Rite of Passage (14 page)

“Thanks so much. You’re so good to me.” She grinned, holding her nose as she took them with two fingers.

“You seem to be in charge.” I shrugged and took Pumpkin Patch and Courtney’s magnificent gelding to the lake while she took the saddlebags to a small pine grove. The spot was lovely, nestled into the side of the forest. It was hidden from view, but faced the lake, allowing the warm breeze to blow through. I was careful to make sure our mounts drank enough, promising myself to bring them back after lunch. In a few minutes, I took their reins loosely, picked up the remainder of our gear and headed back to the meadow.

“Should I tie them up?” I called to her.

She shook her head. “They’ll be fine. Pumpkin Patch is a dear and so is Romeo. But you could loosen the girth. It’s very warm.”

I did as she suggested, releasing the cinch on each saddle and left them grazing in the shade then walked toward her.

“You’ve named this horse Romeo, too?” I asked as I arrived at the grove.

“Of course,” she said, lips curled as her face reddened. “Unlike you, I am a romantic.”

I was about to tease her when I looked down. There was a blanket, two small bottles of wine, one for each of us, a corkscrew, some cheese, fruit, and a small loaf of coarse bread.

I was incredulous. “Wine, fresh strawberries…you really are quite the cook.” I laughed.

She joined me. Standing up, Courtney made a grand gesture of seating me and sat down on my right. I was shaking my head. As I watched she closed her eyes, undid the ribbons and combed out her damp braids with her fingers.

She sighed deeply. “Now that’s better. Oh, damn,” she cursed. “Can you believe it? I forgot a knife.”

“Some witch,” I teased. “Not to worry,” I volunteered. “I can make one appear by magic,” I said, taking my Swiss Army knife from my pocket. I took the corkscrew and handed her the knife, picking up one of the bottles.

“Perfect.” She smiled. “I managed to squeeze in a third bottle. It’s in the saddlebags,” she said, looking content while cutting a slice of cheese, placing it on a cloth napkin with some strawberries and grapes. She did the same with the loaf of bread and pointed toward it.

“Luncheon is served.” She gestured. “‘A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.’”

“Omar Khayyam. I am impressed.” I handed her the open bottle and repeated the process with the second. I lay on my elbow, taking a piece of bread, then cheese, washing them down with a swallow of the vintage cabernet she brought.

“Do you know how incredible you are?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said as she put her lips together.

For the next few minutes, we sat silently, eating and drinking, content to be with each other as we shared our private paradise. I had unanswered questions, but for those few minutes all I wanted was to be near Courtney. Life had a way of working out, I assured myself.

Chapter Nineteen

We finished lunch, sitting warm and tired, watching each other as we wrestled with our thoughts. I wanted to pursue the discussion about the future. Our future. Did we have one or was this all a tease. A bittersweet fantasy? I was willing to abandon my well-ordered life to be with her. But she seemed unwilling or unable to commit. Could I pretend these three days had never happened and go back to Boston, Rachel, and the stuffy social network that had been my life?

I looked up. Courtney was fidgeting with the leftovers, stuffing things into the saddlebags, avoiding my eyes. She pulled out the last bottle of wine and the corkscrew, crossing the small space between us. “What do you think?” she asked, sitting down next to me. Her eyes wore a tired, glassy look.

“I don’t know. It’s hot and I can already feel the effects of that first bottle.”

She shook her head. “You’re such a poop.” She perked up, poking me in the ribs. “I thought we were going to make this a day to remember.”

Courtney stopped, put down the wine and smiled softly as she found my eyes. Her fingertips fell on my shoulders. She began caressing them. Suddenly, she bent down, taking my face in her hands. She pulled me to her. Our mouths met tentatively. I opened my lips. She followed my lead, pressing her mouth against mine. I wanted that sensuous mouth again. Our brief encounter earlier only increased my desire. I played with her lips—above and around them. She followed my lead. Courtney was inexperienced, but we were lost in a world of ecstasy and anticipation, holding each other as if our lives depended on it. Our hands worked feverishly over our damp clothing. The electricity from the last few days had been a prelude, a tempting overture to what flowed between us, lighting our bodies on fire. The sweet moisture of our lips joined, played, caressed. I let my tongue find hers. She hesitated, backing away, unsure of what to do.

