Capturing the Last Welsh Witch

by J. M. Davies

  A startled cry escaped her lips as she remembered the thrashing of the cat-o’-nine-tails and the unbearable burning pain as it sliced through her skin on her back and feet. The torture went on and soon the pain-filled days ended in a blur. She longed for death. Ella suffered repeated duckings in the filthy river while tied and bound to a chair. She was submerged into freezing water until she almost drowned. The final degradation came as she lay stretched upon a large wooden table as she faced a variety of men who demanded her confession and the whereabouts of her people. Various pointed tools and instruments were plunged into her battered and weakened naked body until finally her soul departed, finally succumbing to the torture and multiple doses of a tincture made of a highly potent laudanum mixed with red wine. A delirious Elizabeth Dempsey slipped away.

  Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks as she bit her lip and twisted away to stare out at the passing cars and buildings. After being drugged at bedtime by her maid, she was carried to a place of ill-repute and dumped in the local inn; she awoke to find herself in bed with a naked and equally drunk or drugged Barnaby, whose real name she learned later was Raven. They were carted off by a jeering band of men and women, who pulled them out onto the dirty street and threw rotten vegetables and all manner of waste at them, neither able to defend themselves or correct the errors. They were found guilty and carted away. He was bound and gagged but as he made an attempt for freedom, he was kicked in the back and downed in seconds with a heavy blow to the head. They never had a chance.

  No, returning to this grand house was not out of choice, for the memories of the time she’d spent there were bittersweet. This place haunted her and the possibilities of what could have been lingered unspoken. Now she sat next to Marcus. A sense of déjà vu swept through her. Would history and fate combine to destroy her for good this time? Under Barnaby’s careful tutelage, Elizabeth had discovered the reason for her dreams of death and the images of the women from the past. He had given her a special gift, one still in her possession: the bracelet, an ancient relic, that held a secret opening for messages for when they would meet. She touched her right wrist and stared over at Marcus, frowning. Under a sky full of glittering stars, and surrounded by a circle of ancient stones, she was introduced to her people, the soul-shifters, and to Ariana the Moon Goddess.

  Marcus pulled off the highway and signs for the National Trust Manor were clearly posted. A shiver of fear trembled down Ella’s spine as she stared at the sky, blanketed a deep gray and black and threatening a downpour any minute. Marcus sat with his shoulders stiff; not a word had been spoken since they left Cardiff. Swiping away her tears and sniffing had caused a slight twitch of his cheek muscle as she glared at the side of his profile; he flicked a glance but quickly faced the road again.

  “Stop looking at me with those eyes, Ella.”

  Sucking on her lower lip, Ella forgot her past and the suffering as her body rose, once more wanting to be touched. A need so strong rose inside her already aching limbs that she had to bite back the desire to cry out his name. Surely, after the last twenty-four hours of lovemaking, she should have had her fill of him and the desperate thirst for him should have subsided? Why was her body such a traitor? And for Marcus, of all people, when even after she had explained he was her mate, he explained it was only sex to him? Was it simply sex? True, they had not known each other long but if she was correct in believing that Marcus was Barnaby/Raven, they had known each other before, and the chemistry they shared was there, only this time she could not deny it or hide from it. Her body craved him like oxygen and without it, she would not be able to exist.

  Each nerve ending jumped to life. Sparks of desire rippled through her veins and surged around her body as flames leapt and raced down her arms toward her chest and exploded in her core. She could not believe how close she was to climaxing just at the thought of his touch alone. She clamped her thighs together just as Marcus turned his head to study her and creases lined his forehead in deep rivers.

  “Are you all right?” He maneuvered the Range Rover effortlessly around the roundabout. Driving on the left side of the road didn’t faze him at all—he was an experienced driver—but the traffic was horrendous and impatient people beeped their horns and irritated him. He swiped his hand through his hair and turned off to the left, driving down a wide and mainly tree-lined road. The roads here were less busy and quieter. A sign directed him to take another left, which he did, and the fast cars and irate drivers seemed a million miles away as he drove down a long, smooth driveway and parked in the gravel area designated for cars. Open, flat, green pastures stretched before him and to the right were row upon row of neat one-story red brick buildings and a small courtyard with black iron gates, which led into the main estate and large mansion house beyond.

