Witch Hunter Page 2

  Grigor’s eyebrows slashed across his face and he tightened his lips. “Tact and discretion? A witch is a witch, whether they be commoner or aristocrat. If they deal with the devil, I will see them hanged and burned,” Grigor said, malice lacing his words.

  Lachlan shook his head. If not for the king’s command to take Grigor with him, he would have had the man bound and gagged and left behind in the last tavern. He smiled at the vision of the skinny man squirming on a cot, his red face furious.

  A crack of thunder boomed above them and Lachlan gazed up. The skies had been blue with only a few clouds marring the horizon. Suddenly, a black cloud rolled in with incredible speed. He had never seen a storm so swift.

  “’Tis witchcraft,” Grigor exclaimed. The feather in his hat flickered in the blustery wind.

  His men muttered among themselves, their horses restless beneath them.

  Lachlan did not want to leap to conclusions, but it was hard to explain the unusual weather. “Keep moving forward,” he shouted over the wind.

  They crested a hill to find a magnificent castle built on the side of a mountain, its battlements expanding around a village, protecting the people from the hostile weather.

  “Look down there!” Grigor pointed to the valley below.

  Four people galloped across the field, heading toward the castle. Two men wore green tunics; the tartan banners fastened across their chest signifying they were the Roberts guards. While two young ladies wore regal gowns that flowed over the horse’s rumps. One had auburn hair, her features determined and unwavering, trying to keep abreast with the lady in front.

  However, it was the young female leader who captured Lachlan’s interest. Her blond braid swung in the wind, thumping around her shoulders. He could barely make out her face, but it seemed to glow as if she relished the freedom of the reckless ride. Her emerald gown did nothing to hide her curves as her body moved in rhythm to the horse’s gait. Her laughter drifted up to them on the rise and Lachlan could not resist a smile. He was not used to seeing such wildness in a woman, such passion for life.

  She whipped her hand around and pulled something from her hair; the braid fell apart, allowing her golden tresses liberty in the wind.

  “She must be a witch!” Grigor accused. “No God-fearing lady would tempt the devil in such a way.”

  Lachlan frowned, but did not pull his attention from her.

  “Look at her hair, unbound and free.” Grigor nudged his mount forward. “I dare say that is Lady Rhiannon Campbell. I have heard of her legendary beauty. She has the looks of an angel but the temperament of a devil.” He twisted to face Lachlan. “I am certain she is the one we are to investigate. Perhaps she summoned the storm to…”

  “Enough!” Lachlan glared at Grigor. “Let us at least talk to the lass before condemning her.”

  “And if she does not confess under scrutiny?”

  “Sooner or later, she will use magick—a witch cannot help it,” Lachlan said.

  “Whoever gains a confession or proof first will own Baird’s Glen.” Grigor finished Lachlan’s line of thought.

  He returned his focus to Lady Rhiannon. The gates opened, allowing the young group to disappear beyond the fortified walls.

  Witch or no, Baird’s Glen was going to be his.

  Chapter Two

  Rhiannon’s guards left her side the moment they rode through the gate. They would have to explain to the constable why Rhiannon was late in returning. No matter the excuse, the soldiers had already earned a cold night’s watch on the tower battlement. Rhiannon was certain they would not tell the truth of her tardiness. She used her magick to travel further than was allowed by her grandfather, the Chieftain. ’Twas more of an offense to use her powers in the open than the destination of the ride. If anybody witnessed her magick, her family would be vexed, especially her mother. Nae, the guards would not tell of her indiscretion. They all sought to bed the youngest Celtic witch, but still they feared her powers. A fact not lost on Rhiannon.

  Horse’s hooves clipped-clopped against the cobblestone, echoing off the various thatched cottages. Flowerpots lined the windowsills, creating the sweet scent of heather and lavender upon the breeze.

  Instead of finding those windows open, the sounds of cheerful families preparing and eating their nightly meals, the small abodes were quiet and dark. The window boards drawn tightly closed.

