Jumping in Puddles

by Barbara Elsborg

  She pressed her palm against her pocket and felt the outline of the ring. Losing her virginity made finding the Kewen even more important. Pointless not to make the most of this opportunity while Jago was otherwise occupied. She made her way to the baron’s hall. The door was locked, and after checking she was unobserved, Ellie used magic to unlock it, slipped inside, and closed it behind her.

  The sight that greeted her was stunning. The great hall had a vast arching roof supported by wooden beams and looked a little like a church. Light streamed through tall gothic windows that almost reached the floor. There were long trestle tables on each side of the room and a smaller table on a raised dais at the far end. At her back and above her was a minstrels’ gallery. Ellie stepped forward, hoping for some tingle of recognition, some sense that the Kewen might be here, but felt nothing but awe for the age and majesty of the room and a little attack of nerves in case she was discovered here.

  When it was built, the hall would have been the focal point of the house, the place where those who served the manor ate, slept, gave birth, and eventually died. The solar, where Jago had set up home, was at the back of the minstrels’ gallery and would have been where the family of the house slept.

  Ellie wandered around the edge looking for marks on the floor or wall that might indicate the stones had been interfered with and something hidden, though if it had been anything obvious, wouldn’t others have found it before her? After she’d done a circuit and discovered nothing, sensed nothing, she walked back and forth across the flagstones. The reaction when it came almost took her out at the knees. Christ. Her heart pounded hard enough to hurt as adrenaline flooded her body. She went hot and dizzy just as she had when she’d first seen the ring, but this reaction was far more powerful, shock so overwhelming, it paralyzed her. Invisible threads wrapped around her ankles and coiled up her legs, squeezing, climbing, holding her in place, choking the air from her lungs. Then as suddenly as the feeling had come, it vanished.

  After she’d sucked in air, Ellie looked down. There was no disturbance on the floor, no sign of anything being wrong, but something was. She looked up and saw a relatively modern roof lantern immediately overhead. Had there once been a hole in the ceiling? She might be standing over an old fireplace. Or was there a cellar below?

  * * * *

  “What do you mean you don’t want to sell?” Preston glared at him across the entrance hall. “I made you a fair offer.”

  “I—”

  “Look, Lord Carlyle, this place needs more than a lick of paint from college students. It needs professionals. You and your brother can keep a wing. I won’t change the name of the place. This is going to be an exclusive development.” Preston started to cough. “I’ll give you…a little longer…to think about it.”

  The coughing continued, and the man began to wheeze. As he staggered toward the door, Jago caught his arm and helped him outside.

  “Do you have asthma, any allergies?” he asked.

  Preston shook his head. His breathing seemed to have eased since he’d moved out of the hall. He straightened up. “Must have inhaled a fly. Think about what I’ve said. I’ll be in touch.”

  “The answer’s no,” Jago said. “I’m not selling, not at the moment.”

  Preston smiled. “We’ll see.”

  Jago glowered as the guy pulled away, his tires spitting gravel. The guy had increased his offer, which had surprised him. He made his way back to the solar and sighed when he took in again how tidy it was. If only she’d asked him, there’d have been no problem.

  He picked up the surfboard to move it back over the squint and froze. Ellie stood in the middle of the hall looking up at the ceiling. He always kept the baron’s hall locked. How the hell had Ellie gotten in there? He’d wanted to show her round. It was one of the most impressive parts of Sharwood.

  She dropped to a crouch and ran her hands over the floor. A worm of doubt nibbled at his gut. In all the sex he’d forgotten his suspicions, forgotten what Henry had told him, partly because he wanted it not to be true. He had the proof now. She was looking for something. But what?

  Chapter Twelve

  With a flick of her fingers, Ellie locked up the baron’s hall and went outside into the garden. The jittery feeling had come back. Every part of her seemed to be trembling, not just her arms and legs but her internal organs. She was almost certain the Kewen was under the floor in the hall and so powerful, it had set every nerve jumping. Maybe the reason she was anxious now was because she’d walked away from it. If she had found it, how did she feel about that?

