Lacybourne Manor (13 page)

“Why him?” Colin’s voice came
at her suddenly and she jumped. Even the short drive in his smooth
car had lulled her into a strange relaxation.

“Sorry?”

“The medic.”

She sighed as she understood
his question. It was none of his business. Furthermore, they
(especially Sibyl) were both forgetting that he had an unreasonable
loathing of her and the last time they’d spent any time together he
made sure she knew it (well, most of the time).

“He asked me,” was all she said
and hoped he would let the matter drop.

“There is no way in hell a
woman like you should be on the arm of a man like that,” Colin
remarked with deep meaning and supreme finality.

He exited the A38 and headed
around Long Ashton toward Clevedon.

She should have stayed silent.
For sanity’s sake, she knew that. Rationally, logically and all
good things that meant peace of mind, she understood that with
certainty.

However, she didn’t stay
silent.

“And what type of man should I
be on the arm of, as you put it?”

“Me,” he answered boldly and
she gasped, realising, without a doubt, she’d entered the Alternate
Colin Morgan Universe.

He ignored her gasp. “If
you were with me, you would not buy your own drinks. You would not
be sent off to buy mine. I would most likely not let you out of my
sight. We would definitely not be in a club. And you certainly
would
not
, under any circumstances, leave with another
man.”

Regardless of the edge of
chauvinism that tainted his statements, something started
fluttering in her stomach, something not entirely unpleasant,
indeed, something alarmingly
pleasant
, and she did her utmost
to ignore it.

“If you were an ass like Steve,
then you wouldn’t have a choice.”

He didn’t reply which, in
itself, was an eloquent statement.

Feeling the need to be safely
out of Alternate but Somehow Entirely More Disarming Colin Morgan
Universe, she reminded him, “However, the last time I saw you, you
forced me to undress in front of you.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Would you
have done what you were told if I left?”

She felt her body jolt at his
uncanny perception into her somewhat stubborn nature.

But unfortunately, everything
she was would not allow her to lie.

“No,” she admitted and chanced
a glance at him. She saw the flash of white from his teeth and she
made a grumpy noise and looked out the window.

He chuckled.

She decided not to speak to him
anymore.

He was not, however, finished
speaking to her.

“You were freezing yourself to
death, which was a fool thing to do, and you looked about as
comfortable as if you were lying on a sacrificial slab.”

“I could hardly make myself
comfortable when I was being held hostage!” she snapped, instantly
forgetting her vow to stay silent.

“You weren’t being held
hostage.”

“Could I leave?” she
demanded.

“No,” he stated implacably.

She threw up her arms as if
that settled her point. “You see! I was a hostage.”

This time, it was no chuckle
but a quiet, amused laugh.

Therefore she stated
crossly, “I fail to see how anything about that entire evening was
funny. I just wanted to see your house. You confiscated my license
and called the police to check on me.”

“I had my reasons.”

“
Yes? And what were
those?” she asked, her voice short and angry and she was glad,
no
thrilled
of these reminders. Rescuer Colin was not nearly
as easy to deal with as Lunatic Colin.

“You honestly don’t know?” he
asked back, surprise edging his voice.

“Well, it felt like you thought
Mrs. Byrne and I were going to steal your favourite hi fi, which
was not a pleasant feeling. Though I think at the time she said it
she was living in cloud coo coo land, considering your reaction to
my arrival at your home, she told me the day before you’d likely
give me a personal tour of the house.”

“Maybe I’ll do that,” he
murmured as if to himself.

“Thank you, but no,” Sibyl
replied quickly. “I’m never going to Lacybourne Manor again. I
think I may even avoid National Trust properties altogether,” she
declared dramatically then ruined it by going back on her word in
case the goddess heard her statement and held her to it so she made
a few exceptions. “Except Tyntesfield, naturally. And Dunster
Castle, which is one of my favourites. And Durham Park, of course.”
She wracked her brain to think of anything else she’d missed. “Oh!
And Avebury, you get parking for free there if you’re a National
Trust member.”

