A Passion So Strong

by Chasity Bowlin

  It bothered him. More than it should have. But he couldn’t help but feel that Miss Everleigh was being treated rather poorly by her adopted relatives. Practically acting as a servant to her aunts, being put off and ignored by her nephew, lobbed off on a total stranger to receive the aid she’d requested—why did they value her so little?

  “Has it always been like this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied as she filled their wine glasses.

  “You against them… or is it more a case of them against you?”

  She smiled them and her reply was uttered softly. “As I said, we’ve only been here for a short time. Athena and Minerva have always been exceptionally close to one another, but they are not unkind to me. Quite the opposite in fact. They have always been very good to look after me, especially when I was younger…. but I fear that they have become a bit frustrated with my lack of participation in their current endeavors!”

  “Such as?”

  She cocked her head to one side as if considering how best to answer. “I prefer to live in the here and now, Lord Strong. I like to focus my attention and efforts on things that are tangible, that are directly in front of me that I can see and touch and effect in some way. Minerva and Athena are more concerned with spiritual aspects of life. Their belief in magic and spells is often a source of conflict between us… but more so now that I am older.”

  “I see,” he said, though the truth was he did not.

  “I worshipped them when I was a girl,” she admitted softly. “When we all still resided at Ravenner Abbey, before the scandals.”

  “Scandals?”

  “It’s unimportant, truthfully,” she said. “But I loved them then and I love them still. But as a child, it isn’t merely love. It’s a kind of adulation where you see them as beyond perfection, incapable of having a flaw. I followed them everywhere and tried to emulate them in every way possible… it has become very difficult for them to accept that I no longer wish to follow them blindly or be exactly like them.” Her explanation was thoughtful and far more sensitive to the feelings of others than he would have been.

  “So they are suffering the loss of your adulation,” he surmised.

  “To some degree yes… but I think it is more the loss of an identity. If they are no longer my guides in life, and they have no husbands or children to devote themselves to, who are they? What do they do with their time?” she asked. “I fear that my aunts feel they are at loose ends… and as the saying goes about idle hands, they have found a great deal of mischief.”

  Sebastian glanced at the aunts in question who were watching them both very closely in return. There was a rather cunning gleam in Minerva’s eyes, but also a satisfied one. She’d wanted him to align himself with Anne, he realized. They’d set him up the moment he entered the house to feel protective of her and they had succeeded marvelously. But it was the hopeful and wistful expression on Athena’s face that told the true story. They were matchmaking.

  “Mischief,” he repeated, his voice low and even menacing. “But not the devil’s work?”

  Anne laughed. “They call themselves witches, but the truth is, they merely dabble in herbalism and love charms. They are very skilled healers though.”

  Deciding to change the subject and not dwell on whether or not the aunts were husband hunting for their niece, he asked, “Tell me more about the other issues you are facing at Evenwold… the ghosts that have the servants running away in fear?”

  ***

  Anne was grateful for the change of subject even if it was a subject that held little appeal for her. Dissecting the changes in her relationships with Minerva and Athena, particularly since coming to Evenwold, required more fortitude than she currently possessed. Of course, answering his questions about the supposed hauntings at Evenwold also required her to think about things that she had no wish to revisit. She wasn’t entirely certain what Athena and Minerva were up to but she could surmise without any great challenge that it was a scheme that would fail epically as most of theirs did. The true question remained whether or not she would escape it with her pride intact or if they would humiliate themselves beyond all reason.

  “It began soon after I arrived. There were noises, items would be moved… a few times in the house, but mostly in the barn. We could see lights in the woods, but not lanterns. They moved differently. I cannot really explain how, but I am certain that there is a logical and non-metaphysical explanation for it,” she insisted.

  “That’s all?”

  “One of the maids stated that she was attacked,” Anne admitted. “She was gathering herbs from the garden when a man clad in a dark hooded cloak tackled her to the ground. She came away with scrapes and bruises, but no other injuries. She was quite emphatic that he warned her to flee Evenwold or—.”

  “Or what?” he prompted.

  “He told her that if she did not flee Evenwold, she would die horribly… like all the women who served in this house.”

  The scowl that marred his features was quite fierce. Anne surveyed him critically as he considered the implications of what she’d just shared. “Evenwold has a dark history,” she admitted. “The house has been in the Ravenner family for generations through a distant line, but has long been vacant… It was last occupied full time during the latter part of the seventeenth century—the women who lived here the, a mother and her two daughters were tried as witches, along with their female servants. Most of them were burned or hanged for it. Only those who fled survived.”

  She hated to discuss that part of her family’s history. It was all so very ghastly. Rumors, innuendo, family disagreements—it all ended

  “I see. And who named them witches?”

  “I couldn’t say, Lord Strong. We know only the barest facts about that time. Those who survived were reluctant to pass down the tales. My great, great grandmother, Winifred Elliott was considered to be the ringleader of the group and she was executed for witchcraft by an agent of the crown, but that is all I know.”

  “It would have been someone local,” he continued. “Perhaps there is some land dispute at the root of this? Often times those accused of witchcraft were accused only because someone else coveted what they had.”

