The Kiss (5 page)

“Not now boy,” she said, fixing her odd eyes on him, before
taking Evie into her own arms. “I’ve to make her well first and here’s you be
hoping that I do.”

* * * *

Adam paced up and down the small kitchen, wafting smoke away from
his face as he did so. A number of pots and pans sat on the stove simmering
oddly, and Adam spied several forest creatures hopping or skittering around the
room.
What the hell does she do in here?

A pot gave off a strange yellow spark and Adam jumped back. He
wished he didn’t know the answer to his question but he did. Granny Hildegarde
mixed potions and herbs and although most of the good people in the county were
scared of her they still purchased her illicit mixtures—much to the anger of
the apothecary.

A frog or maybe a toad hopped into the spark emitting pot and
Adam wondered whether he should free the creature. He stepped forward to do so,
then changed his mind. It would be stupid to compound his already grievous list
of offences by messing with Granny’s mixtures.
Potions, Adam, they’re bloody
potions
.

He shook his head and resumed his pacing.

Witch, witch, witch.
The word echoed through his mind and
Adam closed his eyes. It seemed almost ridiculous to think such a thing in this
day and age, yet there was no denying the feats that the old woman could do.
Diseases healed, barren women given babies and sometimes whispers of more.
Curses and spells. Evil men brought to justice, crops resurrected. Granny
Hildegarde, they said, could make anything happen if she wanted to.  If she was
provoked enough…

Would she be able to make her granddaughter better? Adam
wondered. Not just physically but mentally too? Would the scrap of a girl
recover?

“In time meebe.”

Adam turned to see Granny Hildegarde stood in the doorway, blood
staining her apron.
Evie’s blood… on your hands…

“Granny Hildegarde, I don’t know what to say.”

The old woman eyed him with her strange gaze. “Ye know ye bear
the responsibility of this boy.”

Adam nodded, ignoring the fact that she referred to him as ‘boy’
and not by his proper title. Granny seemed above such things as titles and
class distinctions.

“All down to ye.”

He nodded again. Of course he bore responsibility. It was his
fault damn fault.
If only I didn’t throw the party, if only I’d started
listening to Papa’s voice sooner, if only… if only...
“I’ve dealt with the
man who did this to her,” he said, trying to find some way to make the
situation better.

“And what dids ye do to him?” she asked.

“I horse whipped him.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“He’ll be by nightfall of that I’ll be sure.”

“Granny—”

“Ye’ve spent so long since your Papa died being idle and
reckless, wasting away all the advantages given to ye,” she interrupted. “This
or something alike was bound to happen. Ye’ve neglected your people, boy.”

Adam bowed his head, shame coursing through him.
How can I
deny it, the very thoughts that have burned my mind for the last few days?

“Ye’ve wasted so much and now taken so much.”

“I didn’t know this would happen, I’d never have allowed it had I
known!” Adam said, stung, because he wouldn’t. Surely the old crone did not
believe that of him?

“Ye neglect has allowed for it and ye will pay for it.”

Adam nodded. There was nothing for it but to take his punishment
like a man. Time and more to finally act like one.
“Whatever you need
I’ll give it to you, whatever it takes.”

“I looked into ye future boy, long ago I looked, when your Mama
was ill, and I saw, but I dinna know how it was to come about. Now I do and it
will be done.”

Confused Adam peered into her wrinkled face. “What do you mean?”

Granny lifted her apron and began to wipe off the blood from her
hands. “The child is in pain, helpless, lost. Ye must feel what she did, the
fear, the suffocation. To wait and wonder if any help is ever goings to come.”

“I—” 

“Ye’ll understand as the years pass like this what ye took from
her with ye childish ways, and one day ye’ll know.”

“Granny, be fair,” Adam said, a twinge or something akin to fear
skittering across his skin. “I know I bear responsibility but I didn’t harm
her. I never would, she’s just a girl.”

“Yer position comes with responsibilities,” Granny continued,
ignoring his words. “Ye’re to protect your people just as the old lord did.”

