Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1)

by Stacey Brutger

  Trudy violently shook her head. “You don’t know.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “He took me.” Her voice came out muffled, a whispered confession.

  “Who?” But Brighid already knew…Wyatt’s stalker. She lifted the girl’s chin, the anguish in her eyes a physical thing. “Who, Trudy?”

  “I don’t know.” Trudy’s cry echoed in the room, her voice a harsh rasp as she continued. “It was dark. I couldn’t see him.”

  Rage flared bright and hard under Brighid’s skin. “Did he hurt you?”

  Trudy ducked her head, shaking her head a tiny bit. “I escaped.”

  “You were very brave. Good for you. Not many would muster enough courage to even try.”

  Trudy’s head jerked up, and she studied Brighid’s face intently. After a moment, she gave a tentative smile. “He left me alone for a few minutes. The door was open, and I ran.” Trudy wiped away her tears. “I don’t know if it was an accident or not. Why would he let me go?”

  “To instill fear in the villagers.” Even as she said it, it made sense.

  Trudy’s eyes shone with hope. “You don’t think it was me? Something I did?”

  Brighid clasped Trudy’s hands tightly in her own. “Of course not. I think this man picked you out beforehand to force your father to obey. He wanted to use him to cause an accident at the factory.” Instead, he forced a poor little boy to do it, and her heart ached for the child. “Wyatt is searching for this man. He’ll find him, don’t worry.”

  And Brighid intended to be there when he did so she could exact her own revenge.

  Trudy threw her arms around her and squeezed. Brighid froze in surprise, awkwardly hugging the young girl back. She’d been running for so long, she did it more by instinct now than any plan. Maybe it was time to stop.

  No more living in fear.

  “We’ll make sure he can never harm you again.”

  “Thank you!”

  Warmth spread through Brighid. A tiny spark of hope lit within her, showing her a different future than she’d ever imagined for herself.

  A chance to stop running and build a real marriage with Wyatt.

  “When was she found?” Wyatt halted outside Giselle’s cottage. A pall had fallen over the small house, as if it couldn’t contain the violent murder that had taken place within. Overgrown weeds ran rampant, while an air of neglect clung to the rundown building.

  Aaron cast Brighid a measured glance before turning to answer his question. “This morning. She never showed up for work. One of the men went to fetch her and found this.”

  Aaron opened the door and stepped aside.

  The stench hit Wyatt first. He swallowed convulsively to keep from gagging, and covered his nose in a futile attempt to block the smell of rot and decay that saturated the room. He turned toward Brighid, quickly angling his body to spare her the gruesome sight. “It was a mistake to bring you here. Please wait for us by the horses.”

  Brighid raised a brow, making no move to leave. “I do have some medical training that could prove invaluable.”

  Wyatt was already shaking his head. “Aaron and I can manage.”

  Brighid conspicuously glanced around then leaned toward him, her green eyes alight with mischief. “What if the killer is still nearby? Are you sure you want to leave me all alone?”

  A growl rumbled in his chest at the blatant manipulation, but she made an excellent point. He reluctantly allowed her entrance.

  Droplets of blood were splattered across the room. In the center of the floor sprawled the crumpled form of a woman, and he crouched to examine the body. The back of her skull had been shattered by repeated blows, nearly destroying the head in the process. Her hair was matted in a snarled mess of dried blood and lumps of tissue that had already congealed into a puddle of gore.

  His gut clenched at the excessive brutality.

  He glanced up to note Brighid seemed to be holding her own, studying the scene carefully, her face impassive. She expertly lifted her skirts, adroitly avoiding the pool of blood.

  When he glanced back down at the body, the scene changed.

  The hair lightened, turned red, only the once-vibrant color was now dulled, the vitality spilled across the floor in senseless rage.

  He blinked and Brighid’s image faded, but the sight of what would happen if he didn’t act remained imprinted on his soul.

  Wyatt stepped around the pool of viscous blood. This was the first body where the killer had committed the murder without using someone else to achieve his aim. That means there would be clues. But the longer Wyatt searched, the more his hopes dwindled.

  “Any witnesses?” Wyatt asked, struggling to keep his thin veneer of civilization intact. This was personal and struck too close to home for him to remain objective.

  Aaron shook his head. “Everyone else adhered to your orders. From the deterioration of the body and the cold fireplace, my guess is she died the same day you issued your edict.”

  “It stands to reason, if she was his partner.” Brighid didn’t bother glancing up as she continued observing the body and the surroundings.

  Wyatt crouched down, curious at what he had missed. “Why do you say that?”

  “I think she was his informant. When you altered the rules at the factory, you changed the game. He no longer had any use for her, so she became a liability.”

  Aaron narrowed his eyes. “What facts do you have to support your claim?”

  Brighid wondered if it was a test. “The latch on the door is intact. She knew him, let him inside of her own free will. This place is neat.” She twisted, inspecting every nook and crevice of the small cottage. “No sign of a struggle.”

  Neither of the men bothered to glance that the latch.

  They already knew.

  “And her hand?” Wyatt picked up a wooden spoon, slipped it under the woman’s wrists and lifted her arm. Only a blackened skeleton remained. The scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air, the charred smell easily detected over the decay.

