Chapter One
Tempest should have listened to her sister when she warned her not to drive home. A snowstorm had been predicted for several areas in northern Scotland. Heavy accumulation was expected and driving was not recommended. But Tempest was stubborn, and besides, she was looking forward to driving home just as any ordinary mortal would instead of transporting herself with the snap of her fingers as was a witch’s way.
Her fingers locked tightly around the steering wheel and she squinted in an attempt to see clearly through the windshield, the wipers frantically working to eliminate the build-up of the steadily falling snow.
Her sister Sarina had been right in advising her to wait, insisting the weather would worsen. All the reports on the news stations had warned of hazardous driving conditions as the snow continued to accumulate. And Sarina was rarely wrong, her gift of sight being truly remarkable. But Tempest felt the need to leave immediately following her sister’s wedding.
While the occasion was a joyous one, and she favored the powerful witch Dagon Rasmus whom her sister Sarina had married, seeing them happy together brought back painful memories and ones that were better left forgotten.
A strong gust of wind whipped around the small compact car, sending it into a slide. It took what seemed like forever for Tempest to gain control of the vehicle though it was a mere second or two, and she soundly chastised herself for being so foolish. If she had listened to her sister she would, at this very moment, be in the warmth and comfort of her cottage enjoying a cup of hot tea before the fireplace.
Dagon, her new brother-in-law, had attempted to coerce her into staying but he learned soon enough that his new sister-in-law possessed a mind of her own and was much too accustomed to looking after herself and was much too willful to take orders from anyone, even a meaningful brother-in-law, though he did insist on providing her with a car he felt would be easy for her to handle.
Tempest smiled while her eyes focused on the dark road and the falling snow that continued to make driving visibility near to impossible. Her thoughts were on the wedding, and a grand affair it had been. Dagon’s ancestral home, Rasmus Castle, had been ablaze with light and a multitude of guests. Sarina had looked radiant in a white wool gown and hooded cloak trimmed with gold faerie dust and as was her way her feet remained bare though they sparkled with a hint of gold dust.
Dagon wore white as well and looked splendid but then Dagon was a handsome man and his good looks would certainly highlight any garment.
All who attended the ceremony commented on how very much in love the couple was. It could be seen in their glances that so often settled softly on each other or in the simple touch of their hands, their fingers threading together to hold fast or in the way Dagon whispered in his wife’s ear and caused her to blush.
Their love was strong, their commitment stronger, forging their magical powers and producing the most extraordinary magical feat, a child. Sarina would give birth to Dagon’s son in the summer and Tempest looked forward to delivering her first nephew.
The wind blew a flurry of heavy flakes across the windshield and she softly touched the brakes to slow her already snail’s pace. The flurries whipped away and once again the road appeared before her eyes though she continued her crawling pace.
The wedding had given her an opportunity to see and speak with old friends, a rare occurrence for her. Sydney Wyrrd, a six-hundred-year-old witch and a former student of hers was there and they spoke of years past, other times, and other memories. Memories she more often than not kept locked away. But Sydney had become a good friend, one she found she could safely confide in and that was not easy to do for a witch whose existence dated to the dawn of time.
Tempest had seen and experienced much in her many years. She had made and lost many friends, she had taught and guided many witches and she had loved but once and lost. But that time was better left to memories.
She kept steady and alert eyes on the road knowing that she was but a few miles from a village where she hoped to seek shelter for the night, perhaps even a few days if this snow proved persistent.
Many of the wedding guests had simply transported themselves to sunnier climates or the warmth and safety of their homes. Alisande Wainwright, Sydney’s niece, and her husband
Sebastian who lived in the States had decided to remain a few days with the newlyweds. Alisande was also pregnant and she insisted that Sarina and she had much to discuss. Dagon did not object; he and Alisande had grown up together, he protecting her mostly from her own antics.
Now Sebastian, her husband and a mortal who was growing accustomed to his newly acquired witchcraft, was her protector.
Tempest liked Sebastian Wainwright, especially when she discovered how Alisande had cast the magical love spell on him and he had proven himself worthy of dealing with it and dealing with the fact that in joining with Alisande in the sacred circle he had inherited the powers of a witch. His tales, travesties and triumphs of learning the craft had brought tears of laughter to her eyes and she found him most delightful. He was a mortal-turned-witch who was strong in character and rich in integrity and one she was pleased to call a new friend.
