The Haunting of Brier Rose

by Simpson, Patricia

"In a way." He swallowed and glanced back at her. "But more importantly, I want to save you, Rose. I can't let that bastard have you."

  "Even if it means your death?"

  "Yeah. I'll put myself on the line." He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there, Brier Rose?"

  "I can't ask that of you."

  "It has nothing to do with asking. I'm giving."

  "Why?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Why?” Taylor glanced at the ceiling again, as he gathered his thoughts. “Because when I was sixteen, an acquaintance of mine raped a girl from the wrong side of town. She took him to trial. I was to have been the key witness, but my father forbade me to say a word against the guy because it would have soured a deal my father was making with the kid's dad. So I kept quiet and lost my honor. I perjured myself. The boy was cleared, but the girl was made the laughingstock of the town, and I heard later that she had a child by my so-called friend." He sighed. "The Wolfe fortune was built on lies and misery, Rose, and I was part of it. I could have done something about it. I should have done something about it, but I didn't."

  He fell silent and lay with his eyes closed while Rose looked down at him. She couldn't believe that he would let something from so long ago haunt him. He hadn't been more than a boy when it happened. Surely he could forgive himself for that.

  "You were a boy, Taylor. You were just trying to obey your father."

  "I knew right from wrong, Rose. And what my father and I did was wrong. I still feel ashamed."

  "Have you ever tried to contact the girl, to explain yourself?"

  "Why? So she could slam the door in my face? What good would that do?" His eyes opened, and he looked directly up at her. "She'd call me a bastard. And she'd be right."

  "It might be worth a try. She might surprise you."

  "I doubt it." He sighed. "So that's my family, Rose. And that's who I am." He paused and looked up at her, as if waiting for her to speak.

  What did he expect from her—to be told about the Bastyrs? She could never divulge the heinous practices of her family. Taylor thought the Wolfes were bad. He would be shocked to hear about the Bastyrs. Rose felt heat on her face, as if Taylor already knew the thoughts that shadowed her mind.

  "So who are you, Rose?" he asked, enclosing her fingers in his warm grip.

  She hesitated. Taylor deserved something in return for his confession, but what could she say? She wet her lips and decided to tell him the barest of facts. "Until a few days ago, I didn't know who I was, Taylor. But I've been told I come from a family called the Bastyrs."

  "And what are they like?"

  "The Bastyr family is very old, from what I've learned. They've always been different, ruled by a patriarch with peculiar tastes."

  "What kind of peculiar tastes?"

  "He—he—takes the females of the family."

  "Takes them? What do you mean?"

  Rose felt her cheeks flaming, but she plunged onward. "He makes them his bride, to keep the Bastyr line pure and strong."

  "You mean he marries his relatives?" Taylor sat up and clutched her more tightly.

  "Worse." Rose slipped her hand from his and turned away. "Your poultice needs to come off now."

  "To hell with the poultice, Rose. What about the patriarch?"

  Rose lifted the gauze strips. Her hands shook, and a muscle in her eyelid twitched uncontrollably, but she forced herself to attend to his leg and ignore his questions.

  "Rose, don't do this to me. Don’t keep me in the dark."

  "I don't want to tell you any more." She threw the limp plantain leaves in the metal bowl.

  "Is Seth the patriarch?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're turning twenty-one?"

  "Yes."

  "My God, he's come to make you his bride, hasn't he?"

  She stared at him, her eyes burning with fear and loathing. "Yes."

  Taylor returned the stare, obviously stunned by her revelations.

  Grimly she returned to her task and wrapped Taylor's leg in a new bandage. He watched every movement she made while he lay upon the pillows, as if he were deep in thought.

  When she finished, she clasped her hands in front of her.

  "Well, that's it for the poultice. I'll check it before I go tomorrow and see if it's done any good."

  "Rose, I don't give a damn about my leg."

  She studied the edge of the cotton comforter, afraid to look him in the eyes. His voice sounded far too ragged.

  "I'm more concerned about what we're going to do about Seth Bastyr."

