Magical Memories Page 17

  The air held a sharp chill to it today and the gray skies didn’t look promising.

  She took his hand without a second thought and he smiled, holding firm to it. “We’ll visit the bookshop first.”

  He really didn’t care where they went. He felt so good being out with her, walking without the cast, feeling the bite of the cold air, finally feeling alive. It was strange, but he was feeling more and more alive lately, as if he had woken from a long sleep and was just beginning to live.

  William Hodges, the proprietor, greeted Tempest warmly when they entered. “Tempest, how delightful to see you again,” he said and gave her an affectionate hug.

  She, in turn, kissed his cheek. “I’ve come to browse and discover treasures, William, and I’ve brought a special friend, Michael.”

  Michael noticed he eyed him skeptically and was more formal in his greeting. “It is always a pleasure to meet a friend of Tempest’s.” He held his hand out.

  Michael accepted his cordial acknowledgment with a handshake, though he could feel the man was uncertain of him. Michael, on the other hand, sized the man up immediately; tall, handsome features, with pure white hair that added to his dignified posture, and well-educated and well-traveled. He was a seasoned man, though ageless, his face lacking the lines and wrinkles one would expect to see. He also seemed protective of Tempest, but he sensed it was more from being a truly close friend than a lover.

  “Are you also looking for treasures?”

  He stepped up behind Tempest “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.” His own words surprised him, though he didn’t regret them. It was the truth and he was glad he spoke it.

  William Hodges smiled upon hearing that and simply nodded. “What interests you, Michael?”

  “Witchcraft and warlocks,” he said without thought.

  William and Tempest exchanged a brief glance. “Let me show you where that subject would be located. In the meantime, Tempest, would you be as so kind as to set the kettle?”

  “You have a new blend of tea,” she said with excitement.

  “A blend of rare herbs you will love,” he assured her and proceeded to show Michael the way.

  Over an hour had gone by and Michael remained where he sat at the small wooden table and chair in the back corner of the shop, a solitary light growing brighter as the shop grew darker with the onset of clouds and rain outside. A teacup and saucer made of fine china and filled for the third time with an herb tea that Michael could not get enough of sat beside his arm, and a stack of books a good foot high sat on the corner’s edge. His leather jacket hung on the back of the chair and the sleeves of his gray sweater were pushed up to his elbows. He was having the time of his life with the reading material in front of him, and while he wished he could purchase all his finds he knew he would be lucky if he could afford one.

  Tempest had wandered by from time to time and had refilled his cup without asking if he cared for more. He heard her chattering with William Hodges and he had heard the tiny bell over the shop’s door ring several times, but the small distractions didn’t bother him. He continued his reading and searching through the stacks of books, finding countless bits of information that fascinated him and kept him enthralled.

  One book in particular caught his attention and he found himself unable to stop reading. It was an old book, the pages worn from endless reading, and he assumed the price out of his reach, so he read what he could.

  It pertained to warlocks and their creed and to a myth that many believed in. It was believed that one warlock had risen in strength and abilities to use his power to unite all warlocks. Under him warlocks became a force to be feared and there weren’t many who could oppose them. Witches could, though they needed to be powerful in their abilities to even think of confronting a warlock. There was, however, one witch whose powers were tremendous, and she was made mention of before in his readings.

  The Ancient One.

  He wondered if she existed, or was she a myth?

  “Find what you were looking for?” William asked as he approached with an armful of books.

  “The Ancient One,” Michael asked anxiously.

  William appeared startled almost dropping the books he held.

  Michael barely noticed his reaction. “Do you have any books that make reference to the Ancient One? I have read bits and pieces on her, but have found no solid information, and I guess I’m wondering if she’s fact or fiction.”

  William seemed to give his query thought.

  Tempest came up behind William and answered Michael’s question. “No one knows for certain about the Ancient One. It’s been a debatable issue for years and many scholars disregard even the suggestion of her existence.” She placed a gentle hand on William’s arm. “Don’t you have one or two books that at least make mention of her?”

  He seemed relieved, as if a troubling decision had been taken out of his hands. “I think I just might. Let me have a look.”

  He disappeared around the corner of the six-foot-high shelving.

  “Find any books you want to buy?” she asked, looking over his selection.

  He laughed softly. “Plenty.”

  “Make your choices then. I have sold many of my books I feel I no longer want or need to William for credit. This way I can purchase a book whenever I wish and not worry about money.”

  “I do worry about money,” Michael said. “And I don’t expect other people to pay for me.”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Then think of it as a gift. I have enjoyed your company and wish to thank you.”

  “I should be repaying you.”

  “You forget,” she said with a smile. “I ran into you. I owe you.”

  He laughed. “That you did, but you have more than repaid me.”

  Their debate was left to settle later since William appeared from around the shelf with two books in hand. “These might be what you’re looking for.”

  Michael accepted them eagerly, opening them to peruse the pages.

  “We’ll take both of them,” Tempest said to William. “And I think Michael favors the book in front of him and this one as well.”

