Witch Hunt (16 page)

They walked silently through the high heather, hand in hand, the crescent moon shedding its dim light on them. Tyler allowed her to lead the way, content to begin the process of surrender to his senses. He inhaled the rich, loamy aroma of earth until he felt his lungs would burst. It was the smell of the Mother that he found most erotic, for it evoked his primitive instincts. He was holding hands with a woman who had held the ritual goblet with authority. Was she the priestess of the village’s rituals? Tyler began to caress her palm lightly as he considered. If so, then she was most likely able to draw down the moon — or goddess energy — into her form. He had never before made love to a woman of the old religion, and his blood raced with anticipation; the surge of energy that coursed through his body was exhilarating.

Cassie, perhaps sensing Tyler’s mood, let go of his hand. “Catch me and I’m yours.” She ran into the night.

Tyler didn’t hesitate to take chase. He lost sight of her in the dim light, but relied on intuition to guide him.

They ran through the fields, laughing and punctuating the night with loud, frenzied whoops. Tyler, possessed by a wild spirit, overcame and tackled her.

They rolled together on the soft earth, ripping and tearing at each other’s clothes until they were both laid bare. Tyler was about to enter her body when her hand stopped him.

He was startled. “What?”

Her eyes were luminescent. “Have you never made love to the goddess, before?” Her voice was different; no longer simple Irish peasant, but clear and powerful.

His own voice was barely a whisper. “No.”

The corner of her lip curled with the hint of a smile. “Give me pleasure.”

Tyler had never before considered a woman’s pleasure.

Cassie’s hand took his and lightly drew his fingers from her throat, down the inside of her arm, and to her lush breast. Although the night was warm, gooseflesh arose beneath his fingertips and she quivered at his gentle touch.

“Honor me. I am that which gives life.” Her voice was commanding.

She didn’t need to guide his fingers to other areas of her body; they found their own way. His lips kissed her with reverence. A tenderness he had never felt arose in him, and all he wanted to do was worship at the altar of her body. He explored every inch of her, experimenting to find that which made her quiver and sigh. When her moans shook the earth, he finally entered her, grateful for the opportunity to merge with power and might. He moved and lost himself inside her. When the surge of lightning finally shot through his body, the explosion propelled him to heights of pleasure he never knew possible. As his energy peaked, he glanced at her face. What he saw transfixed him. It was the face of a goddess and a demon, and evoked in him a moment of both ecstasy and terror.

The shreds of clothing with which they returned to the wake declared their mutual passion.

“Ah, so the discomfort passed, I see,” Sir Cedric said.

The edge to Sir Cedric’s voice disconcerted Tyler. He hadn’t planned for this to happen, particularly with the woman Sir Cedric had been rolling. Not to mention the issue of Gwendolyn.

“Would you believe that I was overcome by grief and wasn’t responsible for my actions?”

Sir Cedric shook his head.

“Would you believe that I’ve decided I want to marry her?”

A hush fell over the room.

Cedric looked from one disheveled lover to the other, but said nothing.

Tyler felt contrite. “I’m sorry, old boy. I didn’t mean to usurp anything, or offend your family.”

“Well,” Cedric took a long draw on his pipe, “I’m going to miss the bed sports, that’s true. And there’ll be no living with the Watkins women for a time, but the hurt pride will pass.” He shrugged. “Who am I to argue with young lust?”

Cassie threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “Aye, and you’re a great one, Sir Cedric Watkins.”

He gave her a wet kiss. “And you’re just full of surprises, Cassie Callaghan.”

Angus was buried next to the body of his wife in an ancient graveyard hidden high in the hills. Despite protestations by Sir Cedric, Eleanor and Gwendolyn threw Tyler out of the house. Murphy and his grandson Phelim took in Tyler and wedding plans were expedited.

Cassie, according to custom, kept away from the groom while making her bridal preparations.

On the eve of her marriage, Cassie was packing her meager belongings when Sir Cedric burst in the front door of her cottage. His arms were full of packages.

She was startled. “What have you got there?”

“It’s your trousseau. No self-respecting lady can get married without one.”

Cassie was confused. “Trousseau?”

“A new wardrobe. One fitting your new rank as Mrs. Tyler Hawthorne, of the shipping line of Van Carel and Hawthorne, of the very rich American Hawthorne family.” He dumped his load onto her bed, and rummaged in the pile until he found a bottle of brandy. “And this is for me.” Sir Cedric grabbed a cup and poured himself a drink.

Cassie was speechless.

“I bought most of it on my last trip to London — for Gwendolyn’s trousseau — but it seems that since you won the husband … well, I had that seamstress Finola alter them to fit you.”

“You’re a grand man,” Cassie said.

