A Coven of Her own

by Saskia Walker

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  This was definitely the best dream Sunny had ever had.

  As they stepped out of the front door of the cottage, the remaining mist whispered away from the surface of the dew-covered grass, slinking off into the green undergrowth. The air was fresh and high with earthy scents. The dawn sky was livid, the horizon a hazy blur of red-streaked clouds. In the distance, two gulls circled. Sunny took in the sight, her senses filling with the experience. She felt terrific, exhilarated, and more alive than she’d ever felt before. Even closer to nature, too. All that hot sex, she thought to herself.

  Cullen grabbed her hand, and she was guided along by him, quickly covering the length of the path and out, into the meadow beyond.

  Except, it wasn’t the path.

  When she glanced over to where the main road should be, she realized it wasn’t actually there. Instead, there was only a narrow dirt track. Wild grass of the type found on the moors was heavy and thick beneath the thin material of her borrowed slippers. There was no sign of the road whatsoever, and Sunny blinked away the strange feeling of disorientation.

  It’s a dream, she reminded herself, but something had begun to niggle at her consciousness. Perhaps it was the fresh air in her lungs. Perhaps it was the vital, undeniable presence of the daylight. Or perhaps it was Cullen’s very real, very fierce grip on her hand, and the look of his powerful shoulders as he guided her across the open land toward the coast. No, it was all of those things and the most basic: the grass, the feeling of the damp grass under her feet, springy, resistant. Real.

  And if the grass was real...

  She looked at the man who’d made passionate love to her all through the night. She eyed his hair, flowing free to his shoulders. She took in the concentrated, determined look in his eye when he glanced back to make sure she was with him.

  If the grass was real, did that mean he was real, too?

  “Wait.” She pulled her hand free of his and stopped dead in her tracks. They’d covered over half the distance. Within moments, the cliffs would be in sight.

  “Sorry, too fast for you, girl?” He flashed a quick grin, but his brow was furrowed. He was obviously worried about making his appointment.

  Everything he’d said to her during their night together crowded on her consciousness. “My God, this is real.”

  Her words seemed to string out into the atmosphere and weave away from her. Disorientation swamped her. The sense of fun from the night before had gone, whisked away with the advent of morning. All that was left was confusion and doubt about her sanity.

  Cullen moved closer. That helped, marginally.

  “Real?” His expression showed confusion, but he smoothed back her hair where it was blowing across her vision, and he looked at her in the tenderest way.

  Get a grip, she told herself. There had to be an explanation. “You said you were leaving England, yes? Tell me, what’s this about? Why are you a dishonored man?”

  “Did Nathaniel not tell you?”

  Uselessly, she shook her head, unable to do more than that to urge him on.

  “Yes, well, I s’pose you’ve a right to know, before you spend any more time with me.”

  She noticed how devastatingly handsome he was. In the clear light of day, she had her first real chance to admire the line of his mouth and the strong, angular thrust of his cheekbones.

  “T'was a duel. Ach.” He raised his hands in disbelief. “I overheard some upstart besmirching my youngest sister’s name.”

  A duel? She stared at the sheathed sword that hung at his hip. A dagger was also tucked into a holster on his belt. It all seemed so alien to her. How could she possibly take it in?

  “Like any man worth his salt,” he continued, as if he’d had to deliver this explanation many times before, “I took him aside and told him to mind his mouth. The dim-witted, headstrong young wretch challenged me. Ach, it’s all the rage amongst the young bucks. They do not comprehend the consequences. But still, it had to be done.” He shook his head regretfully. “I gave him every chance to call it off, and then the young fool started in on my second before I’d even taken off my cloak. He’d come straight from a tavern where he’d had a belly full of ale the night before. He didn’t know what he was doing. Practically collapsed onto his own saber before we even readied ourselves to see him off with a bit of a scare and no more.” He looked at her with a sheepish expression.

  “Did he die?”

