“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, Si
byl 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 t
o 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.