Sir Cedric waved his cup at the bed. “Well, aren’t you in the least bit curious?”

Cassie tore into the packages. There were colorful skirts, lace blouses, bright bonnets, black leather boots, shawls, fur muffs, embroidered petticoats, silk stockings, and various items she couldn’t identify. These she held up questioningly.

“Corsets, my dear. They’re a must in decent society.”

“But what do you do with them?”

“Strip yourself and I’ll show you.”

Cassie took off her dress and drawers and stood before Sir Cedric in the buff.

He winced at the sight of her flesh. “By the gods, woman, what a sight you are.”

She held the corset up. “To business, Sir Cedric.”

He sighed. “To business.” Pausing only to playfully nibble a nipple, he helped her into a corset, placing his boot to her backside in order to pull the laces tightly enough to imprison her. Then he stood back and admired his handiwork. “There you are. That’s what you do with a corset.”

“But I can’t breathe.”

“That’s all right, they don’t expect you to.” He gave her a sympathetic look then poured her a glass of brandy. “My dear, there are some things you need to know about what’s expected of a lady in today’s society. For instance,” he pinched her cheek, “you look too healthy. You need to increase your pallor.”

Cassie sipped at her drink. “Aye, and how do I do that?”

“Well, Gwendolyn drinks vinegar and eats chalk.”

Cassie burst out laughing. “Surely you’re jokin’.”

“No. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Yes, ladies are expected to be fragile and delicate, obedient and doting to the gentlemen, and, of course, they faint a lot.”

Cassie tried, without success, to take a deep breath. “I can see why.”

“Rich ladies, more particularly, are expected to be idle. If you’re wealthy, you must never do anything.”

“Seems a mighty price to pay.” Cassie realized how little she knew about the world she had chosen. Insecurity rose, and she threw herself into Sir Cedric’s arms.

“What’s this?”

“Will they like me?”

Sir Cedric thought about it. “Don’t hold any illusions. It’s not going to be easy for you. But Tyler’s mad about you, so hold on to that.” He caressed her bottom and winced again. “Oh, Cassie dear. Take me on one last time?”

Cassie, unable to bend, slid down Sir Cedric’s body until she was on her knees. She slipped her hand into his breeches and pleasured him one last time.

It was shortly after dawn when Tyler, in the company of Murphy and Phelim, rode to claim his bride. Dressed in his most expensive suit, he dismounted his horse and knocked at the door of her cottage. Sir Cedric startled him by answering it.

“Oh, Sir Cedric. I’m here to take Cassie to be wed.”

Sir Cedric gave him a hard look and then cleared his throat. “I’ve decided to keep her for myself. Bad luck, son.” With that, he slammed the door in Tyler’s face.

Tyler’s head reeled, his anger surged, and he kicked the door. “Damned dirty bastard!” He tore off his jacket, threw it over his shoulder, and rolled up his sleeves. “We’ll see about this. I’ll bash your head in, Sir Cedric Watkins, you can count on it!” He backed up a few feet and then gave a running kick to the door.

“Nae, won’t do any good to bust in the door, sir.” Phelim pointed into the distance. “Seems they’ve gone out the back way and are ridin’ off.”

Tyler spun around in time to see Sir Cedric’s and Cassie’s horses disappearing over the ridge to the west of the house.

“Damn him!” Tyler leaped onto his horse and slapped it into a gallop.

Murphy and Phelim joined in the chase.

The horses kicked up the soft earth as their riders drove them mercilessly. Sweat poured from the animals and men alike as they pursued Tyler’s kidnapped bride. As they rode, other pagans — who had been on their way to the marriage site — saw the action and joined in the chase. Soon there were a dozen horses tearing up the ground, bearing down on Sir Cedric and Cassie.

When Tyler and his party reached the river, they slowed and negotiated the narrow path that led to where they could cross. Once on the other side, they tracked the bride and her abductor until they were within sight.

Tyler’s rage peaked. With a carnal yell, he kicked his horse’s ribs and closed in on his rival. His riders joined in with hoots and hollers, cries and screams, and, closely resembling an American Indian war party, they descended upon the enemy.

Tyler came up alongside Cedric, and grabbed him. Together, they tumbled to the ground. “She’s mine. I’ll kill you!” Tyler pinned Sir Cedric down and pulled his fist back so he could smash him, when he was suddenly restrained by three of his own men. Startled, he looked up to see Phelim’s tiny face staring down into his.

“‘Tis only a game. You mustn’t kill Sir Cedric.”

“A game?” Tyler was dizzy with anger and exertion. “A fucking game?”

“Ah, yes, son.” Sir Cedric’s voice was strained. “A challenge, actually. See, we take the concept of winning the bride quite literally in these parts.”