Heath followed his reflection’s gaze over his shoulder to the tall reddish colored horse, one he’d raised from a colt… to the young handler, walking the gelding around the gravel path to the coach waiting on the south portico. One of the other horses had come up lame and Fireball would replace him on the trip into town today.
“You’ll be late for church, young Master Cortlandt, if you stand around admiring yourself in the winder like that.” Wasn’t the red-haired stable boy who spoke… but the head groom. He’d chased Heath out of the stables only moments ago. Said he was underfoot. As usual. And to git.
“Just… daydreaming, I guess, about the day I own this place. That’ll be a glorious day. I’ll be able to fire you and there won’t be a damn thing you can say about it, you old bastard.”
Heath saw the raised hand behind him, the old man who reeked of cheap whiskey and horses, glared at him with pure hatred. But that’s all he did, raise his hand. Heath glared back, without moving a muscle, daring him to go ahead. The stable boy stumbled on his way past. Craning his neck to watch the young master confront the old bully of a groom.
“Good thing your Pappy isn’t going to his rest, any time soon. Still young and virile that one is,” the groom sneered, hatred in his eyes.
“As Culla is closeted into her private rooms as we speak and will not be attending services until her “spell” has passed… my father is otherwise occupied.” He’d only been testing the water with that notion, but the old man looked as if he’d seen a ghost, his gaze flicking to the top floor where the shutters were securely closed in the early summer heat. “One of the kitchen ladies will announce a new addition to her family and retire, very soon.”
“Hold your tongue, boy,” the old man said, but there was no fire behind his words now. “You don’t know what you speak of.”
“I’m seventeen, and not unaware of relations between men and women. There will be a new babe mewling to be fed soon enough. And we will send to the agency for a new upstairs maid… or one of the washer girls. Which one, shall we wager, will have a surprise for her husband before nightfall?”
The old man’s lips turned up in a cruel grin, his gaze following the stable boy just rounding the corner until he was out of sight.
“I doubt a dandy like yourself has ever seen the underside of a single petticoat. Which reminds me, if my young ward shirks his duties to run off on any more of your special rides about the property, your father has given me leave to administer the lash, at my discretion. I’d tread carefully, or… the lash could find two for… unlawful carnal knowledge.”
Heath paled at the words—
The bright summer sun faded into the pewter of winter, and Heath swayed on his feet. Catching himself before he lost his balance, he staggered toward the path that would take him away from the house the fastest. He needed to get off the property, to clear his head. Of… a young man with the sweetest freckled-face, he’d ever seen in his life. Much too young for the thoughts that ran through Heath’s mind… of the things they’d done just last Sunday when Heath had called off going to church, claiming his stomach, and forcing himself to vomit just to prove he wasn’t faking. To finally satisfy his craving in a proper bed. Going so far as to—
He opened the gate to the alley between the family home and the line of shops and all the images flashing, carnally, through his mind came to an abrupt halt. No longer was he young and exploring his forbidden desires with the pretty boy in the stables. Tasting his sweaty prick for the first time—
Oh god.
Heath found a wrought iron lawn chair beneath an awning on the side of the ice cream parlor and sat down, hard.
His great-grandfather had sexual relations with the stable boy.
Of course, he had.
That night with Austin, he’d dreamed of sun-kissed sheets and freckled skin beneath his own. Of a pleasant afternoon sweating in his room while the family was away and no one would ever know.
He’d known that his great-grandfather had done something wicked for his father to force a wife upon him at such a young age. Having sex with a younger servant would be reason enough. Having sex with a male, underage, servant… who went missing that very summer, well that wasn’t at all innocent. After the threat of the old groom, that Heath detested with every fiber of his being—
Heath clutched the top of the table. A sudden craving for chocolate ice cream hitting him hard. The night wasn’t much warmer now than it was when he’d first become aware of… Austin. And ice cream. Here. Right here.
His mind reeled with too many images. Images that made no sense.
