“I would.”
His lips twitch and I try not to read anything into his expression or to try and guess at what he’s thinking. There is a moment of silence and he gulps down the rest of his drink, then I watch as he silently stands and walks over to pour himself another glass, bringing the bottle over to pour me another as well.
“What happens when she isn’t a spy, when she isn’t a witch? What will you do with her?” he asks.
I want to tell him that I don’t know, but that’s a lie. I’m pretty sure that I’ll do exactly what I want to do with her right now. Keep her. Marriage may not be something that I’ll ever consider again, but with her, I’ll definitely have no issue keeping her for myself.
“Does it matter?” I ask.
He arches a brow, then clears his throat as he shifts in his seat. “To me? Not really. To her? Probably. Most women value their reputation. I know out here, it isn’t always the case, but in general, most women know their worth and it isn’t being the bedmate to the ruler of a country without a certain something on their finger and a change in their last name.”
“I don’t think she is anything like the women of this country. I’m not sure where she hails, but it isn’t here and judging by the clothing she arrived in, I highly doubt that she is too concerned with any of those things. She was wearing trousers like a man,” I grunt.
Whitecotton chuckles. “You’ve known women who wear trousers.”
“Most of them were attracted to other women,” I deadpan.
“Touché.”
“Just meet her. I want your input.”
“As a friend or as an advisor?”
“Is there a difference?”
There is a moment of silence and Whitecotton chuckles as he shakes his head a couple of times. “Not really, I suppose.”
“Go on up to your normal room. Dinner is in just a few minutes.”
Whitecotton drains his glass again before giving me a sharp nod, then stands, turns on his heels and walks out of the room. I watch after him, wondering exactly what he’ll think of Birdie Collins, then I find myself wondering how much I even care.
BIRDIE
I decide to keep the little journal for late-night reading. As much as I want to pull it out immediately and get lost in the pages, I don’t. I’m not about to get caught doing something that I’m not supposed to and have this guy do something crazy to me. He already suspects I’m some kind of witch, he doesn’t need any more ammo.
Glancing at the clock, I notice that it’s been thirty minutes, which means it’s time for dinner. Shifting my gaze back to the window, I realize that the sun has set even more in the distance and it’s completely dusk and on the verge of nightfall.
Standing to my feet, I use my palms and smooth down my dress. Walking over to the very small mirror, I take in my reflection. It’s a very crude mirror, more like a piece of tin than anything else. But my reflection looks back at me and I can’t be mad at it at all.
My shape is gorgeous. I’m not very curvy, I’m more of a thin and straight body type, but with this corset, my small breasts are pushed up and together, my waist looks even tinier than usual and with the full skirt of the dress, I look like I have legit hips.
The boots have a small heel and I feel, dare I say, beautiful. The dress isn’t anything luxurious. It’s a thick wool and is hot as hell, but its deep blue matches my eyes and even though my face is still red, it’s starting to lose its burning sensation and hot to the touch feel.
Hopefully that means it’s on the mend and my skin will turn back to its normal color. I’m not really one who typically tans. Normally, I burn and go right back to bright white. But seeing as I don’t know where I am, or the climate in this place, I don’t really know what’s going to happen.
Reaching for the full skirt of my dress, I grip the heavy fabric and tug it up just a few inches so that I don’t trip and fall when I walk out of the room. Reaching for the door, I slowly turn the knob and although Martha told me to just come down, I can’t deny that I’m a bit surprised the door is actually unlocked.
Inhaling as deep of a breath as I can, as tightly tied into this corset as I am, I take one step over the threshold, then another until I turn left and head down the staircase. With one hand in my skirt, I brace my hand on the banister and support myself so that I don’t fall flat on my face as I descend the stairs.
I already feel light-headed, and now I know why women in the past didn’t exercise. It’s hard to just walk in this shit. Once I reach the bottom of the stairs, I lift my head and turn from side to side in an attempt to find the dining room.
Pressing my lips together, I stumble with the next step, not because I have tripped, but because I see a man standing just a few feet in front of me. He isn’t Colt. He’s the stranger from the horse. The dark-complected man with the bright light eyes.
“Logan Whitecotton, ma’am, may I escort you to supper?”
I blink, my eyes sliding down his well-fit uniform, then lift them up to meet his own. They aren’t light blue the way that I assumed.
His eyes are white.
They hold no color at all.
You can’t even differentiate between the whites of his eyes and his iris. There is only white and the black of his pupil, nothing else. You would think that it would be startling, that it would be maybe even gross, but it’s not.
It’s oddly beautiful.
“Birdie Collins,” I breathe as I reach out and slip my arm through his offered one.
I’ve never been escorted anywhere, ever. It feels a little over the top, a little fancy, especially for just dinner. I’m sure that it shouldn’t, but it does.
This whole thing is completely surreal. I don’t know what to think at this point. I don’t know what to expect next. I’m in a whole new world that I don’t understand.
The dining room comes into view and I gasp. It’s fancy, like not just a little fancy, but seriously fancy. There are china dishes set, real silver looking silverware, with matching silver serving pieces.
