by Ava Stone
“To see that you get well.” She smiled as she approached the bed, a cup in her hand.
“Shouldn’t you have returned home by now?”
“I sent word that I would remain at the castle until you are well and had some of my things brought over.”
Thorn stepped into her path. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He gave a slight bow. “I am Mr. David Thorn.”
“It is nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Blake’s?”
Thorn hitched a brow as he turned to him and mouthed Blake?
He shouldn’t be surprised that Brighid’s use of his Christian name would intrigue his friend. Perhaps it would dissuade Thorn from pursuing her. “Miss Glace is from the area. I’ve known her a long time.”
Thorn nodded knowingly. Did he assume there was something between them? “She is a witch that lives in the woods,” Blake explained.
Brighid stepped around Thorn. “I’ve a mind to dump this over your head, Blake Chetwey.”
“Witch?” Thorn asked. “You are welcome to bewitch me.”
Bloody hell. The last thing he needed was Thorn seducing Brighid. She was an innocent young woman and would not be prepared for whatever debauchery his friend might attempt. “Leave off, Thorn.”
His friend chuckled. “If you insist.” He backed away from the bed.
“Drink.” Brighid held the cup to him.
Blake pulled himself to a sitting position and did as she ordered. He shouldn’t call her a witch. It was safer to think of her in those terms instead of a lovely, enchanting young woman with black-as-midnight hair, porcelain complexion and silver-grey eyes. And those lips, so plump and rosy, meant to be kissed often.
He blinked. Why the hell was he thinking of Brighid in such terms? It was surely the fever. Witch, he reminded himself silently.
Once he had drained the contents from the cup he lay back down. Brighid reached to pull the covers over him. “Too hot.”
She smiled gently. “You won’t be for long.”
He dearly hoped not, but he could always remove the blankets when she was gone.
“Get some rest and I will check on you later.”
“Allow me to escort you out, Miss Glace.”
She stopped and studied Thorn. “I believe you need to find your bed, Mr. Thorn. If your head is paining you too much in the morning, seek me out for a remedy.”
Thorn gave her a disarming smile. “I would be happy to seek you out, though I won’t need a remedy.”
She snorted. “By the ale on your breath, you surely will.” She turned to Blake. “Rest.” With that she glided out the door leaving Thorn behind.
“Stay away from her,” Blake warned his friend.
Thorn studied him. “Ah, so you wish her for yourself.”
“I want no such thing.” Blake scrunched his brow and pushed back into the pillows. “She is not for you. I know your type and she is not it.”
Thorn smiled broadly. “Perhaps my tastes are changing.” Turning, Thorn sauntered from the room and closed the door behind him. Blake could hear his friend whistling until he was out of earshot.
Blake closed his eyes and hoped Thorn would not attempt to seduce Brighid before he was well. Not that he cared for the witch, but he didn’t want her ruined by Thorn either.
“It is so blasted hot.” He moved to push the blankets away but remembered that Brighid said he would not be hot for long. It was better to suffer now than be awakened because he was chilled. He knew better than anyone that only sleep helped him get through these episodes.
A moment later cold air brushed his cheek and then seeped into his body, as if he was blanketed in a cool cloud. Either there was a welcome draft in this room, or Brighid’s tea was his cure.
Brighid washed the cup and prepared the items for the next cup of tea. She was the only one in the kitchen and just a few lamps were lit since the rest of the servants had found their beds. She should as well. She glanced back at the door leading to the herbarium. It was difficult to go in there during the light of day, but she certainly couldn’t sleep in there as her ancestors had done. Luckily, a room had been provided in the servants’ quarters but she wasn’t tired. She could return and check on Blake. If he were awake they could visit, but she didn’t wish to disturb him. Besides, why should she want to sit with a man that repeatedly called her a witch?
Did he truly believe she was one or was he only mocking her? Either way, it hurt. Would he ever see her differently?
Oh bother, she had to get over her infatuation with that man. She had been holding a tendre for him since she was fourteen, but enough was enough already.
With a sigh she sank to the stool. What to do?
Perhaps she should brew herself a cup of chamomile tea, but she didn’t want to go out into the herbarium just for a few leaves. The room frightened her, if she were being honest with herself, especially at night.
A book?
No, she wasn’t much in the mood for reading.
Brighid stood. She had always wanted to see more of Marisdùn and this was the perfect opportunity. She might even encounter a ghost.
A grin pulled at her lips. Everyone else had encountered them, maybe she would finally get the privilege as well.
Lifting the lamp, Brighid glided out of the kitchen intent on finding at least one spirit wandering about. It was the middle of the night—wouldn’t this be the most likely time to find one?
The first room she entered was what, she assumed, was the parlor. Holding the lamp high, she stepped further inside until she stood in the center. The door closed and she whipped around to see who was there, but she was quite alone. Blast. She had hoped it was a spirit.
Perhaps she should rethink this plan. She really shouldn’t be wandering about the house when she hadn’t even met the owner. And, as he had five bachelors with him, she shouldn’t risk encountering them. Of course, she knew Blake was harmless, but the same could not be said for Mr. Thorn. He had been flirting with her. Even though no one had ever done so before, she recognized his brazen attempts.