  “Near enough, but he’s recovering now.” He sighed again. “It was an accident, but it falls to me to carry it, and so I must do the honorable thing and leave England for a term of five years. I’m taking this damnable thing with me,” he slapped the sword at his hip, “to remind me of my sins.” He glanced at the landscape around them. “I love this land. Cornwall is my home. I shall be hellish sad to leave.”

  His expression was deeply wistful, the like of which Sunny had never seen on a man’s face before. Oh, maybe Laurence Olivier in some old movie, but not for real. This guy was battling with deep emotions, trying to stand by his duty, despite his convictions. Presumably the lad who’d challenged him had been too scared to fight with him and who would blame him? Even she could see Cullen would be a formidable opponent to a novice.

  Tearing her gaze away from his face—which was hard while he was looking at her for understanding of his predicament—she looked toward the coastline, where the landscape was clearly visible in the morning light. His words and the images they spun tumbled through her mind, and she hugged herself as she tried to get a grip on reality. They were on the downside of a bluff she didn’t recognize, but beyond them she could just see Raven’s Landing, with its jetty reaching out into the sea.

  It was there, all right, the place she knew so well, but it looked strangely different. The jetty was smaller, the harbor undeveloped. The older, core streets of the hamlet were clearly visible, instead of being nestled in a larger cluster of roads and houses as they usually were. It was the last bit of proof she needed. Somehow, she’d been transferred to a different reality, a different version of what was her own place, her home.

  “What year did you say this was?” Her voice quavered as she asked the question.

  He squinted at her as if surprised at her remark. And why wouldn’t he be? He probably thought she was one sandwich short of a picnic.

  “The year of our lord, 1820. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, hell, no reason.” She gave a hysterical laugh and shrugged uselessly, hitching the makeshift belt on her pants and throwing caution to the wind. It was two hundred years earlier. “I’m stuck inside some weird dream, and it’s all getting far too real for my liking.”

  He frowned. “You do say some odd things, woman.”

  She loved the way he called her “woman.” In fact, she quite liked it when he called her “wench.”

  He stroked her arm soothingly.

  His touch sent shivers right through her, shivers of delight. Studying him, she noticed how statuesque he was. By candlelight he’d appeared attractive. In the light of day he was tall and commanding. The outfit he wore made her weak at the knees and she couldn’t explain why if she’d been asked. The swashbuckling cloak and tight breeches, the sword at his belt. All of it made her admire him more.

  “The sky bodes heavy with a storm,” he commented, eyeing the horizon warily, and then looked back at her. “Do you not want to come down to the coast with me after all?”

  “Yes, I do.” What the hell else would I do with myself, she thought, stranded here in 1820?

  “You look fretful, are you unwell?”

  “No, well, it’s probably shock. Listen, Cullen, there’s something I must try to explain, although I’m sure you won’t believe me. I’m not from here. I mean, I am, but I’m not.”

  “I thought you were different, lass.”

  “You could say that.”

  “You’re not a whore at all, are you?”

  She gave another hysterical laugh. A whore? “No, I’m a web
designer.”

  “A what?”

  “Oh, it’s a job, it’s what I do, and it’s like...” How the hell did she explain the internet to some guy in 1820? “It’s like...drawing.” Sheesh. What a cop out.

  He shook his head thoughtfully, and looked at her as if she were slightly mad, then took her arm protectively. “Come on, we’ll talk more when we get down to the shore.”

  Sunny trooped alongside him, chin up, clutching his hand. Despite the weirdness of the situation, she felt safe with him, as if she were meant to stay by his side.

  They covered the ground quickly.

  They closed on the harbor, and the scent of the ocean sharpened. As always, Sunny breathed the aroma. The scent was reassuring, taking her back to the times she spent here with her grandma, Hanna, who took her down to see the sea. Yet it was different. Puzzled, and feeling somehow out of step, Sunny could only account for it by continuing to assume it a vivid dream.

  The ground they walked along was a dirt track, scored with deep tracks, like carts had been driven here. As they approached the town itself, she noticed it was less populated. Gulls wheeled overhead, their distinctive cries anchoring her.

