A Witch in Time Read online

  A Witch in Time

  A three-story anthology

  Robin Danner, Darragha Foster, Xandra Gregory

  Published 2006

  ISBN 1-59578-283-4

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2006, Robin Danner, Darragha Foster, Xandra Gregory. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

  Editor

  Laurie Rauch

  Cover Artist

  April Martinez

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Petting the Cat

  Robin Danner

  Dedication

  “For Jodie, a friend who probably knows me better than anyone else. Thanks for being my shoulder to bitch on. And here’s hoping you find Mr. Perfect!”

  Chapter 1

  The path to the stream was lit by a full moon. Jillian Welch carried a rough-hewn wooden bucket she’d made herself. The coarse fibers of the rope handle bit into her palm. It would only be doubly worse once the bucket was full with water from her father’s favorite fishing stream. She wouldn’t have come out, but if ever there was a month to scry, this was it. Tomorrow she would meet and pledge her troth to her future husband, a man rumor likened to the Devil incarnate.

  It wasn’t fear that made Jillian nervous. Rather it was the thought that she might enjoy mating with a man so evil that most of society spurned him. As a girl, she’d been introduced to the dark magics and had entered a world utterly unlike the one her carefully reared friends knew. So far, she’d managed to elude the mating rituals of her Coven, possibly because of her aristocratic lineage, but she’d seen enough to know what went on between a man and a woman. She’d watched some of the couples of her coven mate in ways she could never have imagined. Even when she had tried to turn her head to give them privacy, shadows had flickered on the stone walls, haunting her with the images of what she tried not to see. To this day, every time she closed her eyes, she could still smell the incense, the sweat of bodies pressed together, and the underlying trace of musk that had permeated the air of the cave. She wanted to be the one who stripped and stood proudly before her chosen partner, to have her hands lashed behind her back to signify her complete trust in the Coven, to pleasure one, sometimes even more, of the members.

  Instead, each month, she was forced to stand at the back of the cave and watch. Sounds were amplified, senses heightened in their surroundings. She couldn't escape it even had she longed to. She was twenty now, more than old enough to take part. The wetness between her thighs and hardened nipples were signs she’d come to associate with her desire to mate. Months of repressed arousal made her a prime target for seduction. Right now, Satan himself would suffice.

  But her father had promised her to the Earl of Evansdale.

  Her father was nothing if not cautious. She loved him, of course, but it sometimes seemed that her father was frightened of his own shadow. If he ever learned of her involvement with the Coven, he would probably suffer an apoplexy, bless his soul. Where she’d inherited her bold nature, she’d never know. Her mother hadn’t been a timid sort, but neither had she exhibited her daughter’s willful nature. Her parents often teased that Jillian took after a long-forgotten aunt, which had to be it, because she definitely didn’t take after her parents. She didn’t even resemble them in looks. Her parents were fair, her mother with brown eyes, her father with blue. Jillian was red-haired with eyes so green they gleamed like a cat’s, or so she’d been told by many a stranger. Most wouldn’t call her beautiful, but her looks definitely earned her a second glance.

  What sort of inducement had her father made to the earl to get him to agree to marriage? It couldn’t be money because he was as rich as Croesus already. And it definitely wasn’t her family’s high standing in Society. Her father was the brother of a marquess, but he and her uncle had never been particularly close. In fact, her family seldom traveled to London, so the earl couldn’t possibly hope to gain re-entry into Society from his marriage to the daughter of a mere Mister. Why would a man want to marry a girl he’d never met, who couldn’t bring anything but herself to the marriage?

  She reached the stream and bent to fill her bucket. Cool water rushed over her hands and wrists, bringing welcome relief to skin that had warmed with the thought of the marriage bed. What would it be like to lay with the earl, skin to skin, and allow him to do what he wished to her body? Her nipples pebbled, whether from the cold or arousal she didn’t know. Would he be long and thick like one of the village boys she’d seen during a mating ritual? Or would he be shorter, like one of the elders? Jillian fervently prayed for the first option. If she had to marry, it should be to someone who could please her. She’d noticed the difference in the moans each man had brought to his ritual partner’s lips and knew that the village boy’s length was the way to go.

  The weight of the bucket pulled on her hands. It was full.

  She stood and tottered under the weight of the water. She steadied the bucket with both hands and turned to leave, then froze immediately.

  In the hedges that lined the opposite side of the stream, a pair of eyes gleamed. The hedges rustled, and then out stepped a large cat that was as black as night, with eyes of the purest green. What in the hell was a panther doing in the middle of Kent? Jillian blinked, then blinked again.

  He was still there.

  She set down her bucket as quietly as possible, yet she still drew the cat’s attention. His massive head turned and a pink tongue flicked across his upper lip. His eyes appeared almost human as he watched her. There was no hint of malevolence, only an interest that felt predatory and almost sexual.

