by Jenny Frame
“You do?” Finn took a drink of lager.
“Yes, and it wasn’t easy, believe me. The clientele of Red’s nightclub and the others like it in London do not like to talk. I made up a file and emailed it to you.”
“Thanks, Ally.” Finn couldn’t wait to look at it.
“Who is this woman to you anyway, Finn?”
“A friend I’m curious about, that’s all. I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Ally. Bye.”
Finn hung up the phone, then hurried through to the living room to grab her tablet. She sat on the couch and opened her mail.
The subject line of the email read, Bridget Claremont: Mistress Black.
* * *
Finn could hardly believe her eyes as she swiped through picture after picture of Bridget, or Mistress Black, as she was labelled in the pictures. They had been taken on special nights at Red’s—Halloween, Christmas, spring balls.
Red’s was an S&M club, not as hardcore as some, but the patrons had lots of fun, as she remembered from her days performing there.
Bridge looked gorgeous in her outfits—black leather, PVC, and one outfit that consisted of a military style jacket with brass buttons, and only fishnet stockings on her legs. And of course, her designer heels, the one vestige of Mistress Black that remained to this day.
“How can she keep this part of herself locked up inside?”
Finn thought back to her first gig at Red’s. She was a cocky twenty-year-old full of swagger and attitude. Carrie had been a bit nervous about her performing there, but she had laughed it off.
The jovial attitude soon gave way to nervousness as she walked through the club. The club’s atmosphere was what she would describe as sexual. The music had a heavy beat to match the excitement, the décor similar to a Victorian gentlemen’s club. Her nerves started to turn to excitement the longer she was there. The women were sexy, and she longed to be part of the group that sat around dressed up in leather, collars, and chains that she performed to at the tables.
If only I’d seen Bridge there.
Finn finished her last drop of beer and a smile emerged on her face. She looked at one of the pictures and said, “I’m going to tease you out to play, Mistress Black, because you are a huge part of her, and I want to know all of Bridget Claremont.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bridge sat at her dressing table, applying her make-up for the village’s Witch’s Night. For the past week, since she’d kissed Finn, Bridge had kept a low profile around the village and Finn had avoided the church. She had texted Bridge, apologizing for what she’d said about Ellen, and she had accepted Finn’s apology, but it wasn’t so much what Finn had said that made Bridge want to keep her distance. It was that kiss by the river, that gentle, loving kiss that she couldn’t get out of her mind.
Bridge applied her make-up carefully, focusing on her lips, and all she could think about was Finn’s kiss. She touched her lips with her fingertips and closed her eyes remembering every moment of it.
Bridge had never kissed anyone since accepting God into her life and going to theological college. But from the last time she had seen Ellen to the day she acknowledged her calling, she’d indulged every carnal excess. She opened her eyes and gazed at her reflection as shame bubbled in her stomach. The kisses she had then weren’t soft, they weren’t even passionate. They were all about losing her pain in someone else, no matter who.
Her gaze dropped to her dog collar, her shield, her armour against pain and losing control. Finn said she used her faith as an excuse, so that she didn’t have to try and care about someone again. Was that true? She did feel something for Finn. She wanted to help Finn, care for her, show her that she could believe in life again, even if she could never go back to the beliefs of her childhood, but most of all she wanted to kiss Finn again and make everything okay.
Then she thought of the heat between them and banished her feelings of shame, turned it to aching want.
Bridge’s phone rang. It was Finn. She hesitated for a few moments then answered. “Hello, Finn.”
“Hi, I—” Finn hesitated. “I wondered if you still wanted to go to Witch’s Night with me, after what I said—”
“Of course I want to come with you. Who else would explain our quaint village customs to you? The other matter is all forgot.”
There was a period of silence, because they both knew the kiss was not forgotten.
“Great, I’m with Quade just now. I’ve been helping her and the estate staff set up the barn for dancing, and then we’re going to light the bonfire.”
“My, my, we are being quite the helpful magician.” Bridget shook her head. They so easily slipped back into the flirtatious banter that characterized their relationship. So easy to do and hard to resist.
“I’m trying to be helpful. Where will you be?”
“I’m going down to the church hall to coordinate everyone taking part in the parade.”
“Of course you are, Vicar. You’re never happier than when giving out instructions,” Finn joked.
Bridget chuckled. “Very true. Why don’t we meet at the pub at six? We can get a quick drink before the parade starts?”
“Perfect. See you later.”
Bridge ended the call and clasped her hands in prayer. “Dear God, help me make sense of these growing feelings I have, and guide me to my purpose and destiny, whatever that may be. Amen.”
As Bridget finished her prayer, she thought, what if Finn was her purpose? What if she was meant to save her and bring her back to the fold, and make her feel loved?
But that would conflict with the Church’s position on same-sex relationships. Deep down, she knew that one day she’d have to make a choice—to follow the Church’s archaic position or follow her heart and what she believed God was leading her to.
* * *
Finn pocketed her phone and smiled. There might still be so much unsaid between them, but things were better after her stupid comment. Bridge felt like a shining light in the darkness of her life, and she wanted to be near that light as much as possible.
And I want to see if Mistress Black is still hiding under the surface.
