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Resplendence Publishing, LLC
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Copyright ©2008 by Lyn Armstrong
First published in RP, 2008
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer
Look for these titles from the Celtic series
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
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The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer
by Lyn Armstrong
Copyright © 2008, Lyn Armstrong
Published January 2008
by
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
Edgewater, Florida
All rights reserved
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Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
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Look for these titles from the Celtic series
The Last Celtic Witch—Book One
Available now at www.resplendencepublishing.com and www.amazon.com.
The Heart of a Warlock—Book Three
Coming 2008
Witch Hunter—Book Four
Coming 2008
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Dedication
The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer is dedicated to my real life hero and husband, Grant Armstrong. His love, support and devotion is purely magical. He is my sorcerer.
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Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge these incredible writers/editors who have helped me over the years. Helen Rosburg whose mentoring helped guide me through the confusing waters of editing. Heather Graham for her generous spirit and showing me what it means to be humble in this crazy business. Traci Hall for always having my back and making me laugh. Kimberly Gonzalez for her untapped knowledge on history. Aleka Nakis, the promotional guru and all round cheerleader. And for Tiffany Mason, my editor and friend, who has talked me off the window ledge time and again.
These ladies are truly inspirational and are a huge part of my writing success.
They are my creative sisters.
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Chapter One
Lady Gavenia could not believe her eyes. From the corner where her spirit floated, she stared down at the bed where her cold, lifeless body laid, still covered in blood from birthing her new born babe.
"Milady is dead!” the midwife sobbed, placing her hand on the shoulder of Gavenia's mother.
No amount of comfort or words seemed to move Lady Adela MacAye. Her round face drained of all color as if her heart were stolen from her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks, even though her normally warm brown eyes were frozen to the depths.
"She can't be dead."
The midwife shook her head. “I am afraid the birth of the child was too much to bear."
Her mother pushed the midwife to the side and threw her arms around Gavenia's shoulders, rocking the lifeless body back and forth, chanting, “I am so sorry, I am so sorry.” Her words were filled with an emotion Gavenia never wanted to hear, the grief of a parent who watched their child die.
Her mother lovingly touched her ashen face, yet Gavenia felt nothing. No caress, no warmth. Anger burned deep inside her, hurt brewed like a wicked potion. No one should have to experience this. What had she done to deserve this vision?
The answer came as the oak door crashed open, silhouetting a man she had never seen before. His body shook with rage as he stepped into the chamber. The ladies huddled closer.
Who was he?
For certain, he did not come from Gleich Castle. His tall stature would stand out among the village folk. Although she could not discern his shadowed face beneath the hood, his eyes glowed with an unholy light.
"She is dead.” He drew his sword from the scabbard, the scraping of metal echoed off the castle walls.
Her mother's emotions suddenly surged through the room, and she ran at the stranger. But before she could reach him, his words stopped her.
"And you killed her."
* * * *
Gavenia opened her eyes, her heart pounding with anxiety. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and breathed deep of the night, trying to calm herself.
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. Foreseeing her death was not a power she wished to have, but as a Celtic witch, one did not get a choice.
She rose from the sable-lined chair. The stone runes seemed heavier in her hands as Gavenia returned them to a drawstring velvet pouch and absently dropped the bag onto the table. Sighing, she collapsed onto the bed. Her cream-colored gown made from the finest cloth billowed around her ankles as she lifted her legs and hugged them to her chest.
Ever since her third winter, Gavenia was burdened with the same vision. Being the last line of Celtic witches, her family demanded she produce a child to inherit her powers of good magick. She was as duty bound as a revered cow procreating in the pasture.
Her mother would say that one day, the chosen one would come into her life—the one man who could sire a babe to carry her ancestral powers.
Gavenia would smile at her mother and change the subject. Her mother was unaware of the death vision and that Gavenia would risk death if she lay with a man. To Gavenia, men were dangerous and she went to great perils to stay well away from them.
After all, a life alone was preferable to no life at all.
Gavenia lifted her thick hair above her neck, allowing the cool mountain breeze from the large arch window to caress her warm skin.
A light knock sounded on her door.
"Come,” she answered, rising to her feet.
