Magic Touch: Witches of Windsor – Book 1 Page 3

  "I'm pleased you liked it." Despite the glow of blue magic, he has nice hands, strong and callused, as if he does more than sit in his grand house and laze the days away. "The magic wouldn't come to me, but maybe I can teach you how to focus the light so it's not so obvious."

  He takes his bowl and spoon to the sink. "What would I have to do?"

  There is something out of place and yet perfectly right about his broad shoulders filling the space near my sink. A small pump brings water from the well outside, and he gives it a few tugs until water fills the basin.

  "I will clean the dishes." I jump up and rush to the sink. "If you’ll wait upstairs, I'll only be a few moments cleaning up."

  "Afraid I'll chip something?" His smile is infectious.

  "A lady does not like to share her kitchen, is all." I motion for him to head up the stairs and wait.

  Chapter

  Three

  WILLIAM

  Her rooms are just as they were the night before. I sit on the couch, but then rise and round the room, inspecting trinkets and books as I go. Touching items that are familiar to her feels intimate, and I don't want to stop. With no business snooping, I can't help wanting to know her better. Something about Esme O'Dwyer calls to me at a level I haven't experienced before.

  She is attractive. Beautiful, to be honest, but it's more than that. I can't put my finger on the why or how of it, but she is irresistibly magnetic.

  I run a finger over an ornate little box sitting on the plain mantel of unadorned wood. The box has gold filigree and a row of tiny rubies along the edge. It seems quite out of place in the simple apartment.

  "It was my mother's. She was a fine lady of society, but lowered herself by marrying my poor Irish father. That box is the only item from her past that she kept." Esme stands in the doorway. She isn't angered by my snooping, nor does she seem surprised.

  "This is very fine." I take my hand away and face her. "Do your parents live nearby?"

  "My father died many years ago in an accident at the mill. My mother, just last year, from illness." While her voice is steady, sorrow lurks in those extraordinary eyes.

  I want to go to her and ease her pain in some way, but it isn't my place. "I'm very sorry. I lost my father several years ago, and I miss him every day. My mother has never been the same. She resides at my country house. It's not far, but distant enough that she is away from the society she no longer enjoys."

  She crosses to the chair and sits. "I suppose losing our parents is inevitable. It doesn't make it easier, but we do expect it at some point."

  I sit across from her on the sofa. "I suppose so. You were very close with your mother?"

  Esme glances at the box and nods. "Yes. We often disagreed, but she was the person I needed most in this world. Now I must fend for myself." She looks at my glowing hands and lets out a long sigh. "I have made a mess of this."

  With every reason to be angry and agree with her, all I can do is shake my head. "You will find a way to fix this. We don't even know what caused the phenomenon. If I am willing to be patient and sort it out, you should be kinder to yourself, Esme."

  "Must you be so nice?" Her lips pull up in the first smile I've seen from her tonight. It warms my heart.

  "Perhaps I can be foul tempered later, or tomorrow, to make you feel better," I tease.

  "You would have every right." With a sigh, she takes my hands in hers. "Let's see if we can control this."

  Just that simple touch shoots through me as if she is lightning, and I’m the tallest tree in a vast field.

  The green of her eyes deepens, and she stares. "Did you feel that?"

  "I feel it every time you put your hands on me, and even sometimes when you look at me." I'm being far too honest, but I can't seem to help myself. There is something about us together that is alluring and almost irresistible.

  Keeping my hands in hers, she nods. "I thought it might just be me."

  The blue glow around my hands deepens, and I clear my throat. "What must I do to control this?"

  She draws a long breath and closes her eyes, only opening them after she releases the air. "Do you feel the magic, or is it just the glow?"

  It is the strangest thing. Even earlier, I wasn't afraid, only shocked. Then anger filled me. Once it faded, I wondered about the science of such a thing, if there was any. "It feels as if something new, yet familiar, is coursing through my veins."

