by Kelly Moran
Bewitched
Fated Book One
Kelly Moran
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
© COPYRIGHT 2019 by Kelly Moran
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Content Warning: Not intended for persons under the age of 18.
Cover Art Design by: Kelly Moran
Photo Credit: Adobe Images
ISBN: 9780463276761
Smashwords eBook Edition
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Kelly Moran’s Books:
“Breathes life into an appealing story.”
Publishers Weekly
“Readers will fall in love.”
Romantic Times
“Great escape reading.”
Library Journal
“Touching & gratifying.”
Kirkus Reviews
“Sexy, heart-tugging fun.”
USA Today HEA
“Emotional & totally engaging.”
Carla Neggers
“A gem of a writer.”
Sharon Sala
“I read in one sitting.”
Carly Phillips
“Compelling characters.”
Roxanne St. Claire
“A sexy, emotional romance.”
Kim Karr
“An emotionally raw story. A compelling read.”
Katie Ashley
“I devoured the book!”
Laura Kaye
Must a little weep, love.
Foolish me.
And so fall asleep, love,
Loved by thee.
~Robert Browning
Prologue
1718: Puritan Island, Royal Province of Massachusetts Bay
“The villagers are coming. We must hurry, dear sister.”
Celeste Galloway, with a heavy heart, tore her gaze away from her one-day-old babe nursing at her breast to peer into the hearth’s flames. Using strength from within, she pulled magick from her core and channeled the elements. Heat wrapped around her, teased the hair off her nape. Her sluggish, foggy mind parted and the vision became clear.
The villagers were, indeed, afoot. However, they weren’t yet at the forest edge or near her little stone cottage in the clearing. She had time to prepare, but not much.
Gently, she swaddled the baby she’d named Hope, and rose to set her on the straw pallet by the fire. Her body ached from rigorous birthing, but she relished the pain. From agony came love, even though it had been love’s betrayal that had set them on this course.
With a kiss to her daughter’s sleepy brow, Celeste chanted a protection spell and faced her sister, Mara. Blessedly, they looked similar in coloring and stature. Characteristics and the enchantment would keep both her daughter and sister protected.
Mara twisted her fingers. “We have to prepare for the journey.”
“No.” Celeste took her sister’s shoulders, remembering the long travel aboard the ship from Ireland, all the illness, the death. Their own Ma and Da hadn’t survived. But, Mara would thrive and so would the baby. Celeste would see to that. “You are to stay with Hope.”
Mara’s blue eyes, the same shade as Celeste’s, widened in fear. “They’ll kill us both. And what of you?”
“They’re coming for me, not you. And I will let them.”
Tears dampened Mara’s pale lashes as she trembled. “No, you mustn’t.”
“Aye. It is what the Fates deem.” Celeste had seen the future, all the outcomes, and had meditated long nights. This was the only way. “From this day forth, you will mature until your sixtieth year, then you will age no more until the cycle has come to pass. You will watch over our heirs, their heirs, and protect them. Promise me this. Vow to me.”
“I...don’t understand.”
Time was short, but Celeste drew upon patience. “I put a potion in your tea, love.” Much magick had been conjured to create it and had left her weak for two fortnights while she’d still been with child. “You, Mara, will forever be the Galloway protector. And when the curse is broken, we will be reunited in the afterlife.”
Mara fretted. “What curse? You do not make sense.”
Straightening, Celeste glanced at Hope. “The curse I’m to cast this eve. The Meath Clan has turned the settlers against us, have instilled fear in their hearts. They know I’m a witch, but they do not know you practice. Keep secret, and all will be well.”
Blessed be, Hope didn’t resemble her father. She’d come out of Celeste’s womb looking just like her ma. That would protect her from the Meath Clan, as well. They wouldn’t suspect she was one of them, conceived from a forbidden passion. A love that was doomed to end the moment criers had outed Celeste and Finn to his father. The puritan minister was intolerable to change of any kind and had been on a witch hunt since his rise to power. Fear and hysteria held the villagers ears and, hence, Celeste’s time on this plane was dwindling.
“Come, gather the boxes we fashioned.”
At the table, Celeste took a quill and dipped it in the inkwell. Quickly, she scrawled the spell she’d perfected in her mind while Mara gathered the three small pine boxes no larger than her hand and set them beside her. Spell completed, Celeste ripped the parchment into three sections and laid them each in their respective boxes. Removing three of her rings, she placed one in each, as well—a sapphire, an emerald, and a ruby, all having the pentacle of their craft etched in the band underneath the gem so it was visible through the stone. The heirlooms had come from their homeland and had been passed down for three generations.
Securing the lids, Celeste closed her eyes. White heat and light poured from her hands as she called upon her magick. Hands hovering over the first box, she whispered the incantation, then moved on to the other two. When finished, she waited, and moments passed. Then, a trinity knot emerged onto each of the lids, searing into the wood and creating a yellow glow before dimming.
