Witch Hunter Read online

  “You heard wrong, my dear,” her grandmother replied with a weak smile.

  Rhiannon turned to the Goddess but all she did was intently stare at her.

  Why won’t anybody tell her what was going on? Did they think she would not be able to handle it?

  Rhiannon straightened her shoulders and gave a curt nod. “So be it.”

  As she closed the door she heard them whispering. She swallowed the hurt and quickened her step down the hallway. Let them have their intrigues. She would find the truth of the matter. With her new dark skills honed at the gypsy’s cavern, she would conjure the past to reveal all secrets. If her grandmother could break the pledge of using magick within the castle, then she would too.

  Witch hunter be damned.

  * * * *

  Lachlan felt like such a fool. Rhiannon had seduced him, wielded his lust for her like a sword in a knight’s skilled hands. Probably to distract him from the investigation. He did not know who he was more angry at—her or himself for allowing the dangerous game to continue.

  Clenching his hands into fists, he shifted on his feet and loudly knocked on Rhiannon’s chamber door.

  No answer.

  He glanced both ways down the hallway and then entered the spacious chamber. If her room were clear of all witchcraft supplies, then he would leave Gleich Castle and tell His Majesty the rumors were unfounded. Lady Rhiannon was not a witch.

  A twinge of doubt nagged his conscience. Perhaps he wanted to hasten his leave because deep down he did not want to find evidence. Lachlan released a low growl of frustration. He was losing control of his duty and his heart. He could not allow either.

  One way or the other, this investigation would have to end today.

  The scent of metallic honey mingled with sweet hay filled the air. Lachlan took a deep breath and gazed down. The vibrant purple of the saffron flower littered the floor with clean rushes. White ray flowers with yellow centers draped across a great wooden chest at the base of a bed. He envisioned her picking the flowers in the colorful fields beyond the battlements, the sun shining through her golden hair.

  Lachlan slowly strolled around her chamber, his muscles relaxing with the soothing aroma. Little wonder Rhiannon smelled so good.

  He turned to the old-fashioned hung bed. The Roberts wolf crest embroidered on the tester, the canopy of rich plum curtains gathered around the outside of the bedstead, suspended from the rafter by iron chains. Extra fabric draped along the wall creating a soft headboard of white, Turkish silk.

  The other furnishings of crimson velvet chairs, rugs and landscape paintings matched the bed in deep colors and yielding textures. He had never seen a chamber so unique, sensual and feminine. He pictured Rhiannon lying on the bed, laughing, her eyes dancing in merriment. He sensed this was the place she felt most safe. A warm haven when the highland winds blew with winter snow.

  He should suffer with dishonor for invading her personal chamber, but he did not. Instead he felt welcomed, soothed by the crackling fireplace and sweet floral smells.

  Lachlan envied her. She had a secure home and a loving family that would obviously protect her. But if he did not bring her back for witchcraft, he would never have a chance at owning Baird’s Glen, something he had worked toward since he was a child.

  If Rhiannon was a witch, Baird’s Glen or not, he had a duty to bring her to trial, no matter what affection he held for her.

  He shook his head to clear the images of Rhiannon’s engaging smile. He had to search her chamber for items of witchcraft. Taking a steady breath, he flipped over the main chest and rummaged through gowns, fripperies, shoes and the like.

  He found no bones of children, potions or even a simple powder. Straightening his back, he took a deep breath. Rhiannon was innocent. She was not a witch.

  Lachlan sat on her bed behind the curtains, leaning his back against the silk covered wall. He crossed his legs and arms to wait for her return. Why did she run away in the forest and whom did she see? Did she indeed play him for a fool and then met up with a waiting lover? His emotions were torn and it grated on his nerves. Rhiannon’s games were a disruption he did not need.

  The door swung open and the very vixen that filled his thoughts stormed through the entrance, her yellow hair hanging loosely around her shoulders while her pale blue hooded-cloak billowed behind her.

