Magical Memories

by Donna Fletcher

  “You couldn’t.”

  He laughed and a chill ran over her. “You underestimate my powers.”

  “No,” she said softly. “You underestimate mine.”

  He moved too fast for her to slip out of his reach. His hand grabbed hers firmly, but his dark eyes actually held her captive.

  “Join with me. Our powers combined could never be matched or challenged.”

  “You speak of joining for the sole purpose of power. What about love?”

  “If love is what you wish, I will give it to you.”

  “Where does this love come from? Out of necessity? Or your heart?”

  “I offer you unimaginable power, a far greater gift than love,” he said with a hint of anger.

  “You don’t understand,” she said sadly.

  He laughed and she braced herself for the chill that raced over her. “I understand all too well. You believe that love is power.”

  She touched his face, a face so handsome it could steal breaths and break hearts.

  He rubbed his cheek against the palm of her hand. “I can feel your powerful energy race through me, and I want to taste it, savor it, drink deeply of it, and I want you to do the same with mine.”

  “But your energy would not be as strong as mine.”

  He gripped both her hands, and she winced. He softened his touch. “You speak foolishly.”

  “I speak with wisdom. My power comes from love. Where does yours come from?”

  He released her and cupped her chin. “If you wish love, I will give it to you.”

  “You cannot give what you do not understand.”

  He smiled and it shivered her flesh. “Then make me understand, teach me about the power of love and perhaps then you will not deny our joining.”

  She attempted to protest and he stilled her words with a brief kiss. “You know it is inevitable. We will join.”

  “We will join. We will join. We will join.”

  Tempest stood at the bedroom door, listening to Michael repeat the words over and over and over, and tears came to her eyes. Had the spell been set in motion? Had he finally returned to settle their fate? She still couldn’t be certain, though it seemed a strong possibility. And she was terribly attracted to him. She felt so comfortable with him and his touch felt familiar and his kisses drugged her senses, just as Marcus’s had done so many years ago.

  She quietly shut the door as she stepped back into the hall.

  She had to approach this situation with the utmost care. Just as she had set fate into motion when she had joined with Marcus, she would do the same again if she joined with Michael.

  She eagerly sought her bed and sleep, wanting to escape her haunting thoughts, if only for one night.

  Michael woke early from a troubled sleep. He slipped on his jeans and grabbed for a sweatshirt from the drawer. He was surprised to find he had pulled on the red sweatshirt that didn’t belong to him. He shrugged, not caring at the moment and saw to getting on his socks.

  With the aid of the crutch which he had mastered near perfectly, he hobbled out of his room, intent on making himself a strong cup of coffee.

  It was barely past dawn, and the rooms still hovered in near darkness. He took quiet and careful steps so as not to wake Tempest. But as he approached the stairs, and her bedroom door that stood slightly ajar, he heard her soft cries.

  She sounded upset, frightened, and he silently cursed whatever dream tormented her as he hurried into her bedroom. Her blanket lay twisted down around her waist and legs and she struggled against it as if someone held her down. Her hair raged in glorious flames around her stunningly beautiful face and her troubled cries continued to spill from her trembling lips.

  He went to her side, resting the crutch against the headboard. He sat down beside her and gently gathered her in his arms.

  She instantly responded, wrapping frantic arms around him and burying her face in his chest. He soothed her with slow, tender strokes up and down her back. He rested his chin on the top of her head and spoke softly, insisting that she was safe with him and that he would allow no one to harm her.

  Her body trembled against his, and she attempted to move as close as possible to him. If he hadn’t been braced against the wooden headboard she would have sent him toppling.

  Realizing she would not settle down until feeling completely safe he pulled her up and onto his lap where she cuddled herself contentedly against him. He pressed comforting kisses to her forehead, stroked her slim neck and rested his one hand beneath her warm breast and continued reassuring her with his soft words yet firm promise that no one would harm her.

  She gradually calmed and relaxed in his arms, falling into a peaceful slumber.

  Damn, why did he have to feel so content like this with her wrapped safely in his embrace? A relationship with her just wasn’t possible. A brief affair?

  He shook his head. He wanted more.

  Hell, he hadn’t even made love to her yet, and he wanted more. Where did that insane feeling come from?

  Need?

  Did he need to love to find something solid and trusting in his life? When he ran away at sixteen he thought one day he would stop. But he woke up at thirty-six and found he was still running.

  Why?

  No answer came to him. He could make no sense of his life. It remained empty, devoid of any true emotions, hopes or dreams. It was as if he wandered the world searching for an answer to his existence.

  Would he find his answers here in Scotland, or was it Tempest who would help him find the answers?

  He sighed quietly and rested his head back. He didn’t know what the next few weeks would bring. He only knew that he didn’t look forward to his time with her coming to an end.

  After making certain she slept peacefully, Michael tucked her safe and warm beneath the quilt and soundlessly left the room.

  o0o

  Tempest woke to the alluring scent of fresh coffee, eggs and bacon, and smiled, feeling more content than she had in a long time. She hurried to dress in a purple knit skirt and a matching waist-length button-up purple sweater. She wore purple socks, minus shoes. She preferred her feet free from confinement and often went barefoot, though in the winter she wore socks to ward off the cold.

