Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (31 page)

A knife.

It was one thing to know he wanted her dead, it was another thing to see the weapon.

Urgency tugged at her to get moving!

Shadows by the wall shifted, nearly startling a scream out of her, when she realized it was just a painting.

Then she blinked, belatedly recognizing the two-dimensional Wyatt in a full-length painting.

He gestured toward the door, his movements urgent. Brighid struggled to obey, but the drug had slowed everything to a crawl.

She was halfway across the room when Michael gave a yelp of fear, then a roar of rage.

Twenty feet to freedom.

A loud ripping sound filled the room as he shredded the canvas, and her heart broke at the thought of Wyatt being destroyed.

Ten feet.

When the last curtain was yanked down, light flooded the rest of the room. She flung up her arm to cover her eyes, but the damage had been done. Vertigo twisted the room into a strange, dizzying shape. The drug had her firmly under its command.

Six feet.

She stumbled and fell to her knees, the floor rushing up to greet her.

“It’s a shame. You shouldn’t have hidden from me. Now you have to suffer for your disobedience.” Like an animal stalking its prey, he closed the distance between them. The hairs on her arms rose in warning.

She refused to give up.

She crawled toward the door. She reached for her gifts, but couldn’t lift her hand much less raise her power.

Three feet.

A shiny pair of hessians appeared, and her spirit plummeted.

She’d never expected to have a future before Wyatt, but he’d made her believe.

Now her worst fear was coming true…she’d failed him. He was going to die because of her, and there was nothing she could do to protect him.

Michael planted a boot against her side, and a rough shove to her ribs send her sprawling. His laughter rang in her head. The last thing she saw was his face hovering over hers, a vicious smile twisting his lips as he drew back his fist and hit her.

* * *

W
yatt searched
the nursery for any sign of Brighid or Paul, his good cheer fading as he found it empty.

She had to be here.

She’d only been gone for a minute.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to remain calm as he sprinted out of the room. He stopped suddenly, skidding to a halt as old insecurities rose.

“Damn you.” He ran into his room, tearing open the door with enough force that it slammed against the wall. He raced across the room and tore down the window dressings.

The staff tumbled toward him, and he caught it instinctively.

He stared at it in disbelief.

She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without her staff.

She hadn’t left him.

Relief weakened his legs, and he hurried toward her room, hoping to find her waiting.

Only to be confronted by another empty room.

His heartbeat kicked up its frantic pace, and his hand tightened around the staff as the truth became horrifyingly clear.

He hadn’t secured the house. He’d assumed she would have been safe for a few minutes.

He’d been wrong, and the bastard had taken her.

She hadn’t been gone long.

They couldn’t have gone far.

He carefully set her staff on her bed as rage thickened his blood. His muscles trembled with the need for action. He shoved away the terror that tried to suffocate him and bolted for the stairs.

He couldn’t be too late.

He found Aaron talking to Brin near the entrance. “The bastard has her.”

“How? When?”

“She went to put Paul to bed. She was only out of my sight for a few minutes.” Wyatt raked his fingers through his hair, unable to believe he’d been so careless. “I left her alone.”

Aaron grabbed his arm, ushering them back to the house. “Where’s Paul?”

Hope pierced his chest. There would be no reason to take the child. If Brighid was gone, Paul had to have seen where they went. His anger solidified into determination. “We need to find Trudy. She’d know where to search for him.”

Wyatt found the maid with her family. He nodded to her parents and pulled her aside. “We need your help to find Paul.”

“Paul? Brighid put him to bed a few minutes ago.”

Wyatt shook his head and hauled her toward the house. “They’re gone.”

“What?” She immediately understood the implications and took off running. Despite being in good shape, he had to push himself to catch up with her.

She stopped in the nursery. Aaron and Brin had torn it apart, leaving nothing unturned. “He’s not here.”

Conscious of time slipping away from him, he grabbed Trudy by the arms and bent until his face was only inches from hers. “Where?”

Trudy spun and didn’t stop until she reached Brighid’s room. “If he’s not in the nursery, he’ll be in here.”

