A clear dismissal.
The cloying stench of Angelica’s perfume lingered in the room, and Brighid rolled her eyes at the feeble attempt of intimidation.
Only her gifts didn’t like the veiled threat. Power surged through her at the dismissal, seeking retaliation. It rose like the tide, ready to suck her under. Brighid scrambled out of the bed, knowing that if she lingered, magic would seep into the air infect the inhabitants of the house. If something bad befallen them, she would never forgive herself.
Her heart fluttered at the thought of being caught. She quickly dressed, grabbed her staff, and hurried downstairs, glancing over her shoulder as she slipped out the back door without raising the alarm.
She felt smug for all of two seconds.
That had been too easy.
It chilled her that anyone could just walk into the house without being noticed.
With danger stalking them, they needed to be more vigilant. She almost turned around to confront Wyatt when another wave of heat surged through her veins.
No time.
If she didn’t release her power, it would escape and wreak havoc.
She followed a worn path into the trees, searching for the perfect spot. When she came upon a deserted meadow, she knew she’d found it. The trees grew in a semicircle, shielding her from prying eyes, a slight breeze caused the tops to sway as if waving in welcome.
Lusciously green grass sprinkled with wildflowers beckoned to her, the morning sun having burned off the dew. A stream cut through the picturesque scene and Brighid sat, slipping her feet into the gurgling water.
She laid her staff across her lap, traced the first rune situated high on the wood, and called upon the power that thrived in her bloodline. It funneled through her like a gale force wind, seeking freedom. The runes on her feet flared to life, the thin lines glowing a deep blue as the wards snapped into place.
Pushing past the pain, she closed her eyes and cupped a handful of water. The cool liquid tickled her palm. A warm glow built in her chest. Biting her lip, she forced the energy down her arm and into her hand. The water heated, swirling in her palm.
Her eyes shot open in expectation.
The water in her hand churned but did not form a ball as intended.
Is maith le bandia cunamh.
The goddess helps those who help themselves.
Brighid tightened her grip on the staff, determined to direct the water into a sphere.
The runes on the top of her feet and ankles became sensitive to the slightest movement of current. Her toes curled as the feeling persisted, like someone scraping their nail along the bottom of her foot, and she looked up at the distraction.
Her gasp of surprise nearly strangled her, and her teeth clacked as she snapped her mouth shut. The center of the stream bulged in a half-circle, churning with plant debris and fish, and getting larger by the second.
She snatched her feet out of the stream, dragging the power out with her. The water dropped with a huge splash, soaking her in the process. All the restless energy rebounded back into her body, the bindings constricting at the sudden influx, and the power that seethed in the air dissipated like perfume. Without the cool water, heat stung the soles of her feet, persistent and relentless, like her limbs were waking after a long sleep.
Embarrassment over making yet another stupid mistake burned the tips of her ears.
She need to be more careful unless she wanted to be discovered and dragged away again.
Besides her pure, stubborn determination to master her gifts, only one thing kept her rooted to the spot.
If she could find a way to control her powers, she could finally stop running.
More determined than ever, Brighid curled her legs under her and dipped her hand back into the water. A small ball formed immediately. A blossom of painful hope speared her chest, and she trailed her hand down the staff to the next symbol.
Wind tore at her hair, and her eyes watered from the bitter chill.
Too much.
Pulling back felt like hauling on the reins of a runaway horse. As soon as her focus sharpened, the ball of water hovered an inch above her hand. Elation surged through her at the accomplishment, and she let the water plop back into the stream with a tiny splash.
The next rune embodied fire, always the easiest for her to summon. She closed her eyes, welcoming the heat swirling around her. Every breath seemed to feed the flames. She held her hand a few inches above the ground and shoved all the lovely warmth through her palm. The heat intensified while seconds ticked away. Only when she feared her skin would blister did she crack open an eye a smidgen.
A small fire blazed before her.
She quickly scanned the horizon for signs of smoke. Only when it appeared she wasn’t on the verge of burning down the forest did she allow herself to breathe freely. She turned back to her task and the last rune on the staff. A small tremor shook her fingers as she hovered over the carved symbol.
Time to call the earth and smother the flames.
The earth was cooler. Since her magic ran hot, Brighid had a harder time bending it to her will. She focused on the cool earth, and the warmth slowly bled out of her.
The cold became a chill.
Then the chill slowly began to burn like frostbite.
“Come to me.” She muttered, blinking in surprise to see the air frosting with her breath.
The earth rumbled, and her heart plummeted to her knees. Handfuls of dirt shot through the air and showered the area. She ducked and quickly covered her head as small projectiles pelted her.
“Ni liom. Bandia cuidim me.”
She frantically yanked the energy out of the ground. It surged up her legs, and she nearly loss consciousness under the strain of containing it. The wards on her feet flared, trapping all the magic inside her until her head throbbed with nearly unbearable pressure.
She repeated the words again, more forcefully. “Goddess, help me.”
After what felt like an eternity, the world around her calmed.
When the power finally faded, it stole her strength as well. Had she been standing, she would have fallen to her knees.
