Witch Tease
C.K. Reynders
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.
Solstice Publishing - http://www.solsticeempire.com/
Copyright 2019 – C.K. Reynders
As always, thanks to my husband Rich and my family for their patience and understanding when I go into my office and disappear for hours. They respect my writing addiction and for that I will be eternally grateful.
To my little dog Ewok, who has been a joy in my life for the last 14 years—I love you baby girl!
Chapter One
The Scottish Highlands
1745
Lizzie Rose walked along the loch’s rocky edge, picking stems of gray-green bog myrtle and dropping them into her basket. Mist danced above the water, just high enough to touch the murky surface. In the distance, a crumbling old castle stood along the shore, beautiful with its crenelated towers and moss-covered walls.
Villagers claimed ghosts haunted the ruins. Lizzie knew better. As a child, she’d explored the castle’s abandoned heights, whispering with the spirits residing within the stone walls.
Only to her family had she revealed her communication with those souls who had passed; else the villagers might have suspected her of witchcraft. Though she was indeed a witch—a white witch sworn to protect humankind—she never exposed her true nature to mortals.
They wouldn’t have accepted it. Throughout the span of her centuries living on Earth, she had witnessed humans destroying what they didn’t understand. The idea of becoming fuel for the town square’s bonfire did not appeal to her. In time, perhaps humans would appreciate the white witches who lived among them. Not here and now, though.
As for the so-called haunted ruins, the shades of the humans who had passed on didn’t remain in the ancient stronghold to cause trouble, they merely visited the neglected heap of stones from time to time. Having lived and loved there for decades, they wanted to pay their respects and mourn the castle’s former glory, which now lay faded and forgotten.
“Back to gathering,” she murmured. She’d offered to collect herbs today so her mother could tend to her patients. As the village healer, many individuals sought her help. Her supply of dried bog myrtle, valued for its healing properties, had dwindled.
Fortunately, Lizzie had an excuse to wander the hills today. No one had to know she planned to stop in a quiet glade to meet her lover, Kincaid McAllister.
A thrill of excitement shot up her spine and her blood warmed at the thought of being with him.
Near the water’s edge, she gazed across the cloudy waves, then closed her eyes. Breathing softly, she invited Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, to enter her mind. She faced north, south, east, and west, then returned to her original position, beckoning the Goddess and the four directions to assist her in holding Kincaid’s interest.
“Veniunt ad me diligis vere.”
A breeze lifted strands of her long dark hair and rustled leaves in the surrounding trees. Smiling, she gazed once more into the lapping water. An area glittered and became calm. In the mirrored liquid, she could make out her pale face and eagerly parted lips.
“Will I have a future with the man I love?” she whispered, encouraging the elements to share more mysteries.
In the past, when she’d performed this spell, a vision would unfurl within the depths. Foretelling the future didn’t make everything clear, but it provided guidance. To her frustration, this day the water’s surface offered no clues.
Stinking bat’s breath.
Doing her best to ignore the love spell’s failure, she began climbing up a heather-covered hill. Kincaid would arrive soon, for they had agreed to meet at the noon hour.
Once she’d reached her destination, she slipped into a stand of oak trees. A lacy network of emerald leaves seemed to cast a spell of seclusion that made her feel safe and protected. As uncanny silence enveloped her, her senses prickled.
Breathing in the old magic wafting through the glade, she entered a ring of tall standing stones and placed the basket of herbs on the ground. The ancients had worshipped here, her Druid ancestors who had practiced otherworld mysteries by tracking celestial bodies.
They knew about life and its beginnings and they understood the nature of humans and other creatures. Much of their knowledge had been lost over time, but she and her Hedge Haven Clan did their best to pass along the fundamental teachings and learn the old ways.
At last Kincaid pushed his way through layered green foliage. Tall, powerful, and exuding raw sexuality, he strode up to Lizzie. His familiar musky scent drifted toward her, and she breathed in his intoxicating presence. A smile curled her lips, but it faded when she realized he wore woolen soldier’s attire complete with a red plaid kilt.
Her stomach clenched. “What’s going on? Why are you dressed that way?”
“Come to me, lass,” he said in his thick Scottish brogue, his blue eyes dancing. “You ken I want you.”
“And I want you,” she whispered, momentarily forgetting her fears as he pulled her into his arms. When he lowered his shaggy head, his lips met hers in a warm, passionate kiss. Desire wrapped around her and she melted into his protective, loving embrace.
As the kiss deepened, Kincaid gently eased her down into the soft grass. She moaned as his talented mouth found the curve of her neck, nibbling the sensitive skin. His warm, moist lips thrilled her as he blazed a fiery trail of warmth. Nimbly unlacing the ribbons on her bodice, he made his way to her cleavage, then her nipples.
She arched her back as his lips encircled the rosy tips, sucking and licking until the center of her being nearly burst. Untying her cloak, she spread it out beneath them. Breathing heavily, she undressed him as he undressed her. Before long, they lay naked beneath the sky.
“I’m cold,” she managed before her teeth began to chatter. “We’ve barely entered the spring equinox and the weather still chills my soul.”
