The Haunting of Brier Rose

by Simpson, Patricia

  "You're not my father—"

  "That's a lie!" The tall figure rattled the gate so hard that Roselyn fell backward onto the ground. "And don't you ever repeat what you just said!"

  Stunned, she stared up at him, unable to see his face in the darkness. Her view of him was always the same, never quite in focus, never in the light, so she couldn't quite discern the features of the man who doled out punishment in the name of fatherly concern. He always stood in the shadows of a room, his back to the light of the doorway, always came down from his room after the evening meal and slept during the day. Never once had he shown his face to her, kissed her or held her on his knee. Rose wouldn't have wanted such attentions, anyway. She lived in terror of him and feared the sound of his measured step on the stair and in the hall.

  She shuddered. He couldn't be her father. He just couldn't! How could her kind, soft-spoken mother be married to such a stern, unyielding man?

  Rose could see him seething, his narrow shoulders heaving as he glared at her. Rose knew his rages well, his sudden bursts of cruelty that could flare up unexpectedly. Once he had kicked a dog so viciously that he had killed it. Rose sat on the ground, too frightened to move, while the damp earth soaked through her dress and her underwear.

  Finally he seemed to gain control of himself. His voice, more evenly modulated now, sliced through the night air.

  "I'm only trying to save you from yourself, Roselyn, by teaching you what it means to be honest. You will thank me one day for being harsh with you, for only through harshness will the mind of a child remember."

  His voice rumbled on as Roselyn hugged her knees, her panic overriding the words he was saying. His lectures were always the same and always followed by a punishment.

  What would he do this time? Make her drink and drink and drink until she vomited, to cleanse her of evil? Make her pace for hours in the freezing cold in only her panties to rid her of the sin of vanity? Make her stand for an entire night with a book on her head because she had been caught reading past her bedtime?

  "You can make it easy on yourself, Roselyn. You know why you were sent to your room. Tell me why, Roselyn."

  "For lying." She scrambled to her feet. "But I wasn't—"

  "Not telling the whole truth is just the same as lying, my girl."

  "But I don't even know—"

  "Do you take me for a fool?" he thundered, rattling the gate again.

  Roselyn faltered backward, her knuckle to her hips.

  "Speak up, child!"

  "N-n-no."

  "No one takes me for a fool. Not even your mother. She thinks she is getting away with her little affair, but I am wise to her. She's being very bad, Roselyn, and we must stop her before she brings disgrace to the family."

  He crouched, sliding his hands down the bars until he was at eye level with her. "You can help me, Roselyn. You can help save the honor of our family. Just tell me the name of the man your mother has been seeing. That's all you have to do. I don't know why you're being so stubborn."

  "What will you do to him if I tell?"

  "Why, nothing, child. I'll ask him to stay away, that's all. And then we'll talk to your mother and tell her to try to be better in the future, to quit telling lies to us."

  Rose studied him, distrustful of his sudden personable tone. He would punish her mother. He would probably make her stand out in the cold in her underwear, too. He might even hurt her mother. If he got really angry, he might kick her mother just as he had kicked poor old Buster.

  The vision of her pretty mother curled up in pain on the floor gave her fresh resolve. She stuck out her bottom lip.

  "If you tell me his name, Roselyn, I will let you in and have Mrs. Foster make you a nice cup of cocoa. I'll bet you're cold. You're very cold, aren't you?"

  "Yes "

  "Well? What is his name?"

  "I—I—" She looked at the house behind him, with its lighted windows and promise of warmth, and then back at the figure crouched before her in the darkness. She swallowed. "I-I-"

  "Come, Roselyn, it's easy. Just tell me his name."

  She pinched her lips together. She couldn't betray her mother, no matter how much she longed for a cup of cocoa. "I told you, I don't know."

  "Don't know?" he repeated, slowly rising to his awe-inspiring height. "Don't know?"

  "No."

  "Liar!" he bellowed. "Liar! You know his name, and by God, you'll tell me!"

  "I don't know! I swear!"

