A Leap of Faith

by Linda Boulanger

  Lady Katrynne, he’d been told, was closer in age to his sister Margaret than she was to himself or Kensey. He’d never met the girl and could scarce imagine the coppery-red hair and blue eyes that had been described, especially given the more brunette coloring of both Kensey and his mother.

  The younger brother, Vander, came closer to what he’d imagined she would look like, though his hair was a faded blonde and his eyes so pale they could scarce be called blue.

  He couldn’t fathom her being much to look at, but her family had asked, offering a handsome purse for her return. Brendan hadn’t been interested in the purse so much as he was doing this favor for his friend’s family. He owed Willowthorne his life, at least thrice over.

  But, he hadn’t been able to find the girl.

  Brendan kicked a rock on the pathway beside the water. So many days and nights spent searching, following every lead remotely plausible… and even a few that had not been. A trip to the old witch, Mordrin, had been the last straw. She’d told them about a cave where they’d found the girl’s cloak rocking back and forth in the foamy water that lapped the rocks at the edge of the pool.

  He shook his head. The hag had cackled when they’d returned to confront her, telling them the girl was one of them, that she’d seen her dragon, but that the only way for her to help them was if the girl went forward. Her prattling made no sense but it was all he could get out of the old witch. Even when he’d threatened to run her through, she’d just laughed.

  Mordrin had walked off, spouting that death would be a welcomed friend to one who had lived a thousand lifetimes. They could hear her in the distance mumbling about weary bones and missing teeth.

  It was after that final visit that the mark had appeared on his skin. He’d also felt the stirring of the beast inside, something he’d known would come, and he knew his days as a mere man were coming to a close. With his hand dropping down to feel the mass in the bag at his waist, he turned to head back to the castle, surprised his sisters had given him this long alone.

  Brendan had taken no more than two steps when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his palm went to the hilt of his sword. He spun around, his eyes widening as a loud splash shot water toward the sky. The sound of sputtering and coughing followed a head bobbing above the water’s surface. Brendan gasped. Not just any head, it was that of a woman… a copper-headed beauty that took his breath away as she gained her footing and stood.

  Slinging water from her fingertips, the vision slogged from the pond, her eyes as big as his.

  “Wh… where am I?” she managed through another round of coughing.

  When he didn’t answer, she lifted her brow, her lips pursing as she reached down to wring a puddle of water from the front of her dress. She straightened, shaking her hands again as she let her gaze slide down him, then glanced over his shoulder at his castle then back at him, a hopeful smile lighting still wary eyes.

  “I’m guessing I’ve at least made it home, though I’m not quite sure where,” she mumbled more to herself than to him. “I’ll also presume you aren’t foe for you have yet to run me through.”

  They both looked at his hand still on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  “N… no,” he fumbled with his words. “Uhm…” When his gaze kept dropping, she looked down then squinted at him with her mouth open, her nose crinkled in disgust. She sucked in, crossing her arms over her chest and motioned for him to turn around.

  Brendan almost laughed, though he did as she asked. He may be a hot-blooded male, but he was also a gentleman, warranted by his societal position. Damn society. He’d much rather ogle the perfect curves highlighted beneath her wet gown.

  “Perhaps you could at least offer a Lady your tabard?”

  Brendan raised a brow and pursed his lips as he glanced over his shoulder, her glare causing him to again look away.

  “Supposing I am indeed dealing with a Lady, I assume that would be the proper thing to do.”

  He had to bite his lower lip when he heard her growl. Chuckling, he stammered an apology before shirking out of his sleeveless jacket and tossing it in her direction, listening for the telltale signs that she’d managed to work it over her head before he turned back around.

  “Are you lord of this castle?” she asked.

  Brendan couldn’t help but be a little amused at the color that had crept into her cheeks as their moments together had progressed.

  She was a pretty woman, even with her coppery red curls flattened against her head from her dunk in his pond. Her eyes reminded him of the tranquility of a deep blue stream on a still day, though they were anything but peaceful.

  Even filled with unmistakable caution, a dark fire danced within their depths, warming Brendan from the inside and he had to stop himself from smiling at the thought of how they might look staring up at him as she writhed beneath him... Heavens! It had obviously been far too long since he’d been with a woman since he was having feelings like he was so quickly after making her acquaintance… though he really hadn’t made her acquaintance yet, had he? What the hell was happening? He narrowed his gaze. Was she bewitching him?

  Clearing his throat forcefully and standing taller, he finally answered.

  “I am. And if you don’t mind, my lady, I would have your name, as well as an answer to how you came to be in my pond, lest I call my guard and have you escorted to the highest room in my tower.”

  Chapter 3

  Rynne stopped adjusting the tabard over her wet clothing and gave the man her full attention. Was he serious? She cocked her head, scrutinizing him, trying to discern an answer. His dark blue eyes held censure and there was no doubt he was a man of authority. Handsome beyond words, simply gazing at the lord of this castle had set her senses reeling, her heart to racing.

  Thoughts that didn’t belong in the head of a proper lady swirled through her mind and, for a moment, she imagined running her fingers through the brown waves that covered his head. They were a bit unruly, though she thought the wildness suited him, as did the scruff that speckled his jaw and chin. There was something almost feral about him.

