Bewitching [NOOK Book]

Overview

What's a Duke to do when a carefully selected bride rejects him rather than marry without love? He salvages his pride by marrying the next woman who falls into his arms! Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie bewitched Alec, the Duke of Belmore, the moment she appeared from nowhere and tumbled into his lap. Joy, a witch whose powers of white magic are not always well controlled, turns the life of the most serious and snobbish Duke in England upside down when he decides to marry the beautiful Scottish pixie who has aroused his ...
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Bewitching

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Overview

What's a Duke to do when a carefully selected bride rejects him rather than marry without love? He salvages his pride by marrying the next woman who falls into his arms! Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie bewitched Alec, the Duke of Belmore, the moment she appeared from nowhere and tumbled into his lap. Joy, a witch whose powers of white magic are not always well controlled, turns the life of the most serious and snobbish Duke in England upside down when he decides to marry the beautiful Scottish pixie who has aroused his desire. Even though he knows next to nothing about her or her background. Alec could have forgiven Joy for upending his life and the lives of all at Belmore Park if not for the truth she hid from him. He'd married a witch, who turns him to fire when he kisses her, charms everyone around her, and threatens to destroy both their lives as scandal looms over her. Too late, Joy discovers she's desperately in love and has no idea how to be a proper duchess, control her magic or change what may come. Passion holds them spellbound in an irresistible tale of two enchanted hearts.

Adventure, love and enchantment come magically alive in this new historical romance from the author of Just a Kiss Away. Joy's fine bloodline didn't make her proper enough to be a Duchess, but the Duke of Belmore could marry whomever he desired. He turned to ice, however, when he discovered that Joy was a witch. 16-page insert. Original.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
In 1813 Alec Castlemaine, a callous English duke who compares courtship to horse trading, faces rejection from his meticulously selected betrothed, who decides she cannot live without love. That same night, Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie, a Scottish witch with faith in fairy-tale endings, messes up a travel incantation and ``zaps'' herself into the duke's lap. Unbelievably, she explains away her sudden appearance, and the duke, wanting to salvage his pride, marries her immediately. After she reveals her powers on their wedding night, the duke forbids her to perform any hocus-pocus. Inconveniently, she can't always control her magic. When she sneezes, whatever she thinks appears. There is some self-righteous challenge to traditional representation of race and class. Joy hires a Caribbean cook named Hungan John despite protest from the rest of the household, although he ends up being little more than a happy, singing black man. Joy also helps Alec see that servants are people too. Barnett's ( Just a Kiss Away ) quirky wit is demonstrated when Joy say things like ``Can't you shrink it a wee bit?'' after they consummate their marriage, giving a twist to an otherwise standard plot. (Oct.)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781935661641
  • Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc.
  • Publication date: 8/24/2010
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Sales rank: 79,821
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

Jill Barnett is the New York Times bestselling author of fifteen acclaimed novels and short stories. There are more than five million copies of her books in print in seventeen languages. Her work has earned her a place on such national bestseller lists as The New York Times, USA Today, The Washington Post, and Publishers Weekly. She lives in the Pacific Northwest. Visit her website at www.jillbarnett.com.

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Read an Excerpt

From "Bewitching"

There was magic in the air, yet few could see it.

To the mortal eye there was nothing but a brash, bullying Scottish storm that blew like the Devil's breath from the gray swirling waters of the Sound of Mull. Lightning splintered the midnight sky, and thunder bellowed. Rain poured down from the heavens, and the sea crashed against the huge granite rocks of the coast, splattering white sea-foam up the sharp cliff on which Duart Castle stood.

For five hundred of its six hundred years, the castle had been the stronghold of the clan MacLean and host to their cousins, the clan MacQuarrie. But the Battle of Culloden Moor had changed all that. On that dark, dank moor some sixty-seven years earlier, Scot stubbornness had caused many a clan to lose its holdings. The MacLeans had lost their stronghold to the Sassenach — Englishmen who cared not a wit for the braw, bold power of the place. The castle stood empty now, dark and abandoned.

Or so it appeared.

The skies bellowed and crackled, and the seas roared. To mere mortals it was only another storm, but to those who knew, to those of the ancient faith, it was more than just the heavens and the earth battling.

The witches were awake.

Now, there were witches, and there were witches. And then there were the MacQuarries.

'Tis a sad tale, that of the MacQuarries, a tale that had begun hundreds of years before this night. An ancient forefather of the current MacQuarrie had been summoned to the fete of the spring equinox in what is now the south of England. There, on a wide plain, stood a massive stone temple where the witches and warlocks met to demonstrate their powers. On that special spring it had been decreed that the MacQuarrie warlock would have the cherished honor of making those most precious springtime flowers — the roses — bloom. Other witches and warlocks had already walked into the center of the temple and used their magic to bring life back to a winterdead earth.

'Twas a sight to see that day when, in a matter of moments, green grass broke through the sodden ground. Wallflower bushes, buttercups, and dandelions spread a frosting of bright yellow across the fresh green that had magically sprouted. Soon the barren branches of birch trees were dripping with silvery spring leaves and tall elegant alders burst anew. Oak, ash, and elm came back to life with little more than the casting of a spell, the flick of a hand, or the flashing snap of a witch's magic. The scent of jasmine, primrose, marigold, and lavender filled the cool morning air, and suddenly it was spring. Birds and insects swarmed through the air and perched in the trees, and the melody of the lark, the hum of the bees and call of doves brought music to the land that had for too many cold, dreary months been silent.

