by Ava Stone
Honor thy father, she could almost hear Mama’s words echo in her ears. Some days it was easier to do than others. “She was excited to tell me that Corporal Atkinson has taken a position of steward for a noble family in Yorkshire. Isn’t that wonderful?”
She felt his gaze on her out of the corner of her eye, but she refused to look in his direction. After all, Papa had never approved of George Atkinson, nor his infatuation with Lila before he’d joined the 34th Foot and headed off to the continent some years ago. Not that Lila had any control over whether or not George Atkinson had taken a liking to her or not. She’d certainly never done anything to encourage him. She had been quite young at the time.
“So he’s not returning to the district, then?” he asked a moment later.
“Apparently not,” she returned. And that should make Papa happy to hear. Perhaps he’d refrain from plying her with his usual list of complaints the rest of the way home. “He made the acquaintance of some officer from Yorkshire that took a liking to him and has offered him employment at his family’s estate.”
“Well,” he said, sounding more cheerful than usual, “I do hope he’ll be happy in Yorkshire. That is good news.”
Good news for Papa, certainly. Lila bit back a smile and she was quite pleased that they traveled some distance in silence. The day had turned fairly chilly that afternoon and she pulled her wrap tighter about her arms. They weren’t too far from home and she could warm up there if she offered to help keep Cook company in the kitchen while she finished supper.
“What in the world?” Papa breathed out, breaking Lila from her thoughts. “Anna Southward!” he called loudly. “What are you doing?”
And that’s when Lila realized that a carriage was parked rather haphazardly up ahead and that her cousin Anna and a very expectant Brighid Chetwey where hunched over something…or someone, rather, lying along the side of the road. Heavens! What in the world had happened?
Papa increased his stride and hastened towards the pair, and Lila lifted the edge of her skirts, trying her best to keep pace with him. She failed at that. Papa was much taller and reached…Lord Quentin, lying lifeless at Anna’s and Brighid’s feet.
Oh! “My lord!” Lila’s breath caught in her throat. What had happened to her Lord Quentin? Had he been hit? Without thinking, she dropped to her knees beside him and touched a hand to his brow. He was icy cold to the touch like he’d been dipped in the Irish Sea.
“What happened?” Papa demanded again.
Out of breath, Anna shook her head. “I’m not certain, Uncle Walter. I was coming back from the village when this huge black horse nearly ran me over. And then I saw…something, I’m not certain what. A shadow or something hovering right here. And that’s when I saw him like this, lying on the ground. Whatever was here faded away like it was my imagination and perhaps it was. I’m not certain what I saw, but when I realized he wasn’t coming to, I ran to fetch Mrs. Chetwey.”
Papa scowled at that. He wasn’t terribly fond of Brighid on his best day. Healers, and other such nonsense, he would say. Not that Anna would have had a lot of choices now that Dr. Alcott had gone off to London and the next doctor was even further away than Torrington was. Of course, in her present condition it was surprising she made the short journey.
Lila, however, was quite relieved to find Brighid there. She’d seen firsthand the powers the healer possessed. She blinked up at the girl and said, “Can you help him?”
“He is very weak,” Brighid said, frowning more than Lila would like. “But he’s breathing and I’ll do what I can.”
“You there!” Papa called to the Chetwey coachman. “Can’t you ride for Whitbeck and fetch Dr. Robbins?”
“Papa,” Lila said softly. “We may need the coach to move Lord Quentin back to Marisdùn.” She touched her hand to his brow once more, her heart nearly breaking in two he was so freezing, so lifeless. How she loved this man, his roguish smile, his handsome face, his irreverent sense of humor, the way just a look from him could melt her insides and send her heart racing. What she wouldn’t give for him to look at her right now, for him to wake up and be all right. Lila grasped his lordship’s hand at his side and squeezed, willing him to wake.
