The Witch's Journey Page 5

  “I’m sorry. It was the leading cause of death in women of childbearing age for centuries. Apparently, one in three women died giving birth or shortly after.”

  He lowered his head.

  “I apologize; I didn’t mean to discredit your tragic loss by listing historical statistics. It must’ve been devastating.”

  “Does this hardship not occur during your time?”

  “Not nearly as often, but sometimes. My good friend, Sylvie, died of complications after childbirth just last year. Her baby’s with her aunt in France.”

  “Where’s the father?”

  “She used a donor.”

  “Donor?” One eye narrowed as he attempted to understand.

  “A man donated his seed so she could conceive.”

  “She couldn’t find a husband?”

  “She was timid of men but wanted a baby.”

  “Perhaps for a child to be motherless would be a worse fate,” he said.

  “When did you lose your wife?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Do you think you’ll marry again?”

  “Many would say I’m married to the sea.”

  “The sea has great appeal to me, too. I love living near the ocean. I’ve thought of moving to Ireland, maybe finding a little cottage in a quiet seaside village. I adore it there. Unfortunately lots of places in Ireland have become commercialized. Travel and tourism generate lots of revenue.”

  “Perhaps you might accompany me back to Ireland during my time? It would be less frequented, as you’d prefer.”

  “That would be amazing,” she dreamily said. “Now, you should sleep so your wound heals.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Look through my books, see what it would entail to send you back in time without full-moon magic. I’ve stilled time on a few occasions, but didn’t even know moving through time was possible—if you weren’t a magical or mythical creature.”

  “You think I have no magic?” he jested.

  She smiled, thinking the powerful attraction was nothing short of magical.

  “You do long to get rid of me then?”

  Her stomach filled with butterflies; her heart sped. Their eyes locked again. She felt the deep blush from breasts to cheeks and for the very first time, actual recognizable arousal with corresponding wetness between her thighs. Getting rid of him wasn’t even close to what she longed to do just now.

  “You’re even more fetching when you blush so prettily. You have the fairest skin and loveliest auburn curls; you’ve the look of an Irish lass, to be sure.”

  “I was born in Ireland but adopted when I was really young. Mom and I came here soon after.”

  “I knew it,” he said.

  “I love your accent,” she admitted which only prompted another sexy smile from him and consequently another deep blush from her.

  “Might I ask the favor of using your impressive bath?” he asked.

  “Is it true people from your time don’t bathe frequently?”

  “It depends on the person, the availability of water and a basin in which to bathe. I like a good long, hot bath when I’m able. I wash more frequently than many and swim in the ocean, too.”

  “I love swimming, even in pools, but the ocean’s my favorite.”

  “It seems we do have a lot in common, Angelique. Your name sounds French, not Irish.”

  “It is French. It’s from an old supernatural television series. There was a witch named Angelique. My second name’s Samantha like the witch from Bewitched. Mom was kind of obsessed with witches. I suppose I’m lucky my name isn’t Tinker Bell, for she loved faeries, too.”

  “The woman who raised you?”

  “She’s the only mother I knew. She was amazing. Sadly, she died six months ago. I apologize, you wouldn’t know any of the characters I mentioned.”

  “I’m regretful of your bereavement. And ’tis of no matter that I don’t know these people. I simply enjoy listenin’ and watchin’ you while you speak. Your eyes sparkle and your lips curve enchantingly. Sure, kissin’ those lips would be somethin’ I’d much delight in.”

  “You’re very charming. I didn’t even include that in my spell for my perfect man.”

  “I think your standards are not so high if you believe someone such as myself to be your notion of perfection,” Faolan said.

  “We all tend to see our flaws before our positive traits, I suppose,” she replied.

  “Where’s your hearth? I’ll go to the well and fill your kettle to heat water for my bath.”

  “My fireplace is in the living room, but you won’t find a kettle there and I have no well. Come with me; I’ll blow your mind.”

  He stared, seeming taken aback.

  “You own a musket? You wish to blow my mind? I believed our rapport immediate and our attraction undeniable. Is it my forward manner of speakin’ that you intend to see me accountable for?”

  “Captain Mahoney, I have no musket. I don’t even really approve of guns. I don’t want to blow your brains out.” She laughed. “Blow your mind just means stun or amaze you.”

  “You do that simply by looking at me with your beautiful face and those very blue eyes, Angel.”

  “How long has it been since you were with a woman?”

  He eyed her curiously. “I’m with a woman now.”

  “I mean with her, with her—sexually.”

  “What relevance has that?”

  “You sound like a man only complimenting a woman in hope of taking her to bed.”

  “That’s not why I speak of your beauty. Would that earn me a place in your bed?” Again with the sexy eyebrow movement.

  “You’ve already been in my bed.”

  “I meant in bed with you—my galleon in your harbor?”

  “Wow! You really don’t beat around the bush! That’s quite the metaphor, Captain. Do women in your time actually like that direct way of speaking?”

  “I could be far more direct if you’d prefer.”

  She was strangely overcome with unprecedented desire.

