The Celtic Witch and the Sorcerer [Celtic Series Book 2] Page 2

  "Nae, my laird."

  She ran toward him and then halted. Coira knew not to touch him without being instructed to do so. Backing away, she lowered her head, falling to her knees before him. “I am ready to be punished."

  The light surrounding Coira's aura was dark red, impatient to feel the sting of the whip. Some women liked to be caressed with a tender hand while others, like Coira, were stimulated by power and violence. No matter the method, Tremayne absorbed their energy when they reached their sexual peak.

  Replacing the goblet, he slowly pulled the whip from his shoulders and cracked the leather bind near her feet. The sharp sound made her body jolt, and the energy surrounding her increased with sexual tension.

  "You will report to me on everything Lady Roberts does."

  Coira nodded, her eyes glazed with lust and submission. Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulled her up and threw her across the bed, face down, her bare backside exposed to him.

  With a flick of his wrist the whip lightly snaked across her flesh and she groaned.

  "Who her companions are."

  The whip cracked in the air.

  "Where she rides."

  This time, the thin leather cut lightly into her flesh.

  "Oh,” she moaned. “Aye, it will be done. Please, punish me again."

  Tremayne smiled, the scent of her arousal reached him and he breathed with satisfaction. There was nothing more intoxicating than a woman's nectar.

  He ran the handle of the whip up the length of her inner thighs until he reached the apex. “Open yer legs,” he commanded, his tone brooked no argument.

  She complied and he rubbed the handle up and down her sleek, moist lips. Her muffled sounds came from the bedcovers, she wiggled against the whip.

  His cock pulsed against the rough fabric of his kilt, but he ignored the constrained ache. Tilting the handle, he slowly eased it inside her. Backwards and forwards, he watched Coira's aura change from red to deep purple as her arousal increased. Soon, she would give him her life-force.

  "Take my whip. Take it!"

  "Aye,” she screamed, her body enveloping the handle further.

  She shrieked, her body shuddering with pleasure. Sizzling energy gathered around her like a glowing cloak. The purple light crackled as it filled Tremayne's body, creating a mystical sensation beyond any physical pleasure. He quickly pulled out the handle and kneeled behind her. Biting his lip with frustration, he lifted his kilt and drove into her warm, pulsating core.

  Thoughts of the Celtic witch fueled his thrusts; harder and harder he pushed inside Coira, punishing his sex maid.

  Soon, very soon, he would be in a position to spill the blood of Lady Gavenia Roberts.

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  Chapter Two

  Tremayne entered the drafty hall with little enthusiasm. Several of his hunting wolves scrabbled to his side, vying for his attention. He spared them a passing glance and gave the largest wolf a brisk pat. For some reason, animals were drawn to him. Perhaps they sensed that their affectionate touch was the only contact he allowed himself.

  Stepping over a black pup, he tried to ignore the filthy hall. He sat on the high chair and surveyed the great chamber. The moldy rushes gave off an unpleasant odor while last eve's meal remained on the trestles. Intoxicated soldiers and rambunctious maids covered tables and benches, entwined with one another in carnal abandonment. Their lusty groans filled the air while a dark ruby light surrounded their bodies.

  Tremayne breathed deeply.

  Sexual energy from the clan infused his body and soul. He held out his hands, his long fingers shaking from the intense power coursing through his veins. Soon, very soon, his skin would settle and his heart beat would slow to its usual rhythm. It did not take long in the morn for his mortal body to adjust to his sorcerer's heritage.

  The chair beside him scraped against the wood. Tremayne tilted his head to study the man who had looked after him since he was born. With a long nose and weak chin, Evan Campbell's brown eyes appeared more sunken then they really were. His lanky body and thin arms made him seem weak, yet one should not be fooled by appearances. Tremayne still held the childhood scars from when Evan whipped him for being too loud in his tower prison.

  The elder man sat down with a hump and banged a tankard on the table. “Bring me ale, wench!” he barked at a passing servant.

  Tremayne leaned casually back into the chair, his jaw muscle tensed.

