by Ava Stone
“Is everyone else enjoying the party?”
“They seem to be.” Blake smiled as he leaned back and put an arm around Brighid. Warm spread through her being. “Braden has taken Callie off somewhere. Garrick, Thorn and Quent are searching for ladies without…”
“What?” she asked when his cheeks reddened.
“Nothing. Simply entertainment.”
She took another sip of the brandy. It was quite good. “You do not have to remain here with me. I am sure you wish to join your friends.”
His arm tightened around her, drawing her even closer. Her skin began to tingle even though clothing separated them. “I would much rather remain here with you.” He looked down at her, “Unless you wish to join in the entertainments?”
She glanced out the doors again. Everyone seemed to be having a delightful time, but in truth, she was exhausted. These last few days had taken everything out of her. “I would rather stay here, if you don’t mind.” With your arms around me.
“It is probably for the best.” He winked. “Your incantation drew a crowd. Wolf explained that you had learned a few tricks from an illusionist and they are hoping you will perform more.”
Alarm shot through her. One of the most important rules was to never, ever practice witchcraft in front of others. What if some didn’t believe Lord Wolverley? What if someone came after her? What if they wanted to burn her at the stake?
“Relax, Brighid,” Blake soothed. “I can only guess what is going on in your mind by the sheer look of panic on your face.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “They believed Wolf. Trust me in this. And none of my friends, or Miss Eilbeck’s will ever reveal the truth.”
“It still frightens me.”
He turned more fully toward her. “I promise to never let anything happen to you.”
She wished she could believe him. “If they came for me, there isn’t anything you could do.”
His green eyes grew intense. “I will never allow anyone to harm my wife.”
Brighid blinked. “Wife?”
He grinned. “That is, if you would do me the honor of marrying me.”
Joy surged through her. It was what she always wanted. She flung an arm around his neck, drawing him close, and kissed him. Her body came alive as energy surged. He was her destined mate—her strength.
Blake deepened the kiss and Brighid allowed it, her pulse fairly humming with desire.
“Ah, she is awake.”
They jerked apart to find Thorn leaning against the door, a broad grin upon his face.
“I thought you were out seeking..um, that is, enjoying the festivities.”
Why did Blake stammer when trying to mention what Thorn was about?
“I had the most delightful encounter.” He sauntered into the room.
“Brighid does not need the details,” Blake warned.
Thorn simply chuckled. “It was all very innocent, I assure you.”
“Go on.”
“There was a charming fairy, gossamer wings and all, with golden hair, sitting apart from the others, sketching, if you can believe it.”
She knew Anna was going to come to the party whether invited or not. She would like to see her friend if she was still there.
“I couldn’t see her face, of course. The colorful mask covered the whole of it, with the exception of her full, ruby lips.”
Blake cleared his throat.
“She refused to dance with me, but insisted I sit for her.”
“Did you?” Anna must have delighted in having someone as handsome as Thorn to sketch.
“Of course! I am not one to deny a lady her desire.” He almost seemed affronted by the question.
This time Blake snorted.
“It took her hardly any time at all and a very good likeness, by the way.”
“Then what happened? Though, I am hesitant to ask with Brighid in the room.”
“I once again asked her to dance, but she begged me to retrieve her a glass of punch.” He rubbed his chin. “She never told me her name and when I questioned her, she shushed me, though she spoke with an Italian accent, so she shouldn’t be this difficult to find.” He frowned. “It is most disconcerting.”
Brighid could tell him who the fairy was but, if Anna wanted to keep her identity a secret, she would protect her friend.
“So why are you in the library and not in the gardens?” Blake inquired.
“When I returned she was gone and I haven’t been able to locate her since.”
For a moment Brighid feared a spirit had taken Anna, but dismissed the idea. The hour was growing late and she probably had to sneak back home before her uncle realized she’d left. She and Lila had probably snuck out together and returned in the same manner.
“You, by chance, haven’t seen her, have you?”
“No, I am sorry,” Brighid answered.
Thorn let out a sigh and wandered back toward the door. “Then I shall leave you two to whatever you were doing.”
Blake chuckled after his friend left. “Poor Thorn. Sitting for a portrait was not how he planned to spend this celebration.”
“It is rather unusual.”
“These past few days have been beyond unusual.” Blake focused on her once again. “But it is the past and, will remain in the past, with only the future ahead of us.”
“What of the remaining ghosts?” she questioned. “I am sure Lord Bradenham would like them to be gone eventually.”
“Braden can go hang,” Blake muttered before taking her lips again.
Brighid stood at the doorway leading to the kitchens of Marisdùn Castle and looked out into her garden. The last three weeks had been a flurry of activity as she prepared for her wedding. Blake was with her every day and well into the evening, leaving her with burning kisses each night as he left her at her grandmother’s door.