  She twisted up her long reddish-gold hair and secured it to the back of her head with a gold clip as she eagerly made her way downstairs. The delicious scent was making her mouth water.

  “Hungry?” Michael asked as she rushed into the kitchen.

  She smiled as he turned away from the counter, coffeepot in hand, and she raced over to him, giving him a hug around his middle. “Starving,” she said cheerfully and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before she abandoned him for the food on the kitchen table.

  Her easygoing and undemanding nature never failed to startle him, and he found himself envious of her relaxed nature.

  He was always on guard, not trusting, waiting for the inevitable disappointment.

  They talked, teased and laughed throughout the meal, and Tempest insisted that since he did the cooking it was only fair that she do the cleanup. He didn’t argue with her. He liked watching her. She had a graceful yet sexy way she moved, though it was more like an orchestrated waltz. She swayed, dipped and bent in such provocative movements that he could have sworn she was dancing to entice him.

  They both agreed there was work to be done in the greenhouse, but they could have agreed on any task as long as it was done together. A closeness had developed between them over the last few days that was hard to explain, and Michael didn’t even want to attempt to try.

  He simply wanted to enjoy it.

  They were about ready to make their way to the greenhouse, his arm around her waist and her contented smile fixed on him, when the doorbell sounded, startling them both.

  Chapter Ten

  Michael asked the obvious question. “How could anyone get through all that snow?”

  Tempest could have kicked herself. She was so busy being content wit
h Michael that her guard had slipped, allowing someone to approach her home without her knowledge. Of course, she knew who was at the door, but how to explain their visit to Michael?

  Michael took a protective lead as they both went to the front door.

  He was startled at the good-looking man who stood outside, elegantly tailored in solid black from his cashmere overcoat to his turtleneck and wool trousers. The stranger assessed him with an intensity that almost unnerved him, making him feel as if he had no business being in Tempest’s house.

  Michael suddenly wondered if this man was Tempest’s special friend, but before he could comment a woman stepped around the man and Tempest stepped around Michael and the two women quickly fell into each other’s arms, happily chattering.

  With the women’s endless chatter making introductions impossible, all four made their way into the living room, hanging coats in the hall closet along the way.

  Michael was surprised at his own relief when he noticed that the woman was pregnant. She wore a matching gray knit skirt and oversized sweater that rested comfortably over her small, rounded stomach. They were obviously a couple, and on closer inspection he could see that the man was very much concerned with the woman’s well-being and catered to her in the most loving manner.

  “Michael,” Tempest finally said, reaching out for his hand. “I want you to meet my sister Sarina and her husband Dagon Rasmus.”

  Michael offered a generous smile along with his hand to Dagon, and it was returned in the same manner, though he sensed that the brother-in-law was still taking stock of his character and reserving judgment until later.

  Sarina, on the other hand, was much like her sister, though not in looks. She possessed a natural attractiveness, and her hair was dark where Tempest possessed a fiery beauty that set a man’s heart to thundering. No, it was Tempest’s easygoing nature that Sarina shared.

  She took his hand, holding it with an affectionate friendliness as she spoke with him. “It is so nice to meet you, Michael. You’re from the States, aren’t you? Do you like Scotland? Do you plan to stay long? Whatever brought you here in the first place?”

  Michael couldn’t keep up with her questions, not because they ran into each other but because he wondered how she knew he was from the States when he hadn’t opened his mouth, and he still wondered how they managed to make it through all that snow.

  Dagon was just as curious as his wife and waited for his answers, but Tempest came to Michael’s aid. “Michael is exploring our fair land, though he requires a brief rest due to his injury.”

  Dagon and Sarina looked down at his cast-covered ankle, and before either could ask, he explained.

  “An unfortunate accident and Tempest was kind enough to offer me her home while I heal.” His pause was brief before he asked, “Are the roads passable now?”

  “We had no trouble getting here at all,” Sarina said and sat on the chair to struggle with her boots.

  Dagon went immediately to her side to assist her, and Michael couldn’t help but notice that her black suede boots were barely touched by the inclement weather. For that matter, Dagon wasn’t even wearing boots, and his expensive-looking leather shoes shined much too brightly for someone who supposedly had been outside in the snow. Something didn’t seem right, but he chose not to pursue the strange matter. Tempest appeared pleased with her sister’s visit, and he didn’t want to put a damper on her happiness.

  “Tea to warm you both,” Tempest said as if confirming they were chilled from their extensive ride, and she reached her hand out to her sister. The two men followed the women, trailing behind their incessant chatter.

  Tempest busied herself putting the kettle on and heating scones. Sarina set the table while Dagon and Michael sat at the table in silence.

  The awkward pause allowed Michael time to actually feel the tension rise in the room, but why? Tempest obviously got along well with her sister, and Dagon and she had exchanged a sincere hug and kiss, so what was the problem?

  Him?

