The Fragrance of Her Name (25 page)

Once out of the cellar, Brant closed the doors and turned to Lauryn saying, “Well…you were right. Nothing there. Not one clue.”

Lauryn brushed her hair back from her face and visually searched her limbs and dress for evidences of unwanted creatures that lived in webs. “I know. It’s why I don’t go down there. I…”

“
You hate it,” he finished for her with a smile. But then his eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her. “But you’re so cute down there,” he said.

Lauryn thought maybe he was all to well blessed with a gift of sarcasm. But the expression in his eyes said differently. “Cute?” she asked. “In the creepy ol’ cellar, with spiders and rodents?” He winked at her, reaching out he took her hand and began pulling her toward the house. “Well, I guess the competition wasn’t too thick down there, actually…when it comes to cuteness,” she mused.

Brant’s mind had already traveled back to the task at hand. “Why a teacup?” he grumbled. “She couldn’t be holding onto a map or something. Just a teacup.”

At that moment, Lauryn glanced up to the attic window. Light streamed through onto the grass below. There, as if framed in a painting, stood the Captain. Lauryn smiled up at him. He smiled, nodding his approval. Her heart lightened a bit. Brant would help her. Brant would free the Captain, the Captain and Lauralynn. And in the next moment, Lauryn thought,
will Brant free me? Or has he already made my heart a captive?

Having regained his sight, Brant wanted to investigate all of Connemara and the grounds again. This time, he would have a greater ability to link things together, should some kind of clues actually appear. The next day, Lauryn led him to the creek, the servants’ house and finally to the springhouse. But, nothing was found.

It had been a blessed time for Lauryn. She’d been alone with him. Patrick had taken to Uncle Johnny like a pig to mud and kept the elderly man too occupied with answering questions to give him any time to visit with Lauryn and Brant. Lauryn’s grandmother and mother were far too intrigued with Aunt Felicity’s stories, opinions and sense of humor to spend much time worrying over them.

As they approached Henry the statue on their way back to the house, Lauryn glanced and smiled at Brant. He paused and looked at Henry.

“
I feel sorry for this man,” Brant mumbled.

Lauryn giggled and asked, “Why? You don’t even know him.” If Brant knew just how well Lauryn and her friend Penny knew Henry that would be another matter.

“
He’s so…so…” Brant mumbled.

“
Broodin’?” Lauryn offered. “Lonely?” She smiled, caching away forever all her secrets where Henry was concerned. “I promise you…he’s had his own adventures. Anyway…dark, broodin’, interestin’ men make the best…” She gasped slightly horrified at what she’d almost revealed. She’d already said too much and Brant hadn’t missed it.

“
What? They make the best what?” he prodded.

“
Um…um…” Lauryn stammered. “They make the best…statues!” She tossed her head nonchalantly and began walking on.

“
Wait a minute, sugar,” Brant chuckled, catching her arm. “Tell me. What do they make? The best what?”

“
Statues.”

“
Statues? I don’t believe that’s what you really had in mind.” Brant was too observant. His sight restored, he had a strong sense to complement all of his others and he was not going to be easy to fool

“
Statues. Truly. They make the best statues because…because…they’re prideful enough to pose for them.” It was all she would say and with an indifferent smile, she pulled her arm from his grasp and walked on.

“
Does Connemara have a basement?” Brant asked as they wandered back toward the house. He seemed to be satisfied with her explanation about brooding, adventurous men being the best models for statues. In reality, she had meant to say they made the best imaginary lovers! What a narrow escape! Still, even though he appeared to let the subject go, she was suspicious. The basement was a different, safer topic of conversation.

“
Oh, yes,” Lauryn moaned. “And it’s even creepier than the ol’ root cellar.”

“
Good.” Brant chuckled. “Take me there.”

“
Brant! It’s darker than anythin’ in there and just crawlin’ with critters and bugs,” Lauryn argued.

