Lacybourne Manor Read online

“You.” He watched the dazed pleasure fade slowly from her familiarly unfamiliar eyes as she focussed on him.

  He knew her.

  “Oh my goddess!” She jerked beneath him but he kept his weight firmly on top of her.

  He wanted answers and, this time, he was going to get them.

  And what Royce Morgan wanted, he found a way to get.

  “Where is Beatrice?” he demanded, his hand, instead of smoothing, gently but firmly fisted in her silky, golden locks.

  Her eyes turned panicked. “I don’t know,” she answered, blinked, her body shifted slightly under his and then she rapped out a string of quick questions, “What are you doing? What are we doing? What were you doing with Beatrice?”

  His voice held an edge. “Bring her back, I want her back.”

  “Colin is going to kill me,” she muttered, what he considered absurdly, and she did this as if to herself as she tried to wriggle out from beneath him.

  Considering he’d just consummated his union with his beloved bride, he’d done this soundly and with great pleasure for the both of them and now, mere moments later, another being was lying naked beneath him, Royce lost patience.

  Therefore he did not check himself and roared, “I want her back!”

  She shook her head, “I can’t… I don’t know how to bring her back.” Then she stated urgently, “Royce, please, you must listen to me, did you just make love to Beatrice?”

  “You are a witch,” he declared and started to pull away, to bring them up. He couldn’t have this conversation lying naked atop her. But she wrapped her soft limbs around him and something in her eyes, her familiar, beloved eyes, halted him.

  “Listen to me,” she begged, her words both urgent and panicked. “Did you just make love to Beatrice?”

  “Yes,” he snarled.

  And to his surprise, her face cleared immediately and she sang, “Hallelujah!” just as tears sprung in her eyes. She tilted her head back and she shouted it again. “Hallelujah!”

  He stared at her, everything about her was so familiar, even her sweet touch of lunacy.

  “Are you mad?” he asked softly, finding his angry confusion had melted away and he was suddenly concerned.

  She pulled her arms from his body, put both her hands to his cheeks and gave him a quick kiss. When she pulled away, he noted she was crying freely but she still went on. “No, I’m not mad.”

  She looked at him with love shining in her eyes. Somehow, even though he didn’t know her, she loved him and he felt that knowledge sear straight through his soul.

  His hand loosened from her hair and almost against his will, he found himself wrapping a tendril around his finger.

  “You have my hair,” he murmured, staring at it.

  “And you, in my time, have Beatrice’s hair,” she whispered and his eyes moved to hers at this bizarre pronouncement. “I’m from another time, years from now. Royce, your and Beatrice’s love is so great, you and she come back and become Colin and me. We fall in love all over again.” Her voice lowered in pitch but heightened in intensity. “And you are so like him. And today, he asked me to marry him.” She said this last while a funny, adorable smile played on her lips.

  He felt something inside him shift as he listened to her words.

  She was so like Beatrice.

  She blinked and he knew something was happening. Her face changed, disappointment filled it and then urgency replaced that. “Before I go, you must listen. In the copse of trees…”

  He saw her hair darken slowly and he couldn’t help himself, he watched in fascination.

  “Royce! Listen!” She was beyond urgent. Now frantic, her hands tightened on his face and his eyes went from her changing hair to her. “They’re waiting for you, in the copse of trees, outside Lacybourne. They’re going to slit your throat, Beatrice’s too. You must stop them.”

  His body tensed at her words and she felt it. Her arms wrapped around him again, protectively, lovingly, in a way the warrior had never felt before, not even with Beatrice (although, Beatrice had no way of knowing her life, or his, was in imminent danger or she would have done the same, exact thing).

  She held him tightly against her. “I tried to tell you this morning… or… some morning. That morning when I was there… here. I know you think I’m mad but you must believe me and you must stop them.”

  Her hair was almost, but not quite, nearly to black.

