Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1)

by Stacey Brutger

  She turned and came face-to-face with a younger, more cheerful version of Wyatt, and felt a smile tug at her mouth.

  He offered her a new way of life, one where she didn’t have to run in fear. A chance to create a family of her own. Her head spun when she realized how much she wanted it.

  She ran her finger over his image, touching him in a way that she never would have permitted herself had he been standing before her.

  “Brighid?”

  She jumped, and the bands of runes around her feet twitched to life. Brighid jerked her hand off the painting and backed away, praying her magic hadn’t infected it.

  She searched the image for any signs of trouble.

  Just when she thought she managed to escape unscathed, the image of Wyatt winked at her. She nearly strangled on her gasp, her eyes widening in horror as she stumbled back. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it, dear?”

  “Nothing.” She steered Beth away from the proof of her latest disaster, trying not to appear as if she was hustling the countess out of the room. “Absolutely nothing.” She firmly closed the double doors to the gallery, then leaned against them, forcing a smile. She needed to fix this before others discovered what she’d done. “Just tired.”

  “Why don’t you rest? We’ll meet in the parlor in an hour to start plans for the ball. You can tell us what you’d like, and Lydia and I can manage the rest.”

  She bit her lip to hold back her protest at all the fuss, but found herself unable to rebuff Beth after all her kindness. “Thank you.”

  They parted ways at the stairs, and Brighid entered her room to find boxes of various shapes and sizes scattered across every surface. Materials spilled out of the open packages, and Trudy hummed while she puttered around the room, putting away the new clothes.

  Brighid stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. They’d ordered a few dresses. There were at least three times that many here. Fabrics of every color and pattern were scattered around the room, making it look like she’d robbed a modiste’s.

  Beth had done this.

  She wanted to object, return the clothes, except for one small fact. She understood better now how others interpreted her manner of dress and her unusual manners. How much she stood out as an oddity.

  She wanted Wyatt to be proud of her.

  Wanted him to admire her.

  That wouldn’t happen with her old clothes.

  “Would you like me to help you change into something more suitable for supper?”

  “Uh…” She touched one of the dresses, and noticed gratefully that most of them could be donned without assistance. “I think I can manage.”

  Trudy’s face fell, and Brighid sighed with resignation. “What dress should I choose?”

  The girl smiled, whirled from dress to dress like a bee in a garden. She picked one, only to discard it a moment later and fish out the next item that caught her attention. After the fifth display, Brighid sighed and searched in vain for a place to sit. She walked to the chair, dumped the boxes on the floor and sagged onto the seat.

  And immediately felt like an ungrateful wretch.

  She stooped to right the boxes when one of the lids fell off. She froze as frothy material cascaded over the rim and pooled on the floor. Tiny scraps of satiny fabric slithered out, the bright clothing soft as silk and each piece extremely transparent. She shoved them into the box as if they would contaminate the rest of the clothes.

  Her mind went to why people would wear them and when, and her face burned hot at the thought of modeling them for Wyatt.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful.”

  Much to her embarrassment, Trudy opened the box again and drew out the nightgowns one by one.

  Desperate for a distraction, she bolted out of her chair. “Did you choose a dress?”

  Trudy answered distractedly. “Mmm, yes.”

  Brighid grabbed the lingerie out of Trudy’s hands, shoved the items back into Pandora’s Box, and firmly shut the lid. She sighed in exasperation when Trudy continued to gaze at the box.

  “Trudy.”

  The girl stared at her blankly.

  “The dress.”

  With one last glance and an impish smile, Trudy did as bidden. She picked up a deep emerald gown and held it out for inspection. The smooth lines appealed to Brighid. No lace. Nothing ornate. She stroked the fabric, and allowed herself to be seduced. The dress draped becomingly, extra material gathered in back in a sleek imitation of the bustle she so detested. When she turned to face the mirror, she gasped in dismay.

  The simplicity of the dress was deceptive. Instead of the familiar high-necked collar, the material dipped low, exposing a generous portion of her cleavage. She silently cursed Trudy and tugged at the dress, but to no avail.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  Her allotted hour was almost gone, and she didn’t have time to locate a more appropriate gown.

  A shawl.

  She ripped off the box lids and went through half of them before she found the right package. Brighid wrapped herself in the shawl and left the room as if the hounds of hell were after her, but she wasn’t able to outrun the scandalous image…or what she suspected would be Wyatt’s reaction if he caught her wearing the outfit.

  She paused outside the parlor, relieved and a tiny bit disappointed to find Wyatt absent. Beth was barking out instructions, while Lydia dutifully wrote notes. “We’ll need to open the ballroom and air it out.”

  While they talked decorations, Brighid sneaked in the room. She picked up a few sheets and flipped through page after page of names.

  Almost all of them were villagers. “Will the ballroom be able to hold so many?”

  Beth raised her brow, but conceded her point. “It will be a crush.”

  “Why all the fuss? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable for everyone if we changed the venue, possibly have a fair instead?”

  Beth’s smile bloomed. “A wonderful idea. Just in time to show off your new wardrobe. Stand up and show us what we can expect.”

