The Last Celtic Witch [Celtic Series Book 1]

by Lyn Armstrong

  A Celtic baby within her body made from the love of the chosen one.

  Perhaps if she could channel the baby's new power, it would give her enough magick to contact Phillip.

  Sweat poured down Adela's face, the heat from the flames warming her exposed skin. Her pulse raced erratically and her chest heaved with overwhelming panic. She had only moments left.

  "Remain in control.” Adela squeezed her eyes shut. “Phillip needs me. His people need me."

  Focusing on the baby, holding the infant in her arms, Adela absorbed the love it generated within her. Slowly, a small amount of power returned to her, filling her body with energy. “Phillip, hear me now. Seize the vial around Lady Torella's neck. Take it!"

  * * * *

  "Halt!” Phillip commanded.

  The church filled with noise from his people commenting with speculation.

  "What is amiss?” Torella asked, her tone laced with frustration.

  Phillip's head filled with Adela's frantic words. His gaze went to the vial lying against Torella's alabaster skin. “I cannot marry you,” he said.

  "Hear me well, Phillip!” Torella spat. “Either you marry me or my army will slay your people."

  "I will not, Lady Torella.” He snatched her necklace and broke the chain around her neck.

  Shouts of “huzzah” loudly filled the church, his people cheering and patting him on the back.

  Phillip rushed to the door, Adela's faint cry for help tugged at his heart. He burst outside into the night, the wind whipping his clothes.

  The aroma of burning wood floated on the breeze.

  Without knowing where he was going, he ran toward the smoldering scent. Adela's screams echoed in his head, urging his legs to carry him faster. His heart stopped for a beat when he ran around the castle to find Adela tied to a wooden pole, flames only moments away from her tender flesh. He saw her panic-stricken eyes and rushed forward only to be held back by two Campbell soldiers.

  He struggled against them, fighting each with all his might. With the thought of Adela dying, his muscles gave him extra strength. He will not fail her.

  "Phillip, hurry!” she screamed.

  He pulled the sword from the scabbard at his side and sliced through both soldiers only to find more coming his way.

  He had no time for this!

  Dropping his sword he leaped over the flames and stood face to face with Adela. The fire began to creep up his boots, singeing leather to his skin. Suppressing the searing pain, he untied Adela's wrists from the pole.

  "Phillip!” She pointed at the flames igniting her gown.

  Using his bare hands, he slapped the fire out on the scorched material. He lifted her into his arms, and leaped over the burning wood. Not releasing her until her feet were on the ground once more, he held her tightly within his embrace. “I thought you had left me."

  "Phillip, I—"

  Adela was interrupted when several Campbells stood before them with angry faces and swords drawn. The largest of the men came forward. “Our mistress will not be pleased. We have orders to kill you both."

  Phillip's gaze went to his sword lying in the flames beyond his reach. Cursing his luck, he pushed Adela behind him and waited to be cut down. He had only to stall the soldiers until his clan found them, hopefully before they get to Adela.

  The Campbells stepped forward and Phillip knew he had no defense. His whole body tensed, waiting for the sword's sharp point to penetrate his chest.

  From somewhere behind, a stone was thrown with deadly accuracy on the face of the advancing soldier. Another issued and then another one. Phillip looked over his shoulder to find Adela picking up stones and throwing them with all her strength.

  The Campbells retreated, defending themselves as best they could with their hands. Smiling to himself, he bent down and helped fight the vicious soldiers with simple stones.

  The Roberts guards appeared behind them and swamped the enemy within moments.

  Phillip dropped his stone and turned to Adela. Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms and swung her around. After returning her to the ground, he captured her mouth with his own.

  He pulled away to make certain she was not harmed. His eyes lovingly roamed every inch of Adela from her face to her feet. “I am impressed with your choice of weapons."

  She grinned, brightening her face. “Thank you."

  O'Malley pushed through the crowd and stood before Phillip.

  "You have news of Master Dougal?"

  "Aye, he has been found without his head."