Then it was the MacQuarrie's turn. The crowd parted as he made his way to the center of the stone temple. The room was silent, so silent one could have heard a blink, as each and every witch and warlock waited for that special moment. The MacQuarrie stood there for a long moment of quiet concentration. Then slowly he raised his hands toward the massive ceiling and with a snap of his fingers, let loose his magic.

No roses bloomed that day.

Instead an enormous explosion, the like of which no one had ever seen, blew the temple walls and roof into the sky. When the dust settled and the air cleared and the witches and warlocks picked themselves up off the ground, the temple was no more. Nothing stood except a few circles of stone arches.

Modern mortals look in awe at the ruins they call Stonehenge, but mention the name Stonehenge to the witches of the world and to this very day they shake their heads in dismay and mutter about the shame of the MacQuarries.

And it came to pass that in the year of our Lord 1813 there were only two witches left in all of Scotland — a MacLean and, of all things, a MacQuarrie. So on this brash night as the storm battered the shore of the isle of Mull, as it rained on the crumbling ruins of a once-proud castle perched upon that jagged stone headland, as the mortals on that tiny island cowered by their fires and listened to the heavens wait, the MacLean and the MacQuarrie made magic.

Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie bent down to pick up the scattering of books on the tower room floor. Ten golden bracelets jangled like sleigh bells down her wrists and echoed in the tense silence of the room. She was thankful for the noise; it gave her a blessed moment's respite from the impatient, penetrating glare of her aunt, the MacLean. With her face turned away from her aunt, Joy grabbed another book, tucking it under her arm as she muttered, "'Twas only one wee tad of a word." She picked up another book, to the accompaniment of those same tinkling bracelets, but as they settled on her wrists she could hear a new sound — a distinct, agitated tapping.

Her aunt's foot.

Joy peeked under her outstretched arm and winced. Her aunt's arms were crossed, and she shook her golden head in disgust. But worst of all, Joy could see the MacLean's lips move: her aunt was counting again.

Joy's heart sank; she'd failed again. With a defeated sigh she quietly returned the books to their ancient oak shelf and plopped onto a wobbly wooden stool after pulling it closer to the trestle table that stood in the center of the tower room. She rested a small chin in her hand and waited for her aunt to reach a hundred — at least she hoped it would be only a hundred.

A slick cat with fur as white as fresh Highland snow leapt onto the table and wound itself around and through the three time-tarnished brass candlesticks whose tapers bathed the battered oak table in flickering golden light. As the cat meandered along the table its tail cast strange shadows across the nicked tabletop. Entranced by the patterns, Joy tried to make imaginary letters out of those cat's-tail figures, her mind wandering off on one of its frequent journeys of fancy. That was her problem. She was a witch with a wandering mind.

The cat, Gabriel, was her aunt's familiar — an embodied spirit in animal form whose duty was to serve, attend, and in some cases, guard a witch. She glanced at her own familiar, Beelzebub, an ermine weasel whose coat was currently winter white except for wee spots of black on his tail and paws. The snowy fur covered a massive potbelly that made him look more like a plump rabbit than a sleek, almost feline weasel. He was at that moment, as at most moments, sound asleep.

She sighed. Beezle was the only animal who was willing to be her familiar.

Cats like Gabriel were proud, arrogant animals; they absolutely refused to be associated with a witch who couldn't control her magic. Owls were too wise to ally themselves with someone as inept as Joy. And toads, well, they took one look at her, croaked, and hopped away.

Plump old Beezle wheezed in his sleep. Joy watched his black-tipped paws twitch and reminded herself that at least she had a familiar, even if he was only a weasel. As if sensing her thoughts, he cracked open one lazy brown eye and peered at her as if calmly waiting for the next disaster. She reached out to scratch his plush belly and promptly knocked over a pot of cold rose hip tea.

Gabriel hissed and sprang out of the path of the spilled tea. Beezle didn't move that fast. Beezle seldom moved at all. The tea pooled like the tide around him. He blinked twice, looked at the tea seeping onto his white fur, and gave her a look not unlike the MacLean's before he shook himself, sending a sprinkling of tea in every direction. He waddled over to a dry spot and plopped back down with a soft thud, then rolled over, paws in the air, plump white and pink belly up, and stared at the ceiling. Joy wondered if animals could count. Beezle opened his mouth and let out a loud wheeze, then a snore.

Count in their sleep, she amended, drumming her fingers on the table.

"Whatever am I to do with you?" the MacLean finally spoke, having taken enough time to count to a hundred twice. Her aunt's stance was stern, but her voice held the patience that arose from what was almost a mother's love.

That love made the situation even worse for Joy. She truly wanted to hone her magic skills for her patient aunt as well as for her own pride's sake, and she was miserable because she couldn't get it right. She absently drew one finger through the dust on the table, then looked at her aunt and mentor. "Can one word truly make such a difference?"

"Every single word is of the utmost importance. An incantation must be exact. Part of the power comes from the voice." The MacLean took a deep breath and clasped her hands behind her. "The rest takes practice. Concentration!" She paced around the circular room, her strong voice echoing off the stone walls like bagpipes in the Highlands. With the suddenness of a wink, she stopped and looked down at Joy. "Now pay attention. Watch me."

