Rescued (Book One of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel (12 page)

He gave him a properly respectful bow.

Alvis uttered his high-pitched laugh as he bowed in return.

“You have a quick tongue, Charbon. May your sword arm be as strong in the coming weeks.”

They hung up their practice weapons before leaving the sparring chamber and stripped out of their clothes before stepping into the adjoining sauna, a rare indulgence Nathaniel had installed for the use of his warriors after their bouts. The other Templars sitting inside the steamy chamber rose and left as soon as they spotted Alvis, who watched them go with a contemptuous smirk.

“Why are you the only one who does not shun me, Charbon?” Alvis asked as he tossed a dipper of water onto the heated rocks that generated the steam.
 

“I expect they have heard the stories about your berserker days among the Vikings.” Michael leaned back against the wet wooden wall behind him. “They fear what they do not understand.”

“So they shun what they fear.” Alvis spat on the floor. “Like mortals, they are.”
 

“Any man who beholds you knows his heart to quail, Brother,” Michael told him. “You are eight feet tall, and three times as wide as any of us.”

“I cannot help my size.” The Norsemen sounded sullen. “In my village, when we were not off a-Viking, I was worked like a beast because of it. I bore the yoke on my shoulders, and dragged the plowshare across the fields. If not for our lord Master Harper I expect my bones would be buried there now.”
 

Michael nodded. “So would we all be dead and dust.”

“As we are alone I would speak to you about a concern.” Alvis rubbed a huge hand over the bristling hairs that covered his skull. “You have been watching Gideon of late. I see the wariness in your eyes. Do you think him a traitor?”

“No,” Michael said honestly. “But there is something amiss with him. Have you seen his mouth working?”

Alvis nodded. “He chews on that cigar to hide the twitch. Sometimes when he comes in of late, he stinks of women and fornication.”

Michael felt startled. “You think he is violating them?”

The roof beam shoulders shifted. “It does not matter. Women are the daughters of Eve. They condemned us all to sin and suffering. If he returns the same to them, they likely deserve it––and he cannot be held accountable for his sins anymore.”
 

Hearing that from the most fervently devout Templar Michael had ever met confused him. “Why not?”

“Eternity is what plagues Gideon now,” Alvis informed him. “He suffers from immortality sickness, and can no longer be trusted to serve and protect our lord, or carry on the work. When we strike at the pagan gathering in the White Mountains, I will stay behind at first to perform the kindness of dispatching him.”

Hearing the location of the attack made acid bile surge up in Michael’s throat. Silver Wood coven was located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. To keep from puking in front of the Norseman, Michael asked a question.

“Does the Temple Master know about your plans for Gideon, Brother?”
 

“He ordered it,” Alvis said. “You will be leading the men into the fray, so I wished you to know how it would be at the rear.” He studied his face. “You are pale now. Surely you have heard this is what is always done, to release our ailing brothers from their torment.”

Michael nodded. “I did not imagine Gideon to be so stricken. It is a terrible way to lose a brother.” He stood. “I must report for patrol duty. Thank you for the match, Alvis.”

Michael showered and dressed as fast as he could, so he could get to his car and call Atwater from his encrypted phone. On his way out of the old church, however, he was intercepted by Nathaniel.

“My son, I need to speak with you,” the Temple Master said. “I am deeply troubled by your lack of progress in tracking the witch who escaped us.”

“Are you equally concerned about your steward going mad?” Michael countered without thinking, and then felt the burn of regret. “Forgive me. Alvis just informed me about Gideon’s condition, and what is to be done about it.”

A flicker of anger passed over Nathaniel’s features before he sighed.
 

“It was a very difficult decision. As much as I wish we could save Gideon, we cannot allow our brother to descend into lunacy and run amok. You will say nothing to the other men about this, Michael. It is a private business.”

He ducked his head. “As you wish, Master.”

“Soon we may never again have to end the suffering of an ailing brother,” Nathaniel continued smoothly. “With all the wisdom and power it contains, I feel certain that the Emerald Tablet can be used to cure immortality sickness.” He reached up to pat Michael’s cheek. “Find the witch, my son, and bring her to me, and we may yet still save Gideon.”

