Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Twenty-Four Magic Dust

Colin glanced out the rear-view mirror and saw the familiar car following them.

The car had slid out behind them when they left Lacybourne that morning, stayed with them after their brief visit for Scarlett to check Mrs. Byrne and continued behind them all the way to Heathrow.

And now, coming back to Clevedon, it was still there.

Colin could see the black hair and alabaster face behind the wheel.

Tamara Adams.

No, a clearly not very clever, in fact, enormously stupid Tamara Adams.

Colin was relatively certain it was also the car that nearly ran them down outside the restaurant.

He ground his teeth.

Sibyl had been desolate upon seeing her father and sister moving through the security area at Heathrow but Mags had swiftly cheered her spirits with chatter on the way home and for this alone, Colin was grateful for Mags’s company. Even though Sibyl and her mother had an odd relationship that was based half on exasperation, half on adoration, Mags knew exactly how to manipulate her daughter’s feelings, giving her a needed uplift.

Slowly, the BMW’s smooth ride and her interrupted sleep last night came over her and Sibyl fell asleep with her head against the window.

This, Mags (as any good mother would) noticed immediately and all chatter stopped. For fifteen minutes, Mags was surprisingly silent.

Then she asked quietly, “Who’s that following us? Do you know her?”

Startled, Colin’s eyes shot to the rear-view mirror to take in her knowing face. Mags was free-spirited and flighty but, Colin realised, she was also no fool.

“Yes,” he answered brusquely.

“Spurned lover?” Mags guessed correctly.

Colin nodded then found himself saying, “The one I was with when I met Sibyl.”

She immediately returned, “The one who was there when you met Billie?”

He nodded again marking, for future reference, how much Sibyl told her mother.

“Oh dear,” Mags sighed. “Well,” she brightened, “at least we know who and why. Now you just need to stop her.” She paused and glanced out of the window and said distractedly but with such certainty Colin was momentarily stunned, “I have every faith.”

Colin watched as she settled back into her seat contentedly.

Half an hour later, he pulled into Lacybourne only to see his mother’s blue Audi.

“What in bloody hell?” he muttered under his breath.

The change in speed coming off the motorway and manoeuvring of roundabouts had caused Sibyl to awaken but all the while, she kept a still sleepy silence.

Now she spoke.

“Who’s that?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.

“My mother,” Colin answered impatiently.

“What’s she doing here?” The sweet sound of sleep was quickly leaving her voice and suspicion was edging in.

“I, um, might have called her,” Mags said hesitantly from the back.

Colin again swore under his breath.

Sibyl’s head snapped around to scowl at her mother.

“Why on the goddess’s green earth would you do a fool thing like that?” she cried, her sleepy voice a distant memory.

Colin parked in the garage as mother and daughter squared off.

“Colin was shot with a tranquilliser dart!” Mags defended herself. “She’s his mother. I thought she had the right to know!”

“Don’t you think Colin should be the judge of that?” Sibyl returned angrily and if she hadn’t been so adorably peeved on his behalf, he might have kissed her for defending him.

Before Sibyl’s temper could explode in a car that was much too small for the force of it, Colin broke in, “It’s done. There’s no sense arguing about it now.”

Colin felt a bit more of Bertie’s lifetime of pain when both pairs of angry eyes moved to him and both women’s mouths opened to blast him with their wrath when he smoothly continued, “If anyone has the right to be upset it’s me and I’m not so that’s the end of it.”

Both mouths snapped shut and Mags’s face instantly settled happily while Sibyl’s suffused with mutiny.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she warned her mother as she alighted from the car.

“Okay,” Mags agreed, unaffected by the threat and walked to the house.

Colin surreptitiously glanced down the lane, didn’t see any sign of Tamara or her car and he put his hand in the back pocket of his jeans to grab his mobile.

Sibyl stopped, waiting for him to walk to the house with her.

“Go in, sweetheart, I need to make a call,” he directed her gently. “Tell Mum I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

She looked at him closely then turned and, with no small amount of absorption, he watched her generous hips sway as she walked to the house.

Then he called Robert Fitzwilliam.

“Look into Tamara Adams. She’s been following us the entire day, all the way to Heathrow and back,” Colin ordered.

“Got it. You still need Rick tomorrow?” Robert asked about the bodyguard Colin had engaged to watch Sibyl and now her mother and, much more recently, his mother.