A forceful wind shook the car and rained a thick flurry of snow across the windshield, momentarily blinding visibility. She kept the steering wheel on course and her sight peeled on the snow-covered windshield. She breathed a hefty sigh of relief when a few moments later the road once again became visible.
The sigh of relief soon turned into a loud gasp when without warning a dark figure appeared in front of her car and she slammed into it with a solid thud. She immediately hit her brakes, as softly as possible and with trembling hands brought the car to a dead stop. She left the engine running, pulled her white knit hat down over her ears and grabbed her knit gloves off the dashboard before opening the car door.
The wind almost ripped the door from her tight grasp, and she fought to close it against the forceful swirls of snow that descended on her like vengeful warriors. She pulled up the hood of the faux fur white coat she wore and was grateful for her sister’s insistent demand that she wear knee-high boots. The white ones Sarina had lent her were trimmed in lamb’s wool, for which she was presently grateful.
She trudged through the ankle-high snow, keeping close to the car as she made her way forward. She gasped once again when she caught sight of the crumpled body her car headlights highlighted. She didn’t waste a moment, but hurried to the felled victim with concern.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
Tempest expelled a heavy sigh of relief when she heard his grumbling and was more relieved when he turned over to swear more vehemently. She feared no mortal male, so she approached him without apprehension, though for a brief moment when she caught sight of his face she momentarily halted.
He had the look of a man who had lived hard and dangerously. He possessed harsh, chiseled features and dark eyes that warned all to look the other way. Facial scars only added to his intrigue, one running over the bridge of his nose, one under his left eye along the top of his cheekbone and the other one began on his left jawbone and traveled down his neck, how far she couldn’t tell since he wore a dark turtleneck beneath a dark wool P-coat that looked to have seen better days. And even though he was a good four to five inches over six feet and looked to be of solid build he still did not possess the strength to match her powers. She continued her approach without concern, though with curiosity.
“Damn, woman,” he shouted at her in what she was certain was an American accent. “Don’t you watch where you’re driving?”
“It is snowing if you haven’t noticed. Not good weather for a stroll along the roadside.” She knelt down beside him.
He shot her a look that would probably intimidate most men and frighten any sensible woman, but it did nothing for Tempest. She simply ignored it.
“Tell me where it hurts,” she said calmly.
“Why? Are you going to kiss it and make it all better?”
Tempest had dealt with testy men before and was not the least bit intimidated by him. With the snap of her fingers she could put him in his place, but she was not about to allow this barbaric soul to rankle her.
“If you wish a kiss to make it better, I will accommodate you, though I would suggest a ride to the nearest doctor would be a wiser choice.”
“You’d kiss a complete stranger?” he all but yelled at her as he struggled to sit up.
She placed a gentle hand to his back to help him. “If a kiss would help, why not?”
Mortals simply did not understand the true power of a helping hand or a simple kiss. When given with sincerity, the results proved remarkable.
The stranger ran his hand through his dark hair. Varying layers and lengths fell erratically over his forehead, skimmed his ears and teased the top of his shoulders, proving he was in desperate need of a haircut. He then shook his head, caught her eyes with his and without warning his hand shot out to grasp her neck.
“This is why not.” He nearly growled in anger and forced her mouth to his. His kiss was meant to be harsh, meant to demonstrate that he was stronger than she, and could take what he chose, but then he did not know that she was a witch.
Tempest shivered when his raging emotions raced through her. While part of his intentions were to teach her a lesson, another part of him wanted to taste her. He was a man of complex layers, often fighting against himself for what was right.
She took command, knowing that what was needed was a simple, heartfelt kiss that would ease his physical pain and soften his emotional torment. She calmed his rough lips with
her gentle ones, softening them until they complied and then with a wisp of her delicate lips she taught him what a kiss was meant to be.
Gentle, nurturing, caring, he felt all that and more and was stunned when he realized that his hand had drifted off her neck and that her hands cupped his face and that her warm, sweet breath faintly brushed his cheek as she eased away from him.
He felt spellbound and that startling realization snapped him back to reality.
“Lady, you’re nuts to kiss a stranger like that.”
“You kissed me,” she said accusingly.
“You kissed me back,” he argued and attempted to stand, only to cry out in pain.
“Don’t move,” she ordered sternly, and after dusting off the snow that partially covered him from the waist down, she ran a gentle hand down his jean-clad leg. “Where does it hurt?”
“Lady, you don’t have a lick of common sense in your head.”