  His hand tightening around the hilt of his sword shook Rynne from her perusal and she lifted her hands, palms out at chest height.

  “No need for alarm, my lord. I will tell you all. But first…” A sudden remembrance of the vial had her reaching for her neck to feel for the chain and him pulling his sword.

  He finished the sentence for her. “But first, I shall have that vial, lest you use it to cast a spell over my lands and the people I love, Witch.”

  Witch?

  Rynne’s mouth fell open. She’d been called a lot of things in her life, having grown up the youngest sibling behind two brothers, but to be hailed as a witch… Irritation outweighed any fear she felt and she bristled, sure that her nostrils must be flaring as she attempted to pull herself to her full height.

  Of course, it wasn’t like she hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere, dressed in the peculiar clothing Corvona Bruxa had given her… but if he thought she would give up the vial, or more importantly, what was inside… it would be over her dead body.

  She looked at the blade pointed in her direction as the man came closer and her heart sank. There was no way he was ever going to believe her. She dropped her chin to her chest and sighed. She still had try. The truth was all she had.

  “I’m no witch,” she said softly. “But the vial does contain a potion from one… at least I think it does.”

  She gulped as the tip of his sword wavered. Staring into his eyes, she prayed he would at least let her tell her story before he ran her through.

  A huff of relief left her when he lowered his sword, even though he kept it at the ready. She flinched when he reached out his hand and pushed the material of her gown away from her neck. She held her breath, expecting him to grab hold of the chain. Instead, he traced his finger across her shoulder, making her shudder, especially when his eyes met hers.

  “Explain this,
then.”

  Rynne shivered at the low timbre of his voice. Dragging her gaze from his, she craned her neck so that she could see what he was talking about. Her eyes grew wide as she reached up to touch the darkened mark on her skin.

  Blinking away the tears that threatened, she pressed her lips together for a moment, trying to steady their quivering.

  “I… don’t know, my lord. I can only tell you that m… my name is Rynne Willowthorne. It will make me sound daft, but I swear it is true… I fe… fell through time in an attempt to gain help for my brother’s ailment. I don’t know why I am in your garden or how this mark came to be upon me, but the vial is my only hope for helping him and I refuse to give it up.” Rynne placed her hand over the vial beneath her dress. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

  A small swish through the air had her cringing as she waited for the sting of his blade. Instead, she heard the sword slide into the leather of its sheath. Opening one eye and then the other, she found him squinting at her.

  “Willowthorne?” he asked.

  Rynne nodded.

  He frowned. “And your brother’s name?”

  Her forehead creased with her lifted brows and she blinked a few times, confusion mixing with relief.

  “K… Kensey, my lord. My brother is Kensey Willowthorne, Lord of Honorcrest in Wolfdenreve.” She bobbed a curtsey, confused at the smile he quickly hid.

  “And what ails your brother, my lady?”

  Rynne gritted her teeth, growing weary of the questions and yet knowing he held her future in his hands. She glanced at the sword in the scabbard at his side and shook her head.

  “I don’t know, my lord. Only that he has been unwell ever since he…” She stopped, biting at her lower lip until he commanded her to continue.

  “He put on a ring and soon after collapsed to the floor. We’ve been unable to wake him since, so in a fit of desperation, I went to the old witch and she told me…”

  “Mordrin,” he cursed under his breath and Rynne nodded.

  “Yes, Mordrin. She told me to collect the waters from the pool in the Cave of Dracha. When I tried, I fell in.”

  Rynne left out the part about feeling as though she’d been pushed. She finished her story to the point where she tossed her coin into the fountain, wishing to return home, and ended up surfacing in his pond. She stared at him, willing him to believe her while she watched the muscle in his jaw work as he thought.

  “I know Willowthorne. I know what you say of his ailment is true…”

  “Then you will help me?”

  Forgetting herself, she stepped forward, placing her palms against his chest. Her eyes widened at the current that passed between them and she would have stepped away had his hands not closed over hers. She watched him fight to swallow, marveling at the heat that burst within her. When a light shudder shook her body, his arms went around her, pulling her closer.

  “You’re the missing sister… the Lady Katrynne,” he whispered, his face so close to hers she could feel the heat of his skin.

  Rynne nodded at his statement, and when his gaze slid to her lips, she couldn’t help but wet them and he groaned.

  Not quite sure how, her hands found the hair at the nape of his neck just as his mouth crashed down on hers, his tongue following the trail hers had taken only seconds before. Rynne’s lips opened and she gasped when his tongue slid across her own, her tongue sparring back, stroking against his until they were both breathless. His eyes were huge when he finally pulled away.

  “Do you believe in destiny, Katrynne Willowthorne? Because I believe Fate brought you to my home instead of yours.”

  His breath whispering across her cheek told her to say yes. Her heart beating against his and the pull of her body to press even closer to his screamed of the truth of his words. He felt so right. She wanted to say yes.

  Instead, she pushed away and raised her hand to slap him. Only he was too fast, catching her wrist before she connected.