  Hidden behind the bed curtains, he was going to show his presence to her, but stole an extra moment to watch her unobserved through the openings of the plum fabric. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. By the way she paced back and forth, she was too agitated to see him on the bed. It pleased him to see her so vexed. He certainly was.

  He swung his legs over the side and went to stand when he heard her voice.

  “Reveal the door.”

  Rhiannon waved her hand near the fireplace and an oval pine door appeared within the wall. Lachlan rubbed his eyes. Was this a trick of the light? Or perhaps another siege door hidden within the wall? But how could he have missed it? He would pledge upon his honor it was a stonewall before.

  Anguish held him immobile, his pulse quickening when Rhiannon opened the door wide and walked into an extra chamber. He wanted to stand up—ask her how she made the door appear, but a part of him did not want to know. Could not face the possibility of what he had witnessed.

  Moments later, she came out of the hidden room with a metallic bowl in her hands. She threw it up in the air. Lachlan waited for the crash against the floor, but it did not come. Instead, the bowl hovered at her waist without anything holding it up.

  He shook his head, not wanting to watch any further, but unable to look away. He could only keep realization at bay for so long.

  Rhiannon was a witch!

  His heart broke from the insight. How could he be so wrong about her?

  Her soft voice filled the chamber while her hands lay palms upward on either side of the bowl.

  “I seek the truth about my past.

  Show me what others deny me.

  Take this spell I wish to cast.

  ’Tis time for me to see.”

  The sunlight streaming through the window suddenly disappeared as day turned into night. Shock ripped through Lachlan at the extent of Rhiannon’s powers.

  Beneath the arched window, a small wooden crib adorned with iron Celtic symbols appeared in a ghost-like echo. Rhiannon walked over to the crib and peered inside.

  From out of nowhere, a woman appeared in spirit form. Her long midnight hair and youthful beauty was flawless, yet her dark eyes held no warmth, only cold determination.

  Rhiannon edged against the wall and watched with fascination.

  The mysterious lady bent over the crib as if she could not see Rhiannon at all.

  “Greetings, little Rhiannon. I have sacrificed much for thee,” the lady cooed, gathering the bundle into her arms. She lifted the sleepy baby into the air. The babe’s curly black hair shaped an oval face, her blue eyes fluttered opened and stared down at the lady with confusion.

  Lachlan tilted his head. Rhiannon’s hair was as yellow as the sun, yet the baby’s hair was as dark as night.

  The lady said, “I am your grandmother, but if you call me that, I will chop off your thumbs.”

  The baby giggled.

  A smile formed on the lady’s lips. “You will conquer the world and I will be there to see it divide into darkness.”

  Tucking the babe into the crook of her arm, she retrieved a metal vial from her pocket and uncorked the lid using her teeth.

  Lachlan peeked around the curtain to see what Rhiannon was doing. She stared absently at the scene and rubbed her forehead. A habit he had grown accustomed to seeing.

  A disgusting sour odor filled the chamber and Lachlan grimaced.

  The lady held the potion away from her. “Worry not, wee lass. This is not going to hurt.”

  Gurgling sounds came from the baby. She kicked her legs and held her pudgy hands out for the bottle.

  Tipping the vial, a
silver drop fell onto the baby’s forehead and disappeared. A sigh of relief broke from the lady’s lips and she replaced little Rhiannon into her crib. “We will be together again after you have seen twenty winters. When all traces of the Celtic witch disappears and the sorceress inside consumes you—evil will prevail.”

  “Get away from her!” a female’s distraught voice screeched through the quiet room.

  Lachlan shifted his view to see a younger version of Rhiannon’s mother and grandmother standing in the chamber, identical looks of terror etched on their faces.

  The lady walked toward them, calm and self-assured. “Is that any way to greet family?”

  Lady Adela replied, “You are not family.”

  Gavenia ran around the dark lady in a wide berth, picked up her daughter and held the babe to her chest. “What did you do to her?”

  The lady’s smile faded. “She is cursed.”

  Adela stepped forward, her eyes darkening. “Remove it.”

  “Too late.”

