“Ailments, brother?” said Jayce. “I would think you must have one with all the staring up on the ridge you are doing.” He leaned forward in his saddle, narrowing his eyes. “Is there something up there that I cannot see?” he asked and then leaned back and gave Darias a pointed look. “You realize I almost had my head split in two trying to get to you to help you. I had no idea what had gotten hold of you!”
Darias looked sharply at Jayce, hearing the edge in his voice—no, it was worry. He shook his head. “Tis nothing to worry over, I am sure it was just an animal or such that caught my eye… nothing more.”
“If that is what you say,” Jayce said doubtfully as he shifted on his saddle, following his brother’s gaze once more. He was certain there was more to it, but decided not to press Darias now. He was dirty and tired, wanting only a bath, some food in his gullet, and a willing wench in his bed. Not necessarily in that order, either.
Gaitland let out a heavy sigh, staring blankly ahead. He could see Darias out of the corner of his eye giving him a curious look. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” he asked, feeling guilty, “is there something you want to say to me?” He widened his eyes and then turned his face away promptly.
Darias narrowed his eyes at him. “Tis nothing,” he answered simply, too tired to argue. Gaitland looked like he had just taken a nap, not fought in a battle.
Of course, this was no surprise to Darias; he knew Gaitland had lost his way after the king dishonored him in front of court, stripping him of his lands, titles, and small fortune he had accumulated, filling his own coffers. That was not even the worst of it; he also took the girl he loved. It was a cock match, which the king obviously won. Gaitland was a silly young man, full of a young man’s lust, which was his undoing in the end. One did not make offers for marriage to a girl above his means, whether he was titled or not. The king favored her, and even though Gaitland wanted more than a simple tumble with the girl, the king had other ideas.
In turn, Gaitland had become nothing more than a laughing stock. It would take time for him to come around again, if it were even possible.
Darias looked over at his gathered men. They were ready to return to the donjon for celebrating, and they deserved it. They had fought hard and won, again. They never let him down. He lifted his hand in the air, giving the signal to the men to return to Ravenhurst.
Turning in his saddle, he watched. A cloud of dust billowed out from behind the men, taking off across the valley as they headed towards the keep. His brother and Gaitland fell in behind them, laughing with one another in good humor as their horses galloped at a slower pace. Jayce’s golden mane became untied and blew without restraint in the wind… free. His younger brother was the opposite of Darias in every way, with the exception of his eyes: they were just as black as his own were. He always said Darias wanted the title and the lands more, so he shoved his own arse out of their mother’s womb first so he alone could lay claim to them. Most would think he was bitter, but it was always said with good-humored affection, accompanied by hearty guffaws.
Darias often wondered what it would have been like to be the second son. Free to choose, free to be anything but the provider for so many, with the obligations of such. He shook his head. The wind began to pick up strength; he looked towards the ridge in the distance. What had he seen up there? A slight chill ran up his spine, not of dread—no, not that. Actually quite the opposite—it was of anticipation of what was in store. Now, that was a new feeling to Darias, and he savored it for a moment. He smiled. Then he felt laughter bubbling from deep inside his chest. He laughed. It was a surreal moment, to be sure. Why in the hell was he laughing?
The sun must have been too hot and the battle must have taken more of a toll on his person than he thought. He gave the ridge one last look before he finally reined his horse around and headed back to the donjon, following in the wake of his men.
Illusions of Grandeur fade quickly
PRESENT DAY * RAVENHURST
RAVEN Tremaine pushed her rose-tinted sunglasses back on her face. Instantly, the stone façade of the mansion looked bright and alive, not dark and dismal like it had only moments before. She was not sure what to expect when she first pulled into the drive, but it wasn’t long before her illusions of grandeur started to fade. The massive, wrought iron gates at the front of the drive would have been awesome if they were not entangled with vines and rust. The winding drive leading up to the house was also overgrown, the weeds and briars scratching the sides of her car as she drove slowly up to the house. She stopped her little hybrid rental up in front and stepped out onto the gravel drive to look at the damage from the briars on the paint. It wasn’t too bad. Thank goodness, she had some nail polish the same shade so she could do a little cover-up work.
