Chapter 3

Kat woke with the dawn, despite their activities and the late night. She lay, revelling in the comfort of her husband’s – her lover’s – arms. Her hand wandered and found, as was quite usual, that his cock was standing hard and proud. She could feel herself moisten in response. It was the work of just a moment to lift a leg over him, guide him into herself, and slide down until he was fully inside her. She supported herself on her elbows, never having fully accepted his assertion that he loved to feel her body resting on him.

Harry woke slowly, reluctant to abandon what he thought was an erotic dream, but it took only moments for him to realise it was reality, not a dream. He moved his arms, pushing hers apart so that she lay fully on him. “I tol’ you and tol’ you I like to feel you on me,” he mumbled in her ear, as his hands caressed her back and bottom.

“I’m heavy,” she muttered.

“Nonsense. You’re beautiful, and perfect, and I love you,” he corrected, beginning to thrust up. In turn, Kat moved her hips in harmony. They continued moving together like that for some minutes, until Kat shifted, straddling Harry and sitting up, impaled, without ever separating from him. She began to move faster and Harry, knowing what would please her – and himself – cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples. She came, and the convulsions of her pussy triggered his, too. It was his third in less than twelve hours. She sighed in satisfaction and lay down on top of him until his softening cock slipped out.

“Shower,” she ordered, kissing him.

“Yes, Mistress,” Harry spoke obsequiously, but spoilt it with a chuckle.

As they soaped each other up, Kat said, thoughtfully, “You know, most witches would say we were breaking the rules, but somehow, this all makes sense to me. Thanks to you, I can do things which once would have drained me. In fact, I think some things would have been too much for me. I’m sorry I can’t do bacon and eggs for breakfast, Harry. Porridge or muesli with extra fruit. Toast, peanut butter or honey.”

“Sounds fine, Sweetheart. You want me out of the way this morning?”

“It would be best, I think. And I want Carole to join in with us, so the spells are woven round her. Be here for lunch at one, then get some sleep. Okay?”

“Surely.”

Harry took a long walk up the Porter Valley. Instead of the Park Cafe where he had first met Kat, he had his morning coffee in the Forge Dam cafe a couple of miles further up the valley. It was a clear, sunny day, but the temperature was right on freezing. There was no temptation to dally or sit outside.

Meanwhile, at home, Carole was sitting on a small rush mat in Kat’s little henge. Rhiannon and Kat were dancing, spinning, anti-clockwise – widdershins, that is – around the perimeter. Aibhilin was also dancing, but in the centre, and she was singing in an eerie, high-pitched voice, with sounds that made no sense in any language Carole recognised. Thinking about things, she realised with surprise (surprise, that is, that she hadn’t registered it before) that she was comfortably warm. Then, that the circle was enclosed in a barely visible dome of pale blue light. Oddly, there was no sense of time whatsoever and she was shocked when the light was fading and Kat stated that it was time to prepare a meal. It was about four in the afternoon. The dome of light, which had never been easy to see, faded completely.

Harry, having returned home to see his wife, daughter, mother-in-law and guest still obviously occupied in the garden, had made himself a sandwich and tea before going to lie down. Sleep surprised him and he dreamed of visiting his late wife in her Cotswolds home. He didn’t wake until Kat shook his shoulder to call him for supper.

Kat and Rhiannon cooked a savoury stew using a mixture of pulses along with fresh vegetables, while Carole cuddled Aibhilin who needed her afternoon nap. Inevitably, Carole dozed off too.

It was – despite the lack of meat – a very good meal, rounded off with apple crumble and ice-cream. When they’d all finished, Harry was dismissed to move a recliner into the dining room, which looked out into the garden through French doors, while Kat, Rhiannon and Carole, supervised by Aibhilin, cleared the table and washed up. Moving the recliner would have been almost impossible had it not been for the folding doors which divided the dining room from the lounge. As it was, it was necessary to shift the table to one side so as to position the lounger to face out into the garden. Harry was standing at the doors, gazing out, when Kat came in with a box containing sandwiches and a flask of coffee.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry was frowning as he looked at his wife.

“Nothing, darling. I want you to be here. You can relax and watch. It doesn’t matter if you doze off, really. But there’s food here, and coffee. You’d wake up if I drew on your strength, I’m sure, but I think you’ll like to watch ... won’t you?”

“I suppose I’d be less worried knowing what’s happening. But are you sure there’s no danger?”

“I think we’re as well prepared as we can be. I hope the precautions aren’t necessary. But there is danger in everything – even crossing the road. You know that.”

Harry sighed. “You know I trust you. You know I don’t want to stand in your way of doing what’s right. I just ... worry.”

Kat smiled and kissed him gently. “Try to relax, darling. Read, if you want to. We’re going to get ready.”

Harry nodded and went to find something innocuous to read, finally settling on one of Bernard Cornwell’s sailing adventure romances. Movement in the garden distracted him from the book as four figures made their way out to the little henge. Rhiannon, clad in a black robe, led Kat, in dark red. Carole walked hand in hand with Aibhilin, both of them in white robes. The older women repeated their earlier actions, twirling as they moved around the stones. Aibhilin was holding both Carole’s hands, and they were also spinning, though slowly, together. The pale dome of light grew, much more obvious in the darkness. Soon enough, he saw Carole lie down, with Kat on one side and Rhiannon on the other and Aibhilin on top of her.

Moments later, a translucent, glowing, figure appeared next to Harry and reached out to him. He couldn’t feel anything, but realised that he, too, appeared to be glowing faintly.

When Carole lay down on the rush mat in the henge, she was anxious. In fact, she was quite frightened. The idea that Kat was taking things so seriously merely increased her trepidation, so she was trembling somewhat. Having Aibhilin snuggling on her chest was a comfort. Having Kat on one side of her and Rhiannon on the other was even better, but she lay there waiting for ... what?

She wouldn’t have believed it was possible to go to sleep in those circumstances, so it was a major shock to look down at her body, and those of Kat, Rhiannon and Aibhilin, then to look each side of her to see Kat and Rhiannon, apparently just themselves, but with them was a slim young woman, perhaps in her late teens, with flaming red hair, who reached out and took her hand. “Are you ready, Carole?”

“Aibhilin!”

“That’s me.”

“Wow! You’re ... beautiful,” she looked round at the others. “You all are.”

“Thank you!” It was a chorus. “Are you ready, Carole?” Aibhilin repeated.

She took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Then let’s go,” Kat suggested. “Can you picture the door we didn’t open before?”

Carole nodded. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they were standing at the foot of a staircase, facing the door of which, last time, only Aibhilin could move the handle.

This time, however, it moved for Carole, who pushed it open. She stepped through and the others followed, Aibhilin still holding her hand.

Carole felt as though she was falling, falling ... the surroundings a flickering blur. Then, they were in a church, watching a young couple get married, though without the sound and with the picture speeded up. It was obvious as they watched that the two were deeply in love. A further flicker, and the young woman was in hospital, her husband holding her hand as their baby – a girl – was born. The baby, suckling at her mother’s breast. Flicker, and the man, walking in a park with the baby cradled in a carrier on his chest.

“That’s me,” Carole gasped. “My mother and father.”

Flicker, and it was clearly a year or so later. The couple were packing as the little girl watched, sometimes fetching a toy or book for a parent to pack.

Flicker, and the scene changed to a house, where the child was sitting on her father’s lap as he held a book. Carole gasped. “It’s The Very Worried Sparrow!” The little girl they were watching buried her face in the man’s shoulder and the scene blurred. “Old Spice!” Carole gasped. “But ... I don’t understand! If this is what I remember, why did we see Mum and Dad getting married? Me getting born?”