“The staff.” Wyatt walked to the bed, reaching out to touch the covers. “I left her staff on the bed.”

It had vanished.

Trudy dropped to her knees and scooted under the bed. Half her body disappeared before she stilled. She backed up and stood, then lifted her hand. Blood coated her palm. “I can’t reach him. He’s huddled underneath with the staff.”

With a nod of silent agreement, each man took a side of the bed and shifted it away from the wall. Trudy slipped past them and gathered Paul in her arms.

“The killer must have left him for dead.”

Wyatt shook his head. “The bastard’s main goal was Brighid. He either hit Paul so he couldn’t go for help, or Paul was in his way.”

Crouching down, he touched Paul’s hand. “Did you see who took Brighid?”

Paul curled himself tighter into Trudy’s hold. Wyatt did his best to curb his urgency and tried a different tact. “Brighid’s gone. We need your help to find her. Did you see what happened?”

Paul stopped moving, didn’t even breathe. As if coming to a decision, he straightened. “Bad man.”

A dark suspicion dug its claws in his chest. “He was here the day you ran away, wasn’t he?”

Paul nodded, and Wyatt touched his hand. “Stay with Trudy. She’ll fix you up. We’ll find Brighid and bring her back.”

Wyatt stood, shaking under the force of his fury. He strode to the study and calmly unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Weapons gleamed under the light. He removed a selection of knives, efficiently hiding them on his body. He lifted out two guns next and systematically loaded them.

“You know who has her.” Aaron followed him into the room, sheathing one of the knives and selecting a firearm for himself as well.

“Michael.” Wyatt shoved his gun in his waistband and headed up the stairs where he’d last seen him.

“What?” Aaron stride hitched, and he hurried to catch up.

“Michael was here earlier. I was in such a hurry to find Brighid that I didn’t question his presence.”

“But he left with Angelica.” Aaron shook his head. “Damn it. He should be in London.”

Wyatt kicked the armor that littered the floor. Light from the gallery spilled into the hall, and he lifted his head as if scenting his quarry. He signaled for silence and drew his gun. Keeping his back to the wall and slipped into the room. A cursory glance revealed the space was empty. Curtains were partially torn down, the rods canted wildly from their moorings.

Brighid had put up a fight.

His stomach dropped to his feet as he imagined the terror she had endured.

He prowled the confines of the room, his hold tightening on the gun. He’d been only a few feet away, and he hadn’t even known she was in trouble. “I should have known something was amiss.”

“None of that matters anymore. What matters is getting her back. You know this area better than anyone.” Aaron stepped into his path, forcing him to a halt. “Where would he take her?”

Dozens of possibilities flashed through his mind, but he was paralyzed by the fear that if he chose wrong, he’d lose her forever.

Aaron grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. “Stop thinking like a husband.”

Wyatt couldn’t divorce himself that easily. He trampled down his self-incriminations and narrowed his eyes. “If this was a mission, we would start at the beginning.”

Both men spoke at once. “The factory.”

He shrugged off his friend’s hold and jogged toward the stables with Aaron hard at his heels.

In minutes, the horses’ hooves rumbled like thunder along the road. They pushed the mounts to their limit, setting a reckless pace.

“What can we expect?”

“He must have been planning this for a while. He wants me to suffer. He wouldn’t take her without leaving something for me to find.”

Aaron’s silence spoke volumes.

“Say it.” He braced himself for the worst-case scenario.

“He wants you to suffer. You should be prepared for the worst.”

Wyatt refused to believe it.

Brighid wouldn’t give up without a fight.

She would hold out for him as long as possible.

The factory rose out of the darkness. All the lights were off, giving the place an abandoned air. The building was hunkered in the darkness, scaffolding grafted to the side like a skeleton rising from Hell, an ominous premonition of things to come.

Even before his mount came to a stop, Wyatt kicked his feet free from the stirrups. They cautiously approached the building. The temperature had dropped to a bitter chill, and his breath clouded the night air. It suited his mood, since everything inside him had frozen over when he’d discovered Brighid’s disappearance.

