Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (23 page)

She didn’t even know if the others had survived.

She’d only escaped by pure chance.

Who was to say the others had been as lucky?

Wyatt had forced her to marry, claiming he would keep her safe. She’d never wanted his help, never thanked him for his care for fear that acknowledging it meant she might be in over her head. While she looked over her shoulder to study him lying next to her, she wondered if her dreams of the past were only that.

Maybe he not only saved her life, but also gave her the opportunity for a future she’d never imagined possible. She slowly turned in his arms to get a better look. Then smiled at his tousled hair. It made him look mischievous and approachable and so very delicious.

The rest of him, however, remained all powerful, arrogant and intimidating male.

And may the goddess help her, she liked that part, too.

Even in sleep, the lines around his face were scored deep. She traced them lightly, the rough skin prickling her fingertips, and she wondered if she’d caused the frown marks with her wild escapade. She had to admit, if only to herself, she was worried as well.

She racked her mind to recall the source of trouble in the area.

And every incident came back to one thing.

Wyatt.

Terror balled in her gut, and a shiver of alarm raced down her spine.

Whoever was behind the trouble wanted one thing…a way to hurt Wyatt.

Now they were married, the madman was determined to use her to get him…unless she could stop him first.

She wanted to touch Wyatt and assure herself that he was safe, but she curled her fingers into fists so she wouldn’t wake him.

The more she studied the problem, the more she was sure the culprit had to be someone people respected and trusted. Giselle wouldn’t have allowed herself to be used by anyone beneath her station, but Brighid needed more information to complete the picture.

And who better to give it than Wyatt? Who would want revenge against him badly enough to enact such an elaborate plot?

Lost in her train of thought, she studied the dark lashes resting against his face. She followed the line of his nose to his parted lips. The same lips that kissed her senseless. She squirmed at the memory and couldn’t help but wonder if she kissed him again, would she feel the same way, or if it had been a fluke?

She moistened her lips in anticipation.

“Brighid?”

She glanced up to find Wyatt watching her with hungry eyes.

Warmth stung her cheeks. How long had he been observing her? “You’re awake.”

“You’re thinking again.” He didn’t sound pleased.

Not wanting to admit she’d been fantasizing about him, she quickly changed the subject. “Did you get any further in the investigation while I was…gone?”

His brows lowered ominously as he stared down at her. “If you can’t keep your promise, it nulls mine.”

Brighid shoved away from his distracting touch and sat up. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you mixed up in this mess.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? I doubt that whoever is doing this will stop, even if you ask nicely. We
need
to work together to solve this.”

Wyatt got that stubborn look on his face that didn’t bode well for her and crossed his arms behind his head.

“Children, I could hear you down the hall.” Beth entered the room, her cane thumping on the floor. “Wyatt, you should be ashamed of yourself for badgering the poor child while she’s indisposed.”

Brighid crossed her arms, vindicated. She resisted smirking, but barely.

“And you. You had us all worried when you ran off like a hoyden. What were you thinking?”

Brighid opened her mouth to defend herself but never got the chance.

“The boy ran off. We could have gathered a search party and found him—”

“But not before the killer.”

Beth’s hands tightened on her cane, and she paled. “What?”

“Wyatt was just about to tell me about his investigations.” Brighid smiled, relieved to have Beth’s ire turned in another direction. “Why not join us? Then he only has to say it once.”

“Brighid.” He cast her a reproving look before turning to face his mother. “I am handling the situation. I don’t want you to worry about this nonsense.”

Beth snorted. “A murderer does not sound like nonsense. I am old, not senile. All I have left to occupy my time is to worry over my children. What kind of mother would I be if I did not?”

“Mother—”

“Enough! Tell me everything.”

Wyatt didn’t know who exasperated him more, Brighid or his mother.

Yes, he did.

Brighid.

He rubbed the back of his neck, took a few slow, steady breaths, and narrowed his eyes. The sneaky chit had tricked him, setting a neat little trap. She would pay for it later, and he repressed a wicked smile at the many ways he would enjoy tormenting her.

“Someone is terrorizing the people at the factory.” He nodded at his mother’s horrified gasp, rubbing a hand over his rumpled hair, then hesitated at how much to reveal. “At the moment, we’re searching for the man responsible, but coming up empty.”