  She began to back away. Four tiny steps backward, then she turned and fled. She heard the panther’s growl, but she didn’t stop to see if it had given chase. She flew over the rocks and pebbles that she’d tiptoed over on the way to the stream. Her fine silk slippers ripped on the uneven terrain, but she continued to run as if the very hounds of hell were on her heels.

  Her house was within sight when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She cocked her head and slowed. Footsteps? How could a panther have footsteps? Ignoring the voice in her head that urged her to run, she stopped moving and turned to face her pursuer. It wasn’t the large black cat she’d expected, rather a man who would’ve taken her breath away had she had any left after her desperate race across the grounds.

  She stopped running and he did so also. She stared at him across a distance of a few feet while she struggled to catch her breath. He returned her stare, but had a much better control of his body. Damn him, he looked barely winded. He stood straight and tall, his dark hair ruffled just the tiniest bit. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but they were probably light. Maybe blue or green. He was dressed in the rough clothing of a peasant, but had the bearing of a young lord.

  She put a hand to her waist. “Who are you?”

  He performed an elegant, if somewhat mocking, bow. “Colin Donegal, at your service.”

  Her hand flew to her throat. Donegal? That was the name of her soon-to-be husband. Was he the one she was to marry? The man who wo
uld share her bed? As if he realized her assumption, Colin continued, “The earl is my brother. I am only the youngest son.”

  She should’ve known. Her friends who’d been to London had regaled her with descriptions of his great appeal. Where the earl was rumored to be truly wicked, the younger brother, it was said, was the complete opposite. It seemed everyone who returned from London sang Colin’s praises. For a moment, her heart had actually skipped a beat at the thought of being with him. The brief spurt of relief that had risen in her breast died a quick death. It had been no hardship to imagine herself with the man before her. He was handsome and athletic; his fine body was displayed to perfection in clothing that was shabby, true, but that completely molded to the muscles in his chest and thighs. Her gaze dropped to between his legs, where the wool of his trousers lovingly cupped a promising bulge.

  She immediately realized what she was doing and tore her eyes away. He was the brother of her intended. What was between his legs should hold no fascination for her, yet it still did. In an effort to be hospitable, she offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. My father told me you were expected with the earl’s party, but I wasn’t aware that you’d arrived yet. How was your journey from London?”

  He had to move closer to take her hand and, upon inspection, she saw his eyes were a clear green. “Uneventful. I arrived nearly half an hour ago and forewent being shown to my bed in favor of a relaxing walk. What great luck that I happened upon such great beauty.”

  She lowered her head to hide a pleased blush. The earl’s brother was so handsome it should be sinful. And either she was mistaken or the look in his eyes spoke of desire. A flirtation between the two of them was strictly forbidden, but she’d never been much for rules anyway.

  She lifted her gaze back to his face and was trapped by his stare. The cool green gaze swept her face and then dropped to her breasts, which still heaved in great gasps of air. “You are lovely, Miss Welch. Much lovelier than my brother deserves.”

  Was his statement meant to be a compliment or a warning? She opened her mouth to speak, but he immediately shushed her. His head turned to the right and his eyes narrowed as he stared intently at something in the distance.

  “We should not be seen here. Come.”

  He took her hand and pulled her into the woods from which she’d just emerged. She didn’t resist as he led her back to the stream. It would give her a chance to retrieve her bucket and, she had to admit to herself, she was intrigued by Colin and his odd manner.

  The panther!

  She dug in her heels and pulled back on his hand. “Stop! We can’t go this way. There’s a panther on the loose.”

  Colin turned his head and lifted a brow. “A panther? In England?”

  It sounded fabricated, but she knew what she’d seen. “Yes, a panther. He was at the stream earlier.”

  “Was he thirsty?” Colin’s lips twitched the tiniest bit.

  She resisted the urge to smack him. “How would I know? I don’t speak Panther.” She realized what she said and smacked him anyway. “Don’t tease me! You may want to be eaten by a wild animal, but I assure you that I have no such desire.”

  Her voice trailed off as Colin took the final step, closing the distance between them. They were close enough to touch, yet their bodies remained separate. “And what is your desire, fair Jillian?”

  She ignored the melting sensation inside her belly. “I haven’t given you leave to use my name.”

  His lips tilted even further. “You haven’t answered the question.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance. “Perhaps I don’t intend to.”

  He let out a soft tsk. “Come now, Jillian. I don’t believe you’re quite as reticent as you appear. What is it that you desire?”

  What she wanted, no needed, was to touch him. Her hand lifted and she placed it against his chest. His skin was warm through his woolen tunic and firm with muscle. She pressed harder, not surprised that there was no give. Was he as hard everywhere? Her cheeks felt hot, but couldn’t begin to compare with the warmth between her legs. A heated rush of moisture flooded her and she had the embarrassing fear that it would drip down her legs and land at her feet.

  Colin remained still, not even flicking an eyelash as her hand trailed across his chest in leisurely circles. Her hands moved as they willed, his only reaction visible in his gaze. The longer she stared in his eyes, the more his pupils expanded, until the green was almost completely swallowed by black. She was no stranger to arousal. She knew the intensity in his gaze signaled that he wanted her.

