Page 1 of Love's a Witch
1713
PROLOGUEBonelle MacGregor
A day for celebration should never end with a curse, but one cannot always see the future.
No matter how much magick they have.
Mabon heralded the arrival of autumn, honoring the balance of light and dark, and for one magickal town nestled in the hills of Scotland, the long-awaited return of their prince. Briarhaven, a home to witches, fae, and humans alike, bustled with excitement over the arrival of their dearly beloved—and notablysingle—prince.
It was said this year he would choose a wife.
More than one woman had awoken with a smile on her lips and hope in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, this day would end with a crown upon their head.
There was one budding witch, however, for whom the prince’s return was of little interest.
At the age of four and twenty, Bonelle MacGregor cared little for the whims of love or arranging for a husband. Instead, she eagerly awaited the bloom of her magick in the coming year. She could already feel the first tendrils unfurling in her, hinting at what was to come. Bonelle welcomed, no,ached, for its arrival, as she had written books upon books of spells she was dying to try. Shesensed she could do great good for her people, once her magick flowered.
Unlike her best friend, Vaila, who cared little for using her magick to help others when there was a prince to be wed. Vaila was so focused on the prince’s return that she’d cried twice that morning about which dress to wear for the bonfire dance. After the third time switching the ribbons in Vaila’s hair, Bonelle had begged off so she could go investigate a rumor she’d heard.
A mysterious traveler had arrived.
Hopeful for new books, particularly if they carried exotic spells from faraway lands, Bonelle slipped away from where fading wildflowers festooned a field outside the village, the beat of the drums matching the thumping of her heart. A wagon was tucked in a shadowy grove of trees, a man, broad-shouldered and lean from travel, arranging his goods.
“Good day, sir.” She bobbed her head lightly. The wagon, though appearing to be of humble nature from afar, glittered and glimmered once close.
“Good day, miss. May I interest you in my wares?” The man was dirty in the way of men who have been on the road for ages, his face covered in dust, his nails caked with mud. Yet she couldn’t look away from his enchanting azure eyes. A thousand truths swirled there, magick and mystery and might, and her words were lost to the ether.
“Perhaps a shiny bauble for a bonnie lass?” The man shifted, lifting a swath of velvet fabric to reveal a tray of gold jewelry. At that, she wrinkled her nose, her captivation broken.
“I’ve not one for baubles, no.” Bonelle pursed her lips, deliberately trying to avoid looking at him lest she did something stupid like ask him for the secrets of the universe. “But I do love books. Do you have stories from strange lands, sir? I’d love to expand my library. Books hold infinite worlds and many new companions.”
“I feel much the same, witchling.” The soft burr of his voice rippled across her skin, awareness tugging her closer. “You may enjoy these.”
The traveler handed her three books, bound in leather, dyed in the same beautiful blue as his wagon.
“I certainly can’t afford these,” Bonelle said, surprised at the quality of the bindings.
“A gift.”
“Ah, I’m not so green to the ways of the world as to accept a gift from a strange traveler.” She laughed up at him. He must be fae, always up to tricks. “I do have coin.”
Digging in her pocket, she laid three silver coins in his hand, and jolted when a spark of energy shot up her arm.
“If you insist.” The man closed his hand over the coins, and when he opened it again, they had disappeared.
Before she could ask him about his travels in strange lands, voices of approaching customers sounded at her back, and Bonelle turned blindly, running home to store the books in a safe spot in her cottage. Though she ached to dive into every story found in those delicate pages, she reluctantly tucked them away and returned to the festivities, having promised Vaila she would dance around the bonfire with her.
“There you are.” Vaila grabbed her arm, hurrying her toward where dancers circled a merrily crackling bonfire. “Don’t look, but the prince is here! I’m told he’s going to invite one of us maidens to sit by his side at the head table tonight.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Bonelle asked, in all seriousness, but Vaila just rolled her eyes and dragged Bonelle forward.
The drums struck up, the piper stepping close, and Bonelle lifted her head as an icy breeze danced across her cheeks, the promise of winter swirling in its depths. Gilded leaves fluttered in the wind, and the dancers fell into motion. Awareness prickled, needling her in the shoulders, and she slanted a glance over her shoulder to see the traveler standing, arms crossed, his head bent in conversation with another man.
The prince.
He wore a simple gold circlet in his hair and a rich red tunic, honey-blond tresses rippling in the breeze. His icy-blue eyes stayed on the dancers, even though he bent his ear to the traveler.
Before she could ponder more deeply how the traveler knew the prince, the dance came to an end when the prince stepped forward, clapping his hands. Bonelle fell silent, the fire crackling and spitting at her back.
