Scent of a Witch

by Bri Clark

  “Jim, did you hear? Your maw needs you at the house,” a woman with the gentlest voice Maeve had ever heard called.

  Maeve peeked around the corner attracted by the name Jim. Carrie McGavok, the mistress of Carton House, stood in the doorway, wearing a long blue gown, much more intricate than the one Maeve wore. The woman looked in her direction and Maeve recoiled back into hiding.

  “You go on and see what she needs then come back when you can. Its fine, I’ll take care of my husband,” Carrie assured the man named Jim.

  “Thank ya, ma’am. Thank ya.” Then he took off at a sprint.

  Maeve glanced around at all the people, from guests arriving to slaves, and knew she would be spotted if she darted across the field. Nevertheless, the slave man was moving fast and her instincts said she should follow. Clutching the shawl around her shoulders tighter, she walked as if she was supposed to be there and knew exactly where she was going.

  She didn’t make it two steps. Maeve stopped short when she found herself face to face with the woman she had learned would soon be known as the Widow of the South.

  “I thought I saw someone lurking back there. Are you lost child?” Carrie McGavok asked Maeve in the same steady soft voice she’d used with the large man.

  “No ma’am. I know exactly where I am supposed to be,” responded Maeve in as soft a voice as Carrie.

  “My, well you’re not from around these parts, are you? Irish, I would make out your accent to be, indeed. Are you looking for Laird Hughes?” the mistress asked.

  “Who ma’am?” Maeve countered in shock.

  “Master Fionn Hughes,” She spoke louder then bent down close and whispered. “We know the deeds he does are to be kept secret, and that they’re important to the war effort. You two are safe. Come now, child, and I’ll take you to him.” Then she hooked her arm in Maeve’s and led her across the expanse of lawn under the canopy of tall maple trees. Slaves ran in and out the back door the mistress directed her to. A narrow flight of stairs appeared, servants’ stairs, and they had to ascend single file. At the top and beyond the narrow door they turned left, then right and into a private bedroom.

  “I’ll send in a fresh dress acceptable for tonight, and my maid, Mariah, to help you get ready. Your beau will be so surprised.” She clapped her hands with glee then left.

  Maeve fell on the feather-filled mattress, closed her eyes, and groaned. How had this happened? She was supposed to be dead before the sun rose, not preparing for her second ball of the evening. What was she going to do? If Fionn was here from before . . . if he saw himself, it would ruin all her plans and worse still, had the potential to rip the very fabric of time.

  “Oh no.” Maeve’s lips soundlessly formed the words as she remembered in her haste she hadn’t spelled the cellar door. Frantically, her gaze darted around the room as she sought escape. There! A window. Single paned, wood framed windows that caught as she tried to force it open made her realize the conveniences she took for granted. Right foot forward, she positioned her right hand under the lip of the window, and shoved with all her might. The wretched thing opened easier than she’d expected, crashing upward and breaking one of the panes. Maeve reached out reflexively, trying to prevent them from falling and making more noise. She caught her breath when a shard of glass sliced across her palm with searing pain.

  ****

  Enraged, Fionn took three deep cleansing breaths and tried to remember the binding spell she cast. He might be able to reverse it. What Maeve didn’t know was that their clans had been bound by the Celtic Knot she wore. But more than that, since she’d been wearing it while she spoke the spell, he could potentially manipulate the reversal. He had to recall the words and speak the exact right manipulation or even more could go awry. “By birthright. By blood bond. I invoke the power of the nexus to release the bonds. Before the light rises so that I may. Put things aright, as they should be.”

  Each unseen bond slowly released, starting at his right wrist, moving to his left wrist, then his left ankle, and ending at his right ankle. Suddenly able to move, Fionn didn’t hesitate, taking off at a run up the primitive steps. He kicked open the cellar doors, unconcerned at what attention his action brought. In this time he was a Confederate Lieutenant, and no one would question his presence or anything he did. A servant girl jumped, and the basket she carried toppled to the ground.

