A Warrior's Taking

by Margo Maguire

  He watched with fascination as she repaired the sleeve, making a ruined garment usable again. Her hands were small but capable. Hard work had reddened her knuckles, but they did not lack grace. She was as agile as any Druzai maiden, but…different.

  He could not imagine any woman of his acquaintance putting such effort into the tasks that had kept Sarah Granger occupied all day.

  “We’ve had a number of academicians come to study our castle,” she remarked. “But they soon move on to Fullingham Castle.”

  “Fullingham is of greater interest?” he asked idly. He cared not a whit about any other property in the Tuath world, nor would he even be here if not for Merrick’s feeble-brained scheme to find the blood stones before engaging the witch who’d killed his father.

  Brogan had a legion of well-trained warriors who could challenge Eilinora and her followers, weapon for weapon, spell for spell. Even with Kieran’s scepter in her possession, Brogan doubted she would be able to overcome his Druzai fighters.

  But Merrick and Ana lacked his conviction, so now he found himself in this strange world, making conversation with a Tuath lass.

  “Fullingham Castle is not so old, so it’s actually intact,” she remarked. “’Tis much more interesting to scholars.”

  Brogan recognized her insinuation. She wanted him to leave.

  ’Twas laughable. He was a Druzai prince and she a lowly Tuath with no magic at all.

  Yet her mouth intrigued him. ’Twas full and pink, and moist from her tongue. He had decided there was no strange Tuath sorcery at work, but could not think what force could possibly make him want to taste her with such an intensity.

  “Is your meal acceptable, Mr. Locke?”

  He realized he had yet to touch the savory mass that she’d put on his plate. “Oh aye. I’m sure ’twill be perfect.”

  Mr. Locke’s gaze disconcerted Sarah. No doubt he was accustomed to better fare, but they’d been lucky to have a few slices of ham for their hash. Sarah was still astonished that the man had bought her entire pie. And for a sovereign!

  To compensate for his exorbitant payment, Sarah had suggested that Maud prepare more elaborate meals while Mr. Locke was their guest. For the few days he stayed with them, Maud would not go to Craggleton to sell pies and cockles. Instead, she would visit the butcher for fresh meat and the greengrocer for whatever vegetables their own garden could not provide.

  For a change, they could keep more of their own eggs for cooking, and purchase wine or ale for the table Mr. Locke had so brazenly bought. They might be poor, but they were not destitute. At least, not yet.

  He was obviously a rich man, one who had no qualms about flaunting his wealth. She could not fathom why he’d want to stay in their modest home.

  And wished he would leave before the girls formed an attachment to him. Though Sarah herself had not been affected, the children were much too susceptible to a kind word from a stranger, and those gold pieces had made their eyes brighten unrealistically.

  Sarah cut a generous piece of pie and slid it onto a plate, then put her finger in her mouth to lick off a bit of sweet filling. When she passed the plate to Mr. Locke, she found him looking intently at her. His throat moved when she closed her lips around her finger, and he made a quiet sound, something like a low growl.

  Every sensitive part of her body prickled, from her nipples to her womb, and her limbs felt heavy.

  She swallowed. “I-I’ll just take my leave now…”

  In her haste to leave the room, she forgot her mending, but would not go back for it now. She didn’t know what had come over her, or why Mr. Locke’s gaze should discomfit her so. But she knew nothing good could come of it, not with a wealthy stranger from faraway lands.

  Heading for the stairs, she sought the quiet of her own bedchamber, and the solace of her mother’s old tin Luck at the bottom of her trunk.

  The torch Brogan had left in the cave was missing. He was certain he’d placed it in one of the stone sconces, yet it was gone.

  He considered whether one of the children might have taken it the night before, but knew it was unlikely. The sconce was well above the level of their shoulders. They could never have reached it.

  It was ominous.

  He’d seen no sign of any Odhar, yet who else would have an interest in Ravenfield’s caves? He intended to speak to the dragheens after dark, and ask if they’d seen any strangers lurking about the property. In the meantime, he decided to see if the Tuath women had noticed anything odd.

