Witch Angel

by Trana Mae Simmons

  “It’d have to handle a lot of people,” Basil grumbled. “Any one of Chenaie’s neighbors could be behind this. They all want that timber company’s money in their hands as fast as they can get it.”

  “Frannie’s computer can handle anything we put in it. But who’s got the biggest motive? You’ve been watching what’s been going on down there for a lot longer than Frannie and me.”

  “Fitzroy and the timber company,” Basil spat. “I’ve known it’s him all along, but like Alaynia says, we’ve got to have something that will stand up in court. He’s been smart enough to make friends with the people who need his money so bad—keep them stirred up and ticked off because Shain won’t let the company cross Chenaie land.”

  “That’s the way he protects himself, I guess, by making it look like it could be any of dozens of people retaliating against Shain.”

  “Right,” Basil said. “Say, wasn’t Francesca supposed to join us?”

  “She had to make a trip home. Violet—that’s who took over for Frannie when we left supposedly on a vacation—wanted to talk to her about something. She’ll be back soon.”

  “What’s it like there?” Basil asked quietly.

  “Wonderful,” Sylvia replied unhesitatingly. “It can be peaceful and quiet, or you can get involved, like Frannie and I do. It can be whatever you choose it to be.”

  “Well, I sure wouldn’t want to sit around. I’d want something to do.”

  “That can be arranged.” Sylvia quickly decided to take advantage of the interest Basil expressed in life beyond the plane on which he now existed and expand on what he could expect. She wouldn’t tell him much, she reminded herself, recalling the plan she and Frannie had decided upon. They would tantalize him, but allow him to think he had total control of his decision.

  Which he really did, she mused as she fell silent and watched his contemplating face. There was also that other question she and Frannie needed answered, and maybe he would consider responding to her inquiry now, given their improved relationship.

  “Why do you want to spend your existence here, Basil?” she asked.

  His face immediately closed up. “Chenaie has always been everything I wanted.”

  Sylvia sighed in consternation. Frannie’s rationalization about a human male’s resistance to change was evidently true.

  They watched Shain and Alaynia start back toward the buggy, with Cole trailing along behind. After the buggy headed down the road toward Chenaie again, Basil rose and glided after it. Sylvia followed him on silent wings, not speaking again until they reached the graveyard near the manor house, where Basil drifted down beside the tombstone towering above the smaller monuments.

  “You wife’s buried there, isn’t she?” Sylvia asked in a respectful voice.

  “Yes, my Laureen. She loved Chenaie, just like I did. I used to tell her sometimes that I thought she’d only married me for Chenaie. ‘Course she joked back at me, saying I’d only courted her to have a mistress for Chenaie.”

  “It must have been a lot of responsibility for a woman—running a place this complicated.”

  “She got tired sometimes,” Basil admitted. “But so did I. We were each other’s strength, though.”

  “How did she die?” Sylvia asked.

  For a second, she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Then he spoke in a voice gruff with clogged grief. “It was so stupid. And it was my fault. I never could deny her anything, and she saw that darn stallion Thibedeaux had for sale—thought it would be a perfect stud for Chenaie. I had to leave on a business trip to New Orleans the same day Thibedeaux delivered that son of a gun. I never thought she’d try to ride him. The fall broke her neck.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “They sent me a couple wires, but they didn’t catch up to me until I got off the steamboat in New Orleans and went to meet with my factor there. They couldn’t keep her until I got back—they had to go ahead and bury her. I never saw her again.”

  Sylvia maintained a considerate hush as Basil flicked a live oak leaf from the top of the tombstone. For a second, he studied the flowers in an urn placed at the front of the large stone, which were wilting in the heat. He blinked his eyes, and a fresh bouquet replaced the bedraggled one.

  She was beginning to understand Basil a little better. At first, she’d thought he wanted to hang around Chenaie because it fed his ego to survey the results of his lifetime of work—built with the labor of people he’d bought. But perhaps his reasons for the opulence were more to have what he considered a proper place for his wife to live.

