by Caroline Lee
What? The crowd erupted in shocked comments and questions at the bizarre announcement. From the front came the cry of “This is eighteen seventy-six! Not the dark ages!” and the people around Gordon nodded in agreement. But all he could focus on were the words True Love.
He loved Briar. Could he save her?
This time it was Briar’s father who took control of the situation. He stepped up to the railing, holding his hands up for silence. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my daughter, but I’m willing to try just about anything. Doc said that he can’t cure her, but he agreed with Mrs. Carpenter’s medical advice. So we’re going to try it.” He cleared his throat and gripped the railing tightly. “Now, I don’t know what caused this, if it’s because my Briar really didn’t want to marry Mr. DeVille, or what. But my wife and I have decided” —interesting he didn’t mention his mother-in-law— “that any man who can wake her will have our blessing on his marriage to our daughter, if she’s agreeable to it. This True Love nonsense or not, we figure that man is worth at least a consideration.”
Had the crowd’s reaction to the last announcement been loud? Now it was positively deafening. Gordon could hear Roy Sr. loudly denouncing this ridiculous “test”, and some of the nearby men discussing their chances. Even Max had begun to chuckle at the announcement, but Gordon could only think of one thing.
Our blessing. True Love.
He could do it. He could save Briar, and get her parents’ blessing to marry her, even if he wasn’t as rich and powerful as the DeVilles. He could do it…assuming she loved him the way he loved her.
Gordon took a deep breath. He would do it.
He’d just opened his mouth to announce his intentions when a voice from the front called over the crowd. “Well, hell, she’s my intended, ain’t she? I’d be pleased to plant one on her!”
Roy DeVille Jr. was fighting his way through the grasping, clutching briars of the rosebush, up to the front porch. Something in Gordon’s stomach clenched at the image of that man kissing Briar. Roy Jr. sure looked like someone who could wake a sleeping gal just by kissing her; all big and blonde the way the women liked. He was rich too; never had to worry about keeping his brothers warm or stealing food to feed his Gran. Roy Jr. looked like the hero in a fairy tale.
Swallowing, Gordon forced down those feelings of inadequacy. A decade of living with Vincenzo’s teasing taught him how strong he really was, and what he was worth. He was worth Briar Jorgenson, and he would make her happy.
But for now, it was Roy Jr. who’d cursed and thrashed his way through the thorns to stand in front of Briar’s father. The older man flicked his gaze once over the crowd, too fast for Gordon to see where he was looking. But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he nudged his still-weeping wife and mother-in-law out of the way, then gestured Roy Jr. to follow him into the house.
Gordon didn’t think he was the only one holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen. There were some muted murmurings and shuffling from the crowd, but most of them kept their eyes locked on the front door of the Jorgenson home.
No more than two minutes could have passed before the door slammed open, and the two men stomped out. Briar’s father looked relieved for some reason, but Roy Jr. just looked angry. He clomped his way down the stairs and through the rosebush, whose briars seemed to open before him and didn’t snag him once. He climbed into his buggy, muttering angrily to his father the entire time. The crowd parted as easily as the rosebushes, and then two of the three DeVilles were fleeing the house.
“Well, hell! If he didn’t work, I guess she’s fair game, boys!” B.G. Foote, the hairy owner of the livery in town, lifted his hat above his head and gave a sort of yodeling yell. The rosebushes didn’t let him pass any easier than they’d let Roy Jr., and Gordon turned away in disgust. Were all of these men just looking for a chance to climb up to her bedroom and kiss her? Judging from the hoots and jokes he heard around him, the unmarried men were completely enamored with her baking, and anxious for a chance to prove that they were her “True Love”.
Gordon couldn’t stand to be around them.
Instead, he moved toward the side of the house, where he could still see the group on the front porch—some stoic, some already in mourning—while not having to hear the crowd’s comments. The men who were particularly loud made him wince and he tried harder to block out all noise, which is why he didn’t hear her at first.
“Psst. Gordon, lad. Pssst.”
