by Witch Fire
Witch Fire
by
Aurora Rose Lynn
Copyright Aurora Rose Lynn 2014
Cover Design by Aurora Rose Lynn
Website: http://www.aurorarlynn.net
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
The county of Mercia
1070 C.E.
“She dances naked in the moonlight,” he choked out in a whisper on the narrow pallet that served as his bed. Excitement sizzled along his nerve endings and into his rapidly stiffening member. He gazed into the dark sky, heedless of the stars twinkling like tiny crystals on black satin. Instead he visualized her skin the color of apricots and milk, and lustrous dark hair swirling around a slender nude form.
A fire burned low in the hearth, no longer warming the room. Sighing, he braced his palms under the back of his head and fixed his gaze on the misted sphere of moon meandering through the sky casting a bright wide swath of light across the bed and splashing on the rushes along the floor. If only he could get her to share in his rejoicing, to meld their bodies together for now until eternity. A trace of lavender scented the spring night air and the earth smelled damp and pungent.
He blinked. His rod felt full, as if he were going to explode. He wanted the woman with every fiber of his being. And now he had a reason to want her even more. He had the elixir of life. No, he reluctantly corrected himself. He almost had the one drink that would give him eternal life. With the elixir, he would never grow old. While everyone died around him, except for the lovely woman he would make his wife and with whom he would share the small potion, he would once again become young and strong. No longer would he be a shadow of his former self.
The embers in the hearth flickered but he didn’t feel the cool night on his skin. Without warning, the embers blazed and the fire came to fiery life. The man gaped. What had caused such an unnatural act?
“Are you thinking again, my chosen one?”
The rasping voice shocked him out of his sex induced lethargy. He bolted upright, shielding his hardened rod. As thin as a straw of hay, she stood outlined by the moonlight. Uneasiness bolted through him. The few agonizing times she had forced her presence on him, he had not once seen her face. She had always been a sinister silhouette lit only by the moon. She could have risen from the dead for all he knew. What did he care as long as he received what she had promised? “I thought we made our deal. What are you doing here?”
Her willowy thin shoulders hardly moved as she shrugged. “I wasn’t quite done yet,” she said, each word clipped.
He tensed. His heart began racing. Was she about to demand payment in exchange for the elixir even though she hadn’t delivered on her promise? “Give me the elixir and we’ll talk. Not a moment sooner.”
She laughed very softly, leaving a sudden and unpleasant chill in the air. The fire blazed higher but he didn’t feel any warmth emanating from it. “Do you really think you have power over me to talk thus?”
Impotent anger took hold. He clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists. The likes of her were never satisfied until they bled a man dry of everything that made him a full-blooded man. He should have known that before he consented to their hasty deal. His pulse skittered. Had he done the right thing? Trading his peace of mind for the devil’s touch? “Don’t play games with me, old woman.”
“Who’s playing games?”
Her voice grated along his nerves. She took a small step towards him. Gut instinct told him to run but he stayed absolutely still. He would not fear her – just as long as she didn’t touch him.
“I can always change my mind about giving you the elixir. I’m sure that wouldn’t agree with you. Would it?” She leaned forward. The air turned steely cold. Instinctively he knew she examined his now flaccid cock.
The bitch.
Feeling a twinge of panic, he came to the realization that his age had begun to show. His once smooth skin was wrinkled and he swore his cock had begun to shrivel. But the elixir would change that. He would become the man he had been thirty years ago, strong, with a huge cock and testicles any woman would be proud to feel. His graying hair would no longer taunt him that he was getting old, weak and closer to death’s door. His flagging energy would be a thing of the past. Without the elixir, he was better than dead.
“What do you want this time?” he asked sharply.
He admonished himself. The old woman was his only means to the fountain of youth. It wouldn’t do to antagonize her even though his inclination was to throw his huge hands around her throat and squeeze the life from her.
Again the careless shrug. “I wanted to see your manhood bulge and I wanted to see you take care of your need.”
He huffed a breath. There was no way in hell he would spill his seed as she watched. Even if the very devil asked him to do so.
Hadn’t he sold his soul for an undetermined price for something he hadn’t received? No matter how he pressed the old woman, she wouldn’t reveal what she wanted in exchange for the elixir. She had told him she would make the determination soon enough, that the cost wouldn’t be an unbearable one. He shifted on the fur beneath him.
She snorted. “I see you have a problem. Perhaps you need a little help.”
He said nothing but his skin burned with shame.
She smirked. “Ah well. I suppose I’ll have to rethink my position on the elixir.”
The bitch! Her words cooled the room a few more degrees despite the fire blazing furiously a few feet away. A chill set into the depths of his bones. Would he ever get warm again? Would he ever regain his soul? But, he reminded himself, he would kill an army singlehandedly if it helped him win her to his bed.
