The Witch's Kiss

by Tricia Schneider

  Sage lay beside her, his face turned away. He was no longer burning, but the sight of him engulfed in flames had been seared upon her brain. She couldn’t rid her mind of the horrifying image.

  When she breathed easier, she placed her hand on his arm.

  He rubbed his eyes with one hand, not looking at her immediately. When he did, she saw the redness and knew he cried.

  “Are you all right?” Her bottom lip trembled. “I thought you were dead.” She tried to say more, but her voice cracked.

  “Shh,” Sage said, wrapping one arm around her. He drew her to him and held her while she buried her face against his chest. His warm chest. He was alive!

  Marianne closed her eyes, gripping the cloth of his shirt in her hands as she held him, relishing the feel of him. Alive!

  “I was dreaming…”

  She lifted her head. A stricken look passed over his features. He seemed to gaze into nothingness.

  “I was dreaming about…when it happened,” he said, faltering for words. “It was…a nightmare. A nightmare. And then I heard you screaming my name. I woke, and I was on fire. Just like in my dream.”

  “Oh, Sage,” Marianne said, putting one finger on his chin to draw his attention away from the fire or the nightmare he was currently reliving. He moved with her finger, his attention jumping from the fire to her face. His eyes widened, and she felt his chest shudder on a quick breath.

  Suddenly, she realized how intimately they held each other. He cradled her in his arms, her body lying against his. She looked at his face, his eyes, his lips. She felt his warm breath. If she leaned in only a few inches, she could kiss him.

  Was she so bold? Could she kiss him?

  What would he say? Or do?

  Would he kiss her back or push her away?

  Fear and uncertainty gripped her. This was Sage…her friend. He was like a brother. Was he not?

  Then why did her heart pound rapidly in her chest, while every inch of her skin that contacted his throbbed with pleasure? His body was solid, where hers was soft. The difference between them shocked her, making her realize she’d never felt a man’s body pressed against hers like this. He held her closer than any dance partner ever dared.

  And she wondered if he might kiss her again. But how to explain that she yearned for more than a simple caress. She breathed heavily, nearly gasping for air. Was it the near death she had just confronted?

  Whatever it may be, she wanted to kiss him. For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her, too. His face hovered over hers, their lips drawing close together until…

  Sage hesitated, an unspoken question in his eyes. Sense seemed to awaken him. He drew back. Marianne caught a brief glimpse of horror dawning on his countenance before he turned away.

  Marianne felt ill. Nausea rippled through her as she realized what she had almost done, what he must think of her to see the desire in her eyes. She horrified herself. What a senseless fool!

  How could Sage ever think of her as more than a sister? And why would she want him when she had David?

  “It…” Marianne hesitated until she could focus on controlling her voice so it did not waver. She licked her lips. “At Winfield…It wasn’t an errant candle that started the blaze, was it?”

  “No.”

  ****

  The next day found Sage and Marianne walking along the country road yet again. When Marianne finally reached home, she vowed to never walk farther than she needed ever again.

  After walking in silence for nearly an hour, Marianne heard the sound of a horse and wagon. A farmer approached from behind pulling a wagon of hay.

  “Sage,” she said to get his attention. “I believe salvation has come upon us.”

  He squinted into the sunlight. They awaited he farmer’s approach. When he was within earshot Sage sent his greetings.

  “Good day to you,” he said, with a friendly wave. Marianne hoped the farmer did not inspect their attire too closely. A woman dressed in a frilly frock better suited to an evening of dancing than a day of walking the road and a man wearing a singed evening jacket might draw comment from the locals.

  “Hello!” The farmer called back with a tip of his hat. “A fine day to be walking home from a ball.”

  Well, he had better eyesight than she hoped.

  “Yes,” Sage said, with a nonchalant shrug of his uninjured shoulder. “I hoped you might have room aboard your wagon for two passengers. I can offer you coin for your troubles.”