  Brighid tightened her lips. “He tortured her, then watched while she struggled toward the door. He allowed her to hope that she could escape. Then he took it away. The pleasure in her anguish had ended, or possibly rage took over, and he bludgeoned her repeatedly.”

  The lack of emotion in her voice chilled Wyatt. It was as though she spoke from the experience of one frequently hunted. He stood and removed the blanket from the bed, covering the woman’s still form, wishing to spare Brighid what little he could. He looked around the room. “Hit her with what?”

  Without prompting, they turned as one to hunt for the weapon but admitted defeat after they turned the cottage inside out and came up empty.

  Brighid blew a strand of hair from her face, surveying the room. The murder was brutal, but she’d seen her share of bodies over the years while investigating. After spending the past few months on the run, humanity’s darker nature no longer surprised her. “Either he brought the weapon with the intent to kill her, or it was a weapon of opportunity, and he took it with him when he left. There is nothing else to learn here.”

  “Agreed.” Wyatt guided her out of the cottage. He greedily sucked in fresh air, but the smell clung to them as tenaciously as Angelica on the hunt. “I’ll have the men bury her and burn the cottage. I cannot imagine anyone would want to live here now.”

  Brighid distractedly laid her hand on his arm, staring at the cottage as if puzzling something out. “Wyatt, how much did you pay her?”

  “Giselle?” Wyatt captured her hand, marveling at the way her mind worked, and her stubborn refusal to back down from a challenge. “Only marginally more than the other women. What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

  Brighid turned and blinked up at him distractedly, a charming blush along her cheeks. Much to his disappointment, she didn’t take the bait. “Then you didn’t notice how much more luxurious her surroundings were compared to the other cottages?”

  His amusement faded.


  Aaron paused, then finished locking up the cottage, giving Brighid a grudging nod of respect. “She’s right. Someone was paying Giselle to spy and possiblyikill your wife.”

  “We need to figure out what Giselle told him. It might help us stop the next attack.” Wyatt guided Brighid away from the scene of death, his stride determined. “Why don’t you gather the horses? Aaron and I will be there shortly.”

  Brighid gave him a knowing glance, but allowed him to get away with maneuvering her. Aaron stood by his side, and they both watched her stride away.

  “The key to the chapel. Did you—”

  Wyatt crossed his arms, wanting to shake Brighid into sharing what she knew. “Found later the same day, pushed under the carpet in the hall.”

  “So it was an accident?” Aaron raised a brow at the unlikelihood of that.

  “No. Someone wanted it to appear as if the key fell out of the lock. That key had been rusted in the door for years. Someone needed to put real effort in removing it.” He paused and spoke reluctantly. “Brighid believes the incidents are not related.”

  Aaron took his time answering. “Brighid doesn’t seem like a fool. What does your gut say?”

  “It’s too coincidental.” Wyatt clenched his fingers with the need to do violence. “It’s more likely we have a second spy in the house.”

  Chapter 18

  Brighid cautiously peered into her new room, but couldn’t make herself pass through the doorway. She’d been in such a rush to leave earlier that morning that she hadn’t paid any attention. Until now. The striking gold and white décor was both beautiful and intimidating, but what caught her attention was the wrapped gift in the center of the bed.

  She approached cautiously, half expecting it to be a trick of some sort.

  She poked at the small box, then gingerly picked it up, noting the slight weight, and shook it.

  Something shifted inside.

  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and eased the lid off.

  Inside, nestled in the paper, was a simple key.

  Brighid plucked it out of the box, brows furrowed, and examined it until understanding dawned—the key to her new door. Clutching the key, she sat before the fire, a warm glow of pleasure rippling through her at Wyatt’s thoughtfulness, and she couldn’t stop her heart from melting just a smidge.

  Trudy thrust open the door, entering in a whirl of skirts, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” Brighid’s smile wilted a fraction. After the past few days, she didn’t know how many more surprises she could handle.

  “You will enjoy this one.” Trudy ducked into the hall. When she returned, she tugged a small boy behind her.

  The child she’d rescued from the factory.

  The dark-haired boy watched the door as if ready to bolt. His clothes were clean, but hung loose on his thin body. Brighid spied him peeking at her from the corner of his eye and smiled at his shyness. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

  Trudy prodded him toward Brighid, concern furrowing her brow. “The little mite has yet to speak.”

  Brighid paused, then brushed her hair away from her temple to show the boy the cuts and bruises that she’d accumulated. “I see we’re both a little worse for wear.”

  In response, the boy ran and launched himself at her. Thin arms encircled her neck, almost cutting off her air, his tiny body vibrating with emotions.

  “Oh, no.” Trudy wrung her hands, rushing forward to intervene.

  Brighid was taken aback by his reaction but waved Trudy away. “It’s all right. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  “What’s all the commotion?” Beth entered, and beamed when she spied the boy. “I see you made a new friend.”

  She reached out to touch the boy only to see him flinch away.

  “The poor child.” She clucked her tongue and sat across from them. “Angelica’s brother came by for tea. I was on my way to the parlor to greet him and thought you might want to join us.”