  Squeezing my hands, she smiles. "Good. That's good. Now concentrate on that and put it into a small space outside your body."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Picture a bubble in the space between our hands and send the magic to the bubble." She pulls her hands from mine. "Like this." Above her right hand floats a pale blue orb. It bounces and pulses with light and energy.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  Opening her eyes, she bobbles the ball up and down before it erupts and flows over her chest like water and absorbs into her. "It's my magic. Or at least, a manifestation of my magic."

  All my life, I have only believed in what I can see and touch. My father frowned upon any fantasies that might take me away from my studies. He'd said not to be mired in imagination. It was the road to Hell. Nothing about Esme is evil. Of that, I'm certain. Goodness flows around her like a warm blanket. "What can you do with it?"

  "A great many things, but I'm a healer, and my magic is in kind with that vocation."

  With anything good comes bad as well. I learned that in war. Though most of what I saw was bad. I don't want to ask, but I must know. "Then, if it can heal, it can also harm." I close my fists, wishing the blue light away, but only succeed in making it stronger. "I've harmed enough in my life, Esme. I'll not allow whatever this is to hurt a living thing. I'll do away with myself before that."

  Intensity flashes in her eyes, and she grabs my hands again, pulling my attention back to her. "This magic doesn't control you. You are its master, William. 'Do no harm' is a way of life. If you fail in that, it would be a great disappointment. However, the first step before we learn how to remove what I left in you, is to control it."

  My heart pounds a staccato, but I nod and close my eyes. In my mind, I envision the bubble she made, and push the new sensations rolling through me toward a similar ball in my hands.

  Calm settles over me for the first time in years. I open my eyes, and there above our joined hands is a ball of blue light, a darker shade than Esme's was.

  "That's quite good. Now command the ball smaller and bring it inside yourself." Her voice trembles with excitement or pride. I can't be sure.

  I think about a smaller light and the bubble responds. Then I ask that it go away, and it erupts in a sparkling fountain and fills me again. My skin shines like a sun for a moment, then fades to the blue again.

  "What did you do?" Censure rings through her question.

  "The sensible thing. I bade it leave me."

  She sucks in a slow breath and lets it out. "Of course. Magic is never as simple as we wish, nor as complicated as we hope, my mother used to say. To rid you of the magic, we must understand how you came by it. My healing should not have done this to you, so there is more to the state of things. Try again, but just ask for the magic to remain small and tucked away this time."

  My father's voice rings in my head. Don't trust anything you can't explain. Banish trivial ideas. Stay the course. He could not have predicted this. I do as Esme instructed and watch as my newly formed ball of light rides a wave into my chest and settles beneath my heart. My hands no longer glow. The new sensation still remains with me but tucked inside. "I don't understand any of this."

  She releases my hands and goes to the cupboard, where she removes a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "You may ask me anything, and if I can, I will answer."

  "How did you become a witch?"

  She pours two glasses and hands me one. "Witches are born, not made. We have lived longer than humans if the old tales are to be believed."

  "You are not human?" Why that should trouble me, I can't say.

  She sips her drink. "Not in the strictest sense. Non-magical people may live to seventy or so. I suppose some a decade or two longer. The average life of a witch is almost three times as long."

  "You said your mother died last year. Was she very old?"

  Shaking her head, she says, "No. Though she had me at nearly forty-five and could have had more children, perhaps into her sixties or older. I've heard of witches giving birth at one hundred years. But that's not what you asked. Witches are not impervious to disease. Mother became ill, and none of our magic could cure her. She refused the help of the coven, though I don't think they could have helped either."

  "How old are you?" I blurt before good manners can be enforced.

  A bell-like laugh falls from those full lips, making me long even more to kiss her. "I'll be twenty-five in a few months."

  "Forgive me." I drink down the strong spirits in one gulp and put the glass on the table. "I shouldn't have asked such an impertinent question."

  "It's all right. How old are you?" A wicked smile turns her from pretty to exotic in a heartbeat.

