Scent of a Witch (3 page)

Memories of the
gracious MacGavok family pulled at his
emotions. He had been
injured
at the Battle o
f Franklin, the bloodiest five hours of the Civil War
.
T
he
family
had tended to him
as well as many others. Randal and
Carrie McGavok
were truly
two
of the
noblest
mortals
Fionn
had ever known
. They would turn no one away based on
skin or
uniform color. The bodies of the dead
had been
stacked four feet hig
h by the end. Later,
after the battle
,
the family unburied
and
then reburied over fifteen hundred
Confederate soldiers
,
dedicating two acres of their land for a military cemetery
. When Fionn
had
asked his friend why
, he’d been admonished
that everyone deserved a proper burial and
last rights
.

Squatting
so
he could look more closely
at the
ground,
h
e caught site of small bare footprints
in the softened dirt. He grinned in triumph
, t
hen scowled. One footprint sunk deeper
,
indicating she was limping. Had she hurt herself? An urgency he didn’t understand pushed him forward, the sensing of power becoming stronger.
But a
s he traveled deeper
into
the
foliage,
a feeling of pea
ce
seemed to emanate. He puzzled over the source. That is
,
until the distinct
ive smell of Honeysuckles and
Shamrocks
invaded his nostrils.

A Scent Witch.
The scent of
Shamrocks
was exclusive to that line of witches, and the scent was only detectable through their blood.
Whoever she
was,
she was the
last,
for he knew of no other. A
nd she was hurt.

Fionn moved at the speed his unnatural immortality allotted him. The panic
he’d managed to contain
before exploded in his chest
.
I
f he
could bring her back to his clan, perhaps
he would be in his
father’s good
graces again. The
flora
opened up in his line of vision creating a half clearing along a stream of water and the
re
,
sitting along the edge
,
was an enticing
water nymph with unruly brown hair and auburn
highlights created by the sun.

Unable to look away
,
he watched as she moved her feet in and out of the water
,
allowing him a generous view of long shapely calves that flowed seamlessly into milky white thighs. His throat tightened as
craving
burned in him.
Desire he hadn’t known in a long time warmed his insides. Fionn was no rogue but he was certainly no saint either. However, he had never felt the stirrings of passion as he did
viewing the female before him.

With an easy grace s
he leaned forward
,
reaching out with her rig
ht arm
and
bending her right knee up
to drape
water from her fingertips down her leg
. So enchanted by the movement of the
elegant
beauty he didn’t see the dagger that appeared in her
left hand
until it
took off a lock of his hair before firmly
ending in the tree behind him.

The realization that he almost died startled Fionn out of his daze. The wild
-
haired woman le
t out a particularly unladylike
Gael
ic curse
, and
her eyes looked around
as if seeking escape.
F
inally
she stopped
,
face forward staring at the water, th
en she looked at him. It was only
a moment but
,
in that
instan
t
,
he saw what his father
had
sent him to retrieve
:
the key to their future.
Thick la
shes
,
darker
than the
brows above
them
,
framed light
brown eyes with fl
e
cks of gold in them
,
feline
-
like in their slanting shape
.
T
he
Sweeney Eyes
.
T
hen she disappeared
into the water.

Maeve’s frustration drove her to speak words she
had
heard her Patty say when he thought she wasn’t around. It was
a
habit she’d started after he died. The native tongue of her relatives helped her sustain her uniquely blended accent of Scottish/Irish lineage and southern upbringing. But the habit also served to keep
her grandfather’s memory close.

Disappointment over losing the dagger was a fleeting thought as her eyes met her pursuer.
She was tall for a woman, but this man was a good head taller than her, and she’d guess his height to be several inches above six feet. Hair so black it appeared blue in the light of the setting sun fell past his broad shoulders in heavy strands, but in his eyes she saw power. He regarded her through eyes that were such dark brown they
appeared as black as his hair.

And then she saw the faint red light enclosing the iris indicating the mark of immortality. It was a mark few knew, but it was something
G
ranny had taught her. The instinct
to flee took over and she dove.

The creek didn’t seem so sweet now. The power of the current pulled her along and the restricting material of her skirt pulled her under. She held her breath in the icy depth of the river attempting to relieve herself of the garment. A pull and tug of the elastic waistband finally gave
way,
and she was free, only now she was freezing and the bank seemed to be farther away. Still
,
Maeve fought the current to get back to land, as the compulsion to survive kicked in.

This wasn’t part of her plan
.
She had to go back and fix the mistakes of the past, and this was not to be how her time ended.
Combined with the instinct to survive, the sudden thought renew
ed her determination.

