PART TWO.

Bewitched.

Love distills desire upon the eyes, love brings bewitching grace into the hearta a" Europides.

Chapter 9.

Tabitha kept her arms twined trustingly around Colin's waist as he drove the stallion deep into the winding maze of the forest. The canopy of branches laced together like the ribs of some mighty dragon, weaving an illusion of eternal twilight. The hoofbeats and frustrated curses of their pursuers would fade, then swell, then fade again as Colin led them on a merry chase through copse and thicket. Lucy huddled in the cup of Tabitha's hand, cradled securely against Colin's taut stomach.

The roar of a waterfall nearly masked a triumphant shout as one of Brisbane's men spotted their trail.

"Duck!" Colin shouted.

When Tabitha's frantic gaze encountered no sign of a woodland fowl, she obeyed just in time to keep her head from being lopped off by an overhanging ledge. Cool spray drenched her skin as Colin drove the stallion into the yawning mouth of the cave tucked behind the screen of rushing water.

Colin gave her little time to adjust to the hazy half-light. He flung himself off the horse without a word of explanation, dragging her with him. He wrapped his arms around her as he slammed his back against the cavern wall, draping them both in shadows. The stallion stood motionless, as if he'd been trained to do so by an infinitely patient master.

Tabitha held her breath as two men pa.s.sed so close to the mouth of the cave that even the spill of water failed to m.u.f.fle their disgruntled voices.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d couldn't have just disappeared."

"You'd best pray not 'cause the master'll have our heads if we go back without 'im."

Tabitha bit back a cry of pain as Lucy dug her claws into her arm.

Colin cradled the back of her head in his broad palm, pressing her face to his chest. Her first absurd notion that he was trying to cop a feel collapsed when she realized that one squeak from her or the cat and they would be trapped at the mercy of Brisbane's men.

Their forced intimacy should have been awkward. But there was something disarmingly natural about standing in Colin's arms, feeling the powerful throb of his heart beneath her lips. His crisp chest hairs tickled her nose, forcing her to swallow a sneeze. His well-muscled frame could have been modeled from tensile steel, but an inexplicable languor melted through Tabitha, making her feel warm and cherished and safe from all harm for the first time in her life.

The menacing hoofbeats receded, but the tension failed to melt from Colin's body.

His hand crept around to cup her cheek, alerting her to a more subtle danger. But the warning came too late. He didn't even have to tilt her face upward to find her lips with his own. They were already there a" tingling, moist, and parted in an invitation. Tabitha hadn't even realized she'd extended until it was too late to rescind it.

His mouth brushed hers in a dry, chaste caress, his bottom lip too persuasively soft to belong to such a hard man. Lost in a daze of pleasure, Tabitha considered calling back Brisbane's guards. From a practical viewpoint, she'd be better off losing her head in this century than her heart.

Lucy must have agreed, for she scrambled out of Tabitha's grip, yowling at the top of her tiny lungs. Tabitha and Colin sprang apart, the curious spell that had bound them broken.

Colin glared at her, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists. She felt a brief pang of regret that her kiss hadn't turned him into a frog. A frog might have been easier to deal with than a hundred eighty pounds of disgruntled male.

She scrambled to fill the awkward silence. "There's really no need for alarm or apologies. A false sense of intimacy is a completely normal psychological reaction to the stress of sharing a life-threatening experience." She smoothed her hair back from her burning cheeks, laughing shakily. "The relatively common phenomenon explains why traditionally during wartime, so many hasty marriages are made and babies conceived a" "

He crossed his arms over his chest and arched one eyebrow, challenging her to continue. She snapped her mouth shut, wishing she'd kept it that way.

His scowl darkened. "You talk much, la.s.s, but say little. How is it that you have a glib answer for everything except where you came from in the first place?"

Tabitha's mouth fell open. He'd taken up the threads of their earlier conversation as if they'd never been interrupted by a joust, the threat of decapitation, or a headlong flight from disaster. She'd dealt with I.R.S. tax attorneys who were less focused.

This time there was no dungeon guard to blunder to her rescue and no escaping Colin's bright, fierce gaze.

Suspecting this wasn't the opportune moment to confess she was a time-traveling witch, Tabitha seized upon something Brisbane's jester had said. "I was traveling with a band of mummies."

Colin blinked at her. "Mummers?"

"Yes, mummers," she echoed.

"Ah." He nodded, not looking the least bit convinced. "And what did you do with these mummers? Perform the pantomime? Rope dance?" His gaze strayed ever so briefly to lips that were still tingling from his kiss. "Swallow swords?"

Tabitha felt as if she were swallowing an entire lance as she struggled to come up with some diversion she might actually perform if pressed. Her ballet lessons had ended in disgrace when she'd gotten her oversized foot stuck in the barre and she'd been kicked out of the girls' chorus at her private school when she fell through the risers during a Christmas recital.

"Magic," she finally blurted out in desperation. "I did magic."

Colin c.o.c.ked his head to the side. "Indeed. And might I entreat you to perform one of your tricks?"

"I really couldn't." She shook her head as she backed away from him, hoping her panic would be perceived as modesty. "I wouldn't want to bore you."

