Witch & Curse (49 page)

When he next glanced her way she held his eyes and smiled. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't turn away.

Emboldened, she asked, “Who are you?”

Pride crackled in his voice as he answered, “I am James, son of Sir William Moore, and heir to the throne of the Supreme Coven.”

“Supreme Coven? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

He growled low in his throat. “It should, witch. If you had half a brain you would be trembling in fear from the very mention of it.”

She allowed herself a smile. “Sorry. Never heard of it, your dad, or you.”

He moved quickly toward her, and for a moment she thought she might have pushed too hard. He raised a hand as though to strike her, but instead twisted his fingers in her hair and yanked her face close to his.

“You'll wish you still hadn't, by the time my father is through with you.”

Sleep did not come easily that night. She was stretched out on the hard dirt floor with her cheek to the earth. The two men took turns sleeping, and she could feel
their eyes upon her. When at last she did fall asleep, it was only to be awakened minutes later by a rough hand on her shoulder.

“Time to move,” Eli informed her gruffly.

At least they permitted her to sit upright in the back seat of the car, although her arms remained tightly bound. She was tired enough that she found herself drifting off to sleep, jarred awake every so often by another pothole in the road.

She was exhausted by the time they stopped for the night. The small shack was little better than the one they'd stayed at the night before. At least this one had cots.

The men produced bread and cheese from somewhere, and Nicole hoped briefly that they might untie her. The hope was in vain, though. Eli fed her while James paced. In between bites she managed to ask, “How come we're taking so long to get wherever it is we're going?”

“This is the quickest way, considering. Our magic's strong, but it would be difficult to keep an entire airport full of people—not to mention plane passengers—from realizing you were our prisoner. Unnecessary, anyway. Two more days and we'll be where we need to go,” James answered, barely breaking step.

Eli stuffed another mouthful of bread into her
mouth, and Nicole glanced at him, loathing him as she did herself. She couldn't believe she'd ever been attracted to his dark nature. She had been so foolish to believe that she could tame him. As though sensing her thoughts, he gave her the same twisted smile he used to give her when he was touching her, when he was . . .

He began to undress her with his eyes and she turned away, disgusted. Her eyes fell on the pacing James, and a thought struck her.

Sex is Eli's weakness. Always has been, even before me
.

She turned her head slowly, deliberately, back to Eli and batted her eyelashes once, twice.
Easy, don't overdo it
. She smiled and gazed at him suggestively. She gave him her best come-hither look and watched him lick his lips nervously as he glanced toward James.

In the days they'd been together, careful observation had led her to believe that while Eli feared James somewhat, he didn't respect him. Now he glanced back at her, shifting his weight, probably completely unaware of his body language.

Okay, I'm gonna go for it . . . with both of them
.

James was an unknown factor, but Eli she knew well. Eli could be counted on to want whatever someone else had. She dropped her eyes to keep him from knowing that the blush mounting her cheeks was not
from old days and old memories, but from shame.

She put the whammy on James same as Eli, and he rose to the bait. Soon he was glancing her way, displaying his interest, and Eli was reacting. Without realizing it, the two warlocks were circling her, each with an eye on the other.

She was thrilled, triumphant . . . and a little smug about all those years Amanda had chided her about worrying about what guys thought of her.

When we get back together, I'm going to have to tell Holly and Amanda about this. And we're going to have to read up on sex magic
.

That's what all this has been about—Michael seducing Mom, and this whole Jean and Isabeau deal; having a High Priestess and a guy with a “long arm.”
Excuse me? A “long arm”?

After two days the magic bonds had loosened ever so slightly. She had a chance to try something more, a spell small enough that it would not register with the two men. A spell small enough to be covered by the magical energy already flowing about them. Something very small.

She breathed the glamour into life, something to make her even more beautiful and, Goddess willing, completely irresistible.

By dinner James had untied her. And his nearness
excited her; she couldn't deny that. His smoldering looks shot a tingle down to the small of her back.

By breakfast even she was having a hard time remembering that the electricity between them was one of her glamours.

“What is your father going to do to me?” she asked James as they shared a bottle of wine with Eli.

James shrugged nonchalantly. “Kill you, I guess. You are, after all, a Cahors.”

“And you are a Moore,” she said, “creator of the Supreme Coven chicken sandwich.” It had become something of a joke between them.

Grinning, he nodded and took a swig of wine.

“It doesn't have to be this way,” she murmured.

He laughed dangerously low as he handed her the bottle. “What's in a name, eh, Rosebud?”

“You're a movie fan.” She took the wine and threw some back. Her hands were shaking; she was terrified.

But I'm still alive
.

“I'm a movie fan,” he said agreeably, but there was flint in his gaze.

I'm not safe, though. I'm not safe at all
.

She's a hottie
.

James didn't trust her. He'd be lying, though, if he
didn't admit he was attracted to her. Everyone had heard the rumors of Cahors-Deveraux power. It clearly hadn't worked for Nicole and Eli. Maybe it had nothing to do with houses. Maybe it was all about a certain combination of witch and warlock. House Moore was more powerful now than House Deveraux. Maybe leadership was essential. He licked his lips as he imagined an alliance that could bring him even more power.

With Cahors magic aligned with his, he couldn't fail to overthrow his father.

Hmm
. . .

He looked into her eyes and couldn't trust what he saw shining there.
She wants me
...
or else she's really good at faking it
.

Okay, maybe the little bitch was playing him. Then again, maybe she wasn't. He wasn't a bad package; and oh, yeah, baby, speaking of packages . . .

He glanced over at Eli and saw the other man eyeing Nicole. A quick burst of anger made him tremble.

