The Witch Of Stonecliff

A phantom ache gripped his throat, and Kyle swallowed hard. Memories played in his head, turned his skin clammy and chilled him to his soul.

His terrifying run through the trees, naked and bleeding. There’d been no pain, then. Not yet. Adrenaline had been pounding inside him. There’d been a vague sort of heat where his throat had been slashed. A sticky stream down his neck and chest. He had no idea how much damage had been done—not as much as there could have been had he not managed to free his hands and jerk forward as the blade pierced his skin. Later, he’d learn how much damage he’d done to his feet. Running barefoot through a forest had shredded them.

Now the trees fell away and a field of tangled, yellow grass stretched out before him. Kyle spotted a stone cottage in the distance. It looked smaller in the day than it had that night—even as he drew closer—but his memories were blurred. The drugs pumping through his system then had distorted the world around him.

At the time, he’d barely been able to make out more than a yellow glow from the window. For the first time since he’d regained consciousness next to The Devil’s Eye, Kyle had actually believed he could survive.

He stopped walking, closed his eyes against the anxiety swelling inside him. The line between past and present was becoming more difficult to maintain.

That night had changed everything. He thought of the man who only hours before had been drinking and doing his best to charm some tourist girl into going back to his room with him.

Kyle might have survived that night, but that man had died, and only a few fleeting memories remained.

“Good Christ, is that you?”

Kyle opened his eyes. The squat farmer who had found him that night stood a few feet away, eyes rounded, face pale as though he’d just seen a ghost. But in a way, Mel Barber had.

Kyle forced a smile. “In the flesh.”

Barber didn’t return the smile. “What in God’s name could you be thinking coming back here? They’ll kill you this time. Mark my words. You got away once. They won’t let you escape twice.”

Kyle held his grin in place, pretending the man’s predictions didn’t turn his insides to ice. “I’m counting on it, as a matter of fact.”

Barber lifted his worn gray cap from his scalp and scratched what little hair remained on his round head. “You’re out of your bloody mind, you are. D’ya remember nothing of what I said to you that night?”

He remembered only too well the man’s furious instructions. The story he’d concocted and insisted Kyle memorize while driving him to the nearest hospital. Kyle had been leaning against the passenger seat of Barber’s truck, holding an old towel the man had given him to staunch the bleeding at his throat. A rough horse blanket wrapped around his lower half to shield his nudity.

“If you say anything about where this happened, they’ll find you,” Barber had said, his words clipped. “If you’re a threat, they’ll finish what they started. But say you don’t remember anything from me finding you out here in the ditch, they might leave you be.”

By then, Kyle’s throat had been white fire, he’d hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, but every word the gnome-like farmer had spoken stayed with him. Haunted him.

He’d had questions, of course, despite the haze of agony spiking every time the truck, with its piss-poor shocks, hit a bump in the road. He’d wondered if this man had known who they were—these faceless monsters he feared still. But he couldn’t speak to ask; even breathing had turned into an alarming gurgle, the tinny taste of his own blood thick on his tongue.

Looking back, Kyle still wasn’t certain how he’d survived. Only that he wouldn’t have if not for the scowling man facing him. “I remember everything.”

“You’ll get us both killed.” Barber waddled closer, waving a chubby hand. “You need to go. Now!”

“I owe you a thank you. I wouldn’t have survived that night, had it not been for you.”

“If you want to thank me, leave and never come back.”

Kyle snorted. “Believe me, I wish I could. You did a brilliant job, by the way. Moving my car from the pub so no one would think I was anywhere near Cragera Bay, and I suppose that’s why you took me to a hospital on the other side of the island.”

The man’s careful attention to detail had been instrumental in the police not believing Kyle’s version of events.

“I did that for you. The further away, the safer you were.”

“I never doubted it. Was it her, Eleri, you were keeping me safe from?”

The man’s round face paled so his sagging cheeks looked disturbingly like cottage cheese, and he took a step back. “Who else?”

