A Warrior's Taking
Page 18
He pulled her ’round to face him. “Sarah, I have…influence…in, er, certain quarters. I will see to it—”
“He is their guardian, Brendan.” Her green eyes were as stormy as the sea that had tossed him onto her shores. “He can do what he likes with them.”
“And I am telling you that I can influence him to change his mind.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and began to pace. “I do not see how.”
“You must trust me. Do you, lass?”
She stopped. Standing still, she looked up into his eyes. “I want to.”
Sarah’s heart and soul were in turmoil. She hoped Brendan would be able to do something about Mr. Ridley’s plans, but she had her doubts. The new master was the most stubborn, disagreeable man she had ever met.
She’d been the brunt of bullies for a good number of years. Yet their taunts seemed nothing compared to Mr. Ridley’s callous attitude toward Margaret and Jane, children who were his own blood relations, distant though they might be.
She started back to the house in order to let Brendan continue his search for his precious artifact, but remembered the money in her pocket. Turning back to him, she picked up his hand and placed the coins and notes into it. “We cannot keep your money. Now that Mr. Ridley is here, and you’ve got Mrs. Hartwell’s—”
He reversed the position of their hands. “Sarah, you must keep it. I have much more—”
“But we—”
“I insist.”
The thought of Margaret and Jane at Loncrief School made her accept it. Life at that place would be every bit as wretched as her own awful state after her father’s death. Somehow, she was going to make certain that the girls never saw the inside of that school.
She would need money to do it.
Preoccupied with plans when she returned to the house, she was surprised to see Andy sitting on the ground outside the kitchen door. The children were frightened of him and flocked to her sides when they saw him.
He unnerved Sarah, too, but she did not let on, focusing her attention on his one good eye. “Are you hungry, Andy?”
He gave her a vacant smile and nodded. “Andy eee…Andy eee!”
“Wait here,” she said. She sent the girls inside, following close behind. She cut a thick slice of bread and a generous piece of cheese, then returned to the kitchen door.
Stepping outside, she handed him the food. “You’d better not come around anymore, Andy,” she said. “I’m afraid our new master won’t take kindly to…” She did not finish when she realized the poor fellow wouldn’t understand her explanations. She hardly understood people like Ridley herself.
Sarah left him to his meal and went back inside, meeting Maud, who’d come downstairs with the dress she’d been making. “Come, Sarah, and let me see how this fits you.”
“Andy’s outside,” Sarah whispered, looking toward the library. “Where is Mr. Ridley?”
“No need to worry. He’s gone to Craggleton. Mr. Locke told him he couldn’t be relying on you to take care of his horse. Told him go and hire himself a groom in Craggleton. Don’t look so astonished, my girl,” Maud added, smiling. “’Tis no surprise that your Scotsman wants to look out for you. Anyone can see he’s smitten.”
Sarah swallowed, wishing it were true. But he’d found at least part of what he’d been looking for—a clue to the location of his special stone. Soon he would have that, too.
“He plans to leave here, Maud. If he stays until Friday, I’ll be surprised.”
“We’ll see about that, Sarah, my dear.” She held up the coppery gown she’d pieced together. “We’ll just see about that.”
Chapter 12
Before going back to the clues and the ridiculous puzzles, Brogan carried out a physical search of the caves. The walls were roughly hewn, and he suspected they had not occurred naturally. It seemed likely that Lord Dubhán had produced them for his own purposes, one of which might have been to hide certain treasures.
Taking a broom and ladder from the shed, Brogan climbed to the uppermost reaches of the cave walls and examined every rock, sweeping away loose stones, looking for a concealed space. Mayhap he would find a hollowed-out area concealed by a tight-fitting rock.
“Gift of the fae,” he muttered, trying to understand what Dubhán could have meant. No one knew where the blood stones had originated, but he was certain they had not been bestowed with any fanfare. The ancient elders had wanted to keep them secret.
They were so secret that Brogan had not even believed they existed until Ana had actually seen them. He’d always thought the tales told of them were myths.
He ran his hands across the stone walls, pushing and pulling, brushing, painstakingly going over every surface, forcing himself to stay focused on his search when his thoughts wanted to drift to Sarah. He did not want to think about Crowell and every other swain in the parish crowding ’round her, seeking her favor. He despised the thought of any other man touching her, bringing her pleasure.
Muttering a vicious Druzai curse under his breath, he thought of Ridley and his rude treatment of her. Every masculine instinct he possessed urged him to go into the house and see to it that he gave her a modicum of respect while he was still master of Ravenfield.
She deserved no less. Yet Ridley was a man who took for granted his own power over others. Brogan was going to enjoy taking him down a few notches when he left.
Any satisfaction he enjoyed at the thought of Ridley’s comeuppance was dampened by the reality of leaving Sarah. He would never have believed that a simple Tuath woman could insinuate herself into his every thought, his every desire.
Finding the brìgha-stone was still his priority. Yet touching Sarah, tasting her, making love to her had become an impulse that was difficult to control. He wanted her.
