Sticking out her foot, she glanced down to see the shoes appeared misshapen on her elephant-sized feet. With a snort, she unlaced and tossed them back on the bed, wishing for her sturdy boots.
A knock came to the door, and she stared at it in trepidation, fearing she’d be accosted again. “Yes?”
“I’m to escort you to the parlor, my lady.”
When she didn’t recognize the voice, tension eased out of her shoulders. “Of course.”
Brighid opened the door and smiled, following the young servant downstairs. A hint of nerves struck her at the thought of seeing Wyatt again. She smoothed back her hair, remembering the caustic comment from the maid about the color and unruliness.
Then she raised her chin, and some of her confidence returned. So what if she wasn’t some fancy lady Wyatt could admire? She didn’t want his attention; it would only make leaving all the harder.
Too bad she wasn’t complexly convince of her own words.
Outside the parlor, she noted the butler lingering by the entrance. He caught her look and nodded. Brighid gave him a tight smile and crossed off the front door as a possible exit.
Brighid paused outside the parlor. Lydia sat in silence on the divan, two unoccupied, uncomfortable chairs across from her. The only piece not matching the decor was one throne-like chair by the fire, some distance from the rest.
Then her gaze fell on Wyatt, who was restlessly pacing the room. The sight of him lured her closer. She didn’t recognize him as the man who rescued her. She was a ninny for not identifying his handsome visage as aristocratic when she first laid eyes on him. His jacket hugged his muscular shoulders, making them appear bigger and broader, and invited her eyes to linger. His trousers weren’t tight or the least bit indecent, but she found herself fascinated. His face was clean-shaven, his hair styled, as though he had taken care to look his best…for her. Dressed to the nines, his hair casually styled, he would cause any girl to stop and stare.
It made her want to rough him up and turn him back into the man she knew—the one who wasn’t so far above her station.
He spun around at her entrance and grinned as if he’d been unsure she’d appear. The potency of it left her gaping. He walked to the sideboard, thankfully giving her time to gather her scattered wits. Tall crystal decanters were lined up like soldiers and filled with different shades of amber liquid. “Would you care for anything?”
Brighid shook her head, working to unglue her tongue. He poured himself a small glass and leaned his shoulder against the mantel above the fireplace. His smile was more bemused than angered as he inspected her appearance.
“Where is the muslin gown I left?” Lydia’s sharp question brought her out of her ruminations.
“I think she looks beautiful.”
Before Brighid could react, Lydia whirled on him with a glare. “You asked me to help. Now you’re interfering. Did you want to take over?”
Wyatt lifted his glass in salute. “I’ll leave it up to you, little sister.”
When Lydia turned her hazel eyes on her, Brighid finally managed to tear her attention away from the dashing image of Wyatt in all his finery. “The dress is on the bed where the maid left it.”
Brighid heard Lydia’s unladylike sigh from across the room.
“Your dress is unsuitable for dinner. If we leave now, we’ll have time to change before mother arrives.” She rose to her feet when Brighid raised her hand.
“Please, don’t go through the trouble. I don’t feel right accepting your clothes after all your kindness.”
Lydia raised a brow and turned to Wyatt, as if waiting for him to side with her.
“I believe you told me to mind my own business.” Brighid narrowed her eyes and swore a smile flitted across his face, but he lifted his cup and took a sip before she could be sure. Then the infuriating man raised a brow at Brighid, silently goading her.
And damned if it didn’t work.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t sided with her, Brighid assured herself. She was used to fighting her own battles and relished the prospect of winning this skirmish, when a thump of a cane signaled another arrival.
An older woman entered, her face held in rigid lines. White hair, dressed in an intricate coiffure, shone like silk under the candlelight. She wore a light blue gown from another era that somehow suited her regal form. No wrinkle dared to mar the fabric.
She lifted the delicate ivory topped cane in her hand and jabbed it in Brighid’s direction. “Who are you?”
“Brighid Legend, ma’am.” She dropped a quick curtsy.
“We do not give charity. Come to the back door tomorrow and apply to the steward for a job at the factory.” She sniffed imperiously, and stared down the length of her nose, as if expecting Brighid to bow and scamper away in fear and gratitude.
Brighid laughed, wishing it were so simple. “It seems that I am your guest for the unforeseeable future.”
The old woman harrumphed, her cane drumming on the floor as she shuffled to the throne-like chair. “Why was I not informed?” Haughtiness frosted her words.
“She’s here at my request, Mother. She’s my fiancée.”
Brighid gritted her teeth against the urge to spill the truth.
The elegant woman studied Wyatt, then turned those vivid blue eyes on to her. The ice there had thawed to something worse.
Curiosity.
“Where are your people?”
“Dead.”
The cane thumped again. “Impertinent chit,” she grumbled.
Wyatt stood poker-straight, poised to intervene at the least sign of trouble. What made her stomach tumble was his concern was directed at her. He didn’t see the satisfied smile curl the edges of his mother’s mouth, didn’t seem to understand that he only complicated things more, leaving Brighid with no way to outsmart him without revealing the truth.