“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. You said ‘them’ in the car that night, and again just now.” Kyle held himself rigid, watching the man’s expression morph from surprise to irritation in a nearly single fluid motion.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“While you were driving me to the hospital, you told me if I kept my mouth shut with the police, I might be safe from them—not her, them.”

“Bah!” Barber waved a hand and stalked off toward a small barn, its brown planks weathered and sloped. The rickety structure looked ready to collapse at any moment. “You nearly bled to death in the cab of my truck. You can’t remember anything clearly.”

Kyle fell into step behind him. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to close my eyes and not see that night in my head. You said them, and there was more than one. If you—like the rest of this village—believed I’d fallen prey to one small woman, why them?”

“I’ve work to do,” Barber said, hauling open one rough weathered door. “I don’t know what happened to you before I found you. I saved your life, isn’t that enough?”

“It should be.” Kyle wished it were. But he’d spent the better part of two years haunted by memories of that night, fear building to a crippling paranoia until he wondered if he wasn’t slowly going mad. “Who are they?”

Barber took a pitchfork from the corner of the barn and started mucking out the nearest stall. “You know as much as I do, I’m afraid. They say it’s that woman, that she’s wicked.”

“That may be, but she’s not alone.” There were at least three—two holding him down, a third binding his hands while his consciousness ebbed in and out. A shudder rippled over him. “Who are the others?”

Barber tossed the pitchfork aside and stomped over until he was inches away. The top of the man’s head barely reached Kyle’s chin, and the farmer had to tip his head back to meet Kyle’s gaze. “If I knew for certain what in the hell went on at that place, I’d be as dead as you’re sure to be if you stay here. Maybe Eleri James acts alone, maybe she has a coven of minions carrying out her evil tasks, but I tell you this: death follows that girl like a shadow. Get away while you still can.”

* * *

Eleri dragged the scrub brush across the fading lettering. The stringent cleanser’s acrid fumes wafted to her nose and churned her stomach. Her shoulders ached with the repetitive motion and her knees cramped from kneeling on the damp ground.

She leaned back to look at her work. The brilliant red lettering had faded to dull grayish pink, but the words were still visible.

Witch.

Murderer.

If she found the bastard who did this, she might just live up to the epitaphs, after all. The last one, at least. With a gloved hand, she opened the tin and poured more cleanser on the stain before returning to the monotonous task.

As uncomfortable as her job was, at least she was out of the house, her mind busy. Though, her thoughts did have a habit of wandering, and usually down the same track. Her gaze, almost involuntarily, darted to the trees in the direction of the lodge.

She still hadn’t seen Kyle today, and she wished she’d catch sight of his car on the road behind her or the man himself walking through the woods on the opposite side of wall where she worked. Anything to let her know he was alive and well so her knotted insides would finally loosen. Though, the sensation would be short-lived. Every time the man was out of sight, all she could think was that it would be the last time she saw him.

Eleri had even gone to her father that morning; a last desperate attempt to override Warlow. She hated visiting her father, hated the stink of illness in the stale air, hated the way he looked at her like she was some foreign object he couldn’t quite understand. Like she was all the things people said. For all the good it had done her, anyway. Her father had merely stared at her with dark eyes, a scowl etched into his skeletal face. He was little more than taut skin over bone these days, the outline of his limbs beneath his bed covers barely discernible from the wrinkles. When she’d finished speaking, silence had stretched between them in the dimly lit room except for the steady hiss of the oxygen tank. Finally he had said, “Hugh has given you my decision. Stop wasting my time.”

A rumble from a car engine cut through the quiet and pulled her from her thoughts. She dropped the scrub brush, stood and turned as a white van passed. Her stomach sank like a brick.

“Shit,” she whispered. She didn’t have it in her to deal with that man.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She bent her head and started for the Land Rover parked between the posts at the end of the drive, peeling off her rubber gloves as she hurried.

Tires crunched gravel as the van swung over the soft shoulder and onto the grass between her and her car. She jerked to a stop, her feet nearly slipping out from under her.