  "We?" She shook her head. "No, Taylor. This is my fight. My family. I don't want you fighting my battles."

  "At least stay here for the night, so I can keep my eye on you."

  Rose's heart skipped a beat, and she backed up a step to keep him from grabbing her wrist.

  "Come on, Rose. I'm serious. I don't want you alone tonight, in case Seth shows up. I won't touch you, I promise."

  "What if Seth does show up? What will you do, Taylor? What can you do?"

  "I don't know yet. There must be some way to keep him from entering your aura."

  "How? With a wooden stake? Maybe I should wear a necklace of garlic."

  "This is no joking matter, Rose. I've felt the evil of that man."

  So have I, she wanted to say, but she remained silent.

  "I don't want you out of my sight," he urged. "I'd feel safer if you stayed here, just in case he comes back tonight."

  "No, Taylor, I couldn't."

  "I insist. I'll keep my hands off you."

  "You won't get a decent night's sleep on that couch."

  "I'm not going to be on the couch."

  "You're not?" She backed up another step.

  "No. If Seth comes back, I want to be right next to you, not halfway across the room like last time."

  Rose hesitated. She did want to stay. Perhaps if she spent the night with Taylor, she wouldn't have another bad dream. Yet could she trust herself or Taylor to remain apart during the night?

  "I'll throw on some clothes, Rose. I won't touch you, believe me. I am capable of controlling myself."

  She inspected his face, paying close attention to his eyes to make certain he was telling the truth. Taylor seemed sincere, and she decided to trust him. After all, he hadn't made a move the last time she slept in his room.

  "All right." The decision left her with a feeling of relief, as if she were doing the right thing.

  "Good. I'll pull on my jeans, and we can go down the hall and get your nightclothes."

  "l can do it."

  "No. Like I told you—I don't want you out of my sight tonight, Rose."

  A few minutes later, Rose snuggled into the familiar security of Taylor's bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She was highly aware of Taylor stretched out beside her, and she longed for the warm expanse of his chest and his strong arms to take the edge of the chill and fear off the evening. But he remained true to his word and didn't let so much as his foot graze hers. In fact, he slept on top of the counterpane with a separate blanket thrown across him for warmth. Rose sighed and shut her eyes. If she and Taylor could just survive tomorrow, perhaps they would spend a night together and know the miracle of exploring each other's bodies. She knew he wanted her, and she more than wanted him.

  Rose closed her eyes, thinking of the way it would feel to make love with Taylor. But she had nothing to draw upon for her fantasy except for movies and books, which fell far short of how she imagined it would be between them. She fell asleep still trying to picture the way Taylor would pull her against him and show her how a man and a woman became one being.

  Later that night she felt a hand stroking her hair.

  Taylor?

  "Ah, it's Taylor, now is it? Not Mr. Wolfe?"

  Rose froze. The voice belonged to Seth Bastyr.

  She felt Seth's hand venture down the side of her face and throat, but try as she might, she couldn't open her ey
es. Where was Taylor? Didn't he know Seth had returned? Hadn't he heard the pipe-organ sound?

  "You have become attached to Mr. Wolfe these past few days, haven't you, Roselyn?"

  No. He means nothing. I'm—I'm just using him.

  "For what?" The dry voice chuckled. "You don't fool me, Roselyn Bastyr. You love Mr. Wolfe, don't you?"

  I…no…he's heartless. He's only out for himself.

  "You are not much of a liar, my dear. How precious you are."

  I am a liar. You've said so yourself.

  "At one time, dearest Roselyn. But you learned your lessons well, didn't you? You were always such a quick child. To think of the things I could have taught you if your mother hadn't sent you away from me. And the things I still can teach you. Ah, Roselyn, you have no idea."

  I don't want to learn. I want you to go away.

  "Dear child. You cut me to the quick. I'm only here to reacquaint you with your heritage."

  I don't want to be reacquainted. I like my life the way it is.

