The stranger had the bluest eyes that Arya had ever seen, and when he took off his hat he revealed shaggy blond hair. His voice was low and raspy, but it was the sly smile that undid her – boyish and charming with a hint of something wicked.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Arya quickly looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. “My aunt… she asked me to get water… I’m not sure what to do.”
“It’s okay.” He waved her concern away as he brushed past her. “I’ll get it out for you.” Dangling the rope, he somehow managed to get the hook around the bucket handle, and hoisted it right up. He then fastened it properly, sent it back down, and filled it.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She took it from him, her breath catching in her throat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
He grinned again, that cool sexy smile that played around the corners of his lips. “My name’s Lucas. Family owns the big farm just up the road.” He pointed past the wooden fencing about a hundred yards away to where a green and white farmhouse stood.
Arya smiled. “Yes, I’ve seen it. It looks like your family is doing very well. That’s a beautiful farm.”
Shrugging, he turned back to her. “We do alright. So Ms. Woodward is your aunt, I take it?”
Arya nodded. “Yes. I’ve been living with her a few days now… my name is Arya.”
“I see.” He studied her for a moment. “Nice to meet you Arya. Your accent… are you one of the gentry?”
Arya’s back stiffened a little at the slight censure in his voice. “I was…before the rebels attacked our home and killed my parents.” She felt her throat tighten, and forced herself to look away. “It’s why I’m living out here in the country… with my aunt.”
His expression instantly softened, his eyes filling with sympathy. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to...” He reached out to touch her arm, but she lifted her chin and turned away from him even as she felt the heat of his fingers pressing down on her wrist.
“Of course you didn’t,” Arya replied, waving him off as if she hadn’t just shared the worst tragedy of her life with a total stranger. “It was nice meeting you, Lucas. I better get back to my aunt.” She walked away without a backward glance, wishing the lump in her throat would go away.
* * *
“It seems you’ve received a package, Arya,” her aunt announced early the next morning. Eve clutched a bouquet of lavender in her hand. “It came with a note,” she added, handing Arya a scrap of paper along with the flowers.
Arya carefully read the handwriting, a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her belly.
I hope these flowers will help convey both my regret to you and my deepest sympathies.
Sighing, Arya tucked the note into her skirt pocket, then found a vase for the flowers and set it on the table.
“Are you going to tell me who they’re from?”
Arya hesitated only a moment—what harm could it do? She quickly regaled to her aunt the specifics of her meeting Lucas at the well.
“Ah, yes, Lucas.” Her aunt surprised her by smiling. “The Rivers family come from good stock, but they have a chip on their shoulder as far as gentry are concerned. You mustn’t begrudge him his animosity, Arya. He has good reason for it.”
Arya swallowed a forkful of eggs. “And what might that be?” She feigned indifference in her tone, but in truth she was incredibly curious.
“One of his sisters was romanced by a young man, the son of an Earl. He got her with child, and then broke her heart without a care before rushing off to marry a wealthy heiress from a highborn family.”
Arya lowered her eyes—she’d heard stories of that sort of thing happening all too often, and it was part of the reason why she’d never been able to look upon the majority of the men that ran in her social circles without disdain.
“That is a sad story,” she said after a moment.
“He sends her a small sum of money every month for the expenses of the child,” her aunt continued, “but her heart has never quite recovered from the betrayal. Of course it doesn’t help that the poor boy is the spitting image of his father. Amelia is about your age.” Arya lifted her head. “It’s entirely possible that she could benefit from some female companionship.”
Arya finished her breakfast, then pushed back her chair so she could take her plate away. “Perhaps.”
* * *
When she arrived at the well the next day, he was standing there, his shoulders propped up against the stone rim, his straw hat drawn down over his head. He lifted it, and she saw that quick flash of a seductive grin and the twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
“I was beginning to think you would never come.” He pulled off his hat and pressed it against his chest. “I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
“I wasn’t aware we had a meeting,” Arya replied as she hooked the bucket onto the end of the rope. This time she got it right the first try, and lowered it without difficulty.
“Did you get the flowers that I sent?”
“I did. They are lovely.” She pulled the bucket back up, unhitched it from the hook, and then set it down in the grass. “Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
His mouth thinned momentarily, and then he smiled again, but some of the sparkle had left his eyes. “I really am sorry about your parents.”
There was a moment of awkward silence between them before Lucas looked up at her again, his gaze locked onto her face, that Cheshire at smile back at his lips.
“So how are you finding life out here in the country?”
Arya smiled. “Different.”
The grin was back, and he sketched her a mocking bow. “What? Are you not enjoying the simple life of chickens and cows?” he chuckled, and she laughed. “I know it’s not for everyone.”
Arya raised her brows. “Really? Is it that obvious?”
He laughed, picking up the heavy bucket. “Just a little.” He hoisted the bucket against his side, flashing her a warm smile. “Come on, I’ll carry this back for you.”