It took all her courage to open her eyes and face the destruction she’d wrought.
Holes pockmarked the glen like vicious scars.
Brighid rose and sighed dispiritedly. Her bindings felt like they’d grown barbs, making walking painful. Determined not to leave any evidence of her blunder, she painstakingly filled each and every hole.
The back of her throat ached with the brutal truth.
Even if they discovered the killer, she couldn’t stay without exposing her secrets and endangering everyone.
Resignation rested heavy in her gut as Brighid headed back toward the house. She managed to dodge the servants by listening for their footsteps, had almost reached her room, when a door down the hall opened and Beth emerged. Her eyes widened, and she stopped short at the spectacle Brighid must have presented. “Dear, whatever happened?”
“Nothing.” Brighid fidgeted, searching her mind for a way to escape scrutiny. She wasn’t sure she could handle more kindness, not when she didn’t have any intention of staying. Her cousins relied on her too much for her to forget, even for a second, that she couldn’t remain, despite how much she was coming to admire Wyatt’s family. “I need to speak to Wyatt about adding a lock to my door.”
Before Brighid could squeeze past, Beth carefully cleared her throat. “We should get you cleaned up a bit first.”
Brighid glanced down to see a fine layer of dirt covering her. She quickly touched her hair, unsurprised when her hand came away black. “I can explain—”
Beth raised a brow. “Explain to the servants? I think not.” She reached back and opened her door, then thumped her cane when Brighid didn’t move fast enough. “Come dear, we don’t have all day. If my son sees you, no excuses will suffice.”
Brighid didn’t need any more prodding.
Brighid took her time washing, doing her
best to clean the sooty mess from her dress as well. When she re-entered the countess’s room, she found it crowded with women and trunks.
She tensed, her first instinct to flee, and cast a quick glance at Beth. Only to find herself pinned under bright blue eyes and a smug smirk. “Not to worry, I asked a friend to join us.”
Why didn’t that make her feel any better?
Brighid had been set up by a master. She couldn’t help but admire the ease with which Beth managed to pull it off. Brighid hadn’t suspected a thing.
“This must be the one you spoke about.” The husky voice merged from a tall, slim woman.
Brighid twitched, unnerved at the intensity of the woman’s stare. The stranger walked around her, appraising her as a buyer would a piece at an auction. Was this another British custom? To circle a guest upon arrival like a dog? Her lips twitched at the thought, and she repressed her smile, remembering Wyatt had done exactly the same thing only yesterday.
“Good.” The woman spoke to Beth, but her gaze remained locked on Brighid’s form. “It will be a pleasure to work on her clothes.”
The generosity left Brighid feeling guilty when she knew she wouldn’t be staying. “Beth, I can’t accept—”
The countess held up a hand, her shiny blue eyes brilliant, clearly delighted by her scheme. “Look at the fabrics and patterns before you decide anything. Mrs. Larue serves exclusive clientele and agreed to come on a consultation as a favor to me. It will be my gift to you for agreeing to stay.”
The tall woman, Mrs. Larue, addressed Brighid for the first time. “With your coloring and shape, it would be my pleasure to design your wardrobe. You’re certainly in dire need. I’ll have my girls stitch the first two dresses tomorrow for a fitting, and the rest will arrive in a few days.” Her lips twitched as she glanced down at her bare feet. “I’ll have a few pair of shoes brought around as well.”
Brighid hesitated, smoothing her skirt. She could feel her will crumbling, noting just how shabby her dress was compared to the array of colors and fabrics the maids had artfully spread out and arranged for her perusal. “I don’t care for constricting dresses or large bustles.”
“Then you shall not have them.” Mrs. Larue laid a hand on her arm, kindness softening her brown eyes. “Those styles would not suit you, anyway.”
Brighid’s gaze jumped to Mrs. Larue in surprise. Heat washed over her cheeks as the first few threads of excitement curled through her. It had been months since she’d owned anything so fine.
Beth smiled, knowing victory when she saw it. “Sit, and let her show you her ideas. Then we can decide.”
Brighid fingered the fabrics, enchanted by their beauty, absently listening to the women talk while Mrs. Larue sketched.
Food arrived, and Brighid nibbled while sketch after sketch was produced. Without being aware of it, she demolished the food the servants had brought. Every speck, every crumb. She adored food, but hadn’t had the luxury to indulge much beyond a hurried meal in the past few months. It was a rare treat to eat until full. She glanced at her plate, contemplating her new life.
Temporary life, she amended.
She straightened abruptly, her pleasure draining. She couldn’t allow herself to become too comfortable.
“Done.” Mrs. Larue turned the pad. “What do you think?”
“They’re gorgeous.” Brighid stared at the drawings in fascination, reached out to touch the lifelike designs before yanking her hand back.
The dresses were impractical.
They would draw too much attention to her.
Despite the reasons it would be a bad idea, a yearning to possess something so fine swept through her.
As if sensing weakness, Beth smiled. “They’re perfect.”
Brighid stroked the smooth fabric between her fingers, imagining what it would be like to wear it for Wyatt.
Would he see her as more than some village girl who needed to be rescued?