  "Perhaps you don't know the value of cooperation, Roselyn. Perhaps you don't know the value of a good home."

  Rose's heart sank. Whenever he spoke of her lack of appreciation, he always devised a punishment to fit the crime. She shivered, terrified of what he might invent.

  "Perhaps a night away from home will teach you to count your blessings, Roselyn Bastyr." He released his hold on the gate and turned away.

  He meant to leave her in the lane. He meant to leave her all alone in the dark.

  Horrified, Rose ran forward and grasped the gate. "Please!" she cried. "Don't make me stay out here!"

  He stopped and turned his head to glare at her over his shoulder. His eyes glinted in the darkness. "Ungrateful child. Let this be a lesson to you."

  "But I'm scared! I want to come home! Please, open the gate. Please!"

  "You brought this on yourself, Roselyn."

  In disbelief, she watched him walk away. He disappeared into a ground fog that swirled out of the shrubs.

  "Please, don't leave me alone!" Her plaintive request broke off in a sob as she sagged into a crumpled heap at the foot of the gate. Her clothes were damp, and her knees and shins were bare to the elements.

  "Mother!" she cried, but she knew her mother couldn't hear her. She had probably taken her medicine so she could sleep during the night and had no idea that Rose was outside all by herself. Rose put a knuckle to her lips. She couldn't stay out here, not in the dark, alone with the unknown.

  She had to tell.

  "His name is Will!" she cried, shuddering.

  The dark shape of her father appeared out of the fog.

  "Will what?"

  "I don't know!" She wept, heartsick and distraught.

  "What is his last name, Roselyn?"

  "I don't know! He lives by the zoo. He has a green car!"

  "What's his last name, Roselyn. Think!"

  "There's a big A on his screen door."

  "A for Andrews? Will Andrews?"

  "No. Anderson. His name is Will Anderson!"

  Her father opened the gate. "Good girl, Roselyn. You have done well."

  But Rose knew she hadn't done well. Out of fear of the dark, she had just betrayed her mother.

  Rose was still sobbing when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Somehow she knew without opening her eyes that she had returned from her memory and was back at Brierwood.

  "Your father was only trying to help you," the dry voice purred near her ear.

  He was cruel.

  "Seen through the eyes of a child, perhaps he seemed cruel. But he only wanted you to be the best that you could be, Roselyn—honest, brave and strong, like the rest of the Bastyrs."

  And twisted.

  "Oh no, Roselyn. Is that what your mother told you, that the Bastyrs are twisted?"

  Yes. And I believe her.

  "Why? Did your father ever strike you? Ever lay a hand on you?"

  No, but—

  "There, you see? He wasn't really cruel."

  Rose stirred uncomfortably, trying to marshal her thoughts while he reached out and traced the opening between her lips. She turned away from his hand, but he only drew it across her cheek and down her neck, slipping his fingers into the top of her nightgown. He fanned his hand just over her left breast, and Rose sighed, knowing she should pull away, but longing to be touched all the same.

  "He wanted to touch you, Roselyn, to show you his love. But he couldn't, because your mother had poisoned your mind and turned you against him. She kept you from him."<
br />
  I was afraid of him.

  "Because you wouldn't give yourself to him—your trust, your devotion, your obedience. If you had, he would have showered you with all the love in the world."

  It didn't seem like it at the time.

  "Perhaps." He drew the sheet away and eased down the elastic top of her nightgown to reveal her breasts. Rose felt cool air bathe her flesh before he leaned over her. His lips paused above her right nipple, expectation tightening it into a tingling peak. The anticipation of his mouth upon her sensitive skin made her gasp and arch her back.

  Strong hands grasped her breasts while her eyelids twitched. She had to open her eyes, had to look into his eyes, to see if this was Taylor, to see if he desired her as much as she desired him at that moment.

  "It's not too late, Roselyn," he murmured. She felt his weight upon the bed as he sat beside her.

  "Promise to tell the truth and you will be loved beyond your wildest dreams."

  Her breasts ached; her body was aflame for him. She opened her mouth but couldn't speak.

