“Where are you going?” he asked in a low voice. “The castle’s the other way —”
“Keep quiet,” she snapped in the kind of tone that brooked no disagreements. He was trying to get her to talk to draw the attention of the guards who’d inevitably follow them, and she wasn’t having it. They moved quickly into the trees. She knew she was heading in the opposite direction of the castle — that was the point. Once they were pursued, the guards were bound to check the path to the castle — and she didn’t fancy trying to outrun them with a captive in tow. No — she’d head in the opposite direction, let them waste their time and energy trying to find her and her captive in the trees between the camp and the castle, and then with any luck circle around and bring Graham to the MacClarans.
God, she hoped they’d let her back through the gates. Surely the intel she was bringing would make up for the inconvenience she’d caused them by getting herself captured like this. It had been an eventful night, that was for sure.
The rain just got harder and harder as they moved quickly through the trees. Graham was silent, and what she could make out of his facial expression was dour — he kept shooting aggrieved glances at her, as though waiting for her to lower the gun. Well, she wasn’t going to. They might have had a bit of — well, intimate contact — back there, but that was over, now. He was a hostage, and she was going to keep an eye on him. Still, a part of her was hoping that maybe she’d be able to get him to change his mind about the MacClarans… maybe if she brought him back to the castle with her, introduced him to them all, explained the full story…
Don’t be stupid, Bethany, she told herself, a little disgusted with how rapidly her imagination had run away with her. He’s a witch hunter… the sworn enemy of the MacClarans. He thinks they killed his father. Why on earth would he be willing to change his mind about that? After all, she wasn’t exactly giving him an abundance of reasons to trust her — all she’d done so far was lie to him.
Lightning cracked, and they both jumped, startled by the sound — the low rumble of thunder had been a presence all night, but the storm was clearly getting worse, wind and rain whipping at their faces. She wasn’t dressed for this — she could feel the cold seeping through to her bones, and even the adrenaline of the escape wasn’t exactly keeping her comfortable. Graham wasn’t in great shape, either — she could see him shivering as they moved and she gritted her teeth as they came upon a creek, its banks swollen with the fresh rain. They needed to find somewhere to take shelter — and fast.
“There’s a cave,” Graham shouted above the roar of the rain and the rumble of thunder. “Downstream a little way — not big, but big enough to keep us dry until the rain eases up.”
She hesitated, worried that this was a trap… but what other choice did she have? She could freeze to death with her hostage or take his word that there was a cave that would keep them safe. So gritting her teeth, she gestured him down the stream. They walked in silence for a few minutes, her body shivering in the rain — and sure enough, around the next bend of the stream, she could make out the entrance to a cave, a kind of hollowing out of the riverbank, with a root-thick overhang that kept the entrance dry.
They made their way in — it was even darker in here, and she cursed under her breath, digging her phone out of her pocket and thanking whatever god may have been listening that she’d opted for the waterproof model when she was signing up for her new phone plan. There was enough battery left to run the flashlight for a little while at least, and she used it to scan the cave, ignoring Graham’s shocked gasp at the sudden light.
“So you do know how to use these devices,” he said, his voice low and accusing. “What other lies have you told me, Galena?”
“That’s not my name,” she said flatly, giving him a steely look in the low light. “Graham — the whole situation is… more complicated than you’d believe. I’m sorry I’ve misled you, but I wasn’t really interested in getting tortured to death back there, you know?”
“Tell me the truth,” he said simply, his voice shaking a little. “Tell me who you are — tell me why you look so much like my wife.”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have until the storm lets up, don’t we?” he said, gesturing to the storm that was raging outside. Sure enough, the rainfall seemed to have intensified… she was a little worried that the stream was going to break its banks and flood the little cave they’d found themselves in, but the bone-dry dirt at their feet indicated that that was a rare occurrence.
“Fine,” she sighed, leaning her back against the cave wall and sliding down into a sitting position. The gun she kept trained on him — he didn’t need to know that the safety catch was on. “But the minute the storm lets up, we’re moving. I want to get back to the castle as soon as possible. I’ll let you go, after that,” she said, giving him a warning look. “I have no intention of harming you. I just want to get back to my friends.”
“Your friends,” he said flatly. “So the MacClaran witches are your friends.”
“I’ve only known them for a week,” she said irritably. “Listen — it’s probably best I start from the start. And all of this is going to sound completely ridiculous, so… just… don’t interrupt, okay? I get that it’s weird, I promise you. I’ve lived it, I know exactly how stupid it sounds. So. Where to start.” She took a deep breath, the phone’s torchlight illuminating her face as she set it carefully down against a rock. “My name’s Bethany, for a start. Bethany Cortland. I’m an intelligence analyst with the US Army.”
He frowned. “An army? A woman soldier?”
“Intelligence analyst. What did I say about interrupting?”
“Fine,” he said, but his eyes were troubled. God, if he already had a problem with her story, she couldn’t wait to tell him all about the time travel.