In fact she didn’t have to wonder, she knew, and Finn so wanted to meet her.
“Finn,” Quade called out. “Everything okay?”
She had stepped out of the barn to make the phone call, and Quade probably wondered why there was now a smile plastered on her face instead of the nervous tension she’d been displaying all morning.
Finn jogged over to Quade at the Land Rover and said, “Yes, everything’s good.” She had told Quade about unintentionally upsetting Bridge, but not about what or, crucially, the kiss.
“I’m going to meet Bridge at the pub before the parade.”
Quade handed her a couple of cases of lager to carry. The back of the truck was full of alcohol from the pub, for the dance.
“Great. I’m glad to hear it. You’ve both looked upset by the situation this week.”
Quade grabbed a few cases of wine and spirits and they both started to walk to the barn.
“Have you seen Bridge this week, Quade?”
“Yeah, a few times. She comes up to Axedale to feed Riley’s horse. I usually bump into her there if not in the village. She seemed quite preoccupied.”
Finn just nodded. Bridge was no doubt trying to come to terms with the kiss, just like she had. Finn hadn’t experienced anything like that soft gentle kiss before. She’d wanted to kiss Bridge more than anything, but she hadn’t expected that kind of kiss.
Finn knew she was in lust with Bridge, but when her lips touched hers, she felt something very different from lust. It was heart-achingly beautiful, and it felt like Bridge was healing parts of her broken heart with every touch of her lips.
“Finn? Finn? Can you hear me?”
She shook herself from the memory. “Sorry.”
They put the cases of alcohol on one of the tables in the barn. People buzzed about sweeping the floor, putting up witch and gothic deco
rations, and setting up food.
“You were a million miles away. Is there something going on between you and Bridge?”
“Yeah, well…we got closer and she pulled away. I got frustrated and said something I shouldn’t have, but it’s okay now.”
Quade sighed. “Finn, you remember what I told you? Bridge has a lot to lose if she pursues something with you. You need to follow her lead, and if you can’t, then maybe you should walk away.”
Finn felt a sense of horror imagining herself leaving Axedale, leaving Bridge. “I can’t, Quade. I feel—I care about her too much.”
“Well, in that case, you need to talk to her, and tell her how you really feel,” Quade said.
Finn placed her case of lager on the table and said, “I’m working on it.”
* * *
Bridge was waiting for Finn by the bar in the pub. There was standing room only as everyone tried to get a few drinks in before the parade. Bridge was nervous. It felt like she was waiting on her date. How she wished Finn was her date. She made her yearn for things she didn’t think she could have any more.
The pub door opened and Bridge’s heart fluttered as Finn walked in and smiled at her. Her hair was elaborately styled into a fauxhawk and made her look just adorable.
My beautiful boy.
“Evening.” Finn leaned in and kissed her cheek, and Bridge’s heart started to race. It had been a long week without seeing her.
“Good evening. I got you a drink.” Bridge handed Finn a pint of lager.
She took a sip quickly. Unusually for them, there was an awkwardness in the air. Bridge was sure it was because they both felt this was a date.
Finn finally broke the silence. “So tell me how this night works. It’s so busy out there.”
Bridge put her drink down and explained, “We basically recreate the night Ethel Fletcher was taken to be hanged and then burned.”
Finn nearly choked on her lager. “And this is a celebration?”
“Yes, because she was saved, and good won the day. The relatives of Ethel Fletcher play her in the parade—this year Diane Fletcher takes over from her mother—and usually Harry plays Lady Hildegard, but since she’s out of the country, I persuaded Quade to play her.” Bridge looked at her watch. “Oh, bugger. I didn’t realize the time. We better get to the start of the parade. I need to say a prayer. Drink up.”
* * *
Finn watched with amazement at this quaint, weird village custom. They were standing outside the church, while one of the villagers, playing the part of Ethel Fetcher, was brought from the church, dressed in a white smock, and was placed on a horse-drawn cart. Quade, along with a few others, were on horses around the cart, dressed in eighteenth-century clothes, with swords on their hips. They formed a guard around the cart.
Bridge stood in front and said a few words of blessing.
Villagers lined the street down to the start of the river, each holding a fiery torch like some lynch mob from an old movie.
Bridge rejoined Finn and was now carrying a torch. She handed it to Finn and said, “Carry this for me, please. I don’t want a smoky smell on my Chanel.”
“Perish the thought,” Finn joked. “And what about my clothes?”
Bridge raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. “As much as I love your boyish apparel of sexy jeans, hooded shirt, and of course those motorcycle boots, I don’t think they are as prone to smoke damage as Chanel. And besides, you’re supposed to be chivalrous. Haven’t you been learning anything from Quade?”
Finn held the torch away from them both and leaned into Bridge. “Oh, don’t worry. I always follow your instructions.”
She was sure she could see Bridge shiver and then stand a little straighter. She does want me. I know it.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Bridge said. The cart started to move off, with Quade and her friends following.
Finn followed Bridge walking behind the cart. The crowds that lined the way started to follow as soon as the cart passed them.
“So this is what it was like all those generations ago?” Finn asked Bridge.
