by Ava Stone
She tapped lightly on the door, but he did not bid her entrance. Brighid waited and then knocked again, still no response. Biting her lip, she stared at the door. Had he gone down and she had missed him?
What if he was too ill to answer?
She took another breath, turned the handle and stepped inside. She lost her grip on the tray and it fell, clanging against the floor boards, the cup and saucer shattering, propelling shards of porcelain about her.
Blake lay on the bed, struggling beneath the ghost. He was kicking his legs and pushing at the woman, but his hands were going through her shoulders as if she weren’t there. Of course, she was a ghost, but she had somehow managed to hold Blake in place.
The ghost showed no reaction to the noise and continued to practically molest Blake. Brighid picked up a discarded pillow and threw it at Blythe. It went right through her, but startled the apparition enough that she broke her hold on Blake before she turned to glare at Brighid.
She raised her arm and thrust her palm toward the ghost. “Be gone.”
In a whoosh, the ghost of Blythe Tucker disappeared.
Brighid rushed to the side of Blake’s bed. He sat up, gasping for breath. “I think she just tried to kill me.”
Her heart nearly stopped. She knew that not all the ghosts were as friendly as the Mordue children, but did they have murderous ones about as well?
She would have to learn more about Blythe. There were stories to go with all of the ghosts, but she had not heard of this one until Mrs. Small told them of her yesterday. Had she truly been trying to kill Blake? Did she want to take him to the other side to be with her? If that was her plan, Brighid was not about to allow her to do so. “You cannot stay in this room.”
“I am not sure I want to stay in this bloody castle.”
Brighid paced in the corridor outside of Blake’s room. What if Blythe came back and she wasn’t there to help? Of course, she couldn’t remain inside while he dressed for the day, but that didn’t mean she was at all comfortable with him being alone in the room. When she suggested he ask one of his friends to stay with him, Blake had glowered at her. “I am not about to let any of them think I am afraid to be alone in this chamber.”
The door opened and Brighid let out a sigh. Blake stood there, put to rights and still alive. At least she hoped he was. Some of these ghosts could appear to be very real. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth.
Blake quirked a brow, “Satisfied?”
“I will be when you are given another chamber.”
He held out his arm and she took his elbow. “As will I,” He paused in the middle of the stairs. “but don’t tell the others the true reason. Let them believe I don’t wish to stay in my sick room.”
It seemed rather silly to her. “Very well.” Brighid pulled away from him when they reached the foyer. “I assume you will wish to go into breakfast.”
Blake studied her. There was a slight tilt to his head and concern in his eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time. “You made Blythe disappear.” His words were low, but she heard them just the same.
“I startled her. That is all.” That had to be all. She certainly didn’t have the power to make the ghost disappear any more than she had the power to protect a room with a spell, or look into the future, or conjure a spirit as her ancestors claimed to be able to do. She wouldn’t allow it to be so.
A lazy smile came to his lips before he dragged her into a sitting room. “Are you sure it isn’t because you are a witch?
His tone was teasing but it hurt nonetheless. “Why do you insist on calling me such a vile name?”
Blake’s smile slipped. “I am only teasing.”
“That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” She pulled away and walked to the window. The rain continued, keeping her in the castle. There was really no other reason to be here anymore. Blake had recovered and she wasn’t really a guest of Lord Bradenham’s, but she couldn’t trek through the woods to her grandmothers in this downpour. She would be soaked before she reached the gate at the back of the castle and the path home would be nothing but mud.
“Why do you call me a witch?” she asked. Blake had begun using the nickname when she was only a child and she’d never understood why.
His breath heated her neck, sending shivers down her spine. How could she not know he was so close to her? Strong warm hands caressed her upper arms. “Don’t you remember?”
She turned and looked up into his warm, green eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her any longer and she read a deeper emotion in their depths. Was it possible he cared for her?
Brighid quickly dismissed the possibility. Blake Chetwey would never have feelings any deeper than friendship for her, if that. “I’m not sure I do,” she finally answered.
“I had gotten lost. Fell into an old well, actually. It began to rain, much as it is now, and the well began to fill. I had no way of getting out. I thought for certain I was going to die. And then someone dropped a rope down to me.”
“You were just a boy.” Brighid dismissed, trying to block the memory of that day.
“My aunt said you were the one who said I was in the clearing. That when asked if you knew where I was you grew silent, stared straight ahead, as if your mind had gone away, and then told them where to find me.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Brighid remembered it well. She had seen Blake, at the bottom of the well, the water rising. She didn’t understand how she saw it; just that she did, but she’d never told anyone that she had an actual vision. The entire experience had scared her enough that she feared anyone asking her a question for a very long time. “You told me you were going to the clearing, remember? It was as simple as that.” She had wanted to trail after him. Even when she was the tender age of five, Blake Chetwey had fascinated her. “And that I was to leave you alone.”
His face colored, but the left side of his mouth tipped up in half a smile. “I was thirteen and didn’t want to be bothered with having a child about.”
“That is when you started calling me a witch.”
