The Last Celtic Witch [Celtic Series Book 1]

by Lyn Armstrong

  "Will what?” She faced him, her hands on her hips. “You were the one who brought me here, remember?"

  Phillip studied her face, as if searching for answers. Pivoting, he roughly pulled the door open and slammed it behind him.

  Adela sighed. Her chest ached with resentment and regret. Rubbing her arms, she collapsed on the bed. Without Phillip's overpowering, masculine presence, the warmth in the chamber had quickly vanished.

  * * * *

  Phillip rushed downstairs and outside toward the village well. He grasped the rigging, his muscles strained as he pulled the heavy water bucket higher. Disregarding the cuts his hands received from his impatience, the bucket crashed onto the top bar and water sloshed over the edges. He grabbed the container with both hands, and in one motion tipped the cool water over his head, saturating his body with a shocking chill.

  Sniggers came from behind, and Phillip turned to see a group of soldiers laughing at his uncomfortable state.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "At least it worked,” he offered by way of explanation. They nodded in understanding and returned to their training. Phillip slicked his wet hair from his forehead, and returned without hurry to his chamber for fresh clothes.

  After unwrapping his kilt, he dropped the long fabric and it pooled around his damp boots. Insistent images of Adela naked on the bed caused his blood to heat against his chilled, damp skin. He growled with frustration and ripped his tunic off, throwing the shredded fabric to the ground. She enchanted him with mystical dancing and dreams, and he fell for her charms like a lovesick youth. He must resist the witch's lure of seduction and remain focused on the pledge he made to his grandfather. An alliance could only be had if he used a love potion on Lady Torella.

  Pensively, he leaned against the windowsill and looked below to his beloved, sleepy village. An ominous feeling gripped his chest ... Adela was a danger to his plans of peace.

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  Chapter 8

  After falling into an exhausted sleep, Adela woke up mid-afternoon to find the room bright with sunlight. She rose sleepily from the bed and dressed into her old gray kirtle. A wave of apprehension swept through her while she ran her fingers through her messy hair. Something was not right about Phillip's dream.

  On bare feet, she padded to the door and opened it with abrupt force. Adela waited for the guards to prevent her from leaving, but when she peeked outside, the hallway remained empty. She shrugged her shoulders, stepped into the hallway, and closed the door behind her.

  Pulling a small leather bag from her pocket, she dipped into an orange powder and blew the substance down the hallway. A sweet floral scent wafted up to her and she breathed deeply of the powder's soothing aroma.

  "Show me where the laird sleeps,” she commanded.

  The powder floated along the stone floor like a snake and slithered toward the stairs. Adela walked up a steep spiral stairway and was led toward a room at the top of the tower. The cloud disappeared beneath an imperial oak door with an iron handle.

  Placing her ear to the door, she listened for anyone inside. When all was quiet, she opened the huge door and entered the empty chamber. The powder swirled like a dust cloud over an immense bed.

  "Thank you, please return."

  The powder floated toward her outstretched hand, returning to the leather bag.

  Tightening the binds, she replaced the bag in her pocket and glanced around Phillip's chamber.

  "This is definitely his room,” Adela said aloud. Two magnificent swords hung crisscrossed on the wall above the Roberts family crest, a fierce lone wolf framed with silver metal. She could almost hear the distant howl of the beast.

  She inhaled the laird's personal scent of power and masculinity. His energy flowed around the chamber in colors of blue and green only Adela could see. Every object had the residual glow of his touch.

  Adela stopped mid-step.

  Every object glowed, except one.

  She edged closer to a table by the window and ran her hand over two leather wristbands, a sharp dagger, and a metal chalice, most of its contents gone. The malevolent energy chilled her hand.

  A black shadow hovered over the goblet. Adela picked it up and sniffed the remaining liquid.

  "Belladonna! The devil's herb."

  She dipped her finger in and tasted the tip. Blanching, she recognized the distinct hallucinogenic herbs of cowbane, mandrake, and monkshood.