“It is done.” Celeste nodded, her heart pounding. She set each of the boxes on the floor in front of the hearth in a neat row and used an incantation to hide them from this plane until they were needed some distant day. “Fetch the grimoire, love.”
Confusion marring her brow, Mara scurried to the sleeping pallet and lifted the corner. Prying the floorboard loose, she pushed it aside and removed their family’s leather-bound book brought over from Ireland. It had been blank on the journey, but was now partially full with spells and potions Celeste had achieved with success.
Mara placed the heavy volume on the table. “Tell me your plans. I’m frightened.”
Remorse clutched Celeste’s chest. She hadn’t expected this all to be happening tonight. She’d known the end was nearing, but not that it was here.
Cupping Mara’s pale cheeks, Celeste looked at her flame red hair so like her own and gazed into her younger sister’s wide eyes. “I know you’re scared. Let me finish my tasks, as this is of great importance. I promise you, all will be well.”
Turning to the table, she drew breath and closed her eyes once more. Hands outstretched over the grimoire, she channeled magick, having to pull more from her fading reserve. Weak from all the spells and childbirth, she fought dizziness and focused.
Light and heat radiated down her arms to her fingertips. Whispering the incantation for protection, she added a spell for longevity, too. When her eyes opened, a trinity knot was seared into
the leather cover just below the pentagram.
Wiping her damp brow with her forearm, Celeste slumped into a chair. “Put the grimoire away, love, would you? I’m spent.”
Mara, always dutiful, did as she was told and then knelt by Celeste’s feet. “I beg you. Tell me of your plans. They are coming for you as we speak.”
“I know.” Celeste ran her fingertips through her sister’s soft, wild hair. They’d buried Mara’s husband of only a year just a week ago. Poor, dear Mara would be tasked with such a great burden.
“You will raise Hope as your own. No,” she said as Mara tried to object. “You must, to keep her safe. A recent widow, they will not suspect you as her ma.” Their cottage was isolated from the village and most left them to be. It had been easy to hide Celeste’s condition. “For me, do this.”
Tearfully, Mara nodded and tightly clasped Celeste’s hands. “Where will you go?”
“Nowhere, love. I will let them come.”
“No! Please, do not—”
“Aye. It’s in the Fates.” Celeste brushed Mara’s tears. “Raise my daughter as your own and teach her our craft. Every generation must learn from you, the truth and our ways. Never let them forget where they come from, their history.” She pressed her lips together, fighting the pressure behind her breasts. “When the time comes, the curse I am to cast will be lifted, the boxes revealed. The path is set, forged in love.”
“I can’t bear this burden without you.” Mara’s chest hitched with a sob. “Don’t leave me.”
Tears burning Celeste’s eyes, she gazed at her sister, wishing hate and love weren’t such a fine thread of difference. “I must, but you are strong. I have faith in you.”
Sniffing, she closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. “Hide the grimoire, keep it protected always. Have my child, her children and thus forth, build upon what I started. After they’ve taken me and I’m gone, write my last words in the book. Don’t let them forget what was done to me.”
Gathering Mara to her, Celeste held her sister one last time and soothed her as she wept. When she’d calmed, Celeste drew away and rose. Warning knells shot up her spine, wove around her heart.
The villagers were nearly here.
Swiftly, she moved to Hope and knelt by her precious little one. Taking her tiny hand in hers, Celeste grazed her fingertip over Hope’s inner wrist and chanted. The babe fussed a bit as the trinity knot she’d conjured branded her skin, but Celeste cooed and sent her pain away with a flick of her hand.
“I love you, my daughter, my life.” She kissed her brow, leaving wet tracks upon her baby’s cheeks. “Blessed be.”
Shouts rose from outside and Mara shot to her feet. Panicked, she glanced wide-eyed at the door and then Celeste.
“Let them come. Remember my instructions and let them come.”
The door burst inward and wood splintered. Minister Gregory Meath stood outside the threshold in his black robes, a crucifix in his outstretched hand. Behind him were villagers, a hundred of them, at least, their faces angry and frightened. Torches illuminated the cool darkness.
Her baby cried, and Mara rushed to pick her up, holding Hope against her bosom.
Slowly, Celeste rose to her feet and stepped forward. Nerves wrought, she waited.
“You have been charged with witchcraft, Miss Galloway. What say you?” Shaking with fury, Minister Meath glared at her through green eyes the same shade as her dear Finn’s, his black hair just as thick and beautiful. But there was no adoration or acceptance in the minister’s eyes like she’d gazed upon so many times with his son. “Speak, witch.”
She drew a breath for courage. “I do not refute your claim. I, and I alone, have practiced the art of magick.”
“Celeste, no.” Finn shoved past his father and gripped her arms. Such a handsome boyish face of twenty, but he’d grow even more into a man soon. “Deny their accusations. Let them try you.”
Her life, her one true mate, stared pleadingly into her eyes. But their love wasn’t meant to last. Their destiny was to come together to bear a child and lay the path. They’d accomplished that. Nothing else could be done now. If the villagers put her on trial, they’d only find her guilty. It would make his agony worse. Draw it out.
