As they entered the factory and went up the stairwell to the office, he was conscious of Brighid’s silence.
He could almost see her mind whirling while she plotted.
When they reached the landing, she placed her hand on his arm, lifting those enchanting green eyes up to his. “Why don’t I stay out here to give you and Aaron some privacy?”
Wyatt hesitated, hating the thought of leaving her alone and vulnerable, but something in her expression looked so fragile he was afraid if he pushed her further she might shatter. “I’ll agree, but I don’t want you to move from this spot. Understood?”
His gut clenched at her meek nod, and his suspicions went on alert.
She was up to something.
With one last, narrow glance, he turned and entered the office.
“What brings you here so early?” Aaron rose from behind his desk, his jacket haphazardly tossed across the back of his chair.
“Angelica.” Wyatt didn’t say anything more and instead scanned Aaron’s notes.
“You seem almost happy about it.” Aaron tilted his head, his brow raised in question. “Quite a switch from yesterday.”
Wyatt couldn’t prevent the way his eyes strayed toward the window. When he turned and sat, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair at Aaron’s knowing smile. The bastard always saw too much. He didn’t want to examine what took place between him and Brighid. It was something private that he wasn’t ready to share. He nodded to Aaron’s rumpled shirt. “You look like you were up all night. Take a break and tell me what you found.”
“Angelica’s very persistent. Very single-minded.” Aaron leaned back in his chair and stretched, ignoring Wyatt’s demand for a change in subject.
Everyone seemed to want to talk about Angelica. First Brighid, and now Aaron. Wyatt feared his smile was more of a grimace. “Where are you going with this?”
“You asked me to help. I’m looking at every aspect.” Aaron scratched the back of his neck. “I think we can rule her out, but we don’t need an overprotective brother mixed up in the investigation.”
“Michael? We’ve gotten along well enough, but he’s always been against a union between our families.”
“Do you know him well?” Aaron gathered a loaf of bread and cheese from a basket on the sideboard—no doubt charmed from some unsuspecting woman—offering Wyatt some before shoving a large portion into his mouth.
“Not really. We’re nearly the same age, but I went to school a year or two earlier.” Wyatt waved off the food and drummed his fingers on the table, impatient to do something.
Aaron chewed slowly, and Wyatt could swear he could almost see the man’s mind churning. “So you were never close?”
“He always felt he was too good to socialize with the locals, but he was too poor to partake of the London scene. I tried to help out when his land went to auction, purchasing it at a higher price so he wouldn’t lose everything.”
Aaron polished off the food and leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any enemies I don’t know about?”
“You and I have angered our fair share of people in our work for the Crown, but nothing that could be traced back to us. I haven’t been around the estate long enough for anyone to want to destroy me.”
He flexed his fingers, welcoming the idea of getting his hands on whoever was responsible. He wanted this matter settled so he could focus all his attention on Brighid.
He glanced out the window then launched to his feet when he saw the platform was empty. “Bloody hell.”
Panic tightened his chest, as if someone had sucker-punched him. He shot out the door at a full run, fear slithering down his back when he found no sign of her.
Brighid had vanished.
Brighid paced back and forth along the platform, unable to stop thinking about Wyatt. His nearness rattled her so much she couldn’t tell up from down. Too much had happened recently. Almost dying, her first kiss, not to mention the announcement of her marriage to a complete stranger.
It would be dangerous to allow herself to believe anything could come from a relationship with him.
But then why did the thought of him with anyone else cause her stomach to pitch?
A movement under one of the smaller looms caught her attention, and Brighid leaned over the railing for a better look. Unfortunately, whatever she’d seen had disappeared under the machinery. Curiosity lured her down the stairs until she stood on ground level. She skirted around the edges of the factory, leaving the main room for the smaller area in back that worked on custom-made rugs.
Hundreds of threads were strung across the loom, the machine moving up and down faster than any human could duplicate. The machine rhythmically pushed a shuttle to tighten the cross threads, creating the rug. She knew she shouldn’t investigate further, but the possibility of finding a clue kept her moving forward. Beneath the threads and hundreds of moving parts, she saw a young boy scuttling closer and closer to the moving frame.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she dropped to her knees, expecting the boy to be crushed any second. The factory employed children to clean the looms, but Wyatt treated his employees well. They cleaned the machines in the morning, before work began, when the looms were shut down. The child’s presence made no sense.
She peered through the moving parts and cursed. Even if she wanted to call out to him, he wouldn’t be able to hear her above the deafening noise. For all of a heartbeat she debated running for help, but feared that by the time she could return, the child would be dead.
Moving swiftly, she kept low and crawled after the boy.
Steam pipes that propelled the machine pinged in the confined space, the heat reflected off the floor, making the air nearly unbearable to breathe. The boy was only a few feet ahead when he reached into the pounding, relentless machinery. Her breathing halted altogether. One wrong move and the child could be pulled into the machine and mangled beyond recognition.
Stretching out on her stomach, she inched forward until she could wrap her hand around his ankle and yanked him away from the moving parts. When he was stretched out beside her, she saw burn marks all over his arms. They were all recent, meaning that this wasn’t the first time someone had sent him into the loom.