  “Keep yer coin, lad,” the farmer said. “From the looks of it, you’ll be needing it to get a new wardrobe.”

  Again Sage shrugged, a flush of embarrassment coloring his neck.

  “Climb aboard. I’ll take you to the end of the road. There’s an inn yonder that will see to your needs. Where is your friend that we might hurry along?”

  “Well…” Sage waved his hand in her direction.

  “Wait,” Marianne interrupted. Watching the farmer warily, she stepped in his direction to catch his attention. “Hello, there! Do you not see me?” She waved, a bright smile on her face so if he did see her, she might not appear that she belonged in Bedlam.

  The farmer continued staring curiously at Sage, most likely due to Sage’s hesitation in answering his most recent question. He did not glance in her direction, nor did he say any word in answer to her query. He simply waited in growing silence.

  Marianne stepped toward the wagon. She reached out to touch the wooden slats. Instead of touching them, her fingers fell through.

  Her spirits sank. She had expected this might occur. Her stomach clenched, and tears sprouted from the corners of her eyes.

  “Marianne,” Sage whispered.

  But she couldn’t acknowledge him. He believed whatever substance contained in that powder had cured her. But it was nothing more than a dream.

  “What was that?” the elderly farmer asked, leaning forward with his hand to his ear to better hear Sage’s whisper.

  “My apologies,” Sage said, as he climbed aboard the wagon. “Perhaps my friend will find another way home.”

  “Come along, Marianne,” he whispered. “We’ll sort this out.”

  She had little choice but to follow. She sat upon the edge of the wagon, her feet dangling over the back. A moment later the horses continued their slow journey. Sage sat next to her, silent while they gazed upon the road behind.

  Chapter Ten

  Instead of traveling to London as planned, Sage turned toward the country. Arriving at Merriweather Manor was usually an occasion for laughter and happiness. His childhood home was a warm place, full of love and friendship. Now that Basil, the eldest of the Merriweather siblings had arrived from years of traveling abroad, the sight of their home still brought a smile to his sad face.

  Merriweather Manor provided comfort. This was the home of his brothers, sisters and his great-aunt Petunia, the matriarch of the family, as well as the home of his ancestors. Prior generations were born, lived and died here. Once the Merriweathers learned to stay hidden within society, to keep their powers from notice of non-magic-wielding humans, they had the opportunity to settle in one place instead of the constant roaming done by previous generations. The witch hunts had unsettled witches all over Europe. The terrible, dark times continued their fear of persecution, prompting them to keep their powers hidden from everyone save the magic-folk.

  Returning home was something Sage did whenever he needed to seek shelter, comfort and the loving embrace of his family. It made sense to go there instead of his lonely town house in London during this time of…distress.

  He wanted a hot bath and a soft bed. Sleeping on the floor of the cottage did not compare to the bed he was accustomed to.

  In his room, the servants poured steaming buckets into his bath, then left. He leaned back against the warmed brass, allowing the heat of the water to soak into his weary bones. The stiffness he suffered since waking began to fade.

  The door behind him opened.

  “Go away,” Sa
ge said, without waiting to identify his unwanted visitor.

  “I heard you were attacked on the road,” Basil said.

  Sage sighed. “News travels fast.”

  “Having been spotted walking up the drive instead of riding a horse was a good indication something out of the ordinary had occurred,” Basil admitted. He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. “Julia is worried. She says you don’t look well.”

  “I’ve walked half the night and slept the rest on the floor of an abandoned cottage. How does she suppose I’d look?” Sage snapped. He cringed immediately at the bitterness in his voice. Julia reported to Basil out of concern for Sage. “My apologies, brother. It’s been a…difficult night.”

  “Tell me what happened.” To some it might sound like a sharp command, but Sage knew his brother worried. This attack involved Julia’s sister. After discovering what Drake had done, Basil worked non-stop with Julia and Sage to see all rectified. The curse Drake placed over Marianne must be lifted.

