Margaret placed the Luck on the thick branch of the tree while Jane carried her one-armed doll and looked for Brownie. “Will you tell us the story of Ravenfield?” asked Margaret.
Sarah nodded. “The one with the Luck, or the—”
“Oh yes, please. When the fairy gives the Luck to the lady and tells her to keep it safe always.”
As Sarah told stories to the girls, her mind worked toward a solution to Loncrief and how to keep them from having to go there.
Some deep and primitive part of her believed that Brendan would come up with a way out of their dilemma, but if he didn’t…Rational thinking had convinced her that she couldn’t take the girls and run away, for she had no doubt Mr. Ridley would find them. But if she hired on as a teacher at Loncrief, she and the girls could still be together, and Sarah would see to it that they were not harshly treated.
It was a solution of sorts…not perfect, but at least she could stay near the girls.
Once the rest of the household stirred, Brogan returned to the ruins and located the Odhar’s sparks once again. He adjusted his vision and started to trace the magic, tracking the intermittent flickers that caught his awareness. He headed up to the fells where he had not looked before, but soon lost all trace of the sparks. He could find no scent of magic, either, but he was a practiced hunter. He closed down his other senses and focused inwardly, drawing on the cord of power that dwelled within him.
He stretched out the luminous strands that emanated from his body, aware that they would not be visible to anyone but Druzai hunters. The strands extended for miles in every direction, seeking sparks, seeking Druzai power.
The strands swelled and expanded as they coursed over the hills and through the forests, but he found naught. With no choice but to withdraw, Brogan began to pull back into himself, but something attacked him, dropping onto his shoulders and knocking him off balance. He rolled to the ground with it.
The weight lifted suddenly, but then he felt a jab in his ribs and a blow to the side of his head. Turning away from the next blow, Brogan quickly got up to his knees, but took a vicious kick to the jaw.
He shook himself out of his hunter’s form and saw his attacker. “You dare, sìthean?”
The leathery creature came at him again, but Brogan deflected the blow. He turned quickly and shoved the sìthean to the ground, holding it down by the throat.
“Who sent you, deamhan?” he demanded. He’d never known a sìthean to behave so viciously. At worst, they were foozling pests, even here.
The creature kicked and squealed, but Brogan did not relent. “Where are the Odhar who sent you?”
“Gone!” the sìthean squealed.
Brogan gave it a shake.
“You hurt me, athair!”
“Not half as much I will, unless you tell me where they are.”
“To the sea!” the sìthean cried. “It find safe places in the sea!”
Brogan yanked the creature up to its feet, holding onto the back of its neck. “Show me,” he growled.
The sìthean started to whine. “I know not the place!”
“Aye, you do, and you will take me there. Now.”
Somehow, they got through the day. Sarah let the girls play with the tin Luck and told them stories. When they returned to the nursery, she penned her letter to Loncrief, offering her ser vices as a teacher. She tried not to think about the bleak future she and the girls had to look forward to if Brendan’s plan was not successful.
Mr. Ridley summoned Sarah to the library to speak with Squire Crowell about Andy Ferris, and she told them how she’d found the poor man. The squire asked a number of questions, but apparently he did not wonder how she happened to be out walking after dark. Sarah was glad he did not ask.
She told them she’d been attacked when she discovered Andy’s body, by someone she did not recognize. Squire Crowell had asked a few more questions, then admonished her to stay close to the house and keep the children with her until the villain could be found.
Maud managed to bring an early supper up to the nursery, which they ate before bathing and getting ready for the Pruitt soiree. The girls were anxious to attend the party, but Sarah wasn’t quite so eager. No doubt Brendan would appear, as promised, to escort them. She knew he would not disappoint the girls.
But Sarah didn’t know if her heart could survive seeing him again, knowing he wanted her there only to snare Squire Crowell for her husband.
“Go and change into your new gown, my dear,” said Maud, sensing her reluctance to leave for the party.
“Maud, I don’t think—”
“Nonsense, my girl. Do not think about it, just go. The girls are counting on you.”
