And therefore he grinned down at her.
Then she lifted her head, pressed her lips against his and she was gone.
* * * * *
And time started again.
* * * * *
“You’re crying.”
Colin stared at her face, something was right yet something was wrong, something profound had changed even though not a second had passed. He knew it, he felt it.
They’d just shared the most extraordinarily passionate, intense, intimate moment together in a long line of such extraordinary moments, making it hard to believe it had even happened.
But Sibyl was crying.
He could hear the rain hitting the windows.
Then he heard thunder rend the air and seconds later, lightning flashed through the room.
He turned his head, for some reason, to look at the storm.
And saw the warning light next to the panic button blinking.
* * * * *
As the women chanted around the pot, Marian felt the darkness enter the house and a shiver went up her spine.
She’d done what she could do, for now. It was all (or mostly, as she did have a few more tricks up her sleeve) now up to true love.
She looked into the history book, the book that told the tragic story of Beatrice and Royce Morgan.
She saw some of the words after the date change, shift then settle – just a sentence then two then a paragraph. Then it stopped.
And she stared in disbelief at what she read.
* * * * *
Esmeralda Crane, being a witch, was attuned to things other people would not sense. Now, she was attuned to time, history, shifting and reforming itself.
She was becoming confused, muddled, she saw shapes moving before her in the copse of trees but she was supposed to be doing something else at this moment, something she was not doing and this feeling made her restless, guarded.
She quickly hid herself, conjuring a glamour to make herself invisible. All the while she could see, as if it was a memory, the dead, entwined bodies of Royce and Beatrice Morgan under the trees. But they were not there. There was nothing there except the impatiently shifting forms that lay in wait for ambush.
Someone was playing with time, Esmeralda knew.
And that was a very dangerous game.
* * * * *
Colin leaped out of bed, leaned forward and grabbed Sibyl’s wrist, dragging her up behind him.
“Get dressed,” he hissed then he let her go, bent to his jeans on the floor and shoved his feet into the legs.
“Colin, what is it?”
“Dress!” he clipped and she stared at him, not liking what she saw and in less than a second, she ran to the bathroom.
He pulled his sweater over his head and pressed the panic button that would alert both the alarm company and the police.
She ran out of the bathroom still struggling into her clothes.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered, rushing toward him as she continued to dress.
“Someone’s in the house.”
Her body jerked and her eyes flew to the door.
“The kids are down there.” Her voice was rising and panicked.
“Sibyl, get into the sanctuary, lock the door and do not come out, no matter what you hear,” he ordered as she buttoned her jeans.
Mallory started barking just outside the room, his barks angry and loud with warning. Then the barking turned to fierce, consistent growls.
Sibyl was still staring at the door and started toward it.
“Sibyl!” Colin flew toward her, hooking her around the waist with his arm as she started to bolt toward the sound of her beloved dog.
Then they both froze when they heard the blood-chilling, obscene noise of a high-pitched, canine cry of agony.
* * * * *
Robert Fitzwilliam stopped at the gatehouse, one of his men was supposed to be inside but did not come out at the approaching car.
Robert stopped and got out, looking around him. The rain was beating down and yet not twenty minutes before it had been sunny and clear. Now the sky was dark, thunder and lightning were rolling over each other in waves and the wind was whipping at his body.
He walked into the gatehouse not liking what he felt. Something was wrong.
He saw his man lying on the floor, unconscious.
Robert swore under his breath and rushed straight to the prone body.
* * * * *
Royce told Beatrice everything as they rode to Lacybourne, Royce driving Mallory quickly through the pouring rain as he held Beatrice firmly to his body, the ten minute ride cut down to five.
She believed him, to his astonishment. But then again, Beatrice was not like other women.
He stopped well outside the copse of trees which was meant to be the place of their demise, if the woman named Sibyl (a witch’s name if he ever heard one) could be believed.
But he felt… nay, he knew he could believe her.
He alighted from Mallory’s back and again pulled Beatrice down.
“Run, just as I told you, straight to the witch’s cottage. Explain and she’ll keep you safe.”
He had no way of knowing this but he felt it to be true.
She nodded, got up on tiptoe to press her lips against his and without hesitation, she ran.
He watched her go, watched her out of sight then mounted his trusted steed.
He made a clicking sound with his teeth and the horse moved forward.
Unbeknownst to Royce, once out of sight, Beatrice changed directions.
Something sinister was afoot and Royce might need her, after all, and she was Beatrice Godwin, now Morgan, and Beatrice Morgan was certainly not the kind of woman who would desert her beloved new husband when there was a possibility her strong warrior might need her.
Not a chance.
* * * * *
The locked door to Sibyl and Colin’s bedroom flew open with such violence, it crashed against the wall.
With a strong jerk, Sibyl was yanked straight off her feet by Colin’s arm at her waist and nearly thrown behind his back as the figures drifted through the door.
The dark, faceless, shifting figures from their dream.
She felt a scream surge up her throat.
“Run to the sanctuary. Now!” Colin thundered.
She couldn’t move; she couldn’t leave Colin alone to face those things.
“Now!” Colin roared.
And then the figures attacked.
* * * * *
Marian watched the words in the next paragraph forming, read them quickly and gasped.
“What is it?” Phoebe broke the chant.
Marian slapped the book shut again and threw it on the counter.
Without answering Phoebe, she rushed from the room.
* * * * *
There were four of them, five with the figure standing outside the trees watching.
The rain was driving down and the wind was whipping through the trees. Royce had more than enough experience to battle four opponents; he had done it in the past. But these seemed to be filled with otherworldly strength and he didn’t have his sword. It was his wedding day; he didn’t think he’d need his sword. If he’d had his sword, he’d have mowed them down like just as much wheat in a field.