Chapter
5
Toil
and Trouble
“You’ve done what?” Jackson hollered, whilst he paced the
entryway.
“The psychic helped even though she was a fake. I’ve decided
to try a witch.”
“Gad, Chris, are you a complete fool? You’ve gone from dark
to darker. How can any good come of this?”
“I must agree with Jackson. I do not think witches are
good.” She’d come to see Christian and had not expected to find them
quarreling.
Before he could reply, a knock at the door echoed through
the hall. Christian gave them a stubborn look, turned on his heel toward it,
and wrenched it open. He revealed a tiny woman dressed in a finely constructed
black dress with ruffles and lace adoring the high-necked bodice and the
bell-shaped skirt. A scarlet-colored shawl was draped about her shoulders. She
had the covering pinched closed with one hand and a tapestry bag clutched in
the other. Her wild mass of red hair swayed in the breeze as her green eyes
twinkled. Whilst the hair was very witch-like, she did not look as spooky as
the psychic had.
“Hello, dears, might I introduce myself? I am called
Tabitha.”
Christian choked and got this surely-you-jest look on his
face as he motioned for her to enter and follow him.
As they silently filed into the sitting room, she was
utterly startled when the witch turned to face her and then addressed her
directly, “I gather you’re the reason why I’m here?”
“Were you already—?” Christian asked.
“I did not think I was.”
“You weren’t, dear, but I can see you anyway.”
How would she know that unless perhaps she was what she
proclaimed?
she wondered.
“Then you’re a real witch?” asked Christian.
“Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise?”
She shared a look with Christian.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. How may I help you with your lovely
apparition, Lord Krestly?”
“We wish to know her name. She cannot remember that or how
she came to be here.”
“Mmm,” the witch hummed as she plunked her bag onto the table,
tugged it open, and then began sifting through it. “You need a truth charm, and
the seer stones.” She continued to mutter to herself as she practically stuffed
her face into her large purse, then shouted, “Ah-hah!” when she lunged upright
with eight stones in her hand.
The smooth rocks had symbols etched into them: a moon,
stars, a sun, the flames of a fire, a swirl of some sort, a circle, a tree, and
a spider.
The old woman shuffled to the left until she stood directly
in front of her and then began chanting words in Gaelic as she tossed the
stones into the air. They popped from her palm, twisted above her head, and
then plummeted to the floor with eight little thumps.
The witch stooped over the stones, babbling as she
considered each one. But she appeared to grow distressed as she gathered their
meaning. With knobby long fingers that trembled, she collected them back into
her hand. When she stood upright again she swayed and paled. The old woman’s
gaze slid to her and reflected a mixture of shock and…angst?
“Please sit, Tabitha, you do not look well,” Christian said
kindly as he pushed a chair closer. It appeared she was about to collapse.
“Thank you, young man, you’re very kind.” Tabitha sat,
though she made a desperate glance toward the doorway.
“What did the stones say?” Christian crouched down in front
of her, flashing his dimple.
Tabitha shook her head, wringing her bony hands. “It seems
that you do not need my help.”
“Oh, but we do. We must know her name. Did the stones tell
you that?”
The witch said nothing as the corners of her mouth twitched
lower, and she continued to shake her head causing her unruly locks to bob back
and forth across her face.
“I beg you, Tabitha, please tell us what you’ve learned.”
The witch suddenly sprang to her feet, knocking Christian
backwards, threw her stones into the bag, lifted it from the table and
scampered toward the door.
“No, not again,” Christian muttered as he took pursuit.
“Please don’t be frightened! She is gentle. I must know her name.”
Tabitha halted at his words and spun to face him. “I will
not speak her name!”
“Then you must know it! I’ll double your fee. Please—”
Jackson made a gurgling choking sound, but when she glanced
toward him, he looked all right.
Silencing Christian with one palm shoved in his direction,
Tabitha spoke, ignoring his questions about her name all together, “And I am
not frightened of her, I know she is harmless, but
she
is in danger! You
do not need my aid! Faeries would be of more use to you than me. Good day, my
lord!”
“How is she in danger? Please, Tabitha!”
“I must leave.” And with that, the witch jumped into a run
for the door. In her haste, her shawl slipped from her shoulders just before
she quickly tugged it back into place.
“But don’t you want your fee?” Christian called out, running
after the woman who was moving rather quickly for an elderly lady.
“Pay me when you marry,” she threw back.
“Excuse me?” But she left without another reply. “What did
she mean by that?” Christian asked as he skidded to a halt in front of his door
just as it was slammed shut. He wrenched it open and continued to look for the
woman, but she’d vanished.
As Christian reentered, Jackson stepped forward. “Was she
suggesting that you two would wed?” Jackson asked. “Or just in general?”
“I…” Christian looked at her, and she knew her efforts to
hide the sadness overtaking her was not working. “I don’t know. And what was
that bit about faeries?”
“I do not believe they exist. Chris, you’ve exhausted enough
of your time and funds for this folly—”
“Jackson!”
When she began to back away, Christian leapt toward her and
attempted to capture her arm, then spoke abruptly when that failed, “No,
please, princess, do not flee. Please.”
But her thoughts would not stop so she could not either.
She’d realized she would have accepted a proposal from him even though she had
not known him for very long. Was that because she was a complete fool? Or was
it because things in her day were done that way? She really wished the witch
had not put the idea in her head at all! She could never have him! A dead girl
could never wed a living man! Yet she wanted it. Desperately. And hated herself
for it.
He stepped toward her again; she drifted back in equal
measure.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We came so close to finding out who
you are. She knew your name, yet would not tell us. It’s just so infuriating!”
Staying here and looking at his handsome face was simply too
much, and she continued to drift backward watching his expression change.