I can smell fresh baked bread and my stomach grumbles at the scent, I honestly don’t remember the last time I ate a full meal, and the fruit and cheese from earlier are completely gone and now I’m starving.
Entering the room, I hear a throat clear. Turning my head, my heart stops beating in my chest at the sight of the man who is rising from his seat at the head of the table.
His blue eyes meet mine and I watch a muscle tick in his cheek as he narrows that blue gaze on me. My hand falls from Logan’s arm and I press my lips together, unable to take my eyes from his.
“Come and sit,” he grumbles as he takes a step back, then lifts his hand, motioning to the chair in front of him, the one to the right of his.
Dipping my chin, I try to behave like I’ve seen all the fancy historical ladies in the movies do. I literally have zero real-life experience to handle any of this at all. I’m going off of movies and hoping he doesn’t decide that I really am a witch and burn me at the stake.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I sink down into the chair. He pushes it in and I place my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do next.
“You’ve met Logan Whitecotton?” Colt asks.
Nodding, I turn my head and tip it back to look up into his blue eyes. “I have,” I breathe.
He nods once, giving me zero explanation on who this uniformed man is as he turns from me and makes his way back to his seat. I watch as he sinks down in his chair, then turns to look across the table from me to Logan Whitecotton whose white eyes are staring right at me.
This isn’t a friendly dinner.
This is going to be an interrogation.
Chapter Six
BIRDIE
The dinner table is alarmingly quiet. The silence is uncomfortable and the way both men are staring at me, I don’t know that it will suddenly become comfortable anytime soon. I try not to fidget or shift in my seat. Instead, I keep my hands in my lap and continue to look forward.
Ma
rtha appears and I breathe a sigh of relief, but it is short-lived because she isn’t here to break the tension at all, she’s here to serve dinner.
I shift my gaze toward her, silently pleading for help, but she just gives me a sad expression and places the soup bowl down in front of me.
She disappears a few moments later and I’m alone with the two men in awkward silence once again. Reaching for my napkin, I place it on my lap and then reach for a spoon.
“Bon appetite,” I whisper before sinking my spoon into the warm soup.
I’m not sure what kind of soup I’m about to eat, but I’m hungry enough to eat almost any kind, so I try not to think about what it could actually be. As long as it’s not human, I think I’m going to be okay.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Logan asks.
Lifting my eyes, I bring the spoon to my lips and take a small taste. It’s a broth of some kind, and it’s not half bad. With a little wiggle in my seat, I begin to eat.
“About?” I ask.
“You, where you hail,” he murmurs.
Shifting my gaze toward Colt, I look to him for permission. I don’t know if I want anyone knowing anything about me, especially since Colt already thinks I’m some kind of witchy woman, which wouldn’t be half bad if I actually was because then maybe I could get home and find my sisters.
“Arizona, United States,” I say with little fanfare, mostly because I pretty much figure he’s going to be like Colt and act as though he knows nothing about it, and maybe he doesn’t.
I mean, I guess I could be in some kind of alternate universe, or maybe, just maybe, I got in one of those time warps and I’m back in the eighteen hundreds. That actually might make more sense. You know, like that show about the lady going back to medieval Scotland.
Wait.
That didn’t happen here, because even though they may not have known Arizona was a state, they would know the United States. And the uniform Logan is wearing looks nothing like the ones from my history books for Confederate or Union soldiers.
Damn.
That would have been kind of cool.
“Can you tell me what countries your land borders?” he asks, as if he’s going to know what Canada and Mexico is.
I tell him anyway and just as I suspect, he frowns, his brows snapping together before his gaze shifts over to Colt, then comes back to meet mine.
I reach for the bread, unable to wait even another moment before trying it. I’m freaking starving and this soup is surprisingly damn good, but it doesn’t compare to the warm bread. The men don’t say anything while I continue to take bites of the crusty warm bread, then I stop.
Okay.
I know why people were so thin back in the day. My stomach is full and not because I’m not hungry, but because of the damn corset. Lifting my head, my eyes are wide as I look over to Colt in a pleading glance.
He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He probably has no fucking clue that I’m panicking. I’m hungry, but I physically can’t eat anything else. I want to cry. Then tears actually fill my eyes when Martha walks into the room carrying what looks to be like a big platter of sliced beef, potatoes, and carrots.
I want to eat it all.
“Are you unwell?” Colt asks.
Lifting my eyes to meet his, I can’t control the tear that escapes and falls down my cheek. “I am,” I whisper.
“What’s amiss?” Logan asks.
I don’t turn toward Logan, my focus is being held by Colt and only Colt. My stomach starts to flutter and I feel a heat fill my belly at the same time and start to slowly flow through my veins.
“I’m hungry,” I admit on a choke.
Colt dips his chin toward my plate. “Then eat, or is there a problem?”
Shaking my head, I decide that I can’t tell him. It’s too embarrassing. Instead, I decide to lie. “There’s no problem. I am just too hot still from being outside today. I think I need to lie down.”
Colt’s eyes narrow and he leans forward. “You lie, Birdie.”
