Galen’s mood turned dangerous. “You know as well as I there is naught I can do while he is under this roof. But rest assured, I will take care of my own.”
Lord Oakley huffed his disagreement. “That has yet to be seen.”
The two men stared at each other, locked in an unspoken challenge, until the fragrance of lilacs surrounded them. Sara appeared at their side and her eyes were alight with satisfaction. She was clearly enjoying the tension.
“It appears to me the true threat stands not here, but over there, with him. Master Jonathan.” Sara gestured to Catherine and Jonathan who were talking quietly, their heads close together.
Galen broke his icy stare at Lord Oakley and glared at Jonathan. Perhaps there was a chance he could be rid of the merchant, he thought. A small one, but a chance nonetheless. As Lord Oakley and Sara watched, he walked around the crowd to the high table where Lord Roberts sat with his trusted counsel at his side, presiding over the festivities. Lord Robert’s attention was focused upon his daughter and her unexpected escort.
Galen leaned close to Lord Roberts’ ear. “Shall I escort him to the gate?”
Lord Roberts studied the couple for a few moments before responding. “I do not know who extended an invitation to him, but the man is a guest here, Galen, and I will not have guests mistreated. We will let it be for now.” He withdrew a dagger and sheath from his belt and handed it to Galen “I cannot deny his presence here. He has shown due respect by sending a gift ahead of his arrival.”
Galen took the dagger and examined it. The hilt was thick and heavy, fashioned in the likeness of a dragon, and inset with rubies and emeralds. Once unsheathed, the blade glinted fiercely in the light that radiated from the torches that illuminated the hall. Such a fine dagger would slide nicely into the heart of an enemy, he thought, transfixing his gaze upon Jonathan.
Lord Roberts laughed and held out his hand. “Give me the dagger, Galen.” He looked between Galen and Jonathan. “Competition is a good thing. Makes the fire run through a man’s blood.” He winked. “Winning the heart of a woman, Galen, should never be so easy.”
Chapter 27
The turnout for her gallery reception was a lot better than she had hoped for. Eryn was pleased with the attention her latest work was getting. Lately she had been driving around to the seedy little pockets of the city, seeking out the faces of the homeless, the runaways, and the children - the nameless faces the rich found so easy to ignore. These were the people who didn’t have the advantages and money that she had, but they were no different. She had decided to let the Haves get a good look at the Have-nots.
Yes, this was definitely good, she thought, unable to hold back a smile.
She glanced around the gallery. No sign of Bryce yet. It wasn’t like him to be so late. Eryn sighed. Would things ever be right with them?
“Great crowd.” Melissa, the owner of the gallery and Eryn’s friend, appeared beside her, obviously pleased. “I think you found your niche.”
Eryn had to admit that stepping out of the stuffy corporate boardroom and into the real, gritty world outside really had made a difference in her photography.
“There was a man here asking about you, but he didn’t tell me his name.” Melissa said, eyeing the crowd.
Eryn groaned. Troy. Who else would it be? It would be so like him to start it up again. “Blonde?” Eryn asked, her senses now alert, scanning the crowd.
“No. Dark brown, actually, and long. This guy was extremely sexy,” Melissa said with a deep sigh. “Shoulders like this.” She held her hands out, indicating wide shoulders. “Butt like this…” She started to demonstrate how tight his backside was when Eryn laughed and stopped her.
“Okay, okay! I get the picture. He was gorgeous!”
“I would take him in a heartbeat,” Melissa said, nudging Eryn with her elbow. “You’ve already got one of those at home, don’t you?”
Eryn’s laughter faded. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?” She looked at her watch. So where was he?
“Oh! Oh! There’s the guy who was asking about you!” Melissa grabbed Eryn’s elbow and nodded towards the right wall of the gallery. “Damn, he is yummy!”
Eryn’s attention shot over to the section that featured her images of the homeless men and women who found shelter along the beaches, and she felt her jaw go slack.
