Secret Of The Manor (18 page)

WARREN’S RIDE back to the stable was, to say the least, jumpy. Every time a bird twittered or something moved in the hedgerow, Argo pranced about. It took all of Warren’s skill to stop the animal from bolting. The cut on Argo’s mouth, inflicted by Carol, and the aftereffects of the shots had wound his horse up—a fact Warren was none too happy about. He understood the need to separate the fox permanently from the witch, but did it have to be done while half a ton of powerful horse was close by?

Thankfully, Argo didn’t harm himself further. Still, it didn’t stop Warren from scowling at Alex when he eventually showed up at the church doors with James’ rifle under his arm. His stiff stature and hard face made Warren back off saying anything to him.

After that, one action rolled into another. James and Alex took over, leaving Warren feeling useless and like a ghost himself. His body aching, he announced, “As you have everything under control, I’ll get Argo back to the stable. If I don’t go soon, Carl will send out a search party.”

James was so lost in the situation, he all but waved Warren away. Alex gave Warren a lingering look, which Warren shrugged off before striding out of the church. As far as Warren was concerned he was out of the loop until James deigned to include him again, and that didn’t sit right with him. The events of earlier, before James and Alex arrived, played on his mind. Their effect on him hadn’t truly hit home yet. He’d managed to defer his reaction through the distraction of the witch’s interrogation.

He needed space to process events, actions, and consequences.

By the time he made it back to the stable, he was flagging. He had a quiet drink, alone, and dealt with Argo and the cut on his lip. The cold weather gave him an excuse to wear extra winter clothing, which shielded him from the prying eyes of other owners.

Once in the house, he was glad only Eileen was about. Given what happened, he wasn’t prepared to face Carl. Eileen was more sedate than her husband, though no less forceful in character. She was horrified when he removed his scarf. “What in the blazes happened to you? Did Argo drag you through a hedge?” Warren was painfully aware he didn’t look model material. Surprisingly, she didn’t look at his neck. Instead, her fingers ghosted over his face. More specifically, a line along his cheek and over his lip.

Warren could see a number of questions reflected in her features, and although he wanted to enlighten her, he didn’t have the energy. He felt lost, and that showed in his voice. “Some stuff’s gone down today, which—if you call James, I’m sure he’ll fill you in. But at the moment I need a bath and time to gather my thoughts. Would you be an angel and keep an eye on Argo? He’s got a cut on his mouth. Probably a bit bruised in places, too. Other than that, I think he’s okay.”

“Alright, I’ll keep an eye on him. But what about you, luv?” Eileen pointed to Warren’s neck. “This looks sore.”

“Brambles. Would you mind checking the scratches for thorns? I promise I’ll explain everything later.”

“Okay,” she responded with an air of curiosity. “Yum a grown man, so I’ll keep me nose out for now.” She checked Warren for thorns; cleaned his face, neck, and wrists as best she could; and applied antiseptic cream. At the same time she gave him instructions on how to care for his injuries.

Warren kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Eileen. I’ll keep an eye on it all.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay, then. Best get going afore Carl catches wind of anything. You know what he’ll be like when he finds out whatever’s been happening. He means well, and he’s brilliant in a crisis, but if it’s as bad as you look, he’ll need the bluster taken out of him first.”

“You’re a gem, Eileen.” Warren leaned forward and gave her another soft kiss, then headed home.

NOT LOOKING at a thing, Warren peeled off the layers of his clothing and sank into his deep, salt-laced, foam-covered bath with a groan. He flinched as he lay back. When he dipped his head under the water, pain from the scratches on his neck made him hiss. He took a washcloth and held it over the cuts until the pain eased. Eventually, a sensation of warm soothing won out, though the odd spike of sharp pain reminded him that a barb or two remained. When he ran the suds over his legs and body he noticed varying sizes of bruises. His chest had a long line across it, like someone had drawn on it with a wide marker pen. His thighs and shins weren’t covered, but there were enough bruises to make it clear he hadn’t bumped into a hard surface.