“
I’ll go alone. No need to have you get upset again,” he assured her. But Lauryn didn’t want him to go alone. What if he did find something she had missed in the past? So they went into the kitchen and opened the door to the basement.

“
You ain’t goin’ down there are you?” Patrick exclaimed as they started to descend the stairs. He and Uncle Johnny sat at the table immersed in a fiery game of cards.

“
Your sister says this is her favorite part of the house,” Brant teased.

“
Well, she’ll be squawkin’ like a pinched hen halfway down Brant. So plug up your ears!” With that, Patrick returned his attention to the game at hand.

“
Basements are dark and cold, Brant, my boy,” Uncle Johnny mumbled. “You be sure and make the most of it. You hear?” He winked impishly at Lauryn who could do nothing to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks.

“
You know me, Uncle Johnny,” Brant assured him.

“
Well, I hope so,” the elderly man chuckled.

Lauryn simply brushed an escaped strand of her hair from her cheek and tried to appear unruffled. Yet, her memory of being so closely held by Brant in the cellar the night before caused her blush to intensify and her heart to race. Who knew what flirtatious opportunities might await her in the basement?

The basement of Connemara, though cool, was unbearably stuffy. Brant coughed several times as he reached the bottom of the stairs; Lauryn was close at his heels already looking anxiously around in the darkness for whatever creature might startle her next. The lantern that hung just inside the basement door was insufficient to illuminate the darkness. Lauryn’s skin prickled as she imagined creepy, crawly things crawling in her hair.

“
Great Grandfather wouldn’t have brought her down here,” Lauryn said to Brant. “It wouldn’t have been safe. The Union soldiers would have searched it.”

“
But, he didn’t think they’d find your grandmother and the others…and they were hidden right there in the house, right?” Brant reminded her.

“
Yes, but…aahhh!” Lauryn’s shrill squeal startled Brant. He turned to see her dancing around frantically as a large, lethargic-looking rat waddled across her path. Brant chuckled and booted the rodent aside with his foot.

“
Stay close, my lady,” he teased. “This won’t take too long.” Indeed, after just a few minutes, Brant seemed convinced Laura had not died in the basement at Connemara.

“
It’s all brick…the basement. No allowance for secret doors or the like,” Lauryn whispered.

Brant sighed with disappointment and held the lantern high to look up at the basement ceiling which were the floors of Connemara house.

“
What kind of wood is this?” he asked.

Lauryn looked at him in disbelief. “What kind of wood? How would I know that? All I know is it’s crawlin’ with livin’ things I can’t see down here and…”

“
I’ve never seen a grain like that before. It looks….” Brant again held the lantern higher. He reached up and pressed the wood just above his head. “Where are we? I mean…what room is just above us?”

It seemed he was taking their conversation down an odd route but Lauryn answered anyway. “The parlor. I think we should be just about…yep. Just under the parlor. Why?”

“
Well…look at the wood up here. See how it’s dark in some places and not in others. It’s strange.” Brant frowned and looked down at her.

“
I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

He smiled. “For what.”

“
That Connemara’s wood floors are….strange.”

“
I think just about everything at Connemara is strange,” he chuckled.

Lauryn, about to scold him for teasing, instead sucked in her breath, horrified at the large eight-legged beast that was crawling along Brant’s left shoulder.

“
What’s the matter, Lauryn? You’re as pale as a sheet,” Brant asked.

Somehow, though it was completely adverse to her normal behavior, somehow Lauryn found the courage to reach up and brush the spider from Brant’s shoulder; she stomped on it furiously and smashed it into nothing more than a large brown spot on the dirt beneath their feet, all the while screeching intermittently.

When she’d finished her frenzied mutilation of the beast, she stood before Brant, breathless with residual fear. Brant simply stood staring at her, eyebrows raised in astonishment.

“
Well, one thing is for sure,” he said. “That spider will never have the guts to do that again.”

Lauryn laughed nervously at his humor. “I suppose he won’t.”

Then, with a devilish grin, Brant put his hand dramatically to his chest and breathed, “You saved my life.”

