The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

Maisie watched, aghast. Their movements were fast, each man driven by his own, very different, belief in justice. Their blades flashed in the morning sunlight that cut through the room from the far window, the clash of steel on steel a symphony of sound that assaulted her senses, magnifying the terror she felt. If Roderick were to perish now, her life would be over, for he was everything to her.

“If you intend to challenge me, sire, you should perhaps recognize your limitations.” Roderick wielded his cutlass again, easily deflecting the more refined blade Cyrus used.

Through her terror Maisie saw that he was scarcely working at all, while Cyrus—overwrought and with panic in his eyes—was determined there would be bloodshed.

They traded thrusts and parries, their blades ringing.

Over and again her heart leaped.

Then Roderick turned his back on Cyrus and Maisie cried out, fearing for his life. But with a quick maneuver, his cutlass shot out as he spun around. Cyrus, who was moving at full pelt to stab his opponent’s back, was impaled on Roderick’s lethal blade.

Maisie’s breath stalled. With a darting glance, she tried to make sense of it. It had happened so quickly, but then she saw it. Roderick turned away to lure him, and Cyrus, in his frenzy, had impaled himself on his opponent’s blade.

When Roderick pulled his weapon free, Cyrus staggered backward and fell to the ground, his body awkwardly splayed on the hearth rug. His limbs vibrated and shook, and he cried out, his words garbled.

Maisie crossed to his side.

His breath gurgled in his throat, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. When she knelt beside him, she saw his eyes had faded. His lips moved, mouthing her name silently. Even in death, he could not let her go. There could be no other way. Even if she ran and ran, he would always pursue her.

But now he was almost gone. As much as she was relieved that it was over, it wasn’t in her nature to have him leave in this way, in immense pain. Fingers to her lips, she drew the magical words from deep inside, then blew them on their way. As her words touched Cyrus, his body slumped. The death rattle of his last breath rang into the silence, and Cyrus Lafayette was at peace.

Roderick stared down at the slumped body of his ill-fated opponent, intrigued. “Come, we had better depart this place and quickly, for the servant girl fled a few moments ago.”

Maisie nodded. He picked up his weapon with one hand and reached for her with the other. Maisie ran into his arms.

He quickly led her out of the room and into the corridor beyond. How good it felt to be pressed to his side once more, and to feel his strong arm embracing her. His body, now so familiar to her, felt like a haven.

“You came for me,” she whispered, and glanced up at him as they hastened away. She could still scarcely believe it was true.

“I had a good excuse. I had a message to pass along.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No.”

How she loved the honest emotion she saw in his eyes, and how she would have missed it if she’d never seen him again. He’d not only made her passionate and strong, he’d warmed her spirit and set her free.

“Now use your magic well, my lady. We must hasten out of here and make our way along the coast, to where the Libertas is safely hidden in a cove beyond Broughty Castle. And we must leave no tracks when we go.”

“You regained the ship?”

“Of course we did, because we were aided by magical weather.” He looked at her affectionately. “We rowed into Dundee when it was dark, and found the ship had been left under a skeleton watch. It seemed very easy to get it back, in fact. I wondered if I was in possession of a lucky charm.”

“You believe the magic and you do not fear me?” She clutched at his coat.

“From nearly the first time it was mentioned I could not dismiss it. However, I’d rather we were on the same side.”

“We have always been on the same side, lover of mine. Once you had bedded me our destinies became entwined, because it became a matter of the heart.”

He touched her lips with one finger, smiling all the while. “I’m glad we are finally agreed on something.”

Maisie could not argue with that. “The men will not be angry?”

“Clyde has gone ahead to prepare them for your return. He will win them over. Brady will be a tough nut to crack, but I will ensure your safety, don’t fret. Now let us be on our way,” he added, “for we must reunite you with your kin.”

Maisie nodded and followed his lead, ready to create havoc with her magic if necessary, to aid their escape. But as they hurried along the long corridors of the garrison, she wondered on his words. Was that all he wanted—to reunite her with her kin? If so, did he do so out of a sense of duty, or love?

Maisie wanted to know, but for now it was enough to find her hand in his, and to be close at his side again. She happily followed her lover, grateful for whatever time they might still have together.