The gravel crunched under her new Christian Louboutin pumps, making her cringe. She knew the bottoms of her shoes would be trashed by the time she made it to the door. She clutched her beloved Louis Vuitton speedy satchel in one hand, pulling her sleek Burberry pencil skirt back down where it belonged. She spent most of her savings to pay for the outfit she was wearing. “Dress to impress” was her mantra.
A few good quality pieces in your wardrobe and you could conquer the world. Well, if not conquer, you would certainly look damn good trying. Unfortunately, the matching jacket was a clearance piece she bought from Needless Markup (Neiman Marcus) and was a size smaller than the skirt. It normally would have fit her just fine, but instead of whooping it up on the town, dancing ‘til dawn, she had taken to eating a pint of Haagen-Dazs chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream every night before bed as a conciliatory prize. No money, no honey…, which just sucked on so many levels.
She walked on her toes to minimize the scuffing on the bottoms of her shoes while trying not to bust her ass. Heels were not what she normally wore. Give her an ugly pair of Crocs or Uggs and her feet were in heaven, even though her fashion suffered tremendously.
Deep purple clumps of flowers spilled over the rims of gray stone urns flanking the stairs. Bees bobbed and weaved through the clusters, retrieving nectar from the blooms. A gentle breeze whispered across her skin, giving her goose bumps even though it was hotter than hell outside today.
Raven’s sleek, flat-ironed hair grew in volume as the humidity attacked it. She hoped her deodorant didn’t give out, making her stink like a ripe onion before she reached the door. She was already covered in sweat; it trickled between her breasts and was filling her butt crack as she walked. It felt disgusting. It was only a short way to the house, but the heat was stifling. Good Lord, she was going to need a shower by the time she got inside of the place.
The last thing she wanted to do was make a bad first impression. She really wanted this job, even though no one else did. There were a few too many loose ends attached to the house for the seasoned appraisers. They didn’t say as much but Raven assumed it was because the previous receptionist went missing from a huge ball that was hosted here.
It was weird though; no one seemed too upset about it, even though she apparently took a consigned necklace with her in the process. If it weren’t for Ned, she would have never even heard about that little tasty tidbit. It was almost as if they were hiding something. Raven felt bad for the girl, she really did, but if she hadn’t run off somewhere, Raven would never have gotten the job.
The other reason was that the house itself had some misbegotten legend attached to it. She had no idea about the specifics, except it had something to do with a knight and his lost love. It certainly sounded fascinating and she wondered what secrets she would uncover while she documented the house’s contents.
“Finally,” she said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to catch her breath. She was hot and tired already. Rummaging in her purse, she pulled out a vintage cotton hanky and looked out across the drive. Towering trees lined the sides of the drive and she imagined the hundreds of years of tradition whispering through the branches of each tree. Everything was thriving; the pungent sce
nts of flowers in full bloom filled the air. The outside of the house was certainly impressive. She removed her rose-tinted glasses and squinted into the sun as she wiped her face and the river of sweat from between her breasts. She wondered if she could get away with wiping her butt crack too, but thought better of it. Instead, she looked around with a different pair of eyes, ones that weren’t covered in rose diffusion. It was true, everything about the place was overwhelming. The house itself, the fragrance of the flowers, even the air was thick and heavy...almost too thick. She was finding it hard to take a breath. Suddenly, there were way too many insects flying around. The trees, the magnificent trees that moments before seemed so regal, were suddenly too green and large, towering above her as the branches folded their way back towards the ground. They looked like they wanted to grab her and trap her within their confines.
