Page 1 of Love’s a Witch (The Scottish Charms #1)
PROLOGUE Bonelle 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 notably single —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.
She sensed 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.
“This is it,” Vaila hissed at her ear.
“Why did he stop the dance before we were finished?” She glared, annoyed. This was a time-honored tradition.
“Because he was so taken with my beauty that he’s going to choose me as his maiden for dinner tonight—maybe even his wife .” Vaila’s nails dug into Bonelle’s arm, and she winced and forced herself to paste a polite smile on her face.
“My lovely gentlewomen…” The prince swooped his hands out in front of him, a smile on his lips. “I must apologize for interrupting your beautiful dance, but I was so overcome with admiration for one of you fair ladies that I quite simply had to claim her as my companion for the evening.”
Bonelle’s shoulders tightened at his words. Her magick rippled, the high levels of emotion threading the air bringing it to the surface.
The prince strode forward until he stood in front of them, and Vaila gasped, tossing her head back, chin held high.
“My enchanting mistress, will you join me this evening?” The prince’s hand reached forward.
“Why, of course—”
Vaila’s words dropped away as the prince’s hand stopped just below Bonelle’s breastbone, waiting for her to take it.
Bonelle stared down at the hand, where a thick gold ring with an intricate insignia was nestled at the base of his index finger.
She struggled for a breath as Vaila gasped beside her.
“No.” It was soft, a simple word ripped away on the wind, but she caught it, her heart twisting at Vaila’s distress.
Once more, her magick heated beneath her skin, as though imploring to be released, yet it was bound by the rules.
Unlike Vaila, who’d stepped into her magick a year prior, Bonelle was forbidden to free her magick until the age of five and twenty.
Time slowed.
Lifting her head, Bonelle ignored royal protocol and turned toward her best friend. Already, the words were at Vaila’s lips, her face twisted in rage, dark magick seeping from her skin.
“By thorn and thistle, by curse and bane,
Your magick’s strength shall wax and wane,
Misfortune shall haunt each town you claim,
Bringing ruin, grief, and endless blame.”
The curse fell upon Bonelle, as though she’d walked into a sticky cobweb, and she floundered backward, her hands raised as though she could stop the blood magick that poured from Vaila’s broken heart.
Shadows fell, the murky clouds having turned murderous, and a shriek split the sky.
Bonelle’s blood ran cold.
Her foot caught on a root as she turned to run.
She stumbled, but an arm looped through hers and dragged her into the shadow of the trees, where she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground.
She went to her knees, her fingers clutching the damp moss that coated the forest floor.
Tears welled, and she blinked them back, her thoughts whirling as she gasped for air.
“The emberwolves approach. You must go.”
At that, Bonelle sprang to her feet, fear rippling through her.
“She called an emberwolf?” Bonelle gasped. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes finally landed on the man who’d dragged her to the forest. Not just a guard, oh no , but the traveler himself.
“Her curse did. Harm will befall any town in which you stay.”
Bonelle gaped up at him before turning to look out at the festival grounds, where the people had scattered, fallen leaves strewn across the grass in their wake. The shadow of an emberwolf drifted across the field, and her stomach twisted.
“Who are you?” It was an inane question at an impossible time, but still Bonelle had to know the name of the man who was banning her to exile.
“Eoin Douglas. First Knight of the Iron Thistle Order, protector of Briarhaven.”
“Protect me . Please,” Bonelle begged.
He stilled, his eyes darting between Bonelle and the field, but when another shriek rattled the branches canopying above them, he decided.
Bonelle knew before he spoke.
“Run, MacGregor. Take your curse with you and run.”