Lying in the bath, surrounded by the warm comfort, Warren wasn’t as traumatised as he expected to be. In many ways, the day’s events echoed around his head like a bad dream. He didn’t shake or try to find excuses like he had after the joust. The logical side of him suggested that he should have expected something to happen. And what exactly had happened? An attempt on his life—an unsuccessful one—which proved someone or something was on his side, protecting him. That was comforting. The foundation of the curse had been discovered, along with its perpetrators. Two sources of power, the amulet and the familiar, were destroyed, and Warren was positive the altar wasn’t far behind. As for what would happen to Carol, he wasn’t sure. Warren
was
sure that if he won the joust, Nicholas would be free, but Alex’s fate still hung in the balance.

And what was up with James? After Christmas, he’d wheel-spun off the drive. Then there were his more recent actions. The man ran hot and cold. Warren suspected James’ single-mindedness at the church sprang from his eagerness to finally find a solution to his family’s woes. After so many years of living with the secret of the manor, he was within reach of a resolution—an end to centuries of persecution. It was a powerful incentive. Yet Warren couldn’t help feeling pushed aside, without importance—after all, he’d only committed himself to an unknown fate and was number one on the local witch’s hit list.

He could run. He could sell his house and move jobs. But he liked where he was. He loved the people and the place. His feelings for Alex grew deeper every day, to the point where his heart hurt, and for the first time since early adulthood, he had family in Carl and Eileen. Then there was the man who effectively started the events: Nicholas. Warren couldn’t leave Nicholas without his Christmas wish—peace.

The water surrounding him was cooling fast, and the bubbles had disappeared. As Warren exited the tub and dried himself, the towel caught on the embedded thorns, making him hiss in pain, again. It wasn’t until then that he focused on the cuts on his wrists. They were red, angry, and swollen. They looked as though he’d been struck with a fine-barbed whip. When he dealt with his legs the bruises pulsed under his hands, and his torso was sore. Warren dropped the towel and lurched to the toilet where he lost what little he had in his stomach. He wasn’t as unaffected as he’d thought. After, he sat on the cooling tiles. A number of deep breaths and latent tears later, he shakily put himself back together. Eventually, he swilled his mouth out, shaved, cleaned his teeth, and took care of his cuts as best he could.

Feeling somewhat more in control, he dressed in cotton boxers and a soft robe, retrieved the throw off his bed, went into his kitchen, and put on two slices of toast. With some sweet tea and butter-laden toast in hand, he made himself comfortable and slid a film into the DVD player. He didn’t watch it much; it was more background noise while he ordered his thoughts like he’d promised himself.

The next thing he knew, he was awakened by a loud knock. Wearily, he ambled over to his door, expecting to see Carl. Upon opening it, he was surprised to find Alex on the other side. Warren stifled a yawn. “Yes?”

“Oh, Jesus! I came to see how you were.”

Warren couldn’t say he was surprised by the reaction, considering Eileen’s was similar. He neither needed nor wanted this. He believed the time for such attention had passed. “Fine. Bye,” he growled. Warren knew he shouldn’t be so short with Alex. But, logic aside, he was still smarting from earlier. Alex and James had had a lot longer to come to terms with all this. Warren was new to attempts on his life. As he moved to close the door, Alex stopped him by jamming a foot in the closing gap.

“Warren, you’re not okay,” Alex insisted.

“I will be. Did Carl send you?” Warren knew there was no point in asking if it was James.

“No. Why?”

“No matter.” Warren tried to close the door again, but was unsuccessful.

“It does matter. You matter.” The distress in Alex’s voice was easy to hear.

“Oh, really?” Warren could have gone farther in his scathing reply, but he didn’t want to seem like a moaning Minnie. He’d been injured before. He’d deal. His short period of anguish paled in comparison to the years Alex and his family had endured. He was used to sorting out his moods on his own.

“Yes, really.”

Warren’s head was hurting, and he was tired. “Look Alex. I’m tired, I hurt, and I want to sulk in private.”

“Please, Warren. I can help,” Alex pleaded.

Warren grumbled under his breath and left the door open. He felt like E.T. as he penguin-walked back to his chair and slumped into it, then wished he’d chosen a more controlled descent. “How’d you get here? I didn’t see James’ car.”

“Walked cross-country. I know where you are in relation to the church. If you walk the line the crow flies instead of sticking to the paths, it’s not that far.”