It was an old woman, her gray hair piled on top of her head, and sharp eyes peering at him through thick spectacles. She reminded him a bit of his Gran, which is why he gave a start when she called to him from around the corner of the porch.
“Aye?” he replied cautiously, keeping his voice as quiet as hers. “Do I know ye?”
“Never seen me before in your life, lad. That doesn’t mean I’m not anxious to meet you.”
Cautiously, Gordon stepped closer, and she backed even further from the crowd, gesturing him to follow. He did. “What do ye want?”
“I’m a friend of Briar’s.”
Her name on this woman’s lips made the tiny hairs on the back of Gordon’s neck stand up. “Oh, aye? Then why aren’t ye up there on the porch with her family? Or waiting t’ hear if one o’ those slavering fools manages t’ wake her up?”
“Because I am perfectly aware that none of them can wake her up.”
Whatever she saw in his expression caused her to gasp. “Oh! Oh, no, Gordon, it’s not like that. She will wake up.” Her clarification didn’t do much to help ease the panic and anger and fear her casual comment had caused, and she reached out to pat his chest. “Trust me, dear.”
“Why should I?” he all but growled.
“Because I’m the doctor who attended to her. I know what’s really ailing her, and I was the one who told Jack and Meri the diagnosis to share.”
“An’ why aren’t ye the one up there, givin’ orders?”
“Because these people don’t know me from Adam. And because I needed to find you and speak to you alone.”
“Fer what?”
“To give you the antidote.”
Gordon surprised himself, how fast he moved. The little old lady didn’t even have time to blink before he’d caught her by the shoulders and pushed her up against the porch, out of view of the others. “What antidote? Who are ye? What have ye done t’ Briar?”
But instead of being frightened, the stranger just tsked and pushed her spectacles back up her nose. “I knew you were the right choice, lad. She loves you, you know, and I’m pleased to see that you love her in return.”
He resisted the urge to shake some sense into her, and tried to force himself to calm. But he couldn’t help the way his fingers dug into her, in an effort to control his fear for Briar. “Who are ye?”
“I’m Doc. I have Briar’s best interest at heart. Everything that has been done was done by Briar, fully expecting you to come and save her.”
Save her. The thought burst through Gordon like a spark. Save her. He remembered what her father had said about being worthy of marriage, and the fear in his heart turned to hope. Slowly, he loosened his grip on the old woman—Doc—and stepped back. “She did this t’ herself? It’s not a natural sickness?”
“Oh, no, lad. Completely contrived for her family’s sake.”
“But, everyone saw her…” Her family wasn’t faking their reactions; they genuinely believed that Briar was at death’s door. Her father wouldn’t have made that ridiculous announcement, otherwise. They wouldn’t be soliciting kisses from strangers, if Briar was just faking it.
“She’s really up there, Gordon, lying on her bed, barely breathing.”
The image made him clench his fists once more. “Why?”
“She’s waiting on you.” When he just stared, the woman grinned. “She’s waiting on you to come up and kiss her.”
“An’ that’ll magically heal her? Roy Jr. was right; that sounds like rubbish. Things like that
only happen in—”
“In stories, yes. Well, you’re living your own story right now, and Briar chose it. She chose to take the medicine that put her into a sound sleep, because she knew that you would be the one to wake her.”
“How?”
Doc rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Because she knew that I’d be able to find you and explain the situation to you. Now, if you’re not going to trust me, will you at least trust her? She knew very well what she was doing when she accepted this adventure and sent me to find you. You will take the antidote, and wake her.”
“So all those fools, linin’ up t’ kiss her?”
“Well, I had to give them something to do to waste time while I spoke with you. Now, the antidote is administered orally—”
“Ye’re sure ye’re a doctor?”
The interruption surprised her, judging from her affront. “Of course I’m sure. I have a degree.”
“From a real school?”
“Of course from a real school, young man!”
“In medicine?”
“Goodness,” she huffed. “You sound just like her.”
“Like who?”
“Briar. You two are so inquisitive. Should’ve worked for Torquemada.”