  “I do not think you are mad,” he told her but she wasn’t listening.

  “Promise me!” she cried.

  He nodded. He would not die this night nor would his Beatrice. And he wanted this woman to know that. He wanted her to trust him, to believe and he wanted that fear out of her eyes.

  He nor his bride were going to die this night, he would be sure of it.

  At his nod her entire body relaxed.

  She trusted him.

  Completely.

  “I’m Sibyl, by the way,” she told him. “And don’t worry; I don’t think I’m coming back.”

  And then she smiled magnificently, one finger tenderly touching his cheek. Royce had seen a great number of heart-stopping smiles from his wife but this smile was all Sibyl’s own.

  She kept speaking. “And if you’ve been granted the gift of a longer life, try not to boss Beatrice around too much. She’ll find it immensely irritating.”

  He knew in that instant, she was Beatrice even though she was not.

  And therefore he grinned down at her.

  Then she lifted her head, pressed her lips against his and she was gone.

  * * * * *

  And time started again.

  * * * * *

  “You’re crying.”

  Colin stared at her face, something was right yet something was wrong, something profound had changed even though not a second had passed. He knew it, he felt it.

  They’d just shared the most extraordinarily passionate, intense, intimate moment together in a long line of such extraordinary moments, making it hard to believe it had even happened.

  But Sibyl was crying.

  He could hear the rain hitting the windows.

  Then he heard thunder rend the air and seconds later, lightning flashed through the room.

  He turned his head, for some reason, to look at the storm.

  And saw the warning light next to the panic button blinking.

  * * * * *

  As the women chanted around the pot, Marian felt the darkness enter the house and a shiver went up her spine.

  She’d done what she could do, for now. It was all (or mostly, as she did have a few more tricks up her sleeve) now up to true love.

  She looked into the history book, the book that told the tragic story of Beatrice and Royce Morgan.

  She saw some of the words after the date change, shift then settle – just a sentence then two then a paragraph. Then it stopped.

  And she stared in disbelief at what she read.

  * * * * *

  Esmeralda Crane, being a witch, was attuned to things other people would not sense. Now, she was attuned to time, history, shifting and reforming itself.

  She was becoming confused, muddled, she saw shapes moving before her in the copse of trees but she was supposed to be doing something else at this moment, something she was not doing and this feeling made her restless, guarded.

  She quickly hid herself, conjuring a glamour to make herself invisible. All the while she could see, as if it was a memory, the dead, entwined bodies of Royce and Beatrice Morgan under the trees. But they were not there. There was nothing there except the impatiently shifting forms that lay in wait for ambush.

  Someone was playing with time, Esmeralda knew.

  And that was a very dangerous game.

  * * * * *

  Colin leaped out of bed, leaned forward and grabbed Sibyl’s wrist, dragging her up behind him.

  “Get dressed,” he hissed then he let her go, bent to his jeans on the floor and shoved his feet into the legs.

&
nbsp; “Colin, what is it?”

  “Dress!” he clipped and she stared at him, not liking what she saw and in less than a second, she ran to the bathroom.

  He pulled his sweater over his head and pressed the panic button that would alert both the alarm company and the police.

  She ran out of the bathroom still struggling into her clothes.

  “Is something wrong?” she whispered, rushing toward him as she continued to dress.

  “Someone’s in the house.”

  Her body jerked and her eyes flew to the door.

  “The kids are down there.” Her voice was rising and panicked.

  “Sibyl, get into the sanctuary, lock the door and do not come out, no matter what you hear,” he ordered as she buttoned her jeans.

  Mallory started barking just outside the room, his barks angry and loud with warning. Then the barking turned to fierce, consistent growls.

  Sibyl was still staring at the door and started toward it.

  “Sibyl!” Colin flew toward her, hooking her around the waist with his arm as she started to bolt toward the sound of her beloved dog.

  Then they both froze when they heard the blood-chilling, obscene noise of a high-pitched, canine cry of agony.

