The Witch's Journey Read online

  “Not nearly,” he said. “You have a gentle touch.”

  “This wound’s really deep. Maybe you should see a doctor. You might need antibiotics and a tetanus shot.”

  “I don’t require mollycoddling.”

  “You’re able to move and lift your arm so there’s likely no nerve damage, but you should have tests done.”

  “Don’t make a flummery of this. Simply sew it; I’ll be well enough. I have important business to attend to.”

  “You won’t be attending to anything today. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “It’s of no matter.”

  “Are you dim-witted?” she asked.

  He smiled an unbelievably magnetic smile. His intense light blue eyes were warmer when he smiled.

  “Perhaps I might be given drink to numb my pain.”

  “You apparently drank all my whiskey. I have a little rum and beer. Wait here; I’ll be right back.”

  She returned and passed him a glass. He took a mouthful, made a face, promptly stood and spat it in the sink.

  “What foul swill is this?”

  “It’s spiced rum.”

  “It couldn’t be classified as rum.”

  “Well, Captain Morgan, drink the ale instead.”

  “You speak of the infamous Welshman, Morgan the Terrible, who sailed the Caribbean?”

  “He’s more famous for his rum.”

  “The Caribbean’s a dangerous, cutthroat place.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “I’ve sailed many seas.”

  “You might end up like Captain Hook if your wound isn’t properly attended to.”

  “I’ve never heard of Hook.”

  “Not a fan of J.M. Barrie?”

  “A fan? I don’t know this Barrie. Does he sail as well?”

  She shook her head, thoroughly amused. “I was merely suggesting the possibility of needing a hook.”

  She held out a can of beer. He appeared uncertain so she pulled the tab; when it fizzed, he started.

  “Well try it. I’m not about to poison you,” Angelique said.

  “The previous drink would suggest otherwise.”

  She stepped closer but was impeded by the large scabbard on his belt. A Celtic triskelion, the swirling spiral symbol was carved into the sword’s handle.

  “We’ll need to take this off.”

  She reached for his belt just as he did. Their hands touched and there was an immediate powerful attraction. He slyly eyed her and allowed her to continue. As she unfastened his belt, her heart raced. She felt her cheeks flush.

  “You’re unaccustomed to disrobin’ a man?”

  “I admit I haven’t done it—ever.”

  “But you aren’t virginal?”

  “That’s a little personal, Captain.”

  “A chaste woman wouldn’t brazenly wear such revealing garments in the presence of a man nor boldly leave her hair down so sensually.”

  “Believe me, I’m far from brazen. I wasn’t exactly expecting company. You are intruding in my home.”

  “You were scantily attired in the company of your male friend.”

  “We’ve been friends since we were children.”

  “Is he the man who defiled you?”

  “Oh my freaking goodness! Why do you presume I was defiled?”

  “You did tell me you’re unmarried.”

  “You believe all unmarried women who aren’t virgins have been defiled?”

  “Perhaps not all.”

  “You’ve probably done your share of defiling.”

  “None not wholly in favor of it. Why did the man who deflowered you not marry you?”

  “We were both only sixteen.”

  “Why didn’t this boy make an honorable woman of you?”

  “He died,” she whispered. She had no idea why she so easily told the truth to this stranger.

  “Of fever or perhaps in a duel?”

  “Fine, stay completely in character. He died when his coach hit a bridge and plunged into the water. He drowned.”

  “A tragic circumstance.”

  “It was.” She swallowed hard.

  “He had no brother to marry you in his stead?”

  “He didn’t and anyway, I’d never have married when I was sixteen. I’m not ready to marry now.”

  He looked perplexed. She finally managed to undo his belt but the sword fell from the scabbard and struck the floor with a resounding clang. She jumped back as it narrowly missed her.

  “What the fuck!” she exclaimed.

  His eyes widened and he looked appalled.

  “What relevance has this to carnal activity and what type of woman would speak so profanely?”

  “A woman who nearly had her foot severed by a freaking sword. It’s lucky it didn’t chip the floor. I thought it was only a prop.”

  “It’s fortunate it didn’t chip my blade, diligently crafted specifically for me by a worthy silversmith in Kinsale. It’s irreplaceable, for the man no longer lives, run through with one of his own weapons.”

  She shook her head again. “You’re really Irish and not just very good at faking an Irish accent?” she asked as she eyed the sword again, finished disinfecting the wound and threaded the needle as he drank the beer.

  “Of course, I’m Irish. Why would I wish to sound so if I wasn’t?”

  “My spell specified my perfect man should have an Irish accent. Newt certainly went all out in finding someone who’d fit the bill.”

  “You think me your perfect man?”

  She stared at his ruggedly handsome face, his alluring blue eyes that seemed to draw her gaze, his gorgeous chest, impressively ripped stomach and muscular thighs. She briefly glanced at the front of his tight-fitting pants, then turned away feeling her cheeks flame. She cleared her throat.

  “You’ll need to sit up straighter so I can stitch this wound. I’ve placed lidocaine on it, but this will hurt.”

  “I’m not unaccustomed to pain, madam.”