“No, no,” Brighid began, slowly kneeling beside Lord Quentin opposite Lila, which was something in her present condition. “He’s hit his head. We don’t want to move him just yet. I’d like to see if we can get him to come to first. See what sorts of injuries he might have sustained before we try to get him anywhere.”
Then Brighid uncorked a small, dark bottle and placed it right beneath Lord Quentin’s nose. His brow furrowed, which was the first sign of life, Lila had seen. He squeezed her hand slightly. And then his nose twitched and his warm, hazel eyes opened.
A look of horror flashed in his eyes when they landed on her and he let out a strangled gasp as he tried push away.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked, squeezing his hand tighter, her heart almost breaking as he looked at her with such fear.
“Lila?” he gasped out. “Is that really you?”
The sound of her name on his lips floated around her heart. “Yes, my lord, it’s me.”
Quent sucked in a steadying breath. For a moment, he’d thought she was that creature, the one he’d seen by the side of the road, the one that had spooked Falacer. Damn it all. “Falacer!” he grumbled. Where the devil was his stallion?
“I beg your pardon?” Lila asked softly, her silvery eyes wide as she looked at him with such concern.
“My horse,” he whispered.
“Quent,” Brighid’s voice calmly floated over him. “How is your head? Does it hurt?”
“Brighid?” He glanced to his left to find Chetwey’s very expectant witch at his side. And a blonde beauty behind her. And Lila’s humorless father just a few feet away.
“Do you remember what happened, Quent?” Brighid asked.
He glanced back at Lila and realized she was holding his hand. He couldn’t help but squeeze her fingers in his as he looked at her beautiful but worried face. “I thought I saw you, but…”
“Me?” Her mouth fell slightly open and Quent would have loved to have pressed his lips to hers. But once again there was an unfortunate audience hanging about.
“My daughter was nowhere near here,” Vicar Southward grumbled, glaring at him as though he could tell the thoughts Quent was entertaining in his mind about the girl. Or perhaps he just spotted Quent brush his fingertips over Lila’s knuckles as he still held her hand and was not in any hurry to release her hold.
“No, it was something else,” Quent breathed out, remembering the horrific face once again. He’d never seen anything so terrifying in his life. Those hateful red eyes and that evil glare. “And then it was over me.”
“I saw something,” the blonde said. “Hovering over you, but it vanished when I came upon you.”
“Hovering over me?”
“Sounds like something might have followed you from Marisdùn,” Brighid muttered with a frown.
Well, that was hardly good news. “But we banished my great-grandmother.” Nothing else inside the castle’s walls had ever tried to harm him before.
“Yes.” Brighid agreed with an incline of her head. “But there are certainly a plethora of other sprits within the walls.”
“That is completely ridiculous.” The vicar scoffed. “Marisdùn Castle is not haunted. I’ve been inside the castle hundreds of times and never encountered any such thing. Only fools believe otherwise.”
It really was difficult to believe that the far from charming vicar was Lila’s father. It was difficult to believe they were related at all, honestly. She was kind and amusing and he was…neither of those things.
Brighid seemed to be of the same mind as she cast Quent a glance that said arguing the point with the man would be a waste of time. “Do you think you can stand, Quent?” she asked. “If we can get you back to the castle, I can do a more thorough examination of your head.”
&nbs
p; The castle with the heavy air and oppressive feel. Of course that was before Quent had gone off and been besieged by that creature. He squeezed Lila’s hand once more and turned his gaze to her. “Will you come with me?”
Her eyes softened and he was certain she was going to agree until her father said, “My girls and I need to return to the vicarage, if Mrs. Chetwey is fine without us.”
“Of course, Mr. Southward,” Brighid said. “I can manage just fine.”
If anyone discovered Sidney taking Tilly into the priest hole alone, there would be no doubt what would happen next. They’d be leg-shackled to one another at dawn the next morning, Sidney was certain of it. Whether the vicar approved of him or not, he wouldn’t tolerate his daughter being involved in any scandal, or being the subject of town gossip. No, he would most certainly insist on marriage. But would that be such a bad thing?