  “Child, have you seen a lass dressed in white with unbound red hair?”

  “Yes sir, Master Hughes. She went into the house with the mistress.”

  Fionn flinched at the mention of his name. “Did you hear where in the house she would be?” he asked, bending down to help the servant pick up the spilled potatoes. The girl’s white teeth shone in the dark against her brown skin. He remembered this pretty child…she would die in a month’s time, a casualty of war. He shook remembering all he witnessed the last time he’d been there.

  “She be readying your lady to surprise you. But don’t tell her I told.” Her brilliant smile faded. The McGavoks weren’t mean to their slaves, but they still insisted upon respect.

  “I won’t,” he promised. Fionn put his hat on, careful to hide the length of his hair, and restrained himself from running at his full speed to the house. It was imperative he get to Maeve without running into himself in the process. He tipped his hat constantly until reaching the foyer of the grand home, when the smell of Shamrocks and Honeysuckles found him.

  Without hesitation or thought, he followed like a hound on a trail. On the third floor, he burst through a wooden door and found her sitting on a bed crying, her hand wrapped in her skirts, blood staining the fabric red. Fear had driven him, the dread that she would succeed and he’d lose her forever had sent his heart racing and moved him like a man crazed. Then he found her. Relief was just as sudden as the fear had been. To feel so strongly over a woman he just met mystified him. Worse, it left him vulnerable to rage. Nevertheless, anger was easier to deal with now he knew she was safe.

  “Do you have any idea how much danger we are in?” he forced through clenched teeth. All the volatile emotions erupting in him left him with the urge to roar, fight, or lash out. However, he held them at bay. If they were allowed to appear then he’d have to deal with them.

  “Oh, why couldn’t you have just let me drown?” she cried, hiding her face in her skirts.

  Fionn, a man used to living off instinct, trusted those impulses now. He sat down and embraced the despondent woman.

  “It’s too late…I’m too late,” she whispered, looking at her watch then crying some more. A knock came, and the door opened without waiting for acknowledgement. A slave appeared in the doorway, a dress cradled in her arms. She halted her forward motion, obviously startled when she saw Maeve crying and in the room alone with Fionn.

  “I’m so sorry, mister. The mistress said I was to help the lady clean up and dress.”

  “Just leave the dress there and I’ll send for you when she’s feeling better,” he ordered, and she quickly disappeared.

  The intoxicating scent of Shamrocks and Honeysuckles made it hard for him to think straight. “We have to stop the bleeding and get out of here,” he said, aware he stated the obvious, as he unwound the crude bandage she had applied.

  “No! I’m just going to die anyway.” She jerked her hand back.

  Fionn’s anger boiled again as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Nonsense! You will not die this night, in this time or anytime while I am still breathing. I vow to you Maeve da Paer, you are special and I will protect you at all costs even from your daft self.”

  Her crying stopped and her eyes widened as she stared at him. Then he let her go to tend to her wound. Untying the sash from under his belt, he wrapped it as tight as he’d bound her corset strings earlier. Then brought the hand to his lips, met her eyes, and kissed the fabric.

  “You smell intoxicating…like your name means. Honeysuckle and Shamrocks,” he muttered into her palm.

  “You’re insane,” she repli
ed. “My blood smells only like Shamrocks.” When he let go, she pulled her hand back to her lap and assessed him as if he was indeed insane.

  “I am a tracker. I believe I can decipher what you smell like,” he insisted folding his arms across his chest.

  She stood and looked down at him.

  “Well I, sir, am a Scent Witch, and believe me when I tell you I have always smelled like plain old Shamrocks since the day I was born. I have longed to smell as lovely as my Granny Cordy’s floral scent. Nevertheless, it is simply plain old Shamrocks. It’s how Patty found me when I would get lost riding as a child as well.”