It was a challenge to keep Jane from ruining her clothes until it was time to go, but Maud kept track of both girls while Sarah dressed. As she slipped on the beautiful gown, her eyes filled with tears, aware that Brendan had been right about the color. It complemented her coloring perfectly.
She could not bring herself to care, not when she knew he’d chosen it to attract another man.
The lines fit her body perfectly, the neckline low and seductive. The skirt flowed from the waist just under her breasts, the copper fabric shimmering as she moved her legs. She slipped on her shoes, collected her long gloves, and returned to the nursery, where the girls squealed at the sight of her. Maud beamed happily as she fastened the buttons up the back of the gown.
“Oh my dear saints, it does you justice. But you must smile, you know!”
“Maud says that with a bit of luck, you’re likely to meet a husband at Mrs. Pruitt’s,” said Margaret.
Sarah shook her head. “Maud jests, love. It would take all the luck in the world to bring a husband to a pauper’s daughter.”
“But the Fairy Luck—”
“’Tis only an old box, Margaret,” said Sarah. “If it were going to bring me luck, it would have done so well before now.”
Margaret’s face fell and Sarah crouched down beside her. “I’m sorry, love. Perhaps there will be a man at the soiree who will declare his love for me.”
Sarah bit her lip at the lie, and sat down so Maud could arrange her hair, taking care to avoid the sore spot.
Then it was time to go down the stairs to await Brendan, but Mr. Ridley was in the drawing room, pacing impatiently. “’Tis about time,” he said irritably, digging his watch from his pocket. “We needed to leave five minutes ago.”
Sarah pulled her shawl about her shoulders and started for the door, swallowing her disappointment. Seeing Brendan was going to hurt…not seeing was going to be even more painful. “Come along, girls.” She knew Brendan had never really intended to escort them to the soiree, anyway, only agreeing to go when he’d seen their dismay at Maud’s dismissal.
And she was a fool to have entertained the possibility that he could change Mr. Ridley’s mind about Loncrief.
Roscoe opened the door from outside, and Sarah saw a plain black carriage with four horses awaiting them on the drive in front of the house. Mr. Ridley led the way to the carriage as Roscoe raked his eyes down Sarah’s body, making her feel naked. She would have turned ’round and gone back inside if not for a second carriage—a beautiful, painted landau—that pulled into the drive.
It was an impressive vehicle with a lamp on each side, and two drivers. Drawn by four horses, it bypassed Mr. Ridley’s carriage, and when it stopped at Ravenfield’s front door, Brendan Locke emerged. Sarah’s heart expanded impossibly when he jumped to the ground.
“Mr. Locke!” Jane cried. She ran to him and threw her arms around his legs.
Grinning, Brendan lifted her into his arms. “I am no’ late, am I?”
He had a bruise around his left eye and his lower lip was swollen, and Sarah had to restrain herself from running to him to assure herself that there was no other damage. She could not imagine what had happened to him since last she’d seen him.
Mr. Ridley went to his own carriage and waited for Jack to open its door. He
stood beside it and looked pointedly at Sarah.
“They’ll be goin’ with me, Ridley,” said Brogan. He did not await a reaction, but handed Jane into the carriage, and then Margaret. A moment later, he took Sarah’s hand and leaned toward her. He spoke quietly, so that no one else could hear. “You’re lovely, lass. And you’re mine. Doona forget it.”
He was going to take her to Coruain with him.
He’d taken the sìthean to the beach, and the little sprite had shown him where Eilinora’s Odhar had emerged from the sea. He hadn’t been able to wheedle any more information out of the silly creature, but at least he knew the place where the villains would return when they tried to go back to the Astar Columns.
“We thought you weren’t coming for us,” Meglet said.
Brogan took his seat across from Sarah. He wanted to pull her to the bench beside him, to take her hand in his and promise her once more that all was going to be well. He could feel it.
He had decided to let the Odhar find the stone. Now that he knew where Eilinora and her sorcerers would go once they had it, Brogan intended to ambush the rogues and take the stone from them.