“And you, sir, don’t have an ounce of trust in your body. And if you continue to be obstinate and sit here and argue with me we’re both going to turn into snowmen. Now for once in your life trust someone.”
His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared and his body tensed. He fought against himself, knowing he had little choice in the matter and his reply was purposely curt. “My right ankle.”
He flinched at her tender touch and she frowned. She could tell from her exploring touch that his ankle was indeed broken. If only he had passed out when she had run him down, she could have healed his injury before he woke, but now she could not take the chance of performing a healing. She had no choice but to take him to a mortal doctor.
“There’s a village a few miles up the road. I’m sure we can find a doctor there.”
“Lady, you—”
Glove-covered fingers pressed to his lips silenced his complaint. “Arguing will serve no purpose. You are in need of medical care. Now please, for both our sakes, be polite and cooperative.”
His look warned that compliance was not one of his attributes and he reluctantly acquiesced with a sharp nod.
“Good,” she said in a cheerful tone and ignored the man’s mutterings. “Now we need to get you in my car.”
She reached out to help him up but he shoved her hands away. “I can manage.”
Tempest simply took a step back and watched. She was impressed by his maneuvers. It was obvious he was accustomed to physical labor. He had no difficulty in pulling himself up on the front end of her car and balancing himself on his good leg.
His eyes searched the surrounding area before settling on her. “My backpack... do you see it?”
Tempest scanned the area and found the large pack on the side of the road, almost completely covered with snow. She retrieved it, noticing that a metal rod was dented and realized the backpack had probably taken the brunt of the impact, sparing the man more serious injury.
“I’ll put it in my trunk,” she offered and turned to battle the driving wind when she sensed not only his physical pain but an emotional weariness, which touched her heart.
She placed his backpack on the ground and walked over to him, slipping her arm around his waist.
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do,” she said firmly. “Now lean on me, I promise it won’t hurt.”
He looked down at her and she knew he was sizing her up—all five feet six of her.
“I’m much stronger than I look,” she said with a smile that was meant to tease.
He shook his head and reluctantly wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Lady,
you’re—”
“Tempest. My name is Tempest.”
“Great. I meet Tempest in a tempest.”
They walked slowly along the car, fighting against the forceful wind and snow.
“I assure you, sir,” she said, her voice raised against the storm. “I did not order this weather.”
“Michael,” he said his voice strong. “My name is Michael.”
She left him to lean against the car for a brief moment as she opened the back door. With a minimum of difficulty she assisted in helping him into the car, suggesting he stretch out along the backseat so that his injured ankle could rest comfortably.
He eased himself along the backseat until his back rested against the opposite door and his legs were stretched out along the seat.
He was obviously battling pain, his face pale, his mouth grim and his eyes squeezed shut.
“I’ll get your backpack and a blanket from the trunk for you,” she said.
His eyes flashed open. “That backpack is heavy; be careful.”
“All your worldly possessions?” she asked, though she knew the answer. He wandered, searching for something, though what that something was, he wasn’t certain.
“Every last one of them,” he confirmed. “And I don’t need a blanket.”
“I think you do,” she said, shutting the door on his shouts.
With the storm blinding visibility, she was able to use her magical powers, without worry of him seeing her, to move his backpack to the trunk. She then grabbed a blue-and-green plaid wool blanket from her travel case and returned to the car, opening the back door.
He was quiet, though his eyes betrayed his annoyance.
She ignored his lethal look as she spread the warm blanket over his legs and tucked it around his waist. “Much better. I’ll turn up the heat for you.”
“I’m warm enough.” He drew back when her hand went to his face, though his sudden movement did not stop her.
She placed her palm to his cheek and then his forehead, and announced, “Chilled. The heat goes up.”
She backed out, checking the blanket along the way, shut the door and was in the front seat in no time. She turned up the heat as she’d promised.
“I’m afraid I’m not a seasoned driver,” she said, slipping the car into drive and taking off slowly, confident she wouldn’t get stuck in the accumulated snow since she used her powers to clear away the drifts from the car.
“No kidding.”
She looked back at him.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he warned. “There’s no room back here for anymore road kill.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “The weather is so bad and visibility near to impossible.”
“Just get me to a doctor,” he said gruffly. “Then we’ll be done with each other.”
She nodded and kept steady eyes on the road. “Whatever were you doing out in this storm?”
“Look, lady—”
“Tempest,” she corrected.
