Running Scarred (Scarred Series Book 1)

by Jackie Williams

  “Anton!” She laughed. “You’re trying to put me off! Why? You could gain an excellent fee.”

  He flushed at being found out so easily.

  “Okay, I admit it. I don’t know if there are ghosts, but the disappearances and other things are true. It’s just that I like Patrick. We ‘ave become good friends and ‘e is a brave man. ‘e has been dealt an unlucky ‘and in life and I don’t want to make it worse for ‘im. When I sold ‘im the gardeners cottage, I assured ‘im that the château was virtually worthless and would probably never be sold. I told ‘im ‘is ‘ouse would be completely private. ‘e is a very quiet soul and, I cannot lie to you, ‘e doesn’t want anybody else ‘ere. I feel as though I am breaking my promise to ‘im if you buy the place less than two years later.” He shoved his way through the rhododendrons and they found themselves in the clearing in front of the château.

  Anton breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the huge grey walls.

  “Well, we ‘ave arrived at last. Awful, isn’t it? Do you really want to be bothered to look any further? I am sure I can find you somewhere else far more worth your while.” He turned back down the driveway ready to leave, but stopped when he heard her brisk step tapping on solid stone. He turned back to see her running up the wide steps. She put the bag with Patrick’s coat down as she moved nearer the walls.

  “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” She was staring upwards at the old building, her expression rapt. The hazy sunshine was melting away the mist surrounding the château and the pale stone shone through the moss and algae. She put her hand out to the wall and picked off some of the moss.

  “It’s limestone!” She exclaimed. Her fingertips were caressing the pale stone as if it could be soft.

  Anton wandered up behind her and peered over her shoulder studying the stone intently.

  “From Caen apparently. It is the same stone that was used in your Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral, the finest limestone in the ‘ole world…The walls may be beautiful, but just look at the place, do you really want to go any further?” He craned his neck upwards. “The Maire ‘ad quotes for renovating it a few years ago. The roof alone is going to cost over an ‘undred thousand Euros and the window’s, Mon Dieu! There are four floors. Look at them all, ‘undreds of them and everyone will ‘ave to be ‘andmade. C’est impossible. It is too expensive…it is going to run into millions before it will be complete, and then you ‘ave the cost of furnishings and running the place. That is why the commune ‘as never bothered. It is too much for the public purse.”

  “It’s exactly what I’m looking for Anton. Can we go inside?” She breathed softly as though in awe of the majestic building.

  Le Cam shrugged.

  “I don’t think that Patrick ‘as been yet. I cannot see the ‘at and we really shouldn’t go inside without it.” He started towards the front doors but it was obvious there was no hat. “Perhaps ‘e is not yet returned from town. ‘e said ‘e was going to the market. I thought we would be longer getting ‘ere. It might be better to wait in the car.”

  Ellen started to walk along the front of the building, peering in at each window as she passed.

  “No, I don’t want to go back. I don’t mind waiting here. It’s not cold.”

  Le Cam watched her as she walked away from him. She appeared to glide along the front of the château, her hand outstretched, keeping contact with the stone. He spoke gently.

  “’e may not come if ‘e knows you are ‘ere. I told you, ‘e is very shy.”

  Ellen snorted.

  “Well he certainly didn’t appear at all shy last night. He more or less manhandled me back to the hotel.”

  Anton came up close behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her walking for a moment.

  “But last night it was dark. I think it is more that ‘e does not like people seeing ‘im. ‘is face is quite bad. Some people cannot ‘ide their shock when they see ‘im.” His expression was gentle. It was quite obvious that he cared very much about Patrick’s feelings. She was moved by his sensitivity.

  She looked at the estate agent seriously.

  “Believe me Anton, I really won’t be bothered by what his face looks like. I’m absolutely sure it can’t possibly be any worse than I’ve seen before. Give him a call and get him up here. Tell him I’m returning his coat. If he knows it’s me he may not feel quite so worried.” She sat down stubbornly on the balustrade that surrounded the walk.