“Yes,” Colin answered.

“Fine, he’ll be at your house at seven.”

Colin flipped his mobile shut, not looking forward to the upcoming conversation with Sibyl about her future bodyguard.

With resignation, Colin went in to greet his mother.

Sibyl sat next to Colin in Mrs. Byrne’s magic room.

Across from them, Mrs. Byrne, who was still not her usual, vital self, was moving around carefully as if her body was a fragile thing. Still, she was muttering chants as she clinked and clacked amongst a plethora of vials, shakers, mortars and pestles, and other extraordinary flotsam and jetsam of witch paraphernalia she kept in her magic room. A room, done up in plums and roses, tassels and velvets, shelves and spindly tables carrying strange and fascinating objects, it looked like a set right out of a movie.

Phoebe, who had come into the story late and was still processing it, sat silently across the room, staring stupefied at Marian’s activity.

Angie, Mrs. Byrne’s daughter, was assisting her mother as if they did this kind of thing every day.

Mags was sitting next to Phoebe barely able to hold herself still, alight with glee.

Sibyl slid a cautious glance toward Colin who was not happy at all. He was obviously dubious and it was just as obvious he wished to be somewhere else. He was sitting with one ankle casually resting on his other knee, slouched arrogantly and one of his arms was lying across the back of Sibyl’s chair.

Regardless of his nonchalant position, he seemed wired, ready to pounce.

Since returning from Heathrow, Sibyl noticed that something had changed in him. He seemed impatient and energetic, like a big cat prowling back and forth in front of its cage in a zoo, desperate to get out.

Sibyl thought, looking at him, that perhaps it hadn’t been wise to push this magical protection spell thing that afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to come and now that he was there, it was blindingly obvious he very much didn’t want to be.

However, Sibyl had a plan. In fact, she had two plans and she needed to talk to Marian about them because she needed the older woman’s help.

She’d been thinking about it in an effort not to think about her confession of love last night and the fact that it was not returned.

Sibyl believed this was all more than lucky coincidence. That it all fit together. That there was magic and mayhem in the air and Sibyl had to find a way to stop it.

As crazy as it all seemed, Sibyl believed Mrs. Byrne.

Colin could hire dozens of private investigators if he wanted to but Sibyl was going to investigate the magical side.

“Now!” Mrs. Byrne announced happily, turning toward Sibyl and Colin and taking Sibyl from her thoughts. Phoebe jumped nervously as Mags leaned forward in excitement. “I started this weeks ago, so it’s been fermenting nicely,” Mrs. Byrne explained. “I’ve added a few of my own, personal touches and left it to marinade this morning. It should do the trick.”

She sounded like she was talking about a recipe for chicken.

“She’s very good,” Angie stated proudly, her eyes on her mother.

Mrs. Byrne moved forward with a glass vial in one hand that had a powder in it that looked like cinnamon, a common kitchen strainer in the other.

Marian moved directly toward Colin.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” she assured and lifted the vial and strainer over his head.

“What,” his voice was low and even and very, very frightening but not nearly as frightening as the hard, cold look on his face, a look and tone that froze Marian’s hands in mid air, “do you think you’re going to do with that?”

“Why, pour it over your head,” Marian explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He lithely slid out of his chair, out from under the strainer and towered over her. “I think not.”

Marian’s face set resolutely. “My dear man –”

“Do me!” Sibyl interjected, finding herself in the role of peacemaker. If she didn’t step in, by the look on his face, Colin was likely to explode. “You can do me first, I don’t mind.”

Marian turned to Sibyl. “The most potent effects of the charm come in the first few sprinkles,” Marian explained, “and Colin –”

“By all means, shower away on Sibyl, especially if they are the most potent,” Colin cut in. He’d crossed his arms on his chest and now, instead of looking furious, he looked amused.

Sibyl made a face at him which caused him, to her great distress, to let out a sharp bark of laughter.

Marian sagely ignored him and muttered to Sibyl, “This won’t take even a minute, dear.”

And then she lifted the strainer over Sibyl’s head and poured the cinnamon concoction in and Sibyl waited to be dusted with its rusty, brown contents.

Instead, to her utter amazement, the minute the brown powder sifted through the strainer, it sparkled and glittered brightly, raining down on her like fairy dust, disappearing altogether the minute it touched her hair, her skin, her clothes.

“Oh… my… goddess,” Mags breathed.