She couldn’t believe how many people were attending their wedding. There were familiar faces from Tolbright and Ravenglass, people she considered acquaintances and a few friends. A part of her assumed many would attend to see who the future Earl of Torrington had chosen fo a bride, and not the other way around.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know them, but she had always kept her distance, afraid to become too close to anyone, other than Anna Southward. Blake watched her with love in his eyes. Beside him was Patrick, Blake’s brother-in-law, to give witness, as well as Vicar Southward, who frowned. The vicar did not think it was at all proper that the wedding take place in a medicinal garden, especially in the middle of November. Her grandmother had offered a few objections as well, but finally acquiesced. Her brother, Clive, was seated with their grandmother, and beamed with pride. There was a chill in the air, but the sun did shine down upon them and she basked in its warmth.
She started down the path to join her beloved, and those who were in attendance turned, smiling at her. The warmth in their eyes was genuine and she could hardly believe their acceptance.
The guests who had attended the party had believed Lord Wolverley’s explanation about illusionists, but those who were here now, the residents of Tollbright and Ravenglass, suspected the truth. That is all anyone could talk about for days following Samhain and nobody thought illusions had anything to do with Callie reappearing, except perhaps the vicar. More importantly, nobody tried to burn her at the stake.
They accepted what she was and greeted her warmly whenever there was a chance meeting in either town. Had she known this was the way it would be, she might never have denied the truth. But, had the nightmare of Callie disappearing and Brighid bringing her back not occurred, the residents might feel differently.
It didn’t matter. None of it did anymore. Today she would marry her love, and tonight, she would fully realize her magic, the moment she and Blake became one. She shivered with anxiety and excitement.
Blake was waiting impatiently for his wife to finish visiting with Anna when Braden sauntered over and pressed a glass of brandy into his hand. The sun had set and he was anxi
ous to begin their marriage. Thankfully they didn’t have far to go before they could be alone.
“Your wife truly wishes to spend her wedding night in that chamber off of the herbarium?”
“She said something about magic and reaching her full potential.” Blake shrugged. “It matters not to me, as long as I can finally have her to myself.”
Braden chuckled. “Well don’t let Quent, Thorn or Garrick hear you mention things like magic and that chamber. They’ll be bringing all kinds of females here with promises of magical nights.”
His friend glanced across the room to his wife, Callie. She beamed with joy and love, as did Brighid and Daphne, soon-to-be, Lady Wolverly. Who would have thought that when he and his friends hatched the mad scheme to come to Marisdùn and throw a Samhain party, it would result in three of them finding their loves?
He turned fully toward Braden. “Many thanks to you and Quent for allowing Brighid to have the wedding in the garden, and for hosting the wedding breakfast at Marisdùn.”
Braden looked at him as if he were half mad. “Quent and I have already assured her that the garden, her herbarium, and anything else she wishes, are hers without question.”
Of course, that was easy for them to offer since they weren’t going to be living here.
Blake looked back again at his wife and met her grey eyes. He smiled and nodded towards the door. A blush stained her cheeks, but she made her excuses to Anna and glided across the room until she was at his side.
“Thank you, Lord Bradenham, for a lovely wedding.”
He gave a bow of his head. “The pleasure was mine.”
Blake offered his arm and gave the half-empty glass of brandy back to Braden before he escorted Brighid through the corridors of the castle, into the kitchen and then into the herbarium. He quickly shut the door behind them.
“Shouldn’t we lock it?”
“No need,” she smiled and swept her hand across the door. “Nobody will be disturbing us until we wish to be disturbed.”
Blake doubted he would ever want anyone intruding on his time. He swept Brighid up in his arms, carrying her to the sleeping chamber. Candles were lit and the bed turned down, waiting for them. He lowered her to the ground, her body sliding against his. Her arms linked around his neck, drawing him down until their lips touched.
His body heated despite the sudden, yet soft breeze in the room, and he grew dizzy the more they kissed. She had the ability to knock him off his feet when their lips touched. What would become of him once they made love?
Blake pulled back and stared down at her while toying with the fastenings at the back of her dress.
“I love you, Brighid Glace Chetwey.”
“And I love you, Blake.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s make some magic.”
As a child Jane would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Her passion for reading came about quite by accident when out of boredom on vacation she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance. She fell in love somewhere between Florida and Illinois and her love for reading never died.
Jane is lucky enough to be married to her own personal hero. Not only does he offer words of encouragement but has taken over much of the housework so Jane can have more hours writing. She has also been blessed with two fantastic daughters and an awesome son, all of which have brought various animals into the house. Currently the count is one dog and three cats.
Jane can be found at www.janecharlesauthor.com as well as Facebook and Twitter.
