The Bear's Home

by Emilia Hartley

  Confusion warred with rage across his handsome face, and James swept an irritated hand through his rich brown hair. “I don’t understand, Ellie. A moment ago, you couldn’t wait to have my hands on you and now you’re pushing me away? Were you teasing me on purpose?”

  Slightly frightened, she took another step back. “I’m so sorry, James,” she told him honestly. “I never meant to lead you on. I think we both got caught up in the moment and I just, I don’t think we should continue. Please. Please, go. I can’t think when I’m around you.”

  A devilish grin curved his lips and he pulled her to him again. “Then don’t think.” He kissed her long and hard, his tongue probing in and out of her mouth with promising talent. “You know you want to be mine.” He reached between her legs again, but this time Ellie stopped him.

  “No. James, you need to leave.” It took every ounce of willpower she had, but she managed to walk away from him, disappearing into the kitchen. Leaning against the wall, Ellie struggled to catch her breath. She knew he was angry and for that, she was sorry. But she had to get away from him or who knew what would have happened. It wasn’t until she heard the front door slam behind him that she could finally think clearly again. What had he done to her? Yes, something about this place seemed to have awakened her innate sexual nature and for that she was extremely grateful (who knew sex could be so amazing?), but letting a man who scared her take her in the entrance hall of her ancestral home was just too much.

  Ellie braced herself against the counter where the vase of roses sat and rested her head against the cold, marble counter. He had suggested they move to the bedroom, she conceded, recalling how his lips had felt against her neck. And so what if they had stayed in the foyer? So what if they got caught? Hadn’t she just made love to Matt in a public place the day before?

  Matt. Just the thought of him forced her mind to clear. Alarmed, she glanced up. The roses. All her thoughts about James started with the roses. “Eileen!” she called as loud as she could, backing away from the vase. “Eileen!”

  The housekeeper’s footsteps thudded down the back stairs into the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am?” Eileen answered, looking slightly put out and disheveled from her trek down the stairs. “You called?”

  Ellie nodded. “I’m going to take a nap in my room. If Matt comes, please send him up.” Taking a deep breath, she turned to leave. “Oh, and Eileen?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Burn the roses.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “He’s got some kind of power over me,” Ellie told Matt an hour later. She was sitting on her bed with a blanket around her shoulders, staring into the fire. “I don’t even like the man, but it was like I couldn’t think of anything but him. It was disturbing.”

  Matt’s expression was carefully blank, but every once in a while, she could detect a hint of rage in his clear blue eyes. She only hoped it wasn’t directed at her. “Did he touch you?” Matt asked, his voice coated in liquid steel.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he…” his voice broke off, and he swallowed back whatever he was feeling. The strength that too was admirable. “Did he rape you?”

  Ellie’s eyes widened. “No! No, Matt, he didn’t. It didn’t get that far.”

  Matt’s relief was evident. He nodded. For a moment, he did nothing more but stare into the flames. Then, as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he stood up and began to pace. “How did he do it?” he wondered out loud. Ellie was nearly positive he wasn’t actually speaking to her. “How did he convince you that you wanted him?”

  She pursed her lips, unable to believe what she was going to say. “I think it was the roses.”

  “The what?”

  “He brought me roses. Red ones. He brought me an entire bouquet as an apology.”

  Matt turned sharply. “An apology for what?”

  Ellie bit her lip. He wasn’t going to like this. “Well, last night after I got home, James turned up. He said he had tickets to the theater and he wanted me to go. I said no.”

  “Why?” He couldn’t hide the accusation.

  “Because I wasn’t interested, that’s why,” she replied, a little heat snapping in her voice. “I had just returned from seeing you, hadn’t I? And after our…encounter, it didn’t seem like the best idea to go traipsing around town with another man, especially one I had no desire to be with, did it?”

  To her delight, Matt had the good grace to look ashamed. A slow smile spread across his lips and he reached out for her hand, pressing a kiss to each of her fingers in turn. “No, I don’t suppose it did.” Despite herself, Ellie rolled her eyes. “So, what do the roses have to do with anything?”

