Shadow Magic

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Hawthorne Castle
Central England, 1127

Jealousy, if left unbridled, could turn a good soul as black as Satan.

And so it was the first time Serena of Hawthorne saw Lord Drogan of Wolfglynn with another woman. The jealousy was instant and sharper than any needle that could pierce her skin. The fact that she hadn’t even met Drogan and so shouldn’t have noted the beautiful woman on his arm did not go unnoticed by Serena.

She was a bana-bhuidseach, a witch, cursed and forever alone. ‘Twas because of what she was, men rarely caught her attention. Except for Drogan.

Her always sure footed feet faltered and then stopped as the excessively crowded great hall allowed her an unobstructed view of Drogan for a heartbeat. But in that moment, his image would be etched in her memory for all time.

People teemed around her, but Serena didn’t notice. She closed her eyes and let her mind’s eye looked over Lord Drogan of Wolfglynn at her leisure. What she saw made her break into a sweat and her soul stirred for the first time.

Dark auburn hair fell straight and thick, with a slight curl at the end, to his broad shoulders. He had a high forehead with gently arching brows over eyes of a rich golden brown. His nose was straight and aristocratic, and his mouth wide and full.

He wore a brown leather jerkin over a deep green tunic that didn’t hide the rippling muscles in his arms and chest. Her eyes moved lower to his thick legs encased in tight leather. Boots, worn but well cared for, encased his feet and calves.

Serena caught of glimpse of something shiny from the top of his left boot, alluding to a hidden dirk. The broadsword and dagger strapped to his waist let all know he was a warrior.

She opened her eyes and found Drogan staring at her. For the briefest of moments, Serena found herself starting toward him before someone bumped into her. ‘Twas all she needed to break away. She turned her back on Drogan and the longing in her heart.

Duty called.