“Then ’tis my job to warm ye.”
Smiling, he nudged her legs apart, plunged his shaft inside her and began to move in and out. Pleasure filled her core and she moved in time to his thrusts, craving yet more. As he reached his pinnacle of ecstasy, he arched his neck and growled, releasing his seed inside her. Lizzie moaned with ecstasy as blinding joy lifted her to a pinnacle of sensation.
Kincaid continued to move slowly inside Lizzie as she caught her breath. The world spun.
“My Lizzie girl,” he said as he rolled away and tucked her in the curve of his arm. Then he spread the edges of her cloak around them.
“I promised to keep ye warm,” he said, chuckling.
“And you did,” she responded. The memory of removing his uniform from his muscular body spurred her curiosity. She propped herself on one elbow to look at him.
“Why do you wear the uniform of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army?” Even though she asked, she already knew the answer. Her heart nearly broke in two, fearing the truth.
“I’ve joined the Jacobite cause.” Kincaid sat up and ran calloused hands through his tumble of freshly shorn reddish-gold hair. His blue eyes pierced Lizzie, and the stubborn slant of his whiskered jaw indicated she would not be able to change his mind.
Heart slamming against her ribs, she moved closer and trailed a fingernail down hi
s broad chest. “Don’t tease me, now. I’d be worried sick if you went off to war.”
He pushed aside her hand. “’Tis my duty to fight the English along with my countrymen. As far as the two of us, we canna be together any longer, lass.”
“I’ll wait for your return, and then—”
“Nay. This is the last time we’ll e’er see each other.”
Anger seethed in Lizzie’s chest. “You don’t mean that, do you?”
“My life is not my own, Lizzie.” His jaw settled into a hard angle. “You could’na understand.”
Tears welled, and she brushed away the moisture spilling down her cheeks. She’d held out hope the two of them would find a way to stay together. Her thoughts swam with confusion. When she’d come here, she’d expected them to make love. She hadn’t expected to be tossed aside for the man’s love of war. Humiliation surged through her chest, and her throat tightened.
“What’s wrong, Kincaid? Aren’t I good enough for you? Why do you want to run off to battle and get yourself killed?”
“Hush,” he growled, his eyes flashing. “I did’na expect you to behave like this.”
“I never should have wasted my time with the likes of you.”
“Lizzie, please lass. Doo’na work yourself up.”
Standing, she shoved on her petticoat, backwards of course. It didn’t help that tears burned like fiery embers at the back of her eyes, blurring her vision.
Kincaid chuckled and wrapped his arms around his knees. “What a sight ye are, lass.”
“Ooh, I’d love to turn you into a toad right now!”
He continued to laugh, making her even clumsier as anguish ripped through her heart.
Cheeks burning, she finally managed to tug the petticoat into the right position. Her fingers trembled as she buttoned and tied the fastenings on her long green dress. Kincaid’s amused laughter conjured a mortifying experience from her past.
Long ago, during her early witch’s training, she accidentally turned the master warlock into a tree stump. Gleeful over her mistake, her classmates had howled with laughter. She’d been embarrassed beyond belief and had suffered as the brunt of their jokes for years.
At this moment in time, she felt the same embarrassment ten times over.
“Go on with you then you…you big, hairy ox.” She tried not to stare at his drool-worthy nakedness, but found it impossible. “You mean nothing to me. I was merely toying with you. I don’t need you. In fact, I don’t need any man. And I never will.”
Emotion flickered in Kincaid’s eyes, then quickly died. A veil of acceptance passed over his face, leaving his emotions impossible to read. He stood and handed over her cloak.
She snatched it from him, placed it around her shoulders and fastened it under her chin. From the corner of her eyes, she watched as he pulled on the detestable uniform and slid his feet into tall leather boots. Gods above, he was a prime specimen of man and he belonged to her. No, not any longer. Lizzie wanted to scream as the pain of rejection sliced through her soul.
Trembling, she whirled around and stormed away from the magical circle of stones and Kincaid. Though she wanted to look back and judge the man’s reaction, she didn’t. Deep down, she harbored a furtive hope that he would chase after her and apologize.
He didn’t.
Seething with outrage, she slowed down and turned to glance at her former lover. One last look won’t hurt anything. She blinked back tears. Kincaid had left already. She shivered, as a wolf’s howl echoed in the low, wooded hills surrounding the sacred stones.
The animal’s mournful note pierced her.
Kincaid had wasted no time leaving.
Lizzie trudged toward the village, her feet heavy. She considered the love spell she’d offered up to Aphrodite and the four directions. The Goddess couldn’t be faulted, for she had indeed answered Lizzie’s request to see what the future held.
She and Kincaid would no longer meet in secret. In fact, they would no longer meet at all. Her father once told her to consider all of her desires thoroughly before requesting assistance from deities. In her mind, his prophetic words flashed like a bright, harvest moon.
Lizzie dear, be careful what you witch for.