  Anne hadn’t considered that option, but it made more sense than ghostly visitors. Greed was a motivation that she could wrap her head around. “There must be a record of the trials. Perhaps at the church?”

  “I will look into it tomorrow,” he said. “And I will also make my way to Arundel to hire help from further afield than Penwickett. If you’re not too exacting in regard to the congenial nature of your employees, I may know a woman who can provide assistance in the kitchen.”

  “That would be a Godsend, Lord Strong. Truly.”

  “So, the Ravenner ancestors were killed for being witches, but the current family members happily broadcast the fact on the assumption that attitudes have changed enough to permit such things,” he paused as if collecting his thoughts on how best to ask about such an odd subject. “The family history seems to be quite marked for this particular set of skills.”

  “Oh, we’ve always been practitioners of the arts,” Minerva answered from her end of the table, proving that while she and Athena had given every appearance in being deep in conversation on their own, they were attuned to every word passing between herself and Lord Strong. “The whole family is gifted, though some of us elect to waste our talents. Anne is quite gifted, as well, though she refuses to even entertain the notion!”

  Anne shook her head. “Some of us have no talents to waste… nor do we have time to cultivate any latent talents. We need servants in this house, Minerva. Until Lord Strong can get to the bottom of this and help us to staff this house properly, all of us will have to utilize our talents for domestic purposes rather than anything otherworldly!”

  Minerva and Athena appeared ready to revolt, so Anne continued, putting her foot down. “The whole thing is nonsense. You are not witches. Magic is sim
ply fairy stories and children playacting! We must address the fact that we are three women alone, in a rural setting without assistance for miles and we have strangers traipsing about our property in the dead of night for heaven only knows what purposes! No more, Minerva! No more!”

  Silence hung in the room. Both Minerva and Athena stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. Then, so abruptly that her chair toppled over, Minerva rose to her rather impressive height. “You’ve made your feelings on the matter quite clear, Anne dearest. Athena and I will retire for the evening. Perhaps in the morning you’ll be in a more civil frame of mind!”

  Watching them depart, knowing that not only were the women embarrassed, but that she’d also wounded their surprisingly tender feelings, guilt clawed at Anne. She did love them. She loved them fiercely. Protecting them and herself had to be the number one priority, she reasoned. But they did not see it. They did not and they would not because they perceived themselves to be protected from some higher power through their spells and incantations. It was an impossible situation.

  “I could have handled that better,” she acknowledged softly, uttering the words to Lord Strong who looked on. She did not feel judgement from him. He seemed to understand her view point, if not necessarily the lengths it had taken for her to arrive there.

  “It is often frustrating to deal with others when they have a fundamentally different view point of the world. Your aunts are not unkind women. They are simply set in their ways, as perhaps you are somewhat set in yours.”

  She smiled at that. “Are you implying that I am old, Lord Strong?”

  “Never that,” he said. “But you know your own mind. And that is the mark of a mature woman.”

  “Old,” she corrected.

  He shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. It was unnecessary as they were alone in the room and there was no one else to hear. Yet, in doing so it made her feel as it the words he spoke would only ever be for her ears. “On the contrary. It is quite extraordinary to see a woman such as yourself… strong, independent, lovely… and to see you attempting to corral and manage people who are clearly of a much more free-spirited nature. I would call you remarkable, Anne, but I would not call you old.”

  Anne blushed, her face heating under his steady and approving regard. The man rattled her, addled her wits and left her breathless and giddy as a school girl. He posed a different kind of threat to her than those who made free with her property in the dead of night, and yet the danger was no less real.

  “About the people searching the estate at night, Lord Strong,” she said. “I think I may know what they are looking for… but they will not find it. It does not exist.”

  Sebastian leaned back in his chair and surveyed her cautiously. It gave her room to breathe, to relax for just a moment. “Then tell me what you really think is going on here,” he urged.

  As she sipped her wine, she could feel his gaze upon her. It lingered on her lips, traced the movements of her throat as she swallowed. She could not imagine what he found so fascinating in the act of drinking, but there was no denying that his perusal was having a very strange effect on her.

  Placing her cup on the table, she met his gaze directly, regardless of the fact that it took every ounce of her will to maintain her composure. “There are rumors that Winnifred Elliott hid her valuables on the property before she was taken by the magistrates.”

  “What sort of items?”

  “The story varies,” she admitted. “Depending upon whom you ask, it is coins and jewelry or… magical items. Minerva and Athena have insisted that a grimoire belonging to Winnifred is hidden on the estate, though they’ve spoken little of it of late. And I cannot say whom they have shared that information with that might actually believe it. I feel that actual valuables are a more likely target, but then as you’ve stated, I’ve a very different viewpoint than my aunts.”

  “I will find out,” he vowed solemnly. “That is what your guardian has asked me to do… to help you. And it is what I want to do. You have far too many burdens placed upon you, Miss Everleigh.”

  Anne settled back in her chair. She hadn’t touched her stew, but it was as unappealing now as it had been when she’d made it. Her skill in the kitchen might surpass Minerva’s, but that certainly left a great deal of room for improvement.