“The day was frightening enough and then to have been rescued because of a girl…it stung. I figured the only way you could have known where I was is if you were a witch.”
His reasoning made sense, not that she liked it any more than before. “It isn’t very flattering.”
He pulled her closer. “When I was a boy, it was less humiliating to be saved by a witch than a little girl. As I grew older, and you turned into a beautiful young woman, it was still safer to keep calling you a witch.”
Her pulsed raced. He thought her beautiful? Was it possible he could one day feel as she did? “I do not understand you, Blake Chetwey.”
He didn’t understand either. Except, when Brighid ceased being a witch, she became a desirable, enchanting miss that he was drawn to each time he returned to the Abbey, but tried to avoid. When he visited at the age of five and twenty, and encountered seventeen-year-old Brighid picking wildflowers along the road, his heart was nearly ripped from his chest. But he had his life ahead of him and couldn’t be bothered with a miss at such a young age, nor give any consideration to a permanent relationship when there was so much he still wished to experience. And the things he wished to do with Brighid require marriage. He wanted her so badly that he nearly tossed away all the plans he had made. The only reason she could have accomplished such a feat was if she had truly bewitched him.
He was too young, as was she, so he tried to keep her at a distance that summer and the years that followed. He’d continued to think of her as a witch. It was best for them both.
But he couldn’t think of her in those terms any longer. He must face the fact that he had been in love with her for three years and it had nothing to do with magic.
“My ancestors were considered witches,” she said after a moment. This bit of information shouldn’t surprise him. Between the ghosts of the castle and the link her family had to it going back centuries, he wou
ldn’t be shocked if a few of them hadn’t been accused of witchcraft in the past. There had always been talk about the women in Brighid’s family being witches, but each time he began to give it serious consideration, he insisted to himself it was impossible.
“Some were burned.”
“At the stake?”
She nodded. “It’s frightening what some people will do because of superstition or because someone may be a bit different.”
Blake chuckled. “Nobody burns witches any longer, Brighid.”
“How can you say that?” she cried. “One was burned as recently as 1751.”
“That was over sixty years ago.” He had no idea she was so sensitive to the topic.
“And do you know at Balmoral castle they have an effigy of an old hag-like witch they call Shandy Dann. They toss it into the bonfire each Samhain. It is something to be frightened of when another person keeps calling you a witch.”
He sobered, realizing how much his words had been hurting her. Blake stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “I am sorry. Please forgive me. I had no way of knowing.”
She offered a weak smile. “Just don’t call me that again.”
He winked. “I’ll try my best.”
“You don’t really believe I am a witch?” she hedged, as if she needed his assurance.
He wasn’t certain what he thought because a part of him, a very small part, did believe there was something magical about Brighid. Something he couldn’t explain. But he would tell her what she needed to hear. “Brighid, if I truly believed you to be a witch, I would have nothing to do with you.” He pulled her tight against him. His lips hovered over hers. “Bewitching, perhaps, but not a witch.”
She smiled and looked almost relieved, and Blake couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to kiss her. He had denied himself for years and he wasn’t about to any longer.
“There you are!”
Blake jerked back, cursing Thorn under his breath, and turned to the man who had entered the room. “What do you need?”
Brighid slid out of his embrace and he cast a quick look at her. Her lovely cheeks were a delightful shade of pink.
If Thorn had been just five minutes later, Blake would have had the kiss from Brighid he had been longing for. Blast the man!
“We are to help with the preparations,” Thorn announced with a wide grin.
“Preparations?”
“I will leave you to your work.” Brighid slipped past him and was out the door before he could stop her. Blake ignored Thorn and watched her go. He had no idea being called a witch had been so upsetting to her, but now he understood and wished he could take back every time he’d called her that name.
But he also wasn’t so certain she wasn’t one. There were too many odd coincidences when it came to the enchanting young woman. Nobody could convince his aunt that Brighid hadn’t had a vision that day. Then, the way she held up her hand and ordered the ghost of Blythe Tucker from the room. That was not something just anyone could do. There were other oddities over the years he had known her. He tried to tell himself that there was no such thing as ghosts or witches but apparently, ghosts were very real, so witches could be as well.
Perhaps there was some magic in her after all. A magic she wished to deny. If it helped her to pretend it didn’t exist, he would go along with her. It wasn’t as if there was anything evil about Brighid, so what harm was there in ignoring the possibility that she might hold some power.
She certainly had power over him. She was his magic and had been from the first moment they met. He was just too young to appreciate it.
“Did you hear me?”
Blake jolted and turned to Thorn. “What were you saying?”
Thorn grinned at him. “Just what I thought,” He laughed. “I suppose you won’t be thinking about girls without drawers during the party?” He glanced back toward the door Brighid had disappeared through. “Expect perhaps one.”
Blake tightened his hands into fists. “Do not put Brighid into the same category as the females you like to pursue.”
His friend held up his hands in defense. “I know when I am taking my life in my hands.” He stepped back. “Now, come along, we need to make plans for entertainment. Mrs. Small has a few ideas, and we have been put in charge.”