Her older brother, Sir Callum, entered and absently sat upon her bed, wrinkling her yellow kirtle. “I bested Father in chess last eve. You should have seen his face.” His dimples deepened. “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 structured jaw line stole many maidens’ hearts. But what endeared Callum to all was his carefree nature. Bestowed knighthood at a young age, the future chieftai
n 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 as a child.
She tugged at the garment beneath her brother. “Get off."
He shuffled to the side and she snatched her kirtle from under 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 sullen afterwards."
"You would be too if you saw yer death over and over again."
"Why not tell me of this vision?"
"Nae."
"I would do all within my power to see you are kept safe. Even protect you with a thousand soldiers."
Gavenia smiled. “I wish not to burden those I love with this knowledge. And besides, some things not even you can protect me from."
"Mother's death vision did not come true—perhaps the same will be for you."
"Mother did not see herself die, merely the events leading to her death. I have seen my corpse."
Callum rose and pulled her into his arms. “I am sorry that yer powers are a curse as well as a blessing."
Gavenia pushed him away. “I choose not to think of it."
"You are right. Let us rejoice in the moment. It is all we have.” He sauntered to the door. “Prepare yourself. Mother seeks an audience with you. She has news of my betrothal and yearns to throw a feast in celebration of the alliance.” His voice rose in a melodious tone, “and no doubt she hopes to snare ... you ... a ... husband."
Gavenia groaned and turned her back on her brother. His laughter muffled by the door closing behind him.
She would have to dissuade her mother. Thus far, she had reached twenty winters without an arrangement, but the time would soon come when she must accept a man's betrothal.
'Twas not fair.
Her life was spent behind the protective walls of Gleich Castle. Her family denied her every occasion to explore the world, saying it was unsafe for a witch in these times. Only the Roberts clan accepted the Celtic witches as good instead of evil. Outside, people were superstitious. Their ignorant fear had caused her grandmother's death.
Trapped by protection and duty. That was her boring life until she died.
Assailed by a terrible sense of bitterness, she picked up the comb and yanked it through her hair. “I will never marry or touch a mon. Never!"
* * * *
"Mother, I am not interested in men. I would rather travel to Paris or Rome and meet new people."
"Are you trying to hurt me?” her mother asked, 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.
"Daughter, 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. “Aye, Mother. I know you had a trying life as a Celtic Witch."
"Trying would not cover the constant terror of being discovered and then burned like yer grandmother."
"Our family history is full of tragedy, but that does not mean I must be forced into choosing a husband and spending my life behind these walls."
"Not just any husband, he must be the chosen one."
"A mon with a pure heart who calls to you ... I know the proverb, Mother."
"Only he will have the bloodline to breed healthy girls that can wield our ancient powers.” Adela shifted a stray hair from Gavenia's face, and her voice softened. “I canna cast the spell, only you can."
Gavenia stepped away from her mother and averted her eyes. “I will not, Mother. Can you not accept that I do not like men?"
"You need not be afraid of them, my dear. The chosen one will not harm you."
Shaking her head, Gavenia groaned, “I do not want a husband. Why can Callum not be the one to pass on the powers? No doubt his betrothed will be a strong lass, surely their heirs would produce another Celtic witch."
"I love yer brother, but I canna rely on his blood to sustain our powers. You know he has yet to show any signs of Celtic influence. The true magick resides in women, and each generation holds an extra gift.” Her mother's eyes watered. “If I could have had more babies survive, then I wouldn't need to burden you ... but alas..."
Gavenia turned and snaked her arm in the crook of her mother's elbow.
"'Tis not yer fault, Mother. The fates have chosen for you to only have two children."
Adela smiled through moist eyes. “And I bless Arianrhod Goddess every day for you both.” She touched Gavenia's cheek. “Perchance, I might still have another baby. Yer father and I do not lack for encouragement."
"Oh, Mother!” Gavenia pushed away.
The tinkle of her mother's laugh washed over Gavenia and she smiled in return. In these moments, she saw her mother still held the presence of youth.
"One day you will find a mon that will make yer blood heat with a mere glance and when you do, yer life will be charged with a magick that goes beyond yer powers."
"I do not think that will happen."
A mischievous glint shone in Adela's eyes. She grasped both Gavenia's hands and took a deep breath. Closing her eyelids, she chanted beneath her breath.
"Mother, what are you doing?"
She continued to chant.