  “I thought most women in your time were expected to be virginal with next to no knowledge of sex. I barely know you or if you’re telling the truth. If you are from another century, your damn galleon’s likely been in a gazillion harbors. You might have a horrible sexually transmitted disease. I don’t even have condoms. If I did, they would have expired long ago.

  “I must be insane to even be considering this? Besides, you’re wounded and if we did that, you’d probably tear your stitches open.”

  “You’re blushing, Angel.”

  “I hate how easily I blush.”

  “I have no horrible disease. I’ve been with but a handful of women since my wife died, none lately…nor have I frequented a brothel recently.”

  “I suppose you want my sexual history, too?” She made a face. “I’ve been with three men, total. Still, in your century I’d be considered a fallen woman, doomed to a life of prostitution, sent to a workhouse or married off to a seventy-year-old man in desperate need of an heir.”

  He smiled at her with such attraction it definitely made her want to be carried to bed and ravished.

  “Being bedded by several men is acceptable for women during your time?”

  “Three is not several! It’s mostly accepted—well in this part of the world. Some countries or religions aren’t accepting but here, lots of women have as many sexual partners as men. Now, come with me. I’ll show you why we don’t need to find a well or fill kettles.”

  He held the blanket around his waist and followed.

  “This is the largest water closet I’ve ever seen,” he said glancing around the immense bathroom.

  “It’s large even by today’s standards. I spend so much time in a bath, I had the wall taken down to the bedroom once here in order to make a bigger bathroom.”

  “Why do you have a small forest in every room?” He looked at her houseplants.

  “I like plants and they give off o
xygen.”

  She inserted the plug, then turned on the taps. His eyes became large and he placed his hand in the water.

  “Instantly hot?” he said.

  She felt exactly that as his firm forearm brushed against her hand.

  “Yes, next to medical achievements, I believe indoor plumbing with hot water and sewer is the greatest advancement.”

  “This is your chamber pail?” he asked, looking at the toilet.

  “Yes. It’s called a toilet. Sorry; you probably have to pee. Either that or you’re very dehydrated.”

  “Pee?”

  “Urinate or you’d say piss—maybe?” she said as she lifted the lid and he stared inside.

  “Why is your piss so pale?”

  She giggled. “That’s just water. Watch this.”

  She flushed the toilet and he leapt back, nearly dropping the blanket. She turned away, her face hot.

  “You’re modest; unusually demure for someone with carnal knowledge and experience.”

  “I am modest. Newt says I’m hopelessly old-fashioned. Would you like some bubbles in the water? Try not to get your wound wet. There’s soap or body wash there.”

  She kept her back to him.

  “I’m covered now. You needn’t fear, Angel.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said.

  Still, when she turned back to face him, her heart raced. She set a bath sheet on the chair, put a washcloth and essential oils in the water as the bathtub filled.

  “It smells enticin’ like you,” he said, his voice noticeably huskier.

  “Shampoo’s for washing your hair.”

  She looked at his wavy, nearly shoulder-length hair. He had really great hair!

  “This is the shower.” She pointed. “I’ll show you how that works when I think of a way to cover your wound—if I don’t find a spell to send you back.”

  “You witter on when you’re nervous.”

  “I know,” she replied, turning the water off. “I’ll let you bathe and then sleep. I’m going out for just for a bit. I’ll see about finding a tetanus shot, maybe buy some other clothing for you. I’ll put yours in the dryer. We could go walking tomorrow but if you’re wearing those clothes you’re liable to be stopped by tourists expecting you to know the history of the American Revolution and the Boston Tea Party.”

  He stared at her clearly amused.

  “Wittering on again; I know.” She laughed. “Enjoy your bath.”

  She went out, leaned against the door fanning her face, then nearly fell back in when he opened it. He smiled broadly at that.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Angel.”

  Chapter Six

  Angelique knocked, opened the door and peered in.

  “You slept all day.”

  Faolan stretched and cussed, probably overextending his injured shoulder.

  “Your bed’s the most comfortable I’ve ever slept upon. It smells of you, so my dreams were…pleasant. It’s also the most feminine-lookin’ bedchamber I’ve been in.”

  She smiled looking at the soft pink walls, the window with the lacy white curtains and strings of faerie lights and this tall, masculine, powerfully built man in her bed with her white comforter and pillow shams with pink butterflies.

  She pointed to the chair. “The bloodstain on your shirt actually came out. I’ve mended it and ironed your clothes. I seldom iron, so they’re not perfect. I bought you a few clothes. I guessed at the size so hopefully they’ll fit. I found a couple of pairs of jeans with buttons. If you’re not familiar with zippers and unaccustomed to underwear, you could suffer an unfortunate injury, which wouldn’t have happened in your time.”

  “What type of injury?”

  “Men sometimes get their manhood caught in the zipper. Some even need stitches.”

  He grimaced. “I do hope these zippers don’t become fashionable during my time.”

  “I don’t think the zipper was around till quite a bit later—hey, Alexa, when were zippers invented?”

  “American, Elias Howe earned a patent in 1851 for the Automatic Continuous Clothing Closure,” the female voice replied from the device on the dresser and Faolan’s eyes grew wide.

  “Do you keep a tiny woman trapped inside your armoire?”