“Mr. Locke…Brendan.”
He could almost believe he’d conjured Sarah when he looked down and saw her standing near the base of the ladder. She looked ethereal in the firelight, holding a plate and a mug in her hands. His manhood stirred at the sight of her.
He climbed down and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
“’Tis late,” she said, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. Her manner was hesitant and unsure, as well it might be. She was no seasoned mistress who understood the bounds of casual pleasures and physical intimacies. “Well past dark.”
Glancing toward the mouth of the cave, he realized he had no idea how many hours had passed in his search down there.
“Where is Ridley?”
“Abed. Everyone is asleep. I…I thought you’d be hungry.”
“Hungry? Aye.” He set the plate aside, slipped his fingers into the curls near her ear, and pulled her close. Aye, he was hungry.
She made a small, feminine sound and tipped her head back. He descended upon her mouth, kissing her like a starving man. A storm raged through him, a tempest rousing his blood, clouding his mind and burning him all at once. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, tasting her, relishing her ardent, brash response to him.
She slid her arms up his chest and ’round his neck, pressing her body against him. He felt her nipples harden against his chest, and a spear of pure desire arrowed through him. He kissed her like a starving man, unfastening the buttons of her bodice. He slipped her gown from her shoulders and took but a moment to free her breasts, cupping them in his hands.
“You are so lovely, Sarah,” he said, bending to take one nipple into his mouth. He circled it with his tongue while he teased the other with his fingertips.
She pushed her hips against him, her body seeking the same pleasure he’d given her at the cottage. Brogan obliged her, reaching for her hem, pulling it up and out of his way. He touched her then, his thumb finding the sensitive nub between her thighs.
And nearly came to his own climax.
He wanted to be inside her. Yet the cold, dark cave was no fair bower. He could not make love to Sarah on this filthy, clammy ground. Nor would
he take her to the barn or anywhere else at Ravenfield.
“Sarah…”
She bucked against his hand and shuddered, and would have slipped to the ground had Brogan not caught her and lifted her into his arms. He held her close to his chest and pressed his forehead to hers as her spasms slowed. As painful as it would be, he had to stop now.
Holding her securely, he carried her out of the cave. ’Twas fully dark outside, though the moon cast a soft light since it had barely begun to wane. He was clearly able to see her questioning eyes.
No doubt there was puzzlement in his own.
“You must go inside, lass,” he said, though his words went against every urge in his body. He lowered her to the ground, but she clung to him for a moment before turning and hastening to the house.
Sarah did not know how she could face Brendan this morning. Her wanton behavior had shocked her, and it must have had the same effect on him, for she’d brazenly pursued him.
And he’d effectively dismissed her before she could give herself to him, body and soul.
He was not indifferent to her. She realized he’d ended their tryst because he was leaving. Soon. And without her. He was trying to be honorable.
After a night of tossing and turning in her bed, Sarah knew what she had to do. Brendan Locke was not her savior. He would no more take a poor, insignificant country girl for his wife than he would want two orphaned children. It was too much to ask of an influential man like him, like Squire Crowell.
Brendan’s father had died, and for all Sarah knew, he had become lord and master of his father’s estates. He would have to return home to his responsibilities. To an advantageous marriage.
She brushed away a sudden spate of tears and tried thinking of something else.
She did not understand his fascination with the castle ruins. Nor did she know how he could find one special stone out there. The entire site was made of stone, and there was rubble on the ground. Could he possibly intend to sift through all the rocks to find that one particular stone he sought?
He’d said the runes provided clues. Sarah supposed that was why he seemed to be concentrating his search in the caves. She’d seen the drawings he’d made, etchings of the circles and runes that had been carved on the castle walls. It all seemed so strange, yet none of it made any difference now.
Surely Brendan knew that whatever he found on the property would belong to Mr. Ridley, and Ravenfield’s new master did not seem to be a man who would relinquish any of his possessions easily. Especially if he heard of some unique stone that had brought a Scottish adventurer here to look for it.
None of it had any bearing on what Sarah had to do. She recognized that it was past time to face her own responsibilities and deal with them alone, just as she had always done. She was going to move into Craggleton with the children before Mr. Ridley had a chance to send them to Loncrief. Surely he would not object to her intention of keeping them and providing them with a home and an education.
He would likely appreciate the relief to his purse.
She asked Maud to keep an eye on the children and walked into town, without even looking toward the ruins for a glimpse of Brendan Locke.
There was a milliner’s shop off the main street where she knew there were rooms to let. It was a respectable location, not too far from the homes of the prosperous townsmen she hoped would hire her as a teacher for their children. When she stepped into the crowded shop, the bell on the door jangled loudly in her ears as all conversation stopped.
She saw a number of matrons inside, women who had known of Sarah’s impoverished state, but had done nothing to help her. Her tongue froze in her mouth and she nearly turned around to leave, but something compelled her to approach the counter where the milliner stood, choosing fabrics for one of the ladies.
