“There are rumors, James.”
“Rumors?”
He nods his head a bit too frantically. “Rumors that the Queen of Bunafi is not exactly normal, that she comes from a mysterious land. That the Sea Queen of Wolfjour Ail is the same. That they are coming together and meeting, but nobody knows why exactly.”
“What are their names?” I demand.
Not that I know what Birdie’s sisters’ names are, but I’m going to find out. My heart starts racing and I know without a doubt that these two women, wives of powerful rulers, of warrior kings, that they must indeed be her sisters.
“Sybilla and Liv.”
Chapter Twenty-One
BIRDIE
I’m sitting at the dining room table, waiting. I try not to think about the droves of men that are camped out front and all around the house. I don’t know why they make me uneasy the way that they do. Florence has promised me that I am safe, and as distant as Colt is, safety and protection are important to him no matter what.
Nervously, I wait for Colt. He appears a few moments later, four men in tow. My eyes lift to theirs and all four of them stare at me, slack-jawed.
Pressing my lips together, I don’t give them a smart-ass remark like, take a picture it’ll last longer, or ask them what the fuck they’re staring at, mostly because I’m kind of scared and I’m not sure they would understand me anyway.
“Jeremiah, Markus, Thatcher, and Samuel are now your personal guard. This is Birdie Collins,” Colt announces.
I start to stand, but Jeremiah lifts his hand and silently urges me not to. The men make their way around the table and all take a seat, Florence is across from me, and Colt is next to me at the head of the table. The men gather around the other side, including Ernest who sits dangerously close to Florence.
“A personal guard?” I ask as soon as Martha enters and starts to serve dinner to everyone around us.
Colt shifts his gaze from his men, and for the first time since walking into this room, his eyes find mine. “Personal guard. You are to go nowhere without them.”
“Is it that serious, Colt? I’m here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers.”
He doesn’t even respond to my words. Instead, he jerks his chin, ignoring me for the rest of the evening. He doesn’t even look in my direction, let alone talk to me. I want to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t. I have a feeling it wouldn’t go over too well.
“Go to bed,” he says, after an hour of ignoring me.
He’s spoken to the men, to Florence, Martha, and Ernest, but nobody has said a fucking word to me, all taking their cues from him and his silence. Turning my head, I look up from my peach tart, unable to eat it because of this damn corset, and narrow my eyes.
“Pardon me?” I ask.
He smirks. “Go to bed.”
Deciding not to stay anywhere near him, I take his demand, his order and I follow it. I can feel the soldiers’ eyes following me and I don’t mistake the sound of a chair scooting as one of them stands from the table.
I can hear his footsteps behind me, but I don’t turn around, at least not yet. I’m trying to keep from hyperventilating and crying all at the same time, because I know that not only will it cause weather issues, but it will cause breathing problems, and I’ll probably pass out.
Once we’re in front of my bedroom door, only then do I spin around. “What was your name again?” I ask the tall, extremely handsome soldier.
He grins, showing me his white teeth and dimple. I almost swoon at that deep dimple embedded in his cheek.
“Jeremiah.”
Hot.
I can’t stop the way my cheeks probably turn pink at the way he says his name. He’s really handsome and I find that it’s weird to feel attracted to someone else.
Colt has been the only man on my mind for weeks, and honestly, I didn’t think that I could ever find someone else attractive, but here he is and here I am. Colt is being a dick and Jeremiah is hot with a dimple.
“I’m Birdie,” I offer, holding out my hand.
To my surprise, he doesn’t shake my offered hand, instead he wraps his fingers around mine and brings the back of my hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips over the surface of my skin, his eyes never leaving mine.
My chest feels tight, my body jerks at the sensation of his lips on my skin. I need to breathe. “Can you, um, can you ask Martha to bring up some of the main course from tonight?” I exhale.
He drops my hand, tilting his head to the side and his dimple disappears as his smile falls and he watches me, completely confused by my request.
“I can’t eat with this corset on. I’m starving,” I admit.
His eyes widen and he looks down to my waist, then lifts his gaze up to meet my own. “I didn’t realize.”
It’s as if he’s seeing for the first time. I have a feeling men don’t realize that these contraptions completely ruin a woman’s insides, that they squish everything together and make it extremely hard to eat, breathe, and live. I mean, sure they’re fine for a party or something, to look fan-freaking-fabulous in a dress, but everyday life? No thank you.
“I would appreciate it,” I say, giving him a small smile.
He dips his chin, his eyes finding mine and he holds my gaze. “You aren’t as I’d pictured when Colton told us about you.”
“How did you envision me?” I ask.
He presses his lips together as if he’s thinking, then shakes his head and for whatever reason decides not to let me in on his inner thoughts. Deciding not to make it weird and stare at him in silence, I turn and make my way into the bedroom to wait for Martha.
Unable to just sit on the bed, I walk over to the window and instead of looking toward the great expanse of darkness, I see tent after tent, plus torches as my view, for as far as the eye can see.
I wonder what life will be like here for the foreseeable future. Will it be awkward? Will it allow Colt to continue to push me away farther and farther?