A giggle bubbled up. As if she would wish to bewitch him. If it were in her power to bewitch anyone, it would be Blake.
With a heavy sigh she left the parlor and searched the other rooms on the floor. There were no ghosts. At least none that she could see, and it was quite disappointing. With a hand on the railing, she walked up the wide stairs to the second landing. Blake’s room was only two doors down. Should she check on him before retiring to the third floor?
Brighid paused in the middle of the corridor, not certain what to do.
He was ill and she had given him tea, but what if he needed something else?
Yes, she should check in on him one last time. Her concern was that of a healer only, of course.
She walked quietly to his door and lifted her hand to knock but stopped. If he was asleep she didn’t wish to wake him. Instead, she turned the handle and slowly opened the door. The room was brighter than it had been earlier and she assumed someone had come along and built up the fire, but if there were a maid or footman about she hadn’t seen them.
Brighid lifted the lamp higher. As she turned toward the bed in the center of the room, her heart lodged in her throat and the stab of pain in her gut nearly crippled her.
Draped across Blake’s slumbering form was a young woman in a nightdress. Her blonde hair cascaded across him and her head rested on his chest.
Where had the woman come from? Nobody told her that Blake had brought a woman with him. It wasn’t his wife because Brighid would have learned if he had married. Was it his mistress? Did the other gentlemen bring mistresses as well?
And, if she was Blake’s ladylove, why hadn’t she been treating Blake during his illness?
The more she looked at them the more it hurt. Tears sprang to her eyes as she backed out of the room and closed the door. She always knew Blake would never be for her, she just never expected it to hurt so much to find him in another’s arms.
Blake blink
ed his eyes open. There was little light coming through the windows and he calculated that it must be early morning. Had he managed to sleep the night through? Usually he slept only a few hours at a time. He would usually wake from chills, fever, to vomit, or his head pounding, too heavy for him to rest. Perhaps there was something in that concoction Brighid had brewed. If he could manage to recover quickly enough, he might just enjoy the masquerade. It also meant that he would be calling upon her when the illness claimed him in the future, and not the blade-wielding Alcott.
He shivered at the close call of having his blood let.
The sound of laughter drifted through the door. Was it later than he suspected? He listened as it grew louder.
Children? Were there children at Marisdùn? None of Braden’s family remained in residence, and they certainly hadn’t brought children with them, so where had they come from? There was a squeal from a little girl and then a door banged along the corridor as the children ran by. Perhaps they belonged to the servants. If so, they needed to be told that there were now residents and guests in the castle and the children should be kept quiet at this time of day. They could play outside or in the nursery, assuming there was one. Given the states in which Thorn and Garrick had been upon their return to the castle last night, they would surely not appreciate being awakened in this manner.
Though it would serve Thorn right if he did wake with a nauseating headache after the way he had flirted with Brighid.
The door slowly opened and he expected to see a child poke his head inside to investigate. Instead, Brighid peeked around the door and looked about the room. A frown appeared on her lips and her brow furrowed. What was she expecting to find?
Her hair was neatly pulled behind her, as it often was, but her skin was pale and dark smudges lingered beneath her eyes. Had she not slept well?
“You’re alone?” she asked as she stepped in the room.
“Yes,” Blake answered slowly. “The children did not come in here.”
She tilted her head as if confused. “Children?”
“Yes, the ones that were just running down the hall and slamming doors. Surely you saw them.”
She stepped further into the room and toward his bed. “There are no children in the castle.”
“Yes, there are. I just heard them.” He had many symptoms from the malaria, but hallucinations had never been one of them.
She placed a tray on the table and began to pour a cup of tea. “You must have heard the Mordue children.”
He pulled himself to a sitting position, his body aching, but not as badly as yesterday, and took the cup. “Mordue children?” he asked before taking a drink.
“Their entire family was taken by the black death.”
Blake sputtered, spitting a bit of tea back into the cup. “More ghosts?”
“Drink,” she insisted. “There were seven in all.”
Blake rolled his eyes and did as she instructed. He would leave Brighid to her beliefs because it did little good to argue with the witch.
She took the cup from him when the tea was gone and placed a hand against his brow. “You are still feverish.”
“I did become cooler last night, after you left.”
A small snort escaped her. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“That was the purpose of the tea, was it not?”
“Yes, though I am surprised you could sleep in such a manner, given how sick you are.”
“Like what?” Had he tossed off his blankets again? All he remembered was being blessedly cool after he drank the tea.
She set the cup none too gently upon the tray. “It is not of my concern, Blake Chetwey, how you conduct yourself.” She strode for the door, her back ram rod straight. “I will check on you later, unless she has decided to care for you now.” Brighid exited the chamber, practically slamming the door behind her.
“She?” What the blazes was she talking about?
“Don’t make me do this, Cyrus,” Callie begged as their cabriolet passed through Marisdùn’s battlements and into the castle’s courtyard.
