The Witch's Journey Read online

  “Just Angelique, although, I really liked it when you called me Angel.”

  Their eyes met and he stepped closer. She thought he might kiss her.

  “You’ve just witnessed my temper so you know I’m no angel.”

  He grinned and helped her carry the food.

  “When you’re done eating, I’ll a give you a taste of modern medicine in a tetanus shot.”

  His eyebrows knitted amusingly in his uncertainty and she only smiled.

  *

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “Wantin’ me to disrobe again, Angel?”

  She smiled and blushed. He liked to make her smile.

  “You don’t intend to jab me again with that fiendishly sharp object that burned displeasingly?”

  “You’re still whimpering about the tetanus shot from last night when you’ve been stabbed, apparently a few times?”

  “I’d suffer much more if it ensures your hands upon my skin again.”

  She rolled her eyes and removed the bandage covering his wound.

  “It’s already healing well. You must be healthy, for it hasn’t become infected.”

  He grasped her hand as she touched his chest. She blushed again as he’d come to expect.

  “I’m thinkin’ it was your magical touch and knowledge of healin’ that has ensured my wound’s improvement.”

  “Mom was a healer. She made herbal remedies and taught me. Plus I studied premed.”

  “Medicine? Women can be doctors?”

  “There are lots of great female doctors.”

  “Yet you no longer train to be one?”

  “No.” She sighed heavily. “I admit I really don’t know what to do. I finished high school early, traveled for a while. Went to university, dropped out of premed after nearly three years. I enrolled in interior design, but that wasn’t my thing. I traveled again, most of Europe, especially Ireland and the UK. I spent a couple of weeks in Scotland on a boat with a sexy Scotsman looking for Nessie. Didn’t find her but might’ve nearly found love.”

  “What prevented it?”

  “Mom was hurt and I flew back home.”

  “Yet the Scot wasn’t one of the three who bedded you?”

  “No. Robby’s the one who got away, I suppose. He’s married now.” She sighed again. “I also toured Australia, New Zealand and Canada.”

  “Australia?”

  “It began as a British penal colony—a little after your time. Now, it’s amazingly diverse and has cool animals, as is New Zealand.”

  “And Canada?”

  “It wasn’t a country in your time. It’s just north of America and very beautiful. I also went on a couple of tropical vacations and a cruise. Newt likes hot holidays so I accompanied him with my wide-brimmed hat and SPF 60 sunscreen.

  “I’m working on a history major with some classes in genealogy. People today are big into that. I’m writing a novel, but haven’t gotten far. I used to do intuitive readings and reiki at Mom and Fiona’s shop, but sometimes I picked up others’ negative energy. I spent lots of time with Mom when she was sick.”

  “What type of illness was it?” Faolan asked.

  “One that wouldn’t have been around in your time,” she whispered.

  He didn’t press for further details.

  “I’ve considered opening a B&B since I love looking for antiques and enjoy cooking but…I’m mostly just drifting aimlessly. Sorry, wittering on again, I know.”

  “I like to hear everything about you, though I may need you to interpret some of it.”

  “Probably.” She smiled. “Do you feel up to a walk or prefer to rest again today?”

  “If I rest another day, sure I’ll never require sleep again. I’d very much like to walk with you.”

  She redressed the wound.

  “Nice tattoo,” she said looking at his shoulder. “It’s a triskelion like on your sword handle.”

  “Aye. It’s my signature symbol.”

  “I’d like to get a tattoo as well.”

  “A woman with a tattoo?”

  “Lots of women have them. One day, I’ll get one when I find something meaningful enough,” she stated as he put his shirt on.

  “I’ll get my sweater,” she added, her eyes sparkling enchantingly.

  “What’s this called?” he asked touching her lovely soft curls. He’d wanted to do that since they met.

  “It’s called a ponytail.”

  “Like a horse’s tail?”

  She nodded.

