Spellbound (8 page)

The Castle of
Secrets glimmered with the light of a thousand torches. Its walls glinted silver and speared up toward the moon. The stone floor of the great hall was smooth as marble. In the center of the charmed circle cast by the ancients, Bryna stood in a robe of white, her hair a fall of fire, her eyes the blue of heated steel.

Here she would make her stand.

“Do you call the thunder and whistle up the winds, Alasdair? Such showmanship.”

In a swirl of smoke, a sting of sulphur, he appeared before her. Solid now, his flesh as real as hers. He wore the robes of crimson, of blood and power. His golden looks were beautiful, an angel’s face but for the contrast of those dark, damning eyes.

“And an impressive, if overdone entrance,” Bryna said lightly, though her pulse shuddered.

“Your trouble, my darling, is that you fail to appreciate the true delights of power. Contenting yourself with your woman’s charms and potions when worlds are at your mercy.”

“I take my oath, and my gifts, to heart, Alasdair. Unlike you.”

“My only oath is to myself. You’ll belong to me, Bryna, body and soul. And you will give me what I want the most.” He flung up a hand so that the walls shook. “Where is the globe?”

“Beyond you, Alasdair, where it will remain. As I will.”
She gestured sharply, shot a bolt of white light into the air to land and burn at his feet. A foolish gesture, she knew, but she needed to impress him.

He angled his head, smiled indulgently. “Pretty tricks. The moon is rising to midnight, Bryna. The time of waiting is ending. Your warrior has deserted you once again.”

He stepped closer, careful not to test the edge of the circle and his voice became soft, seductive. “Why not accept—even embrace—what I offer you? Lifetimes of power and pleasure. Riches beyond imagination. You have only to accept, to take my hand, and we will rule together.”

“I want no part of your kingdom, and I would rather be bedded by a snake than have your hands on me.”

Murky blue fire gleamed at his fingertips, his anger taking form. “You’ve felt them on you in your dreams. And you’ll feel them again. Gentle I can be, or punishing, but you’ll never feel another’s hand but mine. He’s lost to you, Bryna. And you are lost to me.”

“He’s safe from you.” She threw up her head. “So I have already won.” Lifting her hands, she loosed a whip of power, sent him flying back. “Be gone from this place.” Her voice filled the great hall, rang like bells. “Or face the death of mortals.”

He wiped a hand over his mouth, furious that she’d drawn first blood. “A battle, then.”

At his vicious cry, a shadow formed at his feet, and the shadow took the shape of a wolf, black-pelted, red-eyed, fangs bared. With a snarl, it sprang, leaping toward Bryna’s throat.

Cal pounded up the cliff, driving his mount furiously. The castle glowed brilliant with light, its walls tall and solid again, its turrets shafts of silver that nicked the cloud-chased moon. With a burst of knowledge, he thrust a hand inside the cloak and drew out the globe that waited there.

It swam red as blood, fire sparks of light piercing the clouds. He willed them to clear, willed himself to see as he thundered higher toward the crest of the cliff.

Visions came quickly, overlapping, rushing. Bryna weep
ing as she watched him sleep. The dark chamber with the globe held between them and her whispering her spell.

You will be safe, you will be free. There is nothing, my love, you cannot ask of me. Follow the stag whose pelt is white, if your heart is not open come not back in the night. This gift and this duty I trust unto you. The globe of hope and visions true. Live, and be well, and remember me not. What cannot be held is best forgot. What I do I do free. As I will, so mote it be.

And terror struck like a snake, its fangs plunging deep into the heart. For he knew what she meant to do.

She meant to die.

She wanted to live, and fought fiercely. She sliced the wolf, cleaving its head from its body with one stroke of will. And its blood was black.

She sent her lights blazing, the burning cold that would scorch the flesh and freeze the bone.

And knew she would lose when midnight rang.

Alasdair’s robes smoked from the violence of her power. And still he could not break the circle and claim her.

He sent the ground heaving under her feet, watched her sway, then fall to her knees. And his smile bloomed dark when her head fell weakly and that fiery curtain of hair rained over the shuddering stones.