  She should be happy. Her family had been exiled because of its loss, and now she’d found it. Whoopee.

  But Ellie didn’t feel happy. Suddenly, everything wasn’t so simple.

  “Are you okay?”

  She looked up to see Henry approaching.

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  “You’re shaking, and you’re white as a sheet.” His face was full of concern. “Has Jago upset you?”

  “No.”

  “Where is he? I thought you were going to pick strawberries.”

  “He’s busy. I don’t know how long he’ll be.” Suddenly, getting away from Sharwood seemed like the best idea in the world. “Could you give me a lift to Birstwith? I could get started with the picking.”

  “Sorry. I’m waiting for Diane to arrive with the chairs and tables.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You sure you’re all right, Ellie?”

  She nodded.

  “Once Diane gets here and I have things sorted, I’ll take you.”

  Henry headed to where Gavin and James were trimming borders, and Ellie made her way to the gatehouse.

  The laptop sat on the counter, and she opened it to search for a taxi company. She had to leave right now. She couldn’t think. She didn’t want to think. When the screen lit up, she recoiled in shock. Henry had Googled her. Plenty of pages of Ellie Norwoods, but he wouldn’t find the one he was looking for, and that was the problem. A business like hers and no Web site had to set alarm bells ringing.

  She called a cab company that took credit cards, deleted her search from the history, and closed the laptop. Henry didn’t trust her. What had she done? Or not done? Had that little spell to make him forget reversed itself? She wasn’t an expert in using magic. Maybe her question about the ring alarmed him. She pushed her credit card into the pocket holding the ring, locked up the house, and walked round the corner to the road.

  Diane drove past and waved, her car followed by a truck carrying stacks of chairs. Ellie hoped everything went smoothly tomorrow. Maybe Jago ought to speak to the farmer who owned the field across the road and ask if people could park there if they ran out of space down by the gatehouse. Did they need someone in charge of parking? Probably. Ellie sighed. Someone who knew what they were doing would have thought of all this. She was a fraud. No wonder Henry was suspicious.

  A taxi slowed and she waved.

  “Birstwith?” asked the elderly guy.

  “Yes, please.” Ellie sat in the front. “The pick-your-own farm.”

  * * * *

  When she told the farm’s owners how many baskets of strawberries she needed to pick, they laughed and told her she’d never manage it. Ellie smiled politely, negotiated a discount on a bulk purchase, and arranged to store the fruit in the corner of their barn until she finished.

  The best strawberries were in the rows farthest away, so she had quite a walk to get there. Fortunately not many people were around, so Ellie used a touch of magic to speed up her picking. And while she picked, she pondered.

  If her father were here, he’d tell her to find a way to get under the stone floor and confirm what she suspected. Once she had the Kewen, she should return home and then take it to Faerieland, where they’d welcome her with open arms and the rest of them would be welcomed too.

  Actually, Ellie wondered about that. Would they be welcomed? If those in charge in Faerieland saw the return of the Kewen as
nothing more than putting right a wrong done by her family, why would they be pleased to see the Norwoods again?

  On the plus side, she’d no longer be forced to go back and find a husband prepared to live on this side with little power and no family while she continued the search.

  Her mother and father would be ecstatic at the news. Pixie would probably hate it on principle because she lived to annoy. Ellie had no idea what Asher and Micah would think. Would any of them be allowed to stay on this side if they wanted to? What if some were allowed to stay and not others? It would create a rift in the family. Though Ellie had a horrible suspicion there’d be no choice. They’d all have to return.

  The alternative? She could keep quiet. She’d not actually seen the Kewen. Furthermore, it might not be there. It could be something else making her feel strange. She’d had a similar reaction when she’d confronted the zombie who wanted to date Pixie, and if she was in the vicinity of vampires, every hair on her body prickled. But if she lied to her father and said the Kewen wasn’t at Sharwood, would he believe her or come see for himself?