“What about people seeing you? Thought you valued your privacy?”

“It was manor land, away from public pathways. I was safe,” Alex explained, despite the accusing nature of Warren’s comment.

Warren let out a huff. “How long are you here for?”

“As long as you need me.” The determination in Alex’s voice was backed up by his resolute face. Warren chewed it over for a minute.

“Make yourself at home. You know where the kitchen is.” Warren wasn’t in the mood for talking, and closed his eyes to shut everything out. He chastised himself for being rude, but hell, it was Alex who arrived before he’d had time to rein in his emotions.

A couple of minutes later, Warren felt the side of his chair dip and fingers carded through the hair at the nape of his neck. It was soothing, and he couldn’t help relaxing into the touch with a sigh. Then Alex eased him to the settee. With them both snuggled together under the throw, Warren’s ire subsided.

“I understand how you feel.” Alex placed a kiss on Warren’s head. “I went through something similar when I first changed back to being human. There’s so much to understand and get used to. What was normal changes. And everything that used to be weird becomes normal. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Learning to believe centuries of arcane lore isn’t a regular activity. Getting used to attempts on your life isn’t normal, either. Nor should it be. I went through denial, anger, sulks, frustration, and melancholy. I also had periods of being dreadfully scared where I sobbed my heart out. Eventually, my life settled into what it became. So yes, I understand what you’re feeling. James was there for me.” Alex paused for a minute to give Warren a squeeze, which was painful yet comforting. “James is worried about us both, you know.”

Warren huffed, “Huh, could have fooled me,” while snuggling further into the comfort of Alex’s embrace.

“Ahh, you noticed his actions a few days ago.” Alex didn’t wait for confirmation before he continued. “He’s worried about us in different ways. He’s afraid that I’m succumbing to hero worship. And he’s worried that you’re falling for a man who may not be able to give you what you need. He’s so grateful for the stance you’ve taken, and as such he wants to protect you from as much harm as he can, be it emotional or physical.”

Alex’s words upended anything Warren was thinking. The closest Warren got was believing James disapproved of his relationship with Alex—yet something else he had to process. Warren wanted to ask Alex what their relationship was. But with so many other things in his head, he sidelined the question for another, less-dramatic time.

Alex again tightened his arms around Warren, who moaned as his muscles protested. Alex immediately eased off a touch. “I saw how you were at the church, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Felt useless,” Warren mumbled.

“I got that—saw it in your eyes. And you have every right to be upset; an attempt was made on your life. Still, I’m sorry to sound hard, but you survived, and Carol had to be dealt with.”

Warren bristled at Alex’s statement, but he let it go, as he knew, logically, Alex was right. “What happened after I left?”

“We found her altar in the crypt and burned the essentials. There was other evidence of witchcraft, too. James has taken her to Father, along with pictures of what we destroyed and boxes of the items that remain.”

Warren was surprised to hear of Oliver’s involvement. Then again, with such a major development, the move wasn’t unreasonable. “What’s going to happen to her? Did she give you any more information on the connection between you and Nicholas?”

“I don’t know yet, and no. Her actions suggested, she was still hiding something. Unfortunately, I believe she’s prepared to take that to the grave with her. A last stand, as it were. Much like my own family, hers has centuries of investment in this. Loyalty that deep isn’t easily broken. Anyhow, I’m not here about her. I’m here for you. How are you holding up?”

“Getting there,” Warren assured him.

“I saw blood earlier. What injuries do you have?”

“Bruises. Scratches.” Warren had to hold back the gag factor whenever the memory of the tendrils in his throat assaulted him.

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

Warren gestured his acceptance.

Alex got on his knees, opened Warren’s robe, and checked his legs. The bruises on Warren’s thighs were deeper and angrier than those lower down. Warren’s boots had provided some protection. The bruises on his shins were red, whereas those on his thighs were already purple.

Alex ran his fingers over the ridged welts. “These need ice.” Warren shivered, not necessarily from the thought of the ice. Alex persevered, checking his torso, wrists, and neck. He carefully applied more cream to the scratches. Although Warren wasn’t one to be coddled, and he certainly hadn’t ever had as much cream applied to him before, he enjoyed the attention of being cared for instead of the self-help he’d been used to over the years.