  "That's because you haven't known anything else. But believe me, Roselyn, there is much more to the world than meets the eye, much more than Mr. Wolfe will ever show you. He is but a child himself."

  Rose felt his hand upon her breast. This time the sensation filled her with a sense of disgust, now that she knew her own flesh and blood was touching her, and that the man who stroked her was probably centuries old. And not Taylor.

  How did you find me?

  "It took many years, but my patience is vast. I tracked you by the mark you carry."

  The mark in my aura?

  "Why yes." His hand quit stroking her breast, as if he was surprised at her knowledge. "My dear, you continue to delight me."

  Not my intent.

  "Still, I have much to teach you, sweet Roselyn. And tomorrow we will begin a whole new life together."

  I would rather die than be part of your life.

  "Sweet liar. You've ached for my touch, as I have ached for yours."

  You delude yourself.

  "I suffer no delusion, Roselyn. I know you as I know myself. Your passions run deep, deep enough to match my own. Your passion and this place remind me of one I had so long ago—Constance. I will take you on the sundial in the garden, just as I took Constance."

  Constance was the name she had been called during her strange dream the previous night. Was Seth referring to that same Constance? And if so, was she somehow connected to the past of three hundred years ago and to Seth? The possibility scared and repulsed her.

  You’ll never have me, Seth Bastyr. I loathe you.

  "Not when you learn what I have to offer. Of all the brides I have taken, you—sweet beautiful Roselyn—will be premier wife, the mate I have awaited all these years. You shall make me young again. And I shall make you my queen.

  I don't want to be your queen. I just want to be left alone.

  "That, my dear, is not a possibility. You were born to become mine. However..." He stroked her midriff, running his hand down her belly. Rose tried to move away, hoping he wouldn't invade her any further, but she had no command over her body. "As a special wedding gift to you, I can spare your Mr. Wolfe."

  Spare him?

  "Surely you realize he is destined to die when you become my bride." He caressed her thigh. "You won't believe the passion you will feel when we make love, Roselyn. It will be like a thunderbolt, a—"

  I have no interest in that moment.

  "That is because you don't know what it is like. But once you feel it, my dear, you will live for the instant the energy courses through every fiber of your being."

  At the expense of someone else? No thanks.

  "You will change your mind, my dear, once you have tasted the fruit of our union. And tomorrow will be like no other consummation. It will be a triumph, the zenith of the Bastyr tradition."

  Rose loathed his touch, felt dirty wherever his fingers drifted. She couldn't fathom a lifetime chained to the bed of this man. She had to get away.

  "There is nowhere to hide, Roselyn. You shall be mine."

  What about Taylor? You said you would spare him.

  "Mr. Wolfe? Yes, I could be persuaded to bargain for him."

  What kind of bargain?

  "I will give you his life if you will tell me where the emerald is—the one your mother stole from me."

  The emerald?

  "Yes. It’s a large stone. Surely you know where it is."

  Rose thought of the emerald in the wooden box and of Bea, who had said she'd kept the box hidden under her bed for fifteen years. If she revealed the secret location of the emerald, she might be jeopardizing Bea's safety. Yet if she didn't tell, she would send Taylor to his death.

  "Thank you, my dear. That wasn't hard, was it?"

  What do you mean? I told you nothing.

  "Ah, but you did. You don't need to form words with those beautiful lips of yours, Roselyn. Those are for kissing, not for speaking."

  You—you read my mind!

  "Of course. We are on a similar—how do they say it these days?—a similar wavelength, you and I." He chuckled and caressed the side of her face. "Until tomorrow evening, my dearest Roselyn, when I return to make you mine."

  He pressed an impassioned kiss on her lips. Rose cringed and willed herself to float away from him, somewhere far away where his mind couldn't follow.

  Taylor woke up just as dawn sent a herald of light through a crack in the gauzy curtains. He pushed the hair off his forehead and sat up, wondering what time it was. As he tilted his watch to the light, he glanced over at the bed to see if Rose still slept. The bed was empty.

