Love of Her Lives (2 page)

It was twilight when Calum reached the meadowlands at the base of Mount Michaelmas far outside the city of Seraphina. Timing was key since the veil between worlds grew thinnest at dawn and dusk.

He found the blackthorn tree standing like a steadfast sentry to the Alfarian’s world. Following the prescribed ritual, he picked a clump of ever–blooming magenta berries. With their bitter taste on his tongue, he sang the required song to open the doorway between worlds and draw the Alfar’s magic to him. He sat still and fine–tuned his thoughts to concentrate on one being. Calling out with his mind, he felt the energy of his request grow more powerful as each second passed.

A quiet wind blew down from the mountain, split a path through the wavering meadow, and rustled the leaves of the blackthorn tree. The breeze blew lightly across Calum’s shoulders and skimmed his neck like tiny fish fins rousing him instantly to his feet. When a footfall sounded behind him, he spun around to find an Alfarian Elf ducking under a blackthorn branch. He rose to his full height eye–to–eye with Calum. A mane of white hair fell in waves over the shoulders of his black waistcoat down to his golden belt. Finn of the Alfar lifted his chin regally and pressed his lips together under iridescent, upswept eyes that scanned Calum from head to toe.

The corners of Finn’s mouth lifted slightly with acknowledgement of the mortal who had summoned him. “So the Old Ones have driven another soul to seek my expedient assistance. Will they ever learn, Calum?”

He calls me by name.
Calum said nothing. He didn’t agree with the excruciatingly slow process with which the Old Ones trained novices, but he refused to criticize them behind their backs.

Finn’s gaze fell on the crimson–streaked sky. “I heard you’ve been dabbling in the supernatural, practicing geomancy to catch a glimpse of your true love’s future. I doubt the Old Ones praised you for that.”

Most definitely not, but his love for one woman was all that mattered. “I do admire your expedience, Finn, and more so your benevolence.” Calum glanced guardedly around the meadow. “I’ve a request to make of you.”

Finn reached over and caressed a clump of luscious blackthorn berries with his long, elegant fingers. “I’m well aware of what you seek, mortal, and of the woman you wish to save from her miserable life.”

Ah, perhaps Finn knew more than Calum did. “I only managed to scry a wee portion of Bethia’s future.” Her heartbreaking despair and regret had sliced through him worse than any broadsword. “She will suffer an unprecedented punishment for a crime she didn’t commit. Her regret was in her handling of a black satchel, but I’ve no knowledge of the villains who are set against her. No matter the distance between us, my job had always been to protect my mate, as her spirit guide, as her soul mate, as a mere man. Since you are abreast of Bethia’s plight, I would be eternally appreciative of any insight you could provide.”

Finn regarded him for a long, silent moment. “I do love eternal appreciation, but any further assistance would spoil the opportunity for a satisfying diversion. I’d rather see how resourceful you are, Calum. If I grant your request, I expect you to win your woman’s devotion and arouse her passion before you return to Seraphina.”

Fine with him. Safeguarding Bethia’s future would be his priority, but not his sole pleasure. “I must determine who plots against her. Send me to her, Finn, to her home where I will find a way to befriend her. Passion will come between us, I guarantee it.”

“Be warned, mortal, as a spirit your guidance in Bethia’s mind was a mere whisper she could easily ignore — no more than the Old Ones allow. In human form, your whisper in her mind will be stronger, enough to bend her will. Not to be used to your advantage. You will keep your thoughts to yourself and stay out of her mind.” Finn’s high cheekbones rose in a chill warning that was no smile. “Do not think to disappoint me.”

And it was done. Not that Calum was transformed painlessly in the blink of an eye. No, if pain was evidence of life, Calum’s transformation from spirit to human was a complete success. With his feet firm on God’s green earth, Calum suspected he’d not seen the last of the passion–obsessed Alfar, but he put the uneasy thought from his mind. All that mattered was reaching Bethia.

If the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, then tiramisu may just be the best way out of a man’s heart, or so Beth Stewart hoped. She needed all the help she could get. Breaking up with Matthew required tact and diplomacy. Her financial security depended on them remaining friends.