  The door crashed opened against the stone wall and she jumped.

  "What are you doing in here?” Phillip asked, his eyes darkening with accusation.

  "I ... I..."

  "Answer me!” In a few long strides, Phillip stood close to her, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

  "I ... You have been drugged,” she blurted and tilted the chalice.

  Phillip looked down and frowned.

  "You drugged me?"

  "Nae, not I,” she responded with indignation and shoved the goblet in his hands. Stepping away from his close presence, she added, “Your wine was drugged with a potion known to few witches and made with rare ingredients. If given too much, you would be dead."

  "Nonetheless, you seem to know of it,” he replied, arching an eyebrow.

  "If you wish for me to leave, I will."

  Phillip closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her cheek. “Nae, I wish not for you to leave.” His voice was low and soft. “I just do not understand why someone would go to the trouble of giving me erotic dreams."

  Adela gazed into his eyes, hypnotized by the pure blue color and his utter beauty. His caress was soft and intimate, soothing the hurt she felt from his accusations. She leaned her cheek into the palm of his hand and closed her eyes.

  "Adela?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I need that love potion."

  Scowling, Adela pushed away from him and walked to the window. The tranquil view overlooked the entire village toward the green valley below. The loveliness did not appease her anger.

  "I have a duty to protect my clan. I must have the potion, Adela.” Phillip walked up behind her and placed his arms around her waist.

  Leaning her body against his, Adela eyes became heavy. The heat of his chest burned through the thin fabric of her kirtle. He had only to touch her and her heart melted, stealing her anger and replacing it with an emotion she did not recognize. She only knew it felt so right to be in his arms as if they were born to be standing together.

  She sighed, torn with what she should do.

  "Is there no other way?” she asked, seeking the hopeless answer she wanted to hear.

  "Nae. Lady Torella would sooner plunge a dagger in my back than to stop this feud with an alliance.” Phillip kissed her neck. “I wish I was someone different. Someone who was free to..."

  Adela turned in his embraced and placed a finger over his mouth. She did not want to hear what could not be. Her heart could not take it.

  Slowly, he leaned down to claim her mouth. His tongue was searching, yielding and thorough, exploring the insides of her mouth.

  Phillip pulled slightly away from her and his name was torn from her lips.

  "Come, I wish to show you something,” he murmured against her mouth and lightly kissed her again.

  With his hand entwined in hers, he led her through the castle and then outside.

  Walking down the pathway through the village, the laird stopped, greeting each passerby. Adela was amazed that he knew all their names, and they welcomed him as if he were close family instead of their ruler.

  A precocious small boy ran around a woman carrying a baby. Phillip ducked down and lifted the mud-stained child into the air and then tucked him under his arm.

  "How goes your day, Mistress Mary?” Phillip asked.

  Jiggling the fussing baby in her arms, she smiled and answered, “I am well, thank you for asking."

  "Does Seamus sleep well now that he is home?"

  "Aye, ‘tis good to have my husband back,
although he grumbles about the daily chores."

  Grinning, Phillip turned. “Adela, this is Mary, she is the wife of my loyal clansman, Seamus. And this grubby, fine lad is Patrick.” Phillip set the giggling boy down, and he ran off.

  "Ah, but Mary's pride and joy would have to be this darling lass, Isabel.” His hand pulled back the blanket to reveal a smiling angel with a mop of curly, red hair and a mischievous smile to match her brother's."

  Adela nodded and smiled. “I am pleased to meet you all."

  "And I, you,” Mary answered. “I crave your pardon, but this little one has a mighty appetite and searches for supper."

  "Then you must away.” Phillip bowed.

  Patrick edged around his mother's skirt and returned Phillip's gesture, and then waved with earsplitting goodbyes.

  "They seem charming.” Adela lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped over a puddle.

  Phillip pulled a violet flower from a nearby bush and handed it to her. “They are."