“Will you ask for pain, Bryna?” He stepped closer, felt the hot licks when his soft boots skimmed the verge of the circle. Not yet, he warned himself, inching back. But soon. Her spell was waning. “Just take my hand, spare yourself. We will forget this battle and rule. Give me your hand, and give me the globe.”

Her breath was short and shallow. She whispered words in the old tongue, the secrets of magic, incantations that flickered weakly as her power slipped like water through her fingers.

“I will not yield.”

“You will.” He inched closer again, pleased when he met with only faint resistance. “You have no choice. The charm was cast, the time has come. You belong to me now.”

He reached down, and her shoulder burned where his fingers brushed. “I belong to Calin.” She gripped the amulet, steeling herself, then flipped its poison chamber open with her thumb. She whipped her head up and, with a last show of defiance, smiled. “You will never have what is his.”

She brought the amulet to her lips, prepared to take the powder.

The horse and rider burst into the torchlight in a flurry of black, storm-gray, and bright steel.

“Would you rather die than trust me?” Cal demanded furiously.

The amulet slipped through her fingers, the powder sifted onto the stones. “Calin.”

“Touch her, Alasdair”—Cal controlled the restless horse as if he’d been born astride one—“and I’ll cut off your hands at the wrists.”

Though there was alarm, and there was shock, Alasdair straightened slowly. He would not lose now. The woman was already defeated, he calculated, and the man was, after all, only a foolish mortal. “You were a warrior a thousand years ago, Caelan of Farrell. You are no warrior tonight.”

Cal vaulted from the horse, and his sword sang as he pulled it from its scabbard. “Try me.”

Unexpected little flicks of fear twisted in Alasdair’s belly. But he circled his opponent, already plotting. “I will bring such fury raining down on your head…” He crossed his arms over his chest, then flung them to the side. Black balls of lightning shot out, hissing trails of snaking sparks.

Instinctively Cal raised the sword. Pain and power shot up his arm as the charges struck, careened away, and crashed smoking into stone.

“Do you think such pitiful weapons can defend against a power such as mine?” Arrogance and rage rang in Alasdair’s voice as he hurled arrows of flame. His cry echoed monstrously as the arrows struck Cal’s cloak and melted into water.

“Your power is nothing here.”

Bryna was on her feet again, her white robe swirling like
foam. And her face so glowed with beauty that both men stared in wonder.

“I am the guardian of this place.” Her voice was deeper, fuller, as if a thousand voices joined it. “I am a witch whose power flows clean. I am a woman whose heart is bespoken. I am the keeper of all you will never own. Fear me, Alasdair. And fear the warrior who stands with me.”

“He will not stand with you. And what you guard, I will destroy.” With fists clenched, he called the flames, shot the torches from their homes to wheel and burn and scorch the air. “You will bow yet to my will.”

With lifted arms, Bryna brought the rain, streaming pure and cool through the flames to douse them. And felt as the damp air swirled, the power pour through her, from her, as rich and potent as any she’d known.

“Save this place,” Alasdair warned, “and lose the man.” He whirled on Cal, sneered at the lifted sword. “Remember death.”

Like a blade sliced through the belly, the agony struck. Blood flowed through his numbed fingers, and the sword clattered onto the wet stone. He saw his death, leaping like a beast, and heard Bryna’s scream of fear and rage.

“You will not harm him. It’s trickery only, Calin, hear me.” But her terror for him was so blinding that she ran to him, leaving the charm of the circle.

The bolt of energy slapped her like a jagged fist, sent her reeling, crumbling. Paralyzed, she fought for her strength but found the power that had flowed so pure and true now only an ebbing flicker.

“Calin.” The hand she’d flung out to shield him refused to move. She could only watch as he knelt on the stones, unarmed, bleeding, beyond her reach. “You must believe,” she whispered. “Trust. Believe or all is lost.”

“He loses faith, you lose your power.” Robes singed and smoking, Alasdair stood over her. “He is weak and blind, and you have proven yourself more woman than witch to trade your power for his life.”

Reaching down, he grabbed her hair and dragged her roughly to her knees. “You have nothing left,” he said to
her. “Give me the globe, come to me freely, and I will spare you from pain.”

