by Linda Jones
They stood in the north parlor, where they had been married before. The preacher, Anya remembered, had stared at the floor and frowned. In contrast, Sebastian grinned and looked her and then Julian in the eye.
“Marriage is a wonderful thing,” Sebastian said in a rich, accented voice. “I did not always think so, but I have changed my mind. It is a gift to find the one person in the world who is yours in heart and soul and body. The one person in the world who completes you. Apart, you are fine, but together… together you are better.” He glanced at Betsy as he said this, and Anya saw a spark of life in his eyes, something she had never seen before.
“Anya, is this Julian DeButy the man you wish to spend your life with? The man you put above all others?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
“Do you wish to take him as your mate for life?”
“I do.”
Sebastian turned a gaze that was not quite so tender to Julian. “Julian DeButy, is Anya the woman you wish to spend your life with? The woman you put above all others?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to make her your mate for life?”
“I do,” he said, his voice deep and clear.
Sebastian lifted both arms, somehow encompassing the newlywed couple and everyone else in the room in the sweeping motion. “By the power granted to me by the people of Puerta Sirena and God in his heaven, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Anya faced her husband and lifted her lips to his for a kiss to seal their vows. The kiss he gave her was sweet, tender, and all too brief. His mouth came back toward hers, perhaps for another kiss, but he stopped when his lips were an inch away from hers. Julian glanced to the doors behind her, the double doors that opened onto the garden, and he smiled as he whispered,
“Run.”
The End
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Excerpt from
Into The Woods
by
Linda Jones
For a moment, a split second perhaps, Declan had actually believed in magic. The woman who’d come to the door was enough like the Matilda Candy he remembered to give him pause, if only for a minute, when she’d said that she was the woman for whom he’d asked.
Her small stature was the same; neither Matilda Candy stood taller than five foot two. The pigtails were the same, though he remembered gray braids instead of golden. He’d never seen the old Miz Candy wear shoes, and this one’s small feet were bare against the smooth wooden floor. The eyes were… similar, a green he remembered from years ago. But as he looked closer he realized that this Matilda Candy’s eyes were rimmed in darker blue.
And those eyes laughed at him now. “A love potion,” she repeated. “Really, Mr….”
“Harper,” he said. “Declan Harper.”
“Mr. Harper,” she said, her eyes dancing with an amusement she could not, or would not, hide. “While it’s true that my grandmother passed on quite a bit of knowledge to me, I must confess there were no love potions included. I’m sorry.” She looked as if she were about to gently close the door in his face.
To prevent that from happening, he reached out and grabbed the edge of the door in one hand. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Just for a minute.”
With a barely disguised sigh, she moved back and invited him to enter. He stepped into a room he remembered well; not much had changed. The rug at the center was a bit more worn than he remembered, and there were more books on the crowded shelves, but all in all it was very much the same. The room was magical, interesting, different, as was the woman in it.
“I used to visit your grandmother,” he began, looking around the familiar room. He’d never felt such a warm fondness for any place he’d called home. He smiled at the colored jars filled with God-knew-what, and at the books so old the spines were falling apart. “I’d spit in her potions and she’d give me hard molasses candy.”
“Really?” There was a touch of genuine interest in the woman’s voice, a new lilt. “Why, just today…” Abruptly she stopped speaking, and when he turned to look at her she pursed her lips. “It’s not important.”
“Mrs. Candy was always very kind to me,” Declan said softly.
“She was a kind woman.”
Intrigued, Declan studied the young Matilda Candy, looking her up and down. She wasn’t what one might call beautiful, but she was very pretty, in an odd sort of way. Already he’d discovered that she had an expressive face. She smiled, she wrinkled her nose, her eyes told too much. Her manner of dress was unconventional, but the skirt and plain blouse she wore showed off a shapely, uncorseted figure. Her hairstyle, those golden braids, while definitely not the height of fashion, suited her. She had a face like a pixie, and pigtails to match. Yes, she belonged in this strange room as much as her grandmother had, was an integral part of its charm.