“You can’t possibly be real.”
The warm, laughing tone in his voice made her head snap around to
look at him and she saw the smile was there, full force.

“
I
am
real, Mr. Morgan,
it is
you
, or at least tonight’s you, that I find hard to believe is
real.”

They were slowing down and she
realised he was on the short, but secluded, drive to her cottage.
How he knew where she lived, she couldn’t fathom, unless he
memorised the address on her license which was undoubtedly what he
did.

Colin stopped outside the door
and pulled up the handbrake. Then he turned to her and, by the dim
lights of the dash, she could see the deep intensity of his
eyes.

“
I’m
definitely
real,” he
told her.

“Which is the real you?” she
asked in return. “Crazy, angry man at Lacybourne or rescuer guy in
Bristol?”

“Both,” he answered, she saw
the flash of his teeth and she fought the insane urge to smile back
at him or throw herself into his arms, or both.

Instead, she retreated into
flippancy which was a far safer place to be. “Great. Multiple
personalities. Perhaps I should do an intervention.”

On that, she unclicked her
seatbelt and hastily exited the lovely car. She heard the purring,
well-tuned motor stop and his car door opening and slamming shut.
Even so, she didn’t hesitate, walked directly to the front door,
slid in the ancient key and opened it. Mallory bounded out with
great, if unusual, enthusiasm and went tearing toward Colin.

“Mallory!” she shouted but
Mallory would not be deterred.

“Stop,” Colin ordered, his
voice commanding but not harsh and Mallory skidded to a halt and
stopped within inches of the man then leaned her muzzle forward and
licked his hand.

Sibyl’s eyes went skyward in
exasperation. Though, she had to admit, if anyone deserved
snarling, cranky Mallory tonight, it was definitely defunct-date
Steve.

Colin walked toward her as she
reached in and turned on the light switch that her father had
rigged to light several of the lamps around the cottage, making
traversing it easy upon entry with one single switch. This caused
the whole glade around the front of the cottage to be diffused with
soft, dim light.

Mallory followed Colin to
Sibyl, snuffled Sibyl’s hand in belated greeting and then moseyed
off into the night to do his business.

And suddenly Sibyl felt awkward
as Colin stood looking down at her. She stared up at him, noting it
was rather strange doing so. Being quite tall herself, and also
wearing high heels, she would normally be eye-to-eye or looking
down at the majority of people, even men.

She hid her discomfort and
tried valiantly to end the night on a good note.

“Thank you for the ride,” she
paused, “And the rescue.”

“You’re welcome.” Simple,
softly said in his deep voice, and unbelievably effective, Sibyl
felt the shockwaves of his tone all the way to her toes.

A shiver slid through her and
she shook it off.

“Mallory!” she called, turning
toward the dark night. When she glanced back to say goodnight to
Colin, he spoke.

“Tell me something,” he
requested quietly.

“Yes?”

“Your dog’s name is unusual.
How did he get it?”

She shrugged feeling
somehow this question seemed too personal because something in his
tone made it so.

She decided to give him the
short version. “My Dad names my pets. I’m hopeless at it. My Dad is
kind of…” she hesitated, not wishing to share too much. It was easy
when it was banter and it wasn’t dangerous. Colin Morgan knowing
personal things about her and her family, she, for some reason,
felt the need to be guarded. “A mythology buff. Thomas Malory wrote
Le Morte D’Arthur and my father loves Arthurian Legend. So, he
named him Mallory.”

“I see.” This, obviously, was a
highly acceptable answer because he stepped toward her and she read
the meaning to his advance loud and clear. She began speaking in a
rush to stop his progress.

“Bran, my cat, is named for
Bran the Blessed, of Welsh Mythology.”

Her ploy didn’t work, though he
stopped, he did it close enough to her that she could feel him even
though he wasn’t touching her.

“Can I see you again?” he
asked, he was using his soft, effective voice and her toes
curled.