  And he definitely carried a load of guilt over Laureen’s death. She knew quite a bit about guilt. At times, the human spirits under her care had lamented how they had lived their lives. Part of her job had been to counsel them and remind them of all the good things they had achieved. One way she had helped them overcome their regret was to quickly integrate them into their new plane of existence, which now included friends and family from their previous lives.

  An idea began forming in her mind, and she could hardly wait for Frannie to return so they could discuss it.

  Chapter 19

  Alaynia prepared for the night as carefully as though it were her wedding night. After lavishly scenting the water with floral bath salts, she bathed in the tub and shampooed her hair, rinsing it with a pail of water she’d kept back for that purpose. Blessing her hair’s natural waviness, she combed it free of snarls and roughed it up with her fingers, allowing it to dry on its own. She sprayed a mist from the only bottle of perfume she’d brought with her and walked through it, wanting the fragrance on her entire body.

  Slipping into the nightgown she had packed in Boston—the shortie with the spaghetti straps—she covered it with her floor-length robe. When she received her commission from Jake, a couple more nightgowns were on her list of needed items.

  A smile of anticipation tilting her lips, she turned the rose comforter back on the bed, smoothing and tugging until it lay in a neat triangle, exposing the snow-white sheets. She fluffed up the pillows and propped them against the headboard. This was right—so right. She wanted Shain—wanted to make love with him and feel him a part of her. The intensity of her feelings—her love—mocked anything she experienced before. She had not one inkling of doubt that their night together might be a mistake, or that their commitment to each other was wrong. Whatever else happened—however much time they had together—at least she would always have her memories of this night with Shain.

  Briefly the thought crossed her mind that, should she eventually return to her own world, she might go pregnant. She could support a child—she would dearly love having Shain’s child. But it was unlikely for her to become pregnant at this time of month, with her menstrual cycle due in another four days and her always being regular.

  She’d tried birth control pills with John, at his insistence. However, after only a month, her gynecologist had taken her off them, citing what the doctor considered a tendency toward blood clots due to the hormones. Not wanting the invasion of any other artificial deterrent to conception in her body, she carefully studied and practiced the rhythm method, much to John’s disgruntlement at times.

  She had decided to take no precautions with Shain. If she became pregnant, if she had enough time and opportunities to conceive a child with Shain, she would welcome it.

  With nothing left to do until Shain joined her, she walked over to the drafting table, which the carpenter had already finished under Jeannie’s direction. Turning the wick up on the kerosene light in the wall sconce, she adjusted the tabletop for the best illumination. Beside her case of drawing pens lay the stack of letters. Darn it, she knew she’d left them on the mantle. She glanced at the fireplace and saw the Bible in the same place, but the cover open. Swiveling, she stared through the open window at the graveyard.

  It was peacefully serene, with no sign of mist hovering over the large tombstone, and she didn’t feel frightened this time. Her usually pragmatic mind had come to her rescue,
telling her this was something she had to deal with. But instead, frustration built. She’d tried to bury her conversation with Jake in her subconscious and concentrate on the coming night with Shain, but she remembered every word of the discussion. Too many things pointed to the one conclusion she and Jake had reached—she had traveled through time on the basis of some spiritual intervention.

  The lack of any other explanation topped the list of reasons, but she still had no idea why it had happened to her. Tana had experienced a vision of her arrival. She, herself, had felt something—someone?—the first morning she woke in the Camellia Room. The letters and Bible weren’t in the room prior to the time she and Tana entered after her fall from the horse, and Zeke was scared to death of her.

  Reluctantly, she picked up the letters and untied the string once again. Flipping through them, she read the faded addresses—some to Basil St. Clair of Chenaie Plantation, St. Francisville, and others to someone named Laureen Loreauville, Alexandria, Rapides Parish. The last two were addressed to Laureen St. Clair of Chenaie, and one of them was unopened.