  Anton sighed and pulled his telephone from his pocket.

  Patrick stared at her from the other side of the rhododendrons. They had arrived only a few moments before him and he’d been too late to leave the hat and key and get out of sight again. He’d remained hidden, hoping they would leave quickly, but as soon as he saw the way her hand moved gently across the stone walls, he knew it was hopeless. She looked completely in love with the place already. And when she’d sat down, he knew there would be no getting rid of her. He would have to show himself.

  He shook himself defiantly. What was the matter with him? He wasn’t some idiot kid with a schoolboy crush. He was thirty-two. Ex Special Services amongst other things. He had killed people. Lots of them, if he cared to count, which he didn’t. They had all been worse than bad and deserved to die, so he wasn’t going to worry himself over that. But here he was getting himself into a sweat, worrying over meeting this woman in daylight. For God’s sake! He had to get over this. It wasn’t as if he was some kind of ogre. Anton was his friend and he had overcome his fears for the market place, a mere slip of a girl shouldn’t scare him.

  He only wished that she weren’t quite so beautiful. Last night he had thought that perhaps the moonlight was being kind to her, but after seeing her earlier as she jumped from her car, he knew it was no trick of the light. She was completely entrancing. The nearly forgotten passions began stirring again and he took a deep breath to calm them.

  This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. He didn’t want to see her expression when he finally limped into view. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew it was Anton, he could see the man with his own mobile pressed to his ear. He squared his shoulders, stood up as straight as possible and shoved forwards through the bush.

  “Anton! I’m here. I was held up at the market.” He called out as he revealed himself. He saw the woman’s head come up and he stared hard at her, lifting his chin, challenging her and bracing himself as he waited for the shock to register.

  He waited for her to drop her gaze. He waited for the fixed smile. He waited for her to be embarrassed, waited for the pity in her eyes…

  Nothing…

  Absolutely no reaction at all. She didn’t bat an eyelid, merely stood up and came down the steps towards him, smiling a genuine smile that crinkled the outer edges of her beautiful brown eyes and sent sudden stabs of sharp pain into his heart. She bent to pick up a bag at the bottom of the steps and then walked right up to him.

  “Hello again. I brought your coat. Sorry I rushed off with it last night, but thanks for the loan and thanks for taking me back to the hotel. I’m Ellen Phillips. From Essex.” She finished, smiling up at him again. She hadn’t realized how tall he was the night before. It had been so dark and they had been stooping beneath low branches and scrub. The tone of his voice hadn’t told her much about his age either. Now she could see that he was probably in his early thirties, well over six feet tall, muscled and fit.

  He stared down at her open gaze, his brows creased into a solid line of confusion.

  Well, this was a new one on him. What the hell was the matter with her? Why wasn’t she running for the hills? He lifted his hand to his face, wondering if, by some miracle, the disgusting hard, white skin was gone, then dropped it immediately as he touched the horrible numb, waxy texture. The scars were still there, the same as always, cold and terrible under his fingertips.

  She was still looking at him directly, holding out a bag. Feeling a complete idiot, he reached out and took
it from her. He looked briefly inside the bag and saw the thick lining of his coat. A wonderful delicate fragrance wafted up at him. Curiosity replaced his frown. He didn’t think she could have worn it long enough for her scent to transfer. He hoped she hadn’t sprayed it with perfume to mask the smell of his open fire. He looked right back at her.

  “No problem, glad to have been of help. I’m Patrick Reeves, from Essex too, but you guessed that already. Thanks for bringing this back. Not that I need it so much, now that the weather is improving.” He sucked in the words, feeling a complete fool for discussing the weather with someone so young and beautiful while desperately hoping that he wasn’t dribbling from the scarred corner of his mouth. He lifted the back of his hand to check. No, it was dry, thank God!

  She turned towards the château.