“You will have neither.” She gripped the amulet, despairing that its chamber was empty. She bit off a cry as icy fingers squeezed viciously around her heart.

“From this time and this place, you are in bondage to me for a hundred years times ten. And this pain you feel will be yours to keep until you bend your will to mine.”

He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “A kiss,” he said, “to seal the spell.”

She was wrenched out of his arms, her fingers locked with Cal’s. Even as she whispered his name, he stepped in front of her, raised the sword in both hands so that it shimmered silver and sharp.

“Your day is done.” Cal’s eyes burned and the pain swirling through him only added to his strength. “Can you bleed, wizard?” he demanded and brought the sword down like fury.

There was a cry, ululating, inhuman, a stench of sulphur, a blinding flash. The ground heaved, the stones shook, and lightning, cold and blue, speared out of the air and struck.

The explosion lifted him off his feet. Even as he grabbed for Bryna, Cal felt the hot, greedy hand of it hurl him into the whirling air, into the dark.

Visions played through
his head. Too many to count. Voices hummed and murmured. Women wept. Charms were chanted. He swam through them, weighed down with weariness.

Someone told him to sleep, to be easy, but he shook off the words and the phantom hands that stroked his brow.

He had slept long enough.

He came to, groggy, aching in every bone. The thin light of pre-dawn filtered the air. He thought he heard whispering, but decided it was just the beat of the sea and the flow of the wind through grass.

He could see the last of the stars just winking out. And with a moan, he turned his head and tried to shake off the dream.

The cat was watching him, sitting patiently, her eyes unblinking. Dazed, he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing from the pain, and saw that he was lying on the ground outside the ruins.

Gone were the tall silver spears, the glowing torches that had lighted the great hall. It was, as it had been when he’d first seen it, a remnant of what it once had been, a place where the wind wound about and the grass and wildflowers forced their way through stony ground.

But the scent of smoke and blood still stung the air.

“Bryna.” Panicked, he heaved himself to his feet. And nearly stumbled over her.

She was sprawled on the ground, one arm outflung. Her
face was pale, bruised, her white robe torn and scorched. He fell to his knees, terrified that he would find no pulse, no spark of life. But he found it, beating in her throat, and shuddering with relief, he lowered his lips to hers.

“Bryna,” he said again. “Bryna.”

She stirred, her lashes fluttering, her lips moving against his. “Calin. You came back. You fought for me.”

“You should have known I would.” He lifted her so that he could cradle her against him, resting a cheek on her hair. “How could you have kept it from me? How could you have sent me away?”

“I did what I thought best. When it came to facing it, I couldn’t risk you.”

“He hurt you.” He squeezed his eyes tight as he remembered how she’d leaped from safety and been struck down.

“Small hurts, soon over.” She turned, laid her hands on his face. There were bruises there as well, cuts and burns. “Here.” Gently, she passed her hands over them, took them away. Her face knit in concentration, she knelt and stroked her fingers over his body, skimming where the cloak hadn’t shielded until every wound was gone. “There. No pain,” she murmured. “No more.”

“You’re hurt.” He lifted her as he rose.

“It’s a different matter to heal oneself. I have what I need in the cupboard, in the kitchen.”

“We weren’t alone here. After?”

“No.” Oh, she was so weary, so very weary. “Family watches over. The white bottle,” she told him as he carried her through the kitchen door and sat her at the table. “The square one, and the small green one with the round stopper.”

“You have explaining to do, Bryna.” He set the bottles on the table, fetched her a glass. “When you’re stronger.”

“Yes, we’ve things to discuss.” With an expert hand, an experienced eye, she mixed the potions into the glass, let them swirl and merge until the liquid went clear as plain water. “But would you mind, Calin, I’d like a bath and a change of clothes first.”

“Conjure it,” he snapped. “I want this settled.”

“I would do that, but I prefer the indulgence. I’ll ask you
for an hour.” She rose, cupping the glass in both hands. “It’s only an hour, Calin, after all.”

“One thing.” He put a hand on her arm. “You told me you couldn’t lie to me, that it was forbidden.”