  The villagers gasped.

  "Who did it?” Phillip's eyes darkened with fury.

  "I did!” Torella screeched from behind the crowd.

  Everyone stepped to the side to allow a wide path, fear etched on their faces. The lady's scarlet eyes glowed unnaturally. She stormed closer to Phillip and Adela. “You foolish knave. Your friend betrayed you all for a simple power."

  "Dougal thought himself to be in love, and you killed him,” Adela retorted.

  "Love can be fatal,” Torella crooned.

  "Seize her,” Phillip ordered.

  With a swipe of Torella's hands, Phillip watched everyone in the bailey clutch their throats, gasping for air.

  Phillip was the only one not affected. He turned to Adela and held her shoulders. She doubled over, wheezing.

  "Release them at once."

  Torella laughed. “Why would I do that?"

  Phillip's heart wrenched. His people were suffering.

  "Please, I will marry you. Just lift the curse."

  Torella swayed her hips, sidling closer to Phillip.

  "I will allow your people to live if you throw the witch back into the flames."

  "Nae!"

  "Kill her or they will all die."

  He looked at Adela and her face started to turn blue. He narrowed his eyes at her lips. She whispered something, but he could not hear.

  Lowering his head, he asked, “Adela, what is it?"

  "Neck ... necklace. Destroy the necklace."

  Phillip searched his pockets to find Lady Torella's necklace.

  Holding it up, he watched the range of emotions on the Torella's face go from smug arrogance to fear.

  He threw the necklace to the ground and crashed it beneath his boot, spilling the bloody contents between the stone cracks.

  "You stupid dolt,” Torella roared.

  Adela chanted beneath her breath, so low only Phillip could hear a slight murmur.

  His people began falling to the ground, the very breath taken from their lungs.

  Torella laughed with mirth at Adela. “You have no powers witch, it is All Hallows Eve."

  Adela rose upward, gulping a big mouthful of air. The rest of Phillip's clan did the same.

  The cool breeze sooth her lungs. With her hands on her hips, she faced Torella. “The eve has reached its zenith and a new day begins."

  "Nae!” Torella stepped back. “My army awaits my word, they will burn everything! Everything!"

  "I think not.” Adela reached forward and grabbed both Torella's wrists. She stared deeply into her eyes. “I call upon the love of my unborn child. Take back my ancestor's powers from this sorceress."

  "Nae, that is not possible. Your babe belongs to me. You drank the potion!” Torella shrieked, her face slowly changing with age.

  "I tipped the foul liquid out the window. My baby belongs to me."

  Torella tried to struggle from Adela's grasp, but she held tightly to the old woman's wrists.

  Older and older she became as her body hunched over and her looks faded into wrinkles.

  "Nae, my beauty, my youth!"

  "You will never execute another Celtic witch."

  Torella's body slowly disintegrated, her once flawless skin falling off, leaving only bones behind.

  Adela held the wrist bone until it changed into dust. She opened her fist and blew the ashes into the wind. “May your soul be free of evil, Lady Torella."

  The v
illagers shouted with joy and mobbed Adela with gratitude. Adela shoulder's stiffened and she tried to relax and accept the well wishes. Large crowds still made her nervous, but she knew Phillip's friendly clan meant her no harm.

  "Step aside,” a commanding voice bellowed over the numerous heads.

  Phillip pushed his way to her side and held her hands.

  "Adela, is it true? Do you carry my babe?"

  She nodded and smiled at the unadulterated pleasure shining from his angelic blue eyes.

  Phillip folded her into his arms and kissed her. Pulling away, he raised his voice for everyone to hear.

  "I love Adela MacAye, and I plan to marry her.” Phillip looked over his shoulder. “If anyone has a problem about having a witch for a mistress, speak now."

  The dying crackle of the nearby fire was all that could be heard.

  Adela's eyes moistened from the villager's warm acceptance of her.

  "Adela,” Phillip turned to her in his arms. “Will you do me the honor of sharing your life with me? With...” Phillip gestured to his people, “all of us."