Standing to Joy's left, she raised her elegant hands high in the air, allowing the fine gold threads in her embroidered silk robe to catch the candlelight and glimmer like the twinkling of fairy dust. Joy caught her breath. Standing as she was, tall and golden with the midnight sky as a backdrop through the tower window, her aunt looked like a goddess. Her long straight hair, which hung in a gleaming satin drape past her hips to the backs of her knees, was the color of hammered gold. Her skin was as flawless as pure cream and appeared ageless in the muted glow of the candlelight. The MacLean's robe was white — not the stark white of cotton or the ivory white of lamb's wool but the same shimmering white that the stars shone, that lightning sparked, that diamonds glittered and the sun glowed.

A breath of cold Scottish wind whistled through the tower room, making the candle flames flicker. The sharp smell of hot tallow mingled with the scent of midnight rain and the brine of the roiling seas that rode the whisper of wind through the room. Shadows danced a jagged jig up the granite walls, and the sound of waves crashing against the sharp coastal rocks below echoed upward, blending with the mournful call of gulls that roosted in the tower eaves. Then, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, all was still...silent.

The MacLean's deep voice called out, "Come!"

Magic quaked through the air — a live, animated thing, powerful, controlled, swarming toward the wall where heavy old leather-bound books stood on an oaken shelf. A huge brown book, cracked and tattered, slowly, inch by smooth inch, slid off the shelf, turned in midair, then floated to the MacLean. It hovered near her, waiting, until she slowly lowered one arm. The book followed her movement, lighting on the table as if it were a feather instead of a three-thousand-page volume.

Joy plopped her chin into her hand and sighed. "You make it look so easy."

"'Tis easy. One must simply concentrate." Her aunt replaced the book on its shelf and turned to Joy. "Now you try it."

With pure Scots stubbornness in her dark green eyes, Joy took a deep breath, closed those eyes, and with all the drama a twenty-one-year-old witch could muster, she flung her hands up into the air. Her bracelets flew across the tower room like soaring gulls. At the first clatter of metal hitting stone, she winced, then eased open one green eye.

"Forget the bracelets! Concentrate...concentrate."

She tried to concentrate, but nothing happened. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

"Picture the book moving, Joyous. Use your mind's eye."

She remembered the way her aunt had made the magic only minutes before. She threw her shoulders back and raised her determined chin, sending a thick cascade of wild and wavy mink-brown hair tumbling down to sway near the backs of her thighs. She opened her eyes and reached up higher. Taking one deep, cleansing breath for luck, she commanded, "Come!"

The book quivered, moved about two inches, then stopped.

"Concentrate!"

"Come!" Joy spread her fingers wide, bit her lip, and slowly pulled her hands back toward her, mentally picturing the book drifting toward her, then hovering in the air.

The book slid forward on the shelf, just reaching the edge.

"Come!" Joy shouted in a voice as deep as Fingal's Cave. She opened her eyes, determined to move that book, then snapped her fingers for good measure.

Luckily she saw it coming and ducked. "Oh, my goodness!"

The book flew past her as if carried on a whirlwind; then the next book and the next book, then another and another, sucked from the shelf with the pulling strength of the sea tide. With a horrendous crack the bookshelf ripped from the stone walls. It flew around the room, spinning and arcing, turning and turning, faster and faster. A dented tin pail spun off to Joy's left, then clanged against the floor. A broom sped to the right; three stools twirled like dancers, then tumbled end over end to bang against a pitcher, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Furniture crashed against the walls, splintering, cracking. Candles levitated up...up...up.... The wind howled through the room, huffing and puffing and whirling. Instinctively Joy wrapped her arms around her head and hunched over. The teapot just missed her. From somewhere she heard a cat shriek, the patter of paws running. A coal bucket sent lumps of black coal flying through the room like rocks at a stoning. Then she heard a regal — sounding grunt — the MacLean.

"Oh, rats!" Joy clamped her hand over her mouth as a hundred gray rats scurried into the tower room, slithering down the walls, leaping from broken furniture, running amok.

Slowly the wind died down, growing softer until it was but a whisper, and after a long moment the air was still. The only sound in the room was that of the rats' scurrying feet.

Joy heard a choked cough behind her. She straightened up and turned around.

Waving away the coal dust, a black-faced MacLean extricated herself from beneath what had once been a two-hundred-year-old throne chair. She cast a malevolent look at the rats running willy-nilly through the disaster-struck room and snapped her elegant black-smudged fingers, sending up a small cloud of coal dust. The rats disappeared.

The once-white Gabriel, outnumbered by the rats, let loose another screech and scurried in a black ball across the room and under the MacLean's filthy gown where the hemline quivered for a long moment and a little dusting of soot sprinkled onto the wood-plank floor. The only sound in the room was Beezle's wheezing. Sprawled on his back, he lay on the table, paws up, belly slowly rising with each wheeze. He'd slept through the whole thing.

One tense but despairing stare from her aunt and Joy felt the weight of the world.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning her guilty green eyes toward her aunt.

"I cannot let you loose on the world, Joyous. I cannot." The MacLean dusted off her hands and surveyed the destruction. "I cannot in good conscience let you live in England all alone for two years."

Her aunt looked thoughtful for a brief moment while she tapped a coal-blackened finger against her lips. "Of course, letting you live there might be just what the English deserve after Culloden Moor..."

She glanced around the cluttered room with a scowl of disgust, then shook her head. "No, no. The English are already burdened by a lunatic king and a regent who would rather play than rule."

"But — "

"No." The MacLean raised her hand to silence Joy. "I know you mean well, but all the good intentions in the world cannot control...this." She waved a hand at the mess in the room, shook her head, and went on, "You need protection, my dear. Someone to watch over you."