“It’s called a French kiss…”

“Shhh,” she whispered breathlessly. “Don’t stop. I love it.” Courtney was a willing student. We inhaled each other, lost in our private ecstasy, in an embrace so tight it was difficult to breathe. I wanted to consume Courtney—take her inside me and never release her. I knew she felt the same. Suddenly, she pushed away, sitting on the ground, gasping as she hugged herself, trembling.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and full of passion.

I sat, eyes closed, aroused beyond anything I’d ever imagined. My lips could still taste the sweet, salty flavor of hers. “I’ve never…never felt like that with anyone,” I whispered.

“Nor I,” she said between quick breaths.

I reached for her again. She held up her hands and backed away.

“No. We can’t. Not now.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. This was wrong, but I couldn’t wait. I had to know what it would be like.” She touched my lips softly. “To kiss you in the way I’d dreamt of since that first night. To feel you close to me, part of me,” she continued, eyes closed, as I kissed her fingertips.

“But Courtney,” I protested.

“Please, Robbie. We can’t.” She held up her hands again.

“But why? I don’t care about my life in Boston, Rachel, any of it! You know that. Is there”—I could barely bring myself to say the words—“someone else?”

“Someone else?” she whispered. I could see the pain in her eyes. She shook her head again. “How can you even ask me that?” She took both my hands in hers. Her eyes blazed. “There never was—never could be.”

“Then why?”

“I can’t explain right now. I’m begging you to trust me.” She let go of my hands and reached behind her, producing the third bottle of wine.

I sat frustrated and angry. I did trust her, but…

“Have a sip, please.” She opened the wine, watching me. “For me,” she repeated, tilting her head.

I took a long swallow. It had a different taste. I handed it back to her. “This is very good. Sweet. Have some.”

She took a quick swallow. “I’m all right. It’s something very special I brought for you.” She took my arm and put it around her shoulder. “May I lie next to you again?”

“Of course.” I yawned, drowsiness creeping over me.

Courtney dropped her head onto my chest. I felt her soft, regular breathing, saw her eyes closing, and closed my own for a moment. When she dozed off, I wanted to check the horses to see how they were faring in the heat, perhaps remove their saddles and get them another drink. I was asleep in seconds.

Chapter Twenty

I awoke alone. The angle of the sun told me it was later in the afternoon. I looked at my watch. It was after three. Panic swept over me. But as I surveyed the grove and the meadow everything was in place. The horses roamed freely, playing and grazing. Courtney must have awakened and taken a walk.

“Courtney,” I called. No reply. I repeated my call a little louder. My voice sounded lonely, muted by the trees and surrounding vegetation. I rose, pulling on my socks and boots, heading down the path toward the lake. No sign of Courtney anywhere. I decided to walk the perimeter of the grove looking for her.

I called her name again. Still nothing. As I came out from behind a thick stand of pines, a small sheltered area came into view. At its far end was a symmetrical, upright stone. At first glance I mistook it for an altar. What would an altar be doing in the middle of the Maine wilderness?

In the distance, I saw Courtney. She knelt in front of the large rock, holding an object over her head. I watched, about to call. Something made me balk—the mystery, the talk of witchcraft, or the strange dream. Instead, I bent down and crept closer. I stopped twenty yards behind her, finding a spot hidden by decaying logs. When the wind blew in my direction, I could hear her. The language was strange, like the one from my dream.

Suddenly, as if sensing my presence, she turned. Her expression was sad and dark. In the light that filtered through the trees, I could see tears shining on her sunburned cheeks. She took the object in her hands and kissed it. Standing, Courtney walked to the rock formation and placed it in a small container, then put it in the ground directly below a regular discoloration on the rock’s surface. She appeared to be burying it.

From behind the logs, I watched through a small gap. Courtney searched the clearing again, smoothed her clothes and headed toward me. It was the most direct route back to our picnic area. Suddenly I wondered.
Had she put something in the wine? And if so, why?