She stood at her kitchen counter, bent over a shopping list, considering the perfect break–up meal. He loved her sweet potato coconut soup, one of the few things about her he’d not tried to improve. Since it was vital they continued to work together amiably until their investment house in Belize sold, she would butter up his palate to ease the breakup.

Matthew, you deserve a woman who is crazy over you …
Or one who didn’t see his endless suggestions as a need to control. Was that a good way to start the break–up conversation? Should she wait till dessert?

And what else to serve? Nothing that sparked romance, no chocolate–dipped strawberries tonight. Perhaps tiramisu was too decadent. Perhaps an old–fashioned apple pie to bring thoughts of support, community, the golden rule? Or was she reaching with that?

The sun shone brilliantly through her French doors in a sudden burst. Those doors, the promise of a walk–out deck, and the open concept, had been the selling features of an Oakhaven Home. As she scanned her backyard, she had a great idea — fiddleheads, sautéed in butter and garlic.

The Ashbury Conservation Area bordered her backyard to the south. Canadian maple and birch trees were just coming into leaf. A foot trail ran alongside a river where crisp, green fiddleheads would soon feather into sumptuous ferns to cover the rich soil like giant hands. She could easily pick enough for their dinner.

The May morning was typical for Ontario, cool with the sun drying the morning dew and the promise of cherry blossoms perfuming the air. Just the sort of day for new beginnings. She should serve something to ensure Matthew left the house after dinner. Baked beans?

She chuckled as she approached her garden shed. A heaping plate of Rocky Mountain oysters would have him running for the curb before dinner. How do you prefer your bull’s testicles, Matthew? Rare? Well done? Roasted in their sac?

As she approached the shed, she noticed the door was unlatched and slightly ajar. Odd. She pulled it open to let the sun cast light inside. Her meager possessions included gardening gloves, trowel, a couple of plastic pots, and a bag of fertiliser. The row of hooks on the side wall sat empty except for her new spade.

She took a closer look. The spade no longer looked unused but had dirt clinging to its tip. Had one of her neighbours borrowed it when she wasn’t home?

She walked down the yard to her property line roughly butted by the edge of an old pine forest. Since her gaze was glued to the ground, she noticed the beautiful, pink–streaked granite rock at the corner of her property. It looked odd, not embedded in the soil like others in the woods, but sitting up on top.

As she bent over to examine the rock, she noticed a footprint quite a bit larger than her size eight shoe. Dirt around the stone looked as though it had been stamped down. Footprints? Smoothed over earth? Had the stone been put there as a marker? With both hands, she shoved the rock aside.

It only took a moment to retrieve her spade. She drove it into the soil with her foot. Sure enough, the spade slid easily into the ground, too easily for untilled soil.

Putting her back into it, she shoveled out earth. On her tenth scoop, Beth snagged a canvas strap.

After a quick scan of the woods, she dropped to her haunches and tugged the strap free. It belonged to a black Roots backpack. She brushed away the dirt and gave the bag a shake. Not as heavy as a backpack full of school books, but it was full of something. Leaning in, she gave it a cautious sniff — earth and something herbal? Nothing putrid though. The remains of a dead animal were a find she could do without.

Nerves jittered to life in her hand as she tugged the zipper open. With the tips of her fingers, she peeled back the canvas flap and peered inside. Her jaw dropped. Buried treasure defined it perfectly. Inside the backpack was a stack of bills neatly wrapped and sealed in a Ziploc bag. With a quick glance around, she lifted it up and found another plastic bag underneath. The source of the herbal smell, she determined as she pulled it out. No need to open the bag to know it wasn’t oregano she held in her hands. She snapped her mouth closed as her eyes darted left and right.

A recollection surfaced of a television episode where a hiker found a gym bag of drug money from greasy addicts who pilfered kids’ innocence through a schoolyard fence. She almost dropped the backpack. Not in her backyard — no way. Ashbury had a negligible crime rate, and she’d send a strong message to the bad ass who thought to corrupt her community. The loot was going directly to the police.

Beth set the bag aside, filled the hole and repositioned the stone. Brushing her hands off on her jeans, she reached for the bag and stopped. Her heart rapped against her ribcage like a warning bell.

Footsteps!