  Turning to face Ella, he saw her quickly wipe away tears; he reached for her but she shook her head. He didn’t want to get into an argument with her but could sense one brewing inside her and he couldn’t blame her. He’d been cool and distant and it didn’t sit well on him but he didn’t know what to say or do. For the life of him, he was swimming in uncharted waters.

  “I’m sorry, I cannot seem to help it. I thought that after we...after we had sex, that I would be fixed, but I’m not. I’m a mess. The need, if anything, is worse.”

  Marcus blinked and swallowed. His heart pounded in his chest: she wasn’t mad at him—she was still aroused and wanting him. His breathing sped up as he glanced around to search the vicinity and then watched her as she squeezed her knees together. A need he couldn’t explain to himself drove him onward.

  “It’s all right. You don’t need to be fixed—this is part of who you are. You’re beautiful, Ella. I’ve never witnessed anyone as beautiful as you.” As he spoke, he moved his hand over to her silky knee, moving the short skirt up as his fingers smoothed across her silky skin and moved closer to her heat. Ella stared at him, unblinking, and pushed her back into the seat and moved her body closer to his hand, his touch. It was erotic and she was totally hypnotized by him. No one else existed. He inserted one finger inside her hot, wet core; she let out a long breath and pressed her hand at the glass passenger window, bucking as he added another digit to fill her. She closed her eyes and sucked on her lower lip as if trying to hold back but he felt the waves of her passion wash against his fingers. He stroked her sensitive spot in tender circles over and over until she groaned loudly, pushed her head back and turned away from him.

  “Ella.”

  Hearing her name, she turned to face him; he kissed her moist lips and possessed her mouth. He would be happy to watch Ella consumed with passion all day long. It didn’t matter to him that his arousal went unattended. No, he was more than pleased to help relieve Ella in whatever way she needed.

  Breaking away from him, she breathed. “Marcus, I want to please you.” Her hand moved to stroke the front of his faded jeans and he glared at her.

  “You do more than you realize.” He kissed her waiting lips and removed the keys from the ignition before he got out of the car.

  Ella didn’t want to move and chuckled as she stared at the steamy windows. She adjusted her panties and couldn’t believe how totally brazen she had been, letting Marcus give her an orgasm in the parking lot of all places. Brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks, she pushed the car door open and stood on the gravel. Despite being October 31st, a warm breeze greeted her as the leaves swept around the ground and rustled at her feet. The sun peeked from the thick clouds and promised to linger for a while as she smiled. Marcus walked around the edge of the sleek Range Rover and picked up her hand in his.

  “Well, we’re here, milady.”

  His voice caught her by surprise and sent her back in time to when the house was very different than today. There was no parking lot, simply endless stretches of green land with trees, hedges, and the long dirt driveway that went on for miles, ending up at the palatial three-story red brick mansion that was set in over ninety acres of parkland and beaut
iful tended and manicured gardens with stone statues and mazes dotted around the impressive grounds. The influential family had owned the house for several generations and the entire building had been reconstructed and changed from the dull gray stone that was easily available when the house was first constructed to the more refined and hard to purchase stately red brick. At the time, the family prosperity affected the lives of the surrounding population in many ways. Yes, Sir Charles Dempsey was a lucky man who inherited the wealth of his family and wielded great power.

  Hearing Marcus’s voice, she released his hand, unable to concentrate and unsure whether to divulge what she believed to be true as they walked toward what now resembled several workshops and gift stores selling tea-towels with the grand house emblazoned on the front. When they stopped by the wide and open door, she listened as a weaver demonstrated how to work the loom and in the far corner, a potter threw wet clay on the spinning wheel. A small crowd of people gathered in both corners of the room, listening, and kids watched eagerly. Marcus disappeared for a moment, only to reappear behind her, whispering over her shoulder.