Phoebe’s mouth gaped open and stayed that way.

Colin’s eyes narrowed.

“That’ll do.” Marian swiftly pulled the strainer and vial way.

“You see!” Sibyl, feeling hope for the first time, a witness to obvious magic (with pixie dust and all!), she shot out of her chair with excitement. “Oh Colin, this might possibly work!”

“Of course it’ll work,” Angie grumbled.

Colin did not appear, in any way, shape or form, to be convinced.

“I fail to see –” he began but she ran to him, flattening her palms against his abdomen, she leaned into him.

“Please do it, for me?” she begged, looking beseechingly into his doubting eyes.

He stared at her a moment and then, to her delight, gave in, though not at all gracefully.

And he did this by muttering, “For Christ’s sake,” before he sat down to get his sprinkling.

When all was done, Colin announced, “I need to make a few calls, I’ll be out front.” And he marched out of the magic room, the very picture of affronted male dignity and, if possible, Sibyl’s love for him deepened.

Oblivious to all of this, Angie chimed in happily, “Time for a cuppa,” and she herded a still stunned Phoebe and an excitedly chattering Mags into the kitchen.

Sibyl hung back with Mrs. Byrne who was cleaning her magical implements.

“Mrs. Byrne. You’ve done so much and at great personal cost –” Sibyl charged right in to begin work on her plan, time was of the essence.

“No cost at all, dear, it’s my pleasure, it’s my destiny.” Although still not fully back to herself, Mrs. Byrne was obviously in her element, enjoying every second of this.

Sibyl approached her and watched her working. “I need to ask you a favour.”

Marian threw her a smile and immediately replied, “Anything.”

Sibyl smiled back at her.

Then she asked, “If you can bring Royce forward, could you send me back?”

Marian’s hands stopped what they were doing and she turned to Sibyl with questioning eyes. “Of course, dear, it’s very basic magic, though a costly endeavour in time and energy but why would you want to do that?”

Sibyl quickly explained, “I’ve been waiting to have another dream memory but I haven’t had one in ages. I think now, if I went back, maybe he would recall me or I could get him to listen to me. If I go back, I can tell him what’s going to happen and he can be prepared for it, fight it, keep himself and Beatrice alive and…”

She trailed off when Mrs. Byrne turned back to her task while shaking her head.

“No, no. As much as I’d like to, you don’t mess with time. Never.” She paused thoughtfully, as if considering it. Then shook her head again, sadly and finished, “Ever.”

“But Marian, don’t you see? If we stop the curse before it starts –”

Marian set down the strainer which had been cleaned with some clear fluid in an oddly shaped, cork-topped bottle and she turned to Sibyl. “Sibyl, as lovely as it would be to allow their love to blossom and grow, if we change time and Royce and Beatrice lived, then the whole world could change. It could be good or it could be bad. We don’t know; we’d have no way of ever knowing. It could be that you or Colin or the both of you would never exist. Or me. Or my children. Or Japan could fall into the ocean. Anything could happen.”

“It couldn’t be that bad and if –”

Marian put her hand out to touch Sibyl’s cheek.

“No,” she said in a quiet voice, trying to soften the blow of her refusal.

Sibyl closed her eyes.

So much for Plan A, now she had to try Plan B.

“Okay, I have another idea.”

“I’m all ears,” Marian informed her and then went to sit down in a plush, worn, plum-coloured, velvet chair with a doily hanging on the back of it. Sibyl took a seat beside her, took a deep breath, pinned her hopes on her words and plunged ahead.

“You can give me the potion you gave Colin and give some to him. But more this time, so that Royce and Beatrice could come forward for long enough to consummate their love using our bodies.”

Marian’s eyes widened and she pulled in a swift breath. Sibyl found this encouraging and she forged ahead.

“The time before, it didn’t last long so it would have to last long enough for them to have time to, um… do it. They’d know each other immediately, I know it. Even though the time has changed, the place has changed and our hair has changed. I know they’d recognise each other. We could…” She stopped because she making up the entirety of the plan as she went along then she hit on it. “Write them a note! Tell them what to do. Then they could stop the curse and give Colin and me time, without this hanging over our heads, to…”

Again, she trailed to a stop when Mrs. Byrne shook her head.

“Sibyl, my dear, that is a very volatile potion. Anything could go wrong with that. I took a grave risk the last time and was very lucky with the outcome. And, it cannot be taken in large doses under any circumstances. It could catastrophic.”

