Mortal Magick

by Patty Taylor

  Keara reached for the small bar of soap and rubbed it over his chest, making a thick lather with her hands. He groaned and crushed her body next to his. The waterfall’s pulsating water invigorated her skin. Duncan’s hands expertly caressed her body, awakening desires she’d never known existed.

  Duncan scooped her up in his arms and cradled her next to his chest. She nuzzled her face in his neck, his hot breath sending chills down her spine. He gently lowered her to the ground and lay beside her, his leg covering hers, his arm wrapped around her and pulling her close. Something hard pressed against her leg. Duncan leaned his head down and smothered her lips with his, positioning himself over her body. She felt his stiff manhood above her groin. His hand parted her legs. She took a deep breath. And waited.

  “Keara, I’m sorry. I nev’r meant to hurt ye, woman. I . . .”

  Duncan’s heavy frame came crashing down on top of her. The full weight of his body squeezing the breath from her lungs. Something warm trickled down her neck. She tried to move her head and wiggled an arm out from underneath him. Her fingers dabbed the sticky substance and came back, dripping with blood. Duncan’s blood.

  She spotted a shimmering golden arrow sticking out the side of his neck. She screamed. With all her strength, she used her free arms to push him off of her. His herculean body was crushing her chest, making it harder to breathe. With one last effort, she thrust her legs and pushed with her arms, trying to shove his body to the side.

  Cackling buzzed overhead.

  “I tried to warn you not to help him,” the evil voice said. “Now he’s paid the price of your stubbornness.” The words hissed close to her ears.

  “Then punish me,” Keara shouted, still struggling to push off his weight. “Haven’t you done enough to him?”

  “His time will come soon enough. In the meantime, I think I’ll take you up on your offer.” Her laughter pounded in Keara’s ears. A thunderous boom roared overhead. Lightning lit up the sky.

  An enormous pair of hairy hands gripped her arms and tugged her body out from underneath Duncan’s unconscious frame. A beast more hideous than Duncan’s stood directly over her. Its coal-black eyes patrolled the area as if it was looking for something. It spied her clothing and raced toward it, flinging piece by piece in the air and searching the ground.

  Keara reached, grasping a few pieces of clothes flying above her head, and hurried to cover herself. She crawled to Duncan’s side, placing his head in her lap. The tip of the arrow was embedded in the middle of his neck. She lowered her head to his face. He was still breathing. Afraid to touch the golden rod for fear of doing more damage, she searched around for anything she could try to make a poultice with.

  The creature roared. She jumped, her heart fluttering inside her neck.

  The amulet. That’s what the beast was searching for. Now she was glad she’d decided to give it to Darby for safe-keeping. With two vast strides, the beast was at her side, picking up Duncan by one arm and tossing him on top of the scattered clothes. Its huge hands seized her by her arms, pulling her to her feet.

  “Leave us alone,” she shouted.

  But the beast ignored her protest and picked her up like a ragdoll, tossing her over its shoulder. She made fists and beat on its back, her feet kicking its stomach.

  The hideous laughter returned.

  The beast grabbed her tighter around her ankles. The sickeningly sweet scent of vanilla turned to the rancid stench of sulfur. Keara gagged as warm bile rose in her throat.

  The sorceress shouted her orders. “You know what to do with her.”

  Chapter 20

  Still sluggish, Keara leaned on her side and propped her upper body on one elbow, the tender spot scraping against the callous, stone floor. Her fingers gingerly touched a knot the size of an acorn on the back of her head. She groaned. Sharp pains seared around the calves of her legs as she bent her knees to her stomach. She spied a rope crumpled in a pile, like a snake curled in a ball, at her bare feet. Her swollen ankles ached from rope burns. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to focus, and took notice of her skimpy attire. Dressed merely in the new cotton chemise Duncan had surprised her with, the lovely gift was now dirt-stained and tattered.