  Sage reported the events of the prior evening, with the exception of the incident involving his hand at the ball, as well as the manner of how he chased the bandits away. He also excluded the detail of the cottage catching fire and burning down. And those memorable intimate moments with Marianne.

  Other than that, he told all to his brother.

  When he finished, Basil remained silent, deep in thought.

  After a few moments, he said softly, “Is that everything?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “Very well. I’ll leave you to your bath. We’ll talk later.”

  Sage chose not to respond but heard the door gently close. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He sighed with contentment as the hot water eased his weariness.

  “Do you need something, Marianne?”

  There was only a moment of silence before she responded to his query.

  “Does it bother you that I’m here?” Her voice came from the doorway. He’d smelled her lavender scent after his brother entered.

  “No.” His eyes remained closed, his head tilted back against the rim of the tub. He felt her presence as she walked around him, keeping against the wall for privacy’s sake, until she could view his face.

  He didn’t understand how it was possible that he knew at every moment where she was located when in a room with him. He sensed her, felt her presence as if she were a part of him.

  “Why did you not tell him of the fire?”

  “I do not wish to burden him.”

  “Have you told no one then?”

  Sage’s teeth clenched. He wanted to tell Basil. If he told Basil, however, he’d need to explain what had happened in Drake’s castle the night they rescued Marianne’s body. That he wouldn’t do. Not yet.

  “No,” he said.

  “Your nightmare,” she said her voice soft, not a whisper, just a gentle sound like a butterfly’s wings brushing his cheek. “You may share it with me if you wish.”

  She wanted to help. Her sincerity touched him, but if he could not burden Basil with his troubles, he certainly did not wish to lay them on anyone else. Especially not Marianne with her sweet offer to unburden his soul. But avoiding her questions had led her here. He had to answer, provide some explanation, otherwise she would continue hounding him. She was relentless in her pursuit to help people.

  “I try not to think of it.” It was a simple enough answer, the most honest he could provide.

  “Aunt Petunia says a person should talk of the things that trouble them. It takes the weight off your soul.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted in a grin. “Aunt Petunia says many things. Most of her advice is wise.”

  “I’m willing to listen. No matter how horrible.”

  “I know.” Sage released a deep breath, letting the air escape his lungs. “I…”

  He hesitated. The intelligent part of his brain told him he needed to discuss this with someone, but the emotional part of him was terrified. If he spoke of it, he couldn’t pretend it was a dream any longer. A horrible, terrifying dream.

  Not to mention the images still haunted his memory. Images of a doppelganger Marianne with flashing fire in her eyes.

  “I cannot,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. When you are ready, I am here.”

  “I’m not sure you are the one I need to speak to of this.”

  The silence that followed made his heart freeze in his chest. He’d hurt her, just now. With that simple statement he wielded a verbal dagger and stabbed her.

  But how could she know what disturbed him? How could she know how he felt about her?

  She couldn’t know. She was so young.

  A child.

  No, not a child. She was a woman. A woman trapped and vulnerable. He refused take advantage of her in such a way. He was the only male in residence able to communicate with her. The time they had spent together during these last few months had only brought him closer to her, more willing to see the goodness in her heart. She was spirited, a delight to talk to, and those moments when they were apart made him yearn to be with her.

  “There are some things I just cannot tell you,” he said, trying to soften the blow.

  “No need to explain, Sage,” she said, her voice remaining calm when he thought she might be ready to spout fire.

  He opened his eyes.

  She sat in the corner of the room, her gaze fixed on his face. Like an angel with her hair cascading down her back in sensuous curls. He wanted to touch them, to find out if they felt as silky as he remembered.

  She was his friend, but he wanted more from her. More than she could provide.