With that she raised her sooty hands in the air, snapped her fingers, and zap! the room was back in perfect orderchairs upright and in position, stools and table and teapot all in their proper places; the pitcher in one piece, the broom and pail standing against the north wall, and all of the books lined up on the shelves like stiff English soldiers. The MacLean, suddenly spotless, was once again a vision of pure white and glimmering gold perfection.

Joy knew what her aunt was really saying: that Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie needed someone around to clean up after her, someone to undo the havoc her cockeyed magic wreaked. But Joy had lived with her aunt for fifteen years, and now she wanted a chance to live alone, to answer to no one but herself.

When she was alone, maybe she could learn to control her powers. Maybe she wouldn't feel so tense and nervous because there'd be no one to let down but herself. She was deeply hurt by her uncanny ability to always disappoint the people she most wanted to please. She stood there, defeated, guilty, unhappy, feeling despair spread through her. She hurt; she had failed, and now none of her hopes would be fulfilled.

With her aunt leaving for a council position in North America, Joy was to be alone at last, a prospect she had anticipated eagerly. Duart Castle had been leased to a group of Glasgow doctors who planned to use it to house the battered and mindshattered soldiers returning from war with Napoleon's France.

Joy was to go to her maternal grandmother's cottage in Surrey and live in relative obscurity for two years. She was sure she could learn her skills by then. She was positive. She just needed to convince the MacLean. Besides, her aunt would be gone and never know if she made a mistake or two. And there was one other argument in her favor: "If protection is what I need, how about a familiar?"

A loud feline scream cut through the air. Gabriel whipped out from under the MacLean's hem and scurried underneath a chest. He cowered in the dark, a pair of darting, wary blue eyes the only clue to his hiding place.

"My familiar," she corrected, just as Beezle twitched and snorted in his sleep. "Isn't a familiar supposed to protect a witch?"

"Joyous, the only thing that sluggish weasel will protect is his bedtime. You just cannot seem to concentrate — "

"Wait!" Joy stood, suddenly hopeful. "I have an idea!" She rushed over to a small battered Larkin desk, opened it, and rummaged through until she found what she sought. "Here!" She spun around holding a piece of paper, a pen with a small black box of pen points, and a squat jar of India ink. "I'll write the incantation down first. Then I can see it, on the paper in black and white. You'll see, I know I'll be able to concentrate then, I know it. Please...just give me one more chance."

Her aunt watched her for a long, decisive moment.

"Please," Joy whispered, lowering her eyes and holding her breath while her mind chanted a litany: Give me one last chance, please...please...please...

The MacLean raised her chin. "One more time."

A smile bright enough to outshine the candle flame filled Joy's pale face. Her green eyes flashed with eagerness, and she hastened to the table, sat down on a stool, and dipped the pen tip into the ink. Smiling, she looked up.

Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie was ready.

But England wasn't.

Copyright © 1993 by Jill Barnett Stadler

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First Chapter

From "Bewitching" There was magic in the air, yet few could see it.

To the mortal eye there was nothing but a brash, bullying Scottish storm that blew like the Devil's breath from the gray swirling waters of the Sound of Mull. Lightning splintered the midnight sky, and thunder bellowed. Rain poured down from the heavens, and the sea crashed against the huge granite rocks of the coast, splattering white sea-foam up the sharp cliff on which Duart Castle stood.

For five hundred of its six hundred years, the castle had been the stronghold of the clan MacLean and host to their cousins, the clan MacQuarrie. But the Battle of Culloden Moor had changed all that. On that dark, dank moor some sixty-seven years earlier, Scot stubbornness had caused many a clan to lose its holdings. The MacLeans had lost their stronghold to the Sassenach -- Englishmen who cared not a wit for the braw, bold power of the place. The castle stood empty now, dark and abandoned.

Or so it appeared.

The skies bellowed and crackled, and the seas roared. To mere mortals it was only another storm, but to those who knew, to those of the ancient faith, it was more than just the heavens and the earth battling.

The witches were awake.

Now, there were witches, and there were witches. And then there were the MacQuarries.

'Tis a sad tale, that of the MacQuarries, a tale that had begun hundreds of years before this night. An ancient forefather of the current MacQuarrie had been summoned to the fete of the spring equinox in what is now the south of England. There, on a wide plain, stood a massive stone temple where the witches and warlocks met to demonstrate their powers. On that special spring it had been decreed that the MacQuarrie warlock would have the cherished honor of making those most precious springtime flowers -- the roses -- bloom. Other witches and warlocks had already walked into the center of the temple and used their magic to bring life back to a winterdead earth.

'Twas a sight to see that day when, in a matter of moments, green grass broke through the sodden ground. Wallflower bushes, buttercups, and dandelions spread a frosting of bright yellow across the fresh green that had magically sprouted. Soon the barren branches of birch trees were dripping with silvery spring leaves and tall elegant alders burst anew. Oak, ash, and elm came back to life with little more than the casting of a spell, the flick of a hand, or the flashing snap of a witch's magic. The scent of jasmine, primrose, marigold, and lavender filled the cool morning air, and suddenly it was spring. Birds and insects swarmed through the air and perched in the trees, and the melody of the lark, the hum of the bees and call of doves brought music to the land that had for too many cold, dreary months been silent.

Then it was the MacQuarrie's turn. The crowd parted as he made his way to the center of the stone temple. The room was silent, so silent one could have heard a blink, as each and every witch and warlock waited for that special moment. The MacQuarrie stood there for a long moment of quiet concentration. Then slowly he raised his hands toward the massive ceiling and with a snap of his fingers, let loose his magic.