Chapter Two
Autumnal Equinox, Present Day
Lizzie steered her broom through the violet dawn toward the Royal Witch Arena, her hair streaming over her shoulders like a ribbon of chocolate. She pushed several sable-colored strands out of her eyes.
“Great Goddess I’m late,” she muttered.
“As usual, devochka,” her broom Wren chided. “You’d better step on the gas.”
On the eastern horizon, a thread of golden light illuminated salmon and pink clouds, indicating the sun would soon rise. At that point, the Wysteria Hedge Haven’s coven of witches and warlocks would begin the Blessing of the Brooms Ceremony. At this event, members bestowed dedications on their flying companions and imbued them with renewed magical strength.
Afterward, they would participate in the Feast of Mabon, a thanksgiving for the fruits of the Earth, which they would share during the coming winter months to secure the blessings of the God and the Goddess.
Due to her procrastination, Lizzie had fallen behind schedule. No doubt her family would be upset, as would the entire Supreme Witch’s Council, when she arrived after the festivities had begun. Holy witch’s creed, she hated the idea of inciting their anger any further. All this year, she’d fallen into the habit of showing up tardy to coven events. Why, she couldn’t exactly say.
When will you ever learn, Lizzie?
Judging by her surroundings, Lizzie surmised the arena must be mere seconds away. Ablaze with russet and crimson foliage, Oregon’s rugged coast stretched beneath her like the backbone of a giant beast. To the west, the Pacific Ocean undulated with sapphire jewel brilliance. As always, the scenery took her breath away.
Focus, a small voice in her head scolded. The day held stunning beauty, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it.
“This is so not good,” she muttered.
“I’ve warned you over and over.” As Wren scolded Lizzie, the gold, green, and brown ribbons festooning the broom’s handle flapped in the wind. “As usual, you spent far too long deciding what to wear.”
Wren’s thick European accent caused her to pronounce her ‘w’s with a ‘v’ sound. She sounded like Count Dracula with a nasty chest cold. It wasn’t surprising. Lizzie had found the broom in a castle very much like one the infamous vampire might have lived in.
Those were the days when she’d travelled through Russia in the early 1800s, pretending to be a rich American heiress. She recalled how she’d fallen in love with the glamorous clothing the nobles wore at court. Maybe that’s where she’d developed her love of stylish apparel.
“Honestly, I couldn’t wear just any old thing. This is an important day.”
Wren sighed and said, “Then you will suffer the consequences.”
“I should get some sort of appointment keeper on my cell phone. Maybe if I have buzzers blaring, I’ll have better luck staying on time.” Lizzie tapped her fingernail against the casserole balanced on Wren’s decoratively-carved handle. “At least I remembered to bring my special dish—Eye of Newt Love Potion. That’s always a huge hit.”
Wren hit a rough pocket of air, shook and shimmied, then jolted sideways. The casserole dish flew off her handle, splashing green Jell-O and peeled grapes across the front of Lizzie’s little black dress. The substance oozed down her fishnet stockings and her black leather boots.
“Drat,” Lizzie shouted.
Wren chuckled.
“Now I’m a huge mess.”
“Conjure up a clean outfit,” the broom suggested.
“There’s no time, sweetie.” Spotting the arena, Lizzie pointed Wren’s handle downward. “It’s time to land.”
The ancient amphitheater that housed the Royal Witch Arena rose majestically, its thick basalt walls dominating the shoreline. It reminded her of
the Roman Coliseum, though on a smaller scale. As she soared through the lofty heights above the arena, she could feel its primordial authority pulsating through the atmosphere and tingling in her veins. Awed by the structure’s peculiar charisma, she shivered.
Invisible to human eyes, the arena held an important place in the coven’s history. Over the years, it had borne witness to countless magical ceremonies, as well as elections, meetings, and a plethora of other events. It symbolized her coven’s beloved and deep-rooted Wiccan craft.
Carved frescos of ancestor witches lined the solid walls and colorful, triangular clan flags flapped along the stone parapets. Not only did the arena hold the mysteries of her coven’s religion, but every detailed nook and cranny displayed unique splendor and symbolic nuance.
“Hopefully the Supreme Witch’s Council doesn’t spit hexes at us when you take me to the inner sanctum,” Wren said as they sped toward terra firma.
“Sanctum, schmanctum,” Lizzie scoffed as she brushed aside the dark hair whipping across her cheeks. She tried her best not to envision their wrath, and made light of it by saying, “The council is just a bunch of old sticks in the mud anyway.”
“I resent that remark,” Wren shot back in a wounded voice. “I, too, am an old stick.”
“Oops, my bad.”
Wren made a frustrated sound.
Once they reached solid ground, Lizzie snapped her fingers, and a new short black dress replaced her old one. Sticky residue from the salad still coated her skin, but a bath would have to wait. She snapped again, and a forest green ceremonial cape mantled her shoulders.
After tucking her long tresses inside the hood, she secured it beneath her chin. Simply wearing green, her signature color, endowed her with tingling power that traveled to the tips of her fingers. Anticipation for the upcoming event added to her excitement. The Blessing of the Brooms ceremony had always been her favorite.
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