  Adela pleaded, “Lady Torella! She is just a baby. Please…” Her distraught voice echoed through the chamber. Everyone disappeared but the crib.

  Lachlan tugged his gaze over to Rhiannon. She stood against the wall as if she needed support. Her eyes misted with tears, her face pale. He went to stand up and go to her when the ghosts came back. Rhiannon’s whole family gathered in the chamber, their faces drawn while they stared at the crib.

  “What are we going to do about the hex on Rhiannon?” Gavenia sobbed.

  “Lady Gavenia, Tremayne, please hold the baby.” A strange man with a proud, angular face entered the chamber, his tone serious. He upheld a golden staff, the tip glowing with a rainbow of lights. “I cannot undo the hex. However, I can add a blessing.”

  The man pounded the staff on the floor and chanted:

  “When darkness calls this young lass and she has lost the light.

  A man worthy of a knight’s honor, an able hunter pledged to fight.

  He will find her, the only one who can,

  Bring her back home and return her to the clan.”

  Lachlan rubbed his chin. This was the wizard Rhiannon’s family was talking about on the eve he arrived.

  The wizard touched the baby’s cheek and jolted. “I foresee this child will be shadowed by dark forces and death. Guard her well and do not judge the man with the cross on his chest. He will bring her back to you.”

  Lachlan touched the cross that marked his chest since birth. He was the one! The one destined to save Rhiannon.

  The wizard’s keen brown eyes peered straight at Lachlan on the bed. He smiled as if he could see him sitting behind the curtains in the future. Lachlan jumped back and everyone disappeared, including the crib. Sunlight streamed through the windows again, brightening the chamber with warmth.

  A soft whimper came from the other side of the chamber. Lachlan rose to find Rhiannon sitting on the floor, her forehead resting in her hands.

  He stood before her.

  Everything he wanted was his for the taking. He had enough proof to bring her back to Edinburgh. The king would grant him Baird’s Glen.

  The witch hunter had caught a witch.

  He scoffed at how simple it sounded.

  Lachlan gazed down at the crown of her golden head, saw her body trembling.

  He crouched and touched her long, soft hands.

  Rhiannon jumped in fright, her eyes swollen and red. She stared at him with raw helplessness and terror. Her wretched, tear-stained face sliced his heart in two.

  In a small voice, she whispered, “I am evil.”

  Chapter Nine

  Grigor gave a reassuring smile to Mary and linked his arm through hers, leading her deeper into the woods. Even though the day was gray and overcast, he felt the need to celebrate last eve’s triumph. He had a witness. All he needed was to get the witch alone and force her to confess. A duty he loved to carry out with great enthusiasm.

  He smirked and studied Mary’s reaction when he walked her through a shallow puddle. He waited for her to complain about getting her slippers wet, but she did not.

  They trampled over a line of white lilies growing in a wide path that led east to west. He thought it unusual someone would mark the land with useless flowers, but soon forgot as he found a nice secluded spot behind a thick leafy shrub.

  “Did you do what I asked of you this morn?” he queried.

  She nodded.

  “Show me.” He whipped her around to face him.

  A red heat appeared on her face and she lowered her eyes. “I do not think…”

  “Who is the only one that cares about you?” he goaded.

  Mary shifted her eyes away. “You are.”

  “And who allows you to proudly walk on his arm, even though everyone thinks you are less than a chamber pot and just as ugly?”

  “I am not ugly,” she cried.

  “You are compared to Lady Rhiannon. She is the one everyone loves, the only one men truly desire.” Grigor held her chin tightly and forced her to stare at him. “You had best please me. Otherwise, after the trial, I will throw you away like everyone else has done in your life.”

  “Nae, Grigor. Please do not say that.”

  “Then show me!”

  Mary gathered the folds of her bright yellow dress and lifted up to reveal her womanhood. Nestled beneath auburn curly hair, a white silk string peeked out from between her swollen lips. Grigor kneeled down and opened her moist folds. He pulled on the string. Mary twitched with arousal.