No roses bloomed that day.

Instead an enormous explosion, the like of which no one had ever seen, blew the temple walls and roof into the sky. When the dust settled and the air cleared and the witches and warlocks picked themselves up off the ground, the temple was no more. Nothing stood except a few circles of stone arches.

Modern mortals look in awe at the ruins they call Stonehenge, but mention the name Stonehenge to the witches of the world and to this very day they shake their heads in dismay and mutter about the shame of the MacQuarries.

And it came to pass that in the year of our Lord 1813 there were only two witches left in all of Scotland -- a MacLean and, of all things, a MacQuarrie. So on this brash night as the storm battered the shore of the isle of Mull, as it rained on the crumbling ruins of a once-proud castle perched upon that jagged stone headland, as the mortals on that tiny island cowered by their fires and listened to the heavens wait, the MacLean and the MacQuarrie made magic.

Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie bent down to pick up the scattering of books on the tower room floor. Ten golden bracelets jangled like sleigh bells down her wrists and echoed in the tense silence of the room. She was thankful for the noise; it gave her a blessed moment's respite from the impatient, penetrating glare of her aunt, the MacLean. With her face turned away from her aunt, Joy grabbed another book, tucking it under her arm as she muttered, "'Twas only one wee tad of a word." She picked up another book, to the accompaniment of those same tinkling bracelets, but as they settled on her wrists she could hear a new sound -- a distinct, agitated tapping.

Her aunt's foot.

Joy peeked under her outstretched arm and winced. Her aunt's arms were crossed, and she shook her golden head in disgust. But worst of all, Joy could see the MacLean's lips move: her aunt was counting again.

Joy's heart sank; she'd failed again. With a defeated sigh she quietly returned the books to their ancient oak shelf and plopped onto a wobbly wooden stool after pulling it closer to the trestle table that stood in the center of the tower room. She rested a small chin in her hand and waited for her aunt to reach a hundred -- at least she hoped it would be only a hundred.

A slick cat with fur as white as fresh Highland snow leapt onto the table and wound itself around and through the three time-tarnished brass candlesticks whose tapers bathed the battered oak table in flickering golden light. As the cat meandered along the table its tail cast strange shadows across the nicked tabletop. Entranced by the patterns, Joy tried to make imaginary letters out of those cat's-tail figures, her mind wandering off on one of its frequent journeys of fancy. That was her problem. She was a witch with a wandering mind.

The cat, Gabriel, was her aunt's familiar -- an embodied spirit in animal form whose duty was to serve, attend, and in some cases, guard a witch. She glanced at her own familiar, Beelzebub, an ermine weasel whose coat was currently winter white except for wee spots of black on his tail and paws. The snowy fur covered a massive potbelly that made him look more like a plump rabbit than a sleek, almost feline weasel. He was at that moment, as at most moments, sound asleep.

She sighed. Beezle was the only animal who was willing to be her familiar.

Cats like Gabriel were proud, arrogant animals; they absolutely refused to be associated with a witch who couldn't control her magic. Owls were too wise to ally themselves with someone as inept as Joy. And toads, well, they took one look at her, croaked, and hopped away.

Plump old Beezle wheezed in his sleep. Joy watched his black-tipped paws twitch and reminded herself that at least she had a familiar, even if he was only a weasel. As if sensing her thoughts, he cracked open one lazy brown eye and peered at her as if calmly waiting for the next disaster. She reached out to scratch his plush belly and promptly knocked over a pot of cold rose hip tea.

Gabriel hissed and sprang out of the path of the spilled tea. Beezle didn't move that fast. Beezle seldom moved at all. The tea pooled like the tide around him. He blinked twice, looked at the tea seeping onto his white fur, and gave her a look not unlike the MacLean's before he shook himself, sending a sprinkling of tea in every direction. He waddled over to a dry spot and plopped back down with a soft thud, then rolled over, paws in the air, plump white and pink belly up, and stared at the ceiling. Joy wondered if animals could count. Beezle opened his mouth and let out a loud wheeze, then a snore.

Count in their sleep, she amended, drumming her fingers on the table.

"Whatever am I to do with you?" the MacLean finally spoke, having taken enough time to count to a hundred twice. Her aunt's stance was stern, but her voice held the patience that arose from what was almost a mother's love.

That love made the situation even worse for Joy. She truly wanted to hone her magic skills for her patient aunt as well as for her own pride's sake, and she was miserable because she couldn't get it right. She absently drew one finger through the dust on the table, then looked at her aunt and mentor. "Can one word truly make such a difference?"

"Every single word is of the utmost importance. An incantation must be exact. Part of the power comes from the voice." The MacLean took a deep breath and clasped her hands behind her. "The rest takes practice. Concentration!" She paced around the circular room, her strong voice echoing off the stone walls like bagpipes in the Highlands. With the suddenness of a wink, she stopped and looked down at Joy. "Now pay attention. Watch me."

Standing to Joy's left, she raised her elegant hands high in the air, allowing the fine gold threads in her embroidered silk robe to catch the candlelight and glimmer like the twinkling of fairy dust. Joy caught her breath. Standing as she was, tall and golden with the midnight sky as a backdrop through the tower window, her aunt looked like a goddess. Her long straight hair, which hung in a gleaming satin drape past her hips to the backs of her knees, was the color of hammered gold. Her skin was as flawless as pure cream and appeared ageless in the muted glow of the candlelight. The MacLean's robe was white -- not the stark white of cotton or the ivory white of lamb's wool but the same shimmering white that the stars shone, that lightning sparked, that diamonds glittered and the sun glowed.