  And when he encountered Miss Granger, he intended to guard against the way he’d reacted to her last night. No Tuath woman could possibly rouse him with such a puny gesture…licking her finger…

  He entered the house through the kitchen door, but heard female voices in the drawing room. Following the sound, he discovered Sarah, sitting across from an elaborately-dressed woman he’d never seen before. She had a large, absurd hat perched on her head and a small, delicate teacup balanced upon her knee. She could easily have been an attractive woman, but there were frown lines on her forehead and beside her mouth, making her appear quite harsh.

  “Well, you certainly look fine in your Sunday best, Miss Granger. I wouldn’t think a woman in your position could risk damaging your best clothes.”

  Sarah said naught in response, but Brogan did not care for the woman’s belittling tone. Still, he felt an absurd rush of pleasure to know that Sarah had dressed in her best clothes, obviously for him. He had not considered that her drab gowns would be considered work clothes…Merrick had not mentioned that Tuath women saved their best attire for special occasions.

  “But on to the reason for my visit,” the woman said. “You must take a firmer hand with those girls, Miss Granger. That younger one is a wild little baggage.”

  “She’s just a spirited girl, Mrs. Pruitt. I would hate to—”

  “I need not tell you what happens to wayward girls, Miss Granger. Captain Barstow’s girls would be much better off in the parish school.”

  “No!” Sarah’s voice crackled with emotion, but she remained sitting, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. “We will make do.”

  Brogan wondered about the parish school and why the mention of it would upset her so.

  “You must know you cannot remain here at Ravenfield indefinitely, Miss Granger.” The woman sipped her tea as though she did not notice Sarah’s distress. “You are an unmarried woman with no prospects. How will you provide for the three of you? Selling cockles and pies?”

  Sarah stood abruptly, her hands in fists at her sides. “No, I—”

  “And a man on your property! Of all things!” Mrs. Pruitt hardly took a breath between sentences. Brogan wondered how she knew about him. “The parish warden will certainly—”

  “But it was only—”

  “Don’t try to tell me it was Andrew Ferris, my dear. The man I saw looked nothing like the other.” She mouthed the endearment, but it was clear she did not think of Sarah as her “dear” at all. “I saw him with my own eyes when I walked along the eastern path this morning. As clear as day, I saw him going into the ruins.”

  Brogan cleared his throat and entered the room, forcing himself to remember everything Merrick had told him about correct behavior in Tuath society.

  And never considered why he bothered.

  Sarah’s heart tripped when Mr. Locke came into the parlor, looking handsome and rugged all at once. She did not need this added complication. Had he remained absent, she might have been able to convince Mrs. Pruitt that she’d truly seen poor Andy Ferris, the town’s wandering simpleton. But not now.

  The parish warden was sure to come and ask questions about Mrs. Pruitt’s story.

  “Have you a cup for me, Miss Granger?” he asked Sarah, though his gaze did not leave Mrs. Pruitt’s face.

  “O-of course,” she answered, glad she would not have to go to the kitchen for a cup, leaving him alone with the dragon lady, as the girls called her. There was
no telling what he might say since he seemed not to care about the usual social conventions. She did not want him speaking too frankly to her neighbor.

  He took Mrs. Pruitt’s hand in his, then bowed over it, causing her to blush and flutter. Sarah puzzled over the woman’s reaction to Mr. Locke’s touch, then realized it was fascination. She was experiencing pure, feminine attraction.

  It could not be half what Sarah had felt the night before, when Mr. Locke had pinned her with his deep blue gaze. She’d fled to her room, feeling as though she could melt into a puddle of tension. She’d hardly known what to think of it…

  Remembering herself, Sarah introduced her two guests. “Mrs. Pruitt, may I present Mr. Locke. Of Scotland.”

  “I’m an old friend of Captain Barstow.”

  Sarah gave a slight shake of her head, unsure that she’d heard him correctly. He’d actually lied to assure that Sarah kept her reputation intact.

  Or perhaps he’d actually known the captain, but had neglected to mention it until now.

  His voice was deep and rough, and when he spoke, his heavy brogue captivated Mrs. Pruitt, judging by the rapt attention she focused upon him. Sarah had never seen the woman appear so pleasant. With her face drawn in a perpetually disapproving frown, she always appeared much older than the twelve-year difference in their ages.