  “Oh. Well, they smelled nice. And, after I caught wind of the scent, my thoughts and feeling about James, and about you, began to change.”

  “Change how?”

  “I started thinking that there was nothing between the two of us, that we hadn’t spoken of feelings or loyalty, and in fact, had just met, so if I wanted to spend my time with James instead, I was perfectly within my rights to do so.”

  “All true.”

  “Yes, well,” Ellie said with a wry laugh, “true as it may be, it didn’t make those thoughts mine. Every time I got close to the bouquet, my so-called feelings for him would increase. When I stepped away, I felt more like me again.

  “And then there was the man himself. He practically cornered me the moment I came back into the room, and he smelled of the roses as well. If it was an enchantment he was using, I’m pretty sure he used it on himself. He was, um, seductive.”

  “I just bet he was,” Matt said darkly, and guilt formed a ball in Ellie’s throat. Matt must have noticed. He ran his hands up and down her arm before pulling her to him. She rested her head against his chest. “I don’t blame you, Ellie. From what I can tell, his family is a bit backwards in matters of the heart. Actually, I brought something for you. My sister helped me find it.”

  Rifling through his bag at the foot of the bed, Matt pulled out a large scroll of parchment. From the discoloration, she would guess it was several hundred years old.

  Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, wow, where did you get that?” She watched eagerly as he unrolled the artifact and spread it out over the bed.

  “It was at the museum. I had to dig for it—and enlisted a little help—but it’s definitely interesting. Look. It’s your family tree.”

  Sure enough, Ellie found herself staring down at an illustrated history of the Hargrove family, accented by handwritten notes that seemed to connect the Hargroves to love interests and family friends. She ran her fingers across the surface of the paper in wonder. It was amazing that this was her family when she had never met any of them. She scanned the faces of her relatives done in intricate brushstrokes and vivid color. It was clear the artist had taken a lot of time on them.

  At the bottom of the page, she found a dark-haired girl of maybe twenty years old smiling back at her. Anne Elizabeth Hargrove was written beneath the picture. Tears filled Ellie’s eyes as she stared down into her mother’s face. “I haven’t felt this close to her in more than ten years,” she said quietly, her finger lightly brushing her mother’s cheek.

  “Is that your mom?” Matt asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “Yeah. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded. “She looks a bit like you, actually.”

  “Oh, she does not,” Ellie replied, but she chuckled just the same. “She’s much prettier than I could ever hope to be.”

  Gripping her face, Matt forced her to look at him. “Now I know that’s not true. You’re a bit shy, to be sure, but you are beautiful.” Brushing his lips against hers, he kissed her softly. “Don’t ever forget it.”

  Her smiling face heating with embarrassment, Ellie turned back to the parchment. How did she get so lucky as to meet such a sweet man? Matt really was…

  “Matt, that’s you!” Pointing to a man on the parchment, Ellie set her finger on the portrait of one, Matthew Mc
Kinnon. He looked exactly like the Matt McKinnon sitting next to her.

  “No way. Possibly the father of Elizabeth’s child,” he read incredulously. “Wait, that old story was true?”

  “It must be,” Ellie said, looking down the line at his connection. “And look, here’s Elizabeth Hargrove and…and Lord James Dabney. Oh, my word.” Astonished, Ellie put a hand to her mouth. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be.

  And yet, it was.

  Her own face stared up at her from Elizabeth Hargrove’s portrait. The same vivid green eyes, the same vibrant red hair. The same curve of chin, cheek, and lips. It was impossible to believe, and still Ellie couldn’t look away from her own face. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured softly, her hands playing over the illustrations.

  “Believe it.” Matt frowned as he stared down at the parchment. Dabney looks just the same, too. And look. Forty-years later, here you are again. And there he is. Twenty years later, twenty-five years later. Your face keeps popping up every generation or so, and every time you die young.”