“Tempest,” he said on an annoyed sigh. “I don’t intend to tell you my life story and I’m not interested in any chitchat. The only thing I want right now is a cigarette and a shot of Jack Daniels.”
“Smoking and drinking is no—”
“Spare me the lecture. I’ve heard it all before.”
“And you don’t care?” she asked, her tone not at all judgmental, but curious. He was a man that was not only searching but hurting and she wondered what had happened in his life to make him so cynical and self-destructive.
“I only care about the moment, and right now my ankle hurts like hell and a shot of JD would work wonders.”
The man certainly knew how to avoid giving a straight answer. He obviously intended to portray himself as a loner, a man who needed no one. A man who walked life’s roads alone. A man too frightened to love.
A sudden gust of wind whipped at the car and Tempest fought to regain control of the swerving vehicle.
“Don’t fight it,” Michael yelled at her. “Go with it and then you’ll regain control.”
She listened to his shouts of advice and in seconds she regained control of the car and she was once again crawling down the snow-drifted road.
“Good work,” he said, “now relax your grip on the steering wheel. You’re doing just fine.”
His encouraging words didn’t surprise her. He was harsh in many ways and yet she sensed he cared, though it was difficult for him to show it.
“Are those lights ahead?” he asked.
Tempest glanced past the swishing windshield wipers and the falling snow to spot several faint lights in the distance. “I think you’re right. It must be the village.”
“Good, wake me when we get there,” he said and leaned his head back between the seat and the window to doze.
He made it quite clear that he intended no further discussion with her and if he wanted to be obstinate that was fine with her. She would deliver him to the doctor, make certain he was all right, pay the bill since his broken ankle was her fault, and be on her way, though something warned her it would not be that easy.
They arrived at the village thirty minutes later, near to ten at night. With one stop at a well-lighted house she learned where the doctor was located. The friendly woman had called ahead, so the doctor would be expecting them.
Tempest helped Michael up the snow-laden path to the front door and after explaining the problem to the middle-aged doctor he took it from there, disappearing with a hopping Michael into a back room.
She removed her coat, hat and gloves and took a seat in a cushioned rocker by the heat of the blazing hearth. She was grateful for the warmth of her long white wool skirt and matching hip-length sweater. She ran gentle fingers through her long reddish blond hair, several strands feeling damp from the snow.
She had discovered there was a small inn not far from the doctor’s home and that was where she intended to rent a room for Michael for the next few days, feeling herself responsible for his care. She, on the other hand, intended to transport her car back to Rasmus Castle, and then she would simply transport herself home. She was tired and wanted nothing more than a hot cup of tea and the comfort of her bed.
She leaned back and gently rocked herself into a light slumber, not waking until the doctor gently shook her shoulder.
“He’s all set,” the portly doctor said with a smile, “a good, clean break that set nicely and should heal in about six weeks.”
Tempest stretched as she stood. “I’m so glad to hear that and so grateful you where available to help him. How much do I owe you for your services?”
“The gentleman paid me already,” he said, pulling his wire rimmed glasses down to rest on the tip of his nose and giving a little gruff cough. “I’m a bit concerned about the chap. He asked if he could stay here the night and of course I assured him he could, but I worry about what he’ll do afterwards. I fear he has no money for lodgings and he insisted you were not responsible for him.”
Tempest was not surprised by the news; she half expected it. His backpack actually did contain all his worldly possessions, along with limited funds. He was probably working his way through the area, and a broken ankle meant no work and no money.
“A point we disagree on,” she told the doctor. “And one I will tend to. Do you advise travel yet?”
“I’d like the cast I put on him to set for a while and then he’s free to go, though I’d advise you not to attempt to go far in this storm.”
Tempest agreed. “The Partridge Inn is our destination.”
“Good choice.”
“If you don’t mind I would like to go to the inn, make arrangements for our stay and then return for Michael.”
“He’ll be ready by then,” the doctor said with a yawn. “Excuse me, the day must be catching up with me.”
Tempest slipped on her coat and with a gentle touch of her hand to the doctor’s face said, “Rest.”
He yawned again, sat down in the rocker and promptly fell asleep.
With a few enchanted words, her luggage and Michael’s backpack were deposited in the room where she stood and then with a snap of her fingers she returned the car to Rasmus Castle.
She collected her hat and gloves and with a wave of her hand over the pieces of luggage sent them on their way as she walked toward the back room. Now all that was necessary was to transport Michael to her home.