Sibyl was stunned to her
core at his request. She would never have expected after that night
at Lacybourne that he’d want to see her again.

Tonight, however, he was
different. Completely different.

She used every bit of willpower
she had to say what was logical and right for her peace of mind.
“I’m not sure that’s wise.”

She saw the flash of his smile
and noted with a thrill of fear that he was entirely unaffected by
her refusal.

“Why isn’t it wise?”

“
Because I think you
might be a little insane,” she blurted more bluntly than she would
have done if she wasn’t trying very,
very
hard not to throw herself at
him.

This
could
be her dream
man. He was certainly acting like her dream man.

The problem was, the
other Colin was most certainly
not
.

“I’m not insane,” he assured
her, his voice made even more effective by the addition of a
teasing note.

Then he came even closer.

Sibyl stepped back.

“Mr. Morgan –”

“Colin.”

“You scare me a little bit,”
she admitted softly.

At this pronouncement, he
stopped moving toward her.

“
This is a far better
ending than the one we had before,” she offered, her voice somewhat
breathless and definitely rushed because if she didn’t say it, she
wouldn’t. Instead
she’d
do something insane, like
invite him inside then offer him a drink then, maybe, totally lose
it and rip his clothes off. “I think we should stick with this,”
she finished.

Mallory came loping out of the
darkness and instead of immediately entering the house after his
business was concluded, as he usually did, he sat next to Colin and
leaned his big body against Colin’s legs.

Sibyl stared in shock at her
dog.

“Mallory, get inside,” she
commanded and Mallory leaned forward, licked her hand and then
decided that, even though he liked Colin Morgan, he liked his sleep
better. So he ambled into the house and disappeared.

Sibyl looked back at Colin.
“Thank you again, you’ve been very nice tonight.”

Colin didn’t respond.

There was light but it was dim
and she couldn’t see his eyes all that well. What she did see was
his hand coming up and, before she could react, he traced a finger
in a whisper-soft caress from her temple, along her cheek, to the
corner of her lip. Then, all the while Colin watching his finger’s
movements, it dipped and slowly traced the bottom edge of her lower
lip ending on her chin. The whole manoeuvre, in real time, probably
lasted five seconds, but it felt like it took a blissful,
beautiful, dreamy eternity and that was why Sibyl stood silent and
unmoving as he did it.

It was not a goodnight kiss
but, somehow, seemed far more intimate.

Then, his eyes coming back to
hers, he murmured, “Goodnight, Sibyl.”

And with that, he left.

Bargain

Sibyl woke up the next day, her
limbs hopelessly entangled with the covers of her bed.

She saw distractedly that
Mallory stood beside her bed, looking curiously at her, not in his
usual loopy manner, but as if he was standing at attention,
awaiting her command.

She was sweating, she was
panting and she remembered every vivid detail of the dream she’d
just had.

“I’m going insane,” she told
the dog and he melted out of his unusual stance and moved toward
her, his tail wagging, his body shaking, his cold nose snuffling at
her hand.

She lay back on the bed and
absently pet her dog.

Last night, after Colin left,
she hadn’t allowed herself to think about him, the night or his
desire to see her again (and hers to see him). She had definitely
not thought about his light caress. She figured it was simply bad
luck that she’d run into him. She had managed to live a year in
England without ever seeing him and she hoped she could continue
with her life and never see him again (or, at least, this was what
she told herself).

Unfortunately, that did not
include seeing him in her dreams.

The real man was clearly
unbalanced, or perhaps not, but she was not going to allow herself
to discover the truth.

The dream man was anything
but.

Last night, in her dream
though, he had been blond. His hair the exact colour of hers,
golden and thick. He’d been wearing some sort of tunic, hose and
high, soft leather boots with a gold, intricately linked chain
settled low on his narrow waist. She had been wearing a gown of
soft, pale blue wool, she also had a belt made of delicate silver
filigree inlaid with roughly cut aquamarines tied low on her
waist.