“I know that.”

“But ye did’nee and now you’ll pay the price.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
What the hell does she expect
me to do?
“Do you need money? Goods? Anything you need will be yours.”

The old crone shook her head. “Do nee insult me boy by offering
me such things. Ye’ve taken from my child what can never be given back and now
I must do the same to ye.”

“I—” 

“Ye will be the last Earl of Winterwood, the last of your line
for many, many years to come. Only when ye have learnt will ye be free.”

The smoke in the kitchen began to build, Adam looked around for
the source but his vision was blurred and his eyes began to water.
What the
hell is she doing? What the hell does she want from me?

“In time, boy, ye will see, ye all will.”

With her words pain began to whisper along Adam’s shoulder blade,
a curious pain almost like the heat of the fire. “What the hell are you doing,
old woman?” he asked, batting away at the smoke to no effect.

“I am sorry for this, boy, I am, but it has to be done.”

The smoke continued to build, swirling around Adam and he coughed
to try and clear it. His throat was dry and the curious pain continued to
spread along his shoulder.

“Now ye’ll feel her pain,” Granny Hildegarde said, picking up the
spark emitting pan. “The helplessness, the suffocation, the pleading… ye’ll feel
it all, over and over again.”

“Wait—” Adam tried to say but his words were interrupted as,
without warning, Granny flung the scalding liquid at him. Adam roared in pain,
fire raging across his skin, the liquid burning him to his very pores.

“Don’t,” he shouted but Granny ignored him.

“Burn, me young lord, burn.”

“What are you…” The words left his mouth in a slur as the heat
from the liquid began to travel to his shoulder, to the very spot that had
burned before. He could feel it twist and curve and the pain was unbearable.

A sigh filled the room, a regretful, solemn sigh and it did not
come from Adam. He felt his legs begin to weaken, like he’d drunk too much
brandy. He staggered back trying to grab the counter for support but his hands
were like jelly, numb almost. 

“Feel it all, me Lord,” she said. “Feel it brand ye.”

She’s wrong, I can’t feel anything anymore Adam thought, and then
blackness descended and he thought no more.

Chapter
Seven

The ground was frosted as far as Eva could see and she breathed
in deep lungfuls of clean fresh air. She’d wrapped up warm because whilst the
house was hot, almost to stifling in some places, like the kitchen, outside was
cold enough to raise goose bumps.

Eva flexed her exposed fingers around her sketch pad and stamped
her feet to get the blood flowing. It was only just light and she’d woken as
early as possible to explore. It hadn’t been easy emerging from her new bed,
which was devastatingly comfortable but Eva didn’t know when she would get
another opportunity. She told herself that she wanted to look over everything,
the turrets, the gardens—all of it. Get her bearings so to speak, but that was
a lie. Deep down Eva knew what she really wanted to explore and he was standing
right in front of her.

The ground crunched underfoot as she walked towards him and her
breath made little clouds in the morning air. Damn it was cold.

The fountain looked even whiter than usual because of the frost
and Eva was struck again by its beauty. She circled around it, looking closely
at the various inscriptions. They were in a language she didn’t recognize, so
she had no idea what they meant, but the script was flowing and elegant and it
was enough to appreciate it for itself. Eva wondered absently if she would be
able to make some rubbings.

The water in the fountain was, unsurprisingly frozen solid, and
she couldn’t tell where it would spurt from in the summer. Maybe somewhere on
him?

She raised her eyes from the inscriptions and sighed. He was as
beautiful as she’d remembered. His thighs were muscled and strong, leading to a
firm ass that was more spectacular up close than from a distance. His narrow
hips invited Eva’s eyes to travel downwards and the bulge—artfully arranged
beneath the flowing alabaster cloth was beyond impressive.

His arms were raised upwards and they too were something to
behold. Eva wished she could see his face but it was completely focused on the
sky. She could make out only a firm chin, sensual lips and his flowing hair,
the rest was lost to her.

Once again, like yesterday Eva could feel her heart racing. It
was a ridiculous reaction to have to a statue but it was there nonetheless.

