Holding her palm out, the ancient fortune teller waited until Sebastian pressed the coins into it before she sat across from Brianna, leaning on the little table between them.
Brianna looked up at Sebastian, giddy with a grin as the woman took her right hand. The fortune teller examined it under the flickering candle flames, the tips of her boney fingers running paths along the lines on Brianna’s palm and then up and down each of Brianna’s fingers.
“There be somethin’ particular ye want to know ‘bout, child?” The fortune teller’s voice crackled.
Brianna shrugged, smile on her face. “No, anything you see is fine.”
She nodded, humming a scratchy tune as she studied Brianna’s palm. “Yer head and heart—strange, might strange—they struggle—war with each other. One is in charge ‘til they twist, fight. And then the other takes over.” The woman nodded, dropping her face, her nose almost touching Brianna’s wrist. “Ye are conflicted. Yer heart pulls to yer thumb, yer desires—yer head pulls to yer forefinger, your responsibilities.”
Moments passed until the fortune teller grunted, lifting her head and straightening. “Lucky child. Born under the curve of protection. Ye have known happiness. Smooth waters in yer life. But then the curve ends.”
The teller shook her head, grunting again as her fingers froze on Brianna’s palm.
“A mar—a wall. One life stopped. Disappeared.” She coughed, dropping Brianna’s right hand and grabbing her left. Her gnarled fingers ran over Brianna’s palm, and then she dropped the left hand, going back to Brianna’s right. “That be what it is. One life stopped. A new one started—they are very different, child. Yer lifeline is solid, but it be marred. There be darkness afoot. Darkness in the past. In yer future.”
Sebastian could see Brianna try to pull her hand away, but the fortune teller gripped tight, her wrinkled fingers holding Brianna in place.
Panicked, Brianna looked up to him, terror creeping into her eyes. Just as Sebastian was about to tear the woman from his wife, the fortune teller flashed her palm up, stopping his movement.
“Ye survive it child.” Her crackly voice filled the wagon. “Yer lifeline tells me that.”
Brianna’s look dropped from Sebastian to the fortune teller. “I do?”
“Yes.”
“But…but what do I become?” Brianna asked, her voice trembling.
The woman shook her head, staring at Brianna’s hand. The heavy wrinkles along her forehead scrunched, darkening the lines. It took her long seconds to answer. “Yer fate line. It leans to yer heart, to happiness, but I warn ye, child, it has not decided yet. Fate has not set her mind on a path. There be times when yer mind must rule. Then there be others when yer heart must take the lead.”
The fortune teller’s face lifted, her clear dark eyes that belittled her age, fervid, piercing Brianna. “Choose wise, child. That be what I can tell ye.”
The woman folded up Brianna’s hand, setting it onto Brianna’s lap. An awkward silence filled the wagon.
The fortune teller looked to Sebastian. “Ye be wanting a reading as well?”
Brianna glanced up at him, a wobbly smile crossing her face. “Yes, how about one for you, Seb?”
He shook his head. “I already know what my future holds, Brianna.”
Her eyes went wide at him. “You do?”
Arms crossing over his chest, he nodded.
Brianna chuckled, leaning toward the fortune teller, cupping her hand next to her mouth to shelter her words, but her whisper went impossibly loud. “He already has the gift—my husband does. He is good friends with fate.”
The fortune teller took in Sebastian, eyeing him critically from foot to head. “Aye. This one be lookin’ as if fate favors him. And maybe she does.”
The woman stood, ushering them out of the wagon. “Just be rememberin’ fate be a fickle mistress, if ye ain’t be respecting her.”
Sebastian stepped down from the wagon, grabbing Brianna around the waist and lifting her down to the ground. He inclined his head to the woman. “I will remember that, kind lady. Thank you for your time.”
“Good luck to ye both.” The woman turned from them, already searching through the throngs of people for her next client.