  A frigid draft blew through an open window, imprisoned with thick bars and covered in cobwebs. Goosebumps pricked her arms. A tapered light flickered in the corner of the room. A lone, thick candle sat perched on top of a stool. She peered around the eerie chamber, searching for any signs of a blanket. Still shaken, she made her way to the seat splattered with gobs of melted wax and reached for the only source of light. Taking short steps, using her other hand as a shield, she moved around her jail cell in search of a door. The light reflected shadows from something metal hanging on the wall. Grotesque chains were dangling there.

  Keara’s gaze lowered to the remains of a human skeleton dressed in a woman’s garbs. The poor victim had been imprisoned in shackles, laying only a few feet in front of her. Keara gasped. A scream clawed in her throat. Numb with terror, her hands covered her mouth to help muffle her squeals.

  By the Goddess! I’m stuck inside a dungeon! Now she knew how wild animals must feel trapped inside a cage. Like a brutal fist shoved in her face, the cold hand of reality struck her. She had to get out of here. Now.

  Her sprawled fingers darted through her hair. She swallowed hard. Her stomach churned while her heartbeat thundered inside her chest. The rush of blood pounded inside her eardrums. In sheer panic, she gasped, desperate for some fresh air.

  She raced to the stool, seized it between her shaking fingers, and placed it beneath the window so she could stand on it and look outside. Her trembling hands grasped the thick, callous bars. Fighting back the surge of tears ready to burst, she took in a few deep breaths of fresh, slightly salty air. She tried concentrating on the moonlight reflecting off the ocean far below.

  The sun was already beginning to set. There would be a full moon tonight. The image of her mighty Highlander filled her head. Bewitched from dark shadows of nightfall, Duncan’s handsome face would soon change, revealing the beastly figure. That is, if he was still alive.

  The muscles in her chest tightened. Her heart fluttered while warm spasms of energy tingled up and down her limbs. Duncan was near. She felt him. He was headed straight for a trap. And she was the bait. She needed to escape and warn him before it was too late.

  With nothing but miles of emptiness in sight, the roaring wind hurled splashing waves against the dismal cliff walls. Even if she could squeeze through the bars to freedom, she’d tumble down the ragged rocks to her death. The zealous ocean currents would drag her body to a watery, wretched grave.

  Something scuffled beneath the stool. Tiny squeaks and squeals grew louder by the minute. The pitter-pattering of small feet raced across the floor. Images of fat rats and beady-eyed mice filled her thoughts. Her fear of rodents made her cringe. Something long and cold slithered across the top of her foot and scampered down the side of the stool. She winced. Her hands quavering, she lowered the candle closer to the floor and spotted several mice running across the room. She screamed and dropped her mini torch to the ground. The flickering flame waivered in distress. Cursing under her breath and biting her lower lip, she felt her knees buckle. Afraid to lose her only source of light, she picked it up off the stone floor. She glanced around the room for anything in sight she could use for a weapon. Even a broom would come in handy right now.

  Keys rattled outside. Keara froze, gripping the candle, and waited for the door to open. This might be her only chance to escape and get to Duncan. A latch unbolted and the creaky door groaned in protest as if being disturbed.

  “Come, child! We must hurry before the mistress returns,” a curt voice ordered.

  Rodents scattered across the floor in search of secret hideaways. Her jailor raised a lantern to eye level
, exposing a sullen, wrinkled face. An old woman lowered the black hood covering her head to rest across hunched shoulders. She grasped a blanket tucked beneath her arm and tossed it to Keara. A worried frown creased the woman’s lips, her gaze fixed on the open entrance, as if waiting for someone else to follow.

  Keara’s teeth chattered, her body trembling from cold and fear. Glad for any type of warmth, she wrapped the prickly blanket around her half-naked body. Right now, all she wanted was to get out of this nightmarish cell, so she quickly obeyed and darted for the open doorway.