A breath of cold Scottish wind whistled through the tower room, making the candle flames flicker. The sharp smell of hot tallow mingled with the scent of midnight rain and the brine of the roiling seas that rode the whisper of wind through the room. Shadows danced a jagged jig up the granite walls, and the sound of waves crashing against the sharp coastal rocks below echoed upward, blending with the mournful call of gulls that roosted in the tower eaves. Then, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, all was still...silent.

The MacLean's deep voice called out, "Come!"

Magic quaked through the air -- a live, animated thing, powerful, controlled, swarming toward the wall where heavy old leather-bound books stood on an oaken shelf. A huge brown book, cracked and tattered, slowly, inch by smooth inch, slid off the shelf, turned in midair, then floated to the MacLean. It hovered near her, waiting, until she slowly lowered one arm. The book followed her movement, lighting on the table as if it were a feather instead of a three-thousand-page volume.

Joy plopped her chin into her hand and sighed. "You make it look so easy."

"'Tis easy. One must simply concentrate." Her aunt replaced the book on its shelf and turned to Joy. "Now you try it."

With pure Scots stubbornness in her dark green eyes, Joy took a deep breath, closed those eyes, and with all the drama a twenty-one-year-old witch could muster, she flung her hands up into the air. Her bracelets flew across the tower room like soaring gulls. At the first clatter of metal hitting stone, she winced, then eased open one green eye.

"Forget the bracelets! Concentrate...concentrate."

She tried to concentrate, but nothing happened. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

"Picture the book moving, Joyous. Use your mind's eye."

She remembered the way her aunt had made the magic only minutes before. She threw her shoulders back and raised her determined chin, sending a thick cascade of wild and wavy mink-brown hair tumbling down to sway near the backs of her thighs. She opened her eyes and reached up higher. Taking one deep, cleansing breath for luck, she commanded, "Come!"

The book quivered, moved about two inches, then stopped.

"Concentrate!"

"Come!" Joy spread her fingers wide, bit her lip, and slowly pulled her hands back toward her, mentally picturing the book drifting toward her, then hovering in the air.

The book slid forward on the shelf, just reaching the edge.

"Come!" Joy shouted in a voice as deep as Fingal's Cave. She opened her eyes, determined to move that book, then snapped her fingers for good measure.

Luckily she saw it coming and ducked. "Oh, my goodness!"

The book flew past her as if carried on a whirlwind; then the next book and the next book, then another and another, sucked from the shelf with the pulling strength of the sea tide. With a horrendous crack the bookshelf ripped from the stone walls. It flew around the room, spinning and arcing, turning and turning, faster and faster. A dented tin pail spun off to Joy's left, then clanged against the floor. A broom sped to the right; three stools twirled like dancers, then tumbled end over end to bang against a pitcher, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Furniture crashed against the walls, splintering, cracking. Candles levitated up...up...up.... The wind howled through the room, huffing and puffing and whirling. Instinctively Joy wrapped her arms around her head and hunched over. The teapot just missed her. From somewhere she heard a cat shriek, the patter of paws running. A coal bucket sent lumps of black coal flying through the room like rocks at a stoning. Then she heard a regal -- sounding grunt -- the MacLean.

"Oh, rats!" Joy clamped her hand over her mouth as a hundred gray rats scurried into the tower room, slithering down the walls, leaping from broken furniture, running amok.

Slowly the wind died down, growing softer until it was but a whisper, and after a long moment the air was still. The only sound in the room was that of the rats' scurrying feet.

Joy heard a choked cough behind her. She straightened up and turned around.

Waving away the coal dust, a black-faced MacLean extricated herself from beneath what had once been a two-hundred-year-old throne chair. She cast a malevolent look at the rats running willy-nilly through the disaster-struck room and snapped her elegant black-smudged fingers, sending up a small cloud of coal dust. The rats disappeared.

The once-white Gabriel, outnumbered by the rats, let loose another screech and scurried in a black ball across the room and under the MacLean's filthy gown where the hemline quivered for a long moment and a little dusting of soot sprinkled onto the wood-plank floor. The only sound in the room was Beezle's wheezing. Sprawled on his back, he lay on the table, paws up, belly slowly rising with each wheeze. He'd slept through the whole thing.

One tense but despairing stare from her aunt and Joy felt the weight of the world.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning her guilty green eyes toward her aunt.

"I cannot let you loose on the world, Joyous. I cannot." The MacLean dusted off her hands and surveyed the destruction. "I cannot in good conscience let you live in England all alone for two years."

Her aunt looked thoughtful for a brief moment while she tapped a coal-blackened finger against her lips. "Of course, letting you live there might be just what the English deserve after Culloden Moor..."

She glanced around the cluttered room with a scowl of disgust, then shook her head. "No, no. The English are already burdened by a lunatic king and a regent who would rather play than rule."

"But -- "

"No." The MacLean raised her hand to silence Joy. "I know you mean well, but all the good intentions in the world cannot control...this." She waved a hand at the mess in the room, shook her head, and went on, "You need protection, my dear. Someone to watch over you."