She forced the uneasy feeling from her body. “To hell with it, bring it on.” She could care less. It would take more than a creepy feeling to send her away from this place. “This is awesome,” she told herself, or it would be if the hair on the nape of her neck would stop standing on end. Shoving her glasses in her purse, she headed up the stairs. Once at the top, she shook herself and then lifted the heavy iron knocker on the door. It was a gargoyle, matching the ones standing on every corner. She wondered if they were put there to protect the home. Of course, that was not the feeling she got from them. Instead, she felt they were watching… waiting to see what she would do next. She made a face. “Ugly little bastards,” she muttered under her breath, gripping the iron knocker and whacking the crap out of it. The action sent a jolt down her arm and rang out loud and clear. She almost caved and said the heck with her fantasies about becoming an appraiser. She was about to turn tail and run back the way she came when the massive door creaked open.
“May I help you?” said a stodgy, English-accented voice.
“Ah….” Raven didn’t know what to do or say at first, the disembodied voice gave her such a fright, but she managed to overcome her fear.
Holding her hand to her chest, she gave a weak reply, “Hello, I am Raven Tremaine. I am here to take inventory of the house’s contents… ah… for my employers, Biddle & Bailey.”
“Right, do come in,” the mysterious voice said as the door creaked open wider.
Raven couldn’t see who was holding the door… their face was hidden in the shadows. She held her breath and walked into the darkened entryway.
The door slammed behind her and her whole body jerked. Pressing her hand to her raging heart, she turned towards Mister Smarty Pants –the Door-slamming asshole and was surprised to see he was such a regal looking fellow. Actually, he was even quite attractive for an older gentleman; he reminded her of Ralph Lauren and she immediately felt contrite for her nasty thoughts about him.
“Wow!” Her mouth dropped open in awe. Her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness in the room. The foyer was freaking ginormous. She felt very, very small in comparison. She really did not know what she expected… not this though. This was crazy huge. She could swear her voice was still echoing down the hall.
“As you can see, this will take some time to go through; perhaps a few weeks or more.”
Raven swung her head around. Crap. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was so…big,” she gushed apologetically
“Not a problem, Ms. Tremaine, it is a bit… overwhelming,” he readily agreed, trying to ease her discomfiture. “I do hope you have brought something more serviceable to wear while cataloguing the contents of the estate?” he asked as he gave her the once over, noting her form-fitting clothing and high heels.
Raven ran her hand over her jacket and smoothed her skirt, pulling it back into place. It was definitely a snausage skirt, hugging her backside and pudge more than it should. Damn ice cream. “Yes, actually I have brought quite a bit of luggage with me since the Double Bs… I mean, Mr. Biddle and Mr. Bailey recommended I stay here while doing the inventory of the house. That is…if it is still all right…?”
“Oh, right.” He crossed his arms and tapped his chin. “I had almost forgotten you were to stay in residence while you worked.” He glanced up the stairs. “Of course, a room will be readied for you…” he trailed off, and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “ I do wonder if you would prefer to stay on in the village. There is a quaint bed and breakfast there and it is only a short drive.”
“What? No way, José!” she practically yelled in his face. Good grief, what was she doing? She sounded so unprofessional…. José? She didn’t mean for her reply to sound so harsh either, but there was no way she was going to give up a chance to stay in a freaking castle, especially since it had already been arranged. “Ah, sorry… um…”
“Milford. My name is Milford,” he offered.
“Right… um… Milford. Thanks, but no thanks,” she amended quickly. What was wrong with her? She was so nervous and suddenly very tired. The drive and heat must have caught up with her. She wanted to be alone to collect her thoughts for a minute before she said or did something else stupid. She smoothed her sweating palms down the sides of her skirt and nonchalantly tried to look around, but it was impossible to fully appreciate the room with him standing there looking at her like she was a weirdo.
He watched her for a moment longer, and then cleared his throat. “Well, if that is what you wish…”
“Yes, that is my wish.” She nodded her head up and down. “Also it is the wish of my employers as well…. unless something has changed and I am no longer welcome?” she said, leaving the statement open and lifted her recently waxed, arched brow in question.