The third-floor window in the turret light flashed on. The Christmas tree that had been there on New Year’s missing now.
The shadow of a woman… not just a shadow today. His heart stopped as his gaze met hers as she watched him from her vantage point over the entire street… all-seeing… all-knowing?
“Culla?” He said her name. Her gaze landed squarely upon him as her face became as clear as the proverbial bell. He’d recognize her anywhere. Even though there wasn’t one portrait of her in the house.
“Mama?”
Her face faded from view. The lights went out on the third floor.
Heath felt the heaviness of her gaze as if it lingered long after she vanished. The jangle of keys breaking the silence as the publican across the street arrived to begin the day… his portly belly and friendly face merging with another… this one tall, muscular and dressed all in black. His shirt with the words Callaghan’s in neon green letters.
The face of a man in the pub window caught his attention. Strange… Heath knew his face. He stared balefully, his focus intense, and all for Heath… as if he were unaware, or simply didn’t care that Rory’s assistant manager opened up for the day.
Rory.
The face in the window, a reminder of the morning, and the bruises on Rory’s slender body.
The rancor on the face staring at him from the window echoed the malevolence emanating from the turret… but Heath wasn’t having any of this.
Either he was crazy, and all of this was some stress-induced drama he’d invented to escape the pressure of his real life. Or… this was all real. And he was tired of sitting back and waiting for someone to crack under the strain. Or worse… someone to break. Rory and Jemma were on the verge of doing just that. And Austin had already paid his fair share for his part in this dance of the macabre… that seemed to revolve solely around… Heath. Then and now. For better or worse. Every bit of this was because he was here.
And there was one sure-fire way to stop this madness.
Heath left the table that reminded him of chocolate ice cream and a pretty face… to put an end to whatever plagued this cursed land.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
December 1917
I am able to resume my household duties… none too soon. Nephew has done his best to prepare meals for the children, but he is seldom at home.
Ella has, for lack of any other explanation, stepped in to help. She seems adept at turning raw material into something edible. As well as I... if not better. I was not born to the scullery. And neither was she. If it’s the last thing I do, I will see her taken care of. The good Lord knows her father made no real effort to see to her future.
Nephew speaks of the coming holiday with some life in his eyes. He speaks of hiring a few of the workers at the mill to come help with the decorations. That is fine, but hard times hardly necessitate that kind of expense. We have closed off most of the house as it is. No need to clean unused rooms.
The child, Ruth, hangs on every word out of his mouth. His stories of Santa and the presents that will be on the tree for her when he knows there will be none. But she smiles again. And has spoken in discernable words. Her hair, her only real beauty, is growing to cover her head. A few sweets and small trinkets should not cost too much. Maybe a slate and new chalk to do her strange doodles. Nephew promised he would take her sledding if it snows soon.
When
I point out how that promise displeases me, he lifts his gaze to the ceiling, as if to remind me of my recent infirmity.
I remind him of his dependency upon the publican across the street, and the expense account at that hotel they dared open within my sight. Hotel, my eye teeth. Bawdy house, more likely.
But, he is a man, with male urges, and as his wife can not perform her duties... I’d rather he sought to slake those urges elsewhere. I just wish it wasn’t under my nose.
~
“Are you still reading that century-old slam book?”
Austin looked up to find Rory fresh out of the shower; his longish hair wrapped in a towel, another around his waist. The dark smudges under his eyes faded somewhat now that he’d slept. The bruises on his body seemed more vivid, growing purple, some yellowing with age.
“There are only a few more entries. It’s nearing Christmas of that year. The last year of... well... there’s not much left of the family after that Christmas. I know it’s coming. Like I was given the ending first and— I dread it.” Austin averted his gaze from his friend’s body. A hot rush of anger flushing his cheeks.
At least, that’s what he told himself. His dick seemed to want to debate the explanation.
“Did you call it a slam book?”
