Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (13 page)

* * *

W
yatt’s smile
drooped at the mention of her leaving. After their kiss, he didn’t want her anywhere but at his side.

Not until the issue of her attempted murder was resolved.

Resolved to his satisfaction, that was.

His mood brightened, and a smile kicked up the corners of his mouth. It could take months. Plenty of time to change her stubborn mind and talk her into staying.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She was an enigma.

Innocence and sensuality combined.

He liked the way she felt standing by his side.

Like she belonged there.

The factory finally came into view, and Brighid stiffened, pulling away from him again as the outside world intruded. His gut tightened at the ease in which she distanced herself from him.

She was still too skittish.

He feared that if he turned his back on her for even one second, she would try to run again.

He was determined to make sure it did not happen.

W
yatt lifted
her down from the horse. While he held her suspended in his arms, her lips inches away from his, he debated the wisdom of succumbing to temptation to kiss her again. Her turbulent green eyes made mincemeat of his control, urging him to give into the rash demands of his body, consequences be damned. When she didn’t turn away, he knew she wouldn’t refuse him, and his conscience lurched at her capitulation.

She deserved more from him than rushed kisses, and he wanted sufficient time to explore her without interruption.

He had a feeling that a few days wouldn’t be enough.

He lowered her, his body alive as she slid down his front. When her feet came to rest on the ground, they froze, neither wanting the moment to end.

He swept his fingers down her sides, stealing one last touch before reluctantly dropping his hands. Only when she moved away did sanity return, and he slipped his arm around her waist in the guise of guiding her. In truth, he couldn’t be near her and not touch.

Wyatt worried about bringing her back to the place where she’d almost died, and shuddered at the thought of what would happen should he fail to rescue her a third time. He clenched his fingers into fists, barely resisting the urge to snatch her up in his arms and disappear with her before it could happen.

Which was impossible.

He had duties to attend, people who depended upon him, and simply could not leave on a whim. He needed to find the person responsible for this chaos. That didn’t stop him from relishing her disheveled appearance and remembering how she came to look that way. He tipped his head closer and inhaled deeply, her jasmine scent giving him comfort. He shuffled closer until she was forced to brush against him with each step. He wanted everyone who saw them to know she was his. The thought startled him. Their attachment was supposed to be a ruse. When had the innocent lie to keep her safe become the truth?

As they entered the factory and went up the stairwell to the office, he was conscious of Brighid’s silence.

He could almost see her mind whirling while she plotted.

When they reached the landing, she placed her hand on his arm, lifting those enchanting green eyes up to his. “Why don’t I stay out here to give you and Aaron some privacy?”

Wyatt hesitated, hating the thought of leaving her alone and vulnerable, but something in her expression looked so fragile he was afraid if he pushed her further she might shatter. “I’ll agree, but I don’t want you to move from this spot. Understood?”

His gut clenched at her meek nod, and his suspicions went on alert.

She was up to something.

With one last, narrow glance, he turned and entered the office.

“What brings you here so early?” Aaron rose from behind his desk, his jacket haphazardly tossed across the back of his chair.

“Angelica.” Wyatt didn’t say anything more and instead scanned Aaron’s notes.

“You seem almost happy about it.” Aaron tilted his head, his brow raised in question. “Quite a switch from yesterday.”

Wyatt couldn’t prevent the way his eyes strayed toward the window. When he turned and sat, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair at Aaron’s knowing smile. The bastard always saw too much. He didn’t want to examine what took place between him and Brighid. It was something private that he wasn’t ready to share. He nodded to Aaron’s rumpled shirt. “You look like you were up all night. Take a break and tell me what you found.”

“Angelica’s very persistent. Very single-minded.” Aaron leaned back in his chair and stretched, ignoring Wyatt’s demand for a change in subject.

Everyone seemed to want to talk about Angelica. First Brighid, and now Aaron. Wyatt feared his smile was more of a grimace. “Where are you going with this?”

“You asked me to help. I’m looking at every aspect.” Aaron scratched the back of his neck. “I think we can rule her out, but we don’t need an overprotective brother mixed up in the investigation.”

“Michael? We’ve gotten along well enough, but he’s always been against a union between our families.”

“Do you know him well?” Aaron gathered a loaf of bread and cheese from a basket on the sideboard—no doubt charmed from some unsuspecting woman—offering Wyatt some before shoving a large portion into his mouth.

“Not really. We’re nearly the same age, but I went to school a year or two earlier.” Wyatt waved off the food and drummed his fingers on the table, impatient to do something.

Aaron chewed slowly, and Wyatt could swear he could almost see the man’s mind churning. “So you were never close?”

“He always felt he was too good to socialize with the locals, but he was too poor to partake of the London scene. I tried to help out when his land went to auction, purchasing it at a higher price so he wouldn’t lose everything.”

Aaron polished off the food and leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any enemies I don’t know about?”

“You and I have angered our fair share of people in our work for the Crown, but nothing that could be traced back to us. I haven’t been around the estate long enough for anyone to want to destroy me.”

He flexed his fingers, welcoming the idea of getting his hands on whoever was responsible. He wanted this matter settled so he could focus all his attention on Brighid.

He glanced out the window then launched to his feet when he saw the platform was empty. “Bloody hell.”

Panic tightened his chest, as if someone had sucker-punched him. He shot out the door at a full run, fear slithering down his back when he found no sign of her.

Brighid had vanished.

* * *

B
righid paced back
and forth along the platform, unable to stop thinking about Wyatt. His nearness rattled her so much she couldn’t tell up from down. Too much had happened recently. Almost dying, her first kiss, not to mention the announcement of her marriage to a complete stranger.

It would be dangerous to allow herself to believe anything could come from a relationship with him.