  Then a great rumbling sounded behind them and a voice called out in warning. Cullen pulled her in against his side swiftly.

  Sunny turned, just as a carriage and horses trundled past. As it did, it threw up a load of mud, drenching her pink slippers.

  “Oh no,” she said, staring down at them.

  A second later, she stared in disbelief at the coachman on top the vehicle, who’d shouted the warning. He wore a triangular shaped hat and a cloak that flew up either side of him as he barked instructions at the horses, bringing them up quickly at the edge of the town.

  The old-fashioned vehicle pulled off the track and into a stable yard. Cullen hurried her along, but she peered in as they passed. In her world, the courtyard was known as the Old Stable Yard, but served as a novelty shopping arcade, with cutie seashell stands and traders who sold handmade knick knacks, wind chimes, and surf gear.

  The coachman secured the horses.

  There was no sign of the shops.

  As the streets grew more narrow so they grew busier, with farmers driving sheep and goats alongside them.

  “Curses,” Cullen muttered. “It’s market day.”

  Sure enough in the market square, traders’ arts displayed wares, drawing clusters of people. The level of noise startled her. A cart chock full of baskets of chickens stood nearby. They made a cacophony of squawking. Dogs barked at the livestock, who were making all manner of noise. Sunny stared, fascinated by the old-fashioned scenes. It was like walking into a movie set. The whole experience was surreal but thrilling. Magical, she realized.

  Magical? The word ran back and forth in her thoughts. She recalled stories her grandmother told her of Cornish magic, and things Celeste said the day before when she’d chatted with her and Willow. They’d mentioned Cullen. That was where she’d heard his name before. They’d joked about Sunny finding him, and said stuff about her cottage—almost as if they were predicting this. She’d have to quiz them about it when she got back. Assuming she did get back. As the thought occurred to her, Sunny gulped down her reaction.

  Cullen cut a path through the crowd, standing a good head higher than the tallest of those they passed. Many of those greeted him, and then stared at her with curious expressions, blatantly peering at her as if she were a curiosity, which Sunny supposed she was to them.

  By her side, Cullen was making observations on the chaos of the market. “I do not recall market day being as busy as this.”

  He leaned in and whispered to Sunny conspiratorially, linking her arm. “Ignore the stares, I wager they have guessed you are not my stable boy.”

  “I bet that’s not all they’re thinking.”

  Cullen nodded. “You’re astute, lass.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Not while you are with me. Stay close.”

  The shared confidence bonded them somewhat and as they wended their way through the busy market, Cullen scanned the crowd watchfully, tucking her in against his side, his cloak all but covering her too.

  “Cullen Thaine, Sire,” a voice boomed out. “I heard you had departed Cornwall.” The merchant swept a low bow when he saw them approach. “I have the finest silks and woolens for your perusal today.” He gestured to the selection of garments and samples laid out on a trestle table.

  Cullen nodded at the trader and went to pass by.

  The trader stepped out quite brazenly, blocking their path.

  “Mister Drake,” Cullen muttered in response, and went to push past him.

  The man didn’t budge, and Sunny saw his scrutiny was focused totally on her. Stumbling on the cobbles, she drew to a halt.

  He looked her up and down then reached out and tugged on her hair. It unraveled from where she’d tied it back.

  She jerked free.

  “Hold tight to me,” Cullen advised.

  Sunny could do no more than nod in response.

  “We must pass,” Cullen stated in a commanding tone. “I have business in the harbor.” He put his arm around her and bypassed the nosy man.

  From under her lashes she could see the trader continued to watch them with suspicion, making no pretence to do otherwise. His gaze flickered over them, as if he was trying to figure out the nature of their relationship. Especially when he saw Cullen guiding her away to the other side of the street, casting warning looks back over his shoulder as he went.

  Why am I concerned? There was nothing the man could say about her she hadn’t heard before. Normally she’d deal with it swiftly and deliver a snarky wake up call. But this felt different, as if she were an animal to be prodded and poked.