Heart slamming against her chest, she backed away from the van. Could she make the drive for the lodge by doubling back on the path through the woods? Unlikely—she couldn’t outrun his truck.

The driver’s door opened and Stephen Paskin’s enormous frame unfolded from behind the wheel. The man’s small eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a ferocious caricature of a smile beneath his flat, crooked nose. His square head set on a short neck gave him a hunched appearance as his long strides ate up the space between them.

“Advertising, Eleri?”Paskin asked, nodding at the faded lettering on the wall.

She couldn’t reply. Fear had cut the receptors connecting her brain to her mouth. She was alone with Stephen bloody Paskin.

Now that he was out of the van, she might be able to outrun him. But it would take him seconds to climb back behind the wheel and catch up to her. Maybe he’d even run her over. No one in the village would fault him. Not when they believed she’d killed his son.

“Is this your handiwork, Paskin?” She jerked her head at the graffiti, pleased at the strength in her voice. She would at least behave as though the man didn’t have her quivering like a whipped dog.

“Anyone could have done that. Everyone in the village knows what you do.” He clenched and opened his fists at his sides. She remembered those massive hands clamped around her arms, dragging her closer.

Her legs turned soft, and she had to lock her knees to keep from crumpling into the grass. Surely he wouldn’t actually do anything to her next to a road where someone could drive past.

As if to mock her, the road remained empty and silent.

“Get back in your truck and le-leave.” Heat crept into her face. She’d almost managed to sound ferocious until that hiccup at the end.

He took another step closer. “I’m not going anywhere, love. You put my boy in that bog.”

Something squeezed in her chest at the possibility that Griffin had spent the past six years rotting away in The Devil’s Eye, less than a mile from where she lived.

No, he was in France—just like he said. He was painting and living in the country, and maybe from time to time his thoughts flitted to her, thinking about what could have been if she’d been braver.

“How badly would I have to hurt you to make you admit to killing my son?” Despite his almost conversational tone, Paskin’s pale blue eyes shone with malice.

Fear spiked in Eleri’s chest, stealing her breath. “Griffin left because he hated you.”

“If I broke a few fingers, maybe? An arm? Or would I have to make you bleed?”

He won’t do anything. Not here. Not where someone could see him.

What did he care if someone passing saw? No one in the village would come to her defence. Paskin owned the local pub. People loved him—and hated her. They’d think she was getting what she deserved.

Paskin lunged for her and she bolted. His thick fingers tangled in her hair jerking her back. Sharp needles stung her scalp.

She reached back and clawed at his hands, all the while trying to yank free from his grasp. He ground out a curse, grip loosening, and she stumbled away, strands of hair ripping from her scalp.

“You little bitch,” he growled.

Eleri scrambled back, hand pressed to her stinging scalp. She had to get away. Before things turned out like last time, only without Griff to help her—

Her back slammed into something warm and solid. An arm wrapped around her waist like a vice, holding her tight. White fear swept through her. Her legs turned to mush.

God help her, Paskin wasn’t alone.

Chapter Four

Fear surged through Eleri like a wave. She shoved at the arm banded around her waist, tried to twist free. His grip squeezed tighter. Rough stubble scraped her cheek. Warm breath whispered against the skin beneath her ear.

“It’s me, Eleri.” Kyle’s gravel voice penetrated the terror encapsulating her brain. She froze, heartbeat thundering inside her chest.

What was he doing here? Helping her, or Paskin? She held her breath, body tense, ready to resume fighting her way free.

“This is nothing to do with you, lad,” Paskin growled, light eyes never leaving her face. “Best see to your own business and leave us to finish ours.”

The arm at her waist loosened and Eleri curled her fingers into Kyle’s coat sleeve. Under normal circumstances, she would have swallowed glass before admitting she needed help, especially from a man she wished would go back to wherever he came from. But right then, she was ready to sink to her knees and beg Kyle not to leave her alone.

Instead of letting her go, he eased her behind him, putting himself between her and Paskin.

“Your business is finished,” Kyle ground out.

Stunned, Eleri stared at his broad back. When was the last time someone defended her?