Bridge nodded. “It must have been a terrifying ordeal for Diane’s ancestor. If you can imagine, the crowds wouldn’t have been as supportive as today. Some were for the witches, and a lot against. Those sympathetic didn’t like to make their feelings too well known, or they might have drawn suspicion on themselves.”
“I take Mr. Archie angry Winchester doesn’t come along to Witch’s Night?”
Bridge laughed at her description of him. “No, he stays away. It’s a little bit awkward when your ancestor is the villain of the story.”
“I don’t think angry Archie would mind his ancestor being the villain—in fact, he’s probably proud.”
“I hope he’s not proud that his family nearly got an innocent woman killed. I’ve always loved Witch’s Night since I first came here, because we’re not only remembering a dark chapter of the village, we’re celebrating the goodness and kindness that one human being can show another, and those that took part in saving the goodness of this village should be celebrated.”
Finn squeezed Bridge’s hand. “You’re right. It is a celebration.”
They followed the cart down to the banks of the river at the bridge in the village. Quade got off her horse and approached the cart while the crowd clapped.
Bridge raised her voice to try and be heard over the noise. “Lady Hildegard, or Quade, helps the witch down from the cart, and tells her to be ready for rescue. Which means that Hildegard and her men meet the boat downstream and as soon as the boatmen leave the prisoner in their care, one man rides off with her to a safe house along with Hildegard’s lover, Katie, and a dummy is mounted on the pyre.”
“She sounds like a real hero, this Hildegard,” Finn said.
“Yes, she was, and Harry’s idol. She loves to play hero on the night, but Quade is doing a good job.”
Finn had a thought. “Does Martha not like to come? I could have pushed her wheelchair.”
“That’s a sweet thought, but the crowds and noise are a bit much for her.”
They followed the barge down the river, and when it went out of sight, all the villagers made their way down to the bonfire at the barn.
Chapter Sixteen
The barn was bouncing with music, laughter, and dance. Finn poured herself another pint from the keg of Quade’s Axedale Ale, and watched Bridge make her way around the room, sharing a joke, listening, and most of all being available to whoever wanted to talk to her next. She was Finn’s perfect idea of what a person of God should be, nothing like her father.
Finn hadn’t seen a lot of Bridge since they got to the barn dance, but her eyes always managed to seek her out in the crowd and gaze longingly at those legs that tormented her.
She jumped when someone tapped her shoulder. “Dance with me,” Bridge said. She’d gotten lost in her lusty thoughts for a moment and hadn’t realized Bridge had walked up behind her.
“What? I don’t really—”
“One dance and then I want to talk to you outside, in private.”
“Very mysterious,” Finn said. “Give me a second.”
Finn ran over to the band and asked them to play Bridge’s favourite song, then hurried back.
As the strains of the Presley classic started, Bridget said, “Very nice, Magician.”
Finn took Bridge into her arms to dance, and said jokingly, “Are you sure you’re going to let me lead?”
“I might like to give out instructions, Magician, but I’m still a lady. Lead me.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Finn replied with a smile.
She could see the fire in Bridge’s eyes after that comment, a fire that Finn wanted to consume her.
Finn didn’t say anything for the rest of the dance, and neither did Bridge. They didn’t need to. The way Bridge felt and fit in her arms and the words to the song said more than Finn could admit to Bridge—at the moment.
* * *
; After the dance, they walked outside the barn for some fresh air and found the bonfire grounds just as busy with people. Everyone was standing around the fire enjoying conversation, drinks, and laughter.
“This way.” Bridge led them around the back of the barn, where they found one young couple in a heated clinch. They jumped when they saw the vicar, and quickly rearranged their clothes.
“Sorry, Vicar, we—” the young man said.
“Shush now, go and find somewhere a little more discreet, Toby.”
Finn laughed as they ran off. “Poor kids.”
“I know,” Bridge said. “There must be nothing worse than coming face-to-face with a dog collar when you’re feeling so passionate.”
Finn took Bridge’s hands and manoeuvred her against the side of the barn, where the young people had themselves been so passionate.
“Oh, I don’t know, Bridge. I find you in your dog collar a huge turn on.”
Bridge placed one finger in the middle of Finn’s chest and pushed her back. That was one of the most intoxicating things about Bridget Claremont. Finn might have had more strength and muscle than her, but Bridge could control or subdue her with a touch or the merest look.
“Now, now, Magician. I came out here to give you something special, not to act like a horny teenager.”
“Are you sure, Vicar?” Finn lifted her hand and placed kisses all over the palm. How was she supposed to survive Finn’s time in the village without touching her and kissing her? Finnian Kane was intoxicating, but Bridge had to regain control of this situation, and the few drinks that they’d shared were not helping.
On instinct, she gently grasped Finn’s infuriating blond fringe and pulled her head up. “Behave, I told you, boy.”
That only seemed to increase her sexual arousal, so Bridge fished her gift out of her biker jacket quickly. “This is for you, Finn, from me.”
Finn looked confused. “For me? Why?”
“Another tradition of Witch’s Night is to give someone who is in need a gift. Just like Hildegard gave the witch the gift of freedom. So I got you this.”