Sebastian kept his arm solid around Brianna’s waist as he steered them through the throngs of people down the dirt road to the Twisted Oak Tavern. Vendors and tents lined the road in every possible space, their lanterns shedding just enough light upon the crowds for people to not step on toes.
Brianna craned her face backward to the wagon, then leaned into Sebastian, her hand going to his chest as her head tilted up to him. “I had not anticipated that—it was much more creepy than fun.”
He smiled down at her. “What did you expect from an old woman in a ramshackle wagon? Did you want her to speak of butterflies?”
“That would have been nice.” She ruffled her shoulders, a shiver running through her. “I had not expected her to actually see into my being.”
Brianna lifted her hand, staring at her own palm. “It is enough to make me want to lock myself deep into Notlund castle and never come out.”
“Fate always finds a way, Bree, whether you lock yourself away from life or not.”
“Now you sound like a fortune teller.” She stepped lightly over a gnarled mess of tree roots as they squeezed past a large, immovable mass of people. She looked up at him. “Do you truly believe that, that fate will find a way?”
Sebastian took a step in front of her, stopping and turning to fully face her. His free arm joined his other around her waist. She made no motion to stop him, to wiggle from his hold. Progress. A smile filled his chest. “I trusted fate to find me you. And she did. Why would I start doubting her now?”
Brianna frowned.
“No, Bree. You will not go to a dark place because an old woman in a rickety wagon scared you. You do not hide from life. Whatever it is she thinks you will survive—you will survive—that is the point. That is the butterfly you were hoping for.”
Brianna’s bottom lip slipped under her teeth. She looked up to him, her eyes somber. “But do I survive as a butterfly or become a decrepit moth? That is my worry.”
Sebastian could resist no more, and he bent, his lips meeting hers. His hand travelled up the side of her body as he moved her backward until she was tight to the tree.
His tongue slipped out, tasting her, parting her lips as he deepened the kiss. No resistance. She opened her mouth to him, her chest rising against his as her fingers came up, circling his neck and curling to find his skin beneath his cravat.
Under his hands, he could feel the worry ease from her body, feel her melt into him.
He pulled up slightly, his knuckles tracing down the side of her face. “You already are a butterfly, Bree. Nothing is going to change that.”
She opened her eyes, the glow of twinkling lanterns reflecting in the blue as she looked at him. Her fingers twitched on his neck. “I am afraid to want this life, Seb.”
“A life with me?”
She nodded. “With you. With happy. With feeling.”
“Why?”
“I do not want to have it, only to lose it.”
“I am not going to let anyone harm you, Bree.”
She closed her eyes, nodding as she inhaled. Her dark lashes cracked open to him. “Kiss me again, Seb. I do not worry when you are kissing me.”
He met her lips before her words finished, and let the night take them over.
{ Chapter 11 }
Brianna’s eyes popped open, searching in the darkness to take in the strange place that surrounded her.
And then she felt it. Sebastian’s warm arm heavy on top of her belly. Right where it should be. Her eyes closed, the seconds of instant worry forgotten as she drifted back into the abyss.
“Wake up, Brianna. Wake up.”
Her shoulder jostled. An instant pounding in her head followed it. Her belly was cold—Sebastian’s arm was gone.
Brian
na groaned, rolling over to her side on the bed. It took her several seconds to convince herself to open her eyes against the knives of pain slicing into her brain.
Her left eye buried in the pillow, her right eye opened.
Still in the strange place, and she could see Sebastian moving across the room, shrugging himself into a white linen shirt. It all flooded back to her. She was in the Twisted Oak Tavern in Clavenshire. With Sebastian. And she was naked under the sheet.
She had drunk far too much last night. Far, far too much.
Her left eye opened.
Sebastian saw her movement and came to the side of the bed, his fingers brushing aside a chunk of hair that hung haphazard across her cheek into her face.
“You are awake—finally.”
“It is late?” The words croaked out, fighting her dry throat and swollen tongue.
“It is.”
“I do not usually sleep so long.”
