Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (21 page)

He coughed, and Brighid reluctantly loosened her stranglehold on him, easing him upright in her lap. “I don’t know what to call you. Can you tell me your name?”

He shook his head negatively, bumping against her shoulder.

“Well, you need a name.” Brighid said it cheerfully and took a moment to think it over. “You need something special. How does Paul sound? It means small, but I think some of the best surprises come in the smallest packages.” He sat so still Brighid didn’t think he’d answer. Then she felt his slight nod, the movement brushing his hair against her chin.

The man had made a mistake in not killing her immediately, because now she was determined to escape and catch the bastard.

“We need to get out of here. I found the door, but it’s locked. I need you to sit here while I check the rest of the room.” He tightened his grip on her arm, and Brighid gave him a quick squeeze. “You’re such a brave boy. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She circled the room without encountering any furniture…or any other avenues of escape. She tried to imagine how her cousins would get out of this situation, but she couldn’t conceive how any of them would get into such a predicament in the first place.

Only one solution came to her.

Her gifts.

She winced at the idea of breaking her promise not to use them.

Again.

Instead of dithering like a ninny, she decided to be practical and debate the issue later when they were safe. Brighid knelt and grimaced when the cuts on her knees broke open and fresh blood trickled down her legs.

“Paul.” She touched his face and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “I am going to open the door.” She paused to think of a way to explain. “No one can know how we escaped, so we have to keep it a secret. Can you keep a secret?” He gave an emphatic nod, and she ruffled his hair. “Good. I knew you could. No matter what happens, I don’t want you to feel scared.”

In truth, it would destroy her if he came to think of her as a monster. His hands touched her face, and he gave her a light pat. “That’s my boy. Let’s get out of here.”

She struggled to her feet, and the scrapes on her knees screamed in agony. She shivered in the damp air and called upon her gifts. Goose bumps prickled along her skin, but the power never manifested, the runes wrapped around her feet remained stone cold.

She heard of Druids who’d used their gifts for their own gain, only to lose them. Instead of being happy at the chance to be normal, devastation hollowed out her chest. It was like losing half her soul, the best part of her torn away because of a rash promise.

Paul tugged on her skirt. When she spoke, her voice wobbled. “Are you ready?” She patted his head, comforted when he snuggled close. “Then here we go.”

She blew out a breath. Instead of the familiar heat, darkness unfurled, creating a vast emptiness that seeped through her whole body. She hadn’t realized how much her gifts were a vital part of her until they were gone. “Please come back.”

Brighid closed her eyes, determined to try again, despite the exhaustion that threatened to steal the last of her reserves. If she succeeded in opening the door, she wouldn’t be walking out under her own power.

She needed to choose…rescue either the boy or herself.

It was no contest.

Her powers were reluctant at first, the ribbons on her feet a faint glow. She poured more of herself into it, the heat burning deeper and stronger. New lines seared up the sides of her legs, feeling as if her flesh had been stripped away.

Too much power.

Her blood turned to molten lava, the pain strong enough to bow her back, until her entire body felt ready to catch fire. Static collected under her skin to unbearable levels, then the power exploded outward.

Wind howled like an angry beast. Wood splintered and shot outward like tiny darts zinging through the air. Paul clapped, his face alight with awe. But as the energy drained, all her strength vanished, and she dropped to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Paul prodded her shoulder, and Brighid struggled to lift her head.

“Run for help.” The command rasp against her throat. She pushed him away, but the stubborn little scamp refused to budge. “You win, but if you even think he might return, you have to run and find Wyatt. I mean it this time.”

Only when he nodded did Brighid heave a sigh of resignation and crawl to her hands and knees. Her head throbbed in retaliation, and she swayed precariously while she fought to stay conscious. Paul steadied her, his spindly arms surprisingly strong.

The world tilted as she stumbled out the door, and she gouged her arm on a jagged splinter from the doorframe. Blood trickled from the nasty gash, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her stomach churned, and she used the pain to focus.

Once outside, she noticed light creeping back into the forest. Morning frost covered the ground. Leaves swirled in the light breeze in a dizzy array. With each step, her queasiness faded. They dodged vegetation, ducking under branches. Urgency thickened the air. She scrutinized the shadows, poised for someone to charge out and try to take them captive again. When the trees thinned, her pace slowed. Without the cover of the woods, they would be very vulnerable.