“It’s him,” she said in a barely audible whisper.
“You know him?” Melissa’s brows shot up.
Eryn straightened up, shaking off her surprise. “Sort of,” she said. “I first met him a long time ago.” She looked at Melissa and let out a laugh of embarrassment. “And then a few weeks ago I almost hit him with my car at the beach.”
Melissa laughed, looking back at him. “Well, it looks like he’s forgiven you.”
“Yeah.” Eryn bit her lip. “Maybe so.”
With his hands shoved in his white linen cargo pants pockets, dark blue Tommy Bahama shirt hanging loosely on his muscular frame, he was leaning in close to one of the photographs, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He stood back, head tilted, and his smile grew. He nodded in satisfaction before moving over to the next picture.
Eryn stood, unbelieving, watching him sweep his attention over each one of her pictures. He was really looking, actually taking in the details, and seeming to appreciate what he saw.
Bryce would have barely given her work a glance. Maybe he would have said a courteous “nice work” before moving on to something that truly mattered to him. But there was no doubt this man was interested.
He had pulled his hair back in a leather tie, giving Eryn full view of his profile. Smooth sun-tanned skin graced his straight nose, high cheek bones, and solid jaw and chin. Full, sensual lips curved up in a smile. His eyes, under dark brows and thick lashes, narrowing once in awhile, took in everything before him.
Maybe it’s time I introduced myself, Eryn thought. After all, this is the third time he has popped into my life. The only thing standing between friends and strangers were names, right? She swiped her hands nervously down her hips, realizing her palms were sweating. Would he remember her from ten years ago? Would he know it was she who almost hit him and his friends with her car?
Eryn hadn’t realized Melissa had left until her friend flanked her again, this time in the company of two older patrons. The man was tall, dressed flawlessly in an Armani suit and polished shoes while his wife, much shorter, was covered in folds of silk, fashionably hiding her round figure. Both looked eagerly towards Eryn.
“Get that glazed look off your face and close your mouth a little,” Melissa whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Eryn,” she said louder. “This is Richard and Cynda Carleton. They own a gallery in Beverly Hills and they’d like to talk to you about featuring your work there.”
Eryn was about to drag her eyes from the man when he turned and locked his gaze with hers. His smile told her all she needed to know. Yeah, he remembered.
Melissa gave Eryn’s hip a bruising pinch. “Mr. and Mrs. Carleton have a special interest in the runaways and homeless, particularly in Hollywood. They’d like to showcase your work as part of a project that they’re having a fundraiser for.”
Obligingly, Eryn focused her attention on the couple and put on her warmest smile, extending her hand to the couple. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. I’d like to hear more of your project.”
“Good,” said Melissa, relief evident in her tone. “I’ll take care of your clients, Eryn.” With a quirk of her brow in Eryn’s direction, she left.
Eryn tried to position herself so that she could discreetly keep her eye on the room, but eventually got caught up in the conversation. She was thrilled to meet someone with money and status who was actually going to use it for the good of the less fortunate.
When the older couple finally took their leave, Eryn searched the room, hoping Mr. Tommy Bahama was still there. She felt foolish, though, to think he would wait around all night for her.
She
wandered over to the picture she had seen him stare at so intently. It was the image of the old man she had given her lunch to. Eryn had transformed the picture into a black and white image, with the only color in the picture being the bright yellow surfboard shooting across the face of the wave behind the old man. She looked closer, seeing the deep wrinkles on the man’s face, his wispy hair escaping the confines of his filthy baseball cap, and, just beyond his shoulder, the surfer. She stood back, and then stepped in close again.
“No way,” she whispered. “No friggin’ way.”
“That’s him in the picture.” Melissa appeared behind her. “And he liked it so much, he bought it. That and a couple of others.”
Eryn spun around, eyes wide. “He bought three photos?”
Melissa laughed. “All cash. I told you I’d take care of your clients.”