“Wait.” Brighid lifted her hand, reaching out to touch him before carefully pulling it back, as if she thought better of it. “What were you going to say?”

“What do you mean?” Wyatt gave Brighid what he hoped was an innocent look. The woman saw far too much for his comfort.

“You were going to say something else.”

“No—”

“Wyatt.” His mother broke into their argument. “You might as well tell us. If you don’t, we’ll just have to find out for ourselves.”

Wyatt massaged his temples, and his gut clenched at the casual threat. Every way he studied it, they had him trapped. “We’ve only found three clues. The first one led us the mysterious boy you’ve been calling Paul, but he’s mute. The second was Giselle, and she’s now dead. The threats are escalating. The only other person who survived an attack was Brighid, and I believe he’s trying to rectify the problem.”

Wyatt turned to face Brighid, and could all but see the wheels turning. He should have known she wouldn’t cower like other women.

Not his wife.

She turned those pretty eyes on his, shooting his concentration to hell. “Do you have any local enemies?”

“Everyone has enemies.” His mind ran along similar lines, but he couldn’t recall anything that would cause someone to go to such lengths.

“No, you are not listening. Any
local
enemies? This person
knows
you. They’re close enough to watch us, and they’re familiar enough that they won’t upset the locals when they see him.”

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes on his wife, not liking her speculative look. “Aaron and I already discussed the very same thing. I’ve been away for a number of years. A few disputes come up now and then, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No angry husbands?”

“No.” He glared at her, speaking through clenched teeth. A knock rattled the door, and Wyatt stood stiffly, afraid he might say or do something he would later regret.

“Aaron, come in. You might as well join the conversation.” Wyatt all but jerked his friend into the room. He waited for Aaron to make himself comfortable in the last remaining chair in front of the fire before speaking. “What did you find?”

Aaron shot a cautious look at the women. At Wyatt’s nod, Aaron continued without batting an eye. “Nothing. No one saw anything.” Then he smiled. “A bit of good news. Angelica has successfully moved back in with her brother.”

A snort escaped Brighid, and she covered her mouth to smother her laughter.

“Brighid.” Wyatt’s temper broke.

“Sorry.” She smiled back at him, all innocent and unrepentant.

At the sight of her bruised face, his anger deflated. Her pale skin was like porcelain, making her look fragile. She had enough to deal with now, she didn’t need his anger as well. “I think it’s time we let Brighid rest.”

“Of course.” Beth stood and patted Brighid’s hand before exiting.

“You had us worried.” Aaron smiled, and Wyatt stiffened. Aaron might be his best friend, but Wyatt didn’t want the man anywhere near his wife. Aaron was a Casanova, drawing women to him with just a look. Since Brighid kept denying their marriage, he felt vulnerable…and hated it.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Aaron added.

“Me, too.” Brighid glanced at Wyatt, as if she doubted he felt the same way, which infuriated him more.

Not able to take it anymore, he grabbed Aaron’s arm and hauled him out the door. Only when the lock clicked into place did he relax. He faced his wife, determined that she understand some rules.

A knock interrupted them, and Brighid pursed her luscious mouth to cover her smirk, no doubt believing she’d won a reprieve. He cursed silently, whirling away from temptation. “You’re a popular woman.”

Trudy peered around the door, a smile on her face. She faltered when she caught sight of him. “I brought a new tray.”

“Leave it. I’ll make sure she eats.” Trudy set the tray on the side table and picked up the old one. She paused, giving Wyatt one last suspicious look before reluctantly leaving.

He walked to the table, lifted the cover, and the tempting smell of food filled the room. His own stomach grumbled. Ignoring it, he hefted the tray and set it on Brighid’s lap. Before she could grab the spoon, he snatched it up and dipped it into the broth.

She opened her mouth to protest, and he promptly slipped the broth between her lips. The instant her mouth closed around the spoon, his depraved mind landed in the gutter, and his cock hardened.

Oddly, the domestic task settled a new kind of peace into his soul. He watched her throat move and he shifted on the bed, imagining her lips on his, her tongue stroking his shaft.

The blanket slipped, and it was all he could do not to stare at her satin-covered breasts. He wrestled with his urges. He’d been too long without a woman.