Michael bowed and then watched the Temple Master walk away before he went to his car and pulled out his encrypted phone from where he kept it taped under the driver’s seat. He dialed Atwater’s number only to hear it go directly to voice mail. He opened his mouth to leave a message before he abruptly ended the call.

This was no longer about Templars and Wiccan, it was about life and death. Summer was the key to finding the most powerful grimoire in existence. If the pagans used her to find the Tablet, they would have the means with which to wipe out their old enemies. If it fell into the hands of the Templars, they would do the same. Anyone wielding such a weapon would rule the world, and since both sides were immortal, that would be for all eternity.
 

I know what my duty is,
Michael thought.
That is why she was brought to me.

He programmed the GPS before he called the North Abbey. Augustin Colbert answered.

“Let Master Harper know that I have received a new lead on the whereabouts of the witch, and I will be traveling out of state to follow up.”

“Where are you going?” the clergy aide asked.

Michael glanced at the GPS display, which showed he would arrive in the White Mountains of New Hampshire in four hours.

“Philadelphia.”

THE SHOUTING MATCH between Troy and Abel started shortly after they arrived back at the Silver Wood pavilion, and was loud enough to carry from the library to the kitchen.

“That sounds like Troy refusing to follow his father’s orders,” Erica said as she stopped chopping carrots and cocked her head toward the bellowing.

“How can you tell?” Summer asked as she tried to make out what sounded like gibberish to her.

“She speaks Welsh,” Aileen said as she stirred the large stock pot of soup bubbling on the stove. “I’m still learning.” She paused to listen. “I can’t be sure, but that sounds like Abel throwing some shade at you, Summer. I don’t think he likes you sleeping with his son very much.”

“Aileen.” Erica gave her a look of reproach before she said to Summer, “We didn’t know the two of you were romantically involved.”

“We’re not. We just had sex.” Summer felt an odd fuzziness in her head and sat down on one of the stools by the counter. “It was terrific, but we’re not getting married or anything.”

Aileen giggled. “Wiccans don’t marry like humans. We mate, generally for life.”

“Well, then we’re definitely just having sex,” Summer said.

As the shouting grew louder Erica wiped her hands on a towel and took off her apron.
 

“I think I’d better step in as referee.” She hurried out.

“Would you go and clip a few chives from the garden, Summer?” Aileen asked as she peered into the soup pot. “They’re the long green shoots next to the dandelions.”

“Gotcha.” Summer stood and shook her head to try and clear it as she walked toward the door to the hothouse, and then went still as the world went away.

In the darkness, flashes appeared behind Summer’s eyes: Aileen, limp and dripping, being carried into Erica’s bedroom by Troy; Troy tearing open the sodden dress to reveal a huge, blistering burn over Aileen’s small breasts; Troy’s fingers touching the white handle of a knife that was sticking out of the side of her belly; bright red blood welling from around the knife, which bobbed as Aileen convulsed; a white-faced Erica rushing to the end of the bed where she stopped and stared at the younger woman; Troy turning his head to shout at the High Priestess.
Erica, help me. The baby–

Summer turned around to see Aileen struggling to move the stock pot from the stove to the counter, a knife still in her hand. The knife had the same white handle as the one in her vision. The bottom edge of the heavy pot wedged against the side of the burner. Aileen frowned as she gave it a hard tug.
 

No.

Summer lunged forward as the pot tipped, and everything around her and Aileen froze, as if time itself came to a complete stop. The bizarre moment allowed her to knock the knife from the pregnant woman’s hand and drag her back out of the way. As she jerked Aileen around and shielded her with her body, time snapped back into play, and the pot tipped over. Boiling soup splashed against the back of Summer’s jeans as the pot and the knife fell to the floor with a crash.

Aileen stared at her in horror.
 

“Summer. Oh, Gods.”

Her wide eyes shifted over her shoulder to the huge steaming lake of soup on the floor.
 

“It would have scalded half your body,” Summer said, her voice hollow and cold. “You would have slipped in the soup, and fallen onto the knife, and miscarried the baby. Then you would have bled to death. Take me outside, please. Now.”

Aileen helped her into the garden, and closed the door behind them.