  "Aye, my laird. I will.” She looked over at his people, and then returned to face the chosen one, her true love. “The honor is mine."

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  Epilogue

  Adela woke in Phillip's embrace, his naked hard body pressed against hers. Memories of the erotic night before invaded her mind. She sighed wistfully and reached up to kiss Phillip's beautifully, sculpted lips.

  He stirred awake and smiled. Adela's heart skipped a beat. Phillip had to be the most handsome man she had ever met. And he was all hers.

  "Good day to you, milady wife."

  "Good morn, my husband."

  Phillip stretched, his chest muscles twisting while he yawned. Adela bit her lip, the familiar stirrings of longing fluttered within her stomach.

  "You have that glint in you eyes."

  "What, pray tell, is that glint?"

  "A wicked one.” Phillip kissed her neck.

  "Speaking of wicked, is Lady Torella's army still camped nearby?"

  "Nae, they left shortly after we returned her soldiers on your request. I still think we should have punished them for trying to kill you."

  "Peace needs to start somewhere."

  Phillip growled affectionately, “You are wise for a wicked woman.” He ran his tongue up the side of her neck to her ear, and Adela moaned with pleasure.

  Phillip propped up on his elbows. “I want to do something for you."

  "Oh, believe me, husband, you are doing it. Cease not."

  He grinned, his dimples melting her heart.

  "Nae, I mean something special for saving my people."

  "Well ... there is something you could do."

  She leaned over him and whispered into his ear.

  He bellowed with laughter, merriment dancing in his eyes. In one swift movement, he rolled Adela over, his body on top of hers.

  "For you, my love, I will clean the dungeons myself."

  The End.

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  Read on for a sneak preview of book two in the Celtic Witch series, The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer. Available February 2008, from Resplendence Publishing.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  "Your daughter is dead!” the midwife announced while looking down at Gavenia's lifeless body on the bed.

  Floating in the corner, Gavenia's spirit denied what she was seeing. She shook her head at the vision.

  Nae, this cannot be happening. I do not want to be dead!

  She observed her mother standing at the foot of the bed. Lady Adela MacAye looked so sad, like the very heart was stolen from her chest. Tears streamed down her mother's round cheeks, her brown eyes frozen to the depths. “She can't be dead."

  The midwife lovingly touched Gavenia's ashen face, yet Gavenia did not feel a thing. No caress, no warmth. Only her spirit remained alive in the chamber room.

  The midwife intoned, “I am afraid the birth of her child was too much to bear."

  Her mother pushed the midwife to the side and threw her arms around Gavenia's shoulders. She rocked back and forth, chanting, “I am so sorry, I am so sorry."

  Gavenia moved with silence behind her mother. No one could see or hear her, but she still wanted to touch her mother's slim shoulders. Comfort her in some way.

  The oak door crashed open and Gavenia jumped.

  A stranger charged into her chamber. His tall, muscled stature crowded the small room and the occupants. Sweat beaded across his aristocratic face as if he had run through the halls of Gleich Castle to reach her side. Scraping of metal echoed through the quiet room when he drew his sword from the scabbard. His tormented eyes brightened with an unnatural glow while the stranger studied Gavenia's peaceful face.

  Did she know him?

  Adela growled at the intruder, “How dare you bring that weapon in here. My daughter is ... is..."

  "She is dead.” He accused, “and you killed her!"

  Gavenia opened her eyes and rubbed the perspiration from her forehead. Her heart pounded with anxiety. She inhaled a gulp of air and then released it.

  Another death vision.

  The muscles in her back ached. She raised her arms above her head and moaned while stretching to relieve the tensed knot. Being a Celtic witch and foreseeing her own death was not a power she wished to have.