“I am aware. I do believe this is the first time I have woken before you.” He stepped away from her, pulling on his dark waistcoat and coat.
The insistent hammering in her head unyielding, Brianna could not move from the position on her side she had landed on. She watched Sebastian quickly tie his cravat. He was in a hurry. In a hurry to escape her?
“Seb?”
He turned to her. “Yes?”
“Last night—was I a twit? Embarrassing? There is a reason I do not touch wine.”
An easy smile came to his face. “No, and no. You were…energetic.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“You do not believe me?” He came across the room to her and sat on the edge of the bed, his hip snugged next to her thigh. “Do you not remember?”
“I remember most of it.” Her arm went up, her fingers scratching the hair just above her forehead. “Until we got back here.”
“You dropped—fell asleep.” His easy smile turned into his devil smirk.
“I did? But the tree—I thought we…”
His hand went on her hip, rubbing it, his fingers slipping across her backside. “Apparently, my romantic wiles are no match for your weak belly. We were only up three stairs before you collapsed on me.”
“You had to carry me?”
He shrugged. “You are not the first woman I have had to carry.”
She reached back, grunting, and grabbed a pillow behind her, throwing it at him. He caught it, but it still nicked his head, mussing his brown hair. He tossed it back onto the bed.
“But you are the last, Bree—whenever and wherever you may need carrying.” He bent forward, kissing her bare arm, and then stood.
Brianna watched as he went over to his boots by the door and sat on the wooden chair next to the fireplace to put them on.
His brown eyes came up to her. “Speaking of your belly, I am going down to get you some food for your stomach before we move on to the race course.” He stood, walking over to her and then bent to kiss her forehead. “I think that will help your head.”
She grumbled a few words that didn’t make any sense, and she knew it, but didn’t bother to try again.
He chuckled. “In a different development, my jockey broke his wrist last night.”
“How?”
“Something about a bet and a tree and a rope that was on its last threads.”
She stared up at him, trying to make sense of his words. “So your horse will not be racing today?”
“The jockey will not be. The horse will. I will be riding it.”
“You? But are you not far too large?”
“Thank you, I think, for the compliment. But this is a much more informal local race, and not bound by the likes of the Jockey Club. I only need to show the horse in the best possible light to Lord Bayton. It is the race he wanted to see Red Swallow in, so see her he shall.”
Sebastian pointed to the second chair by the fireplace. “I took the liberty of laying out your riding habit. We do need to make it to the course soon.”
“So you are rushing me?”
“Yes.” He winked.
With that, he was out the door, and Brianna flopped onto her back, trying to still her throbbing head. What had happened to all of her control? One mug of wine, and she had bandied about all night like a lovesick chit.
She groaned to herself. Sebastian was making her ponder too many fanciful notions. Notions of a normal life, of no responsibility. Notions that she had no right to entertain—not if she was to protect what needed to be protected.
Her head fell to the side, sinking into the deep pillow as she looked out the window. Sebastian had pulled wide the heavy curtains and opened the windows. A breeze wafted in, and Brianna could smell cooking meat—probably from the kitchens behind the tavern. Her stomach turned. She wasn’t sure she could keep down anything Sebastian did bring to her.
Taking a deep breath to steady her stomach, she watched the teardrop leaves on the branches outside the window rustle in the wind, somewhat at a loss of what to think about. She was days away from Notlund, so there was nothing to manage at the moment.
Only Sebastian in front of her.
Him, she could think about, even though her mind screamed at her to be cautious. To not feel too deeply.
But maybe she could enjoy him for just these few days. No harm could come of it. Enjoy his company. She couldn’t deny he was refreshing to be around—he was witty, and he made her laugh with every other comment he made. Her whole soul felt lighter when she was next to him.
Not to mention he was a handsome man to look at.
And when he looked at her with his devil grin, she could do little to slow her racing heart.
Her hand went to her forehead, rubbing it, trying to banish the ache in her head. If she was going to give herself this margin to relax, she didn’t want it ruined by a foggy brain.