“I’m not a witch. I’m just a — a regular woman. But I wasn’t born here. I was born…” She took a deep breath. “I was born in the future. In the twenty-first century. My sister went missing, I came to find her, and then suddenly I woke up in that big castle on that hill, five hundred years in the past.”
Graham opened his mouth, and she made a warning gesture with the gun that silenced him.
“But why do I look like your wife, right? Right. So. I don’t understand all of this super well myself, so bear with me, but… a few decades ago, right, a woman called Morag fell in love with a MacClaran man called Gavin. They wanted to be together, but the clan forbade it, because people thought she was a witch. God, I’m beginning to hate that word. Anyway, she … she actually was a witch, I guess, because she put a curse on the clan. She said that whenever a MacClaran man fell in love with a woman, that woman would meet an untimely death.”
Graham’s eyes widened. “Galena. The curse — the curse is what killed her.” Horror came across his face. “I killed her. It was my fault.”
Chapter 15
“You couldn’t have known,” she said gently, wanting to reassure him. “It’s not your fault, honestly. Nor is it Morag’s,” she added with a frown. “All Morag wanted was to be with her love… she would have lifted the curse. She almost did, but a MacClaran got to her first. He killed her, and with her dying breath, she tried to lift the curse. But all she managed to do was ensure that after the women died, one of their descendants would be brought back through time to take their place.”
Graham was staring at her. “So —”
“So I’m not Galena,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “But… I’m kind of a reincarnation of her, I guess? I don’t really know how it works. Anyway, my sister broke the curse. My sister Delilah — she was Morag’s reincarnation. And the witchcraft that the castle is famous for isn’t witchcraft — it’s just… modern medicine, basically.”
But Graham was clearly still stuck on the reincarnation aspect of the situation. “You’re not Galena. Then why did you —”
“Because I wanted to not get killed,” she said irritably. “What, did you expect me
to explain all this stuff to your boss? Do you think he was likely to spare my life if I explained that I’m not a witch, just a time traveler?”
“I understand,” he said faintly, his face flickering as his mind clearly raced behind his stoic demeanor. “I understand why you did what you did.” But when he looked at her, it was with a new distrust, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of grief. It had been quite nice, being looked at with so much love… the way he’d touched her, the way he’d held her, the way he’d defended her against his boss… but, she told herself, that had all been because he thought she was Galena. And though she may look like her, she wasn’t her.
“I’m sorry,” she said now, shrugging her shoulders a little. “I didn’t want to mislead you… I didn’t want you to think your wife was back when…”
“When she’s not,” he said simply.
She nodded.
“I had a dream, about a week after I arrived here,” she said softly, not sure whether this was such a good idea, but oddly wanting to be as honest as she could with Graham to make up for misleading him earlier. “A strangely realistic dream… a dream about being swept away down a river.”
He looked up at her sharply, a look of pain on his face. “Aye, that’s how she was taken. We were running from the storm — a storm like this one,” he added, glancing out into the inclement weather outside. “We crossed a bridge, slippery from the rain… she fell, and that was that. I ran down the bank, calling for her, but she was pulled from my view, and that was the last I saw of her.” His face darkened. “Now I know that it was the result of a witch’s curse, I’m more determined than ever to stamp them out for good.”
Bethany bit her lip. He was right, technically. What Morag had done had been reckless and violent… and unjust, too, to inflict death on the women and not the men of the family she was so angry with. What had those innocent women done to deserve an untimely early death? But in her defense, she hadn’t intended to leave the curse in place… it had been a bluff. The same way Bethany had never intended to actually shoot Graham with the gun… unfortunately, someone had killed Morag before she could lift the curse. She’d done her best… and a lot of good had come of the powerful magic that had brought so many women from the twenty-first century back to this time and place. A lot of chaos had accompanied it too, though, she thought with a frown.
“I understand that you’re angry,” she said softly, trying to appeal to his better nature. “What Morag did… it wasn’t good, I agree. But Morag is long dead. My sister Delilah is the one who replaced her… and she broke the curse. It’s thanks to Delilah that no more of the MacClaran men’s lovers will be killed by the curse. I understand wanting revenge, but the woman you want… she’s already dead.”
“I don’t just want the witch responsible for my wife’s death,” Graham said stubbornly. “I want all witches, dead and gone.”
“Including Cristabella?” Bethany said irritably. “Cristabella, who serves your master? She has magical powers, doesn’t she?”
“That’s different,” he said stiffly. “She’s using her powers for good.”
“So are the women at Castle MacClaran!” Bethany exploded, frustrated beyond belief. “They’re just women from the future who are making the best of a deeply weird situation! They’re healers, caregivers… they just happen to know things that you backwards idiots don’t, so they’ve been tarred with the brush of witchcraft! You all deserve to die of the plague, honestly…”
Graham stared at her for a long moment… then surprised her by chuckling. “I think I like this version of you much better than the one I met earlier,” he said softly, and the smile on his face made her heart do a backflip.
Stop that, she warned herself. He was her captive, and her sworn enemy — he’d just stated his heartfelt desire to end the lives of her friends. There was absolutely no room for affection here.