He swallowed hard, figuring he was getting off easy. The old hag might have wanted him to make love to her and that would have been an intolerable act. Before he did such a thing, he would have slit his throat. Getting himself off in front of her was a hell of a lot cheaper. One day, he would get his revenge on her. That day was coming very, very soon.
Her face was bathed in harsh darkness but he thought he saw her eyes, as black as dead embers, peering intently at him. He bit back an oath. She would get him his heart’s desire. Then he would wring her neck with pleasure. His back touched the fur on the bed as he lay back and reached for his cock. Before his fingers made contact, he knew with dread certainty that its hardness was a memory. A sudden puff of mist suddenly descended from nowhere. Grating laughter enveloped him.
Chapter One
Beltane
1070 A.D.
Lady Celestine’s philosophy of life had taken a drastic turn near the break of dawn. On Beltane morning, she usually rose from her bed and bathed in the dew gathered at the break of day so her beauty would be enhanced through the coming year. She didn’t mind if it was a myth. She enjoyed the chilled dew collected in a wooden bucket, sluicing over her warm, bare skin, tickling the back of her neck, swirling down one nipple and into the thick hair on her mound before it trailed down the inside of a satin smooth thigh. Her attitude had been quite simple - enjoy life and the little pleasures that came with it. This morning, instead of enjoying the sensation of the dew pouring over her body, she had been curtly ordered into her stepfather’s presence.
She held her head high and her shoulders straight. Wh
y had he called for such an early meeting, something he had never done before? He stood with his broad back to her. She stared at a point on his left shoulder, waiting for him to speak. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him a haughty air befitting his lordly status. She hated him with a passion that almost choked her. He had taken the place that was rightfully her mother’s these last six years.
Candles flickered in their sconces and lit the council chamber against the drab grayness of the pre-dawn. A line of guards stood sentinel along the stone walls behind her as did her matronly chaperone. Celestine couldn’t fathom what Leuric was looking at in the murkiness below the castle. Perhaps he kept her waiting to show her who was lord and master here. Night wasn’t yet over and there couldn’t have been much to see. In the chamber, the light of the candles was supplemented from a merrily crackling fire in the hearth to one side.
“You are to wed Lord Gurermont come tomorrow noon.” He still didn’t turn.
“Lord Guermont? You mean that old axe with the belly of a fat pig and beady eyes like that of a ferret?” she cried out. Fearful images of an old man taking his pleasure on her nineteen year old body came to mind. Her heart raced with apprehension. She would never allow that to happen.
Her rebellious words caused Leuric to face her, and the chaperone to blurt out in a tinny whisper, “Milady shouldn’t speak thus. It’s unladylike behavior.”
Celestine didn’t flinch at her stepfather’s heated gaze nor at her chaperone’s clipped words. Not even when Leuric raked his eyes down her body and up and back again. “I’ll have no death warmed over taking me to bed,” she insisted, meeting his keen eyes.
Her stepfather shifted, almost imperceptibly. “Mistress Altmont, if you were not so attached to your mistress, I would dismiss you immediately. You have failed in your duties to raise a woman to speak to her lord with due respect,” he told the chaperone. He leveled an angry look on Celestine. “As for you, the arrangements have already been made. You will officially be wedded tomorrow.”
“I will have none of it.” Celestine’s breast heaved up and down and her ears began ringing. This could not happen. Not to her.
“I’m sure you know of the custom of wedding by proxy. A courtier from Lord Guermont’s court will take the honorable knight’s place and pledge his worldly goods to you.”
Of course the bastard would – in exchange for a goodly dowry on Leuric’s part. “You mean he will want the right to bear children on me!” Celestine flashed back, resenting Leuric’s power.
He gave her a dark, warning look. “I will have none of your insolence.”
“Insolence? Did you ask me what I wanted before you went ahead with this sham? I won’t marry an old pig!” The thought of having an elderly man fucking her repelled her to the point where she thought she would gag.
Her stepfather rubbed his thumb and forefinger together at thigh level. His eyes suddenly held no expression. He smiled. “You are of consequence for only one reason and I hardly need explain myself to you.”
“You didn’t consult me on this matter, therefore I’m not bound to honor it.”
“Such audacity from a slight maiden. As lord of Mercia, I need not ask your permission. I own everything from the castle, to the servants to the peasants. Owning everything includes you, Celestine. If you won’t go willingly, then you force me to act in a manner I don’t wish to.”
Celestine heard metal clank behind her and whirled around, fearing that her days of freedom were truly numbered. None of the men had stepped forward. It must have been only her imagination or perhaps one of the guards had shifted slightly.
Her stepfather burst out laughing. “Do you think I’ll put you in the dungeon if you don’t heed my wishes? There are other, more useful ways to persuade you, my dear.”
Celestine clenched and unclenched her fists. She had heard tales about his penchant for stripping woman of their clothes, having them parade before him and then kneel to grovel for mercy. But they were no more than tales, weren’t they? “I thought no such thing,” she protested. How much would it take for her stepfather to throw her into the maws of the castle dungeon? Could it be worse than allowing a nearly dead man to make love to her? “No one owns me,” she stated flatly, making eye contact with him. He scowled.
