Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1)

by Stacey Brutger

  And saw nothing but a sea of shadows.

  Brighid stumbled to a stop when she noticed the sun was setting. The loss of light made everything seem larger, more menacing.

  Carried on the air, as faint as the breeze, she heard the sound of sniffling.

  Brighid hiked up her tangled skirts and marched forward. The crying stopped, and Brighid knew she must be near. “Hello?”

  A small hand shot out of the shrubbery and latched onto her own. She dropped to her knees and crept forward. The boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, and she froze.

  Then she heard it…footsteps.

  She sagged in relief, opened her mouth to call out when the sense of something amiss stopped her.

  The person didn’t shout their names.

  A cheerful whistle chirped in the trees, as if to lure them out. She pushed the boy away from the sound and crawled into the shrubbery after him.

  Branches snagged her hair, tugged at her scalp, and her dress made crawling nearly impossible, while doing little to protect her knees from the hard, unforgiving ground. Roots and gravel abraded her skin. Hair rose on her arms, and a deep shiver shook her as the feeling of being pursued prickled down her spine. She knew all too well what it was like to be stalked—it had haunted her all her adult life.

  “Run!” Brighid took her own advice and raced after the boy.

  He glanced back at her and stopped so suddenly she barely missed running him over. He clutched at her skirts, trying to tug her with him as he backed away.

  “What?” But she already knew.

  They had been led into an ambush.

  She whirled to face her attacker, but too late.

  A blinding pain slammed against the side of her face.

  Stars exploded behind her eyes.

  “Run!” She didn’t know if she spoke aloud or only in her head as darkness closed in on her. She never felt the impact as her body dropped unheeded to the ground.

  Brighid shivered and curled into a ball to keep warm. Reaching down, she groped for the covers, wanting another ten minutes of sleep.

  Cool dirt met her palms.

  She pried open her eyes and blinked to find that darkness had swallowed her whole. As she struggled to sit, her skull throbbed in retaliation. With a ragged groan, she carefully probed her head and encountered a large lump. Hissing in pain, she jerked her hand down. When she rubbed her fingers together, they came away tacky.

  Blood.

  At least the boy had escaped. Now it was her turn. Sure, Wyatt would search, but there was little chance of him finding her. No, if she wanted to survive, she would need to rescue herself this time. Brighid straightened with the care of a pregnant lady trying to get to her feet. Once upright, she stumbled drunkenly before gaining her balance.

  She groped for the wall, using it to guide her. Rough wood met her palms. She must be in a shack of some kind. She trailed her hand along the surface, searching for a crack in the boards that would signal a way out. She turned the corner and came upon a ridge.

  A door.

  She traced the slight rise, her fingers fumbling in her excitement.

  She dragged her hands over the wall in search for the knob.

  Only to meet plain wood.

  He’d barred the door from the outside.

  Bastard.

  She bit back the urge to kick the door. “It just gets better and better.”

  She shook it off.

  This was a minor setback.

  She would find another exit. She reached out expectantly for the third corner when her foot connected with something soft, nearly sending her sprawling flat on her face.

  She bent and groped blindly for what had tripped her on the off chance that she could use it on the door or as a weapon. The backs of her fingers bumped something soft, and she jerked back, her mind convinced she’d just tripped over the corpse of the last person who had been trapped. “Come on Brighid, there’s no reason to be afraid.”

  She shuffled forward when her hands touched cloth. Too small to be an adult. Then her eyes widened in understanding. “No.”

  Brighid ran her hands up the small body, and her hopes plummeted, her chest tightening in defeat. “You were supposed to run.”

  When he didn’t react to her touch, Brighid knelt and gathered him close. His shallow breathing feathered her neck reassuringly, and she sighed in relief and plopped onto her bottom in an inelegant sprawl.

  Guilt stabbed her through the heart. She would never forgive herself if he had been hurt.

  He coughed, and Brighid reluctantly loosened her stranglehold on him, easing him upright in her lap. “I don’t know what to call you. Can you tell me your name?”

