PATRICIA SIMPSON
The Haunting of
Brier Rose
85,000 words
Paranormal Romance
Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole.
"Nonsense," replied the field mouse. "Now don't be obstinate,
or I shall bite you with my white teeth."
—Thumbelina, Hans Christian Andersen
To Noreen
For your special friendship
and your knowledge of secret worlds
within and without.
PROLOGUE
Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1670
"Hurry!" Constance called. "We haven't much time!"
Nathaniel stumbled up the trail, half-blind in the twilight, but too worried about being discovered to carry a lantern. In the dwindling light, he could just make out the white oval of Constance's face as she waited for him near the sundial, her shawl and dress wafting around her in the late September breeze, a small satchel at her feet. For a year he had courted her, suffering the silent scrutiny of the Bastyr family, always conscious of their watchfulness, their censure, their severe morality. And now for the first time since he had spoken for her hand, he was meeting her alone. He broke through the ring of oak trees that surrounded the small clearing and ran across the grass, grateful for the full moon that illuminated his path.
"They didn't see you go?" he asked.
"I don't think so. But they'll soon miss me and come looking. We've only a few minutes, Nathaniel."
He paused, suddenly unsure of himself. He had never embraced Constance, never touched her hand, never kissed her. She had always held herself back from him, worried that one little slip would bring down the wrath of Seth Bastyr. Nathaniel knew she would rather die than lose him to the Bastyrs' strict code of ethics.
"Connie!" A smile of welcome pulled at the corners of his mouth. His gaze swept across her lovely pale face, made pale by the light of the moon and her fear of being discovered in her tryst with Nathaniel. Fright widened her cerulean eyes, parted her full lips, showing the barest ridge of her flawless white teeth. Nathaniel stared at the mouth he had longed to taste for the past year and the skin he had longed to caress for what seemed like an eternity. He had lost count of the evenings spent sitting at the Bastyr hearth, pretending to listen to Seth's sermons about colonial politics and the moral decline in the New World, when all the while his every sense was trained on twenty-year-old Constance Meybridge, the English bond servant and distant relative of widower Seth Bastyr.
Now she was here alone, willing to cut every tie and run away with him to Jamaica, and to become the bride of a man she had never even kissed.
"Is everything ready?" she asked.
"Aye. We sail at dawn."
"Oh, Nathaniel, I'm frightened!" she exclaimed.
"Frightened? Why?"
"I'm afraid that it will never come to pass." She looked over her shoulder and back at Nathaniel. "No matter what I do, Seth seems to be watching, always watching!"
"Well, he isn't here now."
"How do you know? He could have followed me. Sometimes I swear he can read my mind."
"No one can read your mind, Connie. Don't worry." He grabbed her hands to reassure her. The contact of her warm fingers in his sent a bolt of desire through him, as it must have for her, because she glanced up at him sharply, her eyes darkening as her pupils widened. Was it her feelings for him that darkened her eyes? Or alarm?
For a moment Nathaniel was at a loss for words, overcome by the heady closeness and the sudden possibilities of being alone with her. He drew her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. "It will happen. We will be man and wife tomorrow, Connie. Joined forever."
"I only wish tomorrow were here!" She closed her eyes and lifted her face, her auburn lashes dark against her porcelain skin. God, she was beautiful. How could he have found a woman so beautiful and yet so innocent of the power of her beauty?
The chill wind blew through the oaks, singing softly in the brittle leaves, lulling Nathaniel into a special world where the Bastyrs did not exist, where contracts and duty had no place, where the declining morality of the New World had no business interfering. All Nathaniel could see was the surrender of her upturned face and the rise and fall of her breasts, and all he could feel was the burning, undeniable hunger for her in his heart and loins.
"Connie!" He choked on the effort it took to speak.
Suddenly, after the long year of dreaming about her, aching for her, living for her, she was in his arms, her soft woman's body pressed against his hard male frame.
