Haunted by Love

I can feel the force of the power gathering within her, radiating from her naked form, the strength of her will and protective love. In her hand, the soft glitter of her pentacle pendant has become a bright gleam. Sir Lovell's spirit seems unimpressed and slips forward, his menace undiminished though Ruth stands firm and undaunted even as the chill in the room increases.

"Your words are but empty cant. You are no witch!" Lovell sneers and his pale hand rises threateningly.

"You are mistaken, for on this night, I know I can be," Ruth replies, her voice firm. She tilts her head, listening, as Lovell pulls his arm back, about to lash out and strike Ruth down in the way that, somehow, I know he did Arabella when she stood right there, a century and a half ago.

This time, however, he hesitates. On the edge of hearing are sounds: wind and rain, the rustling of leaves and the sighing of grasses, the dim growl of far-off thunder. A breeze gusts through the open door bringing the scents of wet earth and vegetation, of mire and heather and rain.

"The Moor and the storm are coming to claim you, Lovell, as they claimed your body all those years ago."

For the first time, Lovell appears uncertain, his habitual sneer replaced by an anxious look as he glances over his shoulder through the door behind. The wind strengthens, as do the scents and sounds, and a grey mist swirls in. I stare, hypnotised by the grey tendrils curling around the spectre and I notice subtle shapes in the mist, like tumbling leaves and clouds scudding on the wind.

The grey is thickening rapidly, the vague mist becoming fog, becoming smoke-like as its opacity increases. At the same time, the curling tendrils coalesce, tightening to become a whirling gyre. Finally, Lovell's ghost starts to move as he struggles and thrashes against the thickening vapours that imprison him. "No! Damn you, you witch slut, this cannot happen! No! NOOooo..."

The sound is overwhelming, a near deafening storm-roar as the vortex whirls with tornado speed. However, all I feel is a cold draught and even for Ruth, little more than an arm's length from the storm, it does no more than whip her long, dark hair around her head and bare shoulders. The shades of Rosalind and Arabella, on the other hand, cling together, heads bowed as though battered by a gale that tears at their clothes and makes them stagger.

Suddenly, in the space of a few heartbeats, the whirling storm is gone, falling away to nothing as silence falls like a blanket. Ruth sags with relief and I, now freed of the immobilising dread, take three hurried steps to throw my arms around her, hugging her tight as I shed tears of relief and happiness.

"Ruth, I... I can't believe what I just saw, what you did. Was that... magic, a spell?"

"I guess so. I saw him, it, coming for you and when he said about possessing you I was so scared but I knew I had to do something to protect you..."

"But those words and... oh Ruth, the... power I could feel coming from you. You were just... awesome!"

"I couldn't think what else to do and the words, well, just came to me. I guess hearing Mum chant and invoke spirits maybe helped; though I do remember her saying that the chants were just a way to focus and what really mattered was your will to use the power that's within and all around us." Ruth smiles absently. "Mum really believed in magic, but I never did."

"Until tonight, when you became a witch to save me." My hand strokes her cheek. "I did tell you you'd be good at it if you tried."

"I'd do anything, Beth my darling, anything; whatever it takes, to keep you safe." We hug tight, the joy in the contact of our unclad bodies a mirror of the joy for our shared love. I move to kiss her when a movement reminds me we are not alone.

"Ruth, the ghosts of Rosalind and Arabella are still here." We turn to them and the four of us face each other, two couples, each arm in arm. They do not look afraid, but rather dazed and confused.

"Arabella, Lady Blyth you are free of him," Ruth tells them. The two look towards her but there's a feeling that they're not sure of whether Ruth is really there or not, rather like Rosalind when I spoke to her in the hotel room. They seem lost, as if some pivotal thing has been taken away, which in a way it has.

"Sir Lovell has gone, forever," I assure them and Lady Blyth looks at me.

"I have seen you before... are you perhaps a second or third cousin?" she murmurs, "No, in my room it was..." I nod. "Gone?" Her focus finally seems to find me, though her quiet voice has that same dislocated quality I've noticed before. "Gone, like poor William?"

"We may be related, but only very distantly. I'm sorry, Lady Rosalind," I say gently, "but your son died many years ago... as did you and Arabella."