  Fear crept up her spine and took root deep within her heart. Was an early demise her destiny as well? “What’s the connection?” she asked timidly, alarmed when she heard her voice crack. Offering comfort, Matt took her hand.

  “Dabney is,” he answered, scowling. “Look. In almost every generation, whether your look-a-like shows up or not, there is Lord James Dabney. It’s like he never changes. And yes, the family resemblance between all our lines is uncanny, but I refuse to believe it’s just a coincidence that his face appears exactly the same every time. Nobody has entire family that looks exactly alike. It’s just not possible.”

  Frowning, Ellie studied the parchment. He was right. James Dabney looked the same in every listing. “How is that possible?” she whispered, terrified to know the answer.

  Matt just shook his head. “Well,” he said slowly, glancing sideways at her, “I have a theory.”

  “And?”

  “Do you believe in past lives?”

  Ellie stared at him. She could hardly believe her ears. “Past lives? As in reincarnation?”

  He nodded. He seemed to be watching her every move, waiting for her to damn him as crazy. Ellie, however, thought he might have been on to something. Even if it did seem impossible.

  “So, what?” she asked, not convinced. “You think he’s coming back after every life or something? Wouldn’t that mean that each previous life was ridiculously short if he could come back so fast? That’s, what? Every fifteen to twenty years or so?”

  “Maybe,” said Matt, pursing his lips. “But not just him. I think you’re coming back, too.”

  “Me?” Shocked, Ellie sat back. The fear was beginning to turn into terror. What had she gotten herself into? “You can’t possibly mean me.”

  “Oh, yes I can. See? It all starts with Elizabeth Hargrove. She marries, has a baby, and shortly after, throws herself from the white cliffs into the sea. Then, two generations later, Eleanor Montgomery-Hargrove is born, and she looks just like you. The pattern continues, see? Elsie Hargrove, Eliza Turner, and then you, Elizabeth ‘Ellie’ Fitzgerald. It doesn’t look like it falls in a straight line, but your face definitely appears every so often, you can’t deny that.”

  “No,” Ellie said slowly, “I suppose not. But what about you?”

  Matt furrowed his brow. “What about me?”

  “You’re on here, too,” she told him. “And you’re not the only McKinnon to be tied up with the Hargroves. Look.” She pointed to the scribbled notes listing a Margaret and a Laura as best friends for two different generations of Ellie’s family, and then there, in a hand-written paragraph next to her mother’s name, was Meredith McKinnon.

  “Meredith McKinnon?” Matt wondered, staring at the name. “But that’s my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “Yeah, my mom’s older sister.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “I didn’t know she was friends with Anne Hargrove.”

  Ellie didn’t know what to say. He sounded so disappointed. Not that she could blame him. “Matt,” she said slowly, seeing something she had missed before. “Matt, I don’t think I’m the only one who reincarnates.” She pointed to her own doppelganger and followed the line to her love interest. “See? Every time one of my past lives falls in love and dies tragically, one of your past lives is right there with her. And every single time they both die tragically.”

  To show him the connection, Ellie followed the trail with her fingers. It began with the original Elizabeth Hargrove and Matthew McKinnon, both of whom died young. Elizabeth, of course, committed suicide, and Matthew was murdered, defeated in a duel by Lord Dabney. A few generations later, the pair of lovers were killed in a carriage accident. Another time, Lord Dabney also played a hand in their deaths by sending Richard McKinnon across the ocean to the Americas. Elsie Hargrove followed him aboard and the ship went down within a month.

  “They didn’t both die this time,” Matt commented, indicating Eliza Turner and Marcus McKinnon. “Well, he did end up in an insane asylum.”

  “And she was murdered by her jealous husband.”

  “One, Lord James Dabney.”