“Let me do this for you.”
After a few more seconds of hesitation, Brighid allowed herself to be seduced, and gave a short nod, refusing to examine the storm of conflicting emotions. Under their direction, Brighid undressed and stood still while the three servants poked, prodded and measured every inch of her for what seemed like hours.
After the first few attempts, she stopped trying to suppress her yawns. She’d never realized a person could die of boredom.
“That’s enough, girls.” Mrs. Larue clapped her hands and smiled. “We’ll have the first dresses sent around tomorrow. The others will need to be fitted, tucked, and will be delivered at a later date.”
Brighid re-dressed while they packed, anxious to escape before Beth found some other torture to put her through, then immediately scolded herself for being an ungrateful wretch.
Beth waved her away as if she saw her twitching to escape. “Why not go to your room and rest before dinner?”
“Of course.” Brighid bolted out the door before Beth could change her mind. Instead of heading toward her room, though, she hurried down stairs. She needed to ask Wyatt to place a lock on her door.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought of confronting him again, and though she knew it was best to keep out of his way, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement.
In her eagerness, she nearly plowed into Angelica when she rounded the corner.
Angelica straightened, almost as if she’d been waiting for her, and Brighid’s spine stiffened.
“You will never be one of us, no matter how prettily you wrap the package.” Angelica circled, carefully pulling her fine dress away Brighid’s torn, filthy one, as if afraid to be sullied. Then the shrewish woman leaned closer, her noise crinkling as if she’d smelled something rotten. “Wyatt is no fool. Your lack of breeding will show through your flimsy disguise.”
With a swish of skirts and a gleam of triumph, Angelica stuck her nose in the air and sailed down the hall as if she owned it.
Brighid brushed away the small twinge of self-doubt, refusing to be intimidated by the shrewish chit, and nearly snorted at the absurdity of the entire situation. Wyatt’s brilliant plan had backfired. Instead of diverting Angelica’s attention, he’d made himself a more tempting target.
Chapter 8
Wyatt sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Brighid. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, trying not to appear anxious for her company. He barely resisted the urge to grab his pocket watch for the third time in ten minutes. He sipped the sixth cup of coffee he didn’t particularly want and promptly burned his tongue.
“Damn.” He set the cup down with a clatter and glared at the breakfast room door. Their unusual first meeting had created a lasting impression, one guaranteed he wouldn’t soon forget. He felt responsible for the chit, but his preoccupation with her went deeper. The attraction between them wouldn’t allow him to dismiss her as just part of the job. She was gorgeous in an unconventional way, but it was more than her beauty that captivated him.
The fire in her eyes when she argued with him created a visceral resolve to possess her that he couldn’t banish.
It brought out the instinctive urge to stake his claim and protect her at all costs.
A little disturbed by the direction of his musings, he rose and strode toward the door. He was getting as bad as a schoolboy mooning over his first girl. He needed to work and put her out of his mind. He refused to have his life dictated by the whims of a woman and her moods. Though he hated to admit it, he was disappointed to be the only one affected by the connection between them.
“Inform me when Miss Legend awakens.” He spoke tersely when he passed Johnson, interrupting the man, who was overseeing the breakfast cleanup.
Johnson, the butler, cleared his throat. “I believe she’s with your mother, my lord.”
Wyatt paused, his smile slow in coming. The feeling of being abandoned left him abruptly and he stood straighter. “Getting on well, are they?”
“So I believe, my lord.” A hint of a small smile p
layed around the butler’s mouth.
“Very good.” Wyatt walked away, then hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, curious to see if his fascination with his new houseguest had faded now the immediate danger was gone.
At the sound of Angelica’s voice, he released the railing and turned tail, practically scurrying toward the safety of his office. Once there, he worked to clear off his desk, but the distracting image of Brighid kept intruding, urging him to go find her and whisk her away so he could have her to himself.
After re-reading the document for the third time and not really seeing it, he tossed it aside. As if he conjured her with his thoughts, the object of his obsession burst into the room without knocking.
“Brighid!” Completely caught off guard, he shot to his feet and tugged at his jacket.
He’d spent the morning struggling not to imagine her. A troop of women had arrived hours ago with familiar trunks. It had required all his willpower to remain seated and continue working, knowing she was upstairs, stripped down to her shift, being fitted and measured for new clothing. The image of her pale skin and red hair stretched across his bed was seared into his brain. Heat rose under his skin, and a primitive urge to be the person she modeled her clothing for had only increased the desire to hunt her down.
She was his guest.
Off limits.
His body didn’t care for the logic.
Now that she was standing in his office, he made no effort to block the inclination to study her, and moved behind his desk, gripping the back of his chair hard when his cock hardened at her nearness. Much to his surprise, he was thrilled to discover that his attraction to her wasn’t a fluke. He couldn’t help smiling at the enchanting sight of her toes peeking out below the hem of her dress.
“I need your help.”
Finally! “Sit down and tell me everything.”
Wyatt walked around the desk, oblivious to her startled expression, and sat next to her. Any information about the factory and the recent attacks would help his investigation. So far they had no leads.
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