Wyatt remained quiet, seemingly fascinated with the drink in his hand, and left her to be interrogated. She needed to discourage the woman, and fast, by showing her that she was unsuitable. Brighid lifted her chin and thrust her shoulders back. “I come from a long line of Celts.”
“You take pride in them. Not too many young people care for the old ways anymore.” She fired a pointed glance at her children before turning back, studying Brighid in minute detail. Her face slackened in shock, scandalized for the first time. “Dear child, where are your shoes?”
“They were…lost.” Brighid curled her toes, settling her skirts over them. No way could she confess how they’d probably been destroyed without raising more questions.
The woman cast a shrewd glance at her son, one that caused Brighid to look at him as well. And caught him staring at her with an intensity that made swallowing difficult.
“Sit by me, child. I’m Elizabeth Graystone, Countess of Castelline, but you may call me Beth.” A small, satisfied smile crept across her face.
Brighid caught the startled looks that passed between the siblings and wanted to smack them both for landing her in the center of this mess.
“You may call me Brighid,” she replied distractedly, watching Wyatt maneuver a chair next to Beth. His jacket stretched taut over his broad shoulders, his muscles strained against his clothes, and she was again haunted by the feel of him holding her safely in his arms.
When Wyatt straightened, she quickly spun, pretending to survey the room and not ogling him. The conceited man didn’t need any more ammunition to use against her.
Angelica took that moment to make her grand entrance, and Brighid found herself thankful for the interruption. Until the girl treated everyone in the room like they didn’t exist while she swept toward Wyatt. Brighid was scarcely able to suppress the irrational urge to stick out her foot and trip the harpy.
The Countess huffed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You’re late.”
Beth rose to her feet, placing her hand on Wyatt’s arm, effectively preventing Angelica from laying her claim. The Countess stopped by Brighid’s side and nodded. �
��You must accompany me upstairs after dinner. I should like to get to know my soon-to-be daughter-in-law better.”
Neatly trapped.
Brighid silently cursed as her plans to search the house fell apart. She glared at Wyatt’s back, suspecting he had something to do with it, like he knew she had planned to get into some mischief and outwitted her by putting a stop to it, all without saying a word.
Clever bastard.
Wyatt obviously came by his dictatorial attitude naturally.
It ran in the family.
She was being manipulated by all of them, each with their own agenda. It should have angered her, but the love shared by Wyatt’s family members was palpable. It reminded her of her cousins and their antics. She could almost feel at home here, and she shook her head at her own foolishness.
Their engagement was fake.
Once the danger had passed, they would go their separate ways.
It’s what she’d wanted.
Then why did her chest ache at the prospect?
Chapter 6
The meal passed quickly, and much too soon, the door to Beth’s room closed behind them, the latch clicking loudly in the silence. Brighid watched, bemused, when Beth tossed the cane on the monstrous bed and walked to the sideboard with no hint of infirmity.
The countess poured herself a liberal amount of dark liquor into a glass and then settled herself in a chair by the fireplace. The mantel was decorated with a row of Dresden figurines, exactly what one would expect to find in a countess’s room. The suite was spacious, but things didn’t add up, small, incongruent things…like a pile of rags tossed in the corner, or the wonderful smell of lilacs that did little to disguise the distinct odor of linseed oil.
Stacks of canvases lay stashed about the room, some four, five or even six deep.
“May I offer you one?” Beth raised a glass of Madeira in invitation.
“No, thank you, Countess.”
“Call me Beth, please.” When she gave a half smile, her wrinkles eased, giving her a youthful expression. “You’re wondering about the charade.” She took a sip, watching Brighid over the rim, her light blue eyes twinkling with mirth and so many secrets.
Brighid took her time to work out the solution. “It’s all a ruse. You want them to believe you’re old and harmless.”
“Smart girl.” She raised her drink in salute. “Continue.”
“You’re setting them up for something.” Brighid bit her lip so she wouldn’t be tempted to say more, trying to refrain from becoming any more involved in their lives.
Beth shrugged. “The children are too full of themselves. They can’t continue down their current path, or they won’t find the happiness I had with their father.” She patted the seat next to her. “Let me guess, you’re here to pose as Wyatt’s fiancée?”
Brighid allowed her spine to relax, grateful to have the decision whether to participate in the farce taken away from her. “Yes, though he would be much more suited to someone like Angelica.”
“Poppycock! Wyatt has enough sense not to give that twit the time of day. They’re panicked. Eons ago, they promised me grandbabies, and they’re running out of the allotted time before our deal is up.”
“Then?” Brighid couldn’t help but be curious.
A Cheshire cat smile lightened her whole face. “Why, then it’s my turn to find them their perfect match.”
Brighid sighed at her narrow escape. “This is a relief. I’ll collect my possessions and be gone by morning.”