  "What vexes you this morn?” Evan asked, his attention on a busty brunette lifting her skirt to tease one of the guards. The overweight soldier fell to his knees and rubbed his face in her exposed black curly hair.

  Tremayne pointed to the flies buzzing around the old meat in front of him. “I am vexed by the filth in this hall."

  A loud groan came from a red-haired soldier, his backside rose and fell with each thrust into a plump, pretty maid. She was bending over a table, her yellow kirtle up around her waist.

  Evan faced him. “My laird, the state of yer castle has never bothered you afore."

  "Well it bothers me now. Do your duties Evan and fix it!"

  Evan's eyes darkened but he remained silent. Rising from his chair, he yelled, “Stop fucking and get back to work!” Pushing back his chair, he stormed around the tables and pulled men off by their ears and kicked them. “Get dressed and go back to yer duties."

  Disappointed moans blended with the clatter of dirty bowls being cleared from the tables. Scowls were shot at Evan, and Tremayne smiled. ‘Twas only recent he made Evan the House Steward. Before then, Evan's station was a little more than a common servant. Taking orders from the likes of him did not sit well with the Campbell soldiers, some of them knights. But no one dared show their displeasure toward their laird for fear of reprisal.

  Evan returned to his seat, grinning as if he commanded the soldiers through a great victory. Tremayne sensed the shift in Evan's aura, the older man was aroused. With shaky fingers, Evan slowly reached over to touch Tremayne's leg. His steward looked surreptitiously at him from beneath his eyelashes, lust glowing within his eyes.

  "Continue with that course, and you would be fortunate to only lose your hands."

  In midair, the steward withdrew.

  "You know I do not enjoy a man's flesh,” Tremayne growled. “Perhaps I should cut off one finger for every scar I have on my back."

  Evan paled. “Master, I did not want to whip you. Yer mother commanded I teach you a lesson. She wanted to keep you hidden from the world. When you shouted to the people in the bailey, her secret was out."

  "Having an heir should hold no shame,” Tremayne growled through gritted teeth.

  "I agree, but yer mother was...” Evan nervously looked around as if he would be struck by lightening. “...was vain."

  "Aye, so you have told me. Her youth and beauty was all she cared about."

  Evan added, “And do not forget sex and power.” He slicked back oily brown hair and picked up his tankard, now filled with ale. “Speaking of yer mother, know you it is a full moon this eve?"

  Tremayne resisted the urge to moan like his soldiers did earlier. “I am aware."

  "Miss another moon and she will be greatly angered."

  "You do not need to remind me.” Tremayne nodded and smiled at the same pretty serving maid in the yellow kirtle as she lay down a bowl of lamb broth and bread. He imagined how her white thighs would quiver as he rammed into her from behind, and his cock rose in response.

  "My laird, if you do not summon your mother, she will not tell you the name of yer father. Then all will be lost."

  "She will not tell me anyway!” Tremayne pushed away from the table and rose abruptly. “If she was not already dead, I would kill her myself.” He drank deeply from his ale and slammed it on the table. He pointed at the maid and then pointed upstairs. He faced Evan. “Perhaps with the blood of the witch, my mother will finally be appeased."

  * * * *

  Gavenia settled into her saddle and tucked str
ay strands of bright golden hair beneath the coarse woolen cloak. Fortunately, the gate keeper was more concerned with the soldiers who entered then a lowly wench passing through the gates.

  Her father would be furious if she was discovered riding alone. Even her brother was accompanied by soldiers when he rode outside the walls. In truth, they were his friends, but still, Callum was given more freedom than she because he was a man.

  Kicking her horse into a fast gallop, Gavenia cherished the heady rush of rebellion and freedom. The hood of her cloak fell back and her hair flew wildly in the wind. The breeze cooled the heat of the sun upon her ivory skin while she rocked in rhythm to the horse's gait.

  The troubles of the world disappeared when she rode into the forest. Its creatures, large and small, seem to welcome her as one of their own. All too soon, her secret glen came into view. Thick trees and shrubs surrounded the narrow valley, cradling a small blue pond. The smell of heather floated around her and she breathed deeply, her muscles relaxing.

