Rescued (Book One of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel (8 page)

“Welcome back, Snowman,” Gideon said.

Nathaniel’s deadliest assassin ignored him as he gazed down at the Temple Master with the usual fawning sycophancy. Alvis worshipped Nathaniel Harper almost as much as he did the Almighty.
 

“I have heard that we assemble to slaughter a great many pagans, my lord.” Delight made his girlish voice a little shriller than usual. “Is this so?”
 

“We come together to discuss it today,” Nathaniel told him. “Can I count on you to help us prevail, Brother?”

Alvis pulled the battle axe he kept strapped to his back over his shoulder and presented it in salute. “Show me where they are, and I will chop them into pig food.”

TROY PULLED OFF his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his chest before he buried the tip of his axe in the chopping stump. He hung the shirt around his neck before he threw another half-dozen split logs to the pile in the barrow. Even with the temperature dropping it felt good to be working outdoors. A faint, frosty mist diffused the afternoon sunlight, and he suspected from the rapidly-chilling air they could expect a freeze before morning. He could smell the hearty Irish stew Erica had bubbling in the kitchen, and the yeasty-sweet scent of the herb bread Aileen was baking to go with it. The coven’s dogs lay in a loose ring around him, content to watch him work.

Home. It wasn’t his anymore, but that didn’t change the way it felt to be here.

It had been seven days since he’d brought Summer to Silver Wood, and while they weren’t any closer to discovering who she was or how to dispel the curse she was carrying, the last week had gone better than he’d expected. The women of the coven had treated Summer with their usual warmth and kindness, with Erica taking her under her wing and helping her adjust to life among the Wiccans. Aileen was now working with Summer in the mornings to develop her touch with plants, and even his father spent an hour each night trying to restore her memory with his power of persuasion.

Troy had been given a noticeably cooler reception, but after abandoning the coven to join the Magus Corps he hadn’t expected to be welcomed back into the fold. His father remained coldly civil, and the other men tolerated his presence, but Wilson was still actively avoiding him. Only Erica, Aileen and Ewan had been openly friendly, although Wilson kept descending at regular intervals to whisk his frail wife back to their cabin to rest.

“It’s because you initiated me, you know,” Aileen told him one morning when they had a moment alone together in the kitchen. “I’ve tried to convince Wilson that you and I were never meant to be, but he can’t seem to get over it.”

Troy didn’t regret the brief romance they’d shared, which had ended even before he’d left the coven.

“I had no idea he was jealous. He’s an idiot, my brother.” He smiled down at her belly. “Have you divined what you’ll be having?”

“No, and if you can tell, you’re not to tell me,” she warned. “This baby is my first, and I know it’s going to hurt, a lot. If I’m going to get through the labor I need something to look forward to.”

Erica did her best to bring Troy and his father together at every opportunity, but Abel seemed uninterested in anything but the preparations for the Winter Solstice gathering and following the traditions of the season. He spoke to Troy only when necessary, and usually just to give him another list of chores that needed attending. Troy didn’t mind. When he’d lived at Silver Wood he’d spent more time in the yards and the barns than he had in the big house. A door shut sharply and light footsteps came approaching him from behind.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Major, but we need to have a discussion about something.”

He grinned a little without looking at Summer. She only called him “Major” when she was unhappy or annoyed.
 

“What’s the matter now?”

She came around to stand in front of him and planted her hands on her hips.
 

“Erica just told me about this sacred moon drawing thing.”

“Drawing down the moon,” he corrected. “We’ll hold the ritual the next time it’s full. What’s the problem?”

“Oh, you know, the part about how we do it. Sky clad, which she tells me means we all get naked and go outside, at night, in the woods. This would be the same woods where the bears and snakes and tigers live.”

Troy chuckled. “There are no bears or tigers on the mountain, and the snakes are hibernating.”

“So then I’m safe courting hypothermia by stripping down in front of a dozen guys,” she said, nodding. “Assuming my curse doesn’t decide to kick in. If it does, then we’re going to have a problem. Or an orgy.”