Relax. She could do it.
Just until they got back to Notlund.
Enjoy the day. The journey home.
Then she would refocus.
~~~
Brianna leaned out from the high, but rickety, platform, her gloved hands gripping the wood railing so she didn’t topple over into the crowd below. Popping in and out of view, she could catch glimpses of Sebastian’s form on the far end of the line of jostling horses.
He looked to be having a grand time, laughing with a jockey on an adjacent horse and yelling into the crowd.
In just his white linen shirt and buckskin breeches, he looked particularly relaxed—and strong. The mare, Red Swallow, a tall, sleek black horse, was antsy and proud—Brianna could easily discern that from this distance.
Sebastian had said Red Swallow was built for racing—one of the finest they had produced at Notlund—and if the posturing of the mare was any indication, Sebastian was very right.
“Have you ever watched the races, Lady Luhaunt?”
Looking to her right, Brianna pulled herself back behind the railing, turning to smile at the rotund man stopping next to her. “No, Lord Bayton. This is my first time.” Brianna glanced over her shoulder to the line of horses, trying to keep an eye on Sebastian.
“Truly?” Lord Bayton handed her one of the full wine glasses he held in his hands. “For your husband mentioned you were quite the horsewoman.”
“He did? I am positive he exaggerated my abilities.” Brianna clutched the glass, holding it by her belly. She couldn’t even imagine the liquid touching her lips in that second.
“Luhaunt does not pansy about the truth when it comes to the subject of horses—his reputation is the only reason I am even considering allowing a match with my stud and that mare.” Lifting his glass of wine, he pointed with his pinky to the horse Sebastian sat atop. “So I imagine he was earnest in the compliment he paid you.”
Brianna offered a humble smile. “It was a generous thing for him to say. I do appreciate the stables at Notlund. I have truly never ridden such a lot of fast horses. It took me some time to decide which one I favored most.”
“Which one did you
choose?”
“Moonlight—she is at the stables by the tavern if you would like to see her. She is as fast as the wind, and her nature fits me quite well. I believe the duke told me she shares a sire two generations back with Red Swallow. Though she does not have the obvious swagger like Red Swallow.” Brianna looked out to the line of horses, finding Sebastian. “Moonlight just wants to be ridden for the sake of running fast.”
“A horse pure of spirit?”
Brianna laughed. “Something akin to that. Although I imagine my husband would think me fanciful if he heard that.”
“Understanding horses is not fanciful, Lady Luhaunt,” Lord Bayton said, the tone of his voice heavy with the utmost seriousness.
“You sound as if you know them well, Lord Bayton. Do tell me about your studhorse that Sebastian is so keen to match with two of his mares.” Smiling, she shifted the wine glass to her other hand. “However did you come about him? He must be something special if Sebastian cares deeply enough about impressing you that he is riding in the race.”
Lord Bayton’s mouth cracked with a wide smile, his plump ruddy cheeks rising high on his face. “My dear, it is a grand story. I am sure you will delight in it.”
Brianna spent the next half hour listening to Lord Bayton and wondering two things. One, she wondered if the man would ever take a breath. And two, she wondered how long it took a horse race to start.
Just when Brianna was about to break and take a sip of her wine for the thirst that had consumed her, she was saved.
Lord Bayton interrupted himself, pointing out to the course. “They are to begin. It is the final straight-away up the hill at the end I am most interested in.”
“Where is that?” Brianna asked.
“There.” He pointed to the hill leading up to the finish line, marked with a slew of ribbons fluttering in the wind from a rope strung between two trees.
Lord Bayton turned back to the line of horses, tracing the course with his finger. “They run the straight course, then turn to the right behind those trees and make their way past the adjacent side of this platform. The track is almost V-shaped. And then that—that hill will determine the stamina of any horse. That is what I came to see.” The excitement on Lord Bayton’s face had him sputtering words.
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