Like an untutored schoolboy, Nathaniel lost control of himself. The response to her was instantaneous, overwhelming, a swelling of need so great that be moaned in painful surprise. He had wanted a woman before, but he had never waited this long to slake his desire. And with Constance, there was so much more than simple desire. His feelings for her were like circles that wound around each other, spiraling upward into glorious rapture, threatening to set his heart to bursting.
"Connie!" he said against her lips, unable to put his feelings into words. Nothing he could say would ever do justice to the way he felt about her. He could say he loved her a million times, and he had declared his love in previous encounters, but words could never convey what his body longed to shout to her. He backed her against the edge of the huge granite slab of the rustic sundial, pinning her between the stone and the undeniable flag of his desire. He only hoped the raw honesty of his body would not scare her away and send her running back to the Bastyr house.
As if to allay his fears, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her sweet lips for a kiss that was so innocent and yet so ardent that he melted inside, like a candle set too near the flame. His hat fell off, but he paid it no mind. She wasn't afraid! He had known in his heart that she shared his love. And her hesitant mouth and small trembling hands upon his shoulders were proof of it.
"I've wanted to touch you for months," he breathed.
"And I you, Nathaniel!"
"Ah, love!" Nathaniel swept his hands down her back and over her hips, fanning his hands over her skirt to press her into him. He forced her back against the stone while she gasped, spreading her hands upon his chest. "I want to touch you everywhere, know every inch of you."
He could not deny the truth of his love for her, nor would he hide the fact that he wanted her as a man wants a woman. How he wanted her! His blood roared through his ears, his mouth went dry, and his skin felt as if it were aflame. All he could do to keep himself in check was to kiss her, deeply and passionately, showing her with his tongue what he longed to do to the innermost reaches of her.
"Nathaniel!" she cried, breaking away from his mouth. Her lips were swollen, her eyes cloudy with passion, and her nipples hard and erect, quite visible through the woolen homespun dress she wore. His body surged anew at the sight of her. "We must stop! The Bastyrs—"
"They don't know you're here, love." His voice was hoarse; his mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. "And we'll have no privacy on the ship."
"But—"
"Connie, I've waited more than a year just to touch you, to kiss you. I can't wait any longer."
"We've got to go to the ship—"
He silenced her protests with his mouth, kissing her lips and then her throat and ears. Her head rolled back, and she let out a moan of pleasure as he put his hand on her sensitive breast and kneaded the firm rounded flesh. He moved against her belly until he thought he would explode with longing.
"I'm to be your husband, Connie, and you're to be my wife. The captain on board will make us so. But we'll have no chance to be alone like this. Not for weeks!"
&nb
sp; "But, Nathaniel, what if Seth finds us?"
"He won't!"
She closed her eyes, moaning again when he pushed aside the shawl and her fichu, exposing most of her left breast. Then he slipped his hand into the furnace of her bodice and encompassed her breast with his hand.
"Nathaniel!" she gasped, her voice queerly constricted.
"I shall die of wanting you," he murmured, amazed at the desperation he heard in his voice. "Let me come into you, Connie. Let me."
He stepped into the apex of her legs, making his intentions even more blatant than his verbal request. She raised her knee to accommodate him, angling it alongside his thigh, and he growled with hunger as she presented the more intimate position to him. Clutching her slender thigh with his left hand, he dipped slightly and came up against the heat of her most guarded flesh for the very first time. The contact, even through the layers of their clothing, galvanized both of them.
"Yes, Nathaniel," she mouthed against his feverish kisses. "Oh—"
He was barely conscious of rational thought. All the months she had tempted him beyond reason without the slightest intention on her part, driven him crazy simply by her gaze, were about to come to a screeching, glorious halt. Tomorrow she would be his wife. But tonight she would be his lover. He reached for the skirt of her dress, yanking it upward. He had to strip away all barriers until he felt her hot, moist flesh enclosing his own.
"Please..." Her voice trailed off as he cupped her with his hand and found that she was ready for him.