"You've yet to bore me, my lady."

Unsettled by his frank gaze, Tabitha backed right into the horse, who shied away from her. She didn't trust her mother's amulet enough to risk a genuine wish. She doubted she'd survive an hour in this wilderness if she accidentally turned Sir Colin into a waffle iron.

Remembering a simple trick her daddy had taught her when she was a little girl, she extended her hand. "Do you have a coin?"

Colin made a great show of patting his bare chest.

"I'm afraid I haven't a farthing to my name at the moment."

Tabitha chose a small, flat rock from the cave floor as a subst.i.tute. "Watch my hand," she intoned in what she hoped was a mesmerizing approximation of her mother's husky voice. "No matter what happens, don't take your eyes off my hand."

He dutifully complied as she rolled the rock between the fingers of her right hand, dropping it twice before establishing a respectable rhythm. "Watch closely, sir, and you'll see this magical stone disappear before your very eyes." She opened her hand with a flourish. "Abracadabra!"

The rock flew out of her grip, hitting him squarely in the temple.

Tabitha winced. "Sorry. Let me try again."

Colin rubbed his head, eyeing her warily. "Perhaps we should wait until I can retrieve my helm."

She found another rock and repeated the procedure, stage fright making her fingers even more stiff and clumsy than usual. This time when she extended her hand and shouted, "Abracadabra!" the rock had vanished.

Flushed with pride, she swept Colin a triumphant bow. He caught her wrist and turned her hand palm-down to reveal the stone wedged firmly between her thumb and forefinger. Up went that infuriating eyebrow again; down went Tabitha's spirits.

"Spoilsport," she muttered, jerking her wrist free of his grip.

"You're not very gifted, are you?"

She was surprised by how much his gentle observation stung. Resisting the temptation to grab the amulet and show him just how gifted she could be, she decided to turn his pity to her advantage.

She conjured up a wistful sigh. "That's why the mummers kicked me out of their troupe. Because I was such a terrible embarra.s.sment to them."

His eyes narrowed, his speculative gaze warning her that Sir Colin of Ravenshaw was not a man to be fooled by either illusion or deceit. But before he could challenge her fable, a distant shout forced them to round up kitten and horse and seek a new hiding place to prevent the cave from becoming their tomb.

Roger Basil Henry Joseph Maximillian, Baron Brisbane, strode through the winding pa.s.sages beneath his castle, affecting a swagger to disguise the limp bestowed upon him by Colin's treacherous wh.o.r.e. He despised revealing any sign of weakness to his inferiors.

"This had best be good," he snapped. "If you've summoned me from my bath for naught, I'll have Cook boil you in tomorrow's pudding."

The two dungeon guards quickened their pace until they were almost skipping, eager to stay out of striking reach. They'd learned from harsh experience that their lord's angelic countenance hid a devilish temper. A temper worsened by Ravenshaw's spectacular triumph on the jousting field and daring escape. Over half of their master's guards had already come crawling back, trembling in their boots and vowing their quarry had vanished into thin air. Accusing them of blaming their own inept.i.tude on fairies and "haints," Brisbane had ordered the lot of them flogged.

Less than eager to join their groaning comrades in the gatehouse, the guards rushed forward, one sweeping open a cell door while the other tugged at the greasy forelock creeping out from beneath his helm.

"I've never before seen the like, my lord."

"Aye, master, 'tis a riddle only you can solve."

Brisbane swept into the cell, took one look at its occupant, and said, "He's dead. What else do you need to know?"

The corpse lay on his back in the bed, his toes turned outward and a blissful expression on his wizened face. Brisbane poked the old man's bloated belly with one fingertip, his aristocratic nostrils flaring in distaste.

"Who is this fellow? What was his crime?" Roger had had enough on his mind with Colin's return. He could hardly be expected to keep track of all the mewling peasants he sentenced to death or lifelong imprisonment.

"Poachin', my lord," chirped one of the guards. "He claimed to be starvin'. Et one of the castle rats, he did."

Brisbane shook his head sadly. "Poor sot would have done well to remember that gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins."

The guards exchanged a wary look. "Precisely our point, my lord," the bolder one said.

They gestured as one to the table at the foot of the bed. Brisbane's eyes widened, his jaded attention finally engaged. Although it was obvious a sizable dent had been made in the feast, the table still contained enough food to feed an entire garrison of soldiers. He glanced back at the corpse, realizing for the first time that the object clutched in the old man's gnarled hand was a chicken bone, sucked clean of its tender flesh.

Baffled, he peeled back a hunk of bread to reveal a cold patty of meat. He swiped a finger through its creamy orange glaze and brought it to his lips. "Mmmm," he murmured thoughtfully. " 'Tis a special sauce."

One of the guards drew off his conical helm, elbowing the other into sheepishly following suit. "'Twas more than the old wretch's gullet could take."

Brisbane's troubled gaze wandered from the beaming corpse to the stained-gla.s.s lamp shade, the plush rug, the opulent bed. "Aren't these appointments a trifle bit luxurious? When I had the stonemason design the dungeon, I had something a bit morea Stygian in mind. You know a" iron manacles, piles of rotting bones, slavering rats."