  I lean closer, unable to stop my body from the draw of her. "I've just passed my thirty-first year. I don't know why it should trouble me that you will live hundreds of years beyond my death, but something about you, Esme—" I shake off the rest of the thought. I have already said too much.

  "What about me?" She sits forward.

  Unable to resist knowing how soft her skin is, I run my knuckles along her jaw. "You mesmerize me."

  She closes her hand around mine but doesn't move to stop my touch. She eases closer, her lips parted, and the hint of her pink tongue brushes her bottom lip. "I've done nothing to make it so."

  "No." I kiss her cheek.
The scent of warm vanilla and lemons fills my head. "Yet I've never wanted anyone with such intensity. Forgive me." My mouth covers hers, and the light inside me relaxes, like coming home after a very long journey and finding my favorite chair just as I left it.

  Esme sighs, and when my tongue touches hers, she wraps her hand around my neck and threads my hair.

  Her touch is like a torch to dry straw.

  I stand, pulling her up with me, and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her close while still cupping her jaw.

  Our lips move together as if we've waited all our lives for this kiss. Moving with me, over me, under me, she presses her body to mine, which responds in kind. My shaft yearns hard between us.

  Esme presses her hips tight to mine and moans deeply.

  Cupping her bottom, I crave more, and am rewarded by her tongue sliding over mine. I kiss her sweet neck, and her pulse thrums for my touch just as mine pounds through me like a marching band. "Esme."

  I kiss my way back to those miraculous lips, already parted and panting. Drawing the bottom between mine, and then the top, I revel in how she responds as if made for this moment with me.

  This woman has become everything in just one day. One day. It crashes over me like a bucket of cold water.

  With every ounce of my will, I break the kiss. "Esme, this is not right. I want you, but you are not mine to have, and just yesterday, we were strangers."

  She closes her eyes. "No. I know." Pulling back, she brushes her hands from under her breasts to the top of her skirts, wiping me and my touch away. "I share equal blame, William. I should have kept my distance. This could be a product of my magic resting inside you. Once it is gone, the feeling will likely go as well. Then we would be left with nothing but guilt."

  I don't bother to explain how ardently I wanted her before she ever laid a hand on me. What would be the point? We are from different worlds, and mine doesn't include witches or shopkeepers. Longing to change my world will not make it so. "Forgive me?"

  There is the barest twitch of her lips before she turns serious. "There is no harm and nothing to forgive. I'll get you some bedding for the couch and let you get some rest."

  She does as she said, and I lay staring at the dark wood beam on the ceiling for hours. So many feelings and instincts drove me these last two days. There should be many things to regret, yet I can't wish away any of my time with Esme O'Dwyer.

  Chapter

  Four

  ESME

  The bookshop owner next door and I share a water closet just outside my back door. We shared the expense of putting it in. It is a luxury I have never regretted.

  On my way back inside, a black-and-white kitten cries out. It sits at the door as if expecting to be let in. I crouch and rub under its chin. A rumbling purr makes me smile.

  "Who might you be?" I glance around to see if someone is looking for the little mite, but we're alone, the alley empty due to the early hour.

  "Well, if someone comes hunting for you, you'll have to go, but perhaps you need a home. I've never had a familiar. Are you to be my eyes at night, or have you some other power?"

  The kitten blinks up at me seriously.

  Giving him one more pet, I open the door. I put a bit of last night's stew in a bowl for him and watch as he gobbles it down. "You're in luck. I can cook."

  I put on some coffee to brew and, still in my robe, I rush upstairs with a pitcher of water for washing. Kitten at my heels, I nearly trip twice, but make it to my rooms unscathed.

  William is a sight to behold with his hair rumpled and eyes full of sleep. Cravat removed, his warm golden skin and smattering of dark blond hair peeks through the vee at his throat.

  If the pitcher in my hands wasn't so heavy, I might gawk at him all morning. "Good morning, William. Were you able to sleep at all?"

  "Some. Thank you."