"I remember, the Moor: the bitter wind and rain, the pain of his blows and... the darkness... so cold, I could not escape and," she looks to Arabella, "you were gone my darling, somewhere... I died..?" Rosalind's last word is not quite a question. Rather, it as if she is finally finding an explanation to explain what's been happening.

"The terrible wind and the... things within that did surround him," Arabella now speaks, looking at both before focussing on Ruth. "You have enchanted him away; you are witches? White witches of whom I have heard tale?" Arabella's voice is a blend of fear and awe. "And this is your coven, that you are... unclad to practise your magic?"

"If there is a witch here it is Ruth and she is most certainly a white witch for a kinder, better woman is not to be found!" I tell her firmly.

"No Arabella, this is no coven it is just my home. We are unclad because Bethany and I are lovers, just as you and Rosalind were."

"Were?" she looks at Rosalind. "No, lovers we remain yet."

"And always shall be, my dear Bella, though I know not what shall happen." As she speaks Rosalind touches Arabella's cheek affectionately. "I wish William were here..."

"Tonight is Samhain," Ruth tells them, "and the barrier between worlds is thin. You do not have to remain here, ladies. You both cared for and loved William; I'm sure your hearts can guide you to him now."

"Oh, that the three of us can be together..." Rosalind says to Arabella.

"Always..." she replies. Their figures are becoming more blurred and indistinct as they turn and hug. I cannot be sure but I think they kiss as their forms become pale smears in the air before fading completely. I let out a breath I'd been unconsciously holding.

I also begin to shiver as the adrenaline in my veins finally begins to ebb away and the cold makes itself felt. "Damn, I'm freezing!" I complain.

"Go and slip a jumper on, darling, I just need to do something," Ruth tells me. I watch intrigued as she walks out of the open back door into the night and, cold or not, I cannot resist following.

The sky outside is full of scudding, broken clouds between which can be seen the occasional bright star and the full moon. Ruth takes a few steps and stops, facing towards the moon. She raises her arms in a Y-shape and stands there. The pale moonlight silvers her skin, drawing the outline of her beautiful body in shining lines. "Goddess, I give thanks for your aid and protection tonight," she says in a low, quiet voice, "and for my life here."

On impulse, I step up beside her, lifting my arms in the same way and taking her raised hand in mine; whatever happened tonight and however it happened, I am grateful that Ruth was there to keep me safe. I look at the moon, the beauty of it amid the sky and clouds. "Thank you, Goddess," I echo. "Thank you that we are safe and thank you for my life here with this woman I love so much." I feel slightly unsure of whether I believe in this Goddess or if I'm addressing the universe as a whole; perhaps they are one and the same. Nevertheless, I feel very at peace and connected with everything right now.

Ruth lowers her arms and I do too. "Come on Beth darling, let's get back to bed: I'm bloody frozen!"

Chapter 11: New Beginnings

I wake from a wonderful deep sleep and for the fourth morning in succession, it is in Ruth's bed and in her arms. For the first time, however, we can look forward to electric light and hot water. It has been a happy few days, mainly spent decorating but with a couple of walks on the Moor, which I'm growing to love. The kitchen here is looking very good, though we gave up trying to move the dresser on our own and got Tom and Danny to help.

They had, on Thursday morning, turned up when we were still in bed; it was simple tiredness and not surprising after the Samhain night we'd had. I had to ask Tom, once again, to give us ten minutes and in between dressing, fixing the fire and putting the kettle on, we agreed to tell them about us. I knew it meant 'coming out' for the first time but it wasn't that hard a decision: I refuse to be ashamed of loving Ruth, whatever the future holds.

They hadn't quite managed to get everything working that day, some problem with the 'consumer unit', whatever that is. Anyway, it meant that they had to go to Bodmin for a replacement and so it was just before lunch on Friday that the first light bulb was lit and the first hot water flowed. It was stupid, but I got so emotional when I saw the steaming water. I think it must be nearing my time of the month because I'm not normally so emotional.

There have, of course, been lots of hugs, kisses, caresses and passionate lovemaking. Damn, my period will get in the way of some of that too; I shall have to seduce Ruth when she wakes up, just in case it starts today.

We're going to continue painting the main bedroom and then this mattress can go back onto the bed frame. Or are we going into Bodmin to buy a fridge and freezer and some other electrical stuff? I can't remember. The only electrical items plugged in at the moment are my phone and laptop.