“No, nothing has changed, Ms. Tremaine. I only needed to make the offer to you… in case,” he commented in an offhanded manner. He watched her raise her brow and square her shoulders like she was about to do battle if necessary. He would have laughed at the preposterousness of the situation, but it was neither the time nor the place for that. Instead, he took a deep breath when she made no further comment. “Very well then, if that is your wish?”
Raven widened her eyes. “Yes, that is my wish,” she repeated. Was he deaf? Didn’t she just say that?
“May I have your keys then?” he asked, holding out his hand.
“Keys?” she asked, confused.” Why do you need my keys?”
He tried not to roll his eyes. This was a trying conversation. “So I may retrieve your luggage,” he explained. “You do have luggage, do you not?”
“Oh, right, yes.” She looked down and dug around in the bottom of her satchel. And dug, and dug. Finally, she pulled out her keys and placed them into his outstretched hand.
“I will return shortly. You may wait in the library until your room is ready. Then you may freshen up before dinner,” he said with finality as he pointed towards the open door to his left.
“All righty then,” she muttered and zipped her purse back up. Freshen up…? Oh no, did she stink? She knew she should have splurged on better deodorant. Brushing past him, she made her way to the open door of the library. Her heels made a terrible clomping noise on the marbled floor, she sounded like a cow tramping through a china shop.
This was not turning out the way she envisioned it, not one bit. Once she heard the front door shut, she felt herself finally start to relax a bit. She lifted her arm in the air, but her clearance Needless Markup jacket was too tight to get it up very far. Instead, she reached her hand into the opening of her Jones of New York, pristine, white cotton blouse and wedged her hand in her pit for a quick check. She wanted to make sure she didn’t smell since the Milford guy mentioned she should freshen up before dinner. She pulled her hand back out. Her fingers were damp with perspiration… damn heat. Lifting them up, she took a sniff. “Thank God!” she sighed in relief.
She could only smell remnants of her cheap deodorant and Burberry perfume—her go-to fragrance. She loved the way it smelled like summer and fun when she wore it. It reminded her of a fair. Cotton candy, rides twirling, people in the air, laughing… she took a deep breath
and walked through the door, pushing on her pudgy belly, trying to squash it down. She froze in mid-clomp.
Reed Scott had been watching her from behind his desk for a few minutes now. He saw her stick her hand in her armpit, then push on her stomach. He wondered what in the hell she was doing; obviously, she thought she was alone. He ran his hands over his face. This was going to be interesting. He lowered his hands. She was looking right at him. Good Lord, where in the hell did they find her? He wasn’t sure whom he expected from the auction house, but it was not who was standing across the room from him now; that was a certainty.
Raven was mortified. Not only had she just checked her pit for funk, but she was pushing on her freaking belly fat, too. Where was a big fat rock to hide under when you needed one? She wished she could close her eyes so he would not be able to see her any longer. But no, he would still be able to see her, she just wouldn’t be able to see the look of repulsion on his gorgeous face. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing him out of the room. She opened them again, and big surprise, he was still there.
Good grief, this sucked way too much. She squared her shoulders and plodded forward, extending her hand as she hit carpet, ending the torturous clomping sound from her shoes. Thank goodness for something.
Raven was all too aware of his eyes getting bigger as she approached. “Hello. I am Raven Tremaine, the, um…” she trailed off as another look crossed his handsome face… grossed-out shock. She followed his line of vision… then remembered he’d seen her do reconnaissance for stinky pit funk. She smiled awkwardly and dropped her hand, rubbing it absently on her skirt. She was mortified again. This was absolutely the worst possible way to meet a hot guy. Crap. Crap. Crap.
Shaking his head in acknowledgement, he grabbed up some papers to quickly occupy his hands.
TIME TO REMEMBER: A NEW ADULT TIME TRAVELING ROMANCE (RAVENHURST SERIES) Page 2