Easy targets.

Paul pointed in the distance, and she spied the vague shape of a large building sprawled along the skyline. The sun shimmered against the windows, setting it ablaze like a beacon welcoming her home.

Graystone Manor.

All that stood between them and safety was a vast expanse of open lawn. Brighid gathered up her skirts, grabbed Paul’s hand, and ran.

W
yatt came
in for breakfast at Aaron’s insistence. He rubbed his bruised jaw, then looked across the table and stared at the welt forming around his friend’s left eye. “Sorry about that.”

“I understand, but you weren’t doing her any good wandering the countryside in the dark. You need at least an hour to clear your head and eat.” Aaron shoveled a mouthful of eggs into his mouth.

“I’m going out again when we’re finished.” Wyatt warned, then mimicked his friend by cramming down his food as fast as he could swallow. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could retrieve his wife. Then spank her within an inch of her life for disappearing on him in the first place.

“I expected nothing less. I’ll be right behind you.” His fork scraped on the empty plate, and Aaron set it aside and pick up his cup.

Wyatt released a harsh breath. He’d managed only a handful of hours to sleep in the past few days, first when Brighid nearly died in the chapel, and now with her disappearance. The sharp edge he depended upon in emergencies had inevitably been dulled.

He had to find her.

He hadn’t realized he spoke aloud until Aaron replied.

“We will. You can’t doubt it.”

A commotion erupted in the hallway, stopping all conversation. Wyatt jolted to his feet, sloshing coffee on his trousers. “Damn.”

Ignoring the searing flash of pain, he ran out the door, Aaron hard on his heels. The sight in the hall stopped him faster than a stone wall. Aaron slammed into his back, forcing him into motion.

“Brighid?”

“We made it.” She stood in the hall, her dress stained with dirt and blood and hanging on her in tatters. Her hair was tangled with leaves and twigs. When she lifted her head, he sucked in a sharp breath and nearly choked.

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing the dried blood that covered the left side of her face. A large cut ran from above her temple and slashed down to bisect her eyebrow.

Fear lanced through him, the severity of her injuries scaring twenty years off his life. He didn’t realize he moved until he stood face-to-face with her. “Brighid?”

She gave him a weak wave then leaned over, panting for air. Afraid she might collapse at his feet, he swept her up in his arms, startling a squeak from her.

“Wyatt, put me down this instant. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Brighid wheezed between words, then grimaced. “In a minute or two.”

His arms tightened, and he hoisted her higher, not putting it past her to wiggle out of his hold. “You look ready to fall over.”

He turned and found his way blocked by the boy, concern etched on the young face. Wyatt looked up and searched the gathering crowd. “I want you to go with Trudy. She’ll help you clean up and give you food. When you’re done, you can visit Brighid. Right now, she needs a bath and rest.”

The boy allowed himself be led away, his feet dragging, never once removing his gaze from Brighid. Wyatt didn’t blame the kid. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, either. He mounted the stairs, calling over his shoulder. “Aaron, fetch the doctor.”

“There’s no need.” Neither man so much as acknowledged her protest, and Brighid heaved a sigh. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re injured.”

“I must look a fright, but it’s only a few scratches. I’m fine.” She glanced down at herself with a sigh and tried to brush off the worst of the muck clinging to her. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my new dress.” The hem of her skirt was ragged, the fabric torn in a few spots. The jacket was ripped and stained beyond repair.

As if sensing her distress, Wyatt leaned down until his nose touched hers. “I’ll buy you a dozen new dresses, but first the doctor will examine you, if only for my peace of mind—or I will do it myself. Your choice.”

Much to his disappointment, she nodded meekly, her green eyes wide at his threat.

“Wyatt?”

His mother stood at the top of the stairs. “Order a bath. Have some clothes set out for her.”

He didn’t wait for her questions, but took the stairs two at a time. “Who did this to you?”

Brighid shook her head and winced. “He struck me from behind. I didn’t see anyone.”