He fumbled with the buttons of his breeches. The mere touch of his own hand as he unfastened the flap nearly sent him over the brink. He was breathing heavily in anticipation before he even freed himself.
Constance's hands pushed into his hair, capturing him as she kissed him in answer. He felt the surrender in her slender frame, in the press of her thumbs at his temples, her fingers behind his ears. His tongue met hers as he lifted her off the ground and let her slide over the hard planes of his body in a rehearsal of the moment to come.
Then he felt for the ties of her bodice and unfastened than as he showered desperate kisses on her throat. She moved beneath him, all fragile warmth and softness, as he peeled away her somber layers of homespun to reveal the ivory perfection of her body.
He could hear the rush of blood in his ears over their tortured breathing, and was barely aware of an echo behind him, as if the wind and leaves were chanting in time with his heart. Constance stood before him in her chemise, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Just as he reached for her, something caught his arms, stayed his hands, and then he was jerked unceremoniously away.
Nathaniel twisted around, shocked to see figures in black robes standing in a semicircle around them, chanting.
Constance saw a tall robed figure stride up to the sundial. She grabbed her discarded skirt and held it to her breasts, mortified that she had been caught nearly naked, while Nathaniel hastily buttoned his breeches.
"Seducer!" the robed figure hissed. "Fornicator!"
Constance recognized the dry tone of Seth Bastyr's voice and felt another flush of mortification tinged with fear. He had known she had left the house. He had been watching her. Swallowing her fear, she stared at him, willing her hands to remain steady and her eyes to remain clear of fright. She hated Seth Bastyr and wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of seeing her cower in his presence. But why he was dressed in the strange black robe?
Nathaniel, unarmed and defenseless, tried to shake off his captors, but the two men only yanked back his arms.
"Leave him be!" Constance cried, seeing pain flare in his face. "He meant no harm!"
"Meant no harm? He nearly took thy virginity!"
She flung back her hair. "I'm not a child, Seth Bastyr, I'm a woman. And I have chosen Nathaniel as my husband."
"'Tis not a choice for thee to make!" Seth thundered. His black eyes were wild. She had never seen him so agitated. His cold glance raked her from her toes up to her tousled head, where her red hair had come undone in the throes of passion. Constance felt a blush creep up her neck.
He smiled knowingly, which increased her embarrassment.
"I have gone to great lengths for thee, Constance," he said, stepping closer. "And thou art mine to command."
"You have no legal hold on Connie," Nathaniel retorted. "Her contract is fulfilled."
"'Tis not fulfilled yet." Seth turned on Nathaniel. "There remains one night before she is free."
"A night cannot matter overmuch." Nathaniel pulled away from his captors. "Come, Connie."
With a metallic swish, Seth drew a saber from the folds of his woolen robe and held it out to block Nathaniel. "Not so quickly, Nathaniel Cooper. Constance is not leaving with thee."
"Yes she is. We have made plans to marry."
"Constance will become a bride tonight, but not to thee."
Shocked, Constance turned to stare at Seth. The Bastyrs expected her to marry someone? Seth had not mentioned the fact. The Bastyrs rarely discussed anything. In fact, they rarely spoke at all.
"Wh-what are you saying?" Constance stammered. "That you intend to keep me here against my will?"
"Against thy will, dear Constance?" He smiled again, a smile that echoed his humorless voice. "Where did thee get the notion that thee would be dissatisfied?''
"I will never be happy here. Not without Nathaniel!"
"Nathaniel?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Nathaniel is but a pawn, a tool to get thee ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For thy role as wife and helpmeet. To me."
She gaped at Seth in utter disbelief, stunned.
"No!" Nathaniel exploded. He grabbed a branch from the ground. "Never!"
Seth lunged for him and glanced a powerful blow off the oak branch. Constance staggered backward against the cold stone, watching in horror as Seth closed in upon Nathaniel, slashing the air.
"Nathaniel!" she cried, realizing that Seth meant to hurt Nathaniel, not just drive him away.