  Gavenia pulled her mount to a halt and swung off the saddle. The horse wandered to a thick patch of grass while she lowered herself near the pond's edge. Dipping her fingers in the cool water, she caused a ripple to affect the reflection of her face upon the surface. She wished she was not going to die from childbearing or be one of the last Celtic witches.

  Why could she not be like the other maidens, giggling about men who trained in the fields? If not for this curse of knowing her death, she too, would be right beside them. Swaying her hips and licking her lips in hopes of catching the eye of a brave knight.

  She needed to be touched, in an intimate way that made her feel like a woman. To feel the caress of a lover's hand or soft lips kissing every part of her body.

  Gavenia sighed. Lying back on the grass, she unlaced her corset and her chemise, allowing the sun and breeze to touch her full breasts. She ran her fingers over her erect nipples, abandoning herself to the rising passion growing between her thighs. Her hands pulled up the folds of her skirt until she found her pantaloons. In one swift movement, she lifted her hips and pushed her undergarments to her knees, exposing her femininity.

  Images of a naked man entering her chamber invaded her thoughts. Gavenia's head swam and her eyelids became heavy as erotic sensations swept over her body.

  His raven hair touched the wide set of his shoulders as he stood like a statue, staring down at her with gleaming eyes of unspoken passion. His magnificent body was muscular and flawless, its strength barely controlled beneath a mask of wanting.

  He lowered his mouth to hers and possessed her lips. She knew that she would be his forever and did not resist the tongue that plunged into her mouth.

  He sat on the bed beside her. “Open yer legs wider,” he ordered in a low voice full of wanting.

  Oh, what a dream.

  She did as he commanded, for the ache within her was unbearable. He dipped his long, rough fingers inside her moist lips. Her groan mingled with his.

  "Do you like this?” he asked, cupping her breast with one hand and plundering his fingers inside her.

  "Aye,” she replied.

  He pulled his hands away and Gavenia felt the cool breeze replace where it was once warm. She reached for him. “Please do not leave me."

  He chuckled deep within his chest. “I move only to taste you."

  Shifting, he settled between her legs. “Hmm, you smell of sexual yearning.” He placed his hands on her inner thighs and opened her wider, exposing her to his intense perusal.

  She moved closer to him, all inhibitions gone. “Taste me."

  His eyes changed from blue to red as he kissed her moist center. His masterful tongue flicked her sensitive bud, then lapped at her entrance.

  "I thirst for more,” he said. “Give me more."

  His savage hunger increased Gavenia's arousal. She arched her back as spasms of pleasure swept over her. Every inch of her body focused on the stimulation given by his tongue. The uncontrollable tremors inside were like liquid fire coursing beneath her skin. She could not believe how good she felt. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry.

  By the time she opened her eyes, her breathing had returned to normal. The birds chirped and the breeze whistled passed her ears. The fantasy was broken, but not forgotten.

  Gavenia lifted her pantaloons, pulled her skirt down and laced her clothes. She kneeled over the edge of the pond to splash water on her face. With the edges of her gown, she dabbed her skin dry and rose to watch the sun sink behind the mountain. It was getting late and soon she would be missed.

  Swinging back into her saddle, she glanced down at the grassy area where she had laid. The image of the sensual man with red eyes burned into her memory. One day soon, she would escape again from her dreary castle to dream of her handsome lover.

  * * * *

  Coira watched from behind the cover of thick trees as Lady Gavenia rode away. She brushed the leaves aside and stood at the pond. “Master, did you see that?"

  Standing in his dark chamber, Tremayne looked into the scrying bowl that was filled with red wine. The image of Coira rippled in the ruby liquid. In the distance, Lady Gavenia expertly galloped her gray mare over the hill, toward Gleich Castle.

  "Aye, her energies are powerful.” His voice boomed through the still air around the pond, causing birds to take flight.

  "Can we do that again? It was fun watching her squirm and moan."