A Gentleman’s Guide to Once Upon a Time Series
His Impetuous Debutante
His Contrary Bride
His (Not so) Sensible Miss
His Christmas Match
The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies Series
To Walk in the Sun
The Tenacious Trents
Compromised for Christmas (novella)
A Misguided Lord
A Perfect Gentleman
A Lass for Christmas (Novella)
A Reluctant Rake
Lady Revealed
Lady Disguised (Novella)
To Love a Governess Series
Sacked – Regency Short
Handfasted – Regency Novella
Ruined – Regency Short
Muses
Her Muse, Lord Patrick (novella)
Anthologies
A Summons from His Grace – Compromised for Christmas
The Betting Season – Landing a Laird
A Season to Remember – Devil in Her Dreams
A Pact Between Gentlemen - Lady Disguised (Trent novella)
Compilations
Scots, Spies and Salacious Lies
Timeless Collection
In loving memory of my grandfather who always watched old Vincent Price movies with me every Friday night when I was a child, instilling within me a love for the slightly mysterious, creepy, and sometimes scary things out there in the world.
~Ava
For Shannon Orrill. Thank you for the use of your books, sharing the magic of Wicca and your friendship.
~Jane
For Eric, who, despite his fear of otherworldly things, always indulges me in spooky pursuits. There's no one I'd rather be scared out of my mind with.
~Jerrica
October 1815 – The Merciful Widow Inn, Newmarket
Eugene Post, the Marquess of Bradenham, slapped David Thorn on the back in congratulations as he took a spot across from his old friend. “Well done today, Thorn.” After all, the man’s Arabian had clocked in faster than any other horse on the racecourse that day.
Blake Chetwey laughed. “You make it sound like he ran the lengths himself, Braden.”
“I did have something to do with the siring of the filly.” Thorn lifted his glass of whisky in a mock toast.
“One of your byblows is she?” Braden’s younger brother, Lord Quentin, chuckled as he dropped into a chair beside the man.
A wicked glint sparked in Thorn’s eyes. “If she was one of mine, she’d have run even faster.”
This earned him an uproarious round of guffaws from the others. Just as the laughter died down, Alastair Darrington, Viscount Wolverely, said to Braden, “See what you’ll miss if you head off to godforsaken Cumberland?”
“Cumberland?” Thorn turned up his nose as though he’d smelled something awful. “Why the devil would you want to go there of all places?”
Braden scoffed. “Want is a strong word. Required is more apt.”
“You’re required to go to Cumberland?” Sidney Garrick frowned.
“Haunted castle,” Quent supplied, wiggling his brow dramatically. “He’s inherited a haunted castle.”
“Aren’t all castles haunted?” Garrick slid forward in his seat as he reached for a cheroot.
Wolf agreed with a nod of his head. “They are if you pay any attention to local villagers.”
“But Marisdùn Castle really is haunted,” Chetwey replied. “Everyone in the Lake District has heard stories about it.”
And hauntings were something Chetwey knew a little something about, or so he said. Still, Braden didn’t put a lot of stock in such nonsense. He was simply traveling north with Quent to look the place over and didn’t imagine they’d encounter any apparitions once they arrived.
“Well, if everyone in the Lake District has heard about it…” Garrick smirked.
Chetwey snorted. “Spoken like a fellow who hasn’t ever seen something that can’t be explained. There are many things, my friends, that cannot truly be explained away.”
“They say our great-grandmother vanished within the walls of Marisdùn, never to be seen from again,” Quent added, warming to the telling of nonsensical tales.
“More likely she ran off with some seaman,” Braden tossed in. “Can you imagine raising twelve children?” He shuddered at the thought.
“Our great-grandfather packed up those twelve child
ren and went straight to Shropshire, vowing never to step foot in Marisdùn again,” Quent said.
Garrick took a puff of his cheroot. “You are rather engaged in the retelling of the story.”
“I think it’ll be interesting to see the place myself.” Quent shrugged. “A real haunted castle. It’ll be great fun.”
Braden was rather tempted to sign the place over to Quent and be done with it. He had no interest in haunted castles in Cumberland or anywhere else.
A bemused smirk settled on Thorn’s face, but he said nothing.
Wolf, on the other hand, seemed just as enthralled as Quent. “You know what you could do?”
“Who said we were doing anything?” Braden asked, but he was drowned out when Quent said, “What could we do?”
“Satterly had a Samhain festival a few years back—” Wolf rubbed his brow as though trying to remember something “—at that place in Devon, old abbey.”
“Lypston Abbey,” Chetwey added.
“Yes!” Wolf’s eyes lit up. “Lypston Abbey. Everyone dressed in costume and it was a right good time. Something about the worlds of the living and the dead colliding on that one night. I’ll never forget it.”
“Some of those girls didn’t wear drawers,” Thorn tossed in. “I’ll never forget that.”
“Did some colliding, did you?” Garrick asked.
Wolf grinned widely. “Wouldn’t it be enormously fun to have a Samhain festival at Marisdùn Castle, where the worlds of the living and the dead collide all the time anyway?”
“Brilliant!” Quent gushed.
“It’s not brilliant,” Braden protested. “It’s ridiculous. We don’t even know if the place is standing.”
“It’s standing,” Chetwey replied. “I’ve seen it myself.”