Beneath the thick layer of grime, he was covered in bruises, clearly having been beaten within an inch of his life. Her fingers curled into fists, and she wanted to hunt down the bastard who’d harmed him and teach him a lesson.
Her powers swelled as if in agreement, eager to do her bidding.
She urged the boy onto his knees and guided him away from the machine. The boy stared up at her with wide, terrified brown eyes, then held out his hand, a small part of the machine in his fist.
Brighid put two and two together and blanched.
Someone had sent a child in to sabotage the machine.
Even as she listened, the pipes gave a loud groan of complaint, letting her know there was no time to put the part back, even if she knew how to fix it. Brighid pushed the boy out in front of her, silently cursing as her skirts hampered her movements. As they neared the edge of the wooden frame, a pair of legs came into view, and the kid halted.
It didn’t matter if they were friend or foe, if she and the boy stayed here, they were dead.
She gave the kid one last shove. The man caught him and pulled him to safety, then reached down for her as well. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed his hand and accepted his help.
Only to freeze when he pulled her free of the machine.
She recognized him from the school as one of the Watchers.
He’d found her.
Terror held her immobile in its grip when the machine took the decision out of her hands and gave a sharp, warning whistle, its rhythm growing erratic.
“Get the boy out of here. The machine is going to blow.” The man’s hand tightened on her, as if he couldn’t decide whether to take her captive and disappear during the chaos. People probably wouldn’t notice she was missing for a
few hours.
Enough time to disappear with her.
Some goodness must have remained. He released her and swung the boy up in his arms. The loom was in the corner, so the blast would be contained up to a point, but they would never be able to escape in time. The Watcher must have reached the same conclusion, and dove behind the crates and dropped to his knees, protecting the boy with his body.
Brighid whirled and stood between the loom and the others, facing the machine. Heat seared up her legs when she called upon her powers. The machine gave a death scream, and Brighid threw her power at it just when it exploded.
Wind tore through the room, forcing the majority of the blast away from the Watcher and the boy. Unfortunately, the move left her vulnerable, unable to shield herself from a few of the stray pieces of the debris that peppered the room like shrapnel.
Wood and metal pierced her flesh, and she was hurled backward from the blast, the wall breaking her fall and knocking the breath clear from her lungs.
Her ears rang, the room spun as she struggled to push herself up on her hands and knees. She coughed when smoke filled the room, and she glanced up to see fire eating its way toward her. She struggled to stand as fire rapidly engulfed the room.
“No.” She refused to die.
She refused to give up.
She went through her few options. There was too much air. She would never be able to smother the flames without the risk of killing anyone who wandered too close.
Her eyes fell on to the twisted pipes.
Pipes meant water.
It took all her concentration to pull water out of the maze of pipes. She forced it into the air, and rain finally began to sprinkle down on the entire room.
Smoke thickened as the flames sputtered.
She strained to hold the water steady, but it trickled to a stop when the last of her strength drained out of her. She turned on unsteady legs and came face-to-face with the Watcher. His shape blurred in and out of focus as the world around her began to twist, and the ground rushed up to meet her.
The pain was nearly crippling, and she struggled to stay conscious as the man hurried toward her. She wanted to curse at him to get away from her, but the sound only came out as a whimper. She couldn’t even lift her hand to defend herself.
Shouting erupted in the distance, and her gaze flicked toward the entryway.
People poured into the area. When she glanced back at the Watcher, it was to see him disappear in the smoke. The child rushed over and patted her arm urgently, as if trying to get her to move.
The Watcher could have killed or taken her but he’d done neither.
Why?
“Brighid!”
Then the mystery of the Watcher became unimportant when Wyatt appeared through the smoke and sprinted toward her. He dropped to his knees, cradling her close like she were something precious.
The blast must have addled her wits to wish for such a thing.
She debated telling him about the Watcher, but ultimately decided to keep it to herself. Wyatt had bigger problems to deal with at the moment. The Watcher likely had nothing to do with the blast. He wouldn’t have stayed behind and risked being killed.
“Was anyone else injured?” she croaked. “The child?”
“No one else was hurt. The boy is fine. You saved him. Rest now.” Brighid thought his lips brushed the top of her head, but the touch was so light she couldn’t be sure. Taking his advice, she relaxed and trusted someone else to take care of her for the first time since her world fell apart.
Chapter 13
Wyatt kept reliving the moment he spotted Brighid lying unresponsive on the ground, seeing the growing pool of blood from a nasty gash on her temple. The room had been destroyed, thousands of pieces of twisted metal and wood were embedded in the floors and walls. Anyone inside should have been shredded beyond recognition.
But most of the debris seemed to have stopped short of touching Brighid, laying scattered around her in an arch as if it had lost momentum…or run into something that stopped it short.
His chest felt crushed, he could barely breathe when he dropped to his knees next to where Brighid had collapsed, abandoned like a broken doll.
Devastating loss hollowed out his chest. With a shaky hand, he checked for a pulse.