  “It resembles no horse’s tail I’ve seen. Your hair’s beautiful, yet you’ve not left it unbound since first I met you.”

  “Wouldn’t want to be accused of being brazenly bold,” she said.

  When she turned her hair swished and he caught the appealing scent. His body reacted instantly. By God, he wanted her. He inhaled deeply.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “We don’t have to go out if you…”

  “No, we must go out.”

  “Must?”

  “If we don’t, I fear I’ll need to carry you to your bedchamber and ravish you as you once suggested.”

  She laughed with the peculiar snort that delighted him. She clearly thought he was jesting. He followed her to the door.

  “The sun’s warm for November but there’s a breeze. Wear your coat, but I wouldn’t wear your hat or…”

  “People will think I’m a pirate,” he finished and she smiled.

  He held her garment for her as she put it on.

  “A chivalrous pirate. You’re a bit of a contradiction yourself, Captain,” she said wrapping a pink scarf around her neck as he donned his overcoat and fastened the gold buttons.

  Her expression was suddenly serious.

  “What troubles you?”

  “When we step out this door, I’m no longer Angelique Kavanaugh, but Sam Kavan.”

  “Sam? Why would someone so lovely and feminine bear a masculine moniker?”

  She smiled so prettily he longed to kiss her, yet again.

  “Few people know I’m wealthy. Almost everyone believes an inheritance from my grandmother pays for renting this apartment, traveling some and attending university.”

  “Why the façade?”

  “People treat you differently if they think you’re rich. My dad likes to flaunt his wealth. I don’t.”

  “I can’t possibly call you Sam!”

  “Call me Sammy, Samantha or Angel maybe, but then you’d have to pretend we’re an item, that we’re together—romantically.”

  “That would be most agreeable,” he said grazing her hand. “But where’s my sword?”

  “In my hall closet, where it must remain until you go back to your time.”

  “What if I should need to defend you or myself?”

  “We can’t use swords in this century. You’d be put in jail. Since you have no proof of identification, no passport, birth certificate or driver’s license, we definitely don’t want that. You must be on your best behavior.”

  “I’m to use my fists to defend you, then?”

  “I won’t need to be defended. Using your fists would likely also see you in jail. Besides, I know karate; I can defend myself.”

  He looked at her feeling most perplexed.

  “Karate’s a type of martial arts. Tristan, one of the men who live upstairs, taught me…after Mom was hurt.”

  She placed her satchel over her shoulder and locked the door behind them.

  Huge trees adorned with autumn foliage canopied the street as he looked to see the ocean within view. Peculiar sounds and unfamiliar scents were on the air.

  “Everything must seem strange to you?” she said.

  He saw the empathy in her dark blue eyes. She was not only outwardly beautiful but clearly a kind soul.

  “I’m not without the ability to adapt,” he replied, obviously setting her at ease, for she smiled her beguiling smile.

  “I must stop in to see Mrs. Boyle who rents an apartment here. She’s elder
ly so I sometimes do her shopping.”

  He nodded as they walked the covered walkway to another part of this impressively large pale blue home. Angelique stopped, pushed a button and a melodic sound came from inside. Before long a bent, white-haired old woman opened the door.

  “Sammy, grand to see ye.” She spoke with an Irish accent.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Boyle. How many trick-or-treaters came?” Angelique asked.

  “Forty-seven. The kiddies missed seein’ you, dear.”

  “I missed them, too.”

  The woman noticed him.

  “Who have we here?” she asked squinting in the sunlight.

  “This is Faolan Mahoney,” Angelique said. “He’s visiting from Ireland. Faolan, meet Mrs. Boyle, originally from near Kinsale. She’ll soon be ninety years young.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Boyle,” Faolan said taking her gnarled hand.

  “Mahoney, you say? There were Mahoneys in my family some time ago, even a Faolan Mahoney or so the stories go. Best come in, keep out the damp wind. Reminds me of Ireland, so it does. You’re a fine tall man. Could you change a lightbulb for me?”