A growl rumbled up his chest. Cowardly bastard. He walked past her room and opened his door instead. He needed time alone with her. To confirm for himself that she was all right.

Brighid reached out to grab the doorframe. “This is your room.”

He raised a brow, but when she showed no signs of relenting, he dipped his arms, gratified when she squealed and clutched his shoulders. “Yes.”

His room.

Where she belonged.

When he entered the room, his stride slowed. He found himself very reluctant to set her down. He freely admitted he’d made a mistake in the way he married her. He compounded the mistake by not setting down some rules.

No more.

He settled her on the bed with the greatest of care. Even before he straightened, she rolled across the top and came to her feet on the other side.

Frustration roared through him. He stalked around the bed to stand in front of her and planted his feet.

She had nowhere else to go.

“Strip.”

She blinked up at him like a rumpled little hellcat. “What? No.”

“A bath has been ordered. You need to get clean. Strip, or I’ll do it for you.”

She narrowed those gorgeous green eyes of hers at him, and his cock reacted predictably. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His blood pumped faster at the challenge. Wyatt bared his teeth and moved closer until only a few inches separated them. The chit only lifted her stubborn chin. He leaned still closer, so they were eye to eye, barely resisting the urge to touch her. Once he started, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. “Try me.”

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly wary. “Turn around.”

“No.” In fact, hell, no. The last time he let her out of his sight, she’d disappeared. He would never make that mistake again. He stepped back, crossed his arms and waited. Part of him wanted her to refuse so he could do it himself, but he resisted, reminding himself that he’d have many opportunities to undress her in the future.

He expected her to flee. Instead, she pinned up locks of her hair. He thought watching her remove her clothes would be the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, but watching her coil her hair, exposing her delicate nape, nearly broke his control.

A few strands escaped to trail down the curve of her neck, and he wanted to place his lips right there. Without an ounce of shyness, she unhooked the front of her dress, and slid the sleeves off her shoulders. Not once did she look away from him. His ardor cooled when he saw the various wounds, some deep, scattered everywhere on her body, and he struggled not to notice her tantalizing skin as he assessed her injuries. Her skirt slithered down her hips to pool at her feet. The petticoats and bloomers quickly followed. She released her garters and slowly unrolled her stockings.

Dressed in her stays and a shift, she reached up for the strings, then stopped. “You don’t need to watch. I’m not going to run.”

Wyatt almost wished she would, so he could give chase and have an excuse to touch the tantalizing, delectable skin. Turning around wasn’t an option…he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Unable to resist, he reached out and snagged the ribbons of her stays, slowly unlacing them until she stood wearing only her shift.

He waited for her to protest the liberty, but she simply glanced at him with those vivid green eyes that called to his soul. It kept him from taking more.

“My lord.” Wyatt deftly turned and stepped protectively in front of Brighid, gritting his teeth when Brighid ducked to retrieve her skirts. A servant peered between the connecting doors. “The bath is ready.”

Glad to have a reason to move away before he did something he would regret, he nodded. “Very good. We’ll take it from here.”

A fire blazed in her room, a steaming tub stood full and waiting. Without her standing in front of him, he was able to get his body under control. By the time he returned, she held the dress to her chest, all her inner fire muted. It enabled him to ignore her shapely curves and focus on the gashes, cuts, and bruises that were scattered everywhere.

The extent of her injuries appalled him, but he couldn’t tell how bad they actually were under the caked mixture of dirt and blood. He stood back and held the door open for her. “Come, your bath awaits.”

After only a second hesitation, she entered the room ahead of him, and he found himself mesmerized by the bewitching sway of her hips. When she stopped next to the tub, he nearly plowed into her.

The large tub sat in front of the roaring fire. Instead of stripping down and getting in the tub, Brighid whirled and clutched the dress to her breasts. “I can manage from here.”

Wyatt didn’t respond, instead he pried the dress out of her fists. If he enjoyed himself, he deserved it after the night of hell she’d put him through. “Keep the shift on if you must, but you’re getting in that tub either on your own or with help. The choice is yours.”

It wasn’t for propriety’s sake, but rather for his own sanity that he allowed her to keep the shift.