With that she raised her sooty hands in the air, snapped her fingers, and zap! the room was back in perfect orderchairs upright and in position, stools and table and teapot all in their proper places; the pitcher in one piece, the broom and pail standing against the north wall, and all of the books lined up on the shelves like stiff English soldiers. The MacLean, suddenly spotless, was once again a vision of pure white and glimmering gold perfection.

Joy knew what her aunt was really saying: that Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie needed someone around to clean up after her, someone to undo the havoc her cockeyed magic wreaked. But Joy had lived with her aunt for fifteen years, and now she wanted a chance to live alone, to answer to no one but herself.

When she was alone, maybe she could learn to control her powers. Maybe she wouldn't feel so tense and nervous because there'd be no one to let down but herself. She was deeply hurt by her uncanny ability to always disappoint the people she most wanted to please. She stood there, defeated, guilty, unhappy, feeling despair spread through her. She hurt; she had failed, and now none of her hopes would be fulfilled.

With her aunt leaving for a council position in North America, Joy was to be alone at last, a prospect she had anticipated eagerly. Duart Castle had been leased to a group of Glasgow doctors who planned to use it to house the battered and mindshattered soldiers returning from war with Napoleon's France.

Joy was to go to her maternal grandmother's cottage in Surrey and live in relative obscurity for two years. She was sure she could learn her skills by then. She was positive. She just needed to convince the MacLean. Besides, her aunt would be gone and never know if she made a mistake or two. And there was one other argument in her favor: "If protection is what I need, how about a familiar?"

A loud feline scream cut through the air. Gabriel whipped out from under the MacLean's hem and scurried underneath a chest. He cowered in the dark, a pair of darting, wary blue eyes the only clue to his hiding place.

"My familiar," she corrected, just as Beezle twitched and snorted in his sleep. "Isn't a familiar supposed to protect a witch?"

"Joyous, the only thing that sluggish weasel will protect is his bedtime. You just cannot seem to concentrate -- "

"Wait!" Joy stood, suddenly hopeful. "I have an idea!" She rushed over to a small battered Larkin desk, opened it, and rummaged through until she found what she sought. "Here!" She spun around holding a piece of paper, a pen with a small black box of pen points, and a squat jar of India ink. "I'll write the incantation down first. Then I can see it, on the paper in black and white. You'll see, I know I'll be able to concentrate then, I know it. Please...just give me one more chance."

Her aunt watched her for a long, decisive moment.

"Please," Joy whispered, lowering her eyes and holding her breath while her mind chanted a litany: Give me one last chance, please...please...please...

The MacLean raised her chin. "One more time."

A smile bright enough to outshine the candle flame filled Joy's pale face. Her green eyes flashed with eagerness, and she hastened to the table, sat down on a stool, and dipped the pen tip into the ink. Smiling, she looked up.

Joyous Fiona MacQuarrie was ready.

But England wasn't.

Copyright © 1993 by Jill Barnett Stadler

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 159 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(85)

4 Star

(39)

3 Star

(23)

2 Star

(9)

1 Star

(3)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 159 Customer Reviews
  • Posted November 3, 2010

    I LOVED this book!

    I don't often write reviews, which is bad of me, because I ALWAYS read them before deciding to purchase. BUT, I have to say something about Betwitching. Because that's exactly what I was when I started reading. Bewitched. This is the first book by Jill Barnett that I have read, and I am heading to the ebook section as soon as I finish this to purchase another. Very often, when I get into the mood to read historical romance, I lean towards Highlanders, and the story lines, while different, are the same. I can't say that about this story. A true romance, with a little bit of white magic and a lot of love thrown into the mixture. The way Jill writes about how Joy sees and experiences things all around her make you want to stand in a field of white snow and watch the flakes fall. She is a fantastic writer, and I know that this is one of the rare novels that I will turn to read again and again.

    26 out of 27 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 25, 2011

    Funny and adorable

    I love that there are some tender and then laugh out loud moments tossed in. I think this is the best that she has ever written.

    12 out of 13 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 2, 2012

    Highly Recommended - a must read!

    This book is a wonderful read with many moments of hilarity. I've never laughed so much while reading a book! This has been a favorite book of mine for nearly 15 years and I can reread it and enjoy it like it's the first time each time I pick it up.

    10 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 7, 2010

    this ebook was ok

    i enjoyed this ebook but it could have been really good but wasnt. the storyline was really cute but the delivery just missed the mark for me. the price was reasonable for the ebook. i buy a lot of ebooks but refuse to pay 9.99 and up for any ebook no matter who the author is. these are book prices and these ebooks can be taken from our libraries at anytime. it was done to me and there was nothing i could do about it.publisher's pulled the title and even though i had already bought and read the book month's before it was still pulled from my library.this is why i decided no more would i pay book prices for an ebook.

    7 out of 17 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 17, 2000

    Be prepared to laugh out loud.....

    OK-a witch and a Duke? I was prepared to roll my eyes and critique the piece negatively. BUT-the funniest (and I mean funniest) thing happened. I really fell in love with this story. Ms. Barnett does such a great job of mixing a powerful love story with great surprises and very funny situations. It is a 'make your day brighter' book-no doubt about it!

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 15, 2012

    I Also Recommend:

    Very entertaining read. One of the few books this month that I e

    Very entertaining read. One of the few books this month that I enjoyed reading.

    6 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 30, 2010

    Clever and amusing but a bit to "Harlequin" for me.

    If you are in to romance novels you'll like it but I tend to skip past the parts with the flowery prose depicting what amounts to sex. I like the story and I don't mind some romantic parts in a story if tastefully done (read: leave something to the imagination), not gratuitous amounts and not when the story would be fine with a "less is more" approach.