“But why?” Sibyl cried. She needed either Plan A or Plan B because Plan C was unthinkable.

Plan C meant that in order to save Colin, she’d have to leave him. It was all about them being together, Marian had told them that and she knew it was true in her heart. The minute she left, he’d be safe again.

“One of the souls could get stuck, forever, in the present, leaving either you or Colin in some horrible limbo for eternity. Obviously, I either hit it right or Colin has no other incarnations but you could have. What if I brought forward someone else, something else? A bee, for example. A samurai. No, it doesn’t bear contemplating.” Looking at Sibyl’s dejected expression she leaned forward and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, my dear. They are clever ideas but you’re just going to have to tell him you love him.”

She smiled at Sibyl with knowing eyes and Sibyl’s heart sank.

“I already did,” Sibyl whispered.

Marian’s face glowed. “Well done! And?”

“And nothing.” Sibyl answered, “He doesn’t love me back.”

It was Marian’s turn to give a hoot of laughter (a hoot that lasted a good while). When she had her mirth under control she actually wiped her eyes.

Then she said, still chuckling, “Oh, my dear, that’s too much. Do you think Colin Morgan would sit and be sprinkled with magic dust for just anyone?”

Sibyl bit her lip but replied, “He cares about me, I know he does. He wants to keep me safe. He’s very patient with me but if he loved me, he’d tell me.” Marian smiled kindly but Sibyl shook her head, feeling tears stinging the backs of her eyes, tears she refused to shed, for now. “No, Marian, I told him last night and he could have… there’s no reason why he didn’t tell me so he must not feel it. Maybe one day, I can hope but we need time and someone’s trying to kill him.”

“They’re trying to kill you both, you must remember that.” Marian warned softly. “You are in just as much danger as Colin is.”

“I had a dream where his throat is slit, his, not mine. And I have these dreams –”

“I know, my dear Sibyl. You’re clairvoyant.” Marian waved that strange fact away as if it meant nothing. “But we can change what you saw.”

Sibyl felt all hope leave her. They couldn’t change it, she knew it, she felt it.

So she had to leave even if it meant going back to America. She had to keep Colin safe.

And even though she’d been waiting her whole life for him, in order to save his life, she had to leave him.

It was the only way.

If he loved her then they’d surely consummated it so many times that they’d have an iron-clad shield around them so strong a nuclear bomb would have left them unscathed.

But they were obviously still vulnerable.

“Thank you for everything, Marian,” Sibyl muttered with finality trying to hide her dejection but she couldn’t.

Marian tried to reassure her. “It will all work out. I feel it. Stick in there, dear, we’ll get them this time.”

Sibyl nodded but she wasn’t convinced.

And she certainly was not going to risk Colin’s life, stand aside and see his motionless and lifeless body loaded into an ambulance.

Phoebe and Mags were happily preparing dinner in the kitchen and Colin was working in the study so Sibyl took her chance and crept up to the bedroom with Mallory and Bran.

With tears silently rolling down her cheeks and a heart so heavy it felt like a load bricks weighing down her entire body, Sibyl pulled out her suitcase and started to pack.

If she was quick, she could get out without anyone noticing. Colin nearly always worked the weekends and he hadn’t had a moment to spare, what with being shot with a tranquilliser dart, a visit to the A&E, being outed publically as a reincarnated knight, getting saddled with Mags, having Mags ask Phoebe along for their roller coaster ride and being sprinkled with magic dust, so she figured he’d be occupied for at least several hours. Who knew how long it would take Phoebe and Mags to make dinner? It took Mags forty-five minutes to make toast, dinner would definitely be delayed.

So she had time to pack her things, pack her animals and she would leave a note.

She had no idea what she was going to do, where she was going to go.

She could stay with Jemma tonight or find a B&B that took pets. She might be able to lose herself in Bristol. Colin might try to find her, he might not. She didn’t know and the fact that she didn’t know made each piece of her shattered heart break into tinier pieces.

Quickly she shoved clothes into the suitcase willy nilly, not bothering to fold them (which was a mistake because they were certainly not all going to fit in a jumble). She decided that she’d have to leave some things behind and swiftly sorted through what was essential and what was not.

“What are you doing?”

She yelped, jumped and whirled, all at the same time.