  The old woman led her down a breezy and narrow, winding stairway. Unsure of her footing on the slippery, uneven stones, Keara’s hand groped the side wall. Her fingers scratched against the sharp stone edges. The wind howled, sending chills down her spine. She tightened her clasp on the musty cover at her breasts. Just when Keara decided to ask how much longer, the old woman stopped abruptly in front of another doorway, which stood ajar. The strange elderly woman turned her head, holding her forefinger to her lips. Her eyebrows knitted into a frown, her pupils narrowing like the center green slits of a cat’s eyes. The old woman hunched over and approached the middle of the door like a wild animal getting ready to pounce and defend itself.

  “Mistress?” she called, waiting several moments in silence before stepping inside the room. “Come, child. ‘Tis safe for now.”

  The warmth from a fireplace bedded with peat greeted them. Keara glanced around the room. Burning candles provided enough light to expose multiple shelves lined with herbs, roots, jars, and other multicolored candles. Beady little eyes from an assortment of spiders, beetles, and frogs stared at her, confined inside spacious glass containers. She shivered and vigorously rubbed her arms, attempting to get her mind off the small creepy crawlers.

  Several feet away stood a counter adorned with impressive glass containers filled with colorful liquid—evil concoctions, more than likely. Keara spied a humongous cauldron propped above stones placed next to the fireplace. An old wooden trunk sat cluttered with a crystal chalice, several sparkling crystal gemstones, and the ritual knife she recognized as an athame.

  Something peculiar was draped on the ancient trunk and skimming the floor. Keara grimaced when she realized it was a snakeskin shell. She closed her eyes, wrapping the smelly blanket tighter around her arms, and turned her focus back to the elderly jail keeper.

  Something fluttered overhead. Tilting her head, she spotted several bats hanging upside-down from rafters a few feet above her head. Cold chills raced down her spine. She bit her lip, trying not to scream.

  Ice-cold skeletal fingers grasped her hand and yanked her toward a wooden table. Without releasing her grip on Keara’s fingers, the old crone lowered the lantern to the table, a pained expression written across her weary face. She pushed the blanket off Keara’s right shoulder, twisting her exposed arm toward the candlelight.

  “Please, who are you and what is it you want from me?” Keara cried in frustration, trying to pull her arm away.

  “I’m called Griselda.” With a scowl, she squinted her eyes and studied the birthmark on Keara’s wrist. She sighed and released her tight grip on Keara’s arm. “Did ye not notice the unusual mark on yer wrist, lass?”

  “It’s only a birthmark.” Keara rubbed her fingers over the raised blemish and winced before placing her arm back inside the blanket.

  “’Tis not only a birthmark. Have ye not noticed this symbol on anything else? Think, child.” Griselda shot her an anxious look and glanced toward the door, wringing her hands in front of her chest. “Yer own mother must have borne the same mark. The staff wrapped with the vine of life goin’ through the middle of the pentacle only proves ye to be a most powerful witch.”

  Keara bit her lower lip. Not sure whether to trust Griselda, she feared and was reluctant to admit that it was one of the same emblems on the amulet that brought her here in the first place. She just shook her head. There were questions she needed answers to first. She rubbed her wrist and stared directly at her kidnapper. “Won’t you please tell me where I am and why I’m here?”

  “Forgive me, child. I had to make sure you were the one.” The old woman stood and hobbled over to the fireplace and grabbed a steaming pot from the hearth. “Many years ago, my best friend, Brighid, foretold of your journey to travel back in time. Brighid also happened to be yer own great-grandmother from centuries past. She foreseen yer destiny to come and put an end to an evil deed.”

  Griselda poured hot liquid into two tin cups and sliced small slivers of bread and cheese, placing them on a wooden plate before carrying everything over to the table and sitting down. She pushed the plate in front of Keara and motioned for her to eat. Griselda grasped a tin between her gnarled fingers and peered at Keara’s face while taking a few sips before she spoke again.

  “The mistress of this house has many ears and eyes to keep her informed. Ye must heed my every word if I’m to get ye to safety.”

  “I can’t imagine why I should trust you, Griselda. Especially since I just found myself locked inside your dungeon with a human skeleton and rodents.” Keara heard her stomach rumble and she realized she hadn’t eaten for quite a while.