  A tale from Fionn’s youth tickled his memory…about the perfume of a mate causing intoxication. Once again, he pushed it down. No time for analyzing those thoughts.

  The bedroom door reopened, startling them both.

  “Sir Hughes, I thought you were called away unexpectedly?” Mrs. Carton asked, arching a brow, her amber eyes going from Maeve to him. The clock in the hall chimed twice, signaling the time. It also served to remind Fionn of his last visit.

  “Yes mistress, but when I found out that my wife was here I came back most swiftly to retrieve her,” he responded standing up and bowing.

  “Your wife…she didn’t say you were her husband.”

  “Well ma’am, our marriage is one that is a tad scandalous.” He reached out for Maeve and tucked her under his arm. “We were handfast before I left home. Her father wouldn’t give his blessing and so we eloped.” He then kissed Maeve on the temple.

  She looked up at him, and he thought he saw the flicker of softness in her unique eyes.

  “If that is the case I’m sure she can’t go where you were journeying. She can stay here if you like. When you are done with your work, you can come back and retrieve her.”

  “Thank you most kindly mistress.” Fionn bowed again. “Could we have a moment to say our goodbyes?”

  Mrs.McGavok exhaled but nodded tensely before leaving. She had a reputation for a staunch following of the rules of propriety. Fionn moved to the window before the door latch had clicked.

  “Thank the fates you aren’t leaving me here,” Maeve said right behind him. The window moved without mishap for him and he saw her roll her eyes.

  “If you’re done with your suicide attempts?” he asked, helping her out onto the roof of the porch. “Otherwise I may reconsider taking you with me.”

  “Yes. I’m through. Not only is it too late, I begin to think it may be folly. It seems like the very world is against me.”

  Fionn didn’t know why, but his relief at her change of heart caused him to embrace her. Then to cover up his need for the contact, he jumped from the second story roof at the back of the house.

  Chapter Nine

  The musicians still played cheerful music in the ballroom, indicating the dance was going strong. Fionn held his arm around Maeve’s waist, keeping her tucked safely under his grip as if he was scared she would bolt at any moment. But Maeve was done trying to change the past in order to fix the future. Sitting in the room crying and having someone to depend on for just a moment, she was able to look at the signs and knew she’d chosen the wrong path. With Fionn, ironically, she felt…safe.

  He spoke as he walked away from the main house. “There is no way we’re going to get back into that cellar.”

  “It doesn’t matter. At dawn, we’ll slide back. We just need to make sure wherever it is we slide from this time to the next isn’t somewhere we would be seen.” The slave quarters came in view and he led her to the woods outside of it, then stopped short and pulled her down behind a set off bushes.

  “Look there, lass.” He pointed to a tall man with his arm around a woman with deep red hair pulling out of a crude knot. They were both clad in odd garments for the time. When Maeve spotted what was in the woman’s arms and how she placed kisses all over the infant’s face, a chill rippled through her. The man, her grandfather, wrapped his arm around his wife and they disappeared into the woods.

  Fionn interlocked their fingers and pulled her along past the place her family had just stood. For once in her life, Maeve followed without question or complaint, so consumed in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed they were in the cemetery…a graveyard that would triple in size in the next thirty days.

  “You are a very witty man, Mr. Hughes.” Maeve stared up into his face. Under the light of the moon, he looked scary with his dark hair and pale skin aglow. But it was his eyes, black with a band of glowing red encompassing them, which made him appear the supernatural being he was. Even knowing all those truths, she recognized he was a man of honor, of old traditions and even one who knew pain and betrayal. Maeve couldn’t explain it but she felt protected; she trusted in his vow of protection. What she didn’t trust was his motivation behind it.

  She looked around and decided while they waited for the sun to rise now would be just as good a time as any to find some answers. Although it was highly indecent, she sat on a head stone and folded her arms across her chest. The way his eyes followed her movements, staring for a moment at her arms before meeting her eyes, confirmed the man at least found her attractive.