But her brother was in no mood to listen to reason. It was all her fault. She hadn’t meant to tell him about Lila’s accident along the road to town yesterday. She’d only meant to say that she wanted to make sure Lila was feeling all right. But that statement had led to questions and before she knew what had happened, she’d told him everything about the three fellows who’d raced along the road and the rock that hit Lila in the head. That last part was what sent Cyrus into a temper, the likes of which she’d never seen before. He’d sputtered and his face had actually taken on a purplish hue.
“You will point them out, Callie,” he bit out, still as angry as he had been at Braewood twenty minutes earlier.
“It was an accident,” she pleaded. “And his lordship made certain she was all right before he left the vicarage.”
“After he carried her all the way there.”
Callie winced. She wasn’t certain if Cyrus was more angry that Lila had been hurt or that another man had carried her in his arms.
“I am the magistrate, and I will not have a pack of London brigands running around town injuring our residents!”
Callie hardly thought Lord Quentin and his friends could be described as brigands, but she kept that thought to herself. There was, after all, no reasoning with Cyrus when he was in a temper.
Her brother drew the conveyance to a halt before the castle’s large wooden doors, and as Callie gazed upon the main building, a chill raced down her spine. Heavens, if even half of the things she’d heard about this place were true then it was still teeming with spirits.
Cyrus secured the reins to the cabriolet’s hook then hopped down to the ground. He turned and offered her his hand, but she stubbornly shook her head. “I won’t go in there, Cyrus, not with all the ghosts. It scares me.”
His nostrils flared in annoyance and his brown eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I’ll never forgive you,” she vowed. And then brilliance struck her. “I’ll tell Lila and Vicar Southward how mean you were to make me go in there.”
He reared back as though she’d struck him, and in that instant Callie felt like the worst sort of villain. She didn’t want to threaten him or manipulate him. She just didn’t want to go inside Marisdùn Castle and would do everything she could to stay out-of-doors, up to and including hurting her brother in the worst possible way.
“You don’t need me to do any of this,” she said more softly. “You can issue your threats or warnings without me there to point out the fellows. Please don’t make me do it, Cyrus.”
Her brother’s jaw tightened but after a moment, he agreed with a single nod. “I’ll be back soon, then.”
As her brother climbed the stone steps to the castle entrance, Callie leaned back against the seat and sighed with relief. Cyrus disappeared into the castle a moment later, leaving Callie alone in the courtyard for however long it would take her brother to personally threaten everyone inside the castle’s walls. She could be waiting a rather long time. But waiting outside was preferable to venturing indoors and encountering whatever resided inside.
Just as soon as that thought popped to mind, a lovely woman in a pretty blue, flowing dress rounded the cabriolet and smiled at Callie. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to go inside,” she said.
Heavens, had she and Cyrus been so loud they were overheard? Her cheeks warmed and she fidgeted in her seat. But the woman’s question did pique Callie’s interest. “Have you been inside?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” the woman nodded. “Quite haunted, but the gardens are safe and very peaceful.”
“The gardens?” Callie glanced towards a garden door at the far end of the main building.
The woman smiled once again, putting Callie at complete ease. “Mrs. Routledge kept the nicest gazanias. I go and sit by them from time to time just to calm my nerves.”
Being at Marisdùn could certain put one’s nerves on edge. “Gazanias?�
�� Callie echoed. The colors were always so vibrant in the flower. She’d always wanted to keep some at Braewood but hadn’t ever managed to keep them alive.
“Would you like to see them?” the woman asked.
She might as well. Who knew how long she’d have to wait for Cyrus and she did love strolling gardens. “You’re certain it’s safe?” she asked, edging to the front of the cabriolet’s bench.
The woman’s smile was almost captivating and soothing all at once. “Cross my heart.”
“Very well.” Callie bounded from the cabriolet and dusted her hands across her skirts.
“This way,” the woman said.
Callie followed the woman, mesmerized so suddenly by the flowing blue of her dress. The silk seemed to move as gently as the sea and Callie couldn’t pull her eyes from it, not that she wanted to. She’d never seen anything as lovely as that blue. She could have stared at it forever and a day.
She didn’t realize they had even entered the gardens until the woman in blue turned slowly and gestured to an amazing arrangement of golden and red gazanias, laid out in the shape of a star, each point a different color. To the left of the flowers, sat an immaculate white stone fountain that trickled happily. A starling chirped from the nearby hedgerow and Callie couldn’t help but smile. The woman was right. Marisdùn’s gardens were incredible, like the most calming oasis. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed out.
“I couldn’t agree more,” a male voice said from behind her.
Callie spun on her heels to find the single most handsome man she’d ever seen, standing just a few feet away. He was tall and broad-shouldered, sporting a bottle green jacket and crisp white cravat. He looked like a sketch from a London fashion plate, serious and regal all at once. His light brown hair made him appear kissed by the sun and his warm hazel eyes seemed singularly focused on her. She couldn’t quite speak.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said.
“I—um—” She tried to think of something intelligent to say. “Well, I just came to see the gazanias.” That wasn’t terribly intelligent but it was better than stumbling over her words.