* * *
They continued to meet by the well every day, where they would talk about life, growing closer by the day. At the end of every conversation Lucas would walk her home, carrying the heavy bucket of water in his calloused hands. It turned out that he and Eve knew each other better than her aunt had let on—they spoke like old friends, and she discovered that before she came to live with Eve, Lucas would come over a few times a week to help out.
The more time she spent with him, the more her heart warmed. She had once believed, not too long ago, that she was destined for a life of solitude in the country, believing that because she was highborn she would have trouble connecting with country folk. But it seemed as though there was more of her mother in her than she ever realized because she felt more at home here than she ever had on any of her father’s estates, even when surrounded by luxury.
“Would you like to come and visit our farm?” Lucas asked one day, lips curving into a smile.
“Visit?” Arya wasn’t sure what to say. “You’d like me to meet your family?”
He grinned. “They aren’t going to bite, Arya. They’ve been curious to meet you.”
“You’ve been talking to your family about me?” she teased. “I’m not certain whether I should be flattered or worried.”
Pulling her into an embrace, he laughed. “Only good things, I swear.”
Arya shivered at his possessive touch, his eyes lingering on her face, caressing her with his gaze and she felt her body respond to the nearness of him.
“Okay,” she whispered, breathing in his masculine scent.
“Then let’s go.”
He held her hand tightly as they crossed the field and approached the large farmhouse. Up close it seemed even grander than it had from afar—it was certainly no mansion, but it had a sturdy cheer about it that no amount of luxury could duplicate.
Warm, honey oak flooring and furniture greeted h
er inside, gleaming in the morning light streaming in through the many windows. The walls were papered in cream patterned with yellow roses and tiny green leaves, and fresh flowers were set in baskets and vases on window sills, tables and other surfaces where they would be best displayed. Arya took a deep breath and smelled their florid scent, along with the warm, yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread.
Following the scent to the kitchen, she saw a woman standing at the counter with her dark hair tied back and a white apron covering her body as she buttered a loaf of bread. Next to her was a young boy chattering away, his bright red hair sprouting up in tufts, a pair of suspenders barely managing to hold his trousers up against his small frame.
They both turned to look at her with identical blue eyes, the exact same shade as Lucas’s, and in a flash of awareness she realized that this must be Amelia and her son. Though the boy’s eyes were open with innocent curiosity, the mother’s were more assessing, suspicious even. Arya held her gaze evenly, studying the faint lines that had begun to mar her smooth skin and her too-white knuckles as she gripped the counter.
Lucas moved forward, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room and picked up his nephew, swinging him into the air. The boy giggled, and the sound warmed Arya’s heart. “How are you these days, Jamie?” He propped the boy on his shoulders, and turned to face his sister. “Amelia, I’d like you to meet Arya.”
“Ah, yes, you’ve told us all about her.” Some of the suspicion left Amelia’s eyes as she came around the counter. She gave Arya a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Arya noticed that her posture was not quite relaxed. “You are Eve’s niece?”
Arya inclined her head. “I am. My aunt speaks highly of your brother, and your family. It’s very nice to meet you.”
They chatted for a time, and Arya found herself warming to Amelia—though quiet and reserved, she had an inner light and sweetness that seemed to beckon. She could see how a woman like her would’ve tempted a nobleman despite his common sense, though she still did not forgive the unknown man for his actions. If the experience had left bitter feelings toward her child, it showed neither in Amelia nor her son—Jamie was a bright and eager boy and seemed well loved.
She met the rest of Lucas’s family too—his father, mother and three brothers, one older, two younger. They all shared the same fair hair, blue eyes and sturdy bodies, and seemed to be a genuinely well-rounded family. Arya enjoyed being with them, and was reluctant to leave when Lucas announced it was past time to take her back. She allowed him to walk her home, though, not wanting to upset or anger her aunt by being late.
“My family really seems to like you,” he whispered.
“I quite liked them as well,” Arya admitted with a smile.
“You’re free to come by whenever you like,” Lucas told her as they stopped outside her aunt’s cottage.
“I might just do that.”
He picked up her hand and, never dropping his gaze, pressed a hot kiss to her delicate wrist. Pleasant warmth tingled through her. “I hope you do.”
He pulled her gently toward him and while her eyes went wide there was no protest, no hesitation.
“Lucas.” Her voice was breathy, barely a whisper.
He kissed her, lightly, brushing his lips across hers, his tongue sliding briefly across her lower lip. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, allowing him to claim her mouth. There was a moment where everything faded; it was just the two of them, the feel of her hair in his hands, her lips warm against his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth. There was a pleasant tightening across the front of his jeans as he grew hard, a sense of familiar heat as arousal flashed through his body.
He pulled back and watched as she leaned toward him, wanting more, slowly opening her eyes when she realized it would not come tonight. She looked up at him, her desire written across her face, passion blazing in her darkened eyes.
“Good night, Arya.”
She watched him walk away, admiring his loose gait and muscled body until she heard Eve call her name.
“Coming!” she replied. Her voice was breathless, barely recognizable. She couldn’t want to see Lucas again, to explore the powerful hunger that now swirled in her belly, leaving her body hot and desperately aching for his touch.