Gordon didn’t know who that was, so he focused on her evasion. “Did ye at least tell her what she wanted t’ know?”
“I don’t see why—”
She didn’t. “Ye mean t’ tell me that Briar let ye stick her with some poison, an’ she didn’t know a blasted thing about ye?”
“I told you, she administered the medicine herself. It was her choice.”
Oh God. Gordon groaned aloud and turned away, running his hands through his hair and pulling it from its queue again. Briar had taken poison from this charlatan, and for what? “Why did she do it?”
“For you, Gordon. She wants to marry you, not a man her family picks for her. But in order to remain here in Everland, she needs her family’s blessings, too. She wanted them to see you as she sees you—as a hero.”
Gordon dropped his hands to his sides with a sigh, and clenched his jaw. “An’ how will this fool scheme help?”
“Her family believes that only her True Love will be able to wake her, and thanks to Jack and Meri’s influence, the man who does wake her will have their blessing to court her.”
“An’ how did ye manage t’ convince Everland’s two actual doctors t’ go along with this lie?”
The old woman was quiet for long enough for Gordon to turn back to her. She was watching him with something nearing pity in her eyes. “They owed my organization a favor.” He didn’t have time to ask about that, before she stepped up to him. “Gordon, lad, I know you’re hurting. I would suggest deep, calming breaths, but I don’t think that would work as well on you as they do on Briar. But you are feeling pain, and anger, and confusion, and I understand that. I won’t ask you to trust me again, but please, for Briar’s sake…?”
It was a long moment that he stared down at her earnest expression behind those spectacles. What other choice did he have? When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with the effort of holding his emotions in. “Aye. What do ye need me t’ do to save her?”
She smiled then, and patted his chest. “I’ll give you detailed instructions, lad. Don’t worry.”
Save her? Gordon didn’t quite snort. Hold on, Briar, my love. I’m comin’ fer ye.
CHAPTER NINE
Gordon stood between the porch steps and the crowd, and gingerly shook out his hands. He could do this. He would do this, no matter how crazy “Doc’s” scheme sounded. Briar needed him, and he would save her.
He’d twisted his hair up in the top-knot to keep it out of the way of the rosebush, the first barrier that stood between him and Briar. Of course, an intelligent man might’ve just gone around to the back door, but at this point, the whole thing seemed symbolic. Narrative Causality, the old woman had said before handing him the antidote. Funny, she hadn’t stuck around to watch the outcome.
These briars had attacked him earlier, and had caused untold trouble to the men who’d gone before. Not just Roy Jr., but three others—B.G., Ox Bunyan, and Max DeVille himself—had fought their way through these thorns, gone into the house, and returned in shame. Although Max had been chuckling the entire time, so he probably wasn’t feeling that badly. Still, Gordon knew he wasn’t going to let a few plants stop him…even if they did look significantly larger than they had earlier that morning, before the crowd had arrived.
But to his surprise, the briars gave him no trouble. As he stepped up and through them, they seemed to—almost—turn aside for him, as if they didn’t want to stop him. He knew there wasn’t anything magical about them, but at that moment it was hard to hold on to that surety. In fact, not only did the thorns not catch on his clothes or hair or skin, but one large pink briar rose seemed to be waiting for him, all full and thick and fragrant.
He couldn’t help himself; he plucked it, and the bush released it willingly. The scent was a heady combination of purity and passion and determination. It didn’t smell a thing like Briar—she was all cinnamon and sugar and berries—but it made him ache for her all the same.
Her father met him at the top of the stairs, his gaze flicking between the rosebushes and the big pink bloom in Gordon’s hands. “You again?”
“Aye, sir.” When the older man met his eyes, Gordon nodded. “I love yer daughter, an’ she loves me. I’ll be the one t’ wake her.”
Her father closed his eyes briefly on what looked like a prayer, and when he opened them again Gordon saw that they were the same blue-gray as Briar’s. She took her cinnamon-brown hair from her grandmother, but she had her father’s eyes. “If you can wake her, you’ll have my blessing to court her.”