And now he wanted only her.

Unfortunately, today was not the time.

But soon.

If he kept denying himself, he did not know how much longer he would remain sane.

He rubbed his jaw, his whiskers scraping loudly in the silence. After their explosive kiss, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Blast his mother for putting the idea in his head, but he didn’t want to seduce his wife, he wanted to be her first and only choice.

He rubbed his chest, unintentionally trying to soothe the pain of her continual rejection. If she gave them a chance, they could have a good marriage.

He wouldn’t give her up without a fight. He would find a way to make Brighid his, make her accept them, if it was the last thing he did.

She was so self-assured, the bedchamber was the only place he could throw her off stride. He had a feeling it would also be the only way he could truly show he cared. She didn’t believe in his words, but he could show her by his actions.

T
he dancing flames
played shadows over Wyatt’s body, concealing half his face in the murky light. He sat in the chair next to the bed, watching her, unblinking.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“Well, stop it. You’ve been doing it all day.” Brighid ground her teeth, thumped her pillow with her fist, and turned her back on him. He hadn’t left the room since they woke together, not even when she needed to use the necessary. Insufferable man. She had never been so humiliated. If he didn’t leave soon, she would murder him herself.

How was she supposed to find answers if she couldn’t leave the blasted room?

Every time she so much as twitched, he practically threatened to sit on her to keep her in bed.

When someone knocked, they eyed each other suspiciously.

“Enter.” Brighid blurted out the command before Wyatt could send the person away.

Beth took the scene in at a glance. “Get dressed. I want to show you something.”

Her brisk voice brooked no argument.

Brighid didn’t even bother to glance at Wyatt as she scrambled out of the bed. She grabbed the last dress remaining in the wardrobe and darted into Wyatt’s room, slamming the door in his face when he moved to follow.

She heard them arguing, but didn’t care, not if it got her out of that room and away from him. She laced herself up in the last gown Beth had ordered for her, a pale green day dress with embroidered flowers decorating the hem. It molded to her bosom and flared at her hips before flowing to the floor. The elegant dress made her feel the part of lady of the house.

When she glanced in the mirror, she gasped in horror at the snarled mess of her hair.

She ran a brush through the hopeless tangles, then quickly knotted it back with a ribbon before Wyatt could bully Beth into changing her mind. When she entered the room, she saw Beth patiently waiting for her with a triumphant smile curling her lips.

She peered around the room, afraid to bring attention to herself, but Wyatt appeared to have vanished. Relief was instantaneous for all of two seconds before paranoia began preying on her nerves. She eyed the door, wondering if she should make a break for it before he could return and called a halt.

“If you were looking for your husband, he went to his study.” Beth looped their arms together and led her down the hall. She gave her a sideways glance and smiled. “I’m supposed to tell you he will be there all day unless you need him.”

The niggling worry that he would do something drastic—like steal her plan to go after the killer by herself—eased a fraction, and she allowed herself to be escorted to a gallery of sorts.

The long, narrow room had floor to ceiling windows with yards of red curtains on either side, allowing sunlight to flood the chamber. Besides a few benches to decorate the space, the room was bare of furniture. Facing the windows were hundreds of gold frames of every shape and style, all crammed along the wall, leaving not even an inch of room to spare. These paintings, so similar to the windows in the church, stunned her. They weren’t stuffy portraits, but images captured from their lives.

“These are our ancestors.” Beth followed her at a distance, granting her the time to study them at her own pace.

The images were a revelation, a living history her ancestors didn’t dare possess. The lack of them prevented people from tracking her bloodlines. Druids were rare, practically hunted to extinction. Those who knew they’d survived through the centuries wanted to possess the few who remained. Though it was practical to keep her past hidden, Brighid regretted it.

No one would ever know what had become of her people.

Each portrait told a chapter in the history of the Castelline family. She recognized the men easily, the similarities to Wyatt astounding, but the women in the paintings captured her attention. Their outfits placed the women in different eras and different nationalities.

Brighid came to a stop in front of the portrait of a much younger Beth and her husband. And from the sparkle in her eye, Brighid knew where Wyatt got his mischievous streak.