  Rhiannon felt a lump form in her stomach. “Where is everyone?”

  “I know not,” Mary answered, a frown marring her brow.

  Urging her mount into a canter, she rode further up the steep road and looked beyond the empty training field to the large orchard plump with oranges, apples and pears. Not a soul walked among the fruit trees.

  “This does not bode well,” Mary said what Rhiannon was thinking.

  Just as she arrived at the front step to Gleich Castle, dark clouds released their moisture, pelting rain upon them. Rhiannon swung off her horse and ran into the crowded great hall with Mary close on her heels. The noise of the villagers and soldiers was almost deafening. Everyone had gathered into the hall except the head of the clan, her family.

  Rhiannon swerved her way through the throng, noticing that people nearest to her went quiet as she passed. She was used to them watching her when entering the room, the way they stared at her as if she were about to turn evil and cast them all into stone.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed down her feelings of hurt that tugged at her chest. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she pretended not to care and made her way to the vast open fireplace. By the time she reached the fire, the whole hall had grown eerily quiet.

  With all the poise of a flying dove, her mother entered the room from the side stairs. It seemed like everyone took a breath of relief, which annoyed Rhiannon even more. Resisting the need to scowl, she turned her back on her mother and warmed her chilled fingers by the fire. Mary nudged closer to her side. Her friend should know by now Rhiannon could protect her from her mother’s wrath.

  “Rhiannon, the family gathers in the solar and your presence is requested,” her mother said with an even tone.

  She looked at Mary, rolled her eyes, and then turned to her mother. “What sin have I committed this time?”

  A fleeting smile trembled on her mother’s lips and she glanced at the occupants in the hall. Gavenia’s fair appearance gave the people a sense of peace and harmony. Even when she was angry, she resembled one of the angel statues in the small chapel. It was not the first time Rhiannon admired and resented her mother’s sweet appearance. Rhiannon had her mother’s golden hair and sea-blue eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. Instead of the Roberts’ traditional round face, Rhiannon had a long, heart-shaped face and a pointed nose, similar to her father’s side, the sorcerer’s darker side.

  “We will talk in the solar,” Gavenia offered and stepped aside to allow Rhiannon to pass.

  Mary went to follow when her mother stepped in her path. “This is a family gathering, Mistress Mary. You may return home.”

  A dark glare simmered beneath Mary’s eyes, yet she remained silent and pivoted on her heels to storm away.

  “That was not nice,” Rhiannon said when her mother walked beside her up the stairs.

  “I make nary a secret about my dislike in your choice of companions.”

  “Mary is my friend—”

  “And her influence leads you astray.”

  “I could befriend Goddess Brianna and you would think she was the devil.” They reached the first floor and walked down the long hallway. Portraits of the Roberts clan lined the walls. Their noble faces seemed to glare down at Rhiannon, judging her. She never had liked this hallway.

  “I had a companion like Mary once. Her name was Coira and she was my only friend.”

  “What happened to her?” Rhiannon asked.

  “She was not what she seemed, and in the end, her jealousy caused me to do something I have regretted all my life.” Gavenia stood at the door
with her hand on the handle.

  “What was that?” Break a sweat upon her lily-white skin?

  Her mother stared her straight in the eye, remorse etching lines beneath her long blond eyelashes. “I had to…to…” Gavenia shook her head. “Never mind.”

  She walked into the solar, leaving Rhiannon speechless in the drafty hallway. She went to question her further when her father’s angry voice boomed out the doorway. “We cannot allow them in the keep.”

  Rhiannon rushed in to find her father’s broad frame matching her uncle’s while they snarled at each other. Laird Tremayne Campbell was a sorcerer many feared. Sired by the devil’s mistress, he was raised with dark magick. He liked no one but his sister, Drucilla, his wife, and of course, Rhiannon. As she was an only child, he spoiled her from the moment she was born.