  “How’d you escape my binding spell?”

  Amusement softened his features and showed just how handsome he was and her breath caught. He leaned against the tree across from her.

  “Your talisman,” he said, pointing to her necklace, “is the Celtic Knot. Its interlacing bands symbolize no beginning and no end, an eternal joining. The gold represents the Sweeneys and the silver the Hughes.”

  She gasped, grabbed the charm, looked at it then back at him.

  “All I know is my family had one and so did the Sweeneys. It was a binding of the only two clans with time sorcery in their line in order to protect each other. There are those who would challenge us or try to use us for our powers.”

  Fionn fell into silence, but Maeve could feel his eyes on her. She considered his words and found in one explanation several of her previous questions were answered. Nevertheless, new ones emerged.

  “You held on to it and that’s how you slid with me.”

  “Aye.” His brogue deep and clear engulfed the one word answer.

  “So your father has the other one?” she inquired, scared she was fixing to find out the Hughes were the ones who kidnapped her mother long ago. With his left foot, he pushed off the tree and began to pace while running his fingers through his hair.

  “At one time he did. Patrick Sweeney and my father were once great friends but then something happened and there was a rift…a feud almost. In the drama, both medallions were stolen and my father accused Patrick of stealing them. That’s all I’ve been told. And the one you wear is the first I have ever seen.”

  Maeve considered his story, comparing it to the information she knew not only from her grandparents but also from the personal journals she had read. She knew exactly what had caused the rift. It was a woman…her grandmother. The Hughes Laird loved her too. But perhaps that was something she should keep to herself.

  “I see,” was all she could say.

  “What will you do after we return?” Fionn asked, his eyes locking with hers.

  “I’ll hide,” she answered, rubbing the tops of her arms. “I’ll run. I’m actually very good at disappearing.”

  “What are you hiding from? Who are you running from?” He insisted kneeling in front of her after wrapping his overcoat around her slim frame.

  “Well I know it’s not you at least.” She half laughed. “I’m not sure…it’s as if a darkness follows me. Pursues me and my only chance of survival is to keep moving.” She shrugged her shoulders and raised her glance to meet his. “It would make sense the Board of Witchery, would find out they had a granddaughter. Since they were murdered by magic proves it.”

  “Come with me…” Fionn pushed the hair that went in every direction but the way it should, behind her ear.

  “I would…but I can’t.” She touched his cheek. It wasn’t wise to go to the
man who loved her grandmother once. After seeing her in this time, Maeve knew she resembled her too much and would only cause heartache for the old laird.

  “I made a vow that I intend to keep,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand.

  “Well, I release you from it,” replied Maeve, ignoring his offer and standing up on her own. “I can take care of myself Fionn.” She almost stomped her foot, she was so frustrated with this confusing man. One moment he was nurturing and sweet, the next demanding and brutish.

  “I don’t know about that, little sister.” A voice that made every inch of Maeve’s skin bubble into a fearful awareness spoke from the darkness. Just as she turned to see the owner, a shot rang out and pain erupted in her back. Then darkness claimed her.

  Chapter Ten

  Fionn yelled a warning for Maeve to get down, but he was too late. A patch of crimson blossomed on the front of her right shoulder. Immediately the scent of Shamrocks and Honeysuckle permeated the air, nearly crippling Fionn with its intensity.

  The man had called Maeve his sister.

  Fionn pulled upon energy from reserves he’d been unaware of, enabling him to move faster than ever before. With movement so swift there was no sound, no indentions left behind in the earth from his feet. It was as if no one had passed by at all.

  The air literally cast an offensive assault on his senses and his mind as the signature scent that was Maeve grew stronger. At the opposite side of the cemetery he hid and waited, leaning against the cold stone wall of a mausoleum, which was now wet with predawn dew. If they could hide until sunup, he would get her to his clan where she would be healed.