  "Promise to obey, Roselyn, my beauty, and you will never be afraid again."

  She tried to lift her arms, but they were like lead weights. She tried to speak but couldn't form a coherent word. Then she felt him ease his body onto hers, and she thought she would die from the glorious pressure of his chest against her breasts, the weight of his abdomen against her belly and the hard length of his thigh as he wedged his leg between hers. He moved his knee, and she gasped.

  "Take the ring off, Roselyn. Give me the ring."

  Bea told me to keep it on.

  "Bea is making you a prisoner of her own delusions and fears, Roselyn. But you aren't afraid, are you?"

  No.

  "What she's been telling you is rather farfetched, isn't it?"

  Yes.

  "The ring makes you a prisoner. Take off the ring and you will be released from all her foolishness."

  Somehow she found the wherewithal to slide off the emerald ring and hold it out to him. His breath swept over her cheek as he bent to her lips.

  "You tempt me," he whispered. "Oh, you tempt me."

  He kissed her at the same time as his hips ground against her thigh, surprising her with the carnal violence of both his body and his hips. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and even though she was a virgin, she knew enough of what went on between men and women to recognize his intent. His tongue wasn't there to pleasure her but to violate her. Even in her groggy state, the violence shocked her. She struggled backward, pressing herself into the pillow, but his mouth only followed, his tongue in relentless pursuit, while he imprisoned her with his hands and the leg he had forced between hers.

  What had begun as a light caress had suddenly become an invasion. He hissed her name and clawed the backs of her arms, raking over the scratches made by the briers. The pain shocked Rose to reality. This man wasn't showing her love, he was all but raping her, lost in satisfying his own desires without any regard for her.

  No! The word screamed inside her head but never made it to her lips. She had to get away from him. Had to escape. But he was heavy. Rose struggled against her hypnotic state, trying in vain to push him away as she was surrounded by the smell of his heat and lust. She sucked in a breath, trying to get away, and caught the scent of nightshade. She froze.

  Taylor had never smelled of nightshade. His hair had smelled of the wind and sea. When he had kissed her, he hadn't been rough or violent. She had known a melting feeling in his arms, not this pummeling sensation of physical assault. Something was wrong here. Something wasn't as it should be. And if this wasn't Taylor on top of her, who was it?

  She had to wake up.

  Rose shut down the physical sensations—the smell of him, the taste of him, the feeling of his hands on her skin, the sound of his labored breathing. No matter what spell had been cast upon her, she had to wake up. She had to call upon the strength of her own mind to free her from the incubus that had come to her bed. Rose willed herself to think of nothing but waking from the lethargy of her body, and concentrated on her goal as if it were a glowing dot that could grow larger from the force of her heart and soul. The dot increased and flickered to life, but not enough to blot out the curtain of blackness brought down by the man on top of her.

  Rose knew she would be lost if she didn't get help. The man in her bed would have her, ruin her, and take her soul as surely as he took her virginity. Fighting the urge to cry, Rose prayed to her mother to help her. Wherever Deborah was in the great beyond, Rose needed her now more than ever.

  Mother!

  Immediately a sensation of warmth poured down, as if a golden light flowed over her, surrounding her. Rose concentrated, using the warmth to protect her like a shield, and willed herself to rise above the groggy sensation that drugged her mind. She must not falter, must not think for an instant about the man moving on top of her. She must think only of the light. Slowly the lassitude lifted and her dot of light flared into a swirling starburst. Rose focused with all her might on the vision of the starburst burning away the shadows of the dark curtain.

  Then, in a twinkling, the darkness was gone.

  Rose jerked upright and glanced to the side just in time to catch sight of a filmy dark figure moving toward her bathroom. Terrified, she lunged out of bed and bolted in the opposite direction. She flung open her door and burst into the hall, only to run into Taylor Wolfe.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Taylor!" Rose launched herself into his embrace, threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. His chest was bare, and he wore only the bottoms of a pair of cotton pajamas, but she didn't care. His body was warm and solid and afforded a sense of security she needed more than anything else at the moment. She was so frightened that she couldn't form another word and resisted all his attempts to look at her face. Finally he gave up and simply held her, one hand at the back of her head and the other around her waist, until she had collected her wits enough to answer his questions.