  He shook his head negatively, bumping against her shoulder.

  “Well, you need a name.” Brighid said it cheerfully and took a moment to think it over. “You need something special. How does Paul sound? It means small, but I think some of the best surprises come in the smallest packages.” He sat so still Brighid didn’t think he’d answer. Then she felt his slight nod, the movement brushing his hair against her chin.

  The man had made a mistake in not killing her immediately, because now she was determined to escape and catch the bastard.

  “We need to get out of here. I found the door, but it’s locked. I need you to sit here while I check the rest of the room.” He tightened his grip on her arm, and Brighid gave him a quick squeeze. “You’re such a brave boy. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She circled the room without encountering any furniture…or any other avenues of escape. She tried to imagine how her cousins would get out of this situation, but she couldn’t conceive how any of them would get into such a predicament in the first place.

  Only one solution came to her.

  Her gifts.

  She winced at the idea of breaking her promise not to use them.

  Again.

  Instead of dithering like a ninny, she decided to be practical and debate the issue later when they were safe. Brighid knelt and grimaced when the cuts on her knees broke open and fresh blood trickled down her legs.

  “Paul.” She touched his face and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “I am going to open the door.” She paused to think of a way to explain. “No one can know how we escaped, so we have to keep it a secret. Can you keep a secret?” He gave an emphatic nod, and she ruffled his hair. “Good. I knew you could. No matter what happens, I don’t want you to feel scared.”

  In truth, it would destroy her if he came to think of her as a monster. His hands touched her face, and he gave her a light pat. “That’s my boy. Let’s get out of here.”

  She struggled to her feet, and the scrapes on her knees screamed in agony. She shivered in the damp air and called upon her gifts. Goose bumps prickled along her skin, but the power never manifested, the runes wrapped around her feet remained stone cold.

  She heard of Druids who’d used their gifts for their own gain, only to lose them. Instead of being happy at the chance to be normal, devastation hollowed out her chest. It was like losing half her soul, the best part of her torn away because of a rash promise.

  Paul tugged on her skirt. When she spoke, her voice wobbled. “Are you ready?” She patted his head, comforted when he snuggled close. “Then here we go.”

  She blew out a breath. Instead of the familiar heat, darkness unfurled, creating a vast emptiness that seeped through her whole body. She hadn’t realized how much her gifts were a vital part of her until they were gone. “Please come back.”

  Brighid closed her eyes, determined to try again, despite the exhaustion that threatened to steal the last of her reserves. If she succeeded in opening the door, she wouldn’t be walking out under her own power.

  She needed to choose…rescue either the boy or herself.

  It was no contest.

  Her powers were reluctant at first, the ribbons on her feet a faint glow. She poured more of herself into it, the heat burning deeper and stronger. New lines seared up the
sides of her legs, feeling as if her flesh had been stripped away.

  Too much power.

  Her blood turned to molten lava, the pain strong enough to bow her back, until her entire body felt ready to catch fire. Static collected under her skin to unbearable levels, then the power exploded outward.

  Wind howled like an angry beast. Wood splintered and shot outward like tiny darts zinging through the air. Paul clapped, his face alight with awe. But as the energy drained, all her strength vanished, and she dropped to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Paul prodded her shoulder, and Brighid struggled to lift her head.

  “Run for help.” The command rasp against her throat. She pushed him away, but the stubborn little scamp refused to budge. “You win, but if you even think he might return, you have to run and find Wyatt. I mean it this time.”

  Only when he nodded did Brighid heave a sigh of resignation and crawl to her hands and knees. Her head throbbed in retaliation, and she swayed precariously while she fought to stay conscious. Paul steadied her, his spindly arms surprisingly strong.

  The world tilted as she stumbled out the door, and she gouged her arm on a jagged splinter from the doorframe. Blood trickled from the nasty gash, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her stomach churned, and she used the pain to focus.