I do lie, but I’m not telling him the truth, especially not in front of this stranger. Clearing my throat, I straighten my shoulders and shift in my seat. Shaking my head a couple of times, I try to ignore the way the meat, potatoes, and carrots assault my senses. It’s really fucking hard to ignore, but I try my best.
“Okay, so you want to question me. Let’s do this so that we can enjoy our evening.” I lie again.
I’m not enjoying any of this. Right now, I want to be home, in my comfy sweatpants gorging on whatever the fuck I want, with the knowledge that my sisters are safe and sound in their own homes.
There is a long moment of silence and I watch as Colt stabs a potato with his fork. He puts it in his mouth and my blood starts to feel as though it’s almost at a boil. It feels hot and I wonder if my skin is turning red as well.
I hold my breath, wishing that his mouth was anywhere on my body. I don’t know why, but I have to press my thighs together as I start to ache with need.
I’ve never felt this way before, not even about a boyfriend, let alone a man that I don’t even know, and that isn’t even taking in to account the complete weirdness about this situation.
Stockholm Syndrome, that must be what’s happening here.
I attempt to take in a deep breath, but I can’t do too deep of a one because of this fucking corset. It was hot when I looked at my reflection and the shape that it gave me, but I already hate everything about it.
“You’re from this place called the United States, and what do you do there?”
“I’m a photographer,” I quickly answer with a panting breath as I attempt to force myself to calm down.
I don’t notice the way the men pass glances back and forth. I’m too busy focusing on my damn self and my breathing.
“You’re unmarried?” Logan asks.
Narrowing my gaze, I lift my eyes to meet his. “I am, is that a problem?” I grind out.
His lips twitch into a grin. “Not at all.” He chuckles. “I’m just trying to figure out how you arrived here.”
“You and me both,” I snort.
He clears his throat, and then he turns to look at Colt. I watch as he shrugs a shoulder. “Colt said you talked of your sisters?”
Nodding my head, I let out a sigh. “I have two sisters that are missing. I thought maybe this was all some kind of colossal joke and they were here somewhere, but it seems as though I was wrong.”
“Two sisters? Is that all you have?” Logan asks with almost a sense of urgency.
Shaking my head, my gaze doesn’t leave his. “No, I have one more.”
“So, there are four of you?” he demands.
Jerking my head back, I don’t miss the growl that escapes Colt’s throat. “There are…” I answer, feeling very confused about where this is going.
“And do you look alike? You all have black hair and blue eyes?”
I shake my head slowly. My sisters and I are an anomaly of sorts. None of us looks like the other. “No,” I whisper. “We all look completely different. We don’t even look like our own parents. We always joke that they must have adopted us, you know, if we hadn’t seen the pregnancy pictures of our mom, we probably would really think that.”
“Bloody hell,” Logan curses. “Bloody damned hell.”
“What?” I demand at the same time Colt asks the same.
Logan’s head quickly snaps to Colts. “I know you frown against this, but my grandmother needs to be summoned.”
“Drat,” Colt hisses.
“It is urgent.”
COLT
Logan’s grandmother isn’t just a sweet elderly woman as most other grandmothers are. No, Mrs. Whitecotton is a witch. Not just any witch either, she comes from a line of witches, it’s something that’s been passed down through their lineage.
She could technically be burned for practicing, but I wouldn’t do that. Not just because Logan is my friend, but because she has been an important figure for
decades and her family the same for generations.
Calling out for Martha, I tell her to take Birdie up to her room. Then, I call out for Ernest and ask him to send a man to summon Mrs. Whitecotton. His eyes widen, no doubt understanding what that summons means. Thankfully, he doesn’t question a thing.
I don’t say anything else, waiting quietly as Ernest goes about his duty and Martha gathers a confused Birdie and guides her away. Only when we’re alone do I turn to Logan.
“Tell me,” I demand.
He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know details. Mainly because the last I heard of this, I was a boy. I don’t know if it’s all wives’ tales or sensationalized stories, but I have heard of a prophecy. A prophecy that involved four sisters who look nothing alike that come here from a land unknown. It’s ancient, Colt.”
“Ancient?” I ask.
He nods his head. “As in, thousands of years old. I’m not sure if anyone knows the source or any details. The only person that would even know anything is my grandmother and she may not remember much, but she’ll be able to guide us in the right direction.”
“Ancient prophecy. What in the gods names?” I exhale.
Logan shakes his head a couple times. “I wouldn’t have believed it could even be possible, had I not heard straight from her about her sisters. It seems to line up. Perhaps it is nothing, but the odd way she came to be here. Everything about her is like us, but not quite.”
“I agree. It’s why I called you to stay. I am perplexed by her.”
“And attracted to her.”
Nodding, I do something that I would never have done a few weeks or months ago, maybe not even a few days ago. I actually agree with Logan.
“I am. I’m not sure if I am because she has bewitched me or if it is real.”
Logan chuckles. “Perhaps she has bewitched you, but trust me, Colt, she would bewitch any man. She is different, alluring, and otherworldly. She is not from here, that much is clear. Even if she is not part of the prophecy, she is different.”
Bride of the Frontier (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 3) Page 5