  She carried the letters with her and walked over to the fireplace. On the inside of the Bible, she studied the names more carefully. Basil’s parents were listed as being from Boston, which didn’t surprise her too much. The attorney had sent her a copy of the initial report the detective had made to Great-Aunt Tilda, confirming her distant connection to the St. Clair family by the marriage of one of her now-deceased relatives into the line.

  She traced across from Basil’s name and read that of Laureen Loreauville, of Rapides Parish, and the date of their marriage—September 9th, 1809. They had only one child, Christopher, born in 1812. Christopher married Catherine Amite of East Baton Rouge Parish in 1842. The lineage history continued with notes of Shain’s and Jeannie’s birth dates, in 1843 and 1860, respectively, and ended with a note in a different, more feminine hand of Christopher St. Clair’s death in 1863, annotated as killed in battle that year in the War Between the States.

  She desperately wanted to discuss all this with Shain, but despite his declaration of love for her, she felt their relationship was still too tenuous to be put to the test of that strain. Yet she realized she was doing the same thing she accused him of that afternoon—not sharing with him a disquietude over something troubling her. Why on earth had she been selected to look into Chenaie’s past, as the appearance of the letters and Bible seemed to indicate? Even more puzzling—why had she been transported into this time period? What effect would her arrival have on future events—both here and back in her own time?

  Surely, her disappearance had caused the attorney to start an investigation. They would find nothing, though, except her unmade bed in the hotel room. Assured by the hotel management of being able to return and find another room if she needed it, since they were infrequently booked up in the July off-season, she had repacked before she checked out. The attorney had promised to have the utilities at the manor house reconnected and the house cleaned before she met him, yet he had mentioned some problem with the hot water heater. Hopefully, the plumber should have had a new one installed before she reached the house, but one could never tell.

  Her car and all her belongings had been transported, along with her, through the time barrier. Her apartment lease had been up for renewal, and she had made up her mind as soon as she received the attorney’s notice of her inheritance to reside at Chenaie. Cleaning out the apartment hadn’t taken long—she donated her worn furniture and other things she didn’t want to the Salvation Army and rented a small storage shed for what she decided to keep—mostly books and a couple of antiques she’d found and restored, which she couldn’t bear to part with, as well as her stereo, television, and DVD player. She’d paid the rental fee for a six-month period, and when she didn’t return, the contents would be auctioned off after a while.

  She had to talk to Shain about this—overcome her reluctance to bring up a subject she knew he found distasteful. Or perhaps it might behoove her to discuss it first with Tana and gather more information to uphold her and Jake’s conclusion. The healer had offered her friendship, seeming quite confident Alaynia would eventually need to accept it.

  The connecting door opened, and Alaynia turned from the fireplace. Shain’s face wore a brooding look she at first mistook as worry over either the catastrophes at Chenaie or a new problem. She glided toward him, bare feet whispering on the carpet, and he hesitantly held out his arms.

  She immediately sensed the reason for his concern. Why, he was anxious about what was about to happen between them. How sweet. She curved her arms around his neck and tilted her face up for his kiss.

  Shain’s words confirmed Alaynia’s thoughts. “I want this night to be right for both of us,” he murmured. “I want us to remember it for the rest of our lives—whether we’re together or apart.”

  “You’ll always be a part of me, Shain. Whether I’m with you or not.”

  He kissed her tenderly at first, but the ever-present desire between them quickly flared into deep longing. One large palm cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling in the dark brown curls as he tasted inside her mouth. His other hand smoothed a path to her waist and tugged at the belt on her robe, slipping it free from her careless tie.

  Nudging the robe apart, he slowly inched toward her straining breast, caressing her through the silky gown and sending waves of pleasure cascading over her body. His thumb stroked the underside of her breast, the path of the swirls creeping ever closer to her puckered nipple. When he finally brushed it, Alaynia tightened her arms around his neck to keep from wilting beneath the onslaught of desire, and moaned deep in her throat.