I feel Ruth stir, her hand gliding over my tummy in a wonderful caress that makes my insides go mushy in anticipation. That's another thing: I don't remember ever being quite so damned horny all the time, certainly not since my teens. I've not really resolved the 'am I a lesbian?' question because the only woman, indeed the only person, I've ever felt this way about is Ruth. I guess I am and I don't really have a problem with it, as long as I don't think about how I'll tell my parents, especially Mum.

Ruth's hand moves again and I can tell from her breathing that she is probably awake. She runs her hand up to cup my boob and I give a little sigh of anticipation as my nipples tingle. Her thumb and forefinger close around the tingling nub and the sensation is wildly intense. However, the little roll and squeeze that follows is way off the pleasure scale and into pain territory so I give a yelp.

"Oh, sorry love; are you okay?" she asks, full of contrition and concern. I roll to face her.

"Yes, it's just my nipples seem hyper-sensitive this morning." She looks down as her hand gently covers my boob but avoiding the nipple.

"Your tits seem a bit swollen, a bit larger, I think." I smile; given the amount of time she's spent with my boobs, I'm not going to argue.

"Perhaps; I'm due on soon; I think I probably am." It's a simple enough thing to say to Ruth, though not something I could ever imagine saying to a boyfriend. "However, other bits of me are just fine..." I say as I lay back invitingly. She comes in to kiss me as our hands seek the warm wetness between each other's legs.

We have learned over the past few days, we know each other's bodies from our intimate explorations. I know the feel and taste of this beautiful, amazing woman. Mmm taste... "I want to lick you, darling."

"That sounds wonderful but I want to lick you too," she replies; we have both rather developed a taste for each other, figuratively and literally.

"Shall we try the sixty-nine position?" I suggest.

"Will your nipples be okay?" she asks.

"Well, if I go on top it should be fine." We move around, Ruth lying down as I climb on top. The feel of skin on skin is delightful as we slide into position. As lips and tongues encounter wet, willing pussies I wonder why it's taken us until now to try it.

As always, my mouth and nose fill with her taste and scent as my face is slathered in her juice. I love the feel and texture of her labia and opening as I lick her and, oh what she is doing to my cunt! Her tongue probes and laps exquisitely.

I climax first; she is too damn good at finding my buttons and pressing them in just the right way. Not that I'm complaining it's just that I can't keep licking her as the glorious spasms wrack me. However, as they ebb I bury my face once more into her sex.

Filled with the satisfied afterglow of our lovemaking, we cuddle. "I love discovering you more and more," she says. "I don't think I'll ever get bored of learning about you."

"Like what?" I ask, intrigued.

"Like, when you're due on, you taste different and your love juice is thicker and sort of creamier; still tastes good though." She kisses me and I think I can taste what she means. "Right, do you want breakfast?"

"Mmm yes. I'll make the tea." We get up and do our usual part-dressing: a baggy sweat-shirt for me and an even baggier jumper for Ruth, thick socks for the both of us because, however good it looks, a flagstone floor can be bloody cold!

I empty the kettle and fill it with fresh water, placing it on the hob and then add wood to the fire, carefully so as not to smother it, as Ruth taught me that first morning. Meanwhile, she puts a frying pan on the hob to warm and fetches bread, eggs and bacon.

The bacon sizzles filling the air with its distinctive odour that smells so... horrible. "Is that bacon alright?" I ask concerned.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, the smell... it's disgusting!" She looks at me intently.

"Are you feeling okay?" Now it is her turn to sound concerned.

"Yeah. It's just the smell of the bacon is making me feel a bit queasy, that's all. Perhaps I'll just have some toast."

"Okay, my darling."

I go over and turn on my phone for the first time in days then start cutting bread for toast. Moments later I'm startled by the phone beeping to indicate messages received. Ruth sees the surprise on my face and laughs. "You do get a signal here sometimes; it's just very erratic."