I huddled flat against the fallen logs. As she passed, she stopped, raising her head. I sensed Courtney knew I was there, but instead of turning toward me, she continued walking. As soon as she was out of sight, I ran around the grove and found a spot by the shore.

I heard movement across the glade. I turned, sneaking a look toward her. As she approached, Courtney appeared to compose herself, trying to look casual.

“Well, you really dozed off, McGregor. Sorry I deserted you but I had to use the facilities.” She was doing her best to keep the conversation light. Nodding toward the horses, Courtney touched my shoulder. “It’s time we went home.”

****

We rode in silence, retracing our path from the morning. The sumptuous green and gold of the meadows shimmered in the shadows as the sun worked toward the distant mountains. Turning, Courtney paused and watched, searching my eyes, holding them. After a few minutes she slowed. I cantered up to join her.

“Stop!” I commanded, confused, angry, and trying to make sense of all this. I thought about the growing list of mysteries. Her ability to commune with animals, the pendant she guarded like the crown jewels, and the mythology surrounding it. That strange wine and the ceremony in the glade. Michael’s stories. And the mysterious Simon. I was in denial, fighting the idea I refused to believe. Was it really possible? This is the twentieth century. We had jets, atomic bombs, air conditioning, and television. Did we really have witches?

“Hello, stranger.” Courtney interrupted my thoughts.

Perhaps I was letting my imagination run wild. Was it more simple than sinister? Was she going away and afraid to tell me? I had to know.

“Courtney, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” She feigned innocence. Her shoulders slumped, betraying her.

“Something’s wrong.” I took her reins. “Come on. I’m no fool. You put something in that wine. And I saw you in the woods performing that
ritual
.”

“It was something I had to do. I told you.” She paused. “I’m a witch.” She yanked her reins free and galloped ahead.

“That’s no answer,” I yelled after her, spurring my horse to catch her.

“Isn’t that what you expected to hear, Robbie?” She spat the words at me as I pulled abreast of her. “Haven’t people been filling your head with sinister stories about me and the mysterious goings on at Briarwood?”

“No…yes. But damn it, I want the truth.” I took her arm.

We stopped on the trail. She pulled free, studying my eyes. “You want the truth? Well, here it is. Sorry, but you’ll find it very mundane. It won’t measure up to the strange, romantic fantasy you’ve conjured up.”

I turned in the saddle, facing her, half angry, half embarrassed.

“You keep asking about some master plan.
Well, dear, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” She looked away. When she faced me again her eyes were burning, traces of tears on her cheeks. “Auntie had told me so many wonderful things about you—how handsome you were, how successful. She showed me your picture.”

“But Courtney—”

She refused to let me finish.

“I was lonely, angry, vulnerable. I found myself fantasizing about you, playing games in my mind, wondering what you were like, if you’d like me. Silly, schoolgirl dreams. I had no idea about your relationship with Rachel. Suddenly, there you were.”

I sat, slumped in my saddle, watching her.

She continued. “So when you arrived and were everything I’d imagined and more, I was already infatuated. And that infatuation has grown into something very deep and very real.”

I reached for her hand. She pulled it away.

“And as to the business with the animals you find so unfathomable, it’s very common with country folk. I’ve told you! It comes with practice and patience. There’s nothing otherworldly about it.”

“All right. I can accept that.”

“How kind of you.” She shot me a withering glance.

“But today, the wine and that strange ceremony?”

“Yes, I brought that wine especially for you. It was very strong. The weather was very hot and you were exhausted, sore, tired. Is it so strange to think you might doze off?”

“No. I suppose not,” I had to admit.

“And the ceremony. My mother was cremated. I was burying her ashes.”

“I couldn’t have known.” I felt humbled, but my practical side was still raising questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? And what was that strange language you were speaking?”

“I didn’t tell you, because as much as I care for you, Robbie, it was a very private moment. My mother loved this place. I’m sure you’ve heard that we were very close. She came here often as a child. That’s how I knew about it. She told me. I promised her that if anything ever happened to her I’d do my best to bury her ashes here. My family is descended from Welsh royalty. That was the language I was speaking.” Her face grew flushed. “It was an ancient prayer for her immortal soul.”