, beyond the river.” He made a long, irritated sound. “I hate that village in this time,” he whined. “But it’s there. I’ll deal with it.”

  He went back to ignoring her and chattering to himself. They took a circuitous route behind the castle, ending up looking down at it from a hill near the forest. There was just a smattering of trees where they stood high above everything, but she could see it quickly became dense, and from their vantage point, it covered the land in a vast, dark green blanket.

  “Look,” he said, pointing.

  Two horsemen entered the woods down the hill. Quinn and Oliver, so close. The wind blew toward her and she knew if she hollered, they’d never hear. She wanted to gallop after them, but instead followed Wodge into the woods.

  She could barely stay in her saddle, they were so close to Quinn, and her eyes darted left and right at the trees and underbrush. Perhaps she had enough left in her to fling herself from the horse and escape into the shadowy forest, scream her lungs out for Quinn. She could bob and weave to avoid getting shot, like they did in movies.

  She leaned over the saddle, as if her body wanted her brain to get it together already and jump, and Wodge pulled up beside her, grabbing her reins away. He held his finger to his lips and pointed. He hadn’t read her mind at all, she realized with a jolt. He just wanted her to stop riding.

  Quinn and Oliver were only a hundred yards away in a clearing. She squinted through the dusk light and couldn’t stop the yearning sound that escaped her lips when she saw Quinn’s tall, strong form wrapped in his dark red plaid. Oliver also wore a kilt and looked like he was doing his best to keep up. So close, but she’d never make it to them.

  “Quiet,” Wodge warned, helping her dismount. The feel of his hands at her sides made her skin crawl. “Mind your feet,” he said, nodding to the twigs that might make a snapping noise if they stepped on them.

  She stood frozen, gripping a tree to keep herself from bolting in a panic. She noticed Wodge had his gun in his hand. Why did he have his gun in his hand? She knew nothing about the modern day weapon Wodge must have stolen on one of his trips through time. Could it reach its target at this distance?

  “I’ve got you, witches,” he hissed, taking her hand and slowly guiding her closer to the clearing.

  Run, she told herself. Scream. Anything to stop this madman from killing two innocent people. And then herself.

  They stopped behind a huge, decaying fallen tree and she turned from Wodge’s satisfied face to the clearing. They were now close enough to see clearly and her arms a
ched to wrap themselves around Quinn’s broad shoulders. If only things had been different. She had so much regret.

  “Do you believe me now?” he asked, barely a whisper.

  She peeked over the log and to her dismay saw Quinn and Oliver sitting across from one another in a cleared circle. Quinn shook some dried herbs from a vial and crumpled them between his palms, referring to a paper he had next to him, and pointing things out to Oliver as he scattered the herbs on the ground between them. Her eyes widened with shock as they took turns cutting their fingers and shaking blood onto the herbs. Quinn said some words, a chant of some sort, in a clear, self-conscious voice. It did look remarkably like witchcraft. Perhaps Wodge wasn’t as mad as she thought.

  “We need to get closer,” he said. “Close enough and we’ll go through when they do.” He glanced down at her gleefully. “Oh, what a day this is. They’re sure to be meeting others. I can take care of them all in one go.”

  No, he was madder than she thought. Her arms and legs shook as he pushed her carefully forward. She stepped on a twig, but Quinn and Oliver were so wrapped up in their spell, they didn’t notice. Quinn stopped his chant and reached over and nudged Oliver. A moment later they both began to sing, two different songs, but they looked equally embarrassed.

  “Now!” Wodge shoved her into the clearing.

  She swore the air around her shimmered, as if they were really about to be taken somewhere, some time else. They’d be disoriented when they arrived, just as she’d been when she came through at Belmary House. Everyone except Wodge, who was used to it, and who planned to kill them instantly.

  “Quinn, stop,” she shrieked.

  Wodge jerked her shoulder and slammed the gun into her back. She caught a glimpse of his shocked face. The lunatic had actually believed she would help him. Quinn and Oliver stopped singing. While Oliver remained sitting in the clearing, stunned and uncertain, Quinn was on his feet in a blink.