Colin was leaning in the doorway, his arms folded on his chest, one foot crossed at the ankle clay-coloured eyes narrowed on her. Mallory gave a woof of greeting but didn’t move when Colin sliced a warning glance at him before his gaze snapped back to Sibyl’s face.

“I thought you were working,” Sibyl whispered.

“I was.” His face was blank, his voice was smooth, his eyes never left her.

“Why…” she swallowed, “why did you stop?”

Without delay, Colin answered, “It occurred to me that I hadn’t made love to you yet today and as our mothers are systematically destroying the kitchen by the sounds of it, I thought I’d take the opportunity when we have the upstairs to ourselves.”

She just stared at him, those tiny pieces of her heart broke another time. Soon, they’d be grains of sand.

“You’ve been crying,” he noted blandly.

“I stubbed my toe,” she lied.

This, for some reason, made him smile. Then he pushed away from the door and strode into the room.

“I would ask why you would lie about stubbing your toe but you’ve already left one of my questions unanswered and I’d much prefer to have a response to that.”

He seemed to be heading for her so she backed away. The backs of her thighs hit the bed so she changed direction and scuttled around it.

“I’m sorry,” she started and then fibbed again (as she knew perfectly well) by asking, “What question is that?”

He was still stalking her, definitely the big cat had gotten out of the cage and she was his first victim. She felt her heart skip a few beats before beginning to pound.

“What are you doing?” he repeated patiently.

Her glance flew to the semi-packed suitcase on the bed and then back to him. She was close to the wall, she knew, so she changed directions and headed toward the fireplace.

“Doing?” She needed to stall and decided to act stupid, it shouldn’t be that hard.

Colin, however, was losing patience.

“Sibyl,” was all he said and her name was loaded with meaning.

“I was packing.” She pointed out the obvious and rounded a chair. He stopped at her new direction, changed his and she realised why even if she hadn’t noted it before, if she had, she might have been able to make a getaway, but, alas, her flighty mind worked against her, again.

With quick strides, he made short work of heading for the door. Upon arrival he closed it, walked calmly to a dresser by the door, opened one of the drawers and took something out. Then he walked back to the door and she watched him turn a key in the lock.

Her eyes rounded in alarm.

He turned back to her, rested his shoulders against the door and slid the key in his pocket.

Then he asked, “Why were you packing?”

His voice stayed bland, casual, as if they were having a friendly conversation over coffee and he hadn’t just locked her in his bedroom.

She’d stopped behind a chair. She decided, vaguely, lost in the intensity of his eyes, it was not nearly enough protection.

Her mind whirled and she tried to read the situation.

He seemed quite unaffected by the sight of her packing. That, in a way, was good.

He also seemed not to care much that she’d been crying. That wasn’t really good but, for her current purpose, she’d count it as good.

Regardless of this, he’d locked them in the room. That was very, very bad.

When she didn’t speak, he did. “Have you decided to go on holiday?”

She pulled both her lips between her teeth, wondering if she should say yes or no.

He didn’t give her a chance to say either.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, where are we going?” He pushed his shoulders off the door and started after her again.

She couldn’t take much more of this.

“Colin, stay where you are,” she demanded, unfortunately in a shaky voice that made it sound more like a plea.

“I’ve a friend who owns an island. No way on or off without us knowing about it. It would be hard to find us, let alone kill us. You’ve hit on the perfect solution.”

Maybe she had misread the situation, he no longer seemed unaffected by her packing.

At all.

“I’m leaving,” she blurted out when he was not two of his great strides away. She lifted up her hand, palm out. “Colin, please stop.”

To her surprise, he did.

“Where are you going?” His voice was low and even and she forgot how much it scared her when he used it on her.

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

He nodded, once, sharply then asked, “For curiosity’s sake, why are you going?”

She blinked.

“For curiosity’s sake?” she echoed.

“Since you aren’t going anywhere, it’s a moot point. However, I’m curious so humour me.”

She squared her shoulders and announced, “I’m leaving,” and she was pleased to hear her voice sounded stronger.

“Tell me why,” Colin demanded.

She shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. “Things aren’t working out between us.”

Without hesitation, he immediately fired back, “That’s an interesting assessment of our situation. Would you care to elaborate?”

She was beginning to realise why he was so successful. He wasn’t just ruthless, he was merciless.

“I…” she began, her mind trying to find a lie he’d actually believe, “well…”

He smiled but instead of being ruthless or belittling, it was magnetic and her stomach lurched pleasantly.