“Damn it. The bastard has her. God only knows what he’s doing to her.” Unleashed violence seethed under his skin. If he didn’t find Brighid soon, he feared he’d snap.

Aaron grabbed Wyatt’s arm, keeping him from bursting into the factory. “You need to keep a cool head. My guess is he’s waiting for you. He didn’t go through all this just to kill her. He’ll want you where he can see your reaction before he touches her.”

Wyatt jerked away, a sense of urgency rushing through him, his gut warning him that time was growing short.

“I hope to hell you’re right.”

P
ain hammered away
at her temples, and Brighid swore her head was moments away from exploding. When she tried to reach up, she couldn’t lift her arms and discovered her wrists bound by rough rope that abraded her skin and left her fingers numb. Unable to remember what had happened, she cracked her eyes open a slit, and blinked in confusion to see the incongruent image of a fashionably dressed man shoveling coal into a furnace.

Michael.

Memories rushed back. Feeling defenseless, she struggled to free her hands, but for all her efforts, the bindings only rubbed her skin raw.

A hiss of frustration bubbled up.

“Ah, you’re awake.” He smiled, setting aside the shovel with a sociable smile, as if he hadn’t kidnapped and now planned to murder her.

“Why are you doing this?” The question came out stilted, her tongue thick, her throat too dry to speak above a hoarse whisper. She surveyed the room, agony piercing her skull at the slightest movement.

A single door and a hatch for coal.

She’d never be able to crawl over the pile of coal without him dragging her back.

That left the door.

She’d have to get by him to reach it.

They were in a boiler room of some type, and the smell of grease from the machinery permeated the room. The space was dark and dank, moisture thick in the air while water heated. Pipes pinged as they filled with steam, and the room grew unbearably warm within minutes.

“You’re a smart girl. Think about it.” He rose, his expression almost pleasant as he leaned against the table, crossed his legs at the ankle, and waited.

“This is all because of Wyatt, but what has he ever done to you?” Brighid blinked in confusion at what would make him turn evil, her eyes feeling gritty. “You’ve been friends since childhood.”

“Friends!” His expression contorted into something demonic. “He was never my friend. He went off to school, and when he returned, he acted like royalty. Everyone was so happy to see him. Women fell at his feet after little more than a look from him.” He spat out in disgust. “Even my sister followed him around like a harebrained idiot, constantly talking about marrying him. I tried to warn her away, but she never listened.” He ran a distracted hand over his hair repeatedly, his agitation increasing as he spoke…then he stilled with a suddenness that was more frightening.

That hinted at madness.

“She tried to seduce him. That’s when I knew she was nothing more than a common whore.” A cold smile crossed his face, but it was his dead eyes were what curdled her last hope. “The last straw was when he swindled my addled father out of my land. He took everything that should have been mine. I couldn’t allow him to get away with it.”

“Wyatt purchased that land at an auction.”

A snarl curled Michael’s lips. “He said he was doing us a favor, but it was pure greed. We were broke. We needed the money. We didn’t have a choice. Then he built this factory, stealing the income that rightfully belongs to me.”

Fear prickled along her skin when she realized Michael wasn’t just mad, he was completely insane. She rotated her wrists, struggling to loosen the knots without arousing his suspicions. “Wyatt only built that factory to give people jobs. He did it to help the community.”

“A hero.” Instead of the violence she expected, Michael smiled. He slowly turned a knob on the water tanks, shutting off the flow to the pipes. He studied the dials and tapped the glass, watching the gage slowly rise as the pressure built. “When you both die in a tragic fire, I’ll purchase what remains of the factory and rebuild. I’ll be the hero then.”

Her skin crawled at the pure hatred in his eyes.

He honestly thought Wyatt was the cause of all his problems. “And Angelica? You were to escort her to London.”