  Question after question flooded her mind. What if there was some protection over it designed to destroy whoever disturbed it? What if she took the Kewen out and gave it Jago? He could sell it and do everything he wanted to Sharwood Hall. He could be a doctor again.

  But once the jewels showed up in the market, which they would when Jago sold them, the elders would discover she’d lied, and they’d punish her and her family. Maybe she could change the setting of the jewels, disguise them in some way? But she couldn’t change the fact that they had their own energy, and in any case, they weren’t hers to meddle with.

  Who did they belong to? The fae? But they were on Jago’s property, and theoretically, didn’t that make them his? The fae couldn’t take him to court to claim they were stolen. How could they prove it? Was there any way of finding out what role Jago’s family played in the taking of the Kewen.

  She wished she could stop her mind racing.

  Ellie inadvertently squashed a strawberry in her fingers and popped it in her mouth. Maybe she ought to try to find out why the Kewen was in Sharwood Hall. That might help her decide what to do.

  You have no choice. There is no decision to be made.

  She thought about her parents, her grandparents, their parents, her potential child all looking for the Kewen, and here she was trying to think of a way not to find it. When it occurred to her that maybe they’d failed for the same reason, she squashed another strawberry. Could be they hadn’t wanted to find it. Her father did. She could lie, tell him the ring had been bought overseas by Henry’s mother at some auction. No details known. And then the search would continue, and she’d have to pretend until it was time for her to find a husband and—Ellie bit her lip as tears threatened.

  Oh hell. What shall I do? What the fuck shall I do? She worked faster and faster dropping the strawberries into the basket. First thing was to check that it was the Kewen, because if it wasn’t, she’d won a reprieve.

  * * * *

  By the time Jago went down to the baron’s hall, Ellie had gone. Had he really seen her? He turned in a circle in the center of the room wondering what she was looking for. Portraits of his ancestors hung on the walls. None were worth much. The oldest painting was of Sir Robert Westerham. He’d been given Sharwood by Edward VI, heir of Henry VIII, and it had been passed to Robert’s son Sidney, who was nowhere near as good-looking as the horse he sat on, though he was apparently popular in the court of Elizabeth I. The next portrait was of Sidney’s son, James, who, as the history books told it, was the personification of virtue, chivalry, and nobility. James died shortly after his father, and the estate passed to his brother Edward.

  There was a vague resemblance from one portrait to another. Even the mad fifth earl looked perfectly sane, although he’d apparently thought he was the reincarnation of Nero and only wore togas. He died childless. Mad Thomas’s brother, Rupert, was the family’s black sheep. Two of his children had gone missing, and records showed he was suspected of killing them, though their bodies had never been found. His wife had gone insane, and Rupert had hanged himself. Jago wasn’t sure what happened first. Rupert’s younger brother, Tobias, inherited Sharwood, and ironically, had that not happened, Jago wouldn’t be where he was today.

  Finally he reached the portrait of his grandfather, who he’d never known, and the last portrait, which was of his father. They could have been brothers. Same tight-lipped mouth, Roman nose, and piercing eyes. Actually, not physically like him at all.

  * * * *

  Ellie worked with both hands, pinching the stems of the strawberries between her thumbnails and index fingers, keeping the fruit cradled in her palm. She twisted and broke the stems and popped the strawberries in the basket. She’d moved onto autopilot, working as fast as she could.

  “Ellie?”

  She jerked upright and saw Jago staring at her, Henry and Diane standing behind. Jago blinked and rubbed his eyes. Shit. I was doing that too fast. She plastered a smile on her face and walked over to push a huge strawberry into his mouth.

  “Good grief, I didn’t expect all that to go in,” she said with a laugh. “I thought you’d bite it in half.”

  Jago chewed, swallowed, and glared.

  Uh-oh, what did I do?

  “How many more baskets do we need?” Diane asked.

  “Three.” Ellie bent back to the plant she’d been working on.

  Jago worked a couple of rows away, and Ellie felt certain he was annoyed with her.

  “Henry, it’s not one for the basket, one for your mouth.” Diane tsked.