Calum did not land in the woods near Bethia’s home, as he had requested of Finn, where songbirds might have squawked at his arrival. Instead, he was greeted by a foul whoosh followed by an obnoxious sucking sound that he would have sprinted from had he room to sprint. Locked inside a cabinet with an oddly shaped, white cistern and no elbowroom, he felt every muscle tense in his twelfth–century warrior’s body. Where the hell was he?

The cabinet wall did not reach the ceiling, so he stepped up onto the cistern’s wide black rim and peered over the top of the wall to find another cabinet of the same ilk where a lad sat with his breeches pooled about his ankles. As the lad’s head tilted back, Calum jumped to the floor.

He hadn’t walked the earth in over a hundred years, but there was no misunderstanding the odour wafting from the neighbouring stall. No sweet smell of the woodlands here, he was in a public toilet. Finn must think himself amusing.

At least he wasn’t dressed like a Highland warrior. Skin–tight black breeches clung to his muscular legs. Too tight for a man his size. What if he should see Bethia and grow hard? The breeches could very well do damage, and there’d be little left to her imagination. That thought brought a smile to his lips and an awareness of a bulge in his pants. He plunged his hand into his right pocket and withdrew a rolled wad of paper. Ah, currency, he realized after examination. Finn might have a sick sense of humour, but he was accommodating.

He stuffed the money back into his pants and rolled onto the balls of his feet. The black boots seemed serviceable enough, and his shirt was made of surprisingly fine wool dyed a rich brown.

Another whoosh sounded from the cabinet beside him, but he only flinched. He may find the sounds of the twenty-first century obnoxious, but it wouldn’t serve him to show it. His gaze landed on the silver latch just as he heard a click next door followed by shuffling feet.

He couldn’t get out fast enough and hardly glanced at his reflection in the looking glass before following the lad out the door. His reflection had been a familiar one.

Finn had granted him an exceptional body from long ago when he’d lived with Bethia in the Scottish Highlands as a fervent warrior with passion pumping through his bloodstream. The significance wasn’t lost on him. That life had been their most poignant; the one where they’d vowed eternal love. Additional traits of the warrior flickered through his consciousness. He remembered celebrating a lustful disposition and a fiery temperament he now felt strongly. He’d have to keep a watch on that.

Calum inhaled deeply to the count of four, and then exhaled to the same count. Emotions would not govern him, but lust? Not a concern, lust could have free rein. He hungered after one woman only and, forby, he was human.

He stopped to peer down a long hall where a steady flow of young people streamed in both directions. When he peeked in a room numbered 1077, he realized where he was. Classrooms hadn’t changed much in a century’s time. With luck, Finn had deposited him at Bethia’s university.

His first grounded thought was a salacious one. Two women walked toward him wearing a style of breeches that held tight to their curves. The bare belly of the redhead, not to mention the sparkle of a gem in her navel, was enough to drive a hot–blooded man to distraction. While he understood fashions had changed in one hundred Earth years, he’d not anticipated the effect of such women fashioned in quantity.

He felt a mere hint of arousal as the redhead’s eyelids dipped in a sultry glance over glistening lips that parted indecently. His smile was friendly, but he craved no others than Bethia’s lips. Would she paint sheen on her lips to entice him or show him the tip of her pink tongue like the redheaded lass was doing? In this lifetime, Bethia’s hair was fair, as he preferred, the colour of summer wheat. He longed to feel the silky texture tangle about his fingers. Longed to know the taste of her on his tongue. The blood rushed to his groin when he envisioned his lips exploring the curve of her neck, the slope of her breast, the hollow of her hip.

Where was his woman?

The sultry redhead brushed her arm against his as she glided by; close enough for him to smell the heavy musk of her perfume. What fragrance did Bethia wear? Or did she wear nothing that masked her natural scent? Soon, he would lay his cheek against her skin and breathe her in deeply.

First, he had to find her.

Reaching out with his senses, he searched for the feel of her, knowing how to connect with her this way as her spirit guide. He was dismayed to feel nothing at first. Why would Finn deliver him to the university if she was not present? He’d impressed upon the elf the seriousness of arriving early enough to stop her from touching the black satchel, since it seemed to lie at the root of her trouble.