He settled into his stance and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Take all the time you need,” he offered magnanimously. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

In an instant, she did.

“We don’t suit,” she informed him, tossing her hair mutinously because he was beginning to make her mad.

His brows lifted. “And how’s that?”

“You are… well… you.”

“Indeed I am.” His smile returned, deeper, more electric and her stomach pitched then melted with warmth.

“And I’m me!” she snapped when she saw that he was very close to laughing at her. “We’re from entirely different worlds, have different viewpoints. You’re probably a… a… Tory!” she burst out, making the word “Tory” sound like the words “axe murderer”.

“Actually I am,” he admitted without apology.

She threw her hands up. “That in itself makes us impossible,” she announced dramatically.

He shook his head. “You’re forgetting a few very crucial things.”

She didn’t want to know so she didn’t ask. She started to slide away from him to put more space between them but she, of course, had nowhere to go but it gave her something to do.

He didn’t wait for her request to elucidate. “There is the fact that we’re spectacular in bed together.”

“I –” she started to lie.

He chuckled and she could have thrown something at him. “If you tell me you’ve had better, you’re lying. I know you haven’t and neither have I.”

She stopped creeping around the chairs and stared at him in wonder. She could not imagine she was the best Colin had ever had and the very thought made her stomach do a cartwheel of happiness. Then she shook off the result of what that titbit did to her stomach and she said, “That isn’t enough.”

“No?” he asked as she began creeping again. “Then, sweetheart, you force me to play my trump, so I’ll have to remind you that you’re in love with me.”

She halted.

Bloody hell.

Bloody, bloody hell.

She was stupid, definitely stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d led him straight to throwing that in her face and she had no retort. She couldn’t exactly force him to declare his love for her, especially if there was no love to declare.

So she did the only thing she could do, she kept silent.

Colin didn’t. “That fact makes you mine and I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

She noted he didn’t mention love but possession. Her heart ground to dust as the tears pricked her eyes. She told herself not to cry but she felt the wetness balancing on her lower lids and then sliding down her cheeks.

“You don’t own me,” she said quietly.

“Yes I do, sweetheart, and you know I do.” His tone was gentle and she found it far more difficult to handle than the game they’d been playing. “Why were you packing?” he asked softly.

She could no longer bear up so she gave in.

“I don’t want you to die,” she whispered, her voice broken and small. “If I leave, they’ll let you alone and I’d rather have you alive without me than dead…”She lost her train of thought but soldiered on. “Than just plain dead,” she finished lamely.

It was then he leapt out of his casual stance and, with another surprised yelp, she backed away, all the way to the wall. She slammed against it and before she could flee in another direction, his hard body was pressed against her.

“Colin, I have to go,” she begged, staring at his throat.

“You’re not going.” His voice was uncompromising.

“I have to!” she cried and his hands came up to either side of her face, forcing it to tilt back to see his.

“Darling, I’m going to ask you this once and you have to answer me and then stick by your answer no matter what happens in the coming weeks.” His voice was both sweet and grave and her eyes riveted on his beautiful face. “Do you trust me?”

She gawped. “Of course I trust you. I mean, how could you even think…?”

She stopped when she felt the tension ease out of him and realised what he was asking and how, exactly, what she had been doing appeared to him.

She closed her eyes and all the fight left her.

“I’m an idiot,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but you’re my idiot.” His voice was full of humour, her eyes flew open and all the fight came back into her.

“You think I’m an idiot?” she snapped.

“You’re just spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” His eyes were dancing and she let out a huffy breath.

“Well, pardon me. No one gave me the etiquette book on how to behave when you’re the reincarnated soul of one of a pair of dead lovers, you’re living under a five hundred year old curse and have lunatics with knives and tranquilliser guns chasing after you with deadly intent. Perhaps I’m not thinking too clearly. Perhaps I’m just a wee bit stressed.”

His hands slid from her jaw to lift her hair at the back of her head and as he did this Sibyl noted his eyes were so intense, they were liquid.

Then, his gaze on her mouth, he murmured, “I know a much better way to deal with stress.”

“I’m sure you do,” she noted crisply, “you know everything.”

Colin’s head dipped and he smiled against her lips and there he whispered, “Just remember that.”

Then he kissed her.

Then he helped her work out her stress, succeeding spectacularly.