Before exhaustion and panic could take over, a band enveloped her waist and moved her toward safety. She went limp, allowing the unknown force to carry her. The chill of cold air hitting icy skin made her teeth chatter, then the cursing her Patty indulged in caused her to smile inside. Maybe this death wasn’t so bad
.
It
would be well i
f she could be with them again.

“Wake up lass
,
”
a
man ordered in the accent of her beloved grandfather. She opened her eyes only to see the brown irises with the
red band she had been fleeing.

“Why didn’t you just let the cold take me?” she responded, startled to hear that her teeth didn’t chatter and her accent was the heaviest it had ever been. In fact, she wasn’t nearly as cold as she was a moment ago. Taking survey of her surroundings, she felt the same strength that had onc
e anchored her now hold her up.

“Who taught you how to feign and flee, lass?” the dark stranger asked, his voice deep with what she suspected was anger. A scowl appeared before t
he brown of his eyes lightened.

“I wasn’t trying to feign…I just am not as sure with my left hand
,
” Maeve responded without thinking. A look of amusement softened his cross features.

An overwhelming sense of exhaustion coated Maeve’s body making it hard to stay awake. “I’m afraid I can answer you no more, immortal, for the blackness calls me. I pray that thee would have mercy and do
your deed while I am unaware.”

****

Fionn started at the words the woman spoke. Not only was she a Scent Witch—she knew what
he
was. Then he discovered himself even more panic-stricken when she went limp in his arms. At the first chatter of her teeth, he shared his body heat with her instinctively. When she told him she had actually been aiming for his head, she’d impressed and amused him. Emotions he hadn’t had in longer than he could remember pushed at his heart. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Setting her limp body on the grass, he ignored the emptiness hi
s arms felt upon releasing her.

He needed to look at her closer and figured this was as good a time as any. While it was dark under the tall trees by the river, the sun hadn’t fully set. They were safe for now.
Flawless ivory skin covered her from her eyebrows to the tips of her dainty toes. Elongated cheekbones ended in a soft but pointed chin, with a small pert nose set in the middle. And the shape of her eyes. . . There was no denying the mark of the Sweeney eyes. But she also had the look of Irish nobility in her untamed locks and lithe build.

Before Fionn could think too much, the girl coughed. He leaned her forward as some water escaped her lips then she quieted again. The action revealed a necklace hidden among her wet and tangled tresses. Fionn’s stomach dropped to his feet. On the underside of a blue cameo medallion was inserted the talisman of the Celtic Knot. The charm had been created between
the
Sweeneys and the Hughes, binding their clans for an eternity, ensuring their protection from those that would try to overpower and abuse them for their magic. Each family had received a charm…but with the coming of the rift, both had disappeared. How was it possible
that
this girl possessed one of the binding charms? Better yet, which clan’s was it?

Fionn smoothed the wild tangle of hair off the woman’s cheek and actually smiled. For in his arms was not only the last of one line but also two, the hope for not only his clan but an entire people. Then his eyes moved farther down and he was offered an unobstructed view of the legs he’d first noticed. Before his desire flared too high, he covered her with his coat, picked her up in his arms and headed back to the house
from which he had followed her.

After a brief stop to bundle up her things, Fionn carried her limp body past the tree that still held her dagger. With the woman securely cradled in one arm, he inspected the hilt. Familiarity sparked,
and
determination made his lips press.
When she woke, he would have all the truths of who she was. And then, he vowed, he would bring her back to his home, for his father.

The Sweeney estate had never been a large farm in comparison to its neighbor, the Carton Plantation. Walking through the old home unlocked a flood of memories for Fionn, of long lost friends and battles. The bane of being able to travel time was making friends who then must be left behind. That
,
and a plethora of rules that must be followed because if they weren’t, the very fabric of time could severe, destroying
all—past, present, and future.

A large gold-framed painting of a man who eerily resembled the woman lying on the bed in the room above looked down at Fionn. Dressed in a Confederate uniform showed him to be an ancestor, but it was the Celtic Knot attached to the man’s sword belt that added even more questions to the burden Fionn already carried. Deciding he couldn’t wait any longer when an ornate clocked chimed ten times, he climbed the stairs.

****

Maeve’s eyes flew open and she sat up in her own bed. How did she end up here? The clock on the mantle said ten o’clock. A driving need to hurry took over. Everything had to be ready by midnight. She dashed to her closet, refusing to allow herself to dwell on the thought that she should be dead. If the immortal was going to kill her, he would have already. Instead she pulled an armful of fabric out and laid it on the bed. Sighing as she realized what she was about to do, she conceded it was still necessary to blend in.

With the torturous underwear in tow, she cleaned herself up in the bathroom. The skirts, while cumbersome,
and chemise
she got through easily. The corset, however, presented a problem. It was a two-person job.