“What else would you call something as petty as that whole mess? She’s the queen of the mean girls, but without a posse to back her up.” Barely sparing a glance at the pages Austin carefully pored over, Rory walked past him to the coffee pot.
“I hardly think this Culla woman would have been popular enough to have a posse had she gone to any sort of day school, public, or otherwise... God, I sound just like her.” Austin laid the last page face down on the pile of pages he’d read, flipping the unread pages over to avoid temptation.
“Maybe you were her, in a previous life. Did you ever think of that? I mean, if Heath, your boss, is his own reincarnated great-granddaddy. And Jemma is the reincarnation of Heath’s great-granny. Then who are we? Leaves the old lady. And the mentally stunted toddler. The middle sister. Or the beloved HC.” Rory leaned one hip against the counter and took a sip of the coffee. “Oh, this is good.”
Austin watched him drink, his thoughts swirling. “I’m not sure that HC was all that beloved. I think he was feared. Especially by Culla.”
“But you do still believe the woman was a bitch?” Why was Rory interested in the happenings of a family that died out one hundred years ago?
One hundred years ago? Holy hell!
The epiphany hit him, hard, right between the eyes. “Shit... it was a hundred years ago... Exactly. Nearly everyone in that family died in 1917. The patriarch in the summer, then the son in December. One daughter and the daughter-in-law. No one knows what became of the middle daughter and the sister was committed to an institution. Heath’s grandfather, the only real survivor, and I have some doubts about that.”
Rory’s stomach growled, interrupting whatever weird tangent Austin’s thoughts were happily tripping after down crazy-street. “If his grandfather didn’t survive, then how is he here, with the man’s face?”
“Exactly!” Austin crowed, pointing the middle finger of his broken hand at his friend. “That… right there. He has the man’s face. That is some damn strong genetic engineering going on for Heath to look exactly like the boy in that painting. I mean… look at Heath and HC. They resemble. And that’s one generation right there. I mean, Heath looks enough like his father to say he looks like his father. But not exactly like him. Yet, here’s this great-grandson with the exact face and hair color and complexion and everything… his body is almost exactly the same. Maybe a little different. But… I don’t think Heath Cortlandt is Heath Cortlandt’s great-grandfather. I think he’s his great-great-uncle… or… that made more sense in my head.”
“Ya think?” Rory brought his coffee and his growling stomach over to the table to lean beside Austin. His hip close enough for Austin feel the heat coming off all that skin.
Austin leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was not thinking lewd thoughts about his best friend. He was not. Not after… nothing happened between them this morning. At all. Rory had fallen asleep and slept like the dead until an hour ago. And Austin had drifted for a while. His brain wouldn’t shut off enough to fall asleep, so he’d gotten up and dressed and came out to find something to take his mind off his current predicament. “What’s wrong with you?” Rory clutched his chin, sending an electric shock through his body. “You’re acting weird, okay, weirder than usual.”
Austin opened his eyes and blinked to bring Rory into focus. He’d leaned over, his face too close to Austin’s for comfort. And he smelled so good.
“Nothing,” Austin protested, trying to shake Rory’s hand off, but he wouldn’t let go. Narrowing his eyes, Rory peered past Austin’s glasses and into his… soul. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Then don’t lie to me. Something’s wrong. I can smell it on you.”
“And that is the single weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Austin finally shoved Rory’s fingers off… suppressing the shiver that raced up his spine as the heat of Rory’s skin deserted him.
“Yeah, well, at least I’m not hiding shit from you.” And the moment he said the words, Austin could tell he wanted to take them back.
“Who’s been beating you, Roar? Have you been seeing one of those bruisers you brought up from Savannah?”
Rory stood up to his full height, and wasn’t that just fine and dandy, his belly, naked and flat and so fucking tempting right there, level with Austin’s mouth… and fuck if he didn’t want to know what Rory tasted like.
“You know.