    Other than that this is a fun book, the characters are somewhat developed but I never really empathized with any of them except the main character.

    I'd like to see more of this story in other books but more whimsically written and with less romantic elements and more, much, much more, magical and fantastical elements.

    Sometimes I thought the fact that she was a witch was almost besides the point. You could probably insert many other social impediments in place of witch and it would work nearly as well with only small changes to the story needed.

    In short, it wasn't really a fantasy novel about a witch with some romantic elements as it was a romance story about someone who just happens to also be a witch. I wish it had been more of the former.

    6 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 18, 2009

    Bravo Jill!!!

    Just wait. You'll laugh, you'll cry and you'll read this book over and over again. This is the third copy of this book that I've owned. The first got wet, the second, I gave away and now I've replaced it again. The characters are fantastic. Oh, and just wait until you get to chapter 13!!! There is not a dull moment starting at page one and you'll love the rose petals too!
    She gives her aunt gray hair, her husband bad nerves and everyone joy, no pun intented - well maybe just a little.
    Read and enjoy and I guarantee you'll never forget it!!

    6 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 2, 2003

    Full of fun and wit. Will make you laugh aloud.

    Set mostly in the year 1814, Joyous 'Joy' Fiona MacQuarie was half mortal and half white witch. She had been raised and taught by her aunt, The MacLean, since her parents had died. No matter how hard she tried though, she could not master her magic. So often something went wrong. When her aunt had to go to America for awhile, Joy was to teleport herself to a relative's cottage. She and Beezle (a weasel - her familiar) ended up in the lap of Alec Castlemaine, Duke of Belmore. ......... Alec was the fifteenth Duke of Belmore. His father had made sure that Alec took the role seriously - too seriously! Everyone knew his coldness, even his two closest buddies, the Earl of Downe and Viscount Seymour, and all except Downe and Seymour feared him. Alec's fiancé had just ran off a day before their wedding. To stop gossip and soothe his pride, Alec married Joy. ........... Joy had tried to tell Alec she was a witch, before they married, but he refused to listen. His kisses dazzled her and before she could say, 'Oh my goodness' they were wed. From then on Alec's world was never the same. When he made Joy cry, it rained water. When he kissed Joy, it rained pink rose petals. When he made Joy angry, the clouds voiced her feelings. And because Joy loved Alec with all her heart, she would give him what he needed most ... a little magical mayhem in his dreary world. ........ ***** I have fallen in LOVE with this author! In fact, I plan to search Barnett's back list in hopes of finding a story for Letitia. Pick up this title on your next awful day and watch your day get better quickly. Therre is just no way one can NOT laugh and enjoy such a book as this!

    5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 26, 2011

    Very Good but not Perfect

    If I could have given the book 4.5 stars, I would have. It was funny in parts--especially Chapter 13--and it was definitely a change from the "typical" romance novel. However, I found the main hero to be tiresome and certain aspects, like the ultimatum near the end, did not make sense to me.

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 28, 2011

    Must read, a wonderful story

    This is my repeat book. I always come away happy. Its just mystical and my very favorite book. Enjoy.

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 22, 2012

    Enchanting

    I bought Bewitching on sale, because it was recommended by an author I usually read. You can read the synopsis, so I'll just say that I was mesmerized by this book.

    There is such a wonderful feeling to the whole story. So much of the plot was unexpected. I never knew quite where it was going, but I enjoyed every bit. Basically, this is a very unusual twist on the Duke with all pride and no feelings learning to love when he marries a woman that delights in every little thing AND who just happens to be a Scottish, white witch.

    Read it. You won't be sorry.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 12, 2012

    New favorite!

    I absolutely adored this book. It was the first I had read by this author and was very entertained! The main character was so charming and endearing, clumsy, and so funny. I laughed out loud many times, and got thoroughly caught up in the romance. Highly recommend!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 4, 2012

    I love Jill's books!

    Great story and alittle different. Laugh out loud humor. Great book to loose yourself in to escape the real world. I have been a fan of Jill's for years, highly reccomend all her books.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2012

    WOW

    This was a wonderful story. I do not usually like magic type books but this was laugh out loud funny. The characters we great. The emotions were heartfelt; love, sadness, joy, hurt it was done very well.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2012

    H Best book i have read in a while

    Loved this story..i became emotionally involved with the characters..my stomach would twist in knots when i became worried..i smiled at the romantic bits...and laughed at the humorous comments.this book truly had everything.a battle between man and himself.a romantic love story without being too vulgar.a focus on the value of family.and a magical twist.i was sad it ended.i may have fallen in love with a fictional character named Alec...oops

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 2, 2012

    The magic of love...

    Overall this was a good read. It was humorous and I found myseld invested in the characters. However, I wish more would've been written on the magical side of the story. That, and the Duke is a total ass who got off too easy (but isn't that the case in most of these stories?) Maybe the author will expand on the stories of the rest of the book's magical members....one can only hope...... I would love to ready about Jonathan's story!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 30, 2012

    LadybugNY1

    Funny, Sexy, Real love throughout... Joyous and Alec find and learn to love and with each other with a bit of help from some special people... Sit down read and enjoy. Moving on to the next book Dreaming, :)

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 25, 2012

    Starrynight

    Really enjoyed would love to read more from this writer. She has a wicked sense of humor, hope her future stories are as amusing. Definetly a five star and plus more.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 23, 2012

    Great book!

    Loved every seconed!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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