  “We should really work on the details for the fair.” Brighid awkwardly shuffling the pages in her hands until the papers were a crumpled mess.

  Risking a glance, she found the attention of both women centered on her.

  Resigned, Brighid stood and dropped the shawl, looping it around the bend in her elbows. She avoided their gazes and stared at the old painting of Graystone Manor above the fireplace.

  And swayed in disbelief, a strange buzzing filling her ears, when she spotted the younger version of Wyatt on the steps, jumping up and down, waving to gain her attention.

  The same young Wyatt from the portrait upstairs.

  She tugged up the shawl, suddenly chilled. How was she to get him back inside his own painting without anyone noticing?

  She needed to find a way remove the painting and stash it out of the way.

  “You don’t need the wrap.”

  Brighid turned at the comment, fidgeting with the shawl and inched toward the door, hoping to draw their attention away from the painting. “Oh, but she must have gotten my measurements wrong, the dress is far too revealing.”

  “Nonsense.” Beth waved the paper she held as if shooing away her complaint like a pesky fly. “You’re married now, and granted more liberties than a debutante. The dresses are quite modest in comparison.”

  “Mother is correct.” Lydia reassured her. “The younger girls wear the same styles, but with a fichu to protect their modesty. The ball gowns are far lower cut, and can even be considered scandalous.”

  “So you would prefer a fair?” Much to her relief, Beth changed the subject and glanced at Lydia. “We hadn’t had a fair in years, not since your father was still alive.”

  “I remember. You let us run wild. Wyatt chased all the girls around with frogs.” Lydia rolled her eyes and snorted.

  “And you fell asleep in your father’s arms watching the bonfire.” Beth smiled softly. “We need to talk to the cook. We
’ll have to start the preparations over from scratch.”

  Both women stood, and Brighid waved them off. “You go on ahead. I’m just going to rest for a bit.”

  “Of course, dear. Don’t do too much.”

  Brighid felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving them, but she needed to get that painting. When they departed, she plopped back on the sofa, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, racking her brain to come up with a plan.

  A pair of arms slipped under her, and she felt herself being lifted. Panic pitched her stomach up into her throat, and her power rose to defend her. The windows whooshed open with a bang and a brisk breeze swirled in the room, slamming the door shut with a heavy thud.

  Then she saw who held her.

  Wyatt.

  He whirled to face the threat, a fierce scowl on his face, his arms tightening around her like a warrior determined to protect the fair maiden.

  Drat him.

  It only made him more attractive.

  When he saw they were alone, his gaze dropped to hers, and he raised a brow.

  His handsome-as-sin face was only inches from hers. Those winter green eyes softened, and his focus dropped to her mouth. She shoved at his chest, trying to wiggle out of his arms. “You scared me half to death. What were you thinking?”

  “You looked so peaceful that I couldn’t resist touching you.” Without waiting for a response, he kissed her. Not the gentle kiss they shared the first time, but a ravenous, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled and dueled, threatening to make her forget reason. Frightened by the strength of her need, Brighid drew back.

  Instead of allowing her to escape, he tightened his hold.

  Then his kiss gentled, and the change demolished her will to resist.

  She curled her arms around his neck, wanting more, unable to remember why she thought this was such a bad idea when being in his arms felt so right. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  Wyatt took advantage of her capitulation and moved to nibble at her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Oh, yes, we should.”

  She didn’t realize he was lowering her until it was too late. Soft cushions cradled, trapping her beneath him when he covered her body with his own, the weight delicious. He continued to kiss his way down her neck, those clever fingers of his deftly unbuttoned her gown.

  “Stop.” She slapped at his hands. “Someone might see.”

  “As you notice, the door is quite conveniently closed.”

  Temptation to give into her desire and succumb to his charms wrapped around her, but he was asking for more than just sex, and she wasn’t sure she could allow anyone else into her heart, especially with the secrets still between them.

  Swallowing hard, Brighid forced the words out of her tight throat. “I can’t.”

  “Brighid—”

  “It’s not you.” She curled her fingers into fists to stop herself from reaching out to smooth away the disappointed frown. “You make me want more, make me want to take a chance, but I’m not sure that I’ll ever be ready…for anyone.”

  That stopped Wyatt cold, and she nearly whimpered, hating herself for calling a halt. She bit her lip hard to keep from begging him to be patient and give her time, but she couldn’t ask him to put his life on hold when she might not be allowed to stay. Her future had never been her own.

  “You want me as much as I want you. Your body craves mine. If you are honest with yourself, you’ll admit it.”

  She flushed, unable to deny it, and lifted her chin. “That may be true, but I’m not ready for what you want.”

  He gazed into her eyes for what seemed like eternity until he finally inhaled heavily through his nose. “That you’ve admitted you want me will suffice for now. But be warned, we’re not finished. Your life is not the only one that has changed.”

  He pulled away and stood, tugging his jacket down. He stared out the window, his back to her, his shoulders impossibly tight. “I don’t want to take away your dreams, I just want to be a part of them.”