  Mrs. Pruitt had never approved of Sarah’s arriving at Ravenfield a poor, orphaned relation of Captain Barstow’s wife. Fortunately, the captain had been happy enough to have her ser vices after the death of his wife, and hadn’t listened to Mrs. Pruitt’s disparaging warnings about entrusting his children to the daughter of a drunkard. For the first time in years—since her mother’s death when her father had turned to drink—Sarah had had a secure home.

  Now that she was about to lose it, she vowed never again to fall upon the charity of the parish. Somehow, she was going to make a decent life for herself and the girls.

  “Glad to meet you, Mrs. Pruitt.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Locke,” cooed Mrs. Pruitt.

  Sarah felt her teeth clench, and forced herself to relax her jaws. Nothing good could possibly come of this meeting. Not when the damnable Scot held on to Mrs. Pruitt’s hand, smiling at her as though he’d wrecked his ship on their shore for the express purpose of making her acquaintance.

  “Your country reminds me of my own lands,” he said. “My people take braw pride in the fierce beauty of our landscape.”

  “Your lands?” asked Mrs. Pruitt, her attention increasing even more, if that were possible. “Are you close to the sea?”

  “Aye. Verra close,” he said, moving almost imperceptibly closer to the woman. His voice was low and intimate and sent a frisson of heat down Sarah’s spine. “’Tis in my blood.”

  “We feel the same, of course.” Reluctantly, Mrs. Pruitt removed her hand from his grasp. “Please do join us, Mr. Locke. I’m sure Miss Granger can manage to pour another cup.”

  Her neighbor’s subtle insult, even as she graciously invited Mr. Locke to join them, grated on Sarah, but she poured, then handed Mr. Locke the cup as he sat down with them.

  “What brings you to our modest parish, Mr. Locke?” asked Mrs. Pruitt. “Surely you’d heard of poor Captain Barstow’s demise.”

  He gave a nod. “’Twas the strangest thing. I was sailin’ only a mile or so off your coast, and a sudden wind came up just as I got caught in a strong current. I started to adjust the jib, but the boom swung loose and hit me. Knocked me overboard.”

  “Oh gracious! Were you injured? Was the doctor called?”

  “I’m happy to say ’twas no’ necessary,” Mr. Locke remarked with an engaging smile. “I was fortunate that Miss Granger and the children happened by. I’d have been in dire straits otherwise.”

  Tittering as though he’d said something clever, Mrs. Pruitt replied, “I’m certain we all owe a debt of gratitude to Miss Granger, then.”

  “Aye,” he said, casting a cursory glance in Sarah’s direction, dismissing her. “She was verra kind.”

  “Well, since all turned out well, will you continue on your journey now, Mr. Locke?” Mrs. Pruitt asked, suggesting that his departure would be greatly lamented.

  He shook his head. “The old castle interests me, so I’ve decided to stay another day or two. Mayhap you would know of a small house nearby that’s available to let.”

  Sarah nearly choked. Hadn’t he just given her two full guineas to stay at Ravenfield? Did he mean to leave?

  Would he want his money back?

  “I’ll have to think…” Mrs. Pruitt replied as a small crease appeared in her brow.

  “Weel then,” he said expansively, his burr thicker than Sarah had heard it before. He turned to her, his eyes catching hers in a startling wink that escaped the dragon lady’s attention. “I’ll just keep my room in the groom’s quarters out by the barn for now, if it’s all right with you, Miss Granger?”

  Brogan decided he’d managed the sour woman masterfully. He’d saved Sarah’s reputation by claiming to be an old friend of Barstow, and deflected her questions, insinuating that he was a powerful Scottish landowner. He’d given himself a Tuath status he knew the woman would respect. Yet he wasn’t sure why he’d interfered. The Pruitt woman was Sarah Granger’s neighbor, and in another day or two, Brogan would have naught to do with either of them.

  But the look in Sarah’s eyes when Mrs. Pruitt had spoken of the parish school had decided it. He was not going to allow the woman to run roughshod over her, not after learning she was about to be evicted from this house. Nor would he let Mrs. Pruitt spread tales about the “strange” man she was harboring at Ravenfield. Remembering the dragheen’s warning, he realized such a thing would be disastrous to Sarah’s reputation.