  * * * * *

  Robert Fitzwilliam stopped at the gatehouse, one of his men was supposed to be inside but did not come out at the approaching car.

  Robert stopped and got out, looking around him. The rain was beating down and yet not twenty minutes before it had been sunny and clear. Now the sky was dark, thunder and lightning were rolling over each other in waves and the wind was whipping at his body.

  He walked into the gatehouse not liking what he felt. Something was wrong.

  He saw his man lying on the floor, unconscious.

  Robert swore under his breath and rushed straight to the prone body.

  * * * * *

  Royce told Beatrice everything as they rode to Lacybourne, Royce driving Mallory quickly through the pouring rain as he held Beatrice firmly to his body, the ten minute ride cut down to five.

  She believed him, to his astonishment. But then again, Beatrice was not like other women.

  He stopped well outside the copse of trees which was meant to be the place of their demise, if the woman named Sibyl (a witch’s name if he ever heard one) could be believed.

  But he felt… nay, he knew he could believe her.

  He alighted from Mallory’s back and again pulled Beatrice down.

  “Run, just as I told you, straight to the witch’s cottage. Explain and she’ll keep you safe.”

  He had no way of knowing this but he felt it to be true.

  She nodded, got up on tiptoe to press her lips against his and without hesitation, she ran.

  He watched her go, watched her out of sight then mounted his trusted steed.

  He made a clicking sound with his teeth and the horse moved forward.

  Unbeknownst to Royce, once out of sight, Beatrice changed directions.

  Something sinister was afoot and Royce might need her, after all, and she was Beatrice Godwin, now Morgan, and Beatrice Morgan was certainly not the kind of woman who would desert her beloved new husband when there was a possibility her strong warrior might need her.

  Not a chance.

  * * * * *

  The locked door to Sibyl and Colin’s bedroom flew open with such violence, it crashed against the wall.

  With a strong jerk, Sibyl was yanked straight off her feet by Colin’s arm at her waist and nearly thrown behind his back as the figures drifted through the door.

  The dark, faceless, shifting figures from their dream.

  She felt a scream surge up her throat.

  “Run to the sanctuary. Now!” Colin thundered.

  She couldn’t move; she couldn’t leave Colin alone to face those things.

  “Now!” Colin roared.

  And then the figures attacked.

  * * * * *

  Marian watched the words in the next paragraph forming, read them quickly and gasped.

  “What is it?” Phoebe broke the chant.

  Marian slapped the book shut again and threw it on the counter.

  Without answering Phoebe, she rushed from the room.

  * * * * *

  There were four of them, five with the figure standing outside the trees watching.

  The rain was driving down and the wind was whipping through the trees. Royce had more than enough experience to battle four opponents; he had done it in the past. But these seemed to be filled with otherworldly strength and he didn’t have his sword. It was his wedding day; he didn’t think he’d need his sword. If he’d had his sword, he’d have mowed them down like just as much wheat in a field.

  He only had the dagger he carried at his belt.

  And his strength.

  It served him well but it was the battle of his life.

  With a fierce roar, he surged up from the crouch they’d forced him into and he threw two off his back, exposing his belly. A third came in for the kill.

  At that moment, Mallory drove forward, head bent low, scattering the others, knocking Royce aside and taking the dagger that was meant for Royce through his own throatlatch.

  The warhorse went down with a mighty crash.

  * * * * *

  There were four of them and three of them were on Colin while one of them dragged Sibyl away.

  She struggled, hissed, spit and kicked.

  She saw through her battle that Colin had managed to get a hold of one and, with a fierce roar, he threw it flying through the air.

  He shrugged off the other two as if they were merely annoying gnats and surged toward Sibyl.

  But the wraiths quickly recovered and pounced yet again, stalling his progress and beating him down.

  It was then that Sibyl felt the blade at her throat.