Time to get creative.
With shaky fingers, she opened her
pad and began.

The lines of his body flowed on to the paper like they were
already there and mere minutes passed before Eva had the essence of him
recorded. This, she decided, would be the first of many sketches. She would
need to make dozens before attempting him on canvas.

What should she call him? Eva leaned her elbows on the fountain
wall and considered. “It has to be Adonis,” she said aloud. “Adonis
supersized.”

She giggled.
If I paint him I’ll call it that.
The title
alone would be enough to get some attention. Her artistic side satisfied for
the moment Eva’s thoughts drifted down far less satisfactory routes.

She’d had the best night for some time. Good food, a comfy bed,
not to mention warmth, but rather than make her feel better the opulent
surroundings only served to highlight everything that was wrong in her life. No
decent job, a crappy apartment and a distinct lack of cash.

This job would take care of all of that once she saw it through.
The money would allow her to look for a proper job whilst eating properly and
heating her room but other things were not so easy to fix.

She eyed Adonis again and sighed. Would she ever be lucky enough
to meet a real life version of him? It seemed highly unlikely right now and Eva
couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for herself. She’d never had much luck with
men and the last six months had not helped. Eva’s last boyfriend was... she
calculated... over two years ago.

I’m almost a bloody spinster and at twenty seven years old
that is not a good place to be.

There had been a couple of dates since then and she’d had a fling
with an old friend over a year ago, out of frustration more than anything else,
but the pleasure of having her own man, to service her when required, was a
distant memory.

“I bet you’d be something in bed,” she said to the statue, and
then laughed at her own silliness. She was outside in the freezing cold talking
to an inanimate object. It was pretty pathetic she had to admit, but then it
was better than talking to herself, something she’d increasingly been doing for
the last six months.

“With those muscled arms and chiseled chest...”

Adonis did not respond.

Sighing again, Eva stamped her feet for warmth. Maybe it was time
to turn her attention to some of the men inside the house, real, breathing,
warm men. It was either that or her pocket-rocket, which in all honesty she was
getting pretty damn bored with. What she wouldn’t give for some proper, hot,
dirty sex. To welcome a man between her legs and feel him filling her.

She looked back up at Adonis and felt her nipples tingle.
Damn
I’m in bad shape if a statue is doing this to me!

The weak winter sun was beginning to rise now and Eva reckoned
she had maybe an hour or so before she would be missed. She would have liked to
stay and look at Adonis a little bit more but two things stopped her. Firstly
if anyone else was up and about they’d think it was pretty weird that she was
hanging around the statue. She had to work with these people for the next
several weeks and it was not a good idea to have them think she was a loon.
Secondly there were plenty of other statues that she wanted to get a first
sketch of, the embracing men, the renaissance ladies—she wanted to get a look
at them all. Plus she wouldn’t mind having a good look at the whole house, see
if anyone else lived hereabouts. Maybe pump them for a bit of gossip regarding
Grace, the Estate, and what sort of guests required such long holidays. Eva had
got the impression they’d be expecting only one set of guests.
Rich and lazy
ones probably.

“I’ll be back,” she said. “Tomorrow maybe, right after I’ve
scoffed down a load of croissants. It’s so nice to be able to eat them again,
not for my figure obviously, but damn I’ve missed my Parisian breakfasts. You
know, I used to eat croissants and orange juice every morning before work…” Eva
trailed off, shaking herself.
You’re telling a statue about your old
breakfast routine?
She laughed, well why not? Who else exactly did she have
to talk to? “I’ll take another sketch tomorrow,” she continued, “and then we’ll
start thinking about how we can put you on canvas. You’ll be beautiful.”

She circled him once more, taking everything in just in case she
decided to do a few more sketches tonight from memory. She noticed one blemish
on his back, running along his shoulder blade, a raised surface almost like the
shape of an old style sculptor’s blade. The curvature was quite distinctive,
Eva remembered seeing them in the studio. Was it purposeful, a sort of
signature? Surely it had to be.