As it is, every inch we move closer, he pushes me back several feet. Soon we’ll just be two people who take physical pleasure with one another and nothing else, and I have no doubt that won’t last long and then we’ll just be two people who live beneath the same roof.
Closing my eyes, I try not to cry. I want to go home. I chant to myself over and over again, but when I hear someone at the bedroom door, I’m no closer to being home and I find that I’m growing emptier and emptier inside every moment that I stay here.
COLT
Jeremiah almost runs into me as I am making my way up to Birdie’s bedroom. “What are you doing?” I demand.
He is supposed to be standing guard, not walking around the house. He looks back behind him toward her room, then back to me. I can’t help but see something in his gaze, something unreadable. Instead of demanding what he’s thinking, I wait for him to answer me.
“She’s hungry. Did you know they can’t really eat in their corsets?” he asks.
Pressing my lips together, I try not to laugh. Jeremiah is single, no doubt the only women he’s lain with are soiled doves and they are typically not in their corsets when clients enter their chambers.
“I did. Martha will bring something up in a bit,” I say with a nod. “I will be her guard for the rest of the evening. If I should need to leave her, I’ll get you,” I offer.
He opens his mouth, but snaps his lips closed and dips his chin before he brushes past me. I’m not sure what he wanted to say to me, but he doesn’t say it and it’s probably for the best because I’m not sure I would care much for it right now.
Making my way toward Birdie’s room, I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around the knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open as I step inside, closing it behind me before I slowly flip the lock into place so that we’re awarded the privacy we need.
“Tell me,” I begin.
She spins around, lifting her hand to her chest and pants a few times as she catches her breath.
“You scared me,” she scolds.
“Did you wish it to be Jeremiah?” I ask.
Her eyes find mine and she doesn’t even attempt to hide her desires. She did wish it was him and not me.
“He was supposed to send Martha in,” she snaps.
I hum, staying in my spot, unmoving even though I want to rush her and demand that she only wishes for me and no other person in her life, in front of her and at her side. I’m selfish and I know that I am, more so when it comes to her, her attentions, and especially her affections.
“Tell me who your sisters are. Their names?” I ask, refusing to continue the dialogue about Jeremiah and Martha. She will not get either of them tonight, or any other night, she will always only ever get me.
She blinks, pressing her lips together, then clears her throat. “In order or just their names in no particular order?”
Arching a brow, I don’t dignify her question with a response. She lets out a frustrated sigh and sinks down on the edge of the bed as I continue to stand at the end of the bed and watch her, waiting for her to speak to me.
“Drusilla is my little sister,” she begins on a sigh. “Then there is Sybilla, who is older than me, but Liv is the oldest, why?”
My heart stops beating in my chest. My entire body freezes, my muscles tightening. Her sisters. They are here, at least two of them are and they’re married to kings. The prophecy, it’s true.
“Colt?” she asks.
“Why don’t you call me Colton?” I demand out of the blue.
I don’t know why I’ve suddenly found this curious, but she hasn’t called me Colton at all. It’s my name and how I introduced myself to her. She said it a couple times when I first met her, but hasn’t ever again.
“Does it matter?” she asks, her voice soft and low. “Why are you asking me about my sisters?”
I should answer her, I know that I should. She would be happy to know that they are here in this world and that they are safe, that they are queens. I don’t tell her any of that though, not yet at least.
“It matters to me. Why don’t you use my full name?” I don’t want her to, I very much like that she calls me Colt. It helps to ensure that she doesn’t remind me of Adelaide, who always, no matter what called me Colton.
“She called you Colton,” she whispers as if she’s reading my mind.
My entire torso jerks back and my gaze flicks down to meet hers. “Birdie?”
Her next move surprises me and fills me with rage all at the same time. I watch as she reaches for the night table next to her bed, tugging on the handle. When she reaches inside, my breath completely halts and I look down in horror at the leather-bound notebook that is in her hand.
“I didn’t know what it was. Then, I was too curious to stop myself. I should have told you earlier. She called you Colton. I just couldn’t do that, not after you had already told me how guilty you felt and how much you truly loved her.”
I’m not sure what to do, what to say. I have never been frozen and speechless this way before. Instead of saying something that I know I’ll regret, I turn around and walk out of the room, slamming the door behind me before I go in search of Jeremiah and Martha.
After giving them instructions, I make my way toward Lonesable and I mount him, leaving the house, the men, and Birdie behind.
I don’t know what to do, but I need to breathe. She knows. She’s known about what happened to Adelaide, what happened to our daughter. She knows that I did not protect them, that they were harmed in the worst possible ways and I was not there for them.
She knows that I am not capable and that I am probably not the man that this prophecy is meant for, there is someone else for her somewhere, but it is not me. She knows that I am worthless.
Chapter Twenty-Two
BIRDIE
I try really hard not to cry. Martha senses something is wrong and thankfully, she doesn’t ask, sensing that I am not in the position to discuss what has happened. She quietly helps me out of my dress and corset, then slips out of the room.