  She accepted the fragrant blossom and smiled. It was the first gift she had ever received from a man. A simple gesture, but one she blushed from. Her attention was caught on the delicate petals; no other flower could match its beauty.

  Unaware of Adela's heated face, Phillip continued, “Mary's husband is one of my finest warriors. He fought in our last skirmish with the Campbell's. The same clan Lady Torella sent to slaughter our neighbors and take their land.” Phillip kept walking as if he discussed the weather.

  Adela's hands dropped her side. “So Mary's husband could be killed the next time the Campbells go reiving?"

  Phillip turned.

  "Aye. We are usually called out to protect the borders every other week.” His hand rested on the hilt of the sword strapped across his hip. “Many of the women you see here had husbands or sons killed while protecting these lands."

  Adela surveyed the quaint cottages lined along the cobblestone road, and was sad for the men, women and children who had lost so much. She looked at Phillip. So much responsibility sat within his hands. No wonder his eyes were troubled when he looked at his people.

  Adela bit her bottom lip, and reached out to touch his shoulder. “I will make—."

  A scream rented the air.

  Phillip and Adela rushed to the end cottage along with most of the village. Phillip pushed through the crowd and entered the small abode with Adela closely behind.

  On the chair sat a young girl with black, straight hair and freckles. Tears fell down her cheeks. Her frantic mother observing the bloody teeth marks on the girl's ankle.

  "What happened?” Phillip asked.

  "The ... the dog bit me,” the little girl sobbed between gulps of air.

  "Curse that damnable dog!” the mother snarled. “This is the second time he has bitten Edina."

  "Mommy, do not hurt him. He was just playing,” the little girl cried.

  Adela crouched near the lass and inspected the wound. Behind her, she could hear Phillip explaining who she was to the mother.

  "She's a witch!” the mother exclaimed, and the on lookers gasped.

  "I am.” Adela rose proudly, waiting for the mother to attack her. When no one moved, she continued, “This bite is deep and you will need my help if you do not want it to fester."

  The mother captured Adela's hand, her winsome face lined with worry. “I welcome your help."

  Adela curtly nodded, and pulled her bag from her pocket. She dipped her fingers into a green leafy poultice and crouched down. “This is summer savory. It will draw out the infection."

  Applying the herb, she looked up at the brave child and smiled. “It will keep insects off you, too,” she said lightly and touched Edina's button nose.

  Edina giggled, releasing the strained energy within the room. Adela heard the people behind her sigh with relief.

  Adela finished cleaning the wound, gently wrapped a cloth around the leg and tied it into a knot.

  "Thank you so much,” the mother said and threw her arms around Adela's stiff form.

  Once released, Adela nodded. “You are ... most ... welcome,” she said, unused to such warm attention.

  The crowd cheered and Adela frowned in confusion. She glanced at Phillip and he stood to the side with a big grin on his face.

  Finally recognizing her discomfort, he broke up the crowd and told them to go back to their duties, assuring them Edina would be just fine.

  Adela turned to the lass. “Stay off the leg, and perhaps play with a friendlier dog."

  "I will.” Nodding, Edina's curls bobbed.

  Leaving the cottage, Phillip and Adela made their way toward the castle when men and women came out of their homes to give Adela gifts, food and cups of ale.

  Phillip laughed at her shocked expression with each kind word, and soon her arms were filled with many offerings.

  "Here, let me take those,” he said and unloaded Adela's arms.

  "Why are they being so nice to me?” she whispered from the corner of her mouth.

  "You helped one of their own."

  "I have helped many people, yet they still hunt me mercilessly."

  Phillip stopped walking and stared at her. His lips thinned and his eyes blazed with anger. “That will never happen here,” he said. “I would sooner gouge out the eyes of the ignorant pig who taunts you."

  Adela stepped back to Phillip's violent reaction. Who are these people? She had traveled near and far, and never had she found a tolerance for witches.

  As if reading her mind, Phillip declared with an edge to his voice, “My grandfather use to teach his people that only a fool would fear the unknown."