No, it wouldn’t be. But even so, Sidney sought to preserve Tilly’s reputation. So he made sure the small sitting room was empty, then ushered her inside before closing and locking the door behind them.
Her wide-eyed stare told him she knew the risk they were taking too, but Sidney assumed it was more important to her that she got her diary back. Or perhaps it was the foul smell that had her looking wide-eyed. It had started to permeate the rest of the castle, but it was especially dreadful in here.
“Over here,” he said, crossing the room to the panel that revealed the priest hole. He pushed against it, and it gave way easily, opening to the small, dark room.
“Heavens,” she said, waving her hand in front of her dainty little nose. “What on earth is that?”
“We wish we knew,” Sidney replied, wishing he had a nosegay for her, though he wasn’t entirely certain it would do any good. “But we’re all hoping it goes away soon.”
Before they went in, Sidney grabbed a candle off the mantle and lit it. “This way,” he gestured, and Tilly reached out to take his hand. It fit perfectly inside of his, and it made him feel all sorts of things he ought not to feel when leading an innocent young lady into a tiny, dark hole. So he tamped down all those feelings and tugged her along behind him. “We took a good deal out last night, mostly jewelry, so that it could be cleaned and examined.”
“Do you see my diary?” she asked, hope and skepticism both present in her tone.
“Not yet. But that doesn’t mean it’s not here.”
Together, they sorted through the remaining piles. All the while, Sidney prayed silently for the little book to appear. If it didn’t, she might never trust him again. That was something he couldn’t bear.
The time passed, and there was no sign of the diary. They’d gone through every pile, touched every remaining item in the hole, and there was nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice sounding dead against the dirt walls. “I should have sent it back to you last night.”
“No,” Tilly said, surprising him. “I-I’m glad you didn’t. In a way, I mean. Of course, I’d like to have my diary back, but…that is to say…I’m—”
Sidney didn’t give her the chance to finish. He grabbed her about her waist and pressed her body against his. She felt soft and wonderful, and he knew what he was doing as so very wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when her green eyes looked at him that way in the flickering candlelight. He pressed his lips against hers. She didn’t resist. She only reached her arms up around his neck and opened her mouth to him. Their tongues teased and played, and Sidney grew hard—oh, so very hard—as they stood there in the dark, dank, foul-smelling priest hole. It wasn’t quite what he would have imagined for their first kiss, but he didn’t regret it. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
A banging at the main door of the sitting room startled them both from the kiss, and they stood there in silence, panting, staring at one another. Panic settled in Sidney’s belly. How on earth were they going to get out of this situation?
“Go,” Tilly urged him. “Close the hole and answer the door.”
“No,” Sidney practically barked. “I’ll not leave you alone in here.” Tilly didn’t know the whole history of the castle, and Sidney didn’t want her to discover it the way Callie had. Sure, Great Grandmother Routledge had been banished, but that didn’t mean other, equally-as-sinister things weren’t going on in the castle these days.
“I’ll be fine,” Tilly argued.
The banging came again.
“Go!”
“I’ll go, but I’ll not close the hole. Just…stay against this wall.” He placed her where she’d hopefully be out of sight. He turned to go but then stopped himself.
“What is it?” she asked.
He had nothing to say to her, he only wanted to reassure her of his growing affections. And so he placed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger for a moment, before darting from the hole to answer the door.
Tilly made a promise to herself right then and there. She would never, ever wash her forehead again. Or her mouth, for that matter. She leaned against the cool, dirt wall of the priest hole, clutching her hand to her heart. It was racing so fast, she could feel it through the thick, modest dress she wore. Was this really, truly happening to her? Was he truly as taken with her as she was with him? It seemed so sudden, and yet, it seemed as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, she could hear muffled voices, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying. She wanted desperately to move closer to the opening, but she couldn’t risk being found out. Father would kill her, or if not kill, seeing as that was a mortal sin, at least lock her in her room for the rest of her life.