  A frog’s ribbit and subsequent splash into the stream broke the spell she’d fallen under. She blinked, slowly removed her hand, and took a step back. As she did, she wobbled on feet that had been abused by her earlier run. She winced and shifted her weight to the sides of her feet. “Ow, ow, ow!” she cried as the sedative power of fright disappeared and left only pain in its wake.

  Colin knelt and reached for her ankle. He lifted it tenderly and examined the sole of her foot. He winced sympathetically. “We need to wash and bind your feet, else you’ll get an infection.”

  “But the panther!”

  He made a big show of looking around the area. “If he was here earlier, he’s gone now. You are safe with me, Jillian.” He turned back and his eyes bored into hers. All at once, a feeling of protectiveness washed over her. Was he a witch as well? She opened her mouth to ask, but he moved his attention to her bare feet. “Now, may I tend to your injuries?”

  She nodded. She was wise to the dangers of letting an injury go unattended. The Coven taught her much about healing. She was apprentice to a healer and often accompanied the Elder as he visited the infirm. They’d once called on a villager who’d nearly lost a leg because of an infected toe. She didn’t intend to suffer the same fate.

  Colin helped her to sit near the edge of the stream. “May I?” he asked as he motioned to her feet. She responded by placing both feet in his lap, completely trusting in his company. He removed her slippers and she wriggled on the damp grass to keep from moaning. He tossed her ruined slippers aside and dunked both of her heels in the cool water.

  Her breath hissed past her teeth. “It’s cold!”

  His hands joined her feet in the water and his warm fingers swirled around her heels and ankles, carefully brushing them clean of dried blood and bits of grass. Though she knew he was only trying to be helpful, his touch was that of a lover. He lingered over her feet, efficient yet caressing. Once her feet were clean, he lifted them from the water and the night air made her shiver. Quick as a wink, Colin pulled his shirt over his head and he began to methodically rip it into strips long enough to bind her feet.

  She was suddenly covered in goose bumps of an entirely different nature. The last had been from cold. These were the shivers of a woman facing a man who made her skin heat from the inside out. She watched as Colin’s agile fingers wrapped the woolen strips around her feet. He tied them in knots around her ankles, his fingers brushing her calf as he worked. Once, he glanced up and caught her watching him, but he only smiled in reassurance and went back to his task.

  Her gaze left his hands and moved to the impressive chest she’d only caught a glimpse of when he’d removed his shirt. Earlier, she’d lowered her eyes in maidenly modesty, but now she looked her fill. He was dark, the area around his nipples and a line down his chest covered with a matting of hair that disappeared into the waist of his trousers. The muscles of his broad shoulders bunched as he worked his hands, the biceps taut with leashed power. He would have no trouble swinging an axe or lifting a maiden into his arms. She closed her eyes, fantasizing for a moment what it would be like to be in his arms, completely at his mercy.

  His body would be heavy but comforting as he lay upon her. His strong hands separating her thighs with ease. Then he would push inside her, the blunt head of his hardness easing the wet ache inside her.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  Jillian’s eyes flew open. He’
d spoken the very words of her dream and she answered as she would’ve in her fantasy. “No, you’re not.”

  He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. He finished binding her feet, and then sat there with her ankles cupped in his large hands, her toes perilously close to the area between his legs. She was tempted to tickle him, but managed to resist the urge. Even so, her toes curled inward to keep from doing what her body demanded.

  “You’re different from what I expected.”

  She was momentarily distracted from her silent thoughts when he spoke. “I am?”

  “Yes.” Colin nodded solemnly.

  “What did you expect?” Jillian knew she wasn’t a raving beauty, but was she so homely he didn’t understand why his brother would marry her?

  “Someone less…” Colin’s voice trailed off and he shook his head fiercely. “Less innocent, I suppose, is one way to put it.”

  Jillian frowned. Did he mean to say his brother didn’t want to marry a virgin? It was an odd trait to be found in a nobleman.

  Colin’s hand lifted and traced the underside of her chin. “You are very young, my dear.”

  She leaned into his touch and nearly purred with pleasure. “Is twenty so young, my lord?”

  “Call me Colin,” he requested immediately. He spread his fingers and cupped the bottom half of her face. “You are pretty, of course, but why would he want to marry you?”

  She had a feeling that he spoke as if she weren’t truly there. His eyes were focused on her face, but he didn’t appear to see her. His brows knitted with a perplexed frown. She supposed she should be offended that he doubted her value as a wife, but he spoke with such concern that she knew his worry wasn’t entirely aimed at his brother. He was concerned for her. But why? Was his brother truly as bad as gossip made him out to be?

  She slid her hand over his and stilled his fingers. “If you know something, Colin, please tell me now.”

  He removed his hand and stood. Then he reached out to help her to her feet. “My brother is not who he seems. That is all I can say.”