I pick up the phone and there are emails and text messages; my already queasy stomach contracts to a tight knot as I see that I have had lots of texts, including one from Marcus and no less than six from Rick. There are also a couple from the number that texted me as I drove down here last Friday and, masochistically, I begin with these. The first was sent on Monday:

HEARD YOU GOT LOST ON THE WAY DOWN AND THINK YOU NEARLY DIED COOPER. PITY YOU DIDN'T FINISH THE JOB. #NOTAFUCKINGCLUE

The second is from Thursday morning:

YOU'RE MAKING THIS TOO EASY YOU DOPY BITCH. YOU SHOULD HEAR WHAT RICK WAS CALLING YOU AT BREAKFAST THIS MORNING #STUPIDLAZYCOW

While I don't recognise the number, I can guess that these are probably from Tina, the Boarding School Bitch, and they're intended to hurt and upset me -- so I respond appropriately and start crying. It's not just my hormones: the words hurt, even the 'at breakfast this morning' jibe that I guess means she's sleeping with Rick. I can't say I have any desire to be in her place but it all adds to the gathering feeling that I've really fucked up. Ruth comes up behind me and he arms wrap around my waist to support and comfort me.

There's no choice: I have to read Rick's texts. They start with concern: am I okay, are there no after effects from being out on the Moor, can I please call or at least text him. However, the concern clearly has limits because the texts quickly become more demanding. He wants to know what I'm playing at, that he needs me keep him up to date on how the research is going, as I'd 'AGREED TO DO'. Given the tone of the message, the capitals were superfluous really.

Suddenly, on Thursday, the tone changes radically and becomes cold and official: he 'requires' me to contact him and provide details of my work over the past four days, pointing out that I'd been made aware of the time constraints on this work. I know he has a point but on Thursday we'd still been coming to terms with what had happened the night before.

Friday's first text is brutally sarcastic, thanking me so much for repaying his trust in me so handsomely; that I should think nothing of the let-down I had caused, not so much to him as to my colleagues whose jobs I had made much more difficult. Never mind: just as long as I was enjoying taking it easy in the West Country. And by the way, I should check my email for details of the formal disciplinary notice.

Yesterday's second text is very brief:

Just in case you don't know: there's a second email regarding your disciplinary hearing. Don't be late.

"That seems very... harsh," Ruth seems to have been reading over my shoulder. "Can he do that? I mean, reprimand you and then immediately call you to a disciplinary hearing?"

"I don't know!" I sob. "No... maybe. I've never read the rules. But he has a point: I was supposed to keep Rick and Marcus updated on progress. I should have sent the stuff I wrote up through, or at least a summary of it... I have let them down." Ruth pulls me into a tight hug, just holding me. Feeling her strength and protectiveness I gradually calm, the sobbing slowly ceasing.

"Come and sit down, Beth." She takes my hand and makes me sit then, as the kettle is now boiling vigorously, goes and makes tea for us both.

"Could you stick some sugar in mine, Ruth love? I think I need it."

"Um, I think so... Yes, here we are." She's had to hunt but finds a small packet. "There, darling," she says, placing the tea in front of me. It is the best tea I've had in ages. "Is it okay?" she asks.

"Mmm yes, it's perfect."

"You never normally take sugar and that mug's got two large spoonfuls in it. Do you normally crave sweet things when you're due on?"

"Well, chocolate sometimes. But then I'm not normally in a new lesbian relationship and being threatened with disciplinary procedures at work because I've been too busy with said lesbian girlfriend," I look at her, "being rescued by her, and hugged by her... walking on the Moor with her, helping her decorate and, the best part, making love with her."

"Beth, you forgot all the hours you put in researching, what you learned with those sleepless nights, all that you've written out. You could send it in; we'll go to the hotel or the library or somewhere with Wi-Fi and you can email it. That would help, surely? I mean what are a few days? They could have their programme and they'd know how brilliant you are..."

"You were part of that research, Ruth, at the library, here with the love letters and with those night time encounters. And as for all that I've written out, we did most of that together."

"That doesn't matter because they don't have to know any of that. You can fight this Beth; it's just this Rick being a bully."

I'm not sure bully is the right word. I might as well complete my misery and open Marcus's text.

Bethany, I'm not sure what's happened to you. Hope you're okay. Rick is furious and Tina and Colin are stirring it. Call me if you can't talk to Rick. Marcus.

"That looks a little more supportive," Ruth says when she reads it. "Why don't you call him, while you have a signal?" I think for a minute before nodding.

"Okay." I press the call button on the text screen and wait to see if he'll answer.

"Bethany? Are you alright? What's been happening?" he asks, full of concern.

"Hello Marcus, I'm fine. It's all just been a bit hectic here. Is Rick really pissed off with me?"