  Rhiannon studied everyone in the chamber, her grandfather and grandmother, Laird Phillip and Lady Adela sat on two chairs near the small fireplace, their faces strained with worry. Her pregnant Aunt Alayne sat on the long wooden chair by the window—her braided red hair hung over one shoulder and her hands fidgeted with a yellow string of yarn. Aside from her grandfather, Aunt Alayne was the only one without powers in her family.

  Destined with ancestral magick, her grandmother, mother and herself held the powers of Celtic witches. Uncle Callum was a good Celtic warlock, while her father used to be an evil sorcerer, which was why they fought all the time. Rhiannon thought they secretly enjoyed battling their wits against each other.

  Indeed this was a chamber of great power. So why was everyone afraid?

  Her mother sat next to Aunt Alayne and took one of her hands in her own, offering her a nervous smile of encouragement.

  “We must bid them enter or else throw suspicion on our reticence,” Callum returned with equal passion in his voice. Callum was identical to her mother, blond with sculptured features, the blessing of the Roberts—physical perfection.

  “If they question the villagers or servants, how do you know they will not tell them the truth of our ways?” her father asked.

  “Because the Roberts clan can be trusted,” Callum barked.

  “Unlike the Campbells? Is that what you are saying?”

  “Lads,” her grandfather rose. “This is not the battlefield. The Campbells and Roberts are no longer enemies, but united as one family.”

  Her father and Callum stepped away from each other and went to the opposite side of the chamber, pacing like trapped wild horses.

  Rhiannon walked around everyone and stood near her grandmother, the heat of the fireplace warming her chilled backside. She leaned over. “What is amiss?”

  Her grandmother looked up through aged eyes, her brown hair, streaked with gray, flowed in waves around her shoulders. Her blue gown trimmed with white lace gave her an air of wisdom and grace. Adela held her hand with soft, slender fingers. “I have foreseen a small army knocking at our gates.”

  “Is that all?”

  “They bring trouble for our clan, for us,” she continued. “The man that leads these soldiers is a Commission of Justiciary.”

  Rhiannon gasped. “A witch hunter?”

  “The Witch Hunter,” her father added. “Our scouts spotted him two leagues from here. Lord Lachlan Fairbairn captures every witch he seeks and is very dangerous. The man who travels with him, Grigor Livingstone is also an Inquisitor, and a brutal one at that. Which is why we should not grant them access to the keep.”

  “Why do we not just kill them? I am sure we would be doing the world of magick a great service by ridding the land of these superstitious barbarians,” Rhiannon announced. The palms of her hands became warm, her heartbeat increased.

  Her mother spoke, “Because if we kill them, King James will send more, and with a bigger army.”

  “We cannot put our people in danger,” Callum added.

  “I do not understand you all,” Rhiannon stepped into the middle of the solar, heat rising to her cheeks. “We are more powerful than anyone in Scotland, yet you are afraid of these common mortals. Even the king has no magick but that of his subjects. So why cower and conceal our superior birthright?”

  “Rhiannon!” her mother scolded.

  Scalding fury rose swiftly inside her, taking over rational thought. The sorceress within fought to take full control of her emotions. Her stomach clenched and perspiration beaded on her upper lip. All she could think about was killing someone. Anyone. It frightened and angered her at the same time.

  The fire roared in the hearth and everyone jolted away from the heat.

  A panicked voice seeped through the buzzing in her mind. “Her eyes have gone red.”

  Her father stood in front of her. He rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders, warming her skin. “Calm your powers, Rhiannon. Resist the sorceress inside you.”

  “I…I cannot.” She thought she whispered it, but instead her voice sounded loud, almost screaming.

  Her mother was beside her then, holding her hand. “You can do it, Rhiannon. Find your inner Celtic witch. She is good and wise.”

  Rhiannon breathed deeply and concentrated on her energy, calming her powers.

  She opened her arms and gathered her parents into a hug. “I do not want to hurt anyone.”

  “Shh, it is all right, dear,” her mother soothed. “’Tis not your fault.”