“And never did I lie to you. But I came close to the line with omission. One hour,” she said on a sigh that weakened him. “Please.”

He let her go and tried to soothe his impatience by brewing tea. His cloak was gone, he noted, and the sweater she’d woven for him stank of smoke and blood. He stripped it off, tossed it over the back of a chair, then glanced down as the cat came slinking into the room.

“So how do I handle her now?” Cal cocked his head, studied those bland blue eyes. “Any suggestions? You’d be her familiar, wouldn’t you? Just how familiar are you?”

Content with the cat for company, he crouched down and stroked the silky black fur. “Are you a shape-shifter too?” He tilted the cat’s head up with a finger under the chin. “Those eyes looked at me from out of the face of a white stag.”

Letting out a breath, he simply sat on the floor, let the cat step into his lap and knead. “Let me tell you something, Hecate. If a two-headed dragon walked up and knocked on the kitchen door, I wouldn’t blink an eye. Nothing is ever going to surprise me again.”

But he was wrong about that. He was stunned with surprise when Bryna came downstairs again. She was as he’d seen her the night before, when her power had glowed in her face, striking it with impossible beauty.

“You were beautiful before,” he managed, “but now…Is this real?”

“Everything’s real.” She smiled, took his hand. “Would you walk with me, Cal? I’m wanting the air and the sun.”

“I have questions, Bryna.”

“I know it,” she said as they stepped outside. Her body felt light again, free of aches. Her mind was clear. “You’re angry because you feel I deceived you, but it wasn’t deception.”

“You sent the white stag to lure me into the woods, away from you.”

“I did, yes. I see now that Alasdair knew, and he used it against me. I wanted you safe. Knowing you now—the man you are now—that became more important than…” She looked at the castle. “Than the rest. But he tricked you into removing the protection I’d given you, then sent you into dreams to cloud your mind and make you doubt your reason.”

“There was a woman…she said she was your mother.”

“My mother.” Bryna blinked once, then her lips curved. “Was she in her garden, wearing a foolish hat of straw?”

“Yes, and she had your mouth and hair.”

Clucking her tongue, Bryna strolled toward the ruins. “She wasn’t meant to interfere. But perhaps it was permitted, as I bent the rules a bit myself. The air’s clearing of him,” she added as she stepped under the arch. “The flowers still bloom here.”

He saw the circle of flowers, untouched, unscarred. “It’s over, then. Completely?”

Completely,
she thought and fought to keep her smile in place. “He’s destroyed. Even at the moment of his destruction he tried to take us with him. He might have done it if you hadn’t been quick, if you hadn’t been willing to risk.”

“Where’s the globe now?”

“You know where it is. And there it stays. Safe.”

“You trusted me with that, but you didn’t trust me with you.”

“No.” She looked down at the hands she’d linked together. “That was wrong of me.”

“You were going to take poison.”

She bit her lip at the raw accusation in his voice. “I couldn’t face what he had in mind for me. I couldn’t bear it, however weak it makes me. I couldn’t bear it.”

“If I’d been a moment later, you would have done it. Killed yourself. Killed yourself,” he repeated, jerking her head up. “You couldn’t trust me to help you.”

“No, I was afraid to. I was afraid and hurt and desperate.
Have I not the right to feelings? Do you think what I am strips me of them?”

Her mother had asked almost the same of him, he remembered. “No.” He said it very calmly, very clearly. “I don’t. Do you think what I’m not makes me less?”

Stunned, she shook her head, and pressing a hand to her lips, turned away. It wasn’t only he who had questioned, she realized. Not only he who had lacked faith.

“I’ve been unfair to you, and I’m sorry for it. You came here for me and learned to accept the impossible in only one day.”

“Because part of me accepted it all along. Burying something doesn’t mean it ceases to exist. We were born for what happened here.” He let out an impatient breath. Why were her shoulders slumped, he wondered, when the worse of any life was behind them? “We’ve done what we were meant to do, and maybe it was done as it was meant to be.”

“You’re right, of course.” Her shoulders straightened as she turned, and her smile was bright. And false, he realized as he looked into her eyes.

“He can’t come back and touch you now.”