She studied the gage as it slowly crept closer to the red. They had an hour at most before the tanks would fail and deadly steam would fill the room seconds before an explosion ripped through the factory. She had to keep him talking to give Wyatt time to find them. Her wrists burned as the rough rope abraded her skin. One side loosened a smidge, but not enough for her to wiggle free. The muscles of her arms cramped in protest at the odd angle, but she persisted.

“I told Wyatt she was his responsibility. Anything that happens to her is his fault.” His eyes slid half closed, his gaze swept her body, and he licked his lips. “I saw you together, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Bile rose in her throat at his smarmy tone, and she feared she already knew.

“In the garden. I saw you together. He took you on the bench like some whore.”

“You’re sick. We’re husband and wife.”

Michael laughed manically and sauntered toward her. He touched her chin, then slid his hand down her neck. His touch felt like spiders crawling on her skin. She had to get it off. She lunged and bit his hand as hard as she could.

He bellowed, and smacked her across the face so hard she lost her grip. The world tilted as she struggled to stay conscious, petrified what he’d do to her if she failed to stay awake. She spit out blood and glared at him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Maybe I should take you in payment for all he’s stolen from me.” He snarled and grabbed her dress, ripping away the sleeve.

Brighid stifled a gasp, biting the inside of her cheek. If he knew how his threat froze her bones to ice, he’d no doubt follow through with it to torture her. She kicked out, but her skirts hampered the blow, and he easily dodged out of the way. Repugnance curdled her stomach when his gaze lingered on her exposed flesh. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she concentrated on the knots. A nail ripped to the quick and blood slickened the bindings.

It was taking too long.

She needed her magic. She tried to harness the raw power that swarmed the room. A flicker burned in her feet, gaining strength, but reached no further before disappearing.

The drug refused to relinquish its hold.

Tremors of frustration and exhaustion made her hands shake. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, trying to work sensations back into them. After everything she’d gone through, she refused to meekly accept her fate. She’d survived too much to abandon hope, and fought with the only weapon left.

“Are you sure you’re man enough?” He reared back at the jab. Emboldened by her small victory, Brighid continued. “From what you told me, you’re not even man enough to manage your sister.”

“It was Wyatt who—”

“Right. It’s never your fault. Admit it. You did nothing with your life, while he has proven again and again that he’s man enough to act. You couldn’t even keep your sister away from him.”

“Be quiet.” He stood a foot from her, his fists clenched at his side, his body shaking with rage.

Brighid forced herself to laugh, struggling not to choke on her fear. “You would want a woman he’d touched?”

“Shut up.” He bellowed and swung his arm.

Pain blinded her when his fist struck her jaw. Her lip split and started to bleed. Her face went numb, and Brighid forced himself to smile at him. “Takes a big man to strike a helpless woman tied to a chair.”

“Shut up.” His hands encircled her throat and squeezed.

Air became precious as her supply slowly dwindled, and she began to doubt the wisdom of her approach. It took all of her nerve not to fight. “Will you kill me before Wyatt arrives? Won’t that ruin your plan?”

His hold gentled.

A hoarse cough scratched her throat as she sucked in a greedy breath of air past the pain.

And lost it again when he struck her a second time with his fist.

The world dimmed.

She felt another blow, but lost consciousness before the pain registered.

* * *

“
W
e’ll never cover
enough ground unless we split up.” As they entered the dark factory, Wyatt could barely remain still, and systematically re-checked his gun. “You take the upstairs. I know the layout better. I’ll search the main level. Keep the gaslights off. We don’t want to give away our advantage.”

Aaron gave a single nod that was all business. He studied Wyatt through narrowed eyes. “Don’t do anything rash.”

Wyatt just grunted. “I won’t gamble with Brighid’s life.”

That seemed to satisfy Aaron, and he quickly loped up the stairs.

Wyatt briskly searched the first room.

Empty.

Frustration built until rage and fear threatened to swallow him whole.

He was wasting time, and it was eating him alive.

He needed to think like Michael.

Michael wanted to destroy him. There was only one place in the whole factory that would do the most damage.

The boiler room.

