Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Twelve Potion

Marian Byrne slid behind the wheel of her car and told her windshield, “Sometimes, it’s good to be old.”

The windshield, as with many of the inanimate objects Marian found herself talking to since her husband Arthur died, didn’t answer back.

She started the car, put it into gear and thought about the last hour of her life.

No one questioned an old lady wandering around the office, no one said word one when she walked through, giving a breezy wave to the security guard, and headed (slowly) up the three flights of stairs to Colin Morgan’s office.

When his harried secretary ran into the kitchen to make Colin a cup of coffee, Marian was waiting, sitting at the table and knitting. Although she didn’t knit and didn’t know what she was doing, no one really noticed anything but masses of yarn and the clicking of the needles. Knitting was what stereotypical old ladies did and, since Marian was in disguise, she felt it was a good prop.

She was right; the secretary barely reacted when Marian spoke.

“Would you like me to make that for you, dear?” she’d offered in her kindliest, old lady voice.

She knew it was Colin’s secretary, Mandy. She’d been paying close attention to a lot of things about Colin Morgan’s Bristol offices since she began her stakeout some time ago. Colin worked later than everyone, his secretary left the building a quarter of an hour before him every night.

The Mandy’s startled eyes came to Marian.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m Neil’s mother. Come for a visit,” Marian lied.

She knew a Neil worked there, on that very floor. She had sat next to him at lunch one day in the busy café down the street. There were no other tables and she was “forced” to ask him to share his table with a tired, old, talkative lady who just needed a cuppa and a rest of her weary feet. Being a polite young man, he’d agreed. He’d also (somewhat magically, Marian had to admit) talked a great deal about the comings and goings at the office and how a girl he liked, the boss’s secretary, was too tired to go out to drinks after work because her boss always worked her later than anyone else.

“I’m making coffee for Mr. Morgan, he’s kind of picky about his coffee,” Mandy explained, breaking into Marian’s thoughts.

Marian had no doubt Colin Morgan was picky about his coffee.

Marian thought the young secretary looked like she had a great many other things she would prefer to be doing rather than making coffee.

“I think I can handle coffee, dear. How does he take it?”

The girl hesitated only briefly before her expression changed and then she looked thrilled to have one less task. With vows of gratitude, she gave Marian instructions and left.

And then Marian carefully made the coffee, not wanting Mandy to get into trouble and definitely needing Colin to drink it. When she was finished, she surreptitiously took the vial from her old lady handbag (she didn’t normally carry such an unfashionable handbag but she was undercover). She tipped the concoction in the drink and stirred. Colin liked his coffee strong; a splash of milk, no sugar, the potion wouldn’t change the taste one bit (she hoped).

Mandy rushed back in and Marian handed her the steaming mug and was flashed a grateful smile.

Then Marian made good her escape, again without anyone even looking at her.

Now, wending her way through the hated Bristol traffic, Marian went through the ingredients of the potion in her mind.

It would take awhile to work; hopefully he would be back to Sibyl by the time it happened.

Of course, it could start working earlier, or later, or do something entirely different than it was supposed to. She liked to call it her “volatile cocktail”. Marian thought that was amusing and she vastly preferred to be amused than to be consumed with worry about all the appalling things which could go wrong with her cocktail. This was very advanced magic and could backfire easily.

It was a huge risk but Marian felt it was a risk she had to take.

Hopefully, the coffee made it to Colin. She’d hate to think what would happen if some other person drank it. Someone with, perhaps, a rather unsavoury past life who might go on a killing spree and would genuinely not remember it.

Never mind, Marian thought, these were the risks one took when in pursuit of facilitating true love.

Then Marian resolutely set these thoughts aside and hummed to herself the rest of the way home.

Sibyl was working in her laboratory in the Summer House in her back garden.

Janis Joplin was blaring from the radio and Sibyl was singing with Janis about Bobby McGee. It was six o’clock and the days were much longer since daylight savings time began. They were also back to being unseasonably warm. The cold, grey spell had started the day Colin went away but it cleared the evening he returned. The sun was shining day after day, the tulips were out, the trees were budding, the hyacinths had opened and life was good on this green earth.

Well, mostly.

Colin would soon be at her house, arriving sometime between seven thirty and eight, the way he was nearly every night except the weekends. The weekends, he stayed with her almost all the time (the weekend before, most of this spent in bed). This past weekend, he went into the office for several hours on Sunday.