  His thoughts drifted back to the cottage. When he heard her screaming his name, he thought the highwaymen had returned, that she was being attacked. He hadn’t realized he was the cause of her screams. The fire had destroyed every inch of the cottage. By sheer luck, it had not spread to the surrounding forest, otherwise…

  Well, he’d rather not think of otherwise. When he saw her struggling on the floor of the cottage, reaching blindly in the smoke and fire to find him, he cursed himself a dozen times and more. She risked her life to save him. He, who was seemingly immune to fire.

  And then he carried her from the cottage, pulled her as far as he thought safe and lay beside her on the road. He stared at the blaze and hated himself.

  This could have been Merriweather Manor.

  Sage was a danger to those he loved. If Sage couldn’t find a way to break this curse, to stop the fires from consuming him, then he had few options left to keep everyone he loved safe.

  And while the cottage burned, Sage had looked at her. The fear in her eyes struck his vulnerable heart. He drew her close to comfort her, happy he could at last offer physical comfort to her. He held her until she pulled away to search his face.

  The moment he glimpsed her eyes, he knew the direction her thoughts had turned. When her gaze flitted down to his lips, heat stirred his blood.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  And suddenly he needed to kiss her, too.

  But he’d pushed her away. He had to. He was dangerous. If she grew close to him, he would bring her pain. He must put a stop this. Stop her from coming to him when they weren’t working together. Stop her from spending so much time with him, when he needed her to stay away.

  “Do you ever wonder why I never propositioned you?” Sage asked, the anger in his soul making him lash out. “I’ve been with many women. They call me the Merriweather Rake, did you know?” He laughed at the absurd moniker the ton had dubbed him. “Yet you are the only one I’ve never seduced.”

  She flinched.

  He thought the pain spreading across her face would make him feel just in his cause. He needed to push her away. From the look on her face, he succeeded. Instead of the satisfaction he thought it might bring, he felt only pain.

  Pain from her sadness, her suffering.

  “You are a good man, Sage,” she said with a slight
tremor in her voice, the only sign she was affected by his cruel words. “Do not fool yourself.”

  She stood and walked away.

  The lavender scent faded. Sage rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to block the image of her sadness from his mind.

  Had he done the right thing?

  This curse confined Marianne to a select few. Essentially, she was forced to speak with him, spend time with him, even just for the pure sake of her sanity. What choice did she have when no one else could hear or see her?

  Marianne was not to blame for the fact that Sage’s feelings regarding her were changing, that when he looked at her he saw not a child with gangly limbs, but a woman full-grown. One who had become a close friend. And that he desired their friendship to grow into something much more…intimate.

  Was he a fool to punish her for his own misgivings?

  Sage heaved a heavy sigh, then slapped the surface of the water since he had nothing else nearby to strike. The water sloshed over the rim.

  Since the bathwater had cooled and any therapeutic effects it might once have owned vanished, he stepped out of the tub. After he dried and dressed, he went out in search of Marianne to make his apologies. He couldn’t push her away. Instead, he needed to restrain his own growing emotions. No need to burden her with any more troubles. Who else could she speak with other than him? Only Julia. He could not imagine the invisible prison she suffered. He’d not make it worse for her.

  He wandered the hallways, searching each room until he found her.

  Well, in a manner of speaking.

  He thought to check the yellow room in the east wing, hoping she might have retreated there to lick any wounds he had inflicted.

  Although her body was in the room, her spirit was nowhere to be found.

  He approached the bed where they had neatly laid her body. To the untrained observer, Marianne could be sleeping. Her chest rose and fell, indicating she breathed still. A rosy color kept her cheeks pink with life. He reached out and took her limp hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin.

  She was no corpse. Merely sleeping. A deep, deep sleep. And she could not wake without her soul.

  He watched her soulless body sleep for several long minutes. Her copper-tinted lashes fell gently over the creamy skin of her cheeks. Her pink lips curved delicately upward to give the appearance that she might be smiling ever so gently at some happy thought or dream. The unruly curls of her red hair still begged to be tamed even as she rested peacefully in the bed. He lifted a few strands off her shoulder, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. It felt like the most precious silk.