He looked up at Brogan then, with narrowed eyes. “Soiree?”
“I believe it’s being held to introduce me to the neighborhood. Miss Granger and the children were included in the invitation. Friday.”
“I suppose I’ll have to attend,” Ridley muttered.
“I expect so,” Brogan muttered in return, then made his way out of the house and back to the ruins.
“Our lady warrior is gone, Maud,” Sarah said, feeling foolishly close to tears.
“Gone? How can that be?”
“Crashed to the ground. She lies in pieces at the bottom of the precipice.”
“Struck by lightning?”
Sarah shrugged sadly. “I suppose. ’Tis like an omen of all that will be, now that…” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Oh, Maud.”
“The girls will be upset, too. Maybe you should tell them before they discover it on their own.”
Sarah nodded and accepted Maud’s comforting hug.
“Why don’t you go and get some sewing done. Those dresses won’t finish themselves, you know.”
Maud was right, but the only thing Sarah wanted to do was follow Brendan Locke into the ruins and spend the rest of the morning with him.
She’d seen him from her window early that morning, climbing over the stone walls, looking at all the scratches and etchings, and remembered every moment of their interlude in the cottage.
Yet he’d given her no indication that he wanted their involvement to continue. He’d been kind last night, holding her as she’d wept. But he had said nothing of changing his departure plans. He’d bought a horse and a saddle with traveling packs. Obviously, their interval at Mrs. Hartwell’s cottage had changed nothing. He still intended to leave before the Pruitt party.
Sarah swallowed her disappointment, and tried not to feel ashamed of her actions. Yet she wondered if those who’d denigrated her for being Paul Granger’s daughter had been right. He’d been a drunkard and Sarah was a…
She pressed her hand to her mouth and suppressed a quiet sob. She was not a strumpet. She’d behaved as a woman in love.
Dear God, that was even worse.
Hadn’t John Crowell been the object of her affections for years? Sarah tried to recall all the times she’d encountered the squire, and the way he’d treated her. He’d never made any advances, nor had he treated her with any particular regard. She had never felt the same jolting attraction for Squire Crowell that she’d immediately felt with Brendan Locke…
It was all so confusing. The squire’s visit yesterday morning should be at the forefront of her mind. She was certain she’d made a decent impression, in spite of Mr. Rutherford’s disdain. Yet she could not imagine John Crowell ever kissing her with the kind of fervor that Brendan Locke had done. The squire’s touch would not send spears of fire shooting through her veins. He could never rouse in her the same kind of passion Brendan Locke did with just a glance.
But he had given her no more than a polite nod since those few quiet moments in the barn the night before. Disheartened, she managed to make progress on the girls’ dresses, and Margaret’s was ready for a fitting by the early afternoon. She left the house in search of the girls, who’d been admonished to stay near. She found them together, following Mr. Locke’s progress as he climbed over and around the castle’s ruined walls, drawing representations of the runes and the ancient circle patterns that were carved on the walls.
“We’re helping Mr. Locke,” Jane said.
“Oh? Doing what?” Sarah asked.
“He’s looking for a secret hiding place.”
Chapter 11
Brogan glanced across the high castle wall at the fluttering wings of a hundred butterflies in the overgrown field. Each one seemed a different color, but all were radiant, all were magical. He’d thought Coruain was perfect, created by the ancient elders after the Druid wars to provide a home for the Druzai and keep them separated from the Tuath. Yet they’d neglected to bring any number of wonders to the Druzai world.
Sarah’s pies, for example. And jam. And though there was music on Coruain, ’twas only the soft, lyrical sounds of the stringed instruments. There would be no pianoforte, for without contact with the Tuath world, the elders had not learned of such an instrument. They’d either forgotten, or never known, about the rainbows that appeared magically in the Tuath sky, or the glowworms that shimmered beside the paths just after dark.
Brogan rubbed one hand across his face.
Naught was going right. He’d been certain of finding the brìgha-stone within a day or two, and he’d had no doubt he’d be able to remain aloof from these Tuath women at Ravenfield.
He’d been wrong.
And now he’d practically committed himself to staying at Ravenfield long enough to escort Sarah and the girls to Mrs. Pruitt’s soiree. He could not leave her at Ridley’s mercy before she had her chance to appear at the party, showing herself as the most comely lass in the district.
Yet if he found the blood stone, he would need to return immediately to Coruain. He decided he could delay his departure long enough to make a few drastic changes to Sarah’s situation.
He would give her a dowry, but not too large, for he didn’t want her to have to deal with suitors who were only after her fortune. He would make a few slight changes to the rooms at Ravenfield, making them more presentable to her gentleman guests, and remove all signs of redness and chafing from her hands.
Yet the thought of those tender hands caressing him made it nearly impossible for him to think. He muttered a low curse and forced his attention back to work. In whatever manner events played out, he still had to find the blood stone.
He climbed to the top of the southernmost wall of the largest tower and discovered more crìoch-fàile. There were several pieces to the puzzle, and with each one were more runes, not all in good condition. Brogan drew the symbols on his paper, as well as the crìoch-fàile designs, hoping he would be able to put the words and symbols together and understand the clues Dubhán had left him.