Blake grumbled but followed Thorn from the room anyway. He did not want to be making party plans. “Why can’t Braden and Quent do this? It is their party.” Besides, he wanted to be kissing Brighid.
“Braden doesn’t seem to have the time, and it was my suggestion that entertainments be planned for a properly festive night, so you, I and Quent are to see to it.”
He could just imagine what Thorn believed to be properly festive.
Her heart soared. Blake Chetwey had almost kissed her. If Mr. Thorn had not come into the room, he would have actually kissed her. Brighid was unable to keep the grin from her lips and it was all she could do not to skip into the kitchens.
He found her beautiful. With a sigh, Brighid sank down onto the stool. He might, just might, feel for her what she did for him.
It may be raining, but it was a beautiful day indeed.
The door to the herbarium loomed before her and a cloud moved over the sunshine in her heart. Blake must never know the truth. He must never learn she had a vision of him as a boy. He must never know she had premonitions or thoughts without explanation, like bringing the wormwood with her. If he did, he would have nothing to do with her. It was safest if she turned the care of the castle apothecary garden over to another and never come here again. It was the only way her secrets would remain safe. If she were to have Blake for herself, he could never suspect the truth.
“Come with me, Brighid, we have much to do.”
She startled and turned to Mrs. Small.
“Lord Bradenham has asked that we be in charge of planning the food and keeping the traditions for this Samhain party of his.”
Brighid shook her head. “It is not my place.”
“Nonsense,” the housekeeper laughed. “Who better to know what magic can be created at such an event than you?”
Yes, she needed to remove herself from the castle as soon as possible before Blake began to think she truly was a witch. And he would, if he ever had a discussion with Mrs. Small. She and some of the other servants refused to believe anything else. When Brighid insisted she was not, the woman simply smiled at her in a patronizing manner and said, “Of course not, dear.”
It was all rather vexing.
Two days. It had been two days since Callie had laid eyes on Braden. Two days since he’d kissed her. Two days since he’d told Cyrus he meant to marry her. Two dreary, storm-soaked days, stuck at Braewood Manor while he was stuck at Marisdùn Castle. The memory of his kiss, of his words to her that day in the yellow parlor were enough to drive her mad, knowing that he was nearby but being completely unable to see him.
Callie thought she might have very well climbed the walls of Braewood Manor if she’d been stuck there one more day. She’d had half a mind the previous day to trek out into the storm anyway, just to make certain she hadn’t dreamed everything that had happened in her yellow parlor. If Braden hadn’t been holed up at Marisdùn, she might very well have braved the autumn storm that had rampaged their coastal town, but the last thing she wanted was to be stuck at the castle, even if her adoring marquess was in residence at the place as well.
Actually, she’d handled being sequestered at Braewood as best as she could. At least, she thought she’d handled it rather well. Cyrus might be of a different opinion, not that Callie had asked for her brother’s thoughts on the matter. She was, after all, still put out with him for making Braden leave their home the other afternoon.
When she awoke this morning to find patches of sunlight streaming through the clouds, her heart had lifted ten fold. She’d penned a quick note to Braden and could hardly keep herself from dancing through Braewood’s corridors as she asked Muckle to have it delivered to the castle.
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br /> After days of solitude, she would finally get to see Braden. She would get to wrap her arms around his neck once more. And she would get to kiss him for all she was worth. Of course, she’d had to tell Cyrus that she was headed over to the vicarage so her brother wouldn’t barricade the doors and windows to keep her from leaving. He truly was behaving strangely about all of this, which she didn’t understand in the least. Didn’t he want her to be happy? Why was he being perfectly boorish?
Just as Callie reached the castle grounds, a chill raced down her spine. How in the world did Braden manage to sleep in this place? The mere sight of it set her on edge. But the gardens were safe and beautiful, and the first place she’d ever seen Braden. She smiled at the memory. She’d brave the gardens a hundred times over just to see him again.
As she stepped through the battlements into the castle’s courtyard, Callie noticed the woman in blue, the one she’d spotted that first day, stepping from the gardens to the main courtyard. The woman noticed her too, smiled in greeting and gestured for Callie to come closer.
Callie smiled in return as she started towards the gardens door. “We meet again,” she said, rather happy to see the woman once more. There was something so soothing about her, and after the last few days Callie had suffered, a soothing influence was most welcome.
The woman’s dark eyes seemed to beckon Callie even closer. “Lovely day after the storm, isn’t it?”
In so many ways. The day was bright and sunny, and Callie’s future was even brighter. She gestured towards the garden with a sweep of her hands. “Peaceful this morning?”
“Very,” the woman replied. “I’ve been enjoying the colors of the gazanias.”
The gazanias. Where she was supposed to meet Braden two days earlier, where she was supposed to meet him today, though she was still early. “Did you see his lordship, by chance?”
The woman in blue smiled once more, putting Callie completely at ease. “I did hear someone coming just a moment ago. I’ll lead you there, if you’d like.”