“You saw it before it happened, just now. You stopped it.” She swallowed hard. “Summer, you stopped everything. I felt it as you pulled me out of the way.”
 

“I don’t know what I did in there.” Summer felt herself beginning to tremble and swallowed hard. “Aileen, please don’t tell anyone about this.”

“You saved my life, and the life of my child.” Aileen took hold of her hands. “I would do anything for you, Summer.”

The other woman was shaking even harder than she was.
 

“Sit down,” Summer said. She guided her to one of the garden benches. “Stay here. I’ll clean up.”

Summer returned inside, where she found Erica standing in the doorway and staring at the mess on the floor.
 

“We had a little accident. It was my fault.”

“So I see.” The older woman frowned at her. “Where is Aileen?”

“She’s taking a rest break in the garden. I didn’t want her to slip and fall.” At least that much was true. Summer went to the utility closet and took out the mop and bucket Erica kept there. “I’m really sorry about screwing up the soup.”
 

“We can have a salad and sandwich for dinner tonight.” Erica gave her a sharp look. “I told Troy and his father to take it out to the barn, but they went in opposite directions. Are you all right, my dear? You look very pale.”

“I’m fine.” Summer produced what she hoped was a rueful grin. “A little shaken up, is all. No, please,” she added as Erica started to reach for a kitchen towel. “Let me do this. It’s my mess.”

“All right. I do need to speak to Abel about his temper anyway.”

Erica gave her a sympathetic smile before she retreated.

By the time Summer mopped up the soup from the stovetop and the floor she felt steadier, and quickly washed the offending pot and knife before she rejoined Aileen, who was sitting and cradling her belly with her thin hands.

“All clear in here. You okay?”

“Thanks to you, yes.” Aileen walked back inside with her and surveyed the mopped floor. “I wish I could still drink. I think I could polish off an entire bottle of wine by myself right now.”

Summer poured her a cup of tea from the pot Erica kept under a cozy and sat down with her at the work table.

“I might drink it for you.”

“Summer, what you did to save me…” Aileen shook her head. “I understand why you want me to keep it secret. No Wiccan has such power.”

“I don’t know how I did it,” she admitted, “but I think I better figure that out first before we let everyone know I can stop time.”

“You should talk to Troy about it.” Aileen took a sip of the tea and sighed. “He is a water elemental, and in all the centuries he’s lived he may have seen something like this.”

Summer frowned at her. “He’s lived for centuries?”

“I thought you knew.” She made a face. “Wiccans are immortal, like the Templars. Well, we’re not born that way, but once we are initiated we never again have to fear age or death.”

Summer couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea that Troy had lived for centuries, so she tackled Aileen’s claim.

“But I saw you die in my vision.”

“It is difficult, but we can be killed. When we are in our first century of life we can also choose to die.” She touched her belly. “If I knew my child had passed on, I think I would want to go with the little one.”

Something occurred to Summer. “You said the Wiccans are immortal, like the Templars. Are all of them immortal, too?”

Aileen nodded. “That is why I think we became enemies. We are the only immortal races in the world, so only we can really oppose each other.” As more angry voices came from the front room she frowned. “That’s Wilson.”

Summer accompanied her out to where Troy and his brother were standing toe-to-toe and arguing in Welsh. Judging by how furious their expressions were neither one of them appeared interested in backing down.
 

At the sight of them Troy took a step toward Summer and then staggered away as Wilson’s fist connected with his jaw. A moment later the two men were pummeling each other, and then they went down together to wrestle back and forth on the floor.

“Really, Troy?” When he didn’t reply Summer propped her hands on her hips and simply watched them. “I hope I’m an only child.”

“I was, and it kind of sucks,” Aileen said, before she called out, “Wilson, come on. That’s enough now.”

The men ignored them until Abel Atwater came into the room carrying a bucket of water, which he tossed over the two of them. The water drenched Wilson, but at the very last second Troy stopped the wave over him and sent it flying through an open window into the yard, where it dropped as a pile of ice cubes. The dogs came running to happily attack the cubes, but then stopped short and filed silently into the house behind Lachlan, who glared down at Troy.