“Miss Candy,” he said in answer to a question he felt was unspoken between them, his voice stern. “I do not believe in witchcraft.”
She lifted her eyebrows again, pinning glittering, amused green and blue eyes on him. He was surprised she didn’t out-and-out laugh.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I believe your grandmother had a gift.” He reached within himself for patience, which was never easy. When he wanted something he wanted it done without unnecessary explanations!
Her smile faded, and he wondered if he’d said something wrong.
“Call it a talent or a skill, if you like,” he said tersely. “Whatever you call it, the fact remains that she knew more about herbs and natural cures than anyone I’ve ever met or even heard of. If there was a way to make a woman turn her attentions to a particular man, a powder or a pill or a…”
“Potion,” she finished as he faltered.
“Yes. Perhaps there are notes in one of these books.” He pointed to the nearest shelf, wagging one impatient finger.
“I don’t have time to…”
“I’ll pay you well for your time,” he said before she could refuse him again. He had money to spare, and any knowledge that the old Matilda Candy might have gleaned would surely be worth having as an ace in the hole. “Whether you find what I’m looking for or not, I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
Her strange and beautiful eyes no longer twinkled with amusement. They were dead serious as she stared up at him, studying him as blatantly as he had studied her earlier. She scrutinized him as if she expected to find answers on his face.
“Mr. Harper,” she finally said, her voice low and calm. “There’s no such thing as a love potion. There’s no magical recipe I can concoct that will affect the workings of the heart. My granny taught me that much.”
His little bit of patience fled. “But…”
She held up a small hand to silence his protests. “However, I might be able to find something in the way of an aphrodisiac that will meet your particular needs.”
“An aphrodisiac.”
“A tonic that will—”
“I know what an aphrodisiac is, Miss Candy.”
She smiled again, but without the withheld amusement. “A lust potion. Will that work?”
He considered the possibility. In truth he didn’t care why Vanessa Arrington agreed to marry him, only that she did. He had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to achieve his goals.
“How can I be sure this potion will be, ummm, guided in the proper direction?”
“You want to make sure this woman’s attentions turn to you and not to just any man, is that it?”
“Yes.”
He could see a bright curiosity light Matilda Candy’s eyes, as he saw the way she fought back the urge to smile and ask him outright who his intended victim—recipient was a better word, he decided quickly—would be.
“Be present when she takes it,” Matilda said sensibly. “Stay with her until the aphrodisiac takes effect.” She glanced at the books on a far shelf. “This is, of course, assuming I can find something that will w
ork properly.”
Declan felt a rush of great relief, as if he’d handed his problem of how to deal with Vanessa to someone else. Of course, he’d always found it wise to delegate those chores he found distasteful.
“When do you think you might have this aphrodisiac ready for me?”
“Come back on Monday.” Matilda walked to the door and opened it for him, signaling, without question, that their visit was over. “After dark,” she added in a low voice as he passed. “I’m much too busy during the day to devote much time to your… special project.”
“Thank you,” he said as he stepped through the door. “I really appreciate—”
She closed the door before he could finish his thanks. He scowled at the door. The old Matilda Candy had never been so rude!
Since the publication of her first book in 1994, Linda Winstead Jones has published more than sixty novels and novellas. She’s a five-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award and—writing as Linda Fallon—winner of the 2004 RITA for paranormal romance.
Her leisure activities include retail therapy (she never met a shoe she didn’t like), easy hiking (as long as it’s not too hot or too cold), and, naturally, reading. She attempts to grow things in her garden, occasionally beating out the squirrels for fruit and vegetables. An active member of the Romance Writers of America, she lives in Huntsville, Alabama with her husband of more than thirty-nine years.
Linda enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her at www.lindawinsteadjones.com
Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Excerpt from INTO THE WOODS by Linda Jones
Meet Linda Jones
Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Excerpt from INTO THE WOODS by Linda Jones
Meet Linda Jones