  Brighid rose hastily, buttoning her dress. She gave a cursory glance at the painting. Little Wyatt had disappeared, the scamp. But he had the right idea. Taking the coward’s way out, she snatched up her wrap and fled.

  The door shut with a silent snick, and Wyatt unclenched his fists. He should have more control, but when he’d seen her sleeping so peacefully, he lost it. He thought he could carry her to her room without her waking, but one touch was all it took for his mind to shut down and his cock to twitch to life.

  The dress she wore was built to seduce. It outlined her attributes in exquisite relief. No doubt he had his mother to thank for such favors.

  He looked at the couch on the way out and closed his eyes, praying for patience.

  For the next three days, he felt like he had the plague, unable to even track down his own wife. The only time he saw her alone was when he sneaked in her room at night to watch over her.

  The temptation to slip beneath the covers grew each day. The only thing holding him back was her plea for time. The confusion in her eyes twisted him in knots. Every morning he disappeared through the connecting door before she woke. He couldn’t afford to be discovered and risk scaring her away permanently.

  By midday, he sat down to yet another meal without his wife. He lifted his fork, but found he no longer had an appetite, and shoved the plate away in disgust. The drone of Aaron and Lydia’s talk pierced his skull like nails.

  Determined to end this nonsense now, he headed toward the study. Between Aaron and himself, they should be able to devise a trap, and the fair would be the perfect opportunity.

  He had no doubt the bastard was making similar plans, and Wyatt needed to strike first.

  This madness had to come to an end soon.

  If the stress of worrying about Brighid didn’t kill him, unrequited lust for her would.

  Chapter 22

  Every morning Brighid woke to see Wyatt slipping out of her room. Her stomach lurched, knowing he kept watch over her every night. She wanted to call out to him, had even raced after him once, but couldn’t force herself to cross over the threshold to his room.

  He would see it as an invitation, and she didn’t have the will to protest his advances anymore.

  Not when she was beginning to crave him and everything he had to offer.

  But it made her more determined than ever to find out who wanted to destroy him.

  She had used the last three days to draw out the killer, had purposely left herself vulnerable, but he had failed to take the bait.

  Whoever was after Wyatt was biding his time. The next attack would be more direct, and the thought scared the bejesus out of her.

  She stared blindly out the window of her room and knew with a certainty that the next attack would be successful. She wanted to scream with frustration.

  “You’re thinking about your friends.” Wyatt leaned against the door, his arms crossed.

  Brighid grabbed the change of conversation with both hands. “Yes.”

  “And you’re worried.”

  She had to make a choice. She either had to let him into her world…or leave. She couldn’t keep stringing them both along. She wasn’t fragile, and needed to stop acting like she might break. With her heart in her throat, she debated the wisdom of what she was about to do. “Ask your questions.”

  “Tell me about them.” Wyatt entered the room hesitantly, as if he expected to be thrown out.

  “You know most of it. We’re not related, but I think of them as my cousins. They’re much like me, and are all that remain of my clan. We were chased from our homes over a year ago. We knew that as a group we wouldn’t escape. We’re too distinctive. Separate, we had a better chance of survival, so we divvied up the money and headed in different directions.”

  Wyatt strode forward and casually leaned his shoulder against the wall next to the window, so close they almost touched. She eyed the muscles she knew rested beneath his shirt, her fingers curling into fists as she remembered caressing the
m. She knew he couldn’t have earned them by being the lord of the manor. He had his own secrets. She should be furious that he demanded answers when he gave none of his own, but the mystery only intrigued her. Brighid turned away before she gave into the urge to lean over and kiss him senseless.

  “How will you find each other again?” Wyatt’s brows were furrowed, his brilliant mind quickly homing in on the central problem.

  “When it’s safe, we’re to place an ad in the paper.”

  “And when will it be safe?” His voice was coaxing, and she realized she did trust him, more than anyone else since her mother had died.

  She gave Wyatt a crooked smile. “When they stop hunting us. When they forget we exist.”

  “Why are they hunting you?” The careful mask he wore cracked. His mouth turned grim, and vengeance darkened his eyes to a wintery green.

  Brighid clenched her firsts as the horrors of the past came rushing back.

  “Do they want the staff?” Wyatt eyed the cane, wanting to rip it from her grasp and destroy it if it meant keeping her safe and in his arms where she belonged.

  “No, the staff is just a piece of wood. An heirloom. The Watchers will stop at nothing to find us and force us to work for them.”

  They intended to enslave her, force her to use her almost mystical skillset for them.

  She didn’t say it, but Wyatt didn’t find her unique skills so unbelievable anymore.

  He wanted to gather her close, but knew that one touch, and getting answers would be the last thing on his mind. “Could these Watchers hunting you be causing the trouble at the factory?”

  But even as he asked, he realized the facts didn’t line up.

  She shook her head. “It’s not their style. They’d want to take me as quietly as possible. They can’t leave witnesses. They are to observe until an opportunity presents itself. Harming others would cause an incident, and attract the kind of attention they can’t afford.”

  “Have you seen them before?”