Lauryn rolled her eyes, still too undone by her frightening experience to find easy mirth in the situation. “That’ll be enough, Mr. Masterson,” she scolded.

“
But…but I’m sincerely grateful, Ma’am,” he chuckled. “I saw it all…my whole life…flashing before my eyes. And then, WHACK! I was back…safe in the arms of Connemara’s basement.”

“
I’ll have you know that it took every ounce of courage I had to kill that beast!” Lauryn snapped.

“
I know. I know it did. And I thank you.” Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, which by now was completely free from its pins. He smiled. Lauryn, angry as she tried to be at him for mocking her, could only melt at the sight of him standing before her so handsome and strong, so amused and so approving. Brant Masterson was a living, breathing dream.

“
What a pistol she is,” Brant noted as he studied Lauryn’s flustered expression. Even in the low light of the lantern he could see the remnant of absolute terror in her eyes. How perfectly sweet that she would protect him.

He relished the wild look of her just then; the way her hair escaped its proper pinning to stream down around her shoulders, naturally rebellious. The way her eyes flickered with residual determination in the face of fear. He half expected her to turn around and reveal a pair of gossamer fairy wings attached to her shoulders—half expected golden light to suddenly beam brilliantly from the tips of her fingers—half expected a radiant glow to appear like tiny threads of enchanted illumination woven in with every strand of her beautiful hair. She was too adorable to be safe. Too tempting. To much an irresistible lure to a man like himself who had always possessed a great deal of self-control.

All his life the females of the species had seemed drawn to him for some reason for which he had no explanation. When he was a boy, the girls were so silly in his presence that, at times, he had wondered if there was an intelligent one among them anywhere. He admitted that in his adolescence he had been somewhat conceited for a time. It was embarrassingly obvious that he was considered the boy to strive to win. He’d enjoyed the female attention he received and basked in his popularity none too humbly…but only for a short time. Laura herself, had taught Bant to have a great respect for the tender, nurturing, romantic side of women. He’d never used his charms to beguile or mislead…never done any seriously damaging wooing or seducing. And, as a man, he had at last found maturity, thank the Heavens—not only physical, bodily maturity, but maturity of mind and attitude. He’d read the hearts of many a young woman and learned to spare them greater heartache by being honest from the beginning of an acquaintance.

But this little pixie…Lauryn…this one was different! She intrigued him—her wit, the romantic daydreams he suspected she secreted, her way of thinking. All of it added up to nothing more than mortal danger to a man who boasted silently to himself about owning a profound self-control.

Again, Brant reminded himself that he’d come to help solve the infernal mystery that had plagued his life. He’d come to find Laura. Laura was why he’d come back. But he feared that Lauryn would prove to be too tempting, to perfectly adorable to resist for much longer.

“
I hate the basement!” Lauryn exclaimed once they were in the kitchen again.

“
I figured that,” Brant chuckled, as he hung the lantern on the hook just inside the basement door.

Lauryn brushed the dust from her shoulders. “I wonder where Patrick has dragged your uncle off to.”

“
Don’t know,” Brant mumbled. “But I’m sure Uncle Johnny will keep Patrick hopping.”

“
I’m certain one of them will keep the other hoppin’, at the very least. Would you like some lemonade?” Lauryn asked.

“
Sure,” Brant agreed, pulling a chair out from the small kitchen table, turning it around and straddling the seat as he sat down. “Well… you’re right. Nothing notable in the basement,” he remarked.

“
Just another disappointment in a long line of them,” Lauryn sighed, pouring each of them a glass of lemonade

“
So,” he began as she handed him his drink and sat down across from him at the table. “What are your ambitions, Miss Kensington?”

“
My ambitions?” she repeated. Lauryn had been fully prepared to converse further about the task at hand. The basement was unproductive, as were so many other places at Connemara. She was certain Brant would want to talk about where else they could look. His sudden change of subject caught her completely unprepared.