  Rising from her fur-lined chair, she replaced the stone runes she held in her hands into a sable, drawstring bag. She sighed, and collapsed back into her chair, her cream gown billowing around her ankles as she lifted her legs and hugged them to her chest. Ever since she turned three winters old, she had been burdened with the same vision. Equally distressing, she learned that she was duty bound to procreate like a cow in the pasture. One of the last Celtic witches, her family demanded she produce a child to inherit her powers of good magick. Yet, when her time came to give birth, her death vision foretold she would die. It did not inspire Gavenia to seek the chosen one, the one man that could sire a babe to carry her ancestral powers.

  She would rather be alone for the rest of her life. At least she would have a life.

  Gavenia lifted her thick hair above her neck, allowing the cool breeze from the large arch window to caress her warm skin.

  A light knock sounded at her door.

  "Come in,” she answered and rose to her feet.

  Her older brother, Callum, entered and absently sat upon her discarded blue robe on the bed. “I bested Father in chest last eve. You should have seen his face.” He chortled, “The mighty chieftain beaten by his son."

  Gavenia stared at her brother of twenty-two winters. Like her, he was the water reflection of their father. His angelic features, long blond hair and square jaw line stole many maidens’ hearts. But what endeared Callum to all was his carefree nature and kind blue eyes. The future chieftain of the Roberts clan was the first born of a Celtic witch and Highland laird. Callum's charm was irresistible, making it hard for Gavenia to stay angry when he teased her.

  Gavenia tugged at the garment beneath her brother. “Get off my robe."

  Her brother shuffled to the side and she snatched her robe from beneath him, replacing it in a long jeweled chest at the foot of her bed.

  "You are in a foul disposition this morn. Did you have another death vision?"

  "Why do you ask?” she snapped.

  "You are always moody afterwards."

  "You would be to if you saw your death over and over again."

  "Why not tell me of this vision. I will do all within my power to see you are kept safe. As future laird, I will protect you with a thousand soldiers."

  Gavenia smiled. “I wish not to burden those I love with this knowledge. And besides, some things even you cannot protect me from."

  "Mother's death vision did not come true. Perhaps the same will be for you."

  "Mother did not see herself dead, only the beginning of her torture. I have
seen my corpse."

  Callum rose and pulled her into his arms. “I am sorry that your powers are a curse as well as a blessing."

  Gavenia pushed him away. “I wish not to think of it."

  "You are right. Let us rejoice in the moment. It is all we have.” He jogged to the door. “Prepare yourself. Mother seeks an audience with you. She has news of my betrothal and wishes to throw a feast in celebration of the alliance,” his voice rose in a melodious tone, “and now she hopes to snare you a husband."

  Gavenia groaned and turned her back on her brother. The door he closed behind him muffled his chuckles. Just what she needed: more pressure from her mother to find the chosen one. She would have to put her off. So far she had reached twenty winters without her mother forcing the subject. She knew her time was running out. Soon she would have no choice but to accept a man's betrothal.

  It was not fair.

  Her life was spent behind the protective walls of Gleich Castle. Her family denied her every opportunity to explore the world, saying it was unsafe for a witch in these times of superstition. Only the Roberts clan accepted the Celtic witches as good instead of evil. Outside, people were not so knowledgeable and their ignorant fear had caused her grandmother's death.

  It was only a matter of time before she was wed and on her way to producing the next Celtic witch.

  She was assailed by a terrible sense of bitterness. She picked up the hair comb and brushed with hard strokes.

  "I will not marry and I will never touch a man!"

  * * * *

  "Mother, I am not interested in men. I would rather travel the world, see new places, and meet new people."

  "Are you trying to hurt me?” her mother asked with a sad shake of her head, her hands firmly placed on her slender hips. Adela MacAye Roberts was a woman of serene beauty. With brown hair and deep soulful eyes, she was gifted with grace and compassion. Except when it came to Gavenia finding her chosen one.

  "Gavenia, you have an easy life of acceptance. Do you realize how hard it can be outside the safety of Gleich Castle?"

  Gavenia rolled her eyes. Here we go again. “Aye, Mother. I know you had a trying life as a Celtic Witch."