  Shain answered her in kind and swept her up to carry her over to the bed. Instead of laying her down, he allowed her to slide down his length and feel the evidence of his own need. Arching her hips, Alaynia rocked against him, teasing and tantalizing him until the rhythms of their gasping breaths matched the cadence of their movements.

  “Witch,” Shain growled, sliding her robe from her shoulders. “Beautiful witch—my angel.”

  The robe pooled at her feet, and Alaynia untied the belt of Shain’s dressing gown with trembling fingers. Still locked against him, she slid it from his wide shoulders and kneaded the corded muscles bared to her seeking fingers. It caught between them for a second, but Shain splayed his hands on her hips and pushed her away far enough for the dressing gown to slip to the floor. Capturing her close again, he kissed her deeply as he inched the short gown upward.

  Her tongue played willingly with his until he broke the kiss and kissed a path to her ear, then down her neck, tarrying at the spot that brought a whimper of longing from her. Raising his head, he stared down into her face as he pulled the gown on upward, tugging gently until she lifted her hands from his shoulders and allowed him to remove it completely.

  “I love you, Alaynia,” he whispered. “I want to see all of you.”

  Stepping back, he studied her as she proudly posed for him and swept his eyes slowly, inch by inch, down her body. Her breasts swelled even more when his gaze touched them, the nipples clenching with need. She perused of him in return, starting with the cap of black hair tousled by her fingers into tempting disarray and almost losing herself in the deep, desire-laden depths of his sleepy eyes. His partially-open mouth beckoned with promises of pleasure, and the corded neck set on shoulders wide and sweeping. The dark spots of his own nipples crinkled amid the swirls of kinky hair, which narrowed down his chest toward his waist.

  He was magnificent. She could sense his gaze traveling lower on her body, and the moistness between her legs responded. She had touched him in the buggy earlier that day, but now her eyes could see the blatant evidence of how much he wanted her. He surged as her gaze touched him there, and his hands clenched beside his muscular thighs.

  “Will I do, my love?” she asked with in an impish tone, wandering her gaze back up his body and fixing it on his face.

  “Perfectly,” Shain responded.
“You’re beautiful, Alaynia. No man could ever want more than you.”

  He cupped her breasts and flicked his thumbs back and forth across the nipples. Her eyes drifted almost closed and her lips parted, and when he lowered his head to touch one nipple with his tongue, she gripped his shoulders and slowly wilted onto the bed. He followed her, catching her hips and moving her across the cool sheet to lie down beside her.

  Alaynia held his head against her breast as she reached down between them and caught him in her hand. His moan of need at her touch was smothered against her breast, and she stroked his length, circling tantalizingly around the tip. Releasing her breast, he lifted himself over her, then gripped her arms and raised them above her head.

  “I want this to last, lovely witch,” he murmured. “I want you wild with wanting for me—as wild as I already am for you.”

  “I want you now, Shain,” she insisted, arching up against him.

  But he caught both her hands in one of his and lowered his head. His kisses and swirling tongue began covering her body, starting with her eyelids and moving down her cheeks, her neck. His other hand slicked down her side, his fingers gently kneading and caressing. When his mouth found her breast again, his fingers found their home between her legs. With an incoherent gasp meant to be his name, she clenched around his hand as he slipped his fingers into her and rubbed a thumb across her center of desire. Her body crescendoed into a thousand pieces in a shattering ecstasy such as she had never experienced.

  His nudging for entrance brought her back to the reality of realizing her passion was far from quenched. Wrapping her legs around him, she offered herself willingly. Arms free now, she held onto the bulging biceps of his upper arms and opened her eyes. As he slipped inside her, Shain’s face contorted into an agonized mask of pleasure. She gasped with the beginnings of a new fulfillment, forcing herself to keep her eyes open and watch him. His obvious ecstasy sent spirals of flames over her entire being. He moved tentatively at first, struggling to prolong their enjoyment. Her own sense of womanhood flared, the wonder of being able to give so much to him filling her with a joy she couldn’t contain.