  * * * * *

  Even with Mallory’s sacrifice, Royce was losing.

  He felt it.

  He knew it.

  The strength was leaving him, draining out of him. His attackers seemed without limits, relentless. It was almost as if they were sucking his own power from him and using it against him.

  And still the figure watched from the trees.

  He knew with a certainty that he was going to die.

  But he would do it like a warrior and go down fighting. This he vowed.

  And it was then the strangest thing happened.

  * * * * *

  Colin vaguely noted the figure standing in the door watching the scene. He could not take the time to process it; he was too busy fighting his way to Sibyl. And the beings, whatever the hell they were, were unnaturally strong.

  The blade was at her throat and any second it would tear across it and he would lose her.

  He knew it.

  He felt it.

  The agony of the thought shot through him, searing to his very soul.

  He opened his mouth, just like he did in the dream, to roar his denial.

  Then, in that moment, the strangest thing happened.

  * * * * *

  Old Lady Griffin dashed into the clearing, wielding her cane like a battle axe and screaming like a banshee.

  Everyone, even the figure standing and watching, even Royce himself, stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at her in stupefaction.

  With an almighty swoop of her arms that was borne half out of fury, half out of terror, she crashed the cane against the face of one of Royce’s attackers.

  Instantly smashing his jaw and his cheekbone, sending shards of bone into his brain.

  Instantly breaking the dark soul’s dark spell.

  From the other side of the clearing, the town’s midwife and resident witch, Esmeralda Crane bounded forward and moved her arm before her in a downward slash. With a flash of green-white light, the watching figure flew across the clearing and slammed against the trunk of a tree. There it stayed frozen, invisibly pinned.

  Royce broke out of his stunned freeze and d
ispatched two more attackers, one with a blade to the heart then he whirled expertly and took out the other one with a slice across the throat.

  Then Beatrice surged into the clearing with what could have been credited as a pretty decent war cry (if Royce hadn’t been so infuriated by her very presence) and she jumped on the back of the last of the attackers. She pulled at his hair as he blundered about in vicious circles, trying to dislodge her.

  Royce, with immense patience and controlled anger, strolled up behind them. He grasped Beatrice by hooking an arm about her waist and pulled her from the man, calmly setting her down behind him.

  He then buried his blade in the man’s gut and yanked it savagely upward.

  Before the attacker had fully fallen to the ground, Royce whipped around to Beatrice. “I thought I told you to go to the witch’s cottage!” he barked.

  “I couldn’t leave you out here by yourself!” she flashed back, her eyes, even in the darkened, rainy evening, he could see were emerald green.

  He looked to the heavens, praying to the good Lord above for patience.

  * * * * *

  The wraith slashed the blade against Sibyl’s throat and Colin let out a ferocious roar as Sibyl emitted a blood-chilling scream.

  But instead of penetrating, the blade glanced off her throat in a magical shower of green-white sparks, leaving Sibyl untouched and alive.

  Then Bran flew from the curtain rod, a low, frightening, continuous growl rolling from his feline throat. He landed on the spectre that held Sibyl. The phantom gave a start at this turn of events, its hold loosened on Sibyl and she tore free.

  Hissing and spitting, Bran slashed at the spectre with his claws and the ghost struggled to fight back against this strange, unexpected aggressor.

  Then, the figure that Sibyl had seen watching from the doorway all of a sudden, with a flash of green-white light, flew across the room. It slammed against the opposite wall and was pinned there, frozen and held captive by invisible shackles. Marian, her arm lifted and pointing at the figure, calmly walked in the room.

  Then, all of a sudden, the bedroom was flooded with people.

  First came Rick, roaring in like a bull and, without even noticing he was battling a corporeal ghost, he simply started to beat the living (or not-so-living) daylights out of it.

  Then came Kyle, who jogged in and took a look around, his brows lifting momentarily, he then swooped down on one of the two wraiths with whom Colin was still struggling and pulled him away.