  “You just have too much power for a human to handle,” her father added and looked into her eyes. “But you must try to resist the darkness within your soul.”

  She nodded. Her father always had a way of understanding her wicked side. Because he was a sorcerer, he knew what it was to wage a battle against the evil within. Even though her Celtic magick was deemed good, it was still extra power that fueled her as a sorceress. It made her reckless and wild, at times cruel. She did try to control those urges, even though they grew stronger everyday.

  Rhiannon wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. It was time she visited the gypsy again. She raised her eyebrows and regarded her father. “Can we not place a spell on them?”

  “Our powers come with the responsibility to the people who depend on us to keep them safe. The Inquisitors have the commission of fire and sword, which means if they have the smallest doubt we are enchanted, they will burn the keep to the ground without a raised eyebrow from the king. If they destroy Gleich Castle, ’twill be only a matter of time before they pursue a war with the Campbells. That is a lot of innocent people being killed because of the few in this chamber.” He tipped her chin up. “Can you live with that?”

  She averted her guilty eyes and he gathered her into his arms again.

  Grandfather placed his hand on her father’s shoulder. “We must trust the villagers with our lives and allow the Inquisitors in to investigate.”

  Her grandmother rose along with her aunt. “We cannot use our powers under any circumstance. To do so will bring death upon us all.”

  Everyone looked at Rhiannon and she frowned. “I will not use magick until they have gone.”

  Was that disbelief on their faces?

  “My lady wife and I will speak with the villagers downstairs,” Grandfather continued, “Callum, greet our guests at the gate.”

  Her aunt added, “I will go with Callum.”

  “Nae, ’tis raining and my sister cannot clear the skies without using magick.”

  Alayne smiled and snuggled closer to Callum. “As you recall, I do not mind the rain.”

  He smiled at her with adoration. Rhiannon wished she had someone look at her that way, with gaze holding something deeper than lust—an affectionate touch that reached across the chamber with a simple glance, without the underlying fear of her powers.

  Callum’s voice interrupted her revere. “Nevertheless, I would rather you stay dry and warm with the baby on the way.”

  She sadly nodded and rubbed the bulge in front of her. “Perhaps this time our babe will survive.”

  Callum kissed her hand. “I wager it be a bonny lass with a spirit to match her
mother’s.”

  Rhiannon sighed and waited for everyone to leave before she walked out of the warm solar and into the drafty hallway. A sense of resentment over the intruders lingered in the back of her throat. She did not want anything to happen to her family. Perhaps she should summon Aunt Drucilla. The sorceress traveled France with her wizard husband, Braen and their three young children.

  She shook her head. Nae, they were safe over there. If anything happened here, at least they could live in secret on the continent.

  Walking back to her chamber, a pang of loss overcame her when thinking about Drucilla. She was close to the sorceress, and eagerly anticipated the regular packages sent with her aunt’s enchanted gowns specially made for her. Each exquisite gown fused with magick to mimic the wearer’s personality. She must remember not to wear any of her aunt’s gowns while the Inquisitors were in the castle.

  Rhiannon sighed.

  What was she going to do without her powers?

  The more pressing concern was…would she be able to control them?

  Chapter Three

  Thoroughly soaked, Lachlan shrugged further beneath his heavy woolen cloak and crossed his arms. He leaned against the damp stonewall outside the portcullis gate and glanced at his men while the rain drove harder against the luckless souls waiting on the causeway. There was only room enough for two people beneath the gate’s meager shelter, yet his soldiers gave nary a complaint. Each one had been carefully chosen by him to withstand the highland weather and superstitious fear. All have proven themselves with skill and bravery.

  He only wished Grigor had the same disposition.

  “How long are they going to keep us out here?” Grigor whined and went to rattle the iron bar but the heavy metal did not budge.

  Lachlan resisted the urge to smile at the man’s humorous appearance. His large fur coat flattened against his body while the feather in the cap clung to the side of his gaunt cheek. He had seen court jesters at Edinburgh Castle more dignified than Grigor.