  “For tea?” It emerged more of a squeak of dismay than a question, and she cuddled the boy closer, unabashedly using him as a shield. There were two exits, but she had a feeling the old lady was spry enough to tackle her if she tried anything.

  “Yes, of course. You are the lady of the house, after all.” Beth gave her a victorious smile and looked around the room.

  Brighid averted her face as all the details it entailed filled in her head—Wyatt and his damned kiss had addled her brain—and a wave of heat spread from her neck into her face.

  “It appears her brother has come to retrieve her. Angelica is being sent home. If you don’t come downstairs, she will think she’s won.”

  Beth prodded her out of the chair, but the child refused to release his stranglehold. Or maybe it was nothing more than her own anxieties. She wasn’t ready to take over the role of lady of the house. Wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready. “I—”

  “Take him with you.”

  Drat Beth’s keen perception. Panic clawed up her throat as she scrambled to come up with another excuse. “But—”

  “You are now married to a peer of the realm. You can set your own rules, as long as they do not fall too outside of bounds. Now, come.” Beth motioned to take her arm but refrained when the child burrowed his face into the crook of Brighid’s neck.

  Damn and blast it. Brighid conceded defeat and tromped down the stairs after Beth, grappling with her qualms. Angelica straightened from her slouch when Brighid entered, her glare clearly indicating that she blamed Brighid for her abrupt departure.

  “Lady Castelline.” A well-dress man stood, offering her a short bow and charming smile in greeting. “I heard about the explosion and immediately came home to check on my sister, and thank you for the hospitality you extended to her.”

  Brighid forced a smile and lied through her teeth. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Angelica’s brother stood a few inches taller than Brighid, but something in his posture, the way he stood just a little too close, disturbed her. His closely cropped brown hair was neat, his manners impeccable, and it surprised her to find the man handsome. Until she looked into his eyes. They were brown, and should have appeared soft and inviting, but the soulless way he studied her made her shudder. She dropped her gaze, fighting the urge to put as much distance between them as possible.

  “I’m Michael Bennigan. We met a few days ago, but weren’t properly introduced.” He gave a quizzical look at the boy. “Is he yours?”

  Though she might not make the rounds in ton, Brighid understood the inappropriateness of his question and liked him even less. Beth frowned in disapproval at the turn in conversation. The boy quaked in her hold, his terror almost a physical thing and unease grabbed Brighid by the throat. “Yes.”

  Brighid sighed in relief when Michael gave them a measured stare before he strode away.

  Shaken by her dislike, Brighid hovered near the exit, not sure she wanted to enter the room. The boy used her inattentiveness to wiggle loose and sprint toward the door.

  “Wait!” Brighid didn’t hesitate for a second before giving chase.

  “Lady Castelline!”

  Lydia and Beth call after her, but she didn’t dare slow for fear she might lose sight of the boy. Not only was the child defenseless and alone in the world, but if he vanished, he would take with him their only clue. She was a pace behind the boy when he slipped out the front door. The bruises she’d accumulated slowed her down, and he managed to increase the distance between them.

  “Wait!”

  Her frantic call did nothing to deter the boy’s mad dash toward the woods. The reckless pace sent her heart plummeting to her feet, and she plunged after him, determined not to remember the last time she had been running in these very trees. Foliage dimmed what little sunlight managed to escape the clouds, giving the woods an eerie overcast. A trendily of cold snaked around her.

  Few leaves littered the grou
nd, leaving no sign of her quarry anywhere. He couldn’t have gotten far. A branch snapped to her right, and she veered off the invisible path.

  She’d lived in this area for months, spent time in these woods, but as twilight crept through the trees, she recognized nothing.

  She forced herself to remain calm, and it almost worked until she remembered her promise to Wyatt.

  The promise she’d broken by leaving the house without letting him know where she was going.

  If she didn’t get herself killed, Wyatt would murder her.

  Brighid cast a reluctant look back in the direction of the manor, but couldn’t make herself abandon the boy.

  With a deep breath for courage, she whirled and took off without a second glance. Cold seeped up her feet with each step, and she cursed the delicate slippers she couldn’t resist wearing.

  If she wanted to keep going, there was only one answer, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.

  She was useless without her power.

  Finding things was not her specialty, but she could locate…disturbances.

  She should since she’d caused enough of them.

  Most Druids used their powers infrequently, because doing so often wreaked havoc on their health and could cause irreversible damage. That didn’t frighten her as much as losing what little control she possessed.

  Even knowing the dangers, Brighid succumbed to temptation and closed her eyes. A hum of static rose up from her bones. The runes on her feet sizzled to life, constricting around her leg. With each use, she could feel the wards spread higher, wind tighter. Instead of releasing the power, she let it gather force until it burned under her skin like a swarm of angry bees.

  Find the boy.

  As if compelled, she found herself being turned and led further into the forest. Not once did she stumble or hesitate. The power left her abruptly, sank back into her bones like lead weight, stealing all that wonderful warmth. Shivering in the bitter chill, she opened her eyes and glanced around to orient herself.