  “If you don’t call me something other than that, I might cause you pain.”

  He smiled at that; his eyes even sexier when he smiled.

  “Since you help me in my time of need and have an angelic presence, I shall call you Angel, if that pleases you?”

  “Whatever floats your boat.”

  “My boat? You know of my ship?”

  “You have a ship?”

  “Most privateers do.”

  “So you are a pirate?”

  “I’m no ruthless pirate. I’m a respected, admittedly feared privateer.”

  “And do you possess a mighty galleon?” she sarcastically asked.

  “That’s perhaps a little personal, Angel.”

  Her cheeks flamed again.

  “Galleons are cumbersome, not swift or easily maneuvered.”

  “Tell me about your ship then?”

  “My first was a sloop. Now I possess a brigantine.”

  “What do you do with your brigantine?”

  “Often intercept ships from England headed to America.”

  “I see,” she said, feeling entertained. “What’s on these ships you’re intercepting?”

  “Weapons, gunpowder, tea.”

  “Tea? Are you an actor from the Tea Party Museum? I worked there a few summers when I was younger. Learned lots of history. That’s partly why I switched from premed to history in university.”

  “Clearly you aren’t dim-witted if you attend university. What establishment of learning permits women to attend?”

  “Harvard.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “There’s little wonder I couldn’t place your accent. You’re from America?”

  “I’ve lived most of my life here in Boston.”

  “Here in Boston? We’re in America?”

  His surprise didn’t seem feigned.

  “Where did you think we were?”

  “I wasn’t certain. When last I recall, I was on my ship off the coast of Ireland.”

  She touched h
is forehead. He wasn’t fevered. Maybe he was delusional, mentally ill or just very drunk.

  “I perhaps should have mentioned the bludgeon on my head, too,” Faolan said.

  “That would have been smart,” she said.

  He looked uncertain at the term.

  “Wise, intelligent. You might even have a concussion.” She touched the bump on his head and then grabbed the can of beer from him. “You shouldn’t be drinking any more if you might have a concussion.”

  He looked affronted. “I was just developing a taste for your unusual ale.”

  She shrugged.

  “Are you a sorceress?”

  “People would call me a witch.”

  “Are you not fearful of being sent to the stake?”

  “Not in this century, no.”

  She finished placing the last stitch, cut the thread, then covered the wound with a large bandage and tape.

  “You’ll have to rest.”

  He seemed deep in thought. “For what purpose have you summoned me? Are you in need of protection? I’ve been hired for such tasks in the past.”

  “Just cut the act. I’ll call you a cab; you should rest at home.”

  “My home is my ship.”

  “Riiiggght! Well, have the taxi take you to Boston Harbor then.”

  “My ship’s in a cove not far from Ireland.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, just come sleep it off. We’ll talk again when you’re sober.”

  “Where would I sleep?”

  “You’re so big, I doubt you’d fit on my chaise longue or settee.” She glanced at his tall, brawny frame. “I’m working on an essay. My research books and computer are in the guest room. I suppose you’ll have to sleep in my room.”

  “You wish me to sleep in your bed?” he asked and his eyes dropped to her breasts for her damn robe had come open again. He did something incredibly sexy with his eyebrows.

  “Not with me.”

  “I do find you most fetching.”

  “Fetching?” She smirked.

  “Beautiful, lovely, pretty, desirous.”

  “I know what fetching means. I just haven’t heard anyone actually say it. I’ve only read it in historical romance novels.”

  She walked into her bedroom and he followed.

  “You read then?”

  “To attend university, I’d need to be able to read.”

  “I was fortunate enough to learn to read. It’s not always common for those in Ireland.”

  She stared at him and his unfaltering resolve to stay in character.

  “What year do you believe this is?”

  “It’s 1773,” he said without hesitation.

  “So you’re an actor or reenactor of the events leading to the American Revolution?”

  “For the last damn time, madam, I’m not an actor.”

  “And for the last damn time, I’m not a madam!” she said putting her hands on her hips, glowering.

  “You’re even more fetching when your cheeks flush and your eyes flash with passion. Maybe we should lie together.”

  He nodded toward her large brass bed.

  “I wondered when you’d throw in the rakish bit. Newt must have told you about that, too. But I said I’d want you to carry me to bed and wildly ravish me.”

  He glanced at his wound and sighed.

  “I could readily carry you even if you didn’t possess a petite feminine form, but your carefully placed needlework may come awry.”

  “Another time then,” she said, laughing and snorting again.

  “Why do you make that peculiar sound when you laugh?”

  “Believe me, it’s not by choice, Faolan.”

  “You think we’re of fond enough acquaintance to now refer to me by my given name?”

  “You’re about to sleep in my bed. I’ve seen you half undressed and patched up your wound. I think it’s earned me that right, Captain.”

  “I’m inclined to agree, Angel,” he said.

  His smile made her heart thud in her chest nearly as much as looking at his gorgeous chest. When she glanced at his pants and noticed his unmistakable erection, she turned away, her cheeks flaming hot.

