Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (20 page)

“So it was an accident?” Aaron raised a brow at the unlikelihood of that.

“No. Someone wanted it to appear as if the key fell out of the lock. That key had been rusted in the door for years. Someone needed to put real effort in removing it.” He paused and spoke reluctantly. “Brighid believes the incidents are not related.”

Aaron took his time answering. “Brighid doesn’t seem like a fool. What does your gut say?”

“It’s too coincidental.” Wyatt clenched his fingers with the need to do violence. “It’s more likely we have a second spy in the house.”

B
righid cautiously peered
into her new room, but couldn’t make herself pass through the doorway. She’d been in such a rush to leave earlier that morning that she hadn’t paid any attention. Until now. The striking gold and white décor was both beautiful and intimidating, but what caught her attention was the wrapped gift in the center of the bed.

She approached cautiously, half expecting it to be a trick of some sort.

She poked at the small box, then gingerly picked it up, noting the slight weight, and shook it.

Something shifted inside.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and eased the lid off.

Inside, nestled in the paper, was a simple key.

Brighid plucked it out of the box, brows furrowed, and examined it until understanding dawned—the key to her new door. Clutching the key, she sat before the fire, a warm glow of pleasure rippling through her at Wyatt’s thoughtfulness, and she couldn’t stop her heart from melting just a smidge.

Trudy thrust open the door, entering in a whirl of skirts, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Brighid’s smile wilted a fraction. After the past few days, she didn’t know how many more surprises she could handle.

“You will enjoy this one.” Trudy ducked into the hall. When she returned, she tugged a small boy behind her.

The child she’d rescued from the factory.

The dark-haired boy watched the door as if ready to bolt. His clothes were clean, but hung loose on his thin body. Brighid spied him peeking at her from the corner of his eye and smiled at his shyness. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Trudy prodded him toward Brighid, concern furrowing her brow. “The little mite has yet to speak.”

Brighid paused, then brushed her hair away from her temple to show the boy the cuts and bruises that she’d accumulated. “I see we’re both a little worse for wear.”

In response, the boy ran and launched himself at her. Thin arms encircled her neck, almost cutting off her air, his tiny body vibrating with emotions.

“Oh, no.” Trudy wrung her hands, rushing forward to intervene.

Brighid was taken aback by his reaction but waved Trudy away. “It’s all right. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“What’s all the commotion?” Beth entered, and beamed when she spied the boy. “I see you made a new friend.”

She reached out to touch the boy only to see him flinch away.

“The poor child.” She clucked her tongue and sat across from them. “Angelica’s brother came by for tea. I was on my way to the parlor to greet him and thought you might want to join us.”

“For tea?” It emerged more of a squeak of dismay than a question, and she cuddled the boy closer, unabashedly using him as a shield. There were two exits, but she had a feeling the old lady was spry enough to tackle her if she tried anything.

“Yes, of course. You
are
the lady of the house, after all.” Beth gave her a victorious smile and looked around the room.

Brighid averted her face as all the details it entailed filled in her head—Wyatt and his damned kiss had addled her brain—and a wave of heat spread from her neck into her face.

“It appears her brother has come to retrieve her. Angelica is being sent home. If you don’t come downstairs, she will think she’s won.”

Beth prodded her out of the chair, but the child refused to release his stranglehold. Or maybe it was nothing more than her own anxieties. She wasn’t ready to take over the role of lady of the house. Wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready. “I—”

“Take him with you.”

Drat Beth’s keen perception. Panic clawed up her throat as she scrambled to come up with another excuse. “But—”

“You are now married to a peer of the realm. You can set your own rules, as long as they do not fall too outside of bounds. Now, come.” Beth motioned to take her arm but refrained when the child burrowed his face into the crook of Brighid’s neck.

Damn and blast it. Brighid conceded defeat and tromped down the stairs after Beth, grappling with her qualms. Angelica straightened from her slouch when Brighid entered, her glare clearly indicating that she blamed Brighid for her abrupt departure.

“Lady Castelline.” A well-dress man stood, offering her a short bow and charming smile in greeting. “I heard about the explosion and immediately came home to check on my sister, and thank you for the hospitality you extended to her.”

Brighid forced a smile and lied through her teeth. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Angelica’s brother stood a few inches taller than Brighid, but something in his posture, the way he stood just a little too close, disturbed her. His closely cropped brown hair was neat, his manners impeccable, and it surprised her to find the man handsome. Until she looked into his eyes. They were brown, and should have appeared soft and inviting, but the soulless way he studied her made her shudder. She dropped her gaze, fighting the urge to put as much distance between them as possible.

“I’m Michael Bennigan. We met a few days ago, but weren’t properly introduced.” He gave a quizzical look at the boy. “Is he yours?”

Though she might not make the rounds in
ton
, Brighid understood the inappropriateness of his question and liked him even less. Beth frowned in disapproval at the turn in conversation. The boy quaked in her hold, his terror almost a physical thing and unease grabbed Brighid by the throat. “Yes.”

Brighid sighed in relief when Michael gave them a measured stare before he strode away.

Shaken by her dislike, Brighid hovered near the exit, not sure she wanted to enter the room. The boy used her inattentiveness to wiggle loose and sprint toward the door.

“Wait!” Brighid didn’t hesitate for a second before giving chase.

“Lady Castelline!”

Lydia and Beth call after her, but she didn’t dare slow for fear she might lose sight of the boy. Not only was the child defenseless and alone in the world, but if he vanished, he would take with him their only clue. She was a pace behind the boy when he slipped out the front door. The bruises she’d accumulated slowed her down, and he managed to increase the distance between them.

“Wait!”