  He was the only outside interference in the family reunion, and he wondered if the couple actually objected to his presence here in her home. Did they think him a threat? And if so why? Did they favor her special friend and think him an intruder?

  Sarina broke the silence as she sat down beside her husband, their hands instantly locking together to rest on the table. “How do you like Scotland?”

  “I feel at home here.”

  “And where is your home?” Dagon asked.

  “New Jersey.”

  Dagon continued what sounded too much like an interrogation. “Returning anytime soon?”

  “No, I like it here,” Michael said with a curtness that caused the two sisters to exchange anxious glances.

  It was obvious Dagon was protecting his sister-in-law, and Michael didn’t care for his interference one bit. The man obviously was accustomed to having his own way. With his long, dark hair adding to his good looks and his arrogant manner, Michael didn’t doubt that most didn’t challenge his questions or authority. And while many might think his tall and lean build possessed insignificant physical strength, Michael had no doubt he could hold his own in a brawl—not that he intended to find out, but it was always wise to size up a possible opponent.

  Tempest placed a platter of scones on the table and as she waved her hand toward the two men, Dagon rushed to say, “Don’t you dare—”

  Tempest waved her hand over them both. “Play nice, boys.”

  She held her hand suspended over their immobile bodies to cast a playful look at her sister.

  Sarina laughed softly. “You do know I will hear about this later.”

  “Your husband should have been more polite to my guest.”

  “He can be overprotective of those he cares for,” Sarina said in defense of him.

  “I appreciate Dagon’s concern, but he is well aware that I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t play the protective brother-in-law on occasion,” Sarina said. “And besides, I have worried incessantly about you since last we talked, and my worry caused him to worry about me until he finally insisted we pay you an unexpected visit.”

  “I am pleased you are here.”

  “So am I, but we need to talk,” Sarina insisted.

  “We’ll find time alone later; for now I must make certain these two get along, at least for a while.”

  Before she lowered her suspended hand she directed the coffeepot with her finger to fill Michael’s cup, and when the coffee was returned to rest in its holder, she reached for the teapot which had sat steeping with raspberry tea. She spoke as if in the middle of a conversation.

  “So Michael is going to do some repairs around the cottage for me when he has healed.”

  “That’s generous of you. The place could use fixing here and there,” Dagon said, reaching for a scone to put on his wife’s plate, and then taking one for himself, “though it does hold up quite nicely for its age.”

  “Old is it?” Michael asked, noticing that his cup was filled with coffee. He hadn’t remembered Tempest filling it, though she did know he preferred coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon.

  “The place has been in Tempest and Sarina’s family for years,” Dagon said.

  Michael cast an appreciative eye around the now familiar kitchen. “I like the place. It makes you feel welcome and comfortable.”

  Casual conversation continued until Sarina insisted that Tempest instruct her in making a batch of her soothing scented potpourri. Dagon knew his wife was skilled enough to produce a fragrant batch, and that what she really wanted was time alone with her sister.

  Michael seemed to understand. “I’ll clean up here.”

  “I’ll help,” Dagon offered.

  “Appreciated,” Michael said, and Tempest knew from the friendly exchange that they would survive being left on their own.

  Tempest and Sarina went off to the greenhouse where together they worked
on a batch of their favorite dried herbs and scented flowers while they talked.

  Sarina didn’t waste a minute, but got right to the root of her concern. “You know I am worried about my prediction, and now with meeting Michael, I am even more concerned. Michael could very well be Marcus returned.”

  Tempest nodded. “I know, I have thought about nothing else. And I must admit there is a strong possibility you are right.” Tempest stopped crushing the dried leaves and sat with a sigh on the brightly painted stool, the sweet potent scent clinging to her fingers. “Oh, Sarina, I am ever so attracted to him. His kisses are like—” She stopped, abruptly shaking her head, realizing what she was about to say.

  Sarina finished for her. “He kisses like Marcus, doesn’t he?”

  Tempest nodded, tears staining her green eyes. “I loved him so very much that at times I actually wish Michael was Marcus, and then I find myself liking Michael for who he is.”

  Tempest turned a wide smile on her sister. “Michael is so caring, and he has survived many tragedies in his life and has grown stronger from them.”

  Sarina grew excited. “Then perhaps the spell is working.”

  Tempest’s smile faded slowly. “There is much of the spell yet remaining for him to break. And he can still choose to return to who he once was.”

  “A powerful warlock,” Sarina whispered.

  “Marcus possessed remarkable powers.”

  “Evil powers,” Sarina reminded.

  “And yet he was never unkind or cruel to me.”

  “Why would he be?” Sarina asked. “He wanted something from you that you could only give willingly. Treating you cruelly would have served no purpose for him until he got what he wanted.”

  “He did get what he wanted, Sarina; I joined with him.”

  “I know, that one time, and then—”

  Tempest shook her head. “We joined many times.”

  Sarina was speechless for several seconds before she asked, “How did you manage not to be devoured by his dark side?”

  She laughed sadly. “He underestimated my powers.”

  “What happened?”