  “Gladly,” Faolan said, though wholly uncertain of the task she’d requested.

  “Would you like tea?” Mrs. Boyle offered.

  “Would you like to stop for tea, Faolan?” Angelique questioned.

  If she’d asked him to walk into the fiery pits of hell just now, he’d have agreed. She’d well entranced him. Not to mention causing a persistent cock-stand that was becoming unignorable.

  “Tea would be grand, Mrs. Boyle.”

  The woman smiled and started the kettle.

  “You must instruct me on the task involving this unusual lantern,” he whispered in Angelique’s ear and she quivered.

  Perhaps she was attracted to him, too.

  “It’s easy, especially for someone tall as you,” Angelique said. “You just put it in and screw—um—twist it clockwise.”

  Her cheeks turned delightfully pink again. He did as Angelique instructed, all the while trying to keep his thoughts from what he’d like to do with her.

  “The two of ye are romantically involved, then?” Mrs. Boyle asked.

  “How could someone not wish to be romantically involved with such an angel?” Faolan said looking at Angelique.

  “A looker and a charmer! Best hold on to him, Sammy.”

  Angelique blushed and her eyes shone. They sat down to partake in tea and cakes.

  “Mrs. Boyle’s Irish Belleek dishes have been passed down for several generations, Faolan. She has English bone china as old as the seventeen hundreds,” Angelique said with a wink, making him want to take her straight to her bed.

  Faolan looked at the old woman’s displayed crockery but his eyes fell upon what Angelique previously called a photograph. He stood and stared.

  “That’s Ireland,” Mrs. Boyle said. “The lighthouse’s been in my family for over five hundred years—actually belongs to me. I’ve a local man lookin’ after it. Sammy went there; had that photo taken.”

  Faolan stared at it. Angelique was standing near the lighthouse, her beautiful hair windblown, a radiant smile upon her face, her love of Ireland evident.

  “Mom took that photo,” Angelique said. “Do you know that lighthouse, Faolan?”

  “I’m quite familiar with it.”

  “My memory’s not what it once was,” Mrs. Boyle said, “but my grandfather told of a Faolan Mahoney, a seafarin’ man.”

  “What do you know about him?” Angelique asked.

  “Said to be a fine, handsome man, feared by men and desired by women. It’s rumored he died a violent death or that his ship was lost at sea. Some say he gave up the life for love. Others claim a woman broke his heart; he dropped out of sight, never heard of again.”

  “Was he a distant grandfather?” Angelique asked.

  “Don’t know. Reckon it would’ve been seven or eight generations before my time. Probably mostly tall tales told round the turf fire.”

  “We should be on our way now, Mrs. Boyle. I’d like to show Faolan around. It’s his first time in Boston.”

  “So, is he the one, Sammy?”

  “Mrs. Boyle!” she scolded. “You sound like Newt.”

  “Other than Newt, you’ve never brought a man here. I’m not so old I don’t recognize you and Mr. Mahoney are hot for one another.”

  “Do you need any shopping done, Mrs. Boyle?” Angelique said, her cheeks pink again.

  “I’m set for now. That other nice-lookin’ Irishman upstairs bought me milk; took out my rubbish, too. I thought you two might hook up when you went for dinner together.”

  “Hook up?” Angelique laughed.

  “I’m old, but not ancient.”

  “Danhoul’s just a friend.”

  “What of the other shite who wouldn’t leave you alone?”

  “Don’t worry about him, Mrs. Boyle.”

  “When the bastard followed ye around I wanted to smash him over the head with my fry-up pan, so I did.”

  “Should I bring you clam chowder when we return?”

  “Would you, Sammy?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “You’re the kindest soul I know. Don’t ye hurt Sammy, Faolan Mahoney.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Boyle. Thanks for the tea,” he said as they left, then began walking.

  “Who’s this relentless lout?” Faolan asked.