Gordon’s gaze flicked over to the two still-weeping women, wondering how Nana Rose felt about this reward. The other man seemed to understand. “You’ll have all of our blessings.” He waited until Gordon nodded in understanding, and then he opened the door. “Follow me.”
The inside of the house seemed cluttered, with too much furniture and too many knick-knacks and paintings strewn around. But Gordon reminded himself that he’d spent over a decade living with a blind man, and thus was used to keeping an obsessively tidy and minimalistic house. Vincenzo couldn’t afford to have even one chair out of place, and Gordon had made it his duty to ensure that his friend—rarely—tripped over ottomans.
The stairs—and their ornately carved banister—reminded him that Vincenzo’s house was by necessity one level. What would the little apartment behind the restaurant look like, once he moved in? Hollow and minimal, as he spent his hours slaving toward his dream? Or homely and loving, because he had a wife to share it with? Maybe, if God was good, there would one day even be bairns…but for now, he’d take just knowing that Briar was safe.
Save her.
Her room was at the top of the second set of stairs, but Gordon had just been numbly following her father’s boots the entire way. At her door, the older man stood aside and nodded Gordon through.
Taking a deep breath, Gordon stepped over the threshold. Her room was tiny, and neat, and didn’t contain anything more than a writing desk, a dressing screen, an armoire, and an old-fashioned spinning wheel. A small bed was shoved under the eaves, covered in a quilt made in the same autumn colors they’d admired on the leaves above them that day ages ago beside the stream.
And on top of the quilt lay Briar. She was still, her hair still pinned up in a fancy design, and her fingers linked across her stomach, not breathing. She looked so much like a body laid out for the undertaker that Gordon made a little choking noise of disbelief. No. No, she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even ill. She was waiting.
Wasn’t she?
Cautiously, Gordon stepped across the room, afraid that any noise he made would disrupt the perfection of the room. Of her. But no, when he stood over her, he saw that nothing could disrupt her. She was like a statue. Like a corpse. Perfect and
unchanging, waiting.
Oh God, his hands were shaking so hard that the rose he still clutched was in real danger of losing its velvety soft petals. He didn’t think he’d be able to follow Doc’s instructions, not like this. It didn’t matter that her father was watching; Gordon just couldn’t kiss her when he was in this condition. Instead he sunk down on the bed, perching beside her on the lovely autumn quilt.
She was wearing the most beautiful gown. He supposed it was a sleeping gown, but when he was growing up no one had enough money to own separate clothes just for sleeping. And even later, when he’d known women who could afford the luxury, he’d still never seen anything this fancy. The material was as fine as any of the shirts Vincenzo had worn in his royal audiences, and Gordon’s palms itched to touch it. Or maybe he was just desperate to touch her, to untie those pink ribbons at the neck of the gown…to feel her heart beating.
If it was beating.
The knowledge that all those other men had seen her like this made his pulse pound in his ears, and he kept telling himself that this was different. This kiss would be different. He would save her. He placed the rose on the table beside the bed, and shook out his hands once more.
Slowly, hesitantly, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. So cold. So still. Down her jawline, to caress her lower lip, like he’d done all those days ago at her best friend’s wedding. His thumb ached from the bite of the thorn earlier, but he watched her for signs of movement. Nothing. Had he hoped that somehow she’d feel his touch, and awaken? Gordon sighed, and trailed the tips of his fingers back up toward her ear, and around to that thick, glorious hair she’d pinned up before taking the poison.
Unerringly, his fingers found the first pin, and he pulled it out, placing it carefully on the table beside the rose. That wasn’t so hard. He removed another, and another. She gave no indication that she minded, or was even aware. When he couldn’t feel anymore pins, he leaned over her.
Using the fingers of both hands, he slowly untangled her coiffure, pulling out the strands bit by bit until he could feel her scalp under his skin. How often had he dreamed of doing this? Of running his fingers through her hair while she lay beneath him in bed? But today, on this bright Sunday afternoon, there was nothing sensual about the scene.