“No.” She shook her head, laid a hand briefly on his. “Nor you. He was swallowed by his own. His kind are always here, but Alasdair is no more.”

Then with a laugh she brought his hand to her cheek. “Oh, Cal, if I could give you a picture, as fine and bold as any of your own. How you looked when you hefted that sword over your head, the light in your eyes, the strength rippling in waves around you. I’ll carry that with me, always.”

She turned then, walked regally to the circle of flowers. In the center she turned, faced him, held out her hands. “Calin Farrell, you met your fate. You came to me when my need was great, when my life was imperiled. In this place you stood between me and the unbearable, fought against magic dark and deadly, wielded sword for me. You’ve saved my life and in so doing saved this place and all I guard in it.”

“Quite a speech,” he murmured and stepped closer.

She only smiled. “You’re brave and true of heart. And from this hour, from this place you are free.”

“Free?” Understanding was dawning, and he angled his head. “Free from you, Bryna?”

“Free from all and ever. The spell is broken, and you have no debt to pay. But a debt is owed. Whatever you ask that is in my power you shall have. Whatever boon you wish will be yours.”

“A boon, is it?” He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “Oh, let’s say, like immortality?”

Her eyes flickered—disappointment quickly masked. “Such things aren’t within the power I hold.”

“Too tough for you, huh?” With a nod, he circled around her as if considering. “But if I decided on, say, unlimited wealth or incredible sexual powers, you could handle that.”

Her chin shot up another inch, went rigid. “I could, if it’s what you will. But a warning before you choose. Be wary and sure of what you wish for. Every gift, even given freely, has a price.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that. Let’s think about it. Money? Sex? Power, maybe. Power’s good. I could have a nice island in the Caribbean, be a benign despot. I could get into that.”

“This offer was not made for your amusement,” she said stiffly.

“No? Well, it tickles the hell out of me.” Rocking back on his heels, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “All I had to do was knock off an evil wizard and save the girl, and I can have whatever I want. Not a bad deal, all in all. So, just what do I want?”

He narrowed his eyes in consideration, then stepped into the circle. “You.”

Eyes widening, she jerked back. “What?”

“You. I want you.”

“To—to do what?” she said stupidly, then blinked when he roared with laughter. “Oh, you’ve no need to waste a boon there.” She lifted her hands to unfasten her dress, and found them caught in his.

“That, too,” he said, walking her backward out of the circle, keeping her arms up, her hands locked behind her head. “Yeah, in fact, I look forward to quite a bit of that.”

The warrior was back, she thought dizzily. There, the glint
of battle and triumph in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding you to your boon. You, Bryna, all of you, no restrictions. For better or worse,” he continued until he had her backed against the wall. “For richer or poorer. That’s the deal.”

She couldn’t get her breath, couldn’t keep her balance. “You want…me?”

“I’m not getting down on one knee when it’s my boon.”

“But you’re free. The spell is broken. I have no hold on you.”

“Don’t you?” He lowered his mouth, buckling her knees with his kiss. “You can’t lie to me.” He crushed his lips to hers again, pulling her closer. “You were born loving me.” He swallowed her moan and dived deeper. “You’ll die loving me.”

“Yes.” Powerless, she flexed the hands he held above her head.

“Look at me,” he murmured, easing back as she trembled. “And see.” He gentled his hands, lowered them to stoke her shoulders. “Beautiful Bryna. Mine. Only mine.”

“Calin.” Her heart wheeled when his lips brushed tenderly over hers. “You love me. After it’s done, after it’s only you and only me. You love me.”

“I was born loving you.” The kiss was deep and sweet. “I’ll die loving you.” He sipped the tears from her cheeks.

“This is real,” she said in a whisper. “This is true magic.”

“It’s real. Whatever came before, this is what’s real. I love you, Bryna. You,” he repeated. “The woman who puts whiskey in my tea, and the witch who weaves me magic sweaters. Believe that.”

“I do.” Her breath released on a shudder of joy. She felt it. Love. Trust. Acceptance. “I do believe it.”

“It’s time we made a home together, Bryna. We’ve waited long enough.”

“Calin Farrell.” She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. “Your boon is granted.”