You’ve known all along.” Rory said the words in a hushed voice. One that sent shivers, the wrong shivers, racing over Austin’s flesh. “Do you really need to hear me say it… that I’m being—”
“Raped and beaten by a ghost? Does not sound sane, Rory. I just… I can handle it if it’s some kinky shit you’ve decided you’re into. That you’ve gone all BDSM on me. If that’s your choice, there’s nothing I can say about it. I can even handle it if you’ve hooked up with an abusive asshole and you’re too afraid to end things with him. Hell, I’ve been there. We both know I’ve been there. We can handle that. I don’t know what to do or say if… if that’s the truth. How do you… you can’t go back over there.”
Austin reached for Rory, he wanted to touch him, to somehow let Rory know that he was there for him and afraid for him and would honor his wishes in the matter… but not if he was putting himself in harm’s way. He didn’t expect to wrap his arms around Rory and pull him close, nor did he expect to end up with his face smooshed into the soft spot of Rory’s belly, the reddish line of fine hair trailing down from his navel… so very close to his mouth.
Neither did he expect Rory to skim his fingers through his hair to hold on to him like a man drowning. “I gave two-week notice this morning. And… I’m horny. That’s what I’m hiding. That’s all I’m hiding. I have nothing else to hide. And I’m so afraid whatever that thing is across the street… will take you away from me. And I’m so fucking confused right now I don’t know what to do about it. Any of it.”
“Austin,” Rory said, his voice a pained whisper, as he continued to run his fingers through Austin’s hair, slowly, gently, petting him, making him shiver and want… and even more confused. The towel around Rory’s waist dropped to the floor. Austin’s fingers may have helped hasten its descent. He wasn’t sure. Of anything. Much less what he was doing.
The scent of clean man filled his senses, and he needed to know. God, he needed to know. And Rory wasn’t helping any. With his whispered pleas, and gentle fingers guiding Austin’s mouth to the right places. The feel of hair on Rory’s clean skin under his tongue. The soft gasp of pleasure from Rory’s mouth. The deep-drawn breath and exhalation that concaved his belly, making Austin lean in even more to lick that spot, and the one even lower.
“Austin… please…”
He heard, almost as if he were dreaming, but this was real. This was Rory. There was no strange room, with wood-burning fires, or summer grass for a bed… and Rory was real, flesh and blood… his blood… his flesh… his—
Austin moaned at the salty taste of him. The need was there. So strong. To take him. To drink him in. To make him forget. To forget everything. He wanted this. He’d wanted it for years.
His glasses dug into his face as Rory pulled them off. He heard them clatter onto the table. Heard Rory moan his name as he hitched one hip forward. And Austin knew. The feel of him, the taste of him, the sounds he made… and craved it. Craved the heat in his mouth, the stretch of his lips as Rory gave him what he craved… the sound of his own blood pounding in his head as he took Rory. The squeak of the heavy door hinges confused him… and Rory pulled away, taking away… everything.
The haunted eyes of another man condemning him… for a moment of weakness… stared at him from the doorway.
“I brought your clothes. And dinner.” Heath set the two bags on the table. And walked away. The door didn’t slam behind him. Not this time. He just left.
“Well, fuck,” he said… or maybe he heard. Austin didn’t know anymore. And he didn’t know how to fix it.
Or if he wanted to fix it.
He wanted… everything… and nothing at all.
Rory strolled toward the door, Austin assumed, to lock it before anyone else could walk in. He noticed, belatedly, that Rory pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants as he walked. Stumbling over the leg holes as he tried to dress and walk at the same time. When he got to the door, he tied the drawstring at his waist, and without a word to Austin, Rory slipped out into the darkness. Thunder booming as he disappeared.
One… two… three… four… lightning flashed, and a bedraggled creature emerged from the tempest… followed by two more of her Wyrd Sisters… the storm howling loudly behind them, the wind whipping fiercely, fierce enough to suck the heavy door, slamming it into the frame, with a force that splintered the wood.
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