Forcing her anger at their unforgiving circumstances aside, she removed his hands from her shoulders and kissed them. “Do not let them taint what we had, my love.”
“Step away from her lest she cast another spell on you, boy.” Minister Meath grabbed Finn by his arm and dragged him outside. Finn fought and wailed, but villagers held him. “Celeste Galloway, you are sentenced to death.” He turned to his son when Finn screamed. “When she is dead, you will be free from her devil’s hold and you shall understand. This is through no fault of your own, boy. She is evil in the flesh.”
Heart breaking, Celeste stepped forward.
Minister Meath seized her elbow and led her. The new moon made sight difficult, but torches chased the shadows. Villagers bound her wrists and ankles with rope, the coarse threads abrading her skin. Rocks scraped the soles of her bare feet. Cold from the damp spring earth sent a shudder through her bones.
Mara called her name. From the doorway, she wept, pressing a hand to her quivering lips and holding a crying Hope with the other.
“Is the child yours, witch?” Minister Meath glared from Celeste to the baby.
Panic gripped her. “No. Her name is Hope and she is Mara’s. My sister was with child after she wed her husband.”
Minister Meath eyed Mara. “Does she speak the truth?”
Whimpering, Mara nodded. “Yes. The baby is mine.”
“Very well.”
Celeste looked at her sister one last time. “Don’t let them forget. Blessed be.”
They dragged her across the clearing and to the cliffs, where a post waited around a pyre of branches. Fear stole her breath and froze her limbs. They wouldn’t be hanging her this night. They’d burn her.
Frantic, she closed her eyes, shaking against a gale as it whipped her gown and hair. As they bound her to the post with iron shackles, she recalled every sweet kiss and embrace with Finn, the feel of Hope’s soft skin against her cheek. To keep herself calm, she breathed in the salt-scented air from the unforgiving ocean and pine from the nearby forest. Roar of the tide crashed against rocks and wind whistled.
“Have you any last words, witch?”
Celeste opened her eyes and met Minister Meath’s scornful, righteous glare. She had to complete her mission or all her preparations would be for naught. Somehow, she must find the courage.
“Yes.” Tilting her face toward the inky sky, she channeled the spell she’d written and pushed into Mara’s mind so her sister could document her words.
“In this the darkest night, I bring upon a curse to life. Love has been stolen because of hate, and in this act they have sealed their fate. Until three-by-three shall walk this earth, these two families will forever search. No love will last or ever be found. In this I seal, in this they’re bound. Upon when three sets of eyes of green are born alongside blue of the brightest morn, only then will the fated see the secrets I have hidden from thee. Three tasks await to set the cursed free.” She brought her gaze to the minister, whose face had gone ashen. “As I will, so mote it be.”
Gasps were muttered and bellows howled, but Celeste held onto her power and cast it out. Light poured from her into the night, rippling over the bluffs, the forest, the village, and straight through to the other side of the island. She struggled to hold onto the magick long enough to saturate the ground and souls on it, then she slumped against the pole. Drained, she heaved air.
“Torch the pyre.” Minister Meath clasped Finn by the back of his neck and forced him to face Celeste. Eyes red, tears streaming from his eyes, Finn’s tormented gaze met hers. “Watch your witch burn. Let this be a lesson to all. Evil has no place here. We will smite darkness in the name of Him Almighty.”
She held Finn’s gaze a moment more, mouthed I love
you, then pinched her lids closed as the kindling caught fire.
Chapter One
Kaida Galloway stood at the edge of a cliff as a salty wind whipped her long blonde hair around her head. Barefoot, she dug her toes into dew-dampened grass as waves crashed into rock thirty stories below. The roar all but muted the cry of gulls circling the Atlantic in the distance. Sunlight streamed through the cloud cover and glittered off the gray-blue water.
A short wave of vertigo hit her, but she didn’t step back. Nothing could hurt her here, even though scenarios of plunging over the edge filled her head. She didn’t have a clue how she knew no harm would come to her. It was just an awareness. An assurance, much like expecting the sun to set or the electric bill to come.
Like in her other dreams, she wore whatever she fell asleep in the night before. Today’s outfit sported a yellow shorts and tank combo with purple butterflies. And, exactly like in previous dreams, she waited. For him.
She didn’t know his name and she’d never met him while awake, which only served to remind her she was either completely nutty or extremely creative. Could go either way. But ever since she was a little girl, he’d appeared infrequently. Always at the same age as she was, always in the same location, and always filling her with a sense of completion.
It had begun as an every few months deal until last year when he’d manifested weekly. Then, thirty days ago, he’d started coming each night. A ghost-like, childish friendship had turned into a smitten teenage crush and now hovered in the vicinity of lustful indecency. If she ever dared to tell anyone or even admit the dreams aloud to herself, she’d probably have to consider a padded room as her new residence. As it was, she never wanted to leave her bed because it meant seeing him when she fell asleep.