Gavenia squirmed; she did not want to conjure the chosen one. She was not ready to die.
"Mother, you need not do this."
"Shh.” Adela chanted again and then stopped, the air crackled with energy as a blue, round light floated down from the rafters in between the two women.
"Show me a sign of who will win my daughter's heart."
"Mother!"
The orb stretched into a shield of the Robert's clan. The honorable wolf glowed bright and strong.
Gavenia said, “You see? ‘Tis of our clan. This is a sign I will not marry."
The image changed and Gavenia felt her heart beat increase. A black shadow snaked around the shield, transforming the noble crest to a demonic boar. Malevolent eyes glowed while sharp teeth dripped with dark red blood. The shadow exploded, forcing the witches apart.
Fear gripped Gavenia, twisting her insides. She glanced at her mother, whose panicked face reflected her own.
Adela crawled over and gathered Gavenia into her arms. “I will not let anything hurt you."
"Dark forces surround the chosen one. How could I summon him now when he would bring death to our clan?"
"We do not know for sure that was the meaning."
Gavenia pulled away from the warm embrace. “Do not presume innocence. You and I both felt the power of evil."
"Perhaps the chosen one needs help."
"I would not help a stranger if it meant the clan's peril."
"The chosen one is no stranger, he is yer family. The one destined to bring you love and happiness."
"I will not do it."
"You must summon him. You must beget an heir at any cost. The future of good magick is at stake."
Tears wet Gavenia's face. Unable to hold the raw emotion inside, she cried, “Please, I canna."
Running out the door, she ignored her mother's concerned voice as Adela called after her.
* * * *
"Tell me ... who do you serve?” Tremayne asked as he slammed the heavy door.
His voluptuous sex maid jumped from the noise. Wringing her hands, she walked further into his chamber, no doubt to put distance between his anger and herself. Coira MacKinnon might be a scheming, lying whore, but she knew when to retreat.
She pivoted toward him—her auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders as her hazel eyes lowered. “Ye are Laird Tremayne Campbell, chieftain of the clan, son to Lady Torella, and the great dark sorcerer of this castle."
"I am glad you remembered, Coira.” Tremayne went to h
is timber chest beneath the tall window and opened the lid. Without looking at her, he continued, “Explain why you disobeyed my command?"
"Master, I wish not to leave you,” she pleaded and ran to his side. She went to place her hand on his shoulder, but in the last moment, withdrew. “I pray you; send one of the old crones in my stead."
He straightened and pulled out a long whip. “Mayhaps, yer loyalties need to be prompted as to who is yer laird."
Coira blinked, her lips curving into a smile at the sight of the whip in his hand. “How may I assist you?” She began to unlace her ruby corset and threw it to the side, eagerness shining in her eyes.
"I know you like the whip, Coira. But this time I will not use it on you until you plead for forgiveness."
"Please do not tease me, Master.” She lifted a linen chemise over her head, her pert breasts jutting proudly, the peaks hard and erect.
Tremayne felt his member rise, throbbing beneath his kilt. His hands cupped her breasts and she groaned. Curly, copper hair cascaded over soft shoulders while Coira arched her back, pushing her chest forward.
"I would do anything for you my laird. I beg you to forgive my impertinence."
Taller than the average man, Tremayne looked down his nose at the contrite maid. “You will offer yer services to Lady Gavenia of the Roberts clan."
Coira raised her head and scrunched her nose. “I could be of more use to you in yer bedchamber, my laird. Do not punish me by sending me away."
Tremayne chuckled nastily, and distanced himself from her, releasing the sexual energy he wrapped around his lovers.
Eerie, cool air surrounded Coira. Smiling, he watched the bumps rise on her delicate skin. His touch inspired submission, but taking it away would send a woman into a state of uncontrollable wanting, leaving them consumed by a deadly thirst for something only he could provide.
Turning, he looped the whip around his neck and walked over to the wooden table to pour a chalice of red wine. “I grow weary of yer whining.” Taking a sip of the tart liquid, he studied Coira's curves. Her body had given him much pleasure and her sexual energy fed his powers, yet he grew restless for something. He knew not what. “Perhaps it is time to send you back to yer father. I know he could use yer help in the fields."
The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer [Celtic Series Book 2] Page 1