At the knock on the door, Maeve looked up into the floor-length mahogany mirror. The immortal showed in the reflection. He met her eyes in the mirror image. Never much of
a
prude, she nonetheless felt the color leave her face and all warmth drop to places much lower.
No!
she thought.
I don’t have time for this.

He was supposed to kill her. But he had saved her and now she was attracted to him. Maybe he was the type of twisted mind that enjoyed prolonging the victim’s death. She took a deep breath, hoping it would help set forward her circling thoughts. Even if he was toying with her, she would give him a show, but fear would not be part of this production. With an eye only on the mission in front of he
r, Maeve squared her shoulders.

“Can you tie shoes?” she asked the man who accelerated her pulse. He pulled hi
s eyebrows together but nodded.

“Well then
,
you can tie a corset. Will you help me?” She gestured toward her back. A look passed through his eyes before his face became emotionless
again. But he moved behind her.

“What’s your name, lass?” he asked tightening the first lace. Maeve gripped the frame of the mirror and swore
as her ribs were forced inward.

“Maeve…”
s
he exhaled. He secured the second stay, and she exhaled through her nose this time,
then closed her eyes.

“Is that all?” he pushed. Distracted by the tightening of her ribc
age she answered automatically.

“Maeve da Paer.”

“And are you to go to a costume ball tonight Mrs. Da Paer?”
h
e continued, securing another knot with a jerk. She refused to elaborate on the
“Mrs.”

“I am to attend the annual All Hallows Eve ball at the Carton Plantation. The one held before the Battle of Franklin.” She spoke her last words thr
ough a hiss of pain.

“A fine ev
ent…and do you have an escort?”

“No, and I don’t need one,” she answered. Maeve took note she would ha
ve to keep her breaths shallow.

“How did you know to bring me here…to the Sweeney Estate?”
s
he asked in between breaths.
An arched brow and smirk were her respo
nse as he cinched the last tie.

Pushing past her unexpected assistant, she crossed the room to the bed where her gown lay.
She leaned forward and reached for the dress, but her body refused to bend inside the corset and her arms fell short of the garment. Maeve attempted to kneel and pick up the deep green dress but to no avail.

A suppressed chuckle caught her attention and she glared at the immortal whose arr
ival had caused her to be late.

“Well if you aren’t going to kill me, don’t stand there and mock me. Help me put this cursed garment on. I’m already late
because of you,” she chastised.

The amusement disappeared from
his face and he became serious.

“I would never hurt you Maeve da Paer, much less kill you.” The deep warmth of his Scottish burr made the declaration all the more intense. But it was the red band around his eyes that seemed to brighten with the intensity of his words, which connected with something deep inside and
encouraged her to believe him.

It was that belief which helped her keep a nonchalant attitude toward the immortal tracker and potential killer.

“However, I will only help you on two conditions. First…” he continued without giving her time to respond. “I will escort you and second you wil
l answer all my questions.”

She looked from him to the dress, down to her restrictive corset, and back.

“Fine you may come along…but you have to wear the uniform in the closet. And I will answer any question you want. After midnight.” If she could get where she needed by midnight the handsome irritating immortal couldn’t follow
her where she was going anyway.

“Agre
ed, lass.” He offered his hand.

Rolling her eyes, she took the extended hand, shocked when he turned her pal
m over and kissed her knuckles.

“It is an hon
or to escort you Lady da Paer.”

Dazed briefly by the warmth of his kiss, she was brought back to reality by the sound of her name on his lips and the feel of material being raised over her head. “You can’t call me that when we leave this house. I’m known as Maeve here. All I need is some demon hearing you say that name,
and everything will be ruined.”

While immortal trackers worked for the Board of Witchery, and she had been taught to avoid that council at all costs, demons were dark supernatural assassins who would jump at the chance to get her.

“Fair enough, but what would be ruined lass?”
h
e asked, as he tied the sash of her dress in the back. She turned and found that they were a breath’s distance apart. Her eyes were level with his lips, tan, slightly full, kissable lips placed just above a proud, square jaw.

“After midnight.” She smiled and shook her finger, making her escape from his nearness. From her closet she removed a Confederate soldier’s
uniform and offered it to him.

“You have ten minutes to change, then I’m gone.
I’ll meet you by the stables,” she said pushing him into the bathroom and closing the door. Her
heart
had instantly leapt at the feel of
his hard chest under her palms.

Facing the mirror she inspected her evening’s attire
.
The
deep green off-the-shoulder dress with its flowing skirts brought joyful but sad memories of when
she
and
G
ranny Cordy played dress
-
up. The glisten of tears brightened her eyes and helped her focus. She glanced at the mantle clock then walked out to the stables. With or without an escort
,
this night was planned,
and
nothing could go wrong. It just couldn’t.