He’d never been so grateful when her beautiful eyes fluttered open.
It was a miracle.
Wyatt held Brighid gently as he and Aaron rode back to the house, terrified if he let her go she would just slip away. He could see a cuts and bruises scattered over every inch of exposed skin and struggled against the impulse to strip her and confirm for himself that she would be all right. Darkness swelled in him from a place he thought he’d buried and left behind with his work. He shook with the irresistible compulsion to hunt down the bastard who’d hurt her and kill him with his bare hands.
“What the hell was she thinking?” Wyatt kept the mount’s pace brisk, taking care not to jar her. He brushed his jaw against the top of her head, the small contact soothing the beast in him.
She was alive.
But what about next time? His arms tightened possessively, until she made a sound of distress, and he reluctantly relaxed his hold. He was never letting her out of his sight again.
“She was protecting the child. You would have done the same.”
“That’s beside the point. She shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. It was my place to protect her, and I’ve been doing a piss-pour job of it.”
“Someone is targeting her.” Aaron nudged his mount faster to keep pace. “They won’t give up until they succeed.”
Wyatt grunted.
Over his dead body.
An insane idea took hold. It was the one thing that he could do to ensure her safety. “Fetch the vicar.”
“Wyatt.” Aaron angled his mount into his path, forcing him to a stop. “Though banged up, she won’t die from her injuries.”
“Until next time.” Wyatt peered down at Brighid, and his breath hitched in his chest. He couldn’t lose her. “I intend to do whatever’s in my power to keep her safe. The only way I can ensure that is by making her my wife.”
Aaron’s censure was thick in the silence, but Wyatt refused to let it deter him. “You won’t change my mind.”
“Have you thought about the consequences?”
Wyatt reined Crusader around Aaron, resolute in his decision, refusing to examine his motives too closely.
“You’re the target for this madman.” Aaron trailed after him, not relenting. “By marrying her, you could be placing her in more danger.”
The thought gave him pause. His gut knotted, and he pressed his lips together to hold back his rage. “You said it yourself. She’s already a target. At least this way, my name will offer her some protection.”
“You told me she resisted the fake engagement. How do you think she’ll react to being married in truth?”
“She’ll be safe.” Wyatt shrugged away the little worm of doubt, but his emotions weren’t so easy to dismiss. He wasn’t a rash man. He was methodical. Detailed-oriented. And she was like quicksilver. He couldn’t keep her still long enough to figure her out. She was brave. Beautiful. Intelligent. Resourceful. Beautiful. “That’s all that matters.”
“She needs a doctor, not a marriage ceremony.”
“Then retrieve the both of them.” Wyatt lifted his chin mutinously.
Aaron gestured toward Brighid in exasperation. “You cannot have a wedding without her consent.”
“Let me worry about that.” Wyatt stopped and squared off with his friend when he didn’t get out of his way, fury making him snarl. “I asked you here to help me. Either fetch the vicar or leave.”
Aaron’s expression softened, and Wyatt realized that he exposed more to his friend than he intended. They both knew there were other options, but none that suited him as much as this one.
“I’ll return directly. Congratulations, my friend.”
Wyatt reste
d his chin on top of Brighid’s head, refusing to loosen his hold, not even to death.
She wanted him as much as he did her.
He would use that to find a way to make her fall in love with him.
Wyatt turned and saw Brin, still carrying the child, his long strides almost keeping pace with the horse. He searched for any residual hatred but found none. “Why the sudden reversal in your opinion? Is your conscience bothering you?”
Brin stiffened at the jab, but continued to walk toward the house.
“Why decide to help her now?” Wyatt needed to know before letting the man step foot in his home.
“My sister trusted her. They were inseparable, even worked at the factory together. I think my sister found something and was going to tell Brighid, and they killed her for it.” He gazed down at the boy. “She saved him. I realize now that she was trying to save my sister, too.”
The doctor was waiting for them when they reached the house. Aaron must have hauled the man from his dinner, for he still had a napkin tucked into his collar. Brighid woke long enough to insist the boy be treated first. Wyatt vehemently objected, only conceding when Brighid became agitated. He carried her up the stairs and placed her on the bed, reluctant to release her. As he straightened, he noticed a girl standing by the door.
“You must be Havler’s daughter. Help her undress.” He stood near the bed and paced, feeling useless.
The maid bobbed a curtsy, hurried forward, but then hesitated.
Wyatt slowly turned on his heel, repressing a snarl. “Now.” By God, he was the head of the household. He would not have everyone disobeying—
“But—my, lord—” The girl stared at her feet as if petrified to the spot. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “It’s not proper with you in attendance.”
Wyatt grunted, turned his back, but refused to leave. “Do it.”
Minutes seemed to take hours as he faced the wall. He twitched, impatient to have her back in his arms. Just when he was ready to spin around and finish the job himself, Brighid’s staff caught his gaze. Impulsively, he ran his hand over the wood, nearly jerking back when it warmed under his grip. Something inside him loosened, instinctively knowing that she’d be all right.
Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) Page 13