One of the guards marched into the corridor and flung open the door of the opposite cell to reveal the exact scene his lord had just described. A herd of squealing rats raced for the walls, their feral eyes gleaming bloodred in the gloom.

Brisbane grinned. "Ah, now that's much better."

The guard returned to his companion's side. " 'Twas this very cell Ravenshaw and his lady shared before we locked up the old man in their place."

Their master's smile slowly faded. "So how did Colin cajole you into providing him with these luxuries? He never lacked for charm, you know, even as a lad. He stole my own sister's heart away from me with nothing more than a grubby fistful of weeds. Did he bribe you? Offer you some bauble he acquired in the Holy Land?"

The men exchanged another panicked glance, knowing their very survival depended on their answer. "'Twas not our doing, but theirs, my lord." He traced a cross on his mail hauberk with a trembling finger. "We were naught but the victims of some dark enchantment."

Brisbane's upper lip curled in an ominous sneer. "I'm warning you. I've already heard enough superst.i.tious drivel for one day. Ravenshaw may be sickeningly pious, but he's no saint. He can't work miracles or conjure roasted chickens out of thin air." Disgusted by their blithering, Brisbane turned and marched from the cell.

"Not Sir Colin, but her," one of them called after him. "We believe she's the one who did all this."

"Aye," blurted out the other, clearing his throat when his voice cracked with terror. "The woman."

"The woman?" Brisbane slowly pivoted on his heel in the doorway. "The woman," he repeated, frowning.

The woman who had appeared out of nowhere. The woman who had dared to taunt him with no visible fear of retaliation. The woman who had clutched the strange amulet she wore as if it possessed the power to grant her most pa.s.sionate desire.

He fingered his chin thoughtfully. He'd always been inclined to dismiss such nonsense. After all, he wouldn't have hesitated to barter his soul for personal gain and Satan had never bothered to approach him.

Yet the woman had touched the amulet and Sir Orrick had fallen beneath Colin's lance as if struck by an invisible foe.

Heartened by the flush of delight slowly spreading over their master's face, one of the guards asked, "Shall we rouse the rest of the garrison to rejoin the hunt, my lord?"

"Aye," said the other. "The witch must be captured and put to death. We'd hoped you might allow us to captain the expedition as reward for our discovery." The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, all but panting with eagerness.

Brisbane shook his head. "'Twould never do to allow these two simpletons to rush from the dungeon, braying about witches and stirring his villeins to panic."

He favored them with a benevolent smile. "You mustn't be so greedy. You should always remember that virtue is its own reward."

Still smiling, he slammed the door in their stunned faces. Ignoring their hoa.r.s.e cries, he bolted the door behind him, leaving them to rot along with the old man's corpse.

He strode through the dank corridors, nearly chortling aloud at the delicious irony. His only virtue was patience, but he possessed it in abundance when it served his needs. Patience enough to call off his own dogs and give the toothsome b.i.t.c.h ample time to tear out Colin's heart.

The G.o.dly fool would never knowingly consort with a witch. If this woman was truly a daughter of Satan, Colin's alliance with her could very well cost him something he valued even more highly than his life a" his immortal soul.

"What are you doing?" Tabitha whispered.

"Praying," Colin replied without opening his eyes.

She sighed and withdrew to the opposite side of the campfire. Colin had been on his knees for nearly an hour, head bowed and hands clasped before him. She'd had ample opportunity to study him in the flickering firelight. Although his posture appeared to be penitent, his expression was as unrelenting as ever, its fierceness softened only by the silky, dark crescents of his lashes resting against his cheeks.

An inhuman screech pierced the night. Tabitha shivered and drew her ragged pajama top tighter around her. She almost regretted offering Brisbane's cloak to the shirtless knight. But as a breeze caught the woolen folds of the garment, whipping them back to reveal the swarthy expanse of his chest, she remembered that she'd made the gesture more for her protection than his own.

She averted her eyes with a disdainful sniff. She'd never had much taste for beefcake. She'd always preferred cerebral men. Men content to admire her mind, not her body. Men so intimidated by her father's wealth and her own frigid reputation that they would never presume to do more than shake her hand at her door, much less steal a tender kiss in a moment of weakness.

She jumped as a predatory scream was followed by a choked gurgle, as if the voice of some small, helpless creature had been forever silenced. Colin's horse whickered uneasily. Lucy glanced up from the feast of fish Colin had speared in a nearby stream and roasted over the fire, then went back to devouring the flaky white morsels with a feline shrug.

Tabitha's fearful gaze searched the shadows cast by the ancient trees. By night, the forest primeval appeared more cursed than enchanted. She'd never had a problem embracing the survival-of-the-fittest theory in the safety of her cozy penthouse. But here in this alien time and place, it was too easy to imagine a fearsome dragon prowling the night, looking to make a meal of some poor succulent virgin.

She edged nearer to Colin, desperate for some human comfort, even that of her own voice. "Who are you praying for?"

He opened one eye to glower at her, before dismissing her by closing it again. "My enemies."