Chapter Three
That night, she dreamed of death and darkness—the rebels were ransacking her house, breaking and looting her family’s precious belongings, slaughtering the staff so that the stench of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air. She could still hear the cackling and shouting from the rebels, but intermingled were the sound of wolf cries—long, pained howls interspersed with snarls and angry growling. She groped blindly, wishing she could see what was happening, but darkness cloaked her, suffocating her until she could neither move nor breathe.
When she broke free of the dream she sat up sharply, gasping for the breath she’d been denied in her sleep. As before, she heard wolf cries—but this time they were angry and pained, as they’d been in her dream. Frustration and curiosity rose up in her—what was the connection between her and these wolves? Was it normal for them to weave themselves into her dreams with such conviction? Was it simply a reality intruding on her nightmares, or something more?
Sighing, she fell back onto her pillow. She didn’t know how, but somehow, some way, she was going to figure it out.
* * *
“I am going to lie down for a bit, Arya,” her aunt said one afternoon after they’d finished pulling vegetables from the garden. “You should take a bit of time for yourself to relax, if you like, or go next door and visit the Rivers’.”
Arya smiled. “I think I will, actually. It will be nice to see them again.”
She stepped outside into the warm, sunlit air. Crossing the field, she allowed the sweet smell of grass and flowers to relax her. She’d intended to make her way to Lucas’s, but found herself instead heading away from the Rivers farm and toward the forest instead. She wasn’t certain what she would find there, or whether or not it was wise to ignore her aunt’s warnings, but something about it always seemed to call to her, and today the pull was stronger than ever—nearly irresistable. Surely she was meant to go in there, to discover whatever secrets lurked beneath the branches?
It didn’t take her long to reach the forest, and she stopped for a minute just outside the reach of its shadow to study it. The trees stood tall and sturdy, strong and yet somehow peaceful at the same time, and other than the twitter of birds she could detect no wildlife. Was this really where the howls were coming from?
Taking a deep breath, she stepped beneath the treetops and followed a path that appeared to be well traveled. Having seldom walked in a forest before, she was surprised at just how much darker it was— more light actually weaved in between the tree trunks than it did down from above the branches. The ground was thickly dappled with shadows, but her eyes adjusted quickly. She could hear animals rustling in the underbrush as they scampered away from her, and caught a glimpse of red as a cardinal shot past.
As she headed deeper and deeper into the forest, she noticed that the tree trunks grew bigger and more craggy—ancient, she thought. It seemed fitting that the closer one got to the heart of the forest, the older the trees would be. What was strange was the fact that even though she was getting closer to the center, the wildlife was growing more and more sparse. She would have thought it would be opposite.
The trees began to thin out, and suddenly Arya found herself standing in front of a large stone wall. It rose high, easily ten feet tall, and she frowned, wondering how it was she didn’t notice it until now. It was as though it had dropped out of thin air.
“How strange,” she murmured, running a palm against the stone, which was warm to the touch. Something tickled her awareness, and she looked to the left to see an opening in the stone wall she hadn’t noticed before. Walking closer, she realized it was the entrance to a maze.
“Well, I’ve come this far,” she thought, after a quick look aro
und. “I might as well continue on.”
She wandered through the maze, and soon became hopelessly lost. She pressed forward doggedly, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the sunlight was waning at an alarming rate. For some reason, in her heart she believed that if she could just find the source of the howling before the sun set, she would not be harmed. She didn’t know why she believed it, but the conviction was strong enough to propel her onward until she was flat out running, clutching the skirt of her muslin dress on one hand and the bonnet that had slipped off her head with the other.
When the exit to the maze finally came in sight, she could have cried—her relief was so overwhelming. Without a thought as to what might lay on the other end, she stumbled out of the maze, crashing into something hard.
“Ahh!” she cried, clutching her forehead. As she looked up, she quickly revised her assessment—it wasn’t a wall she had slammed into, but into a very hard, very muscular chest. Her eyes traveled up, and up to rest on a handsome and very familiar face—the very same one she’d been seeing in her dreams.
“Hello,” the man said softly, his yellow eyes gleaming. “And where have you come from?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but she had trouble concentrating over the roaring in her ears and the sudden dizziness that overcame her. That’s it—she was hallucinating. There was no way this could be real. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped forward into a dead faint.
* * *
Kellan leaned back in his chair as he watched the woman sleep. Long, chestnut hair spilled out against the pillow, no longer confined by that silly bonnet she’d been wearing when she’d fainted—he’d tossed it on a nearby table. Her lashes fanned against her creamy cheekbones, her blush-colored lips were parted slightly, and her chest rose and fell steadily as typical for one in a restful sleep.
She’d already been unconscious when he’d caught her in his arms, and had provided little trouble to him when he’d taken her back to his cabin. Her body was slight and did not weigh much, but her size and strength were not what concerned him. It was the fact that she’d managed to find them at all. It had been a very long time since a human had last stumbled upon their location—and she had been a woman, too.
Happily Ever Alpha: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance Page 2