The gesture hadn’t been lost on Paskin, either.

“You’re protecting her? Too bloody rich,” Paskin sneered. “She’s a murderer. She killed my boy.”

“Get in your car and get the hell out of here,” Kyle told him.

Paskin’s face darkened. “You listen to me—”

“No, you listen,” Eleri cut in, slipping out from behind Kyle so she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. As surreal as having this strange man coming to her defence was, she had to stand her ground. “Leave and don’t come back, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Paskin ignored her, glare fixed on Kyle. “You remember this moment when the time comes.”

Eleri’s cheeks burned. Impotent fury circled inside her belly and left her nauseous. “Get out of here, Paskin!”

He didn’t spare her a glance, his attention solely on Kyle, but he retreated, walking backward toward the van. “She’ll kill you, too.”

Kyle’s expression remained stoic. He might have heard the stories about her, but now he’d come face-to-face with the reality. Surely he’d leave the lodge.

A pang too close to disappointment for her liking pierced her chest. Ridiculous. She wanted him gone before something happened—especially now.

Paskin pulled his truck onto the road and sped away, tires squealing. Eleri watched until his taillights disappeared around the bend in the road and the sound of his motor faded. Quiet descended like a soft blanket. Only the wind in the trees and birds twittering from branch to branch remained.

She released the breath she’d been holding, locked her shaking knees so she wouldn’t sink to the ground. She wanted to collapse into the cool, wet grass, wrap her arms around her middle and curl into a ball.

But she couldn’t. Not here. Not with an audience.

Instead, she slipped her hands into the rear pockets of her trousers so Kyle wouldn’t notice how badly they shook then met his furious scowl.

“What?” she asked, taking a step back. She wished her voice wasn’t so hoarse.

“Why in the hell didn’t you call for help?”

“I didn’t know you were there.” But thank God he had been. What would Paskin have done had he got his hands on her? Revulsion welled inside her.

“Are you all right?” Kyle’s expression softened and he reached for the side of her head. The white-hot sting had receded to a faint throb, but she jerked back before his fingertips could make contact. He frowned and his arm fell back to his side.

“I’m fine,” she told him, gingerly touching the side of her head, and forced a smile. “No bald spot.”

His mouth quirked slightly. “No, your hair is intact. You should report him.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. “Who would believe me over him?”

“I saw him.”

She shrugged. “He’d get a warning, nothing more. Even if someone believed Paskin threatened me—”

“He did a bit more than threaten you,” Kyle snapped.

“No one would side against the man. He thinks I murdered his son, and so does everyone else.”

She turned and gathered the cleanser and scrub brush. “I should get back. This doesn’t seem to be working, anyway.”

And the sooner she was away from Kyle Peirs’s scrutinizing gaze, the better. Her body trembled, limbs soft and rubbery. She was on the verge of shattering and she really didn’t want anyone to see.

“Did you?”

Kyle’s question stopped her midstride. “Did I what?”

“Did you kill his son?”

A thin jolt stabbed her belly. No one had ever asked her outright, not about Griffin or any of the others. Everyone assumed she had, even the police. They’d asked her a thousand questions over and over—when did you see him last, what did he say to you, what was your relationship—but no one had ever asked her if she’d taken a life.

She tilted her head and forced a hard smile. “Having doubts, Mr. Peirs?”

“Did you?”

She jerked a shoulder and turned away, infusing her voice with a light indifference she didn’t feel. “Not that I recall.”

She tossed the supplies into the back of the Land Rover.

A faint touch grazed her elbow. She jumped back and whirled around in one fluid motion.

“Eleri?” Kyle’s gaze shifted from her shaking hands to her face. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine.” She dug her keys out from her purse and hurried around to the driver’s door.

Exhaustion weighed down her limbs. The back of her nose tingled. She was crumbling, eroding like a rock cliff at the edge of the sea pounded by the waves over and over again. She had to get out of there.