  Once outside, she noticed light creeping back into the forest. Morning frost covered the ground. Leaves swirled in the light breeze in a dizzy array. With each step, her queasiness faded. They dodged vegetation, ducking under branches. Urgency thickened the air. She scrutinized the shadows, poised for someone to charge out and try to take them captive again. When the trees thinned, her pace slowed. Without the cover of the woods, they would be very vulnerable.

  Easy targets.

  Paul pointed in the distance, and she spied the vague shape of a large building sprawled along the skyline. The sun shimmered against the windows, setting it ablaze like a beacon welcoming her home.

  Graystone Manor.

  All that stood between them and safety was a vast expanse of open lawn. Brighid gathered up her skirts, grabbed Paul’s hand, and ran.

  Chapter 19

  Wyatt came in for breakfast at Aaron’s insistence. He rubbed his bruised jaw, then looked across the table and stared at the welt forming around his friend’s left eye. “Sorry about that.”

  “I understand, but you weren’t doing her any good wandering the countryside in the dark. You need at least an hour to clear your head and eat.” Aaron shoveled a mouthful of eggs into his mouth.

  “I’m going out again when we’re finished.” Wyatt warned, then mimicked his friend by cramming down his food as fast as he could swallow. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could retrieve his wife. Then spank her within an inch of her life for disappearing on him in the first place.

  “I expected nothing less. I’ll be right behind you.” His fork scraped on the empty plate, and Aaron set it aside and pick up his cup.

  Wyatt released a harsh breath. He’d managed only a handful of hours to sleep in the past few days, first when Brighid nearly died in the chapel, and now with her disappearance. The sharp edge he depended upon in emergencies had inevitably been dulled.

  He had to find her.

  He hadn’t realized he spoke aloud until Aaron replied.

  “We will. You can’t doubt it.”

  A commotion erupted in the hallway, stopping all conversation. Wyatt jolted to his feet, sloshing coffee on his trousers. “Damn.”

  Ignoring the searing flash of pain, he ran out the door, Aaron hard on his heels. The sight in the hall stopped him faster than a stone wall. Aaron slammed into his back, forcing him into motion.

  “Brighid?”

  “We made it.” She stood in the hall, her dress stained with dirt and blood and hanging on her in tatters. Her hair was tangled with leaves and twigs. When she lifted her head, he sucked in a sharp breath and nearly choked.

  Nothing could have prepared him for seeing the dried blood that covered the left side of her face. A large cut ran from above her temple and slashed down to bisect her eyebrow.

  Fear lanced through him, the severity of her injuries scaring twenty years off his life. He didn’t realize he moved until he stood face-to-face with her. “Brighid?”

  She gave him a weak wave then leaned over, panting for air. Afraid she might collapse at his feet, he swept her up in his arms, startling a squeak from her.

  “Wyatt, put me down this instant. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Brighid wheezed between words, then grimaced. “In a minute or two.”

  His arms tightened, and he hoisted her higher, not putting it past her to wiggle out of his hold. “You look ready to fall over.”

  He turned and found his way blocked by the boy, concern etched on the young face. Wyatt looked up and searched the gathering crowd. “I want you to go with Trudy. She’ll help you clean up and give you food. When you’re done, you can visit Brighid. Right now, she needs a bath and rest.”

  The boy allowed himself be led away, his feet dragging, never once removing his gaze from Brighid. Wyatt didn’t blame the kid. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, either. He mounted the stairs, calling over his shoulder. “Aaron, fetch the doctor.”

  “There’s no need.” Neither man so much as acknowledged her protest, and Brighid heaved a sigh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “You’re injured.”

  “I must look a fright, but it’s only a few scratches. I’m fine.” She glanced down at herself with a sigh and tried to brush off the worst of the muck clinging to her. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my new dress.” The hem of her skirt was ragged, the fabric torn in a few spots. The jacket was ripped and stained beyond repair.