“Bethany. It’s good to meet you, Bethany.”
“Sure it is,” she said irritably, trying to suppress the wash of warmth for him that she felt when he said her name. “I’ll point out that I’m one of the so-called MacClaran witches that you want killed.”
He hesitated, looking at her. “Are you?”
“By your logic, yes! All I did was try to find my sister then get pulled back here… but if Delilah’s a witch, then so am I. Do you want me dead? Really?”
He looked uncertain. “I don’t know. Are you willing to use your powers for good, like Cristabella?”
“She’s not using her powers for good,” Bethany said testily. “She’s using them to manipulate Matthew and keep herself alive, that’s all — and if it comes at the expense of innocent women like me, she doesn’t give a shit. I saw her little torture kit, by the way. How many women have been subjected to interrogations?”
His jaw tensed. “I don’t… necessarily agree with everything that Cristabella does. But Matthew trusts her — “
“Matthew trusts her because she’s screwing him,” Bethany said matter-of-factly, and Graham recoiled in genteel horror at her language in a way that would have made her laugh if she wasn’t feeling so frustrated. “Do you really not see that? She’s manipulating you. Does she even have any real power, or is it all an act?”
“She does,” Graham said seriously. “I’ve seen it. She can drive men into a frenzy —”
Bethany snorted laughter.
Graham looked injured. “No! More than just — the way she looks. From a distance, I mean. I’ve seen her turn whole armies to madness with a wave of her hand.”
“Well, maybe,” she admitted, rolling her eyes a little. “But the fact remains — if you can allow what you call ‘witchcraft’ when it’s in service of the greater good, you should have no problem with any of the so-called witches up at the castle. Who I’ll introduce you to,” she said brightly. “Tomorrow, when the rain lets up and we get to the castle.”
“No,” Graham said flatly. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”
She stared at him. “You’re my captive, Graham. You don’t call the shots here. I like you, but you don’t get to say where we go.”
“I’m not going to that nest of witches,” he spat. “Might I remind you that they killed my father?”
“I don’t think they did!” she said irritably. “How do you know that, anyway?”
“My mother told me and my siblings —”
“Your mother wanted you to think your father was a hero,” she said gently, thinking of her own mother. “Of course she did. My mother wanted that for me, too. But my father wasn’t a hero… he was a deeply flawed man, like every other man who’s ever lived.”
“No,” Graham insisted. “He was a hero, and the witches killed him.”
“If that’s the case, you won’t mind coming up and meeting them and telling them that yourself.”
“I’d rather you slay me with that ungodly weapon,” he said, gesturing to the gun in her hands with a steely look in his blue eyes. She glared at him for a long moment. Was he really stupid enough to call her bluff? She wasn’t going to shoot him… even a minor injury was likely to kill him, without antibiotics to ward off infection, and she didn’t want his death on her hands.
“Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You can choose. You come with me to the castle willingly… or you come with a hole blown through your chest.”
He narrowed his eyes at the threat… and then, to her surprise, he lunged at her, grabbing for the gun. She shouted protest as his considerable bulk hit her, and they struggled, the light bouncing wildly around the cave as her phone went skittering away after an errant blow from his fist. But Bethany had a lot more practice with this kind of thing than Graham expected — even though he was bigger than her, she knew how to use his size against him. It wasn’t long before she had him pinned — breathing hard, she pressed his arms to the ground beside his head, gritting her teeth with the effort. He was staring up at her with shock on his handsome face, and she remembered for a moment being in bed with him, the way
he’d kissed her, his strong hands on her face… and as if sensing her distraction, he lunged, throwing her off him and wrestling with her for the gun.
To her horror, she found herself pinned beneath him. The gun had gone flying — it was at the back of the cave with her phone, now, lying half-buried in some dirt. She gritted her teeth, ready to force Graham to keep wrestling with her instead of grabbing for the gun… but something was wrong. The way he was breathing, the way he was looking at her… she became abruptly aware that his attention was anywhere but on the deadly weapon he’d been fighting for. She could feel his body, hot against hers, the uneven breathing, a certain hardness pressing against her hip that couldn’t have been the pistol…
She took a deep breath, furious at the way her body was betraying her. Here she was, in a fight for her life with a captive who’d just broken free, and all she could think about were his hard muscles under her hands, the cool blue of his eyes, the closeness of his lips, the scent of him… sweat and dirt and rain and a touch of something intensely masculine that was all him…
She wriggled in his grasp, trying to free herself, and an unmistakable groan ripped itself free of his lips as her hips rocked against his. And as if a dam had broken, suddenly they were kissing each other, their faces clashing together furiously as they continued to grapple for a completely different kind of dominance. Graham’s breath was hot against her throat as his hands roamed angrily across her body, grabbing and squeezing, pulling her this way and that… and she was giving as good as she got, breath coming in furious gasps as she tore at his clothing, suddenly consumed with the need to unclothe him, all her planning and scheming coming undone at the feeling of his body against hers, at the desperate, raging desire to have him, to kiss him, to expose more of his body …
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