Wyatt charged into the darkness, dodging around the looms and crates of yarn and skidded to a stop in front of the closed door to the boiler room.

His heart thudded heavily at the thought of Brighid being behind that door.

So close.

He lifted the gun and carefully twisted the knob until it met resistance.

Locked.

The steel door was an inch thick.

Unbreakable.

Wyatt pulled out two thin metal picks and eased them into the lock. With a turn of his wrist, the tumblers clicked into place. Unwilling to wait a moment longer, he took a quick breath and kicked the door wide. Wyatt threw himself into the room, hoping to catch Michael by surprise.

After a quick scan, Wyatt’s gaze landed on Brighid and became blind to everything else. The horrifying spectacle of her strapped to a chair in the middle of the room stripped all his training from him. Fresh blood trickled down her lip. Bruises lined her face. Distinct finger impressions ringed her neck. The beautiful green dress she wore was in tatters, the torn material barely covering breasts.

She didn’t move.

Paralyzing fear took over his mind, and he couldn’t function.

She couldn’t be dead.

It was only when he saw the rise and fall of her chest did his heart beat again. It galvanized him into action, and he rushed forward. Though he wanted to cradle her close and beg her forgiveness, he needed to get her out of there first. He resisted touching her for fear that he’d bring her more pain. Instead, he circled and grabbed for the ropes. When they didn’t loosen, he pulled out his knife. A barely there scuff of feet brought his head up, flooding him with adrenaline. “Aaron—”

A wicked laughter filled the room. “Sorry, but he’s a tad occupied at the moment.”

Wyatt straightened, his muscles bunching to leap when Michael lifted a gun. “Drop it.”

Wyatt circled Brighid to stand in front of her, offering her what little protection he could.

Michael ambled over to the table and dragged a rag off the surface to reveal a well-used hunting knife. With a reverent stroke over the handle, he cast a sly look in Brighid’s direction. “I think I’ll save this for later.”

Wyatt tensed, waiting for an opening, when Michael suddenly aimed the gun at Brighid’s head. “Uh-uh. Hand me your gun.”

Wyatt froze mid-step.

Not willing to give him another weapon, he dropped it to the floor with a heavy thunk.

Michael scowled, then motioned him away. “Why not have a seat and join us?”

Wyatt scanned the room, but the area was barren of furniture. He spread his arms, his smile all teeth. “It looks like the place is full. I’ll stand.”

Michael drew his knife and took a step toward Brighid. Wyatt lunged toward him, only to skid to a stop when Michael shoved the gun against her temple. Wyatt couldn’t take his eyes off the finger on the trigger, every muscle ready to spring into action.

“Step back.”

His body rebelled at the command, but Wyatt gritted his teeth and did as he was told, shuffling a few inches away.

It was as far as he could force himself to go.

Michael slashed down with the knife, slicing through the ropes and startling a sharp hiss of pain from Brighid. Her eyes fluttered open, and Wyatt silently pleaded with her not to do anything foolish that could get her killed.

“She’s quite ingenious. She almost had the ropes undone when I caught her.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, twisting the strands in his fist and pulled. Brighid clawed at his ruthless grip and struggled to rise.

Wyatt turned to keep them in sight, shuffling closer, waiting for an opening.

As if sensing the threat, Michael jerked her in front of him, releasing her hair to wrap his arm around her waist. That split second, Brighid dove forward. Wyatt reached for her when Michael raised the gun.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot him.”

Brighid instantly froze, her eyes tortured as she stared at him. Wyatt wanted to curse. The gun was leveled at the back of her head, effectively holding him hostage. He held up his hands to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

Michael caught her around the waist and hauled her up against him. He pressed the gun to her temple hard enough to leave an imprint, and smiled at Wyatt. “Sit.”

All the air in his lungs left in a whoosh. The chance to overpower the man had slipped through his fingers. With his heart hammering against his ribs, Wyatt obeyed and waited for his next chance. He just needed to be vigilant and keep them both alive long enough to take advantage when the chance presented itself.