  “Did you manage to find the key? I’m dying for a look inside. I think it’s going to be just what I want.”

  “Huh! You hardly need a key.” He grunted doubtfully, as he looked down at her. “I think you might change your mind when you take a closer look. It’s pretty bad.”

  He put the coat down on the balustrade and fumbled in his pocket, then limped up the stone steps. Now she did glance down, frowning as he walked past.

  “Why do you still have one of the old models? Anton says you’ve been out here nearly two years. Have you been offered the new update?” She asked as he walked unevenly towards the château door.

  He stopped immediately.

  “What? What do you mean?” He turned sharply, his dark blue eyes looked fiercely down at her and he dropped the key.

  She raised her eyebrows in exasperation.

  “Your leg of course. I wondered about it last night. You’re still using the old model. You’re entitled to the new one. It has much improved ankle movement and uses a better suction cup at the top. More comfortable apparently. A lot less friction and a lot more mobility.”

  Patrick looked down at his leg. It was completely covered by his dark denim jeans and his brown boots were identical. How could she possibly know he had a prosthetic limb rather than just a limp? He looked harshly, accusingly at Anton but he just shook his head and shrugged.

  He stooped to pick up the fallen key. His voice was stiff.

  “I haven’t got round to it, that’s all. I haven’t been back to the U.K since I bought the cottage and I’ve sort of got used to this one now.” He was uncomfortable answering her question, but she didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed, her eyes just grew wide in amazement.

  “Well, you want to get yourself back there and get it sorted out. You can’t let the government get away with making you put up with second best. You can always keep this one too but I would have thought it was quite restricting and it must be a pain in the ass to drag about in all this undergrowth.” She indicated the bushes where he had been hiding.

  He gawped at her incredulously, feeling the anger rise in him. Who the hell did she think she was? Preaching to him as though she would have any idea of what it was like to be blown apart and find your life completely ruined in less than a second.

  He gritted his teeth before he spoke.

  “I’ll wear whatever type of leg I damn well like, thank you.” He turned away from her sharply and growled over his shoulder. “Now do you want to see this place or not?” He held up the key and the hat.

  She jogged up the steps behind him, completely unfazed by his angry tone.

  “Yes please. Come on, you can take me round. Anton is afraid of the ghosts. Apparently there are the unhappy spirits of raging German despots, missing French prisoners, war wounded and displaced mad people.” She counted them out on her fingers. “Should make for an interesting tour.” She gave a pretend shiver as she grinned and lifted her chin towards Anton who was staring open mouthed at their exchange.

  Patrick’s furious tone disappeared immediately as he gazed incredulously towards Anton. He put his hands over his stomach and burst out laughing. The sound rang round the forest clearing and bounced off the walls of the château.

  “Ghosts! You’re kidding me! Anton, really, is that the best you could come up with?” He shook his head as he calmed his laughter. “I should have thought that the dry rot was scarier.”

  Ellen looked up at Patrick in mock horror, noticing the deep blue eyes now sparkling under his dark hair. He was incredibly handsome. Even the vicious scars couldn’t disguise his square jaw and generous mouth.

  “Dry rot?” She gave a real shiver this time. “Now that really is scary. Lucky you came along Patrick. You don’t look as though you would ever be scared of anything.” She looked rather obviously across his broad shoulders and then down his wide chest to his slim waist, then even further to where she could just see the cup outlined below his muscled thigh. She raised her eyes again and felt herself blush as she realized that Patrick was staring right back at her, but her gaze still never faltered.

  Patrick gawped at her. Was she flirting with him? Impossible surely. He turned away sharply, not wanting to see her embarrassment at being caught out, but then something made him turn back to her. His heartbeat quickened. She was still looking at him, not curiously, not with pity and certainly not afraid. She was just looking. Looking as though she liked what she saw. He felt his own face become hot under her open stare and his stomach gave an unexpected rumble. It sounded very loud in the stillness.