Beth had given up her past and chose to create a new life with her husband. Women did it all the time. Brighid needed to decide which future she wanted but feared that leaving her past behind would mean abandoning her family to their fates. Five other people had fled with her, every one of them hunted. Since her mother’s murder, the duty to keep them safe had fallen to her.

She turned and came face-to-face with a younger, more cheerful version of Wyatt, and felt a smile tug at her mouth.

He offered her a new way of life, one where she didn’t have to run in fear. A chance to create a family of her own. Her head spun when she realized how much she wanted it.

She ran her finger over his image, touching him in a way that she never would have permitted herself had he been standing before her.

“Brighid?”

She jumped, and the bands of runes around her feet twitched to life. Brighid jerked her hand off the painting and backed away, praying her magic hadn’t infected it.

She searched the image for any signs of trouble.

Just when she thought she managed to escape unscathed, the image of Wyatt winked at her. She nearly strangled on her gasp, her eyes widening in horror as she stumbled back. “Oh, no.”

“What is it, dear?”

“Nothing.” She steered Beth away from the proof of her latest disaster, trying not to appear as if she was hustling the countess out of the room. “Absolutely nothing.” She firmly closed the double doors to the gallery, then leaned against them, forcing a smile. She needed to fix this before others discovered what she’d done. “Just tired.”

“Why don’t you rest? We’ll meet in the parlor in an hour to start plans for the ball. You can tell us what you’d like, and Lydia and I can manage the rest.”

She bit her lip to hold back her protest at all the fuss, but found herself unable to rebuff Beth after all her kindness. “Thank you.”

They parted ways at the stairs, and Brighid entered her room to find boxes of various shapes and sizes scattered across every surface. Materials spilled out of the open packages, and Trudy hummed while she puttered around the room, putting away the new clothes.

Brighid stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. They’d ordered a few dresses. There were at least three times that many here. Fabrics of every color and pattern were scattered around the room, making it look like she’d robbed a modiste’s.

Beth had done this.

She wanted to object, return the clothes, except for one small fact. She understood better now how others interpreted her manner of dress and her unusual manners. How much she stood out as an oddity.

She wanted Wyatt to be proud of her.

Wanted him to admire her.

That wouldn’t happen with her old clothes.

“Would you like me to help you change into something more suitable for supper?”

“Uh…” She touched one of the dresses, and noticed gratefully that most of them could be donned without assistance. “I think I can manage.”

Trudy’s face fell, and Brighid sighed with resignation. “What dress should I choose?”

The girl smiled, whirled from dress to dress like a bee in a garden. She picked one, only to discard it a moment later and fish out the next item that caught her attention. After the fifth display, Brighid sighed and searched in vain for a place to sit. She walked to the chair, dumped the boxes on the floor and sagged onto the seat.

And immediately felt like an ungrateful wretch.

She stooped to right the boxes when one of the lids fell off. She froze as frothy material cascaded over the rim and pooled on the floor. Tiny scraps of satiny fabric slithered out, the bright clothing soft as silk and each piece extremely transparent. She shoved them into the box as if they would contaminate the rest of the clothes.

Her mind went to why people would wear them and when, and her face burned hot at the thought of modeling them for Wyatt.

“Oh, they’re beautiful.”

Much to her embarrassment, Trudy opened the box again and drew out the nightgowns one by one.

Desperate for a distraction, she bolted out of her chair. “Did you choose a dress?”

Trudy answered distractedly. “Mmm, yes.”

Brighid grabbed the lingerie out of Trudy’s hands, shoved the items back into Pandora’s Box, and firmly shut the lid. She sighed in exasperation when Trudy continued to gaze at the box.

“Trudy.”

The girl stared at her blankly.

“The dress.”

With one last glance and an impish smile, Trudy did as bidden. She picked up a deep emerald gown and held it out for inspection. The smooth lines appealed to Brighid. No lace. Nothing ornate. She stroked the fabric, and allowed herself to be seduced. The dress draped becomingly, extra material gathered in back in a sleek imitation of the bustle she so detested. When she turned to face the mirror, she gasped in dismay.

The simplicity of the dress was deceptive. Instead of the familiar high-necked collar, the material dipped low, exposing a generous portion of her cleavage. She silently cursed Trudy and tugged at the dress, but to no avail.

It wouldn’t budge.