  “A questionable man if ever there was one.” Cullen scowled.

  But now others were looking at them both with curiosity, turning away from the stalls and carts, crowding closer as they passed through the marketplace.

  Cullen leaned closer, ducking his head to whisper to her. “They have seen no other as beautiful or as unusual as you, my precious. Their curiosity gets the better of them. Do not fear, for I will defend your honor.”

  She was startled by the vehemence with which Cullen spoke, and the way he defended her—as if it was his duty. Old-fashioned chivalry, she supposed. He also seemed to have sensed her concern, as if their intimacy brought about a deep and close bond, despite the minimal time they’d spent together. “You don’t need to defend me,” she assured him. “I can look after myself.”

  He peered at her with curiosity. “You jest, surely?”

  Lord, this was infuriating.

  “Cullen, for a mixed-race woman, comments and scrutiny isn’t so unusual. I’ve been bullied before and, believe me, I can stand up for myself.”

  He shook his head, as if amused. “They fear what they do not understand, ‘tis no fault of yours.”

  His words touched her, and Sunny squeezed his arm tighter still, but there was no time to respond, because the noise behind them grew louder and a scuffle broke out as the crowd shifted closer still.

  “What manner of wench is that you’re hiding under your cloak?” a voice shouted.

  “Hell and damnation,” Cullen muttered. “It’s the bailiff. The man is a rogue, he lives a wild life.”

  The man Cullen called the bailiff inclined his head at Cullen, then at Sunny. His attention lingered on Sunny, and his leering gaze made her blood boil. It was fast turning into the Wild West in quiet old Raven’s Landing.

  By the bailiff’s side was the merchant from their earlier encounter. He’d obviously brought the bailiff over. Meanwhile, half a dozen goats had escaped their keeper and were bleating loudly. Sunny watched in dismay. So much for getting down to the harbor quietly and quickly.

  Cullen raised an eyebrow, making a connection with her. It felt as if he were warning her. His hand rested briefly on her waist, as if to reassure her. “Careful,” he whisper
ed close to her ear. “I don’t want you to be injured in the squabble. The bailiff will use his position to taunt me about my situation.”

  Sunny stared at him, her emotions reeling. She blinked, forcing herself to believe the situation. It was difficult because she could feel his will to protect her. Never before had she wanted this, or even thought of it. But by god it felt good.

  The moment was broken by the crashing sound of the bailiff kicking a basket full of chickens and a stray goat out of his way. “Cullen Thaine, what trouble do you bring upon us?”

  “Good morning, Sire. I bring no trouble, I assure you. I’m on my way to the harbor, a servant with me.”

  The bailiff stepped closer and grasped Sunny by the face, and turned it from side to side.

  Sunny gasped in shock and pulled free of his grasp.

  “Desist, Sire!” Cullen commanded.

  The man’s eyes rounded and he laughed heartily.

  A whisper went around the crowd, who looked on, agog.

  “Desist? You have the temerity to order me about? Something to hide, Thaine? What manner of crime is going on here?”

  “None.” Cullen made a sound like a growl in his throat.

  Sunny felt light headed. Dangerously handsome and so willful, he whisked her into his cloak to shield her from the eager eyes of the onlookers.

  Grey clouds rolled overhead, the wind lifting. The weather had turned bad, alongside the mood in the marketplace.

  “Why then have you dressed your servant, clearly a woman, in a boy’s clothing? In order to smuggle her under cover of your cloak?”

  The man questioning them was brutish looking, but dressed in expensive-looking clothing, a cravat at his throat, and a heavy waistcoat under his fancy frockcoat. His boots were shiny and he didn’t take his hat off to anybody, the way other people had.

  He grasped her by the shoulder and hauled her away from Cullen’s side.

  That was the last straw. “Take your hands off me, you brute,” Sunny declared, wrenching free of his grasp.

  The man reacted fast, drawing out his sword from its sheath and pointing it at the base of her throat.

  Her heart hammered against the wall of her chest, her mouth turning dry.