  "Rose?" he asked. "What's happened?"

  "A man was—" She broke off, at a loss for how to explain herself without mentioning the shameful details of her nocturnal visitations.

  "A man was in your room, Rose?" He clutched her shoulders. "Is that right?"

  "Yes!"

  "Who?" His fingers squeezed the tops of her arms.

  "I don't know!"

  Taylor leaned down to peer at her face. "Are you hurt?"

  "No, just shaken up."

  "What happened? Where'd he go?"

  "I don't know. He might still be in there!"

  "Bastard!" Taylor let go of her and grabbed his cane from the floor. He pushed the door open.

  "I don't know how he got in. My door was locked."

  Taylor made no response. She stumbled after him, afraid to be left alone in the dark house. He strode around the room, checking the windows, the closed door and under her bed. Lastly, he inspected her bathroom.

  In spite of his limp and scars, he cut a powerful figure, and she suddenly realized that he might not be as crippled as he appeared.

  "You said your door was locked?" he asked.

  "Yes. I can't figure out how he could have gotten in."

  "And the windows were locked?"

  She nodded.

  Taylor paused at the foot of her bed, perplexed.

  "Did you see anything in the bathroom?" she asked.

  "No. Nothing."

  "That's where I saw him heading."

  "He's not there now. I think he's long gone."

  She ventured closer to pick up her robe from the foot of the bed, knowing that the cotton nightgown she wore would do little to conceal her nakedness, should she stand in brighter light.

  "You okay, Rose?" he asked as she drew on the robe. "I mean, really all right?"

  His solicitude warmed her. "Yes. He didn't—he didn't hurt me."

  "What did he look like?"

  "I don't know. He was wearing black. That's all I could tell."

&
nbsp; "Do you have any idea who he could be?"

  She paused, knowing very well who the intruder might be. Seth Bastyr. But to admit that to Taylor would involve telling him about her family. She wasn't ready to think about them, much less discuss them with Taylor.

  "No, I haven't the faintest idea."

  "Want me to call the police?"

  "That isn't necessary. I don't think anything was taken."

  For a long moment he studied her with his head slightly tilted and his brows drawn together. What must he be thinking? Then he reached out for her hand, and the sudden contact of his warm skin heated her all the way to her bare feet.

  "Come on. You need a brandy."

  "I don't drink."

  "A nip will do you good." He pulled her down the hall to his room. "You should see your face, Rose. You're as white as a ghost."

  He shut the door behind them and motioned to the bed, which was bathed in a pool of light from a lamp on the nightstand and covered with an assortment of books. "You're as cold as ice, too. Warm up there while I get the brandy."

  He issued orders as if he were certain she would obey his every command. Yet Rose didn't want to argue. She was cold. She was afraid. And Taylor's rumpled bed, aglow in the darkness, looked like a haven of warmth and security.

  "Just pile the books on the floor," he said over his shoulder while he unstopped a decanter at a small cabinet in the sitting area.

  Rose set the books on the floor and slipped under the covers, snuggling against the pillow as his scent wafted around her, warming her even more.

  He walked to the bed, carrying two snifters, and offered her one. She murmured her thanks.

  "Are you sure you're going to be all right?" he asked.

  She nodded and watched him walk around to the other side, wondering if he intended to get in bed with her. She had never been in bed with a man, and the possibility that he would slide in beside her made her nervous.

  Taylor sank onto the bed, and his weight shook the mattress as he eased against the pillows piled against the headboard. Grateful that he hadn't slipped beneath the sheets, Rose took a gulp of her brandy.

  The liquor burned like fire in her throat, and she choked.

  "Easy!" Taylor chuckled, holding her drink steady as she hunched over in a coughing fit. "You're supposed to sip brandy, not swig it!"