“Oh no, my dear. You must stay.” Beth reached out as though to physically restrain her if she tried to leave. “Wyatt needs a woman who can stand up to him. You’re perfect, in fact.”
She was about as far from Wyatt’s ideal woman as possible. Suppressing the pang in her chest, Brighid plopped down onto the chair in a tangle of skirts and limbs when the strength drained from her legs as the rest of what Beth said sank in. All she wanted to do was hide from the countess’s intense stare, and the promise of a normal life she never dared dreamed possible for herself.
Only there was one small problem. “You cannot think I am in any way suitable.”
Beth spoke in a firm tone. “I can and do.”
“But…” Brighid sputtered to come up with a reply as her heart tumbled in her chest.
“Your unconventional background will keep him off balance. You’re an irresistible puzzle for him.”
Rebellion sparked inside Brighid. “Until he solves the riddle and grows bored.”
Beth laughed. “There are some riddles men cannot solve. You’re one of those women who would require a lifetime to figure out.”
Brighid silenced the very small part of her that whispered she was tired of running.
The part of her that was just as fascinated with Wyatt. She almost allowed herself to believe it would be possible…but then reality intruded.
She couldn’t abandon her cousins to their fates, which effectively put paid to her small infatuation with Wyatt.
“It’s not something you can stop. He’s already enchanted. He’s never been this absorbed with anything other than work.” Beth paused, her smile slow to form. “You wouldn’t know it, but he’s a different man around you. The boy who teased his family mercilessly, the prankster who always had a ready laugh, has finally returned. I feared he was gone forever…then you appeared.” She whispered it almost to herself.
“You don’t understand.” Brighid studied her hands, despondent to have to confess the truth.
“Then explain it to me, dear.”
Brighid blinked, unsure where to begin. “My upbringing does not permit—”
“Bahh—” she waved her arm “—you don’t fool me. Tell me the real reason.”
“The villagers will never accept me. Most believe I am a witch.” It sounded like a tired refrain. Strain crept back into her body, her muscles tightening one by one as she waited for the rejection she knew would come.
Beth waved her arm again, dismissing the excuse. “Silly superstitions.”
But Brighid couldn’t stay.
She had to make them understand, and there was only one way to do that.
Tell the truth.
She’d tried with Wyatt, and he didn’t believe her. Not really. If she could convince his mother, she would be out of the house faster than a thief. So why didn’t that make her happy? “What if it’s not?”
Beth stopped, her glass raised partway to her lips. She lowered the ballooned crystal. “What do you mean?”
Brighid rolled her shoulders, then pushed forward with her foolhardy plan. “Unexplained things happen around me.”
“Like what?” Instead of shock, Beth leaned forward, more intrigued than dismayed. She wouldn’t yield without proof.
With a heavy sigh, Brighid forced her jaw to relax enough to spill her secrets. “Objects explode, appear or disappear. Fires start abruptly. Things do unnatural—”
Beth leaned back in her chair. “My dear, that’s not important.”
“It is to me.”
The old woman set aside her glass and spoke in a soft voice. “So I am coming to understand. Did you ever wonder if it was merely important to you and no one else?”
Brighid jerked back, her brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Maybe these things happen because you search for them.”
Brighid took no offense, cocking her head to consider her startling comment.
But not for long.
She knew the truth.
As if sensing her denial, Beth interrupted before she could speak.
“Give it two weeks. After, if you still want to leave, I will make the arrangements.” Beth leaned over to pat her hand. “Consider it a place to rest, and do nothing. Where you have no concerns beyond when to rise from bed. Where you can do what you want without fear.” She rose, refilled her glass and took a small sip, letting her words hit their mark. “Sleep on it. We can talk further in the morning.”
Dismis
sed.
Brighid stood, but paused when Beth spoke again.
“I trust this conversation will remain between us.”
“Of course.” Brighid exited and immediately discounted the outrageous offer. As she strode down the hall, temptation curled around her, invisible and irresistible, luring her to say yes if for nothing more than the chance to spend time with Wyatt. The possibility of getting the best of him added to the appeal.
She’d been on the move constantly for the past fourteen months, and the chance to live in a different world held a definite appeal.
For a few days.
A week at most…just to give her time to construct a plan to save her cousins.
What harm could it do?
Chapter 7
The slow creak of the door woke Brighid the next morning. The runes on her feet flared to life, sending a searing heat winding around her feet and surging up her legs. Instantly awake, she reached under the pillow for a small knife she’d stashed there, remaining motionless while she evaluated the possible danger.
And couldn’t have been more befuddled to find Angelica skulking in her room instead of the expected killer. As if she had all the time in the world, the girl picked up and examined the few possessions that had been delivered to the room.
Brighid released the blade and sat up calmly, forcing herself not to react. “What are you doing?”
Angelica turned, her demure demeanor stripped away, her face set. “Checking out the competition. Or lack of it.”
A moue of distaste crossed her face as she glanced down at her gloves. She brushed off her fingers as if that said it all. With a regal swish of her skirts, she turned her back and left.
Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) Page 7