You had your shot. Now back off
.

A voice from somewhere seemed to be whispering in his ear,
“It's all about the power. That's what she likes. You have it. He doesn't.”

“She wants to feel your power, James
.

“That's what she wants. Your power
.

“You
.

“No need to kill her
. . . .
No need at all
.

“You can have her. She wants you
.

“You, James. You can have a Cahors witch.”

James smiled slowly as he wrapped an arm around Nicole's waist. She put her hand over his and gave him such a look that it was hard to restrain himself from taking her right then and there.

But that Deveraux nerd Eli was around somewhere, and it wasn't a good idea to provoke a fight with a potential ally, especially while they were traveling together.

We'll be in England soon
.

And I think I just might have a little surprise for my father
.

King James I: En route to England from Denmark, 1589

Below decks, at the threshold of their royal quarters, the king of Scotland surveyed his bride, whom he was bringing home to Scotland. She was beautiful. She was a few years younger than he, but her mind had been honed by an inquisitive nature, and she had the bearing of someone older. Her heavily embroidered white skirts were lovely, and the black jacket she wore was just as elegant.

He stared down at the decorative roses on his shoes that hid the laces, and lost himself in thoughts of
her beauty. Few men had the privilege to marry such a woman, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy.

Finally he looked up and leaned close to Anne, a smile playing across his features. “I think I shall write a poem about your eyes.”

She blushed fiercely. “You've already written me a dozen poems.”

“Yes, but not one exclusively devoted to those magnificent pools of light that reflect the beauty and purity of your soul.”

She laughed in an embarrassed manner, but he could tell by the way she glowed that she was secretly pleased. “We've only half a day until we reach port. Surely the king of Scotland, and one day of England, can find better ways to occupy his time than writing love poetry?”

He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes. “Nothing is more important to the king than his queen. Has not God commanded us that love is our highest duty? And as a husband I am to care for you as Christ does His faithful ones. Therefore, how could I be trusted to rule a country if I cannot follow God's simplest decrees? How can I rule thousands with compassion if I gaze upon your exquisite face and am not moved to poetry?”

She smiled. “James, I love your poetry. I just wish all you wrote was as pleasant to read.”

He patted her hand. “You're referencing the dae-monologies that I am penning.”

She shuddered. “Such horrible, frightening things.”

“Dearest Anne, not all the world is as beautiful as you. This world is filled with terrifying things, both demons and the wretched persons who serve them. It is our duty to dispel the myths and denials surrounding such creatures. We must shine the light of truth upon those that live in darkness.”

She shook her head slowly. “Some of it just seems so fantastical.”

“Which? Demons or witches?”

She never had a chance to respond. The ship lurched violently sideways. James and Anne were thrown hard against the bulkhead; from the ladderway, water cascaded from the deck and spilled around their ankles.

Shouts of alarm issued from all quarters of the ship.

“Courage, my darling,” James shouted as he moved forward toward the ladderway. His thought was to get them on deck, above the water line, where they would be safer.

After listing on its side for what seemed an eternity, the vessel straightened back out.

“Anne, now!” James shouted, slogging through the rising water.

“I can't! My skirts!”

He turned to look at her. Her splendid dress was not only ruined, it was killing her. The skirts held too much water; she could never swim in them. If they had to abandon the vessel, the weight of them would drag her down like a stone to her death.

Barely thinking, he fought his way into the next compartment and picked up his sword from where it had fallen to the floor. The water was waist deep as he made his way back to Anne.

Unsheathing the weapon, he began hacking at her skirts until he was able to cut most of it off. She stood shivering in her undergarments, staring at him with frightened eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the cabin. They were halfway up the stairs when the ship lurched again.

He kept going, clinging to her hand, pulling her when he had to. They made it to the deck just as a wave crashed over it. It swept them both into the water. He kicked hard to the surface, Anne still clinging to his hand and kicking along with him. His lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.

Just when he thought that all was lost, they broke the surface. Air rushed into his lungs, and he gasped
and coughed. He twisted around scanning the water. A small boat stood a ways off, and they began swimming toward it, rain pelting their faces.

When they came alongside, hands reached down and pulled them up into the boat. Anxious fisherman scanned their faces and asked them if they were hurt. Slowly James shook his head. He turned to look back toward his ship.

All that was still visible of the royal vessel was her bow, and even as he watched, it slipped beneath the dark waves. As suddenly as it had risen, the storm dissipated.

The captain of the fishing boat crossed himself. “I've never seen anything like it.”

“How so?” James questioned sharply.

“The squall. She came out of nowhere. It was like she was alive, passing us to attack your ship. God have mercy.”

Eyes hard, James turned back to Anne. “Do you still doubt the presence of witches?”

These Witches . . . can rayse stormes and tempestes in the aire, either upon sea or land, though not universally, but in such a particular place and prescribed boundes, as God will permitte them so to trouble: Which likewise is verve easie to be discerned from anie other naturall tempestes that are meteores, in respect of
the suddaine and violent raising thereof, together with the short induring of the same
.

The king put his pen down and pressed his fingers to his temples.

His trusted advisor waited patiently. The man knew not to interrupt while James was writing. Finally James looked up wearily. “Any word about the identity of the hags who tried to kill the queen and me?”

After months of negative replies, he had grown to fear he would never discover the responsible ones. He had, however, had some small success in rousting some witches and casting light on the dark places wherein they dwelled.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man said, clearly pleased with himself. “A gentleman would like to speak with you privately. He claims to have knowledge of the witch who attacked you.”

James blinked in surprise.
Could it really be?
His fatigue forgotten, he commanded, “Show him in and make certain no one disturbs us.”