  “You weren’t supposed to see that.” He laughed.

  Ellie’s stomach churned with anxiety. What was wrong with Jago?

  “Who else have you worked for?” Jago suddenly asked.

  “I don’t discuss my clients.”

  “Can’t you give me a hint? What sort of businesses?”

  “Fine arts. Jewelry.” She’d given Bernie advice plenty of times.

  “What’s your company called again?”

  “A Breath of Fresh Air.”

  “How many employees?”

  What was with all the questions? “Just me.”

  “Good grief, Jago. Leave the poor girl alone,” Henry said.

  “The three of you smile for the camera,” Diane said.

  Ellie winced when she looked at her full basket. She hoped Diane had only taken a picture and not a video.

  What was wrong with Jago? Was he feeling guilty about last night? She’d wanted it to happen. Did he feel she’d tricked him into something? Maybe he didn’t want her anymore. A fist squeezed her heart.

  They walked back to the farm building, and the owner scratched his head. “I have no idea how you managed to pick so many so fast. Need a job?”

  Ellie forced herself to smile.

  “I’ve weighed the rest. Let me just weigh these.” The guy took the extra baskets. “That’s fifty-five kilograms at three pounds forty a kilo. A hundred and eighty-seven pounds and fifty pence. With your discount, a hundred and fifty pounds.”

  Ellie gulped and handed over her credit card. Money she didn’t have, but she could reclaim it from the receipts tomorrow. If there were any strawberries left, she’d buy sugar with more money she didn’t have and make jam and sell it.

  “I’ve put all your containers on a cart,” the owner said. “You can wheel them to your vehicle.”

  “Oh my God.” Diane gasped when she saw the mountain of strawberries.

  “Bloody hell,” said Henry.

  Jago said nothing.

  JAGO STARED IN disbelief at the cart. There had to be over twenty large baskets. How the hell had Ellie managed to fill all those? If he wasn’t standing looking at them, he’d say it was impossible. He had a lot of questions but wanted to wait until he and Ellie were on their own.

  Annoyingly, Diane maneuvered herself into the back, where he’d intended to sit with Ellie, so on
ce they’d loaded the fruit, he slipped into the front next to Henry. How long had Ellie been at the farm? No more than two hours. Fifty-five kilograms in two hours—that was about two minutes for every kilogram. It was impossible.

  Henry pulled up outside the hall. They unloaded the strawberries and carried them to the old scullery. Once Henry and Diane had left, Jago turned to Ellie. She grabbed his hand, looked into his eyes, and… What was I going to say?

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  Something was wrong, but he was damned if he could remember what.

  Oh yeah, that’s it. “What were you doing in the baron’s hall this morning?”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know I’d been in there?”

  “I saw you from the squint, the little window in the solar. You were on your knees in the middle of the floor.”

  “I thought I saw a coin trapped between the stones, but it was a bit of wire.”

  “How did you get in there?”

  Ellie shrugged. “Just opened the door and walked in.”

  “I keep it locked.”

  “It was open.” She squeezed his hand. “Sorry. You were busy. I was curious. I should have waited for you to show me. It’s fantastic. People would pay a lot of money to have a wedding in there. No wonder your brother wants to use it. It’s so romantic. And those tables? Have they been in since it was built? Because they’d never fit through the door.”

  Is she trying to distract me? “I was told they were built in situ.”

  “Do you want me to give you some ideas on decorating it for your brother’s wedding?”

  “Okay.”

  He tugged her down the hallway, and as he pulled out his keys, Ellie opened the door.

  “Shit,” he gasped.

  “I told you it was open.”

  As far as he knew, only he and Henry had keys. Had Henry shown Diane and forgotten to lock it?

  Ellie leaned back on the wall below the minstrels’ gallery. “How many people are invited?”

  “Sixty.”

  “You’ll need two long tables at either end. The one on the dais will be for the important people. I think you’d only seat forty at what’s already in here. But any table would do. When they’re covered with clothes, no one will know what they’re like underneath.”