To give her some privacy, he turned and placed her dress across the back of the chair. By the time he turned around, he nearly swallowed his tongue.

He had seriously misjudged the situation and the extent of his self-restraint.

The wet shift molded to her every curve, the material turning transparent where it clung to her breasts. She’d submerged herself up to her neck, huddled under the water. Unfortunately, the few suds did little to cover her curves. As if noticing where his attention had landed, she brought her knees to her chest. She picked up a cloth and scrubbed, studiously pretending that he wasn’t there. But the way she seemed determined to scrub off her skin revealed her true state of mind.

He strode toward her, shrugging out of his jacket as he went.

Her head popped up like an animal sensing a predator, and she stopped moving. “What are you doing?”

He rolled up his sleeves and knelt at her side. Water sloshed when she scooted over to put more distance between them, and the washcloth plopped into the tub.

Wyatt plucked it out of the water, working it with a sliver of soap. He needed to see how badly she was injured. He wanted the dirt gone, the proof of his inability to protect her.

Again.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Before she could leap out of the tub, he captured her ankle and lifted her foot out of the water. She didn’t seem to know how to react. She clutched the sides of the tub, ready to bolt, but the position didn’t give her much traction. Finally, she leaned back, crossing her arms to hide those beautiful breasts that begged for his touch.

He ran the cloth over her, enjoying the novelty of touching her, fascinated by the tattoos wrapped around her feet and up her legs, secretly fantasizing about tracing the lines with his lips.

He needed a distraction before he followed through with his thought. “Where did you get this tattoo? The detail is amazing.”

Then he noticed something odd.

The pattern had changed since the glimpse he stole at the cottage.

He was sure of it.

When he leaned closer for a better view, Brighid cleared her throat. Her toes curled, and she tugged on her leg, trying to remove temptation from his clutches. Wyatt held firm, refusing to allow her to retreat. “Fine, you don’t have to answer. Then why don’t we discuss why you broke your promise?”

“I might have bent the promise, but I didn’t break it.” Brighid refused to lower her eyes at his accusation and sank further under the water to hide from his probing gaze. A pang of regret ate away at her conscience, and she brushed the thought out of her mind with all the consideration it deserved. “People saw me leave.”

“Not good enough.”

“Now, wait a minute.” She shook her head, narrowing her eyes. “That wasn’t our agreement. You can’t be with me every second of the day, and I can’t be expected to tell you every detail. We have to trust each other.”

“Why did he run?”

It took her a second to catch up with the quick change of subject. “I don’t have the foggiest notion. He hasn’t spoken.” Her skin tingled everywhere he dragged that itty-bitty piece of cloth, and she frantically wished he’d stop touching her so she could think straight. She tugged on her leg again, but he refused to release his claim. “Something frightened him.”

“You should have sent one of the servants to fetch him.”

“Yes, because that’s what you would have done.” Unfaded by her sarcastic tone, he gently washed a particularly nasty cut on her knee. Brighid sucked in a sharp breath, and he winced in sympathy, instantly gentling his hold.

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” Brighid lowered her hands to plant them on her hips, then quickly crossed her arms over her breasts again. The damned shift concealed nothing. She smiled, playing her trump card. “Anyway, if he left, how would you get the information you needed from him?”

Wyatt straightened and eyed her peculiarly. “What information?”

But she was distracted by his shirt…or more precisely, the way his wet shirt clung to him. “You’re getting wet.”

“You’re right.” Wyatt raised a brow at her soft tone. He didn’t give a damn, but he was fascinated by her reaction.

Distracted.

Riveted.

He leaned back, set the washcloth on the rim of the tub, and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulders. “Better?”

Instead of answering, she stared at his chest.

“Brighid?”

“Hmm?”

And Wyatt found himself charmed out of his anger, at least for now.

Since she was no longer trying to escape, he went back to work until the water turned murky. He paid specific attention to her knees, her arms and face, glad she’d stopped protesting and allowed him to take care of her. If his touched lingered at times, neither of them complained.

Once finished, he released the breath he’d been holding. Her injuries were bruises and minor cuts. She’d be fine. He refused to believe otherwise.

“You have a little something…” Brighid pointed to his collarbone.