  But it wasn’t the unappetizing fare that had put her off her dinner. It was the man beside her and the strange feelings he stirred within her. Never, in the entirety of her life, had she been so instantly and helplessly drawn to someone. Growing up in the country, she was certainly not ignorant of carnal matters. It didn’t take a great mind to decipher that if it worked a certain way for farm animals, humans were not so very different. Yet, she’d never felt that yearning, never understand what it meant to need or want.

  It was beyond desire. Desire was what one felt for a chocolate or a sweet. What she felt for him was an ache deep inside herself, that seemed to grow with every second in his presence. She wanted his touch. Even something as innocent as his hand on her arm, or the simple way his fingertips had brushed her shoulders when he’d held her chair for her as they’d seated themselves at the table. And when he offered that vow, to help her, it hadn’t been ghosts or would-be treasure hunters that had come to mind.

  It should have shocked her —the explicit and carnal nature of her thoughts. The truth was, she hadn’t the faintest idea what a grown unclothed man would look like, or how it would feel to have his body pressed to hers, but it was suddenly knowledge that she burned for.

  Forcing herself to back away from such thoughts as they were surely the path to ruin and destruction, she addressed his statement. “I am not so heavily burdened, my lord. We have always been a somewhat unorthodox house. with far fewer staff than many of our peers… by design rather than necessity. I dislike idle time and I’ve no patience for watercolors or embroidery… If I gave you that impression, I do apologize. I was frustrated and out of sorts earlier. My lot is not so very bad.”

  He graced her with a skeptical look, an arching of his brow that made him even more appealing. It dawned on her that it had been a very long time since she’d been in the presence of a truly eligible man. She’d had her one season in London and had utterly despised it. Not being a great beauty, not having a massive inheritance but only a reasonable income, she had not fared well there. But there had been some men who had flirted with her, though naught had come of it. Of course, she hadn’t really wanted it to come to anything. Independence, even then, had been something she longed for the way that other girls had longed for courtship and marriage.

  “And the Squire… is he not a burden to you?” he asked, softly.

  Squire Alcott was a burden to the world, she thought somewhat sourly. “He is a minor nuisance,” she lied. “A man with designs on my person as a means to achieving his designs on my property. He has some idea that this property would be gifted to me as a dowry by my guardian. He holds that belief because Minerva and Athena alluded to it. Now, he thinks of little else.”

  She watched as Lord Strong’s gaze hardened, a muscle working in his jaw as it clenched tightly. He looked fierce, protective, like an errant knight or ancient warrior bent on destruction of his enemies and the rescue of a fair damsel. But she was not a damsel. She was, in the words of Squire Alcott himself, remarkably appealing for such a sturdy girl.

  Sturdy, she thought with disdain. It was a word one applied to livestock of horses—or a house that was ugly but serviceable. Sturdy was certainly not a word one ever should use to describe a woman.

  “He has behaved as a gentleman ought?” Lord Strong demanded.

  No, he had not. He had pressed her against the garden wall and shoved his tongue into her mouth. It had been unpleasant, vaguely revolting and altogether unsettling. But now, she found herself wondering if it would feel quite the same if Lord Strong were to do so. She imagined that the experience would be entirely different.

  “He has been quite ardent in express
ing his admiration, but has done nothing that would require action to be taken,” she said evenly. “I have simply made it a point to avoid him. If he comes to call, I have Minerva or Athena tell him I am indisposed.”

  “And they do?”

  Sometimes. She thought it best not to tell him that. He seemed to have taken her aunts in dislike and their support of Squire Alcott’s pursuit of her would not endear them to him any further. It was a curiosity to her, as well. She couldn’t fathom why Minerva and Athena would push her toward the Squire when he was so obviously unsuitable. Short, round, old, with questionable hygiene and morals, he was not at all the sort of man would want to cultivate as a social or familial connection.

  “The Squire is harmless,” she said. “He is merely a nuisance… he believes my feelings for him to be something they are not—changeable.”

  “Then we shall do whatever is necessary to convince him otherwise,” Lord Strong stated emphatically. “Tomorrow, would it be possible for you to show me where the estate has been searched? I might be able to ferret out some information about the persons responsible by examining anything they may have left behind.”

  She would be taking him on a tour of her small estate. Alone. Just the two of them out for a morning ride. It should not have thrilled her so, and yet it did. If she were wise, she would inform him that all of her problems were miraculously solved and send him packing back to Blackraven. There was something about Lord Strong, his presence made her long for things that she should not—things that if she wished to continue her life on its current path, she could not.

  Remaining unmarried had not simply been due to a lack of offers. It had been her choice. That’s only what you tell yourself to ease the pain. Anne ignored the little nudge of truth from her conscience. She had wanted to live a life of independence, to be her own woman and not simply the property of a husband. But then she’d never encountered a man who tempted her as Lord Sebastian Strong did. It had been easy enough to say she never wished for a husband then. And in truth, she wasn’t sure she wished for a husband now. But a lover… that was a different matter altogether. Could she travel that path? Would she dare?