Her frantic call did nothing to deter the boy’s mad dash toward the woods. The reckless pace sent her heart plummeting to her feet, and she plunged after him, determined not to remember the last time she had been running in these very trees. Foliage dimmed what little sunlight managed to escape the clouds, giving the woods an eerie overcast. A trendily of cold snaked around her.

Few leaves littered the ground, leaving no sign of her quarry anywhere. He couldn’t have gotten far. A branch snapped to her right, and she veered off the invisible path.

She’d lived in this area for months, spent time in these woods, but as twilight crept through the trees, she recognized nothing.

She forced herself to remain calm, and it almost worked until she remembered her promise to Wyatt.

The promise she’d broken by leaving the house without letting him know where she was going.

If she didn’t get herself killed, Wyatt would murder her.

Brighid cast a reluctant look back in the direction of the manor, but couldn’t make herself abandon the boy.

With a deep breath for courage, she whirled and took off without a second glance. Cold seeped up her feet with each step, and she cursed the delicate slippers she couldn’t resist wearing.

If she wanted to keep going, there was only one answer, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.

She was useless without her power.

Finding things was not her specialty, but she could locate…disturbances.

She should since she’d caused enough of them.

Most Druids used their powers infrequently, because doing so often wreaked havoc on their health and could cause irreversible damage. That didn’t frighten her as much as losing what little control she possessed.

Even knowing the dangers, Brighid succumbed to temptation and closed her eyes. A hum of static rose up from her bones. The runes on her feet sizzled to life, constricting around her leg. With each use, she could feel the wards spread higher, wind tighter. Instead of releasing the power, she let it gather force until it burned under her skin like a swarm of angry bees.

Find the boy.

As if compelled, she found herself being turned and led further into the forest. Not once did she stumble or hesitate. The power left her abruptly, sank back into her bones like lead weight, stealing all that wonderful warmth. Shivering in the bitter chill, she opened her eyes and glanced around to orient herself.

And saw nothing but a sea of shadows.

Brighid stumbled to a stop when she noticed the sun was setting. The loss of light made everything seem larger, more menacing.

Carried on the air, as faint as the breeze, she heard the sound of sniffling.

Brighid hiked up her tangled skirts and marched forward. The crying stopped, and Brighid knew she must be near. “Hello?”

A small hand shot out of the shrubbery and latched onto her own. She dropped to her knees and crept forward. The boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, and she froze.

Then she heard it…footsteps.

She sagged in relief, opened her mouth to call out when the sense of something amiss stopped her.

The person didn’t shout their names.

A cheerful whistle chirped in the trees, as if to lure them out. She pushed the boy away from the sound and crawled into the shrubbery after him.

Branches snagged her hair, tugged at her scalp, and her dress made crawling nearly impossible, while doing little to protect her knees from the hard, unforgiving ground. Roots and gravel abraded her skin. Hair rose on her arms, and a deep shiver shook her as the feeling of being pursued prickled down her spine. She knew all too well what it was like to be stalked—it had haunted her all her adult life.

“Run!” Brighid took her own advice and raced after the boy.

He glanced back at her and stopped so suddenly she barely missed running him over. He clutched at her skirts, trying to tug her with him as he backed away.

“What?” But she already knew.

They had been led into an ambush.

She whirled to face her attacker, but too late.

A blinding pain slammed against the side of her face.

Stars exploded behind her eyes.

“Run!” She didn’t know if she spoke aloud or only in her head as darkness closed in on her. She never felt the impact as her body dropped unheeded to the ground.

* * *

B
righid shivered
and curled into a ball to keep warm. Reaching down, she groped for the covers, wanting another ten minutes of sleep.

Cool dirt met her palms.

She pried open her eyes and blinked to find that darkness had swallowed her whole. As she struggled to sit, her skull throbbed in retaliation. With a ragged groan, she carefully probed her head and encountered a large lump. Hissing in pain, she jerked her hand down. When she rubbed her fingers together, they came away tacky.

Blood.

At least the boy had escaped. Now it was her turn. Sure, Wyatt would search, but there was little chance of him finding her. No, if she wanted to survive, she would need to rescue herself this time. Brighid straightened with the care of a pregnant lady trying to get to her feet. Once upright, she stumbled drunkenly before gaining her balance.

She groped for the wall, using it to guide her. Rough wood met her palms. She must be in a shack of some kind. She trailed her hand along the surface, searching for a crack in the boards that would signal a way out. She turned the corner and came upon a ridge.

A door.

She traced the slight rise, her fingers fumbling in her excitement.

She dragged her hands over the wall in search for the knob.

Only to meet plain wood.

He’d barred the door from the outside.

Bastard.

She bit back the urge to kick the door. “It just gets better and better.”

She shook it off.

This was a minor setback.

She would find another exit. She reached out expectantly for the third corner when her foot connected with something soft, nearly sending her sprawling flat on her face.

She bent and groped blindly for what had tripped her on the off chance that she could use it on the door or as a weapon. The backs of her fingers bumped something soft, and she jerked back, her mind convinced she’d just tripped over the corpse of the last person who had been trapped. “Come on Brighid, there’s no reason to be afraid.”

She shuffled forward when her hands touched cloth. Too small to be an adult. Then her eyes widened in understanding. “No.”

Brighid ran her hands up the small body, and her hopes plummeted, her chest tightening in defeat. “You were supposed to run.”

When he didn’t react to her touch, Brighid knelt and gathered him close. His shallow breathing feathered her neck reassuringly, and she sighed in relief and plopped onto her bottom in an inelegant sprawl.

Guilt stabbed her through the heart. She would never forgive herself if he had been hurt.