But on Saturday, he took her to Durham Park. When they arrived at the ticket counter, Sibyl was shocked to find he was not a National Trust member and therefore forced him to buy a membership on the spot (she did this by attempting to buy one for him, which he refused to accept). This he did with ill-grace and then muted anger when she announced to The National Trust volunteer that he was the owner of Lacybourne.

“Imagine!” she’d fumed. “He owns a National Trust property and he isn’t a member! It’s a crime!”

The volunteer had agreed wholeheartedly and gratefully accepted Colin’s money.

Colin had punished her for this episode by kissing her, quite thoroughly (to shut her up, he said), in front of a busload of pensioners who looked on with avid curiosity. When Colin was done, a couple of them even clapped.

He later took her out for the most delicious dinner she’d ever had at a French restaurant in Bath. The owner was French and, upon hearing Sibyl’s pronunciation of her order, came forward from behind the bar and, in French, asked if she spoke his language. Sibyl forgot herself for a moment, told him she did and they had a hilarious five minute conversation (somewhat stilted, as she was out of practice but he was very patient) about the episode at Durham Park.

When the owner clapped Colin on the back, shook his hand and left, Colin turned speculative eyes to her. She immediately regretted losing herself in the conversation.

“Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve practised, I was all over the place. I… um, speak French by the way,” she informed him, feeling somehow exposed at letting her guard slip and wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“I gathered,” he replied drily but said nothing else on the subject.

They spent a great deal of time together but in all that time he never once took her to Lacybourne. And for this she was glad for it meant he, too, was guarding himself from her.

She needed that.

Something had changed between them, something shifted, something dangerous to the health of her heart.

That morning after her breakfast with Marian, even though it was her day off, Sibyl had taken a trip in to the Council Estate to visit Meg and because Kyle was bringing back the minibus. The volunteers and oldies had all been elated and everyone signed up to ride the new bus. Kyle was finishing the driver’s course and Jem’s art group were going to use it for some outings. It was the talk of the estate. The bus would be in action in a week and Sibyl was thrilled.

In order to have a visit and share this news, Sibyl took some food to Meg who was not doing very well, finding recovery difficult.

“Oh don’t look that way,” Meg admonished softly when Sibyl’s face filled with worry. “I’m old, Billie, and I’m not in pain. I’m resigned to the former and happy for the latter.”

Sibyl knew that Meg was lying. She could see the deeper lines of pain that had formed around her friend’s mouth but she didn’t say anything.

Now, in her laboratory, Sibyl was pouring some perfumed salts into wide, fat glass jars, affixing their black lids and labelling them with a white label with “Wicked Apothecary” (her brand name, chosen by her Dad) in bold, emerald-coloured, calligraphy script. The label had the picture of a black cat with its back arched and its bushy tail straight up (chosen by her Mom). She wrote the scent of the salts on the jar in her handwriting (a personal touch) this batch was ylang ylang and lavender.

Throughout doing this, Sibyl was singing with Janis, now about a Mercedes Benz, when, with no warning and for no reason, the CD stopped right before the door to the Summer House crashed open.

She whirled around to stare.

Colin was there.

Except, with one look at him, she knew it wasn’t Colin, even though it was.

She studied him and felt a shimmer of fear run up her spine, alongside it an evocative thrill.

She knew in an instant, looking at his face, into his eyes, that it was Colin but it was also someone else entirely.

And because of this peculiarity, and the familiar look in his eyes she couldn’t quite place, she braced.

“What are you wearing?” he barked and Sibyl jumped at his fierce tone.

He didn’t even sound like Colin, yet he did.

She was wearing a white, lacy, gypsy camisole with wide straps edged in lace and a pair of her oldest jeans that had a rip in the knee and a tear just below the right cheek of her bottom. Her feet were bare and her hair was screwed up in a clip.

Her hands went immediately to the clip and tore it out of her hair. His eyes followed the action as her hair came down in a tumble around her face and shoulders.

And it was then, he roared (yes, roared) “What have you done to your hair?” and he did this as his eyes narrowed dangerously so Sibyl jumped again.

“Colin?” she asked in a timid voice.

He was across the short space to her in one angry stride, pulling her to him with his hands closing around her upper arms so painfully she cried out. He ignored her and crushed her to his body.

“Why do you use this name when you’re with me?” His voice was full of warning and his eyes were hard. “I no longer find it amusing.”

His hands were biting into her flesh and she stared at him, filled with terror.

She’d looked into those eyes before, she knew those eyes.

“Royce?” she ventured.

At the sound of her uncertainty, he pushed her slightly away and shook her roughly. So roughly that her teeth clattered together and her head snapped back.