Unbelievable, Eryn thought. Even with total access to her work, Bryce has never asked her for a picture to hang on their walls. Speaking of which, where the hell was he?
≈
“Do you mind?” Bryce growled at Brandi, standing in the open doorway that he distinctly remembered shutting a few minutes before.
Brandi smiled, not in the least bit deterred by the fact that he was standing there in his towel, his chest flexed and tensed under her gaze. “On your way to see her show?”
“Yeah, and if you were half the friend you pretend to be, you’d be going, too.” He turned towards the closet and disappeared inside it.
“Nah,” she said, following him. “She probably wouldn’t even notice I was there. Or you, for that matter.”
He clenched his jaw. He was so sorry he’d allowed Eryn to talk him into letting Brandi stay. The woman was poison in its most potent form.
Brandi moved in closer. “She has some guy on the side, you know.”
He spun around, eyeing her dangerously. To his disgust, it seemed to excite her.
Brandi licked her lower lip seductively.
Bryce grabbed her arm, half in rage, half in fear that her words held some truth. Eryn has been pulling away from him, but he thought it was because she was stressed about tonight’s gallery showing.
“There isn’t anyone else. I’d know about it.” He let go of Brandi’s arm, pushing her away.
Brandi only smiled. “She said there isn’t, but I’ve seen her journal and she writes about him in every page.”
He was sickened by the way Brandi seemed to enjoy the turmoil she was inflicting. He could see her thrill at every emotion he knew he couldn’t hide: Suspicion, anger, pain, disbelief.
“You lie.” Bryce hissed. Eryn was his. There was no one else.
“Do I now?” Brandi’s voice was smooth. “Think about it.” She moved closer and hooked her finger on his towel and stood on tip-toe. “Just think about it,” she whispered in his ear. She tugged hard and the towel fell around his feet.
It didn’t immediately register in his mind the sensations running through his body as his mind fought to make sense of what Brandi said. He’d once accused Eryn of meeting someone at the beach, but he had just been baiting her. Could she really be having an affair? Was that the real reason why she was pulling away from him? He was suddenly filled with fire, lit by an all-consuming jealously. And from that fire a need was taking root, spreading out of control. A need to strike back.
He looked down, then quickly glanced away, unable to hold back a groan.
Brandi trailed her tongue down his muscled stomach, her fingers down his back and over his hard buttocks. He was disgusted by how aroused he was, but his anger drove him on.
He watched, mesmerized, as she flicked her tongue on him before finally taking him in her mouth. The tension rose until it released a growl deep in his chest. He grabbed Brandi’s arms and dragged her up the length of his body.
“No.” His voice was strained, but years of resentment that he hadn’t even realized was there, was now pouring out of him.
Crushing her against his chest, he assaulted her mouth with his, shoving his tongue through her parted lips. His hands found the hem of her dress and lifted it up over her head and tossed it aside, hardly surprised she wore nothing underneath. He shoved her in the direction of the bed.
Brandi, only too willing to comply, jumped on the bed and rolled on her back with her legs spread wide. A wicked grin dominated her face as she waited. The wait was short and her triumphant laugh saturated the air as Bryce covered her body with his.
Chapter 28
Galen’s stone-gray stallion pawed the ground impatiently, sensing his master’s mood. Galen had urged him at break-neck speed, setting his hooves thundering down the path leading to the port, flattening grasses and snapping branches, before coming to a skidding halt a short distance from where La Helena was docked. So intent had Galen been to confront the merchant, that as soon as Catherine had retired after the festivities, he had set out.
The stallion’s sides now heaved beneath his master’s knees. Galen leaned forward to stroke the beast’s neck, murmuring praise, but his attention was on the ship before him. The darkness under the trees provided him a shield as he studied the merchant ship.
The glow of lanterns dotted the deck, reflecting the movement of shadows. An occasional shout crossed the distance between them, but none belonged to the man Galen sought.