But then why did the thought of him with anyone else cause her stomach to pitch?

A movement under one of the smaller looms caught her attention, and Brighid leaned over the railing for a better look. Unfortunately, whatever she’d seen had disappeared under the machinery. Curiosity lured her down the stairs until she stood on ground level. She skirted around the edges of the factory, leaving the main room for the smaller area in back that worked on custom-made rugs.

Hundreds of threads were strung across the loom, the machine moving up and down faster than any human could duplicate. The machine rhythmically pushed a shuttle to tighten the cross threads, creating the rug. She knew she shouldn’t investigate further, but the possibility of finding a clue kept her moving forward. Beneath the threads and hundreds of moving parts, she saw a young boy scuttling closer and closer to the moving frame.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she dropped to her knees, expecting the boy to be crushed any second. The factory employed children to clean the looms, but Wyatt treated his employees well. They cleaned the machines in the morning, before work began, when the looms were shut down. The child’s presence made no sense.

She peered through the moving parts and cursed. Even if she wanted to call out to him, he wouldn’t be able to hear her above the deafening noise. For all of a heartbeat she debated running for help, but feared that by the time she could return, the child would be dead.

Moving swiftly, she kept low and crawled after the boy.

Steam pipes that propelled the machine pinged in the confined space, the heat reflected off the floor, making the air nearly unbearable to breathe. The boy was only a few feet ahead when he reached into the pounding, relentless machinery. Her breathing halted altogether. One wrong move and the child could be pulled into the machine and mangled beyond recognition.

Stretching out on her stomach, she inched forward until she could wrap her hand around his ankle and yanked him away from the moving parts. When he was stretched out beside her, she saw burn marks all over his arms. They were all recent, meaning that this wasn’t the first time someone had sent him into the loom.

Beneath the thick layer of grime, he was covered in bruises, clearly having been beaten within an inch of his life. Her fingers curled into fists, and she wanted to hunt down the bastard who’d harmed him and teach him a lesson.

Her powers swelled as if in agreement, eager to do her bidding.

She urged the boy onto his knees and guided him away from the machine. The boy stared up at her with wide, terrified brown eyes, then held out his hand, a small part of the machine in his fist.

Brighid put two and two together and blanched.

Someone had sent a
child
in to sabotage the machine.

Even as she listened, the pipes gave a loud groan of complaint, letting her know there was no time to put the part back, even if she knew how to fix it. Brighid pushed the boy out in front of her, silently cursing as her skirts hampered her movements. As they neared the edge of the wooden frame, a pair of legs came into view, and the kid halted.

It didn’t matter if they were friend or foe, if she and the boy stayed here, they were dead.

She gave the kid one last shove. The man caught him and pulled him to safety, then reached down for her as well. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed his hand and accepted his help.

Only to freeze when he pulled her free of the machine.

She recognized him from the school as one of the Watchers.

He’d found her.

Terror held her immobile in its grip when the machine took the decision out of her hands and gave a sharp, warning whistle, its rhythm growing erratic.

“Get the boy out of here. The machine is going to blow.” The man’s hand tightened on her, as if he couldn’t decide whether to take her captive and disappear during the chaos. People probably wouldn’t notice she was missing for a few hours.

Enough time to disappear with her.

Some goodness must have remained. He released her and swung the boy up in his arms. The loom was in the corner, so the blast would be contained up to a point, but they would never be able to escape in time. The Watcher must have reached the same conclusion, and dove behind the crates and dropped to his knees, protecting the boy with his body.

Brighid whirled and stood between the loom and the others, facing the machine. Heat seared up her legs when she called upon her powers. The machine gave a death scream, and Brighid threw her power at it just when it exploded.

Wind tore through the room, forcing the majority of the blast away from the Watcher and the boy. Unfortunately, the move left her vulnerable, unable to shield herself from a few of the stray pieces of the debris that peppered the room like shrapnel.

Wood and metal pierced her flesh, and she was hurled backward from the blast, the wall breaking her fall and knocking the breath clear from her lungs.

Her ears rang, the room spun as she struggled to push herself up on her hands and knees. She coughed when smoke filled the room, and she glanced up to see fire eating its way toward her. She struggled to stand as fire rapidly engulfed the room.

“No.” She refused to die.

She refused to give up.

She went through her few options. There was too much air. She would never be able to smother the flames without the risk of killing anyone who wandered too close.

Her eyes fell on to the twisted pipes.

Pipes meant water.

It took all her concentration to pull water out of the maze of pipes. She forced it into the air, and rain finally began to sprinkle down on the entire room.

Smoke thickened as the flames sputtered.

She strained to hold the water steady, but it trickled to a stop when the last of her strength drained out of her. She turned on unsteady legs and came face-to-face with the Watcher. His shape blurred in and out of focus as the world around her began to twist, and the ground rushed up to meet her.

The pain was nearly crippling, and she struggled to stay conscious as the man hurried toward her. She wanted to curse at him to get away from her, but the sound only came out as a whimper. She couldn’t even lift her hand to defend herself.

Shouting erupted in the distance, and her gaze flicked toward the entryway.

People poured into the area. When she glanced back at the Watcher, it was to see him disappear in the smoke. The child rushed over and patted her arm urgently, as if trying to get her to move.

The Watcher could have killed or taken her but he’d done neither.

Why?

“Brighid!”

Then the mystery of the Watcher became unimportant when Wyatt appeared through the smoke and sprinted toward her. He dropped to his knees, cradling her close like she were something precious.

The blast must have addled her wits to wish for such a thing.

She debated telling him about the Watcher, but ultimately decided to keep it to herself. Wyatt had bigger problems to deal with at the moment. The Watcher likely had nothing to do with the blast. He wouldn’t have stayed behind and risked being killed.