“I always keep my promises, little Meglet,” he said, catching sight of a square of metal in her hand. “Tell me, lasses, will you be happy for Miss Granger when she weds and goes away to her husband’s lands?”
“But Miss Granger says there is no man who would want a…a—”
“That’s enough, Margaret,” Sarah said, her voice quivering. She did not believe that all would be well, but that would change as soon as he explained. He was going to tell her everything about himself, about the Druzai and the Tuath, and ask her to come with him to Coruain to be his wife.
She was his céile mate. He wanted to take her into his arms, kiss her and assure her that he hadn’t played loose with her feelings.
It would have to wait until they were alone and he could tell her about his magic and all that he intended to do for the lasses, for Ravenfield. Somehow, he was going to make her see that she belonged with him on Coruain, and ask her to go to his faraway home with him.
She took the children’s hands in both of hers, noticing with uncharacteristic irritation that Meglet’s hands were not empty. “Oh, Margaret, why did you bring the Luck?”
“Because you said you needed all the luck in the world—”
Brogan looked at the box in Meglet’s hand and realized ’twas the same tin container that he’d seen in Sarah’s trunk. He frowned. “The box will give Miss Granger luck?”
“’Tis an old, worthless heirloom from my mother,” Sarah said. “’Tis nothing.”
“But Miss Granger,” said Jane. “’Tis your Fairy Luck.”
Brendan looked as though he’d swallowed a herring, whole. He reached toward them and took the box from Margaret’s hand. “May I?”
“It was a gift of the fairies,” said Jane. “And Miss Granger told us stories about the fairy princess and all her troubles.”
Brendan’s expression changed, his eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. He looked at Sarah. “’Tis a Fairy Luck?”
She had no chance to reply when Meglet pointed to the smoothed markings on the sides. “See? The fairies carved something into the sides, only we cannot see it anymore.”
“What does it say, Miss Granger?”
“’Tis just a silly rhyme my mother made up.”
“What does it say, moileen?” he repeated.
“Be thy casket lost or broak,” said Margaret.
Jane finished, “Then Ravenfield’s luck will dissolve in smoke.”
“But you see it’s cracked,” said Sarah, her own voice breaking. “And so is our luck.”
Brogan’s throat tightened as he considered the possibility that Sarah was Dubhán’s heir. ’Twould make her Druzai. Likely she had talents she didn’t even know she possessed. “Can you open it?”
She shook her head and looked away. “No. My mother might have known how, but she said it was a puzzle box and could only be opened by a man who…a-a man who w-would…”
Meglet became as impatient as Brogan when Sarah’s words drifted off. “Who would what, Miss Granger?” she demanded.
Sarah turned pale and looked up at him, her eyes confused and full of questions. “She said he would come from far shores.”
“From Scotland?” Meglet turned to him, oblivious to Sarah’s bewilderment. “Can you open it, then, Mr. Locke?”
“Aye. ’Tis very likely I can.” ’Twas a ràcain—a riddle box. He’d seen a few of them on Coruain, but never had any interest in them, no more than he’d paid attention to the crìoch-fàile. But he could solve this, just as he’d solved the nested circles.
He slid his fingers over the crack in the top and realized ’twas no accidental fissure. He thought of all the ràcains he’d seen in houses on Coruain, and tried to remember the tricks that would open them. In a land where everything could easily be conquered by magic, the Druzai had a particular liking for problems that could be solved only through ingenuity.
There had to be a release on the surface of the box, something that had escaped the attention of all the generations of women who’d owned the thing. Yet he was certain beyond a doubt that this was where he would find the brìgha-stone.
“I think I’ve found the trick,” he said, too impatient to work the puzzle. Instead, he used the energy of his mind to spring the top of the box. His magic definitely left sparks for the Odhar to find, but Brogan did not much care, not when he looked inside the Luck and saw the stone he sought. Besides, if Eilinora’s sorcerer had sent a sìthean after him, his identity was no longer secret.