  She picked up the one he would have liked to purchase, but thought too expensive. He attempted to protest, but her gentle glance asked him not to do so in front of Mr. Hodges. He acquiesced to her silent request, intending on speaking to her later.

  “Excellent choices,” William said with a smile and gathered up the selected books to take to the front and wrap, though Michael was reluctant to let go of his new finds.

  “There are a few more shops I would like to stop at before lunch,” Tempest said.

  Michael stood, grabbing his jacket. “I guess we’ve spent enough time here.”

  “I sometimes spend an entire afternoon here.”

  He slipped his jacket on and ran a gentle hand over the books on the shelf. “I can understand why. There’s so much knowledge here.”

  “We can return another day, if you’d like.”

  He spied her coat draped on a nearby chair and scooped it up, holding it open for her. “Any time you want to come here, I’m ready.”

  Tempest slipped into her coat. “Wait until you taste the food at the inn, and then the chocolates at Mrs. Killcullen’s shop. The bookshop isn’t the only shop you’ll want to return to.”

  Michael carried the two packages of books Mr. Hodges handed him after another cordial handshake, and with reminders to visit soon he and Tempest were out the door and into another shop before the light rain could dampen their clothing.

  It was a shop of scents, and at first Michael wasn’t the least bit interested until Tempest began to explain how different scents affect people differently. He was then lifting jar lids, sniffing oils and dabbing lotions on Tempest. By the time they left, Tempest had a small brown shopping bag full of various items that Michael insisted smelled great on her, and like a woman complimented, she bought every one.

  The stationery shop was next and Michael
found himself fascinated by the selection of items ranging from notepads to letter papers to of course pens and pencils. He couldn’t resist getting a pencil with a Highlander bagpiper on the top. Tempest purchased notepads, letter paper and matching envelopes in white linen imprinted with her initial in gold.

  They wandered out of that shop and into the wool shop where Highland plaids abounded and Tempest insisted on buying him a green-and-blue plaid scarf that were the common colors for Scotland. She wrapped it around his neck tucking it inside his jacket and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  He laughed, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. “Let me thank you properly.”

  His kiss left her breathless and red-faced and she found it difficult to say good-bye to Mrs. MacFadden who owned the shop. The woman simply smiled and nodded her approval.

  They ran the short distance to the Swan Inn, attempting to outrun the rain that began to fall in earnest from the darkening sky.

  The old inn greeted customers with a friendly warmth that chased any chill away. A huge stone fireplace in the entrance room welcomed with a blazing fire. Scents that tempted the nostril and the stomach drifted overhead and a short, round woman with gray curls piled high on her head and a smile that was contagious rushed to welcome them.

  “Tempest, how wonderful to see you.”

  Tempest hugged the woman. Michael noticed that everyone who greeted Tempest had thrown their arms around her and hugged her as if they couldn’t get enough of her. If he didn’t know any better he would swear they treated her like royalty or at least someone befitting a royal status.

  “I’ve come for your carrot and leek soup and your mutton pie, Mrs. MaClaren,” she said with a lick of her lips. “And I was hoping you made your rum bread pudding.”

  “Cooling as we speak,” she said proudly. “My lucky day,” Tempest said with a smile. “And I’ve brought along a special friend to share it with. Mrs. MaClaren, this is Michael.”

  The short woman ran a suspicious eye over him before extending her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Michael had the feeling she didn’t quite mean it and was saving her opinion of him until later. He seemed to receive similar greetings from all the shop owners and it puzzled him. He greeted her as cordially as possible since she frowned from beneath gray bushy brows at him.

  Mrs. MaClaren sat them by a window, an ecru lace valance its only covering. Pots of green foliage crowded the wide windowsill, the healthy, vibrant leaves spilling over the edges of the pots and sill. A lace tablecloth covered the old worn wooden table and a candle with a glass shade sat in the center, its flame softly flickering.

  Michael decided he would have what Tempest was having; the only difference was that he selected coffee while she chose tea.

  Rain pelted the windowpanes and the wind whipped at shop signs, swinging them precariously and sending shoppers scurrying for shelter. Another large fireplace warmed the dining area and the lighting was soft, adding a cozy atmosphere to the room.

  “You’re well known around the village,” he said after his coffee and a small teapot were deposited on the table.

  “I’ve known most of the shopkeepers for many years,” Tempest said, wondering how he would react if he discovered that Cullen was a village of mostly witches and had existed for nearly eight hundred years.

  “They seem protective of you.”

  “We share a special bond and I help sustain the village in hard times.”

  He looked out on the cobbled streets and the quaint buildings and the mist-covered hills in the distance. “It certainly has charm and character. I don’t blame you for remaining here.”

  She glanced with a smile out the window. “I couldn’t live anyplace else. My richest and fondest memories are here.”

  “Was Marcus from around here?”

  She turned a surprised glance on him.

  He shrugged. “I’m curious.”

  She sensed his curiosity and chose to satisfy it. “He didn’t live far from here.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and lowering her voice. “Do you really want to know?”