  Tremayne thought the same; his cock was hard and eager to plunge into Lady Gavenia like his tongue did in the illusion he controlled. He had no idea she would be so responsive to his seduction.

  "Your duties have only just begun. Now go and befriend her. And Coira..."

  "Aye, my laird?"

  "Do not forget to steal the—"

  "I will not, my laird."

  Tremayne turned to find Evan standing at the doorway to his chamber, an unusual look upon his face. “What?"

  Evan sauntered in. “Why did you give Lady Gavenia pleasure when you could not gain energy from her being so far away?"

  Tremayne refused to answer. His reasons were his alone. He need not explain them to anyone. “Perchance, what you should be asking me is why my steward feels the need to observe me while I am scrying?"

  "Your mother never minded me watching her use her powers."

  "I am not my mother!"

  Grumbling beneath his breath, Evan turned and left the chamber.

  Tremayne went to his chest and pulled out an ancient Scythian box made from bones, adorned with black, oval stones. Etched on the top was a drawing of his mother. Even obscure as it was, the ancient carver had captured her dark, sensual beauty. He placed the box next to his scrying bowl and opened the lid. Retrieving a black velvet cloth, he unwrapped the smooth material until a short, gold dagger was visible.

  With a sigh, he took the dagger and sliced his hand, letting the blood drip into the bowl and blend with wine. Sinking his fingers into the liquid, he touched them to his lips and flicked the remaining droplets into the air.

  The red liquid fell onto the rushes and from there, an image emerged of his mother. Her raven hair spilled around her shoulders, her ruby gown flared from an eerie wind within the chamber.

  Lady Torella stretched her arms and smiled. When her hands finally dropped, she cupped her breasts and groaned with appreciation. “It has been too long since I have felt a mon touch my breasts."

  Tremayne sat in his high-backed chair, his legs stretched before him. “Do not look to me to satisfy yer whims."

  She scowled at him. “Hold thy wit! I am still yer mother."

  Tremayne held his hand out and a goblet of wine flew from the trestle to his hand. “I am only too aware of that.” Taking a sip, he stared at her over the rim. “Tell me now, who is my father?"

  Lady Torella avoided his gaze. “You will know when I am free from this hell."

  "Time is running out, I must know now."

  "It does not please me to give you the answer right now."

 
He rose and threw the goblet into the fireplace. “Do not vex me!"

  Lady Torella stepped back, and then stood her ground. “Think you can scare me? I am dead; there is nothing you can do to me."

  "Really?” he replied and took pleasure in watching her smug grin fade.

  "Tremayne, I will tell you everything.” His mother's voice shook with uncertainty. “Every answer you have been searching for all yer life, but first you must avenge me and set me free on Samhain's eve."

  "Once I have captured the youngest Celtic witch, she will be sacrificed and you will be released from purgatory.” Tremayne walked to the stone wall, picked up a long tallow from the fireplace ledge, and carried it over to where his mother stood. Her beautiful face was an intoxicating image, the same image many likened to him.

  "This pleases me well.” She smiled and went to kiss him on the lips, but he moved away.

  "Good eve, Mother."

  She went to open her mouth to speak, but he flicked wax from the candle into her image and she disappeared.

  He walked to the window and stared at the full moon, the stars twinkled in the sky as if they knew a secret he did not.

  When he released the Devil's sorceress, she would bring darkness and death to his people's land. But release his mother, he must.

  He had no choice.

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  Chapter Three

  Gavenia awoke to the smell of fresh bread and honey. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on the wooden tray her brother swayed beneath her nose.

  "Rise, my fair lady, the day awaits."

  Gavenia groaned and struggled to sit up. Rubbing her eyes, she accepted the food from her brother and rested it on her lap. “Why are you so pleased this morn?"

  "I have received a painting of my betrothed and she is beautiful,” he chortled and sat on the bed next her. Picking up the bread, he broke a piece and popped it into his mouth.

  "You do not know that for sure. Maychance, Lady Vika MacEwen sent you a picture of someone else and, in sooth, she is really an old crone."