  The lass needed a husband. A protector.

  Brogan wondered if there were any reasonable candidates for the post. Mayhap Mr. Ferris, the man Mrs. Pruitt had spoken of. Sarah clearly had no idea of her own appeal, but he had seen fire in her green eyes, and a flash of passion when he’d shoved her beneath him on the sand. He’d seen her hair drifting loose and free, curling gloriously about her shoulders.

  And her skin…those freckles seemed to beckon to him of their own accord. The men in the parish must be blind not to have noticed her.

  She sat stiffly, contrary to the relaxed posture he’d noted the night before, when she’d sat sewing at the table during his meal.

  “I have a marvelous idea,” said Mrs. Pruitt. “Well, that is to say, I’d had the idea before coming here this afternoon, but now that I’ve…”

  The woman directed her words toward him, leaving Sarah out of the conversation, as though she were not even present in the room. Brogan’s brow furrowed, and he wondered at the woman’s cold attitude. ’Twas not as though she were vastly superior to anyone. She might have wealth, but she was Tuath, same as Sarah Granger.

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there,” she continued nonsensically. “I’ve been thinking it’s been far too long since we’ve had a party at Pruitt Hall. At least six years, since my poor Henry died.”

  As the woman spoke, Sarah’s shoulders seemed to shrink. And though she kept a small smile on her face, it seemed frozen in place. She sat as still as a dragheen, her eyes focused upon naught.

  “So I’ve decided to hold a music soiree…” Mrs. Pruitt said. “Let’s say at week’s end, Friday. Will you come, Mr. Locke? Our modest society would be delighted to meet you.”

  He hoped to be long gone by Friday, but the expanse of territory he had yet to search was vast. Working alone was going to take a while, likely to the week’s end.

  Making a snap decision, Brogan turned to Sarah. “Miss Granger, are you and the children engaged next Friday eve?”

  She blinked her eyes and looked at him, puzzled. “N-no, Mr. Locke, we are not.”

  “Good.” He gave a curt nod and turned to Mrs. Pruitt. “Then we will be—”

  “Oh, but I…” The woman licked her lips, then press
ed them tightly together. She smiled resignedly. “Of course you must all come.”

  Brogan soon took his leave and went in search of Maud and the keys, anxious to resume his work. The housekeeper was still missing, but he spied a ring of keys hanging on a hook inside a kitchen shelf. Returning to the shed, he found a key to unlock the door and went inside. There were a few tools, but no rope, so he took a shovel and returned to the castle ruins. He was determined to make the most of every day and get back to Coruain before he found himself any further enmeshed in Ravenfield’s troubles.

  If he managed to find the stone before Friday, he would make some excuse for his early departure. The Pruitt woman could not very well renege on Sarah’s invitation to her soiree, and Brogan did not doubt it would be the perfect opportunity for Sarah to socialize with a few prospective husbands. With some attention to her hair and clothes, and a few lessons in mild flirtation, she should be able to net a spouse for herself.

  Sarah gazed in puzzlement in Mr. Locke’s wake, sighing with relief. She’d felt dangerously off balance when he was in the room, as though she could not take a deep enough breath.

  Now, if only Mrs. Pruitt would leave, Sarah could go and find the girls. Their welfare was what Sarah needed to think of, and not parties where she would be an unwelcome addition.

  Now that Margaret and Jane had had time to fret over the news about Mr. Ridley and the loss of Ravenfield, she wanted to reassure them and talk about plans for the future. Clearly, they hadn’t been ready to listen earlier, but she hoped to make them understand that she really did intend to make a life for them in town.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Pruitt did not appear ready to leave. Sarah had been compelled to pour another cup of tea for the woman, who was too preoccupied with Mr. Locke and his disarmingly agreeable manner.

  While he’d taunted Sarah and put her on edge, he’d been affable and charming with the dragon lady. Sarah had no doubt he actually was a wealthy landowner, just as he’d intimated to Mrs. Pruitt. His clothes were of the very best quality, and there was no scarcity of money. He still didn’t know how to tie a cravat, leading Sarah to the conclusion that he was accustomed to having a manservant.