He swung his leg over the saddle and landed on the ground without a sound. Stepping out from the cover of the shadows, the moonlight illuminated his way as he walked resolutely to the vessel. The high-pitched whistle that signaled his approach did not slow Galen’s stride, for he had expected it. A ship such as this would be carefully guarded. The shadows on the deck stopped and turned in his direction.
Galen stopped and called out, “I seek the captain of this ship.”
The point of a blade bit sharply into his back.
“And what might you be wanting with Master Jonathan?”
With blinding speed, Galen unsheathed his sword and swung around, his blade clashing against Cedric’s.
“What I have to say is for him alone,” Galen’s voice was low, seething with his rage.
Then around him came the glint of swords and knives, held by six men of varying height and girth, all wearing the same menacing smirks, eager for foul play.
Galen’s stance did not falter. “Where is he?”
“He has business dealings and is not to be disturbed.” Cedric held his sword firm against Galen’s. “And we will ensure his wishes are carried out,” he paused, pushing against Galen’s sword ever so slightly, “by whatever means necessary.”
Galen’s anger boiled beneath a stony gaze. The air around Galen seemed to press against him as the others took a step closer.
“Then you will tell your Master Jonathan,” Galen said, grinding the name through his teeth, “that his presence at the castle will no longer be tolerated.”
Cedric considered his words. “Might I tell Master Jonathan if that is Lady Catherine’s desire, or simply your own?” Laughter rippled through the men.
“I speak for all at Elderidge,” Galen hissed. “Tell him to abandon his ambitions. A man of his station could never hope to win a high-born lady.”
Cedric was taken aback. “A man of his station? And what station might that be?”
Disgruntled mumblings began to swell around Galen. “He insults him, he insults us all! Let us just run him through.” Murmurs of approval echoed. They stepped closer still.
Cedric looked around at the men. “Nay, there will be no fighting tonight, gentlemen. We will deliver his message, such that it is.” Cedric looked at Galen with bored amusement.
Galen tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, incensed at the disrespect.
Cedric lowered his sword and signaled for the others to follow.
Galen stared at their retreating backs, anger hardening every muscle in his body. He dropped the tip of his sword and sheathed it, then whistled low. In an instant his stallion trotted to his side, snorting and tossing his head. Galen le
aped on its back and at his barked command, his horse bolted back toward the castle at blinding speed, eating up the ground beneath them.
≈
“It sounds so beautiful and sad, like many souls crying out at the same time. Or maybe they are singing. I cannot say which.” Catherine had never known the ocean to put forth such a melody as she heard tonight. Away from the castle and the endless chattering and noise of the ball tonight, she was discovering music that caressed her ears.
The full moon cast a glow on the breaking waves that whispered as they melted into the sand. The onshore breeze was warm as it blew her hair softly around her face.
“Aye,” agreed Jonathan. “She sings a sad song when the sun has fallen. Perhaps she is lonely.”
The sound of the waves rolling over and over was broken only by the sounds of laughter. Merriment and ale flowed freely among Jonathan’s crew, who sat with a few women from the village farther down the beach, around a blazing fire.
“Tell me, Jonathan, what is it about the sea that keeps you out there? What makes you return to her time after time?”
Jonathan sat next to her, legs crossed, contemplating the waters. “She sings the sweet sound of freedom. Out there, she may be the queen, but she will let you have your freedom if you respect her.” Turning to Catherine, he went on. “There is power in freedom, Catherine. Freedom is living for yourself, not for others.”
Freedom. Catherine thought about he word. She was free to come and go as she pleased. So why did she feel like a captive in her own home? What was it that bound her in chains she could not see? She accepted her responsibilities and what was expected of her. But out here, away from her father, her sister, and Galen, sitting with Jonathan, she felt free. Free to love, free to dream, free to live. What would all of this be without Jonathan? Wrapping her arms around her legs, she put her forehead on her knees.
Jonathan gently traced the line of her arm. “What troubles you?”
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