Her allotted hour was almost gone, and she didn’t have time to locate a more appropriate gown.

A shawl.

She ripped off the box lids and went through half of them before she found the right package. Brighid wrapped herself in the shawl and left the room as if the hounds of hell were after her, but she wasn’t able to outrun the scandalous image…or what she suspected would be Wyatt’s reaction if he caught her wearing the outfit.

She paused outside the parlor, relieved and a tiny bit disappointed to find Wyatt absent. Beth was barking out instructions, while Lydia dutifully wrote notes. “We’ll need to open the ballroom and air it out.”

While they talked decorations, Brighid sneaked in the room. She picked up a few sheets and flipped through page after page of names.

Almost all of them were villagers. “Will the ballroom be able to hold so many?”

Beth raised her brow, but conceded her point. “It will be a crush.”

“Why all the fuss? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable for everyone if we changed the venue, possibly have a fair instead?”

Beth’s smile bloomed. “A wonderful idea. Just in time to show off your new wardrobe. Stand up and show us what we can expect.”

“We should really work on the details for the fair.” Brighid awkwardly shuffling the pages in her hands until the papers were a crumpled mess.

Risking a glance, she found the attention of both women centered on her.

Resigned, Brighid stood and dropped the shawl, looping it around the bend in her elbows. She avoided their gazes and stared at the old painting of Graystone Manor above the fireplace.

And swayed in disbelief, a strange buzzing filling her ears, when she spotted the younger version of Wyatt on the steps, jumping up and down, waving to gain her attention.

The same young Wyatt from the portrait upstairs.

She tugged up the shawl, suddenly chilled. How was she to get him back inside his own painting without anyone noticing?

She needed to find a way remove the painting and stash it out of the way.

“You don’t need the wrap.”

Brighid turned at the comment, fidgeting with the shawl and inched toward the door, hoping to draw their attention away from the painting. “Oh, but she must have gotten my measurements wrong, the dress is far too revealing.”

“Nonsense.” Beth waved the paper she held as if shooing away her complaint like a pesky fly. “You’re married now, and granted more liberties than a debutante. The dresses are quite modest in comparison.”

“Mother is correct.” Lydia reassured her. “The younger girls wear the same styles, but with a fichu to protect their modesty. The ball gowns are far lower cut, and can even be considered scandalous.”

“So you would prefer a fair?” Much to her relief, Beth changed the subject and glanced at Lydia. “We hadn’t had a fair in years, not since your father was still alive.”

“I remember. You let us run wild. Wyatt chased all the girls around with frogs.” Lydia rolled her eyes and snorted.

“And you fell asleep in your father’s arms watching the bonfire.” Beth smiled softly. “We need to talk to the cook. We’ll have to start the preparations over from scratch.”

Both women stood, and Brighid waved them off. “You go on ahead. I’m just going to rest for a bit.”

“Of course, dear. Don’t do too much.”

Brighid felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving them, but she needed to get that painting. When they departed, she plopped back on the sofa, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, racking her brain to come up with a plan.

A pair of arms slipped under her, and she felt herself being lifted. Panic pitched her stomach up into her throat, and her power rose to defend her. The windows whooshed open with a bang and a brisk breeze swirled in the room, slamming the door shut with a heavy thud.

Then she saw who held her.

Wyatt.

He whirled to face the threat, a fierce scowl on his face, his arms tightening around her like a warrior determined to protect the fair maiden.

Drat him.

It only made him more attractive.

When he saw they were alone, his gaze dropped to hers, and he raised a brow.

His handsome-as-sin face was only inches from hers. Those winter green eyes softened, and his focus dropped to her mouth. She shoved at his chest, trying to wiggle out of his arms. “You scared me half to death. What were you thinking?”

“You looked so peaceful that I couldn’t resist touching you.” Without waiting for a response, he kissed her. Not the gentle kiss they shared the first time, but a ravenous, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled and dueled, threatening to make her forget reason. Frightened by the strength of her need, Brighid drew back.

Instead of allowing her to escape, he tightened his hold.

Then his kiss gentled, and the change demolished her will to resist.

She curled her arms around his neck, wanting more, unable to remember why she thought this was such a bad idea when being in his arms felt so right. “We shouldn’t do this.”