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t or wouldn’t gladly service you, but sure carryin’ you would be ill-advised just now.”

  “Lie down. I’ll go make something to eat,” she said, now completely discomposed.

  He nodded. She could see it pleased him that she was flustered.

  “I typically sleep unclothed.”

  “Not in my bed, you won’t! But your pants likely have blood on them, too.” She looked through her closet. “I doubt anything I own will fit you.”

  She spotted the hot pink wraparound beach cover-up.

  He smiled shaking his head. “I will not wear that garment!”

  “Wear it in my bed or sleep on the floor,” she said setting it on the chair. “Once you’re in bed I’ll take your clothes and wash them. I’ll leave food on the nightstand.”

  “Thank you for your assistance and geniality,” he said sitting on the bed unbuckling his tall black boots.

  When he reached for the ties on his pants, he looked at her as if daring her to stay. She didn’t.

  Chapter Five

  Newt’s phone went straight to voice mail.

  “Newton Granger, call me when you get this message.”

  Angelique brewed fresh coffee, her mind on the man in her bed. With scones baking in the oven, she finished tidying the living room while staring at the purple candle. Had she really summoned him? He did possess many qualities she’d listed in her spell. But he should’ve arrived directly to her. That’s what happened with the magical creatures she’d summoned as a child.

  Could he actually be from a different century? She had described a man straight from a historical romance novel. If she’d really summoned Captain Faolan Mahoney from another time, obviously she’d have to send him back.

  She put bacon, eggs and rye toast on a plate, added banana bread and two warm scones with jam and clotted cream. About to pour coffee and put a cup on the tray, she jumped hearing him speak.

  “Your food smells enticin’. My hunger’s more insistent than my weariness.”

  He stood in the doorway looking damn sexy, a blanket draped at his waist. She’d put his clothes in the washer. He wasn’t wearing the beach cover-up. Knowing he was naked beneath that blanket instantly unsettled her.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry. Thirsty, too. Alcohol dehydrates you and you’ve also suffered blood loss. I’ll get you some water. Do you like coffee?”

  Talking too fast, she likely did sound dim-witted. She had to distract herself from how aroused she was becoming. She’d never felt such primal attraction. He was still staring intently; she realized he was looking at her jeans. She’d had a quick shower, put on jeans and a green cowl-neck sweater.

  “By your home and furnishings, I believed you wealthy, yet you’re now attired in rags. Perhaps you’re responsible for the care of animals in your stables and soon to tend to them?”

  She smiled as she looked down at her purposely torn jeans.

  “I have no stables and no animals other than tropical fish and a stray cat I’ve been feeding. But sit down; eat while the food’s hot.”

  Setting his plate on the table, he sat across from her, his hunger affirmed by how heartily he shoveled in his food.

  “You’re not eating?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ve no servants to attend to cooking and cleaning?”

  “No servants. I enjoy cooking and love baking. Cleaning isn’t my favorite. I do like a tidy house and try to be organized, although my guest room presently looks like a hurricane hit.”

  “You’re an abundance of contradictions, madam…Angelique.”

  “I’ve already lost my angel status?”

  “That was too familiar.”

  “I kinda liked Angel. No one’s ever called me that.”

  “Are you truly a witch
?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was your magical spell that brought me here?”

  “Probably. Are you really from 1773?”

  “I am. I presume we aren’t in that time period now?”

  “No, it’s nearly two hundred fifty years in the future.”

  “By all that’s holy!” he exclaimed.

  “I must try to send you back.”

  “That would undoubtedly be best,” he said, yet when their eyes met, she thought he didn’t seem any surer than her.

  “The trouble is,” she sheepishly said. “I’m not certain I can do it just yet. The other times I summoned someone, Mom made me send them back within the hour while the enchantment held. This spell was spoken at midnight during a full moon. I might have to wait till the next full moon.”

  “I’d need to remain here an entire moon cycle?”

  “Possibly. I’m sorry! I had too much wine. Newt and I were just having fun; I didn’t mean to disrupt your life so terribly. You don’t even seem upset. I’d be scared to death and really angry if I were you.”

  “In truth, you probably saved my life. Surrounded by unsavory men, I’d already suffered a rogue’s weapon. I’m no novice with a sword, but had been solidly struck over the head.”

  “You’re associated with people who’d kill you?”

  “More than a few would wish for my demise. Running with the likes of Luke Ryan, I’ve gained more enemies than friends in recent years.”

  “So you are a pirate?”

  “It’s a word used by some.”

  “I’ve always been fascinated with reading about swashbuckling pirates.”

  “It’s a dangerous life that doesn’t often allow for longevity.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ve seen thirty summers.”

  “I’ll look through my spell books and go to the library. I know another place that might have pertinent books. I’ll try to find a spell to send you back sooner. Although maybe I shouldn’t send you back at all if you’re just liable to be killed when you return.”

  “I doubt I could remain here,” he said glancing around uncertainly.

  “Probably not; it’d likely change history, which never works out well in the movies. Do you have a wife or family who’ll be missing you?”

  “My wife died in childbed, along with our child she carried.” His tone was solemn.