  "Your grandfather was wise."

  His smiled. “Aye, he was."

  They entered the darkened great hall and Phillip gave her gifts to one of his men to deliver to her chamber. Leading her over to the fireplace, they warmed their hands before sitting down to supper.

  Adela turned to Phillip, unable to suppress her concern. She sighed. “I will need the herbs, mallow, caraway and lovage."

  Phillip raised an eyebrow. “Why?"

  "To make the love potion,” she replied with quiet resignation.

  His eyes softened with relief. “My most hearty thanks, Adela."

  Nodding sadly, she added cryptically, “Know that there will be consequences to this potion."

  "I understand.” Phillip rose to his feet and left. He stopped mid-step and returned to Adela. Picking up her hand, he kissed her palm. “Thank you, again."

  She watched his retreating back, his stride, brisk and animated as he went in search for the herbs.

  Her heart whispered, “if only you were as eager for my love."

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  Chapter 9

  Torella cackled with glee at the vision of Adela's sad face in the scrying bowl.

  "Will she make the love potion?” Naked, Dougal sidled up behind her to cupped her breasts.

  "Aye, she will make the potion.” Torella pivoted and knocked his arms away from her. Preoccupied, she opened the doors to her armoire. “I must pack everything."

  "Why do you need a love potion? The chieftain wants an alliance, and like all the others, he will fall in lust with you the moment he observes your beauty,” Dougal said, his tone laced with jealousy.

  Twirling around, she faced him with hands on her hips. Her voice hardened, “Lust is not love.” She shot him a cold look and returned to her armoire.

  "Let us not quarrel.” Dougal shifted closer to her and placed his hands on her hips, rubbing his erection between her buttocks. “I am hard again, Torella. Let's fuck again before packing."

  Torella turned and pushed him with unnatural strength clear across the chamber. His bulky frame slammed against the opposite wall.

  "I am going to be the laird's betrothed!"

  She pointed a long black fingernail to the window, her eyes glowing with swirling red flames. “Fly back to Gleich Castle. Make sure nothing happens to the witch."

  Dougal's e
yes flashed with fury, but he remained silent. Within moments he transformed into a raven and flew out the window, his cries echoing in the distance.

  Torella yelled for her servants and three scurried in, their heads bowed.

  "Pack everything!” she demanded and went to a golden chest hidden beneath her bed.

  Dragging it along the stone floor, she placed the heavy strongbox on her bed.

  "Give me the iron key that holds my treasures!” she chanted to the box, her ruby lips curved into a half smile.

  Within moments, a heavy copper key appeared in her open palm. Tapping the lid three times, a keyhole materialized. She inserted the key and opened the chest. Inside, the shadows held vials of liquid brews and dark spells written on old yellow parchments, along with jewels and gold coins befitting a powerful sorceress.

  She picked up a small, empty vial attached to a silver necklace and unscrewed the lid. With a sharp fingernail, she sliced open the creamy skin on her arm. Hot blood dripped into the vial, filling it with her life force.

  "Give me the bottle that holds Angelica herb."

  Torella ran her hand over the box and a black vial rose. She uncorked it and swirled the dark liquid contents, then sniffed the sweet scent of musk. Tipping three drops of thick syrup into her blood vial, she sealed the lid and placed the chain around her neck, allowing the cool steel to rest between her breasts. She ran her hand over the vial, her lips widening to a sneer. “Now I am immune to the witch's love potion, while my enemy will foolishly fall in love with me."

  A male servant rushed by her chamber and her cunning gaze jerked to the doorway. “Sex slave!” her silky voice echoed down the hallway.

  The dark, knavish and alluring servant entered the chamber and bowed.

  "How may I please you?” Cinnamon eyes flashed with hunger, his gaze roaming her naked form.

  Torella raised her bloody arm, a single red line traced down her skin.

  "Lick it,” she ordered.

  Without hesitation, he obeyed, sucking her wound as if he drank the sweetest of wines. She tilted her head back and laughed.