  She closed her eyes and he smiled with conquest. Women were not hard to control through their sexual desires. He yanked on the string again and two ivory balls, slick with juices glided out of her entrance.

  He held the balls up and sucked them into his mouth. Rolling the balls around with his tongue, he savored the taste. Taking them out his mouth, he opened up Mary’s legs and with two fingers, roughly pushed the balls inside her. In and out, he fingered her warm, moist passage with sure, firm thrusts, pushing the warm orbs around her inner core. Her slippery nectar dripped down his hand while her breathing increased, mingled with sighs of pleasure.

  Mary unlaced her gown and chemise and threw the garments over her head. Two large breasts bobbed up and down, her pink tipped nipples erect. He reached up and pinched one of her nipples, hard enough to elicit a yelp of pain.

  His cock leaped with a shot of desire. He loved to inflict pain on women, especially when they were defenseless. “You like that, Mary?”

  She nodded. Her hands rested on her thighs, trembling from pleasure.

  “All women are whores,” he spat, increasing the rhythm of his hand. “Tell me you are a whore.”

  He could feel her inner muscles contracting. She was about to find her zenith.

  “I am a whore,” she whispered.

  He pinched her nipple again.

  “Louder!”

  “I am a whore!” she screamed. Her pulsating core massaged his fingers, opening further when she peaked. After her muscles went limp, he pulled his hand out and bit her sensitive nub. She jumped back, her face shocked and angry, but she said nothing.

  “I want those balls to remain inside until this eve when you will come to me and do whatever I ask. Do you understand my orders?” he questioned.

  Mary moistened her lips, her eyes shining. “Aye, Master Grigor.”

  “Good. Kneel before me and suck my cock. Show me how appreciative you are to have me as your master.” He unwrapped his kilt and sat on the mossy grass, his legs spread open with his erection poking into the air.

  Mary lowered to the ground and laid belly down on the grass, her elbows supporting her weight while her hands snaked around his thighs, resting on his hips.

  She opened her mouth and steadily swallowed his shaft. It was not as big as he would like, but it kept the wenches entertained, especially ones he was fortunate enough to legally torture in Edinburgh dungeons. A jolt of excitement went through his veins when he thought of the beautif
ul Rhiannon.

  He loved his duty as Inquisitor.

  He was about to shove his seed into Mary’s mouth when he heard footsteps.

  Mary pushed up, and they peered through the scrub.

  “’Tis Lady Gavenia!” Mary gasped.

  The lady walked to the row of lilies then stopped short.

  Grigor turned around. “I did not give permission for you to stop,” he growled and pushed her head back between his legs.

  “But she will find us,” Mary said.

  “Keep sucking,” he answered and pushed her head onto his cock until he felt his tip at the back of her throat.

  Mary gagged and he released her enough to give her space for sucking him.

  Grigor kept his eyes on the lady. What was she doing out here alone?

  “Torella, I beseech you to show yourself,” Gavenia called in a loud voice.

  Grigor looked through the foliage. There was no one else around. Who was Torella?

  “Torella, I will not wait all day,” Gavenia’s tone rose with irritation.

  Grigor jumped at the sudden appearance of a woman, gagging Mary once again with his manhood. The mysterious lady in a black revealing gown appeared from out of a dark mist, her exquisite beauty beyond words.

  Witchcraft!

  The woman stood on the other side of the lilies. Her conceited smile did not reach her eyes. “Why do you not come over here, milady?” she said.

  “Think me a fool?” Gavenia returned.

  The witch shrugged her shoulders. “You married my traitorous son…”

  “I will stay where I am. And do not think to break this protection barrier. Not even a unicorn’s horn would help you this time.”

  The witch yawned. “What is it you want?”

  “I want you to undo the hex on my daughter.”

  The high-pitch cackle of the witch echoed through the woods. Her amused black eyes swung toward the foliage where he and Mary hid. She breathed deeply and visibly shuddered with gratification as if she were the one receiving pleasure instead of Grigor.

  The witch turned back to Gavenia. “Rhiannon will follow her fate and there is nothing you can do about it.”