“Summer, the body ward I cast over you is working fine. No one is going to be affected by the curse––and it’s clothing optional. You can opt to go naked, or opt not to.” He saw where she was staring and quickly pulled his shirt back on. “Joining the ritual circle now will be a lot easier than when the covens gather for Winter Solstice. Then you’re talking about three hundred guys, most of whom will be celebrating in the nude for at least three or four nights that week.”

She rubbed her forehead and looked up at the sky.

“Why can’t Wiccans celebrate another way? What’s wrong with sitting around the fireplace and drinking hot cocoa and swapping ghost stories?”

“Nothing, but that’s what humans do. We’re not human, and our rituals date back centuries before secular religion got everyone uptight about nudity.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “If you feel that uncomfortable, I’m sure Abel will excuse you from the circle.”

“Oh, no.” She held up her slim hands. “Your father has already informed me that I’m not excused from anything, ever. To be a proper witch I have to grow my own herbs, mix my own potions, cast my own runes, and take part in all the rituals. Even that one with the disgusting green stuff Erica smeared all over my face.”
 

He thought for a minute. “That wasn’t a ritual. That was a cleansing.”

“What did it clean? Do you know how long it took me to get that gunk off my face? I was about to borrow some sandpaper from Wilson.” She sighed and hunkered down to scratch one of the retrievers behind his ears, which instantly drew all the dogs over to her. “Okay, okay, be patient, you guys. I only have two hands.”

Troy watched the dogs rubbing and nuzzling themselves against her in their collective bid for attention, and silently wished he was covered with fur and walked on all fours. Sleeping on the couch in their rooms was uncomfortable enough, but knowing one door was all that stood between him and Summer in a bed, kept him tossing and turning most nights.
     

Once all the dogs were piled around her, Summer sighed happily.

“I love dogs. They never give you the evil eye for screwing up witch stuff. Are you going to be chopping wood for the rest of the afternoon?”

“No, I’m finished.” He crouched down beside her. “Do you want to do some gardening?”

“Been there, weeded that. Also, Erica kind of kicked me off garden duty today.” Her shoulders slumped. “How was I supposed to know dandelions aren’t weeds? They are to humans. And how come Wiccan use them to make salads and wine, anyway? Can’t you people just grow lettuce and grapes, like everyone else?”

Troy bit back a laugh. “I think you need a Wicca break.”

“Oh, boy, you would not believe how much.” Summer perked right up. “Can we go for a hike, or a supply run into town, or let me emigrate to Australia?”

“We’ll take a drive over to my place. I’ve been meaning to get over there and make sure it’s ready for winter so my father doesn’t have to.” He stood, and waited for her to do the same before he nodded at the pavilion. “Get a jacket and some good walking shoes. I’ll let Erica know we’re going.”

Summer grinned like a girl and hurried back inside, while Troy headed for the kitchen where Erica was washing dishes.

“Your green witch has a black thumb,” the High Priestess grumbled as soon as she saw him. “I thought she was supposed to be gifted with plants.”

“Sorry about the dandelions,” Troy said, and took down one of the wicker hampers and began filling it with fruit, bread and cheese. “We’re going to head over to my property so I can have a look around and see if there are any issues that need tending before the snow comes. We won’t be here for dinner.”

“So I see.” Erica dried her hands and retrieved two unlabeled bottles from a rack on the wall. “Spring water with citrus and a bit of honey,” she said as she offered him the pair. “She doesn’t drink wine, and you need to keep your wits about you.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” he assured her as he placed the bottles in the basket. “If it was, it would have already in our rooms.”

“Not really,” the older woman said blandly. “I put a charm under her bed to keep you out of it.”
 

Troy cleared his throat. “A charm?”

“Just a small one.” She pinched the air with her fingers. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. She’s very lovely, and you’re quite virile, and then there’s this desire curse. I considered it being proactive.”

“Thank you, I think.” Troy kissed her brow and tucked the hamper under his arm. “How hopeless is she in the garden, really?”

Erica’s expression grew pained. “She’s never been taught anything, or if she has she can’t remember, so she may improve in time.”