  I pour half the water in the bowl on the stand where I keep a few kitchen items. "You can wash here, and there's a water closet out the kitchen door." My face heats idiotically. I roll my eyes and am glad my back is to him.

  In my bedroom, I pour the rest of the water in my basin and wash up before quickly pulling on a day dress. I hear him talking from the next room. Good lord, he's gone mad already.

  I rush the remainder of my toilet and return to the sitting room.

  William is sitting on the floor with the kitten, having a very serious and adorable conversation. "If you don't tell me your name, little fellow, I shall make one up for you. What do you think of Darby?"

  The kitten, with green eyes, one patched in black fur and the other in white, stares up at him.

  "No? Hmm, Dan?"

  No response from the beast.

  "Jacob is my steward's name. He's a fine fellow. Do you fancy that?"

  The kitten cocks its head, and its ears go back.

  "I see." Thinking, William scratches a day's growth of beard.

  My heart is near bursting. If William hadn't had good sense the night before, I'd have let him have me. I'd never wanted anyone more. Witches don't always follow the rules of society, and they often take lovers, but I tend to be quite particular, and never would jump into an affair that can't possibly last more than one night. I'm no saint, nor am I a whore.

  "I know," William announces. "Simon!"

  The kitten gives a loud mew and jumps into William's lap.

  Masculine laughter fills my sitting room, and my heart. "Simon it is then."

  Holding Simon, William leaps to his feet. "I suppose I should have let you tell me his name. I didn't mean..."

  "Don't be uneasy. He appeared at the back door this morning, with no master in sight, and immediately made himself at home. Besides, I enjoyed the naming process more than I should probably admit." My cheeks heat for the second time that morning. I have lost all control of my emotions and it won't do.

  He scratches Simon's chin. "He does seem to like the name. Will you keep him?"

  I nod. "Animals like Simon are good luck when they find you. I think he's meant to be here. He won't stay if the fit isn't right. At least that's what my mother always said. She had a hawk who stayed with her. She could see through his eyes as he flew over Windsor. After she died, Theo stayed a week with me before flying off. I mourned his loss with my mother's."

  Why had I told him all of that? Surely, he doesn't need to know or care about old Theo and my mother. He likely doesn't believe Mother could see through Theo's eyes.

  "It was good of him to stay the week with you. I should think he must have cared deeply to have done so, but then it was time to move on." William's eyes fill with sorrow, which he shakes away a moment later.

  "Thank you." I search for more to say, but I'm at a loss for words. What he said is in the teaching of Goddess. I doubt he's ever learned such lessons.

  He hands Simon to me and brushes the patch of hair from his coat. "As I am no longer glowing like some heavenly star, I thought I might go home and change. Perhaps I can meet you back here in an hour, or would you come with me?"

  It shouldn't be such a terrible thing for him to leave and return, but my heart knots at the idea of his departure. Perhaps he will never come back. He might be seduced by darkness with magic not meant for humans coursing through him. It would be my fault if such a fate befell him. "Wouldn't your staff be surprised by me accompanying you?"

  Head cocked in thought, much as Simon's had been, William says, "They have been with me since before the war. I think they will adapt to a new friend."

  "They will think we are lovers. They will take me for your mistress of the moment." As much as I long to be close to him, I don't want to be the kind of woman who men discard like old clothes.

  Touching my chin until I look into his eyes, William presses a chaste kiss to my lips, flooding me with magic and desire. His eyes wide, he says, "I have never had a mistress. And though I have had lovers, never have I brought them to my home. My staff will think you are a friend, and that is what you are, Esme."

  "This power between us, William, I'll not lie, I find it as terrifying as I do alluring."

  He releases my chin. "As do I. Let me get properly dressed, and we shall see if this coven has any thoughts."

  William was right. His staff treats me as if I'm one of the master's greatest friends. They seem unsurprised by my presence, and while I wait, they bring me tea in the parlor. The house is small but very fine, with a curved staircase in the foyer and marble on the floor. The parlor is decorated in forest green, and a cream damask wallpaper that hints at pink.