Present day
Alexander watched the small knot of tourists gather around the statue dominating the swathe of velvety grass of the village green.
“They call them The Lovers.” The tour guide gestured to the statue behind her. She gave her group a simpering smile. “For obvious reasons.”
Cameras and cell phones aimed and took pictures of the statue of a large man, his arms tenderly clasping a woman. You couldn’t see the woman’s face because it was tucked into his chest. The asinine name had sprung up about two hundred years back and stuck. The only good thing about it was how much it would have gotten up Roderick’s arse.
A doe-eyed thirty-something American stared up at the statue. “Who are they?”
Alexander recognized the type. A mail-in-ancestry-kit addict here to trace her roots, and not the one he was looking for. The one he sought rubbed like steel wool against his senses, her magic sweet and tart. He breathed deep. Honey and sage might just become his favorite combination.
“We’re not quite sure who they are.” The tour guide plastered her candy-floss grin on again. She winked and leaned closer. “Rumor has it he’s the original owner of Baile Castle, Sir Roderick.”
Rumor got it right in this instance.
Alexander dismissed the Asian couple as not the source. It had been so long since he’d felt that unique pull, it had taken him a few minutes to put a name to it. He’d tracked the trickle of magic to the village green, and finally to the small group surrounding the statue.
There! He zeroed in on the diminutive redhead behind a tall German woman wearing a Man U sweatshirt.
No more than five two, she was still a tasty little armful with her shapely curves and big green eyes.
She glanced up and caught him looking.
Alexander smiled at her.
She blushed and went back to listening to the tour guide.
The German woman pointed at the statue. “What happened to Sir Roderick?”
“Another mystery.” The tour guide grimaced.
Alexander could have told her exactly what happened to the whoreson.
“Some say it was magic.” The tour guide widened her eyes and giggled. “That he just disappeared one night, never to be seen again.”
The group gave an obliging chuckle. All except the little honey and sage sweetheart.
Alexander kept his focus on her.
She frowned and chewed on her lip. Then she rubbed her arms and shivered. She felt it all right, the power emanating from the statue.
“Other legends talk of a mass suicide, and another one links his death to the witch hunts of the sixteen-hundreds.” The tour guide loved this bit. The village tourist council insisted she drag the groups through the village and try to get them to spend some money in local businesses while they were there. You could take a seat at the Copper Cauldron and pay too much for a tired cheese and ham sandwich or force down that green piss they called Love Potion #9 at the pub, colorfully named The Hag’s Head. Other than the statue, however, Greater Littleton was as interesting as day-old bread. The tourists came for the crown in the jewel, Baile Castle.
“Are we going to see the castle soon?” The American thirty-something’s burly husband stepped forward. “I came to see the castle.”
The rest of the group nodded.
Alexander’s prey looked up at the castle perched on the hill above the town and paled. He’d bet she’d seen it before, haunting her dreams, calling to her.
The tour guide checked her watch, lips pursed in irritation. Someone always wanted to cut her tour short. “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait another half an hour before we have access to the castle.” She gave the American a minatory stare. “The castle is still privately owned, and the owner is most specific about the times they will allow tours.”
“Privately owned? Jesus.” The American grunted and stared up at the castle. “I wouldn’t want to pay the heating bill on that.”
Alexander let his gaze stray from his prey to Baile. Gray stone turrets rising against the sky, she was the most intact and beautiful castle in all of England. The only people more surprised to see the little cré-witch than him would be the bitches rattling around in that castle.
If you enjoyed this story, and would like to know what happens with Roderick & Maeve. If you would also like a trip to present day, don’t miss Born In Water.
An ancient prophecy binds them.
The women in Bronwyn Beaty’s family are cursed; they die young and suddenly. Desperate for answers, Bronwyn’s search leads her to a castle in the south of England and straight onto her predestined path.
Created to fulfill the same ancient prophecy as Bronwyn, Alexander walks the knife-edge of being the son of great evil while hiding his deadly secret desire to redeem himself.
Alexander and Bronwyn’s connection is immediate and overpowering. Together they must navigate the treacherous waters of evil witch Rhiannon’s growing lust for power and Bronwyn’s fate to wake the cardinal water point.
Danger escalates, magic grows, and Roderick and Maeve are called upon to guide the vulnerable and near-extinct Baile coven back to Goddess and the rebirth of cré-magic.
Chapter 1
A beautiful English summer’s day greeted Alexander and his morning coffee—as good a day as any to fulfill his fate. In movies days that defined a hero’s fate demonstrated a preponderance of stormy weather, at least a dark cloud or two. Perhaps today’s sunny outlook was more in the nature of a commentary on his eligibility for heroism.
He walked through the glass doors between his drawing room and the garden and took a deep breath of the flower-scented air. Green swathes of lawn mowed into stripes ended at a rough-hewn fence. Beyond that, stretched acres and acres of pasture he rented to the farmer next door. Birds sang, bees buzzed and cattle lowed, all beneath a gentle sherbet-yellow sun.
Not a day to suggest dark thoughts or even grimmer senses of foreboding, but there you had it. His premonition had ripped him awake at four-thirty, and he’d not gone back to sleep. The details remained confoundedly vague, but he’d seen her clear as day: a curvy redhead with big green eyes. The scent of honey and sage had chased him awake. Unable to go back to sleep, he’d gotten up, worked out in his home gym and tried to escape the dark augury buggering up his morning.
Portents, auguries, evil and darkness brought his thoughts to their inevitable end: Mother.
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