She grabbed onto his upper arms to steady herself but as quickly as he shook her, he stopped. He seemed to notice where he was and she watched as he stared around the room. He took in her jars and bottles, the essential oils neatly labelled and stacked on shelves. The vats of ingredients carefully lined up on the floor. The huge mixing bowls and paddles she used. The rolls of stickers with which she labelled her products.

“What is this? You’re at the witch’s cottage. Are you a witch? Have you bewitched me?” he rapped out these questions in quick succession, his voice low and even. The same voice Colin used when he was very angry but controlling it with an effort of will.

“Royce, you’re –”

She stopped speaking when she saw that something was changing in him. It changed his eyes, his face, even the line of his frame. It was something even more otherworldly than before.

Then, suddenly, his hands gentled, his eyes warmed and they roved over her face. They did this as if he hadn’t seen her in years. Indeed, as if he hadn’t seen her in centuries.

As if she was the most precious creature in the entire universe.

Her stomach did a somersault.

Then he lifted one hand to her hair. Capturing a tendril at the side of her face, he twirled it in his fingers tenderly.

“Oh Beatrice,” he murmured, his voice thick and throaty but she knew he was not speaking to her, he was talking to someone else. Someone who wasn’t there. And his voice so filled with pain that Sibyl felt a lump form in the base of her throat. “I gave you my hair.”

She had no idea what he was talking about but, at the tender ache in his voice, the pain stark in his eyes, she felt compelled to lay her hand on his cheek. “Royce?”

His gaze slowly shifted to hers.

“You’re so like her.” His voice was now soft, his eyes unbelievably warm. “So like her.” He cupped her face worshipfully in his hands, making her knees go week. “But not her.”

“I know you,” Sibyl whispered to him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

“And I saw you in her.” He smiled a beautiful, heart-wrenching, sad smile. “You called me Colin when you were her. I thought she was attempting to vex me.”

Her heart lurched at the sound of adoration in his tone when he spoke of “her”.

“How can you be here? Is it me that’s doing this to you?” Sibyl asked.

He shook his head, she knew it was not in the negative but telling her he didn’t know.

“Where are you from?” she asked urgently.

“I know not,” he answered.

“Another time? A different place?” she pressed.

“Not here,” he told her the only thing he knew.

“Royce, who’s Beatrice?”

His look turned intense and he whispered, “She’s you.”

And then, before she knew what he was about, he wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her head back with a gentle tug, his arm gliding around her waist and he kissed her.

And his kiss was sweet and wild and beautiful and everything a kiss was meant to be, because it was filled with yearning and love.

Experiencing the sad joy and intense beauty of the kiss, she relaxed into him and felt tears burn the backs of her eyes then roll down her temples. When she opened them after he lifted his head, she knew in an instant Royce was gone and Colin had returned.

“What the hell is going on?” he clipped, releasing her, he stepped back and looked about him.

“Colin?” she queried, staring at him in disbelief, her heart in her throat.

A tremor went through her as he looked around with angry bemusement.

Sibyl’s mind was awhirl. This was not right, not real and very, very wrong.

Did she do this to him? Her mother tried to be a witch, believed in magic, but even though Sibyl had grown up around the pagan religion, she’d never truly believed in magic.

Except, of course, to think it would one day bring her a soulmate.

With her strange, lifelike dreams, meeting Colin and all that had happened since Lacybourne (and now this), she was beginning to feel that there was some other power at play here and it could be, maybe had to be, magic.

“What’s going on?” Colin thundered, masculine confusion morphing into anger very quickly.

“You need to sit down,” she told him gently.

“I don’t need to sit down, I need to know what… the fuck… is going on,” he returned slowly and through gritted teeth.

“Do you remember anything?” Sibyl asked and stepped toward him.

His eyes took her in, sweeping the length of her and they stopped on the way up.

“What’s happened to your arms?”

She looked down at her upper arms and saw the dark, angry, red welts that had risen up where Colin/Royce had grabbed her.

“You’ve been crying.” It was not a question or a statement but an accusation.

Sibyl took a deep breath. How to explain?

“You… Colin, you grabbed me and you shook me,” she told him quietly and then took another step toward him when his face blanched.

“I did that to you?”

She laid her hand on his chest and made honest excuses for him, “You weren’t yourself.”

“Christ!”

Sibyl winced because that one word was an explosion. His hand went to his hair and tore through it before he continued speaking.