  “I bought us two tickets to explore the house and grounds. Come on—unless you want to paint some pottery?”

  Ella glanced at him briefly, smiling, and nodded. They moved away from the warmth of the white-washed studio and walked over the stone pathway, headed toward the black tall gates that opened into Tregowen House. Heaving a deep breath, she marched forward. She didn’t truly have a plan. It was here in Wales that she learned that she wasn’t entirely human, that she was gifted with magic and that she had lived other lives. She had stood next to a group of men, women, and children: some aware of their history and confident of their magic—others, like her, haunted and terrified. All that vanished the minute that Ariana, the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on, walked among them and told her story. The moon that night was larger than she had ever witnessed and it glowed yellow.

  “I don’t really wish to enter the house but if you wish to, we can. This isn’t a walk in the park for me, Marcus. I know you find it impossible to accept that I have lived before, but this was once my home. It’s where I discovered I wasn’t entirely human, that my soul had been reborn several times and each time I died, it was at the hands of the men in my life.”

  The wide gray stone path was deserted and Marcus strode off ahead with his hand clasped behind his back. Ella glanced at the beautiful mansion to her distant right and knew that the long glass windows that overlooked the pretty gardens and lawns let in an incredible amount of sunshine when the sun was out. Her gaze lifted toward the farthest corner, where her rooms as mistress of the house had once been. Tall ceilings, long windows, a small four-poster wooden bed and a writing table overlooked the lawns. Her room was sizable, with a large marble fireplace and chairs on either side but not warm or cozy. The two long, wide windows each had window seats and many hours she had spent sitting there, when the weather was inclement, dreaming of a different life.

  She swallowed down the thick lump stuck in her throat as a gush of wind lifted her hair and blew it around her face; the gates banged against the brick pillar. As she walked down the flat cement pathway with the green grass laid out like an emerald ocean as far as the eyes could see, the beauty and tranquility of the place washed over her. She knew the gardens and the stables were straight ahead and to the left. A small enclosed garden architecturally designed with colored stones and a mosaic design of roses and mixed plants awaited them before the cobbled courtyard that bordered the stables, which used to be full of horses, including her beloved Arabian Spirit. She shuddered, remembering how her husband Charles increased his tactics to bring about her downfall by shooting her beautiful stallion. The horse, along with Barnaby, were innocent victims caught in the cross fire of her life. The sound of a pistol firing had Ella screaming and clasping her hand over her mouth.

  Marcus charged over and wrapped his arm around her waist, embracing her in his strength as she forced back the tears and allowed his presence to comfort her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ella stood halfway down the path, studying the lawns and thick outcrop of trees that bordered the land and led the way to the forest with the ancient stones, if they were still there. She stared back at the brick wall that hid the formal gardens and the gate that led to the courtyard and stables, unable to move.

  “I-I think I have to leave. It’s too much. There are too many ghosts here. I can’t breathe.”

  Ella shook, stuttering the words, but stopped speaking. At that moment, a small group of loud visitors strolled past. The children were all dressed in Halloween costumes. A little girl swirled around in a ballerina outfit and Ella watched, fixed on her pretty pink tutu and wild blonde curls. A bright yellow and black bumblebee costume worn by a younger girl buzzed past and the melancholy drifted away as Marcus squeezed her hand and pulled her down the path toward the house. Facing the ghosts was something she knew she had to do at some point.

  “We all have ghosts but I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

  Ella held his hand and stared up at his soulful eyes, unsure whether he meant he wasn’t leaving now or ever. She sighed, knowing it was wrong to want any more than they had, as it always ended in disaster. She knew deep down she had to face whatever was calling her and she needed answers. A sign stuck in the ground advertising the marvelous talents of the fortune-teller Meg Cauldwell quickened her pace; she practically dragged Marcus to the gates that led into the mansion. Maybe this mystic would be the answer.

  “What’s the hurry now, Ella? What’s going on inside your head? Tell me—I’m not a mind reader.”