  Griselda reached deep inside her black dress robes and pulled a necklace over her head and held it in front of Keara. Her fingers opened, revealing a golden locket clutched tightly in her hand. She raised it to her lips and kissed it before handing it to Keara. “Do you recognize the markin’s on the token?”

  Keara squinted and studied the engraved symbols, straightened her back, and tried not to gasp. Still uncertain whether to trust Griselda, she didn’t want to reveal that these were identical to the remaining symbols on the talisman charm.

  “Look closer, Keara. Concentrate,” she scolded. “Can ye not see the resemblance?”

  “It bears the sign of my birthmark. But what does all this have to do with me? Do you know what it means?” Keara asked, raising her cup to drink more tea.

  “‘Tis only Brighid’s rightful granddaughter born with this mark can unlock the powers held protected within. This locket was made to help aid with yer quest.” Griselda cupped one side of Keara’s face in her aged palm. “Ye look so much like yer grandmother. She, too, was a beautiful young woman and had a noble heart. Yer grandmother bequeathed all her life’s skills to one particular child before she died. Dinna ye see, girl. ‘Tis ye, lass, and ‘tis yer birthright. Ye canna prevent yer legacy.”

  “But how do I know this isn’t another trick?” Her eyes pleaded, desperately wanting to believe the fragile old woman sitting directly across from her. Griselda had showed her nothing but kindness since she released her from the dungeon. There was still that unexplained human skeleton chained inside that room.

  “Aye, ye doubt me, for sure. Ye not only had a powerful witch for a grandmother but a verra wise one at that. Sure she was that ye would need more proof before ye took me word, she said she locked something specific inside for your eyes alone.” Griselda folded her knobby hands around Keara’s, giving them a gentle squeeze. “She said to tell ye once you opened the locket, no other words would be necessary to convince ye of the truth.”

  Griselda stood and turned. Her feet shuffled across the rough floor boards to the stocked shelves, and she sorted through a variety of items before heading back with her hands filled with an assortment of rosemary, sage, and bay leaves. She pushed the plate back and laid the herbs directly in front of Keara. “Even a mortal witch as yerself should recognize these simple herbs. Ye will see the truth of me words once the locket opens.”

  Keara recognized the plants. Beth had taught her they were used for protection. Keara reached for the golden necklace and ran her fingers over the embossed symbols. Sharp tingles, like electric shocks, made her hand jolt backward. She wrapped her arms around her chest and hugged her sides before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.


  “I can promise ye this, Mistress Keara. If ye want to help yer beloved Duncan, ye need to trust me. I swear on me own last breath, I’m only tryin’ to keep a promise I made to me best friend on her dying bed. I canna go to me grave before I try to right an evil wrong from a verra long time ago.”

  Keara stared into Griselda’s weary face and assumed a hard life had taken a huge toll on the woman. The thought of the Highlander no longer in her future filled her with great sadness. If there was any chance trusting this woman meant helping to find Duncan, she had to take the risk. She held her hand open in front of the elderly woman and bit her lower lip. Griselda placed the locket in her open palm and closed Keara’s fingers protectively around it.

  Tiny flickers of light, like fireflies on a hot summer’s night, danced above Keara’s hand. A rush of heat flooded her entire body. The scratches and rope burns didn’t hurt anymore. Keara opened her hand and the locket popped open. She lowered her gaze and stared at the intricate emblems and minute word sketched inside. Rosebud.

  “But how would my grandmother know?” Warm tears flowed down her cheeks, landing on the locket and sealing it shut again. “I believe you, Griselda.” Keara smiled, grabbed her new friend’s hands inside her own, and squeezed. “But I’ll need your help to get out of here. I promise, I’ll make sure Duncan comes back and helps rescue you from this evil place.”

  “Ye dinna understand, lass.” Griselda lowered her head, but not before Keara noticed her weary eyes filling with tears. A few trickled down her pain-stricken face. “The mistress of this house is also—”