She yanked open the car door, but hesitated before climbing in. He’d helped her. Defended her—and in front of Stephen Paskin of all people. No doubt the whole of Cragera Bay would know about what had happened—at least Paskin’s version—within the hour. If Kyle didn’t have a target on him when he took the lodge, he would now.

“I wish you’d leave.”

“I can’t,” he told her, his tone grave. “I wish you’d contact the police.”

She snorted. “The less interaction I have with them just now, the better. Thank you, though, for intervening.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.” Impatience edged his soft words.

With a nod, she climbed behind the wheel, pulled the door closed and started back to the house.

* * *

Kyle watched the Land Rover disappear down the drive. Dull fury still thudded behind his eyes. His hands itched to grab Paskin around the throat and pound the bastard’s face in.

The man had been massive compared to Eleri. Her expression, wild and terrified, had fueled the rage humming under Kyle’s skin. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to fly at Paskin.

He thought of Barber’s claims that Eleri was one of them, but she hardly looked the part of a hardened killer capable of slitting a man’s throat. No, she looked exhausted…hunted.

An odd sense of connection gripped him. After all, he’d seen a similar expression marring his own features.

She wanted him away from the lodge, even the village. Because she feared he’d put a finger of blame on her to the police, or she feared something happening to him?

A rhythmic buzz from his jacket pocket broke into his thoughts. His blasted mobile had been going off every few minutes the entire time he’d been with Eleri. He fished it out and his younger sister’s text glowed up at him from the screen.

Where r u?!!!

The most recent message of about a half dozen. A thin shaft of guilt punctured his resolve. God, what would he put his family through if something happened to him again?

He was under no delusion that his escape two years ago had been little more than a fluke. If his plan failed, he wouldn’t make it out alive—not again. He supposed that was the reason he’d told Sophie where he was really going and why. If the worst did happen, at least one person would know where he was, what he was doing.

I’m fine. Will ring u soon.

U have 15 min or I’m telling.

He snorted, Sophie’s response all too reminiscent of their childhood. They’d been the two younger ones. The two stuck with the hand-me-downs. The two bossed by the older ones. The two who never had a turn first. As they’d grown older, they’d formed short-lived alliances, an us against them determination when dealing with his older brother, Tom, and older sister, Grace. But they’d always been too quick to turn on each other for such unions to last.

His phone hummed in his hand and he looked down at the screen.

I want 2 hear ur voice.

Guilt squirmed in his stomach. Sophie hadn’t wanted him to come and, God forbid, anything happen to him. His sister would never forgive herself for her part in his scheme.

It wasn’t fair to put her in this position, forcing her to keep his secret, but there’d been no one else. He couldn’t tell his parents. Even if they wouldn’t have tried to stop him—and they would have, he was certain—he couldn’t worry them more than he had. His father must have aged ten years in the first three months after the attack, and his mother’s voice still trembled slightly when her gaze flitted to the scar across his throat.

As for Tom, he would have physically sat on Kyle to keep him from making this trip, and Grace’s fears would have come out in a stern lecture about responsibility that would somehow inflate the guilt already pumping through his veins. Only Sophie would keep his secret. Maybe out of nostalgia, remembering that tumultuous camaraderie of their childhood. Or maybe, two years younger than Kyle’s thirty, she was young enough to believe she could have her brother back. Either way, he didn’t want her worrying about him more than she already was. Besides, he wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t tell on him if he didn’t ring her.

He dialed her number as he emerged from the edge of the trees and started toward the lodge. Pinning his mobile awkwardly between his ear and shoulder, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Sophie answered before the first ring finished. “‘Lo?”

“It’s me.”

“Thank God,” she breathed. “I’ve been worried.”

Again that sharp twist in his gut. “Sorry. I was…” He’d been helping the woman who may have tried to kill him. He settled for, “I was speaking to someone.”

“When you didn’t answer me right away… I think this is a bad idea, Kyle.”

“I’m fine, really. You can’t panic every time I miss a text or a call. I sleep, you know? Shower. Go to the toilet.” He forced his tone to remain light, hoping he could draw a laugh from his little sister.