Carefully, he made his way to each of the opposite walls until he reached a stone shelf that jutted out slightly. He examined it, then pulled on it, even though he doubted it would separate easily from the wall. If it was solid enough to last centuries here, his sharp tug wouldn’t dislodge it. Underneath were runes, and they had been brushed clean of the debris that surrounded them.
It meant someone else had discovered them, yet Brogan had seen no one. He braced himself and shifted his attention to look for magic sparks. He stood perfectly still on the ledge as his vision changed and everything became hazy ’round him.
He cast his glance over the walls and the grounds, looking for the yellow sparks that would signify use of Druzai power, but there were none. Even so, it wasn’t reassuring, not when he knew they’d learned to cover their sparks.
Brogan translated the words he found under the shelf. Muscle and stone are hers to say. His heart sped at the words. ’Twas the first seriously promising sign he’d found.
He moved farther down the wall and found another set of runes, but these were mostly covered by residue, indicating that he was the first to notice these.
With blood and bone that shimmer in light, he read, then swore softly. “Riddles,” he muttered, recalling that the blood stone was said to glow red when held in a Druzai hand.
He had to find another foothold before he could move any farther. He looked ’round for any loitering sìthean pests, and carefully held on to a niche in the wall while he shifted to the next secure floor support.
There was a wide crack that obscured the next line of runes, but it looked like daughter again, or woman. The symbols underneath were clear. Precious gift of the fae.
He leaned back and looked again. Without a doubt, the markings referred to the brìgha-stone. But what was the clue? Was there some hidden meaning that he could not discern?
He had to try to piece together the crìoch-fàile and mayhap the meaning of the runes would be clear,
though he was almost certain the most important clue was the last line…gift of the fae.
Had the stone once been hidden beneath the shelf, or was it somewhere within these stone walls? Mayhap it had been an actual gift to a Tuath. If that were true, it could be anywhere.
No, Ana had seen it here at Ravenfield. In this time and place. It had to be in the castle.
One thing was certain: He was close. Soon he would have it in his hands and be able to leave Ravenfield. He made drawings of the crìoch-fàile, then carefully copied the runes onto his chart. Last, he had to make sure the Odhar who was dogging his steps would not be able to make out the clue of these runes. Taking a hammer from his belt, he struck the runes, destroying their integrity and obscuring the key words.
Brogan heard voices below, Sarah and the children calling for Brownie as they scoured every hidden corner in the yard for the missing cat. Jane was distressed, and the sight of her tears gave Brogan an unusual ache in the center of his chest. If only he could give her another cat…
’Twould have to wait until he was ready to leave, for he did not know how to conceal traces of his own magic.
Sarah glanced up and caught sight of him. She gave him a shy smile, and he felt her glow to the depths of his soul. More magic? He wondered whether there would be bright yellow sparks ’round her if he looked.
Her touch was pure enchantment. Their stolen moments had been all that he’d imagined sòlas to be. Yet she was Tuath. It was not possible.
He saw Meglet throw her arms ’round Sarah’s legs, and Sarah embraced the child in return. Both girls were fragile, Meglet more so than Jane, in spite of the missing cat. He wondered how the children would fare once they were removed from Sarah’s kind care.
How would Sarah fare?
He did not like to think of her as a young girl, cast to the kindness of the people in Craggleton. She’d been alone and mistreated, but she had not become bitter or cruel like the women he’d encountered at the draper’s.
He vowed she would never again suffer the derision of those Tuath harpies. Once he secured Ravenfield for them and provided Sarah a dowry, all would be well.
Brendan Locke’s money weighed heavily in Sarah’s pocket. She felt compelled to return what they had not yet used. He’d overpaid for his room and board, and now he could not even reap the benefit of his payment.
She could not keep it.
Glancing up at his precarious perch, Sarah bit her lip anxiously and watched him sidle across the wall to the steps. Loose rock fell to the ground as he moved, but he reached the top step and descended without mishap.
“I don’t want to go back to the house, Miss Granger. Ever!” said Margaret, hugging her tightly, while Jane wept quietly as she continued her search for Brownie. By now, Sarah was worried, too. The cat had never stayed gone so long.
“We must adjust, Margaret,” Sarah said. “Avoiding Mr. Ridley will change nothing.”
“He hates us!”
“How could he hate you, Meglet?” Brendan asked, jumping down agilely from the third step. “He doesna even know you.”
He gathered Jane into his arms and lifted her onto his shoulder, making her tears subside for the moment.
“Brownie has run away!” Jane cried.
“Ah, ’tis the way of cats,” said Brendan, unconcerned. “She’ll turn up. Or there’ll be another just as pretty.”
“No!” cried Jane, holding on to his head for balance. Giving a watery smile, she seemed unable to decide whether to enjoy the ride or weep for Brownie.
“You must have found something,” Sarah said, realizing she’d never before seen his smile.