  Taylor leapt to his feet, crushed by the possibility that she might have left Brierwood at first light. Surely she would have said goodbye to him, wouldn't she? Last night he had felt a growing bond between them, as if they could work through this madness together and come out with something substantial.

  He grabbed his cane and hurried out to the hall.

  "Rose?" he called at the threshold of her bedroom. When he received no response, he opened the door and spied her bags still clustered near the closet.

  "Rose?" he ventured farther into the room and checked the bath. She wasn't there, either. Perhaps she and Bea were downstairs eating a quick breakfast.

  Taylor walked to the stairs and descended, noticing with every step that the pain in his leg was not as severe as it had been yesterday. Maybe the plantain had done more good than he had expected it would. Maybe the secret lay in tender loving care, the kind of attention he had received from Rose.

  The kitchen was bare and showed no evidence of breakfast. Where could Rose be? He wandered out to the foyer, uncertain in which section of the house he should look.

  Suddenly Edgar soared down from the chandelier and landed on the settee.

  "Edgar," Taylor greeted the bird. "Where's Rose?"

  The raven cocked his head. Taylor could have sworn the bird was listening to what he said. Then Edgar cawed, bobbing forward with the effort, and flapped down the hallway toward the back of the house.

  Intrigued, Taylor followed him to the rear entry. He unlatched the door and looked out at the misty garden. The rear grounds had been transformed by morning fog into an alien world of drooping greenery and unrecognizable lumps and shapes. Through the fog he caught sight of something white fluttering near the sundial and an occasional splash of gray green where the shrubbery and clumps of flowers appeared and disappeared in the roiling mist.

  Taylor stepped out and cautiously peered into the fog, wondering if the creatures he had seen the night before were still around. He let his vision slide out of focus in the hopes that he might see a clearer version in the hidden auric world, but the fog obstructed his special vision as well.

  "Rose?" he called, returning his gaze to the sundial. He didn't recall there being anything white near the stone and metal timepiece, and he wasn't about to venture into the garden without a damn good reason.

  A muffled moan drifted
his way.

  Taylor stiffened. He took a step toward the sundial and paused, listening intently. The moan came again.

  He limped across the flagstones, guided by the soft moan into the claustrophobic world of mist.

  When he got within a few feet of the sundial he could see the outline of Rose's body where she lay, sprawled face up on the hard, cold surface of rock, her white nightgown draped over the edge, her flaming hair in wild profusion around her ivory face. What in the hell was she doing out here? Had she walked in her sleep without him even knowing? What kind of protector was he?

  "Rose!" he exclaimed.

  She moaned and drew her arm over her forehead.

  Taylor placed his palm on her elbow and gently squeezed. "Rose, wake up."

  Rose’s eyelids fluttered, and for a moment she gazed skyward until she realized she was not in Taylor’s bed any longer. Shocked, she scrambled to a sitting position, leaning on one hand while she raked her fingers through her mane of rippling hair. Taylor watched the movement, wishing he had thought of brushing her hair from her face, for he longed to caress her.

  "Taylor, what am I doing out here?"

  "I was just about to ask you the same question."

  "I—I must have walked in my sleep."

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. I'm just a bit cold."

  "I can fix that." Taylor smiled and put down his cane. "Come here." He put his hands around her delicate waist and helped her to the ground. Then he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. She didn't protest and instead held him tightly around his neck. He ran his hand over her hair, surprised to find it touched with dew. She must have been outside for quite a while.

  "Did Seth come to you last night?"

  "Yes," she remarked, dragging her hands down to rest on his chest. "But he didn't take me out here. I don't understand how I got out here."

  "Never mind that. You're frozen. We'd better get you to the house."

  Suddenly she pulled back. "Listen!"

  "What?"

  "I hear them!"

  "Hear who?"

  "The dogs! They're coming!" She grabbed his arm. "Taylor!"

  Then he heard it, too, a snarling, growling sound coming from the herb garden. Taylor glanced in that direction and caught a glimpse of four black shapes in the fog.