  She looked down at his flat waistline again. And then, he could scarcely believe it, her dark eyes flicked even lower. His stomach rumbled yet again and she looked up at last, smiling widely at the sound. At least he hoped it was at the sound.

  “Sorry. Have I made you late for lunch?”

  He felt himself become even hotter as he beat down the violent surge of desire that had suddenly descended to his groin and he turned to shove his way through the great doors.

  “No, more like breakfast actually. I went to the market to get bread and cheese, but I was delayed. My French is still a bit crappy.” She was standing right beside him and he caught the hint of the same exotic perfume that had wafted up from his coat. He bent and picked up the hard hat and jammed it on her head. He limped forwards, pulling a flashlight from his pocket and shining it around in the darkness. She followed him into the vast open hallway.

  “What about your hat? Anton has one outside for you.”

  He laughed grimly.

  “Huh! What’s the point? If anything falls on my head, it can’t possibly do any more damage can it. Just mind where you tread.” He stomped forwards, kicking a few shards of glass out of the way and she followed quickly. He shone his torch around in the gloom and she moved away from the shadows, closer to his shoulder.

  She could smell the woodsy, herby, fragrance of him again and she breathed it in deeply. It was warm and delicious, safe and comforting. She leaned in closer, closing her eyes as she pulled in another long breath.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was quizzical in the darkness beside her and she opened her eyes quickly as she realized how oddly she was behaving. He was staring down at her, his deep blue eyes just visible but his expression unreadable in the gloom.

  She almost choked and her voice shook.

  “Just a bit musty I think.” She covered herself quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.

  He sniffed loudly. All he could smell was her wonderful intoxicating fragrance. He tried not to notice it.

  “Can’t smell anything myself. Maybe it is the dry rot. I expect I’m more used to it.” He made his tone indifferent though it was last thing he was feeling.

  “Yes, you’re probably right.” She agreed. She closed her eyes once again. There was no smell of rot. It was him, his scent, his body. Her heart fluttered unevenly. She held herself as still as possible, trying to regain some sense of composure. And then she felt the air move gently as he walked away from her. She opened her eyes and stared at his tall figure. His broad shoulders moved fluidly, the muscles just visible beneath his shirt, his slim waist twisting gently as he made his w
ay to the centre of the hall. She shivered all over, her whole body reacting to the overwhelming feeling of power that he exuded.

  He spoke over his shoulder.

  “Come on. We might as well go upstairs. We can only go to the first floor as after that it’s mainly sky. You might as well see the worst of it first.” He was already on the wide staircase and clomping up the first half dozen treads. He stopped when he didn’t hear her follow.

  He turned to see her staring at him again, her wide eyes travelling all over him, touching every inch of his body. Her lips were turned up at the corners. Not a full smile, just a look of…He didn’t know what it was a look of. He looked at her curiously, then in astonishment.

  It was a look of satisfaction.

  That was the only way to describe it. She looked like a Cheshire Cat. The one that got a whole big bowl full of cream. He felt a strange thrill run through his body, flames of desire fuelling his whole frame.

  And then he scowled at himself for being so stupid. It must be a trick of the light. She must just like the staircase or some other feature of the château. There was nothing satisfactory about him to look at. Maybe a few years ago it might have been different, but not now. He cleared his throat, surprised at how dry it felt, and was about to speak when a shaft of sunlight shone through the still open doorway. Suddenly the whole hallway was lit up with thousands of sparkling lights.

  It looked as though she were standing at the centre of her own universe, with a million stars held in her gravity.

  “Wow!” He breathed quietly, as if not wanting to break some magical spell. “What the hell is doing that?” His eyes were darting this way and that, following the mass of twinkling sparkles. Then he stopped as he saw her radiant smile. It was brighter and more beautiful than any of the lights flashing about him. He gasped at her beauty, unable to take his eyes off her, and, shaking with emotions he hadn’t dared to want ever again, he had to steady himself on the rotting handrail.