  He pushed his coffee cup to the side and copied her position, though his voice was firm. “I really want to know.” And he did. He felt the need to understand her previous relationship.

  Why now, he couldn’t say. He only knew it was necessary.

  It was time. She understood that, and she told him what he needed to hear. Of course, she did omit the fact that their meeting took place over four hundred years ago. “I had finished shopping in the village one day and was headed home when one of the merchants I knew gave me a rose. A thorn accidentally stabbed my finger, and Marcus, who had been standing under a large tree away from the heat of the day, took notice and offered his help.”

  Michael listened with a keen interest to what sounded like a familiar story.

  “He startled me at first. I hadn’t seen him standing nearby and his sudden appearance caught me off guard. We began to talk, and...” She shrugged. “Our relationship developed.”

  Their introduction sounded far too similar to his dream, and he thought himself crazy for comparing the two. Why did she always stop at a certain point when she spoke of Marcus, and never go any further?

  He pursued his curiosity. “What did he look like?”

  Her answer waited while their soup and homemade rye bread was served, though the wide smile that surfaced gave Michael his answer.

  “He was quite handsome.”

  “How handsome?” he asked, irritated with himself for feeling jealous.

  She could feel his annoyance, and the fact that it disturbed him upset her. Marcus had been an exceptionally handsome man, but Michael’s face intrigued her. The scars, the defined structure, the sharp angles and lines gave him strength of character and an air of mystery. He was two men in one and she liked the man whose face she looked at.

  Her answer therefore was sincere. “Not as handsome as you.”

  Her remark shocked him speechless.

  “I love your face. It fascinates me and tells me there are exciting stories yet for you to share with me.” She ran a finger along his chin and over a scar. “It hints at strength and courage”—she skimmed his cheek—”and compassion.” She smiled when she ran her finger over his lips. “Passion, too.”

  He grinned and enjoyed her playful antics.

  She rested her finger in the middle of his chin. “I want to know you better.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” he said, and brought her finger to his lips.

  The subject of Marcus was dropped as they dug into the delicious soup and chatted endlessly about endless things. The subject matter wasn’t important; they merely wished to talk and share, and they did.

  Mrs. MaClaren fussed over them as if they were her children, ordering them to rest between servings so they wouldn’t be too stuffed to enjoy dessert and of course whiskey along with their tea.

  Michael relished every moment, refusing to think that his time with Tempest would soon come to an end. Even the thought of never seeing the village of Cullen again upset him. He felt as if this was his home, and he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in a very long time.

  They were having a delightful time when Michael suddenly felt a coldness descend on him and with a slow turn of his head and his dark eyes intent he focused on the man who entered the dining room. He was tall, slim and worldly-looking and he carried himself with an air of arrogance that annoyed. His eyes were dark, his complexion pale and his hair black with streaks of silver running through it. His clothes and posture spoke of wealth—old wealth—and Michael grew disturbed by his presence.

  So did Tempest.

  She recognized him immediately and understood his presence. He was one of the old dark ones, one of the warlocks who had followed Marcus and one of the few who had retained his old ways. He was here for one reason. He had come in search of Marcus.

  “Do you kno
w him?” Michael asked, his eyes remaining on the man.

  “I have seen him around but I don’t know his name.” An honest enough remark, since she wasn’t aware of his present day surname. She had known him simply as Tobias.

  He was shown to a table clear across the dining room from them. Michael turned his attention back to Tempest, though he would glance every now and then out of the corner of his eye at the man. He seemed vaguely familiar, and yet he was certain he had never met him.

  Tempest sensed Michael’s unease and thought it best for them to leave. She found the perfect excuse. “I think we should visit the sweetshop.”

  His smile pleased her. “After the amount of food we just consumed, you want sweets?”

  She gave an emphatic nod. “I want sweets for later this evening.”

  He stood, placing his white linen napkin on his empty dessert plate. “Then it’s sweets you’ll have.”

  Tempest moved out of her chair, purposely blocking the man from Michael’s view. It would be best for all if they avoided eye contact. She didn’t want either man recognizing the other. Marcus would emerge in time, his power fully restored, but it was Michael’s strength of character that she hoped would prevail.

  They left the dining room arm in arm, completely ignoring the man. After a hug and kiss from Mrs. MaClaren for Tempest and a firm handshake for Michael they headed back out into the rain that had tempered to a steady drizzle. They hurried a few stores down to the sweetshop and the bell over the door announced their arrival.

  The shop was small and smelled like only a candy shop could—delicious. Glass and wood display cases showcased a variety of chocolates, and baskets of colorful candy occupied much of the remaining space along with an old, worn rocking chair that held a collection of worn teddy bears.

  Mrs. Killcullen was a tall, large woman with a beautiful pale complexion and soft red curly hair. She was very much in command and very pleasant. She was the only one of the shopkeepers who actually greeted him with enthusiasm and seemed pleased to meet him, which endeared her to him.