“Aye, lass.” He pinned her with his gaze, and Sarah could not help but think he was remembering what they’d shared in Mrs. Hartwell’s cottage. She could still feel the rasp of his beard on her sensitive skin, and hear the sound of his strangled groan when she’d…
She could hardly believe what they’d done. She’d behaved like the most brazen of women, without a care for her virtue. Yet those moments in Brendan’s arms had been pure heaven, and it was only Mr. Ridley’s arrival that had diverted her from thinking continuously about them in spite of her realization that they did not hold the same significance for Brendan Locke.
“The runes in the tower are exactly what I sought,” he said, his voice rumbling through her, making her knees tremble. If he’d found what he was looking for, he would soon leave. Her heart sank.
“I thought you were looking for a hiding place,” Margaret said, lifting her head from Sarah’s skirts to look at Brendan.
“Ah, but you are a quick one, Miss Meglet. I’ve found runes that tell me the item I seek is here.”
“You can read the runes, Mr. Locke?” Sarah asked hopefully. “I thought…” She felt confused. He’d asked her about the runes and what they meant, yet he could read them. And he had not yet found whatever he was looking for. Or had he?
“There is a puzzle to be solved, my bonny Miss Granger,” he said, reading her thoughts.
“Miss Granger tells us the most wonderful stories about the runes and the castle and giants and—”
“I’m sure she does,” Brendan said as he lowered Jane to the ground. “So, my fine lasses, did you find any secret places in the walls?”
Margaret shook her head ruefully. “The rocks are crumbling.”
“I’ve been looking for Brownie,” Jane said and went off to search some more.
“What do the runes mean, Mr. Locke?” Sarah asked.
He looked at her quietly for a moment, as though weighing his answer. “They tell of a special stone that was owned by Dubhán, the first lord of Ravenfield,” he finally replied.
“I’ve never heard such a tale,” she said. Though her mother’s family was said to have descended from the ancient Ravenfield family, she had died when Sarah was very young, before telling much of her heritage.
“You will have to trust me, then,” he said, and Sarah recalled those same words the day before, when he’d made her go mindless with pleasure.
But Sarah could not count on such fleeting happiness. For all she knew, Brendan would be gone before Mrs. Pruitt’s soiree on Friday.
Brogan could not say any more. If Ridley had any idea there might be an artifact of value in the ruins, he seemed the sort to restrict access to anyone but his own personal excavator. He half expected the man to come out and see what they were doing out there, anyway.
Brogan was close. After reading those runes, he could almost feel the stone, see it glowing red in his hand.
All he had to do was focus his search now on finding the place where it was hidden.
There was no sign of it having been hidden in Lord Dubhán’s private quarters or anywhere within the castle walls. That left the caves.
Brogan felt a renewed urgency to locate the stone and return to Coruain. He hoped Merrick had already completed his own quest so they would be able to engage Eilinora and her mysterious mentor immediately. The power of both stones, combined with the strength of the Mac Lochlainns and all the elders, could not fail to defeat the sorceress, even though she held Kieran’s scepter.
Then he thought about leaving Sarah, and his urgency dissipated. She walked beside Meglet, appearing lost in thought, and Brogan realized she did not know what Ridley had planned for them.
Would that he could spare her from worry, but she would not believe him if he told her what he was going to do. She would only think him daft. In the meantime, she would make herself ill fretting and worrying, and so would the children.
“Meglet, go and find your sister,” he said, wanting a moment alone with Sarah.
The little girl looked up at Sarah with questioning eyes. Sarah gave her a nod, and the child trudged away to find Jane.
“You have a nice way with the girls,” she said.
His ease with the lasses surprised him, for he’d not spent any time with children in his own world. Yet they’d won his regard, Meglet with her fretful mien and Jane, who was
her complete opposite.
They walked to the other side of the ruins, and Brogan had to steel himself against pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless. He was confounded by the strength of his need for her touch. He could not explain his reaction to this woman, a Tuath who should have held no sway over him whatsoever.
But he wanted her as much as he wanted his next breath.
Her hair was different today, bound at the nape of her neck in a soft cascade that fell down her back. Pretty auburn waves framed her face. She wore her plain gray gown, but she’d adorned it with a ribbon ’round the high waist, and pinned a sprig of tiny flowers at the center, just below her breasts.
He’d known she could be as comely as any woman on earth. And Brogan knew he should feel better about it.
She spoke to him, but he did not hear her words. He only saw her delectable mouth moving, smelled her fresh, spicy scent.
“Mr. Locke? Brendan?”
“Oh, aye, lass. I was just…” He didn’t know what in Hades he was doing. He shoved his hair back from his forehead and gave her his attention. “What is it?”
“Did…did Mr. Ridley say anything to you about his plans?”
“Aye. He did.”
He looked back and saw that she’d stopped walking.
“You must tell me. No matter how bad it sounds, I’d rather know than not.”
“Weel, he’s given his permission for you and the lasses to go to Mrs. Pruitt’s soiree,” he said, though he knew this was not the subject that was foremost on her mind.
“Brendan, tell me.” She came and put a hand on his arm, and he wanted naught but to draw her into his embrace and tell her that all would be well.
“There’s a place called Loncrief—”
“Oh dear heavens!” She whirled away with one fist pressed to her mouth
“’Tis a school.”
“An awful place! Cold and drafty in winter…not enough food…no one to care for the children…”
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