  “Exactly.” Ellie didn’t want to think about all the pain and tragedy her family had gone through, or the possibility that the perpetrator was still alive and maybe even hundreds of years old. “So, that means that you and I…”

  “Are doomed to die young,” Matt finished for her, rolling up the parchment and setting it aside. “Yeah. Seems like it. And your boyfriend will probably be the one to kill us.”

  “He is not my boyfriend,” she assured him crossly, playfully slapping him on the arm. He tossed a throw pillow at her in return.

  “Oh no?” Laughing, he flipped her over, pinning her down by her shoulders, and kissed her lips. “Are you sure?”

  Ellie returned his kiss eagerly, reaching for him with her tongue as her body was no longer permitted to move. Feeling unusually bold, she bit his lip gently, loving his sharp intake of breath that was less from pain and more from desire. “Oh yes,” she breathed, kissing him again. “I’m sure.”

  “Then who is?” His hand trailed between her thighs and he cupped her center, causing her to spasm against him.

  “And if I say no one?”

  His fingers quickly undid her pants and tugged them down her hips. “I suppose that is an acceptable answer,” he conceded, playing over the hot, slick, wetness of her and making her moan with pleasure. “Though I may have a better one.”

  Her body bucked beneath his touch, and she contemplated just letting him “torture” her for as long as he wanted. “You,” she answered, struggling to breathe.

  Grinning, Matt released her arms and laid his body along the length of hers, crushing his mouth to hers with a ferocity that had her head reeling. “Good answer.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Elizabeth woke in Lord Dabney’s chambers in a panic. Their wedding had taken place only a few days ago, and, while she was willing enough to fulfill her wifely duties after drinking Dabney’s wine, she always awoke feeling as though she had been violated in some way, like she hadn’t wanted to lie with her husband at all. Was it possible that her so-called feelings for him were against her will?

  It had to be. Every time she thought of Matthew, her mind cleared, yet the wine would devote her to Dabney again. Was it possible he controlling her somehow? With witchcraft or sorcery?

  Rising as quietly as possible, Elizabeth dressed in her white shift and dressing gown before slipping on her shoes. Grabbing a torch from the bracket on the wall, she eased the heavy wooden door open and crept into the hall, shutting it behind her. Even though she had been attempting to be quiet, the impact of door on stone still echoed down the hall.

  Elizabeth flinched at the sound. The last thing she needed right now was for her husband to wake up and call her back. As quickly as she could, she dashed down the hall to her own bedchamber and hauled open the door, lighting the torches and candl
es around her room to see. Luckily, her fire was still going, so the room was relatively warm.

  On a mission, Elizabeth rushed to her writing desk and pulled a quill and ink from its depths before searching for a roll of parchment.

  My dearest Matthew, she wrote, scrawling her words as fast as she could. I may not have much time before he discovers that I am again myself. I believe he is controlling me with the wine. It might possibly be witchcraft of some sort. Sorcery. Whatever it is, it isn’t me.

  I do not love my Lord Husband. I became Lady Dabney out of duty to my father, not love for the man as he would have you and the town believe. My heart, as always, belongs to you, my love. Please do not believe for one moment that I have forsaken you.

  Find a way to free me, my dear Mr. McKinnon. Otherwise, I fear we shall be lost to each other for an eternity.

  With all my love, your Elizabeth.

  With that, Elizabeth folded up the letter, placed it in an envelope, and dripped a few drops of red wax on the paper, stamping the Hargrove Family Crest on the front to seal it. Standing, she once again grabbed hold of the torch and, clutching her dressing gown around her, she silently made her way through the house and out into the garden until she found the cove she and her lover now called their own.

  On the far side of the clearing, a small wooden box sat on a stone shelf sticking out from the wall. They had been exchanging letters this way since the beginning, and Elizabeth could only hope that he still checked the box even though she was now legally bound to another.

  With a shaking hand, she lifted the lid of the wooden box and let out a gasp. There, nestled within the confines of the four cedar walls, was a letter from Matthew. Crying in relief, she traded the letter for her own, shut the lid, hurried back through the misty garden, and up to her own set of rooms.