  More people passed, with children dressed as witches and ghouls and carrying plastic bags decorated for Halloween, to gather the candy that was being dished out inside the house, if you dare enter. The sign had also said that the Tregowen House was haunted and decorated to the hilt for the Halloween festival that was well underway. There were pumpkins to carve, games to be played, a competition to judge the best costume, music, food and a haunted maze to walk through for those brave enough later on in the evening.

  “That woman, that fortune-teller Meg—she may be able to help us. The old Romanian gypsies—they looked after my kind; they helped us when no one else would. I told you about Barnaby. Well, his people traveled across Europe, helping people like me and in return, they were gifted by the goddess with foresight.”

  Marcus hesitated as people pushed roughly past them through the gates. It was still early afternoon but the sun that had greeted them earlier was now absent and a chill from the brisk wind ruffled his hair. “I thought you didn’t want to go inside?”

  Ella stepped closer to Marcus, blocking out the wind and smiling at the strangers who wandered past.

  “Do you know what déjà vu is?” She twisted his shirt in her hands and stared up at him, holding her breath.

  “Of course. It’s a sensation of having done something before, a weird feeling inside that this isn’t new.”

  Ella blinked and continued to gaze at him. “Correct. Have you ever felt that?”

  Marcus shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” She shivered.

  “Ella, I’m not good at playing games. Are we going inside or not? Because standing here isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  He was such a narrow-minded man, unwilling or unable to explore the possibilities. If Marcus was Barnaby, she couldn’t understand why he was so hell-bent on ignoring issues. Or was he so shut off to anything that his ghosts never emerged? She huffed and walked ahead; the wind pushed against her back and she tightened her jacket around her chest, blocking out the wind and wishing she had a scarf.

  Marcus strode up the stone steps next to her in silence, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The wide oak door was open, inviting visitors to enter. The heat of the house billowed out as the glow of orange and gold from a million candles and fairy lights greeted them. A wave of walking back in time swamped her and instead of the
sea of children and guests, she saw a busy hallway with servants in their black and white uniforms, scurrying around and ferrying large silver platters of food into the large dining room, the clink of glasses and laughing, dancing in the air along with the smell of lamb and rosemary. The hallway was elaborately decorated in its rich ruby wallpaper and tall ceilings that held intricate wooden moldings. Dark wood paneling covered the lower half of the walls and at strategic places, terrifying wooden carvings of gruesome animals gave a wild feel to the room.

  “Ella, are you all right? You look very pale.” Marcus had hold of her elbow and it was enough to pull her back to the present.

  The smell of burning wood and incense wafted around her, along with the scent of cinnamon. Gaudy bright Halloween lights and decorations hung around the magnificent wooden fireplace and people dressed as ghostly servants in torn shirts and pants walking like zombies wandered around, offering cookies and glasses of apple cider. A large cackling witch moved and screeched as she flew across the ceiling on her broom, making Ella squeal. A monstrous bucking corpse sat up in a coffin and winked at her. Ella laughed as she moved around the crowded room, losing sight of Marcus as she was jostled among the throes of people. Haunting music played in the background and the doors squeaked. Howls of ungodly beasts groaned loudly around her and the room became a swirl of bright flashes and whispers she couldn’t focus on any longer.

  Ella pushed through the milling people and stumbled into the grand gilt room, which glowed from all the gold painted on the walls like a treasure chest. A magnificent gilt and almost baroque-like fireplace heralded center stage, and rich and beautifully intricate paintings were tucked away on each wall and ceiling. The details and delicate brushstrokes and vivid colors were amazing and stunning. This was the room where Sir Charles held his fancy and private parties from which she was always excluded, but she could admire the splendor of the room even if now it was not entirely as she remembered. As she gazed around the lavish paintings, a flash of dark hair leapt out at her and she thought it was Marcus, but the scratchy voice that accompanied the mop of hair belonged to an older woman. One who wore her witch’s costume snugly, revealing two bulging bosoms that practically spilled over her corseted bodice. Bright red lips smiled at her and her long nails pointed at her and beckoned her forward.