  “I just wanna forget him. Do you think Mrs. Boyle was talking about you, Faolan? Having the same name and being a sea captain seems more than a coincidence.”

  “I doubt myself worthy of being remembered for centuries.”

  “Maybe you’ve yet to become famous.”

  He only shrugged.

  “You recognized the lighthouse?” Angelique asked.

  “It’s painted differently, but I recognized it and the rock and cliffs behind.”

  “That’s so cool, Faolan. We were in the very same location only centuries apart.”

  “I’d prefer to be there together,” he said and she smiled.

  “That would be really nice,” she agreed.

  Chapter Seven

  Angelique watched Faolan when they entered the busier area with traffic, tall buildings and more people. He observed everything, but seemed strangely unaffected. Maybe he could adapt to any environment as he’d suggested. She pointed out various historical points of interest, although most events wouldn’t have happened yet in Faolan’s time.

  Women and men alike noticed him. He was impressive, so tall and handsome. The way he carried himself with confidence made him appear even grander.

  “Is this where you procured your wooden weapon?”

  She shook herself from her entrancement with him.

  “From the deceased babe you spoke of.”

  “No, this is a souvenir shop. Babe Ruth played with the Boston Red Sox long ago. I got my bat from the old Fenway Park. Baseball’s a sport.”

  He only nodded though seemed interested.

  “If there’s any shop you want to stop in, please tell me. I’m not sure what an eighteenth-century man would like to see or do.”

  “If he’s with you, then it’s you he’d like to see.”

  She laughed. “Well here I am,” she said twirling around and he took her hand as she stopped.

  “Do you have any notion how lovely you look and how very much I’d like to kiss you?”

  “You’re here in another century, seeing things you’ve never seen and you’re focused on me?”

  “A beautiful woman should always dominate everything in a man’s eyes, his mind and his life.”

  He was such a charmer; she was falling hook, line and sinker.

  “Do you like Guinness?” she asked. “Or was it not around in your time? I could ask Siri.”

  “How did you manage before you had voices inside gadgets to answer your queries?”

  “Looked things up in books and relied more on mem
ory.”

  “I’m familiar with Guinness. It was perhaps 1760 when the Guinness family established the dark ale.”

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  “I’ve been known to sample Guinness a time or two. Do you?”

  “I do if I’m sittin’ in an Irish pub,” she said with a pretended Irish accent. “Pubs offer food, too.”

  “You could stand to put a little meat on your bones,” Faolan said.

  “Now you sound like Newt. He’s like an interfering mother. Mom worried about me, but wasn’t overprotective.”

  “And your father?”

  “They married when I was six. After he became a doctor, we didn’t see him as much. Then he had me do an abundance spell. He invested in real estate and other commodities, made a mint and everything changed. But here’s the pub I was telling you about.”

  She pointed to the building with the green awnings, Irish harp on the door and the large sign written in old-world-style lettering.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  He looked around as they walked through the pub. “This doesn’t resemble any establishment I’ve seen in Ireland.”

  “Probably not,” she replied as they sat in a booth.

  “Is that your century’s Irish music?” he asked cocking his head.

  “No. I’d rather it was more authentically Irish, too. Even in Ireland there isn’t always Irish music. Country music’s often played.”

  “What country?”

  “It’s a genre of music popular in North America, but in Ireland and Scotland and other places, too. Here’s a food menu.”

  “Are there offerings above this establishment?”

  She looked up and it dawned on her. “You mean are there prostitutes here?”

  “They’re common during my time in pubs and inns.”

  “Are you in need or simply curious about women of this century, wondering if bedding them would be the same?”

  She didn’t give him time to reply.

  “I’m not aware of any brothels here. If you know where to look, you’ll find prostitutes. There are expensive call girls, too. They’d be safer as they’re tested regularly for HIV and STDs.”

  “I’m unfamiliar with these letters.”

  “You’ve likely heard of syphilis since a good many historical figures were apparently afflicted with it—gonorrhea, too.”