  He stared down at her, disappointment evident in his glare. “I probably would have deserved that had you not been a willing party to that moment of folly.” Lips that had teased hers, igniting a passion deep in her belly just seconds before, thinned.

  Tears sprung to Rynne’s eyes and she averted her gaze.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I just need to get home.”

  Chapter 4

  Brendan stared at the woman before him wondering what had just happened. His senses had run amok, with words like Fate and Destiny swirling around in his head. Her story was utterly unbelievable. And yet, he believed her, especially with the mark that matched his in every way except color and its placement on the opposite shoulder. He still had no idea what was happening, but it appeared the Lady Katrynne had gone through time to collect what she believed was a cure for her brother.

  He thought of the vial that had been visible under her wet clothing and had to fight to pull his thoughts from the vision of her breasts beneath the cloth. As odd as it was, he had the feeling the Raven Witch had meant to secure his desire for the woman in the clothes she chose for her, and she’d done a damned good job.

  Clearing his throat, Brendan tried to shake the thoughts from his head.

  “Your family will be most pleased to see you, though I doubt my men will be thrilled when I tell them we must ride again so soon after our return. The unrest in Thurwickden has made the trip quite tedious and we’ll have to ride through it to get you home.”

  “Thurwickden?” She stiffened and he could almost see her lining up the facts. “Then you must be Lord over the fief of Karthmere.”

  Brendan nodded. “Yes, my lady. I am Lord MacCailín of Locktonhurst.”

  Propriety demanded that he bow, and she curtsied, rising upon his command. He’d much rather have ordered her to kiss him again. Instead, he took her elbow and began to escort her toward his castle, hating the way his lips ached to taste her, the betrayal of his body in its desire to press her against him. He worked to control his breathing, hopeful she’d taken no notice of the way he was affected by her. He searched for a distraction.

  “You know nothing more about the ailment that plagues Lord Willowthorne?”

  Brendan noticed how the sunlight played off Lady Katrynne’s coppery curls when she shook her head. He would have loved to stroke the silken threads, letting them slide through his fingers. He fought his concentration back to listen to her words.

  “Kensey was fine, tending to his business as castle lord and being annoying like all brothers. Then, he fell ill, growing completely still.” She cleared her throat and continued. “Several men visited our home, Honorcrest, just before. When we asked if they were men of the King, Kensey wouldn’t say, only that he alone had business with them and that we should have nothing to do with them. It was shortly thereafter that he put on the ring and collapsed. The only thing that seemed odd at that point was that the ring refused to budge from his finger.”

  Brendan stopped abruptly and tried to look away, but Rynne turned, her eyes narrowing and locking with his.

  “You know of the ring, don’t you?”

  Wrestling with his answer, Brendan nodded. He hadn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to divulge all to her either.

  “I saw it on his finger when I was there last, yes.”

  Her brows shot up.

  “That’s where you and your men were, then?”

  He nodded, and she continued, her words tentative.

  “My brother… he is well?”

  Brendan started to nod again, then stopped himself. Her brother remained abed, unmoving, though the nourishment their mother managed to get down him had kept him alive. He told her as much.

  “Do you believe there is hope for him?”

  Brendan paused for a few seconds then confirmed that he did with a bob of his head.

  “There’s always hope… as long as someone believes,” he stated, patting her arm.

  He began walking, and from the corner of his eye, he
could see her contemplating him. Her lips turned up in a tentative smile before her gaze went back to his castle.

  “Thank you for that, my lord.”

  Brendan chuckled lightly, then frowned. His free hand fell to the pouch at his waist covering the oddly shaped lump among his other possessions. Would the men come to conduct business with him next?

  At twenty and nine, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew what the men had wanted from his friend, and when Kensey had placed the ring on his finger to keep them from getting it, something had gone awry. He knew why. It had been too early. His father had warned him that could happen if he had not yet reached the age of readiness.

  But, if the men came, he knew he’d do the same thing Kensey had. As long as his friend remained alive, they couldn’t take the ring. He glanced at the woman at his side and offered up a silent prayer that her belief in the potion was enough to assure her brother’s life. Her belief was all they had, and if he was correct in his assumptions, it had already brought her home.

  Rynne’s senses reeled as she walked in silence beside the man who claimed to be Lord of Locktonhurst. She rolled her eyes. Of all the places Fate could have had her surface, it would have to be the lily pond of a man with deep blue eyes and lips that could set her afire with the slightest twitch. Feeling them on her own hadn’t been bad either. She caught herself just before she sighed knowing she’d have to watch herself around him. She could already feel the tug on her heart.

  Was that what Corvona Bruxa had meant with her parting words to be wary of the man who would attempt to steal her heart? She’d thought the witch had meant the vial that held the precious potion for her brother because of its shape, especially since there had already been several men after her that wanted it. She wasn’t sure. Nothing seemed straightforward or clear. Perhaps now that she was home, or nearly so, life would begin to make sense again.

  Rynne frowned when she looked up to see a dragon etched into the stone above the door they were approaching. Her body stiffened. How could anyone not detest the mythical creatures? Wrought with the same disgruntled rumblings from deep inside her that she always felt when she thought of dragons, Rynne looked away from the beast.