  As if sensing her distress, Wyatt leaned down until his nose touched hers. “I’ll buy you a dozen new dresses, but first the doctor will examine you, if only for my peace of mind—or I will do it myself. Your choice.”

  Much to his disappointment, she nodded meekly, her green eyes wide at his threat.

  “Wyatt?”

  His mother stood at the top of the stairs. “Order a bath. Have some clothes set out for her.”

  He didn’t wait for her questions, but took the stairs two at a time. “Who did this to you?”

  Brighid shook her head and winced. “He struck me from behind. I didn’t see anyone.”

  A growl rumbled up his chest. Cowardly bastard. He walked past her room and opened his door instead. He needed time alone with her. To confirm for himself that she was all right.

  Brighid reached out to grab the doorframe. “This is your room.”

  He raised a brow, but when she showed no signs of relenting, he dipped his arms, gratified when she squealed and clutched his shoulders. “Yes.”

  His room.

  Where she belonged.

  When he entered the room, his stride slowed. He found himself very reluctant to set her down. He freely admitted he’d made a mistake in the way he married her. He compounded the mistake by not setting down some rules.

  No more.

  He settled her on the bed with the greatest of care. Even before he straightened, she rolled across the top and came to her feet on the other side.

  Frustration roared through him. He stalked around the bed to stand in front of her and planted his feet.

  She had nowhere else to go.

  “Strip.”

  She blinked up at him like a rumpled little hellcat. “What? No.”

  “A bath has been ordered. You need to get clean. Strip, or I’ll do it for you.”

  She narrowed those gorgeous green eyes of hers at him, and his cock reacted predictably. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His blood pumped faster at the challenge. Wyatt bared his teeth and moved closer until only a few inches separated them. The chit only lifted her stubborn chin. He leaned still closer, so they were eye to eye, barely resisting the urge to touch her. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. “Try me.”r />
  She narrowed her eyes, suddenly wary. “Turn around.”

  “No.” In fact, hell, no. The last time he let her out of his sight, she’d disappeared. He would never make that mistake again. He stepped back, crossed his arms and waited. Part of him wanted her to refuse so he could do it himself, but he resisted, reminding himself that he’d have many opportunities to undress her in the future.

  He expected her to flee. Instead, she pinned up locks of her hair. He thought watching her remove her clothes would be the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, but watching her coil her hair, exposing her delicate nape, nearly broke his control.

  A few strands escaped to trail down the curve of her neck, and he wanted to place his lips right there. Without an ounce of shyness, she unhooked the front of her dress, and slid the sleeves off her shoulders. Not once did she look away from him. His ardor cooled when he saw the various wounds, some deep, scattered everywhere on her body, and he struggled not to notice her tantalizing skin as he assessed her injuries. Her skirt slithered down her hips to pool at her feet. The petticoats and bloomers quickly followed. She released her garters and slowly unrolled her stockings.

  Dressed in her stays and a shift, she reached up for the strings, then stopped. “You don’t need to watch. I’m not going to run.”

  Wyatt almost wished she would, so he could give chase and have an excuse to touch the tantalizing, delectable skin. Turning around wasn’t an option…he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Unable to resist, he reached out and snagged the ribbons of her stays, slowly unlacing them until she stood wearing only her shift.

  He waited for her to protest the liberty, but she simply glanced at him with those vivid green eyes that called to his soul. It kept him from taking more.

  “My lord.” Wyatt deftly turned and stepped protectively in front of Brighid, gritting his teeth when Brighid ducked to retrieve her skirts. A servant peered between the connecting doors. “The bath is ready.”

  Glad to have a reason to move away before he did something he would regret, he nodded. “Very good. We’ll take it from here.”

  A fire blazed in her room, a steaming tub stood full and waiting. Without her standing in front of him, he was able to get his body under control. By the time he returned, she held the dress to her chest, all her inner fire muted. It enabled him to ignore her shapely curves and focus on the gashes, cuts, and bruises that were scattered everywhere.