Page 5 of The Wand of Lore

He grabbed her wrist as he had done before, and, as before, she gasped. Her body flushed. To be caught like this, cradling him and stroking his bare chest, was almost unbearable.

“How dare you!” she shouted.

Her vision was darkening, but she put her wand to his chest. Let him guess that she didn’t have another spell in her, or that the explosion had been an accident. Her wand weighed heavily in her hand until she couldn’t hold it up anymore. She dropped it but managed to keep her body upright.

“You wouldn’t,” he spat, but she barely heard it through the veil enshrouding her. So tired. She made out his shadowy figure moving off her lap (why had she been so foolish as to help him?) until he was sitting beside her. Then she saw no more as darkness enveloped her.

Chapter Six: Vaylor

Vaylor’s heart thrummed as she fell against him. The witch’s body was warm, and her skin soft against his. Her head landed perfectly under his chin, and her red hair tickled his chest. The air around him was saturated with the rich scent of honey and lavender and warm autumn spices. He was humiliated by the fact that this peasant woman, this witch, had dared touch him, that he had been nearly naked and vulnerable in her presence. She would pay, as would her entire family. He tried to summon a more specific threat but oddly and abruptly found himself contemplating the merits of upholstery patterns.

The door opened and the younger sister ran in. She took one look at the singed remnants of the fire that had raged only moments ago and glared at him. “What have you done?” she demanded.

“Calm down, I didn’t do anything to her,” he snarled. “The witch did this herself. I’ve heard stories of witches who expend more power than they ought and only damage themselves in the process. A deal with the Devil always backfires, doesn’t it?”

“You’re wrong. The only devil around here is you. Gwenneth saved the lives of two people today, more than youcould hope to accomplish in your entire life. She just needs rest. And these.” The girl held up a handful of fresh herbs and moved to the fire.

The child’s affection for her sister was momentarily touching. Nayla seemed oblivious to the danger she was in without her sister. No matter, he would teach her about the true nature of the world. Again, he tried to imagine harming the girl but was distracted by thoughts of floral curtains. He scowled and clutched his sword; if he couldn’t speak a threat, perhaps he could display one.

Nayla pointed to the pile of singed tatters that had been his tunic.

“Goddess fire. All she had to do was let you sleep in it and you would never have woken up. You, sir, are lucky to be alive. You and I have that in common—we both owe her our lives. That puts her count to three lives before dinner, not a bad day.” Nayla clucked and bustled over the hearth, stoking the fire.

“Impossible. And if she did manage to do so, she did it to protect her own hide. Nobody wants to be responsible for killing the king’s emissary.” He didn’t say that his father was probably hoping this trip would be the death of him.

“Now we have to help her. Sit with her as she awakens, and keep track of her pulse while I brew her some tea. She is greatly weakened. Holler if it gets worse.” She glared at him for a moment. “Will you do that? She did save your life, after all. Anyways, her spell may have accidentally gotten out of hand, but the protection spell worked. You can’t even think about hurting her.”

That couldn’t be true. He could see her suffering in his mind’s eye, but the next thing he knew he was picturing the china teacups of the castle. He frowned and tried again, but this time he saw only the bedsheets at the inn where he had last slept.So his inability to envision harm was not just a figment of his imagination.

Even if he couldn’t hurt the sisters, he wasn’t the kind of man to help a witch. He wasn’t the kind of man to help anyone, for that matter. He was stoic and hard and mean, and no cozy cottage of witch sisters could change that. He scowled.

“Feel her pulse, will you? Her skin is so ashen,” called Nayla from the hearth.

He nodded. The truth was that he had no desire to hurt either woman, not like this, in cold blood. Gwenneth was limp, her breathing shallow, and rested just so against him. It must be the protection spell causing him to feel, well, protective of her. For a moment, the room spun and he felt completely untethered to anything but this red-haired witch, intoxicated by her body resting against his bare chest. He ought to check her pulse, but no, he couldn’t touch a woman when she was like this. He sat still on the floor, not daring to shift his weight or bring a hand to her. But there were consequences to life debts. They were mysterious and powerful, and he dared not risk being in hers. Would the gods consider the life debt moot, given that it was her magic that had threatened him? Or would they tip the scales in her favor, and he would forever carry the burden of owing her his own life? Could he gain the upper hand by helping her?

“I’ll keep watch on her pulse while you brew some potion or whatever witchy thing you do. That should make us even,” he said to Nayla.

She laughed. “It’s herbal tea. Not exactly a spell from the great well of goddess power, but it is pretty tasty if you want some.” She poured water into a cauldron, tore herbs into pieces, and went back to ignoring him.

For a third time, he took hold of her slender wrist, and for a third time admired the way the bones and flesh and muscles all narrowed into one perfect, delicate point.

There, a pulse. He was no expert, but he could feel it beating steadily and strongly.

“It’s there,” he announced, but Nayla didn’t respond.

Vaylor didn’t move. He kept her hand covered by his, considering his options. He ought to storm out, or take Gwenneth under arrest and leave this cursed building. But now that he was watching her breathe, he was shocked at the contrast between the delicate curve of her neck and the fierceness of her cheek and shoulder bones. He had never experienced a woman like this resting on a man like him. He shifted their weight and put an arm around her, pretending that he was a hero who had saved this woman in distress.

Their bodies were so close then, he could feel the outline of her curves against his chest. He couldn’t explain it, but he hoped she would make a full recovery. He was to imprison her and bring her in alive, after all.

Gwenneth stirred. “Nayla?” she asked, then sat up abruptly.

Vaylor’s back went rigid and his face flushed a deep scarlet.

“She’s working on something for you.”

“Here, sister.” Nayla approached carrying a hot beverage. “Drink, Gwen, and no, there will be no more summoning for you today. I won’t have it. They are asking too much from you to cure all the plague in the village, leaving you too tired and spent to do anything else. And this fool here shows up at our own home threatening us. It’s not right.”

Gwenneth blinked. She put a hand on Vaylor’s leg to help push herself up.

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