Her stomach churned at the thought of Father. It must be getting late. He would be furious if she wasn’t back soon.
“Are you all right?” Sidney asked, appearing in the doorway all of a sudden.
Tilly nodded. “Fine.”
Sidney ducked into the priest hole and came to stand in front of her. She could hardly breathe. He was so beautiful and charming—the kind of man Father always warned her and her sisters against. Beware of fallen angels. Fallen or not, this was an angel Tilly wanted to be with.
He put his hands on her upper arms and squeezed gently. “I have to get you out of here,” he said, and Tilly was both grateful and disappointed. She needed to get home to Father, yet she desperately wanted another kiss, no matter the cost. “However, there’s been an accident.”
“An accident?”
Sidney nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked at her again in the semi-darkness, Tilly could see the concern there.
“I’ve sent for the coach to be brought round. I’ll tell you about it on the way to the vicarage.”
Oh, dear. He meant to drive her home. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, panic fluttering in her chest.
“Oh, but it is,” Sidney countered. “Quent has had an incident along the road. We don’t know who or what it was that knocked him from his horse, but…” He squeezed her arms a little tighter. “I’ll not have you in harm’s way,” he finished, his voice low and gravelly.
“But my father,” she said, her voice weak and unconvincing even to her own ears.
“…Will hopefully thank me for keeping you alive.”
Tilly stared up at him, wishing and praying for another kiss, another sign of affection from him, but when she nodded her consent, he merely turned her toward the door and ushered her from the priest hole.
“But wait!” she cried, whirling abruptly, putting them nearly chest-to-chest. “What about my diary?”
“I’m afraid we will just have to wait for the children to return it,” he replied gravely.
“But—”
He reached a hand up to stroke her face, at once calming and exciting her. “I know how very important it is to you,” he purred. “And I will do everything in my power to get it back. But Tilly, we must go. Now.”
He was right, of course, no matter how much it pained her to admit it. It sounded as if all Hell wa
s breaking loose in her little town, and Father would want to know she was safe at home.
She nodded and turned to go, but Sidney grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. She slammed into his chest, and before she could catch her breath, his lips were on hers again. He didn’t linger. It was a short kiss, but reassuring none-the-less. And long enough to leave her completely breathless as they made their way through the castle to the waiting coach.
Papa had grumbled the entire way home. But luckily he’d waited until they were back at the vicarage before erupting in anger. “What is going on between you and Lord Quentin?” he demanded just as Anna closed the vicarage door.
Lila had no idea how to answer that question. What was going on with Lord Quentin? He’d held onto her hand that entire time like she was his lifeline. “We’re just friends,” she decided to say. “Callie is married to his brother.”
“And do all of Lord Bradenham’s friends call you Lila?” he yelled, his eyes alit with indignation. “Do all of Lord Bradenham’s friends hold on to your person as though you belong to them? Do all—”
“He was injured, Uncle Walter,” Anna said, very clearly trying to help. But she’d known Papa long enough to know that was a bad idea.
“And you!” He glared at Anna. “Searching out that Chetwey woman…”
“There was no one else I could go to for help,” she protested.
“Gallivanting across the countryside in her condition. It’s disgraceful. That woman is wholly unacceptable and you well know it. I have a position in this community. I am a leader in Ravenglass and your actions—” he looked pointedly at both Anna and Lila “—diminish my credibility when you cavort with healers and cads alike.”
It was on Lila’s tongue to say that Lord Quentin was not a cad, but the door to the parlor swung open at that moment and Tilly breezed inside, as happy as Lila had ever seen her.
“Afternoon, everyone!” she said brightly.
“I trust you haven’t been cavorting with healers and cads all day, Matilda.” Papa narrowed his eyes on her.