  Angelique laughed. “It’s just her voice. She’s not really here.”

  “How does she hear you then?”

  “I’ll get Newt to explain. He’s better with technology.”

  Faolan was lying on his side, his gorgeous chest and stomach exposed like a damn male model, the beach cover-up haphazardly covering the rest of him. Consequently, Angelique was becoming flustered again.

  “Why do you possess such an array of garments?” Faolan asked when she opened her closet, mostly to distract her heightening arousal.

  “By today’s standards, I have minimal garments. Some women would think they were hard done by to have so few.”

  “What of your great number of black hats? Are you Quaker or Puritan?”

  She glanced at her hats on the top shelf and smiled.

  “They aren’t Quaker hats, certainly not Puritan. They’re witch hats. Witches and Puritans have a rather dark history here in Massachusetts. I’ve been collecting these since I was a child; not all black, some are purple.”

  “You’ve kindly mended my tunic but don’t tailor your own garments.”

  He stared at the holes in her jeans again. “Did you truly wear those tattered breeches while frequenting public shops?” Faolan asked.

  “They’re meant to be torn and yes, I wore the tattered breeches in public.” She giggled, constantly amused by him.

  “Is it common for women of this time to wear breeches and to boldly display their arses?”

  She glanced down. “My arse isn’t boldly displayed. You should see how tight some women wear their jeans. They leave nothing to the imagination.”

  “My imaginations soars most vividly when I look at you in those breeches. You have shapely legs and a curvaceous, well-formed arse, Angel.”

  “A little conflicted on what to call me?”

  “Perhaps. Are these garments you’ve procured for me, tattered as well?”

  “No, I didn’t think you’d be a fan.”

  “A fan?”

  “Someone who likes something.”

  “I’m a fan of the enticin’ smells comin’ from your kitchen.”

  “I made homemade stew and Irish soda bread. I tried to find something you might be accustomed to eating.”

  “You’re most accomodatin’ to my desires.” He sensually smirked.

  “You’d get along well with Newt. He makes inappropriate innuendos and likes everything to sound sexual.”

  “Yet he hasn’t bedded you?” Faolan said.

  “Newt doesn’t…like women.”

  “He likes you.”

  “He’s not interested in women; he’s attracted to men.”

  Faolan sat straight up. Angelique quickly turned away again. Evidently immodest, he wasn’t bothered the cover-up came unwrapped and he was now fully exposed.

  “He’s a…man inclined to buggery?”

  “If you say one unkind word about Newt I’ll use your damn specially crafted sword on you, Captain Mahoney!” she said, slamming the door behind her.

  *

  “Mistress Kavanaugh, I meant no disrespect to you or your friend,” Faolan said.

  She noticed the sheepish expression he wore and how damn hot he looked in the tight jeans. Both eased her annoyance.

  “No one says mistress in this century unless referring to a woman you’re having sex with when you’re not married to her.”

  “It’s accepted in your time without ridicule or shame?”

  “Having a mistress? I suppose that depends if you’re the wife or the mistress or where you are in the world. Some places, the woman would still be stoned. Mistresses do usually end up causing problems.”

  “I meant for men to be openly attracted to other men.”

  �
��Again, it depends where you are. There’s still some ridicule and shame. Newt was bullied as a child and beaten up just last year. It’s largely accepted and same-sex marriages are legal in many places.”

  “They are permitted to marry?”

  She glowered again, but he held his hands up.

  “It wasn’t my intention to rile you or insult your friend. My own cousin was much in love with another man—both were emasculated, then hanged for their perceived deviant perversity. I’d gladly wish for all people to be with whomever they choose. What might I do to ingratiate myself with you? I only hope to one day be honored with the loyalty you hold for your friend.”

  “You have nothing to make up to me.”

  “But I’d like to,” he said unbuttoning his jeans.

  “Whoa!” She put her hands up. “I assure you I don’t require that kind of…ingratiating!”

  “I only wish to show you what occurred when I tried to defend my cousin and his lover. I was threatened with the same punishment.”

  He ensured he was covered but Angelique glanced at the scar on his abdomen, probably caused by a sword.

  “I’m sorry,” Angelique said. “I presumed you were opposed. You’re very forward-thinking. Homosexuality was still illegal here until not so long ago.”

  “These men are referred to as homosexuals then?”

  “Yes, but the term most used is gay.”

  “Gay?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “What then do you say when one’s filled with merriment?”

  “That’s gay, too, or once was, but now I suppose it’s just happy or joyful.”

  He appeared confused.

  “I apologize, Faolan. It would be difficult for you to understand modern terminology or how things are now. But sit down; I’ll serve supper.”

  “May I assist you?”

  “With supper? Are you sure you’re from the eighteenth century? I thought men back then were chauvinistic macho men?”

  “I understand chauvinism, but what are macho men?”

  “Men who act gruff and extra manly!” She used a deep voice and he chuckled.

  “I’m relieved you’re no longer angry with me,” he said taking her hand and kissing it. “You must tell me what title depicts respect. You don’t approve of madam or mistress. I suppose maiden’s inappropriate if you’re not…”