I never do get my food, but I don’t really want it either. Sitting in bed, my back against the wrought-iron headboard, I stare straight ahead and wonder what will happen next.
It’s painfully obvious that I did exactly what I thought that I would by reading the diary. I have broken what little trust Colt and I had with one another.
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on home. I listen to the sounds around me. I can hear the crackling of the fire outside, I can hear the low hum of the men’s voices as they talk to one another. I can hear Jeremiah’s breathing from just beyond my door.
Then it happens.
All of my sisters are gone. This is not a coincidence.
I will not calm down.
Tell me where the hell they are, Mom.
I try to reach out to her, calling out her name in my head, hoping that this is a way to communicate with her. She can’t hear me, or I’m not doing it right, I’m not sure. I wish Florence were here with me, to try to help and guide me.
Dru. I’m here. Please, listen. I’m here. I want to come home.
Silence.
Birdie?
I hear my name, but it isn’t her who calls out, it’s someone else. A hand touches my shoulder and my eyes open as I sit straight up with a gasp. I don’t know who I expect to see standing across from me as I attempt to catch my breath, but it isn’t Jeremiah.
“Some men have arrived, Florence says you need to see them. I’m sorry to have come in here unannounced, but I tried knocking and you did not answer.”
Blinking, I nod my head a couple of times as I gasp for air. “I’ll be right out, let me grab my dressing gown.”
Jeremiah’s cheeks tint pink as his dimple appears. He turns his back to me and quickly walks out of the room, slipping through the door and gently closing it behind him.
Throwing back the covers, I slip my feet into a pair of warm slippers that I have yet to wear and almost moan at how soft and cozy they are. I decide right then and there that I’ll be wearing them more often.
I reach for the cornflower blue dressing gown that, again, I’ve yet to wear and quickly tie it around my waist, hiding my entire body that is pretty much on display from beneath the thin nightgown, from the world.
Opening the bedroom door, I look up to Jeremiah. He presses his lips together in a straight line as he looks down at me.
“Your hair is down,” he points out.
Lifting my hand, I touch my hair as if I’m not sure I believe him when I know without a doubt that my hair is indeed down.
“And?”
He shakes his head. “You’re a woman. It should be up. Nobody but your husband should see your beauty this way, Birdie.”
I almost, almost, laugh in his face. “I’m sure wives here are supposed to be virgins too?”
His eyes widen and his lips part, but he doesn’t say anything as he stares at me. “That ship sailed when I was seventeen in a hotel room on prom night. Sorry to disappoint, but there are a few men who have seen my beauty, Jeremiah. I mean not a lot, a lot, but a few,” I clarify semi-rambling.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else and starts to walk toward the staircase. I follow behind him, wondering what on earth is going on and why the hell I’m involved in it. Jeremiah guides me toward the dining room and I gasp at the sight in front of me.
Florence is there and so is Ernest, along with the other three personal guards and three more strange men wearing dark brown potato sack type dresses. Actually, they look like monks. When they start to speak, I realize that that’s exactly what they are—at least this world’s version of monks.
“We’re here because we had to see for ourselves, with our own eyes if it was true, if the prophecy was going to come to fruition in our lifetime.”
Tugging my robe closed a little tighter, I flick my gaze between the three strange men and wait for them to finish speaking. When they don’t right away, I clear my throat.
“And
? What can you tell us about it?” I chance asking.
They exchange glances between one another, then they all focus on me. It’s a bit unnerving and I take a step back, unable to handle their intense gazes. Jeremiah’s hands wrap around my shoulders and he keeps me in my place, stopping me from running away.
“We only know what has been handed down from generation to generation by stories, nothing is concrete.”
“Before you tell her, shouldn’t you speak with Mr. James?” Ernest asks.
They put their heads together and if I were thinking, I would close my eyes and try to listen in on their conversation, but I’m shaking with nervous energy and don’t think that I can even walk right about now, let alone, try my supersonic listening skills.
“We’ll wait until the morning,” the head of the monks announces.
My breath hitches when he walks up to me, he extends his hand and touches the back of mine. He hisses, his breath catches, then he looks into my eyes. He nods his head once, his lips turn up into a grin and he lets out a chuckle.
“We have magic in play. Magic straight from the gods.”
COLT
Bessie Silks laughs as soon as I walk into the saloon and bordello. The girls onstage are dancing, the scent of smoke and booze fills the air and all around, girls work the room while men play poker or watch the stage.
I don’t know why I’m here. I could be back at my own house, inside of Birdie, but I ran. Sitting down at one of the card tables, I throw some money on the table. The dealer hands me some chips and cards.
Silently, I play.
All the while, I think of nothing but her. Birdie. She read Adelaide’s diary. She knows everything. She knows how I failed. She knows that I was unable to protect my family. How will she ever trust me to protect her? Why should I even try?
Bessie appears a few moments later, after I’ve lost a hand, then won a hand. “There is a new girl, just came in today, hasn’t had any clients. I had a feeling you might come back soon. I was saving her for you.”
Bride of the Frontier (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 3) Page 15