“Mr. Yardley, might I have a word with you?” She used the same imperious tone used by the wealthy ladies who stood listening to her. None of them needed to know that her knees were quaking beneath her skirts, especially when the milliner gazed down at her through his quizzing glass.
“Speak, young woman.”
Sarah pressed her lips together and raised her chin as haughtily as Frederica Hattinger would have done. She reminded herself she was no longer a poor waif, but a grown woman of some means, and no small ability. She spoke firmly. “In private, if you please.”
It worked. The man set his feathers and ribbons on the counter and gestured to a workroom at the back of the shop. Sarah led the way, making the rash assumption that he would follow.
She walked into the room and turned to find the tall, angular man standing with his arms crossed over his bony chest. “I am not hiring any shopgirls.”
“I haven’t come seeking employment.”
“State your business, then.”
“There is a sign upstairs for rooms to let. I’d like to—”
He started to turn away.
“Wait! I have the money. I—”
“The Craggleton cockle seller has money?” he sneered, amused by his own silly alliteration.
Sarah took two of Brendan Locke’s sovereigns from her reticule and held them out. “How many months will this cover?”
Something woke Brogan from a sound sleep. He reached for his tarmach—his staff of power—then remembered where he was and why his neck felt stiff. The cold rock floor of the cave had not been his most comfortable bed.
He rose quietly to his feet and made his way to the entrance of the cave, aware that one of Ravenfield’s sheep might have wandered near the ruins. But he did not think so. Eilinora wanted the brìgha-stone as badly as Brogan did. She or one of her followers had come to look for it.
The sound of a scuffle and a stifled cry brought him outside, but naught seemed amiss. There were no sheep, or any other intruders; only a cool wind that rustled the branches of the nearby trees. Staying close to the walls of the castle, he searched for an intruder, but could see no one in the dim starlight.
Nor did he hear any more unusual sounds.
Stealthily making his way to the house, Brogan let himself inside and searched for signs of an intruder. He moved quickly through the main floor, then went upstairs to the bedrooms. He checked on Sarah first, then the children. Maud came next, and when he found no sign of anything out of order, he opened the door to Ridley’s room, where the man was snoring contentedly.
He resisted the urge to return to Sarah’s room, instead, going back to the castle. Not even Colm was awake.
He sat down on the grass near Jane’s tea table, just outside the cave entrance. The sense of foreboding was strong, but Brogan was unable to pinpoint the reason for it until the sun rose. It was only then that he saw the blood.
Sarah had no opportunity to speak to Mr. Ridley of her desire to take the girls with her to Craggleton, for he closed himself inside the library for most of the morning and refused to be disturbed.
She spent the time fretting over her eventual meeting with Ravenfield’s new master. While she sewed the girls’ dresses, she practiced what she would say to him, stewing over what she would do if he refused her. She considered what would be the most effective strategy, whether to ask him for guardianship of the girls outright, or to wait until he mentioned Loncrief and his intention to send them there.
Practicing what she would say, she tried out different lines of reasoning and the best way to appeal to him.
She tried not to think of Brendan Locke and whether he’d come from the Hartwell cottage to putter in the caves while she and the girls had done their lessons. Whatever his reason for staying at Ravenfield, Sarah knew it was not for her. It was quite clear that, in spite of all that had transpired between them during the past few days, he had not changed his intentions.
Or had he?
Her face heated from embarrassment as well as a startling arousal at the thought of their passionate exchanges. Her palms became damp, her nipples beaded, and she felt a desperate longing for his touch in her most private places.
How could he stay, when he had his own lands in Scotland? Sarah had her own obligations here with the girls, and even if Brendan did ask her to go with him, she didn’t think Mr. Ridley would allow her to take the girls to Scotland.
Sarah worked on the new dresses, forcing herself to keep at her sewing, even though she’d have preferred to go down to the cave to seek out Brendan. She wanted to know more about the stone he sought in the cave and why he wanted it. She wondered who his family was, and what would be expected of him when he returned to Scotland.
Mostly, she just wanted to be near him, to hear his voice and feel the heat of his body when she stood near.
But he had not encouraged her to join him. He seemed to prefer working alone, and hardly even noticed the passage of time.
Sarah finished work on the children’s dresses, then went down to the kitchen to find Maud. The girls had finished their lessons and were upstairs, playing in the nursery.
The kitchen was a quiet comfort to Sarah, with its homely cupboards and shelves, and the warm smells of whatever was in the oven. She found Maud working on the gown made of the beautiful copper cloth Brendan had bought her.
“I was just about to come looking for you,” said Maud. “I need you to try this on.”
Sarah took the nearly completed gown and started for the door. “Are you coming?”
“Put it on and come back. I must keep an eye on my biscuits.”
In the privacy of her room upstairs, Sarah slipped on the dress. Its capped sleeves were short and gathered at the shoulder to add a bit of fullness. The waist was high, allowing the skirt to flow gracefully to the floor. The bodice was cut low, much lower than any gown Sarah had ever worn, leaving her shoulders bare and the upper swells of her breasts exposed.