With as much dignity as she could manage, she pivoted on an emerald green slipper that matched her gown and strode from the chamber. The guards didn’t prevent her exit. Her chaperone’s skirts rustled behind her.
The lump in Celestine’s throat swelled. The castle’s confines were drafty and damp in the pre-dawn light. Everything had suddenly become monstrously surreal. Moments later, the sky splashed in deep purple and orange as the sun crawled over the edge of the mountain. Spring had arrived. Spring and something else she couldn’t quite define. Her gown’s full hem whirling around her feet, she stomped back to her chamber. If hell broke loose, she determined never to marry Lord Guermont, no matter what the consequences. She would never let an old goat manhandle her in the name of making love.
“You should never talk to the lord, your father, that way,” the chaperone began once they were back in Celestine’s bedchamber. The woman’s face was flushed and her breathing too rapid.
Celestine whirled around to confront the woman. “He is not my father. He is my stepfather. He does not have the right to choose a husband for me. He does not own me. I’m not a horse to be trained and tethered at will.” As she spoke, she realized with a sinking feeling that Leuric could do what he wanted and she had little choice in the matter. The suggestion he owned her made her face flame with humiliation. No man would ever own her. She was her own woman, and would never pander to a man, whether he was rich, noble, or old.
Cecily’s eyes widened in horror. “Think about what you’re saying.”
“I won’t be treated like a horse or a lowly serf. Leuric will not play his filthy games with me.” She began pacing. “Leuric wouldn’t know about needs, would he?” she taunted Cecily. Leuric had placed her in that position when her mother had died and the woman was overbearing and impertinent.
Impossibly the chaperone’s eyes widened even more. She fanned her face with her hand. “His needs should be none of your concern, milady.”
“You think not? Then why are my needs his concern?” Celestine shuddered at a dim memory lurking in the recesses of her mind. Briefly it was there. An elusive second later, it vanished.
“That’s neither here nor there. You should never question the lord. You are his subject. You must do as he orders.”
“Or what? He’ll lock me in the dungeon with the rats?” That wouldn’t be a bad idea to lock him down there, she mused. The fragment of memory mocked her with its intangibility. A man in dark clothes leaning over her, or had it been her mother? She placed a fingertip to her temple, pressing at the thoughts spinning too madly to grasp.
“What ails you?” Cecily asked, stepping forward.
Celestine motioned her away. How would she find a way out of her predicament? The only way was to kill Leuric, but that wasn’t an option. He was always heavily guarded.
“You need to lie down.”
Celestine turned away and grinned slightly. That might be a good idea but not for the purpose of resting.
“You’ve overstepped the bounds of lady-like behavior,” the woman continued in that irritating way she had.
“Are you trying to make me sick?” Celestine couldn’t tolerate living with the title of lady of the castle and simply looking pretty with nothing to do while an old pig fucked her when he pleased. She shunted the thought aside. It was Beltane, a time for feasting and welcoming Mother Earth arising from her winter sleep, a time of joy.
Cecily shook her head and tugged upwards on the neckline of her gown although there wasn’t much revealed. Celestine couldn’t see what she was trying to cover up. Her breasts were ample but not sliding out of her gown.
“Let Leuric be the insufferable tyrant he is.”
The chaperone blushed from the root
s of her hair to where the gown met her throat.
“Why do you do that?” Celestine asked.
“Do what?”
“Pull on your neckline. What do you have to hide?”
Cecily said nothing but stared at the ground.
“Has Leuric made advances on you?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid he’ll get under your skirt?”
Her chaperone shook her head. She blushed fiercely. “A lady should never speak that way.”
Celestine felt positive she was on the right track about the woman’s discomfiture. “You need not concern yourself with such thoughts. Leuric has very specific tastes.” She strolled to the window and looked down upon the castle courtyard where a group of nobles prepared to mount their caparisoned horses and ride out to hunt. “There are rumors, although they are only rumors, that my stepfather concerns himself with the devil, not just young women. He will hardly call upon you for your services.”
“For heaven’s sake! Don’t let him hear you talk like that.”
“I was only trying to demonstrate how safe you are from his clutches.”
“A young woman like yourself shouldn’t know about such things.” Cecily made the sign of the cross. “What is the world coming to?”
Celestine jerked the gold-encrusted caul through her raven-black hair and shook her long, straight hair free. She threw the caul on top of a chest. Being restricted in a head covering and in a mass of material that passed for clothing, always made her feel as if she was trapped and helpless. “Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.” She remembered her mother telling her shortly before she died that she was wiser than her years. “I’ve heard plenty of how men have sex with one another, which is something Leuric might be quite good at. But why do you waste your time listening to me? Rather go and pray as is your habit.”