“I don’t remember anything. I was in the kitchen, wondering where you were and I heard the music. I was going to come out and the next thing I knew I was kissing you.”

She used the hand on his chest to push him back carefully. He didn’t resist and fell into the flowered cushions of a wicker chair she kept in her lab. She hated to see him this way and wished things were different between them. She wished they were such that she could comfort him in the way she wanted, needed to comfort him.

Instead, she said, “I’m going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”

Then without delay, Sibyl ran from the Summer House, feelings of guilt tearing through her.

She couldn’t help but think she was responsible for this. Maybe her mother was a witch. Maybe that made Sibyl a witch. Maybe these dreams she was having were coming to life. Or, she’d always felt there was something strange and magical about Brightrose Cottage, maybe it was the house.

She flew into the kitchen and grabbed a glass. A phone was ringing and she saw a mobile on the kitchen counter. Without thinking, she grabbed it, flipped it open and put it to her ear.

“Hello?” Sibyl uttered the greeting distractedly and turned on the tap, her eyes moving to look through window in the backdoor to ascertain if she could see Colin but she couldn’t.

There was no response on the phone and when Sibyl was about ready to flip it shut again, a refined woman’s voice said, “I’m sorry, I thought I was ringing Colin Morgan’s phone.”

Sibyl froze.

Was it Mistress Freeze, the long-since-absent Tamara?

Colin had told Sibyl that she could not allow another man to touch her while she was with him, but he made no such promise to her. She’d entirely forgotten the other woman in the extremes of her drama and he’d just spent a week in London.

Dear goddess, he could have been with her.

Sibyl felt waves of sickening jealousy she was not entitled to feel crash through her and said hesitantly, “This is Colin’s phone. He’s…” she peered through the window again and still could not see him, “out back. Um…” She was at a loss of what to say.

“This is his sister, Claire. Who’s this?” Her voice was friendly and engaging but, even so, as her concern fled that she was talking to Tamara, Sibyl’s body jerked at the thought of speaking to Colin’s sister.

She didn’t even know he had a sister.

In fact, Sibyl thought that Colin was akin to a quicksilver god born of the elements, not having parents or siblings or anything mere mortals would possess.

Before Sibyl could reply, Claire asked chattily as if they were going to spend the next hour in pleasant conversation, “You’re American aren’t you?”

Sibyl put the glass under the tap not believing this was happening, especially not now, considering the fact she had unawakened witchy powers and Colin was angrily recovering from an episode of real multiple personalities.

“Yes, I’m American,” she answered.

“Oh, where are you from in America? I love America.” Then before Sibyl could respond Claire went on, her voice sounding amused and very sisterly, almost exactly like her own sister, (except less annoying). “You must be the reason no one has heard from Colin in weeks.”

Sibyl pulled the glass from under the faucet and turned it off.

As an answer, she hedged, “Perhaps I should get Colin.”

“Sure,” Claire agreed happily. “Here I am, monopolising the conversation, as usual. I didn’t get your name.”

Sibyl opened the backdoor and walked stiffly through the garden. She loved her garden, with its flagstone paths and beautifully laid flower beds that were carefully created to look wild.

At that moment, however, she didn’t even see it.

“Sibyl Godwin,” she replied without thinking and heard the woman’s shocked gasp.

Her extremely shocked gasp.

“What did you say?” Claire whispered, her voice sounding strange in Sibyl’s ear.

Why everyone that had anything to do with Colin (although, if she was honest, it was really just Marian, Colin and now his sister, then again, those were the only people Sibyl knew who had anything to do with Colin) reacted so strongly to her name was beyond her.

She didn’t have time to consider it; Sibyl had made it to the door of the Summer House.

Colin was still sitting in the wicker chair, his forehead resting in his hand, his elbow resting on his knee.

He glanced up at her when she arrived and instead of repeating her name to his sister, Sibyl told her, “He’s right here.”

Claire didn’t reply and her silence was deafening.

Sibyl extended the phone to Colin and announced, “It’s your sister.”

He took the phone but stared at Sibyl intently. She had no idea what her faced looked like but she could tell by his look that he could read her dazed reaction to the phone call clearly.

“Claire,” he said by way of greeting, his eyes never leaving Sibyl’s face. Then upon whatever his sister was saying, they closed, slowly, and when they opened again, they rolled to the ceiling of the Summer House in exasperation.

Sibyl stood motionless inside the doorway. But at his rolling of eyes, she moved jerkily forward, set the glass of water on a counter and went to finish with the salts.

She heard him talking behind her and felt his eyes on her back.