"Run!" Nathaniel yelled, holding up the branch to ward off a blow.
For a moment Constance hesitated, frozen with worry. What if Nathaniel was struck by the saber? What if Seth meant to kill him? What could she do? Run for help? She hadn't the faintest idea how far away Nathaniel's ship was anchored, and whether or not he had come ashore with any of the crew.
"For God's sake, run!" Nathaniel yelled, just as the saber broke through the branch, splintering it with a loud crack. Before Nathaniel could recover, Seth struck again, slicing through Nathaniel's leg, laying the flesh open clean to the bone. In agony, Nathaniel toppled to the ground, holding his leg while blood gushed over his hand.
"Nathaniel!" she screamed, dashing to his side.
Seth barked commands to two of the other robed men. They grabbed Constance's arms and pulled her away.
"Don't kill him!" she cried. "Please, don't kill him!"
"No need," Seth replied. "He'll bleed to death before long. Besides, 'twill be better should he be forced to watch."
"Connie, go!" Nathaniel moaned, struggling to get up. He slipped on his own blood and fell back to the damp matted grass.
Seth surveyed him while he untied the robe at his throat. His eyes held neither compassion nor concern. Constance watched in horror, unable to help Nathaniel, who lay panting with pain, in too much agony to speak except with his eyes, which pleaded to her to do something to save herself.
She writhed, but the two Bastyr men held her fast.
"Dost thou love him?" Seth demanded.
"Yes." She raised her chin in defiance.
"All the better." His eyes narrowed. "Then thou will give thyself to me to save him?"
"Yes."
"No, Connie!" rasped Nathaniel. She could tell by the weak sound of his voice that his strength was flowing out of his body as surely as his blood.
She swung back to face Seth. "Spare him and I will do anything you ask."
"Anything? How generous." The corners of his mouth twitched. He tu
rned to his daughter, a bloated, prematurely gray matron who was years older than Constance. "Fetch me the cloth, Patience," he instructed. Patience walked forward, holding a folded garment in her outstretched hands, as if offering up a sacred object. Constance glanced at her, wondering if the woman was in some kind of trance. She made no eye contact, and her face held no expression in the shadow of her hooded robe.
What was Seth going to do to her? Rape her in front of everyone? It couldn't be possible, not after the pious speeches she had heard from his own lips in which he damned fornication and all the other sins that took people down the wrong path. Yet he had asked that she give herself to him. Did he mean spiritually? If so, why had he untied his robe?
The thought of Seth touching her in any way, spiritually or sexually, made her stomach flop over with dread. Constance tried to yank herself loose, but the men gripped her firmly and ordered her to be quiet.
Patience gave the bundle to Seth. He took it and clutched it under his arm. Then he turned to Constance, snatched away the dress she had gathered to her breasts and then ripped off her thin chemise. She stood completely nude before the Bastyrs, her only covering the cloak of her unbound russet hair, which rippled around her in the autumn breeze.
She couldn't run. Pleas would be useless. All she could do was stand there, a prisoner. Her only hope was that her humiliation might save Nathaniel. Waves of shame and anger washed over her as she felt the eyes of every man and woman present feeding on the sight of her naked flesh.
"Hoist her up," Seth said, nodding to the men who held her.
They lifted her off her feet while a third man pulled her to the flat surface of the sundial, dragging her across the rough edge of the stone slab and scraping her thigh.
"On your knees," Seth commanded.
Were they going to pray? Perhaps he planned to humiliate her as some sort of penance? A small hope flickered in her chest that she might yet escape physical harm.
“On your knees,” he repeated.
Constance refused to obey him and looked him directly in the eyes. He came to a standstill a few feet from her. His eyes glittered up at her, lit by the moon. For a moment he stared at her face, and then his gaze traveled downward, over her neck, her breasts, her belly and her thighs. Constance felt a new flush of outrage course through her. But to save Nathaniel, she would have to submit to anything Seth asked of her.
The Haunting of Brier Rose Page 1