Sarah could not have been more shocked to see the dark red stone nested inside her Luck. To her knowledge, the box had never been opened.
“’Tis what you were looking for,” she said, and the knowledge that he was now free to go weighed heavily on her. She’d known he was leaving, but this discovery made his departure imminent.
He nodded and slipped the box inside his formal black coat. “D’you mind if I hold this for safekeeping?”
Sarah shook her head. “Now that you’ve found it, you’ll go.”
He looked across at her, and Sarah felt the heat of his gaze. “No, lass. I’ve a few promises to keep first.”
“What promises, Mr. Locke?” Margaret asked.
“Weel, first of all, I’ve promised to see that you two bonny lasses remain settled at Ravenfield with no Mr. Ridley to frighten you.”
“Oh, Brendan, you cannot—”
“Aye. I can. And I will, before we go.”
She felt tears burning the backs of her eyes, but the carriage came to a halt as they arrived at Pruitt Hall. Sarah blinked them back, glad for the diversion, else Margaret was sure to start questioning Brendan.
He should not make such promises to them, for there was nothing he could do about their circumstances. As much as she wanted to believe, her common sense had returned and was winning the battle against foolish hope.
“Come, my wee ladies,” he said as he climbed out of the landau, helping each of the girls down. “And you, my lovely Sarah.” He brushed away a tear from her cheek and touched her chin before taking her elbow to guide her out of the conveyance. “You must trust me.”
“But Brendan, you don’t understand.”
“Ah, my dear Miss Granger. ’Tis you who doesna understand.”
There was music playing as Brogan escorted the Ravenfield females into the hall, and it was yet fuller and more magical than what Sarah had played on the pianoforte, if that were even possible. Brogan looked over the crowd that had gathered and wondered if there were Odhar among them.
He would not mind if there were, for he was well-equipped to defeat any of them, especially now that he held the brìgha-stone.
Meglet and Jennie found some other children and went to play with them while Mrs. Pruitt greeted them. “Why, Miss Granger! You look…”
“Lovely, is she no’?” Brogan said, though Mrs. Pruitt did n
ot appear particularly pleased to admit that Sarah was one of the most comely lasses in the room. He wanted to slip his arm ’round her waist and pull her close, but he could see by looking at the crowd that such a gesture was not done in public.
The woman showed them to a refreshment table at the far side of the room, where she tried to draw him away and abandon Sarah. Brogan managed to extricate himself from her grasping hands, but was unable to avoid her invitation to join the dancers. “I doona dance, madam.” And even if he could, he would not leave Sarah, not while she was so upset. He needed to get her alone, wanted to explain everything to her.
If only he knew how.
The Pruitt woman gave a tittering laugh and tapped him lightly with a folded fan while Sarah tried to slip away, her skin flushing, but not with embarrassment. He could feel unease rolling off her body in waves. ’Twas well past time to get her alone.
“You jest, Mr. Locke,” said Mrs. Pruitt. “Come.”
“No, I assure you,” he replied, returning to Sarah’s side. “’Tis a skill I never learned.”
Squire Crowell and his entourage arrived, with Charles Ridley right behind. The master of Ravenfield headed straight for Sarah, his features dark and forbidding. Sarah straightened, her face turning expressionless.
Ridley gave a brief nod to Brogan, then turned to Sarah. “Miss Granger, I see you have arrived safe and sound. We will discuss your impertinence later.”
“Impertinence?” Brogan asked.
Ridley’s jaw flexed once, but he did not alter his gaze, pinning Sarah with a hostile look. “I do not hold you responsible, Locke. She knew she was expected to ride with me.”
Brogan laughed. “Do no’ be any more a buffoon than necessary, Ridley. I invited Miss Granger and the lasses to ride with me. They kindly agreed, and so here we are.”
Sarah gasped.
“Oh, and I nearly forgot…” Brogan withdrew a packet of papers from his coat and handed them to Ridley. “These documents were misdelivered to my cottage. They’re for you.”
A Warrior's Taking Page 23