“Claire, can you be quiet for one minute?” Silence and then, “Do not call Mum.” More silence. “Claire, if you tell –”

He must have been interrupted because, seconds later, she heard the electronic beep of him disconnecting and the flip of the phone being shut.

Before he could light into her, she quickly and defensively explained to her salts, “I was thinking about you. I heard the phone ringing and I just grabbed it. It was a reflex action.”

She felt him come up behind her but she didn’t turn.

Instead of his voice being angry as she expected it to be, it was soft when he asked, “What are you doing?”

She was surprised at his question and the curious tone behind it.

“Making bath salts. I have a small business,” she answered.

He made no reply.

Then she felt his finger run gently along the marks on her right arm and the skin tingled where he touched it. Then she felt him move closer to her back.

She continued talking to her salts; she’d completely filled the jars and was now screwing on their lids. “Have you ever had an episode like that before?”

His reply was immediate. “Never.”

She felt the word on her neck and then, to her complete surprise, she felt his chin settle on her shoulder as his arms slid around her belly.

She sucked in breath. It was a moment so tender, so unlike anything she and Colin had ever shared, Sibyl froze.

And in that moment, she knew she should tell him everything but she decided there was the good possibility that if she informed him that she thought she was a latent witch, expunging magical powers through her dreams or possibly her home (or both) and he was bewitched, he would think (perhaps rightly) she was a screaming loon.

Furthermore, she didn’t want to do anything that would make him pull away from her when he was holding her like that.

Therefore, instead she remarked, “You should see a doctor.”

This was true, he probably should, but she knew in her core Western medicine would probably not be able cure this ailment.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” His voice was warm and she felt a shiver pass through her not only due to his tone but also due to the guilt she felt. “I don’t remember it, not a moment, but that’s no excuse.”

It was an excuse, since he had been possessed by some other being, but Sibyl couldn’t tell him that. Therefore, she could do nothing but nod her head and whisper, “It’s okay.”

His arms gave her a gentle squeeze then he queried, “Did I say anything to you?”

At that, she shook her head and lied, “I just knew, the minute you arrived, you weren’t you.” Then she shrugged her shoulders as if to indicate it was a matter of little importance.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing that made sense.” That was almost true. “Nothing important.” That was most definitely not true.

“Why was I kissing you?”

She smiled to herself at the memory of the kiss, a secret smile she hoped he couldn’t see.

She had broken a rule, she knew, not blatantly but she still broke it. She had allowed another man to touch her and kiss her, even though it was Colin, it was also not.

She lied again on a whisper, “You always kiss me.”

Colin was silent a moment before he said softly, “If this was as unimportant as you wish me to believe, why aren’t you looking at me?”

At his comment and the soft accusation in his tone, she turned quickly and he loosened his arms and lifted his head so she could do so. The minute she was facing him, his arms tightened around her again, drawing her into his warm, hard body. She lifted her eyes to his, he stared into hers and must have seen something there because she felt his body instantly relax.

There was something intensely sweet about his reaction for she knew he was concerned. She worked desperately to quell the even sweeter feelings this realisation sent surging through her and managed it (just).

“I’m sorry about answering your phone,” she told him. “I wasn’t thinking.”

His mouth came down and brushed hers lightly but swiftly before his head lifted and he replied, “Don’t worry, I can deal with my sister.”

As if on cue, his mobile began to ring again. Instead of ignoring it, he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the display. When he did, he sighed and flipped it open. Without letting go of her, he put it to his ear.

“Mum,” he said as greeting.

Sibyl’s body stiffened and in response, his hand travelled up and began to stroke her back. This was done without thinking, she could tell, a spontaneous reaction to her tenseness and the thoughtfulness made her pull in her breath to mask her reaction.

“Yes,” he answered some question while she watched his face change expressions from wary to exasperated before he shuttered it from her. “Yes,” he said again then, “There is absolutely no need –” Then, the short conversation apparently over, he flipped it shut again with a heavy sigh.

“I’ve caused a problem, haven’t I?” she asked, feeling even more guilt.

She had no idea what was happening with his family and she knew it was none of her business. She also knew his sister had jumped to a conclusion about what Sibyl was to Colin and now Colin had to find some tactful way to explain.

“I’m going to have to go. My mother and sister will be descending on Lacybourne. They’re leaving within the hour.”

Sibyl felt a rush of gloom at his leaving.

“My parents are coming next week,” she blurted and had no idea why she felt compelled to tell him a piece of information he already knew, except to prolong his departure.