“That bad, huh?”

Her red curls bobbed as she nodded. “A swarm of starving gophers might be less destructive, but not by much.”

“I don’t agree.” Aileen came into the kitchen with a basket of freshly-picked herbs, and looked completely unashamed about her obvious eaves-dropping. “Summer is hopeless in the garden because she’s not an herbalist. She has no empathy with growing things, nor any real interest in the green arts. I think her gift with plants is a side effect of some other power.”

Since Aileen was one of the most gifted young herbalists among Wiccans, Troy knew she spoke from experience.

“Do you know what her power could be?”

The young witch gestured for both of them to follow her out into the kitchen garden, and pointed to some rather uneven rows of thriving dandelions.

“She came back at midday when you were working at the loom, Erica. I watched from the window as she replanted them. She didn’t know what she was doing, but look at all the new shoots.”

“When I saw them in the weed basket they were already wilting. They should be dead now,” Erica said. The High Priestess knelt down beside the bed and ran her fingers wonderingly over the plant’s yellow-flowering heads. “They are bigger and greener than they were before she pulled them out.” She stared up at Troy. “This is what she was doing in the park?”

He shrugged, and helped the older woman to her feet.
 

“She doesn’t just make things grow like I do,” Aileen said. “I think Summer can bring dead plants back to life. Perhaps she can do the same with people.”

“Like a necromancer,” Erica murmured. “But without those horrid spells and sacrifices.”

“Have you ever known a witch to have a natural resurrection ability?” Troy asked. Erica shook her head, and Aileen did the same. “All right. I’ll get in touch with Boston tonight and ask them to search the archives again. There has to be some record of this somewhere.”

“Troy, she’s not evil,” Aileen said suddenly, and touched his arm. “I have felt the goodness in her.”

“We all have,” Erica said. “But to reanimate life is a black magic. If that is her true gift, my dears, then I’m afraid she was born cursed.”

AFTER TEN MINUTES on the still-scary winding mountain road, Summer saw no sign of any cabins or houses.

“Why did you build this place of yours so far away from the rest of the coven?”

“I didn’t. It’s part of the Atwater family’s original settlement.” He detoured onto a dirt road and skillfully avoided a large pothole. “Hang on, this is where it gets bumpy.”

Summer gripped the sides of her seat as they made their way up a steep portion of the road and then went down again, with thick brush crowding in on both sides.

“Maybe we should have brought a machete.”

“No one comes out here.” He drove around a pile of rocks that had spilled onto the road and then made one last turn into a clearing where most of the grass and brush had turned brown. “There it is.”

About half the size of the pavilion, Troy’s house sat like an enormous horseshoe left on the edge of the clearing. A glass-fronted A-frame loft dominated the center of the structure, and more curved glass
 
panels flowed out in two stacked-level wings. A blend of the modern and primitive, its weathered pine posts and gleaming steel roof supports had a pleasing symmetry that brought a smile to her lips.

“It’s amazing.” She turned to see him staring at it with a brooding frown. “You did a wonderful job with it.”

“My mother actually built most of it. Her ability allowed her control over anything made of wood.”

He climbed out of the Jeep and waited for her to join him before he walked with her up to the center of the house and unlocked the door.

Inside white dust cloths draped the furnishings, and aside from a few spider webs in the corners the walls stood bare. Still, Summer could see how much care had gone into finishing the golden oak floors and walnut roof beams, and how vibrant the amber paint covering the walls still was.

“Did you grow up here?”

“No.” He went over to duck his head into the large fireplace before he stacked some wood in the iron grate. “Would you see if there’s some kindling in the back room there?”

Summer walked in the direction he pointed and found herself in another, larger room. Here the tables and chairs had not been covered, and for a moment she was stunned by the intricately carved woods that had been painstakingly fashioned into the dining set. When she ran her fingertips over the highly-polished surface of the table the wood grain felt as smooth as glass, and saw intricate Celtic knot work had been chiseled into the backs of all of the chairs.

Troy appeared on the other side of the table, and frowned at it before he regarded her.