“Don’t go. Stay,” he whispered.
Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze and did not stop
until after she’d drifted through the wall. She was unable to help the tears
that stood in her eyes and remained unwilling to face him for fear of letting
him see what she was feeling, what she was wishing….
The next morning she noticed him seated on the grass under
the big willow tree situated at the far corner of the garden. Reading. His face
turned up suddenly, he looked directly at her, and smiled. She had no clue how
he’d been able to sense her presence already.
“Come, darling, sit with me.”
She found herself moving toward him without first giving
herself permission to do so. It seemed she could not resist him, even against
her better judgment.
Any willpower she might have had further weakened because he
looked particularly dashing this morning. His hair looked rather mussed as
though he’d been worrying his fingers through it for hours, and his clothes
were partially undone. He wore a white shirt and a gray…what had he called it?
A tie? But the top three buttons of the shirt were open and the tie hung untied
around his neck slanting down either side of his chest. It seemed he’d slept in
his attire from the previous day.
“I’ve been up all night researching faeries,” he said as she
hovered above him. “Darling, do they exist?”
Hmm, she thought, apparently he had slept in that, or
rather, spent the wee hours of the night in those rumpled black leggings and
that odd tunic.
“I-I do not know,” she replied unwilling to meet his gaze.
He patted the grass next to him, and whilst nibbling her
lip, she lowered to the spot of green there.
Still keeping her eyes from his, she considered his book,
which he’d closed but kept his thumb in it to hold his place.
One word sprawled across the cover.
Faeries
.
“Have you found anything?”
With a crackling sound from the spine, Christian tossed the
book back open. “We came so close to solving this mystery. Yet this was the
only lead she’d offered. These little sprites must be dripping with magic. I’m
certain they could help you, if only we could find them.”
She stared at the illustrations of little people with
butterfly wings sprouting from their backs, and little antenna protruding from
the tops of their tiny heads. “I truly do not expect you to labor so diligently
for me, or spend your gold on me. I can see it is hopeless.”
“I don’t think it’s hopeless.”
“How? Or rather, why do you care?”
He stammered before responding and reached for her hand
again, watching as his fingers drifted through hers. “I care. Isn’t that
enough?”
She suspected he did not share all he was thinking, mainly
because of the tone of his voice that said as much. And the foolish hopes from
last night slammed into her again. Was he hoping for the same? The idea really
did not help to smother her unattainable fantasies.
“Princess?”
She lifted her eyes to his and wished she had not done so,
because she was instantly lost in the rich brown flecks of those warm orbs. Her
gaze slid over his smiling lips and that dimple she so loved before returning
to his eyes.
“Rest your lovely head here, on my lap.” He shoved the book
to the ground, clearing a spot. Not that it would have mattered, either way she
would not be able to feel what lay beneath her.
Whilst she did as he’d instructed she troubled over the fact
that she would most likely regret this. Getting closer to him, getting to know
him better.
She barely stifled a gasp when she looked up at the earl and
saw him peering down at her with his mouth cocked into a smile that reached
right through her and twisted her soul. His hand was moving over her hair and
he looked as though he wished to feel it. To distract herself, she lifted her
gaze to the willow swaying in the breeze above him. A cloudy sky peeked through
the many branches and leaves.
“What time of year is it? What is the weather like?” she
asked, wondering if it was warm or cool.
“It’s early June, and a little muggy, but a bit nippy here
in the shade. I like to be cold, but you’d have goose bumps along your arms and
I’d feel the need to warm you.” The tips of his fingers traveled the length of
one arm as he spoke.
His brows pulled together. “Why are you warm? I feel heat
when I touch your image, but I thought—”
“I do not know the answer to that,” she mumbled, distracted
by the way the wind toyed with his brown curls and how the light seemed to join
in by bouncing from the burnished strands back at her. She’d give almost
anything to be able to touch it and know if it was as soft as it looked.
“What happens when you touch me?” he asked, pulling her from
her thoughts.
She reached up still imagining the texture of his hair and
ran her fingers through it, literally, then trailed them down along the side of
his cheek. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath.
“Could you feel that?” she asked, because she could not feel
much more than that faint spark-like sensation she’d experienced before.
“I feel the heat, and energy, but nothing solid. It’s almost
like being kissed by a hot breeze.”
Christian lifted his hand to her lips and traced over the
outline with a fingertip. “Do you feel that?” he asked.
“I do not get to feel the heat you describe, but there is a
sense of energy, though nothing more.”
“Where do you go when you retire?”
She hesitated before she said, “My chamber. Well, I believe
it is my chamber. I feel as though I belong there, even considering the fact
that it does not seem familiar. I wonder sometimes if I have simply been
sleeping for so long I cannot remember.”
“Perhaps.” He measured her expression for a moment longer
whilst he continued to caress her face and then asked, “Would you show it to
me?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord, but there is a solicitor
calling.”
She jumped at the sound of the butler’s voice, and watched
Christian’s dimple disappear from his cheek. “Might we continue this later, my
darling?” he said to her.
“Yes, of course,” she replied. Sitting upright, she watched
them enter the castle.
Her gaze shifted to the cover of the book he’d left behind.
It followed her mental command, opening to reveal the page Christian had been
studying.
A word that was not printed here came to mind.
Fey
.
With her eyebrows pulling together, she puzzled over where the idea had come
from. Were fey a sort of faerie? Without knowing why she thought so, her eyes
shifted to the flowers in the garden. Is that where they dwell? Rising from the
grass, she moved to the blooms.
There were no winged creatures there except for insects, and
she decided now was as good a time as any to further explore the grounds.
Chapter
6
Conflict
of Interest
“I believe it is about your allowance,” said Jackson as he reached for the door handle to the study.