“I know.” His answer was distracted, he’d already pulled away from her and she already missed his arms. Then he tipped up her chin and kissed her but that was distracted too.

She wanted to do all the things a girl would normally do when her lover was going to spend his first night away from her while both of them were in the same town.

She wanted to give him a kiss.

She wanted to ask him if she could come with him.

But she did neither of these because that was not what she was to him.

Instead, she walked to her roll of labels to finish the jars.

He was watching her.

“How are you getting to Heathrow?” he asked as if he’d just thought of it. “You can’t be taking the MG.”

Even though it would have been physically impossible for herself, her father, her mother and their luggage to ride the two and a half hours back from Heathrow in the MG (not to mention, the MG would never make the trek), his statement was not exactly what the words said.

He said “can’t” he meant “won’t”.

“Hire car,” she answered. “I pick it up the night before.”

“Cancel it. I’ll arrange for a car to come ‘round to get you.”

She felt her mouth part at this announcement before she informed him, “I’ve already booked the car.”

“Cancel it,” he repeated, still distracted but clearly issuing a command.

She felt both irritation and tenderness at his domineering. It was beginning to dawn on her that many of his commands had something to do with her protection, safety, convenience or comfort (but, of course, not all of them).

“Colin, is that an order?” He was watching her affix the labels, for some reason regarding this act as if it was fascinating, but, at her voice saying his name, his eyes came to hers.

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

She glared at him and then, having no choice, nodded.

For some reason, this made him grin.

And the grin was unlike any grin he’d ever given her before.

It was a Royce-like grin, teasing, playful, knowing and intimate. As if he found her amusing and adorable. She felt her body instantly react and had to fight against the overwhelming desire to throw herself across the room into his arms and kiss him senseless.

But maybe he was Royce again. Maybe, she thought with alarm, that Royce was back.

Her head tilted to the side and tentatively she called, “Colin?”

“Yes?” he answered.

A gush of relief spread through her, then her body tensed again because it was Colin giving her that grin, not Royce.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

“Nothing,” she muttered and continued writing on the labels.

He came forward and kissed her shoulder in a gesture so intimate Sibyl had to steel herself against it.

Maybe, she thought, there were residual Royce-waves floating through him. This was not Colin, nothing like him.

This was not arm’s length.

This was real, heady, wonderful, couple-like stuff.

Maybe he felt guilty about hurting her. That had to be it.

“I’ve got to go,” he said.

She nodded, wanting to be alone to think about all of this.

At the same time wanting to throw herself at him, beg him to spend the night and make love to her. Not have sex with her but make love to her.

“Sibyl.”

Her body jolted at his voice then she turned her head to him. The look on his face was now definitely the Colin she knew.

“I’ll take a good-bye kiss now.”

Definitely the Colin she knew.

She moved forward and gave him what he demanded.

Regardless of the fact that when she first met him he behaved like a deranged madman then he had charmed her and she thought he was her dream man then he’d bought her body, and she thought she hated him – despite all that, despite how she knew it was very, very dangerous – she was beginning to have feelings for him. Strong, wonderful, scary feelings that were no good for her at all.

And because of that, when she kissed him, she pressed her body to his and pulled him to her by wrapping her arms around his sides and pressing hands between his shoulder blades. Then she went up on her toes and kissed him with all the strong, wonderful, scariness she felt. She opened her lips under his and slid her tongue in to taste his beautiful mouth and when she did, his arms swept around her, pulling her deeper into him and, at the touch of her tongue against his, he took over her good-bye kiss.

It wasn’t Royce’s beautiful kiss, but it was a good-bye-for-now kiss that she would never, ever forget.

As she stood, shaken and trembling from the kiss, watching him walk with his masculine grace back through her garden, she heard his mobile ring again.

Marian saw Colin walking toward his car and would have been alarmed at his much-earlier-than-usual exit had she not seen the look on his face.

Colin Morgan looked quite content with the world.

He got in his Mercedes and deftly manoeuvred down the lane.

Marian was about to follow when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

Marian was hiding in the wood outside Sibyl’s house.

And so was someone else.

She stared, looking closely at the place where she saw the movement and she stood stock-still.

It would not do for them to see her.

Minutes passed but she saw nothing else.

An evil shiver slid through Marian’s body because she knew she was in the presence of the dark soul that, in this time, crossed the lovers’ stars.

She had been planning to follow Colin but she decided it was best to spend a little bit more time watching over Sibyl.

Just to be certain everything was all right.