The Haunting of Brier Rose (23 page)

"You mean he marries his relatives?" Taylor sat up and
clutched her more tightly.

"Worse." Rose slipped her hand from his and turned
away. "Your poultice needs to come off now."

"To hell with the poultice, Rose. What about the patriarch?"

Rose lifted the gauze strips. Her hands shook, and a muscle in
her eyelid twitched uncontrollably, but she forced herself to attend to his leg
and ignore his questions.

"Rose, don't do this to me. Don’t keep me in the dark."

"I don't want to tell you any more." She threw the limp
plantain leaves in the metal bowl.

"Is Seth the patriarch?"

"Yes."

"And you're turning twenty-one?"

"Yes."

"My God, he's come to make you his bride, hasn't he?"

She stared at him, her eyes burning with fear and loathing.
"Yes."

Taylor returned the stare, obviously stunned by her revelations.

Grimly she returned to her task and wrapped Taylor's leg in a new
bandage. He watched every movement she made while he lay upon the pillows, as
if he were deep in thought.

When she finished, she clasped her hands in front of her.

"Well, that's it for the poultice. I'll check it before I go
tomorrow and see if it's done any good."

"Rose, I don't give a damn about my leg."

She studied the edge of the cotton comforter, afraid to look him
in the eyes. His voice sounded far too ragged.

"I'm more concerned about what we're going to do about Seth
Bastyr."

"We?" She shook her head. "No, Taylor. This is my
fight. My family. I don't want you fighting my battles."

"At least stay here for the night, so I can keep my eye on
you."

Rose's heart skipped a beat, and she backed up a step to keep him
from grabbing her wrist.

"Come on, Rose. I'm serious. I don't want you alone tonight,
in case Seth shows up. I won't touch you, I promise."

"What if Seth does show up? What will you do, Taylor? What
can
you do?"

"I don't know yet. There must be some way to keep him from
entering your aura."

"How?
With a wooden stake?
Maybe I
should wear a necklace of garlic."

"This is no joking matter, Rose. I've felt the evil of that
man."

So have I,
she wanted
to say, but she remained silent.

"I don't want you out of my sight," he urged. "I'd
feel safer if you stayed here, just in case he comes back tonight."

"No, Taylor, I couldn't."

"I insist. I'll keep my hands off you."

"You won't get a decent night's sleep on that couch."

"I'm not going to be on the couch."

"You're not?" She backed up another step.

"No. If Seth comes back, I want to be right next to you, not
halfway across the room like last time."

Rose hesitated. She did want to stay. Perhaps if she spent the
night with Taylor, she wouldn't have another bad dream. Yet could she trust
herself or Taylor to remain apart during the night?

"I'll throw on some clothes, Rose. I won't
touch you
,
believe me
. I am capable
of controlling myself."

She inspected his face, paying close attention to his eyes to
make certain he was telling the truth. Taylor seemed sincere, and she decided
to trust him. After all, he hadn't made a move the last time she slept in his
room.

"All right." The decision left her with a feeling of
relief, as if she were doing the right thing.

"Good. I'll pull on my jeans, and we can go down the hall
and get your nightclothes."

"
l
can do it."

"No. Like I told you—I don't want you out of my sight
tonight, Rose."

A few minutes later, Rose snuggled into the familiar security of
Taylor's bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She was highly aware of
Taylor stretched out beside her, and she longed for the warm expanse of his
chest and his strong arms to take the edge of the chill and fear off the evening.
But he remained true to his word and didn't let so much as his foot graze hers.
In fact, he slept on top of the counterpane with a separate blanket thrown
across him for warmth. Rose sighed and shut her eyes. If she and Taylor could
just survive tomorrow, perhaps they would spend a night together and know the
miracle of exploring each other's bodies. She knew he wanted her, and she more
than wanted him.

Rose closed her eyes, thinking of the way it would feel to make
love with Taylor. But she had nothing to draw upon for her fantasy except for
movies and books, which fell far short of how she imagined it would be between
them. She fell asleep still trying to picture the way Taylor would pull her
against him and show her how a man and a woman became one being.

Later that night she felt a hand stroking her hair.

Taylor?

"Ah, it's Taylor, now is it? Not Mr. Wolfe?"

Rose froze. The voice
belonged to Seth Bastyr.

She felt Seth's hand venture down the side of her face and
throat, but try as she might, she couldn't open her eyes. Where was Taylor?
Didn't he know Seth had returned? Hadn't he heard the pipe-organ sound?

"You have become attached to Mr. Wolfe these past few days,
haven't you, Roselyn?"

No. He means nothing.
I'm—I'm just using him.

"For what?" The dry voice chuckled. "You don't
fool me, Roselyn Bastyr. You love Mr. Wolfe, don't you?"

I…no…he's heartless. He's
only out for himself.

"You are not much of a liar, my dear. How precious you
are."

I am a liar. You've said so
yourself.

"At one time, dearest Roselyn. But you learned your lessons
well, didn't you? You were always such a quick child. To think of the things I
could have taught you if your mother hadn't sent you away from me. And the
things I still can teach you. Ah, Roselyn, you have no idea."

I don't want to learn. I
want you to go away.

"Dear child. You cut me to the quick. I'm only here to
reacquaint you with your heritage."

I don't want to be
reacquainted. I like my life the way it is.

"That's because you haven't known anything else. But believe
me, Roselyn, there is much more to the world than meets the eye, much more than
Mr. Wolfe will ever show you. He is but a child himself."

Rose felt his hand upon her breast. This time the sensation
filled her with a sense of disgust, now that she knew her own flesh and blood
was touching her, and that the man who stroked her was probably centuries old.
And not Taylor.

How did you find me?

"It took many years, but my patience is vast. I tracked you
by the mark you carry."

The mark
in my aura?

"Why yes." His hand quit stroking her breast, as if he
was surprised at her knowledge. "My dear, you continue to delight
me."

Not my intent.

"Still, I have much to teach you, sweet Roselyn. And tomorrow
we will begin a whole new life together."

I would rather die than
be
part of your life.

"Sweet liar. You've ached for my touch, as I have ached for
yours."

You delude yourself.

"I suffer no delusion, Roselyn. I know you as I know myself.
Your passions run deep, deep enough to match my own. Your passion and this
place remind me of one I had so long ago—Constance. I will take you on
the sundial in the garden, just as I took Constance."

Constance was the name she had been called during her strange
dream the previous night. Was Seth referring to that same Constance? And if so,
was she somehow connected to the past of three hundred years ago and to Seth?
The possibility scared and repulsed her.

You’ll never have me, Seth
Bastyr. I loathe you.

"Not when you learn what I have to offer. Of all the brides
I have taken, you—sweet beautiful Roselyn—will be premier wife, the
mate I have awaited all these years. You shall make me young again. And I shall
make you my queen.

I don't want to be your
queen. I just want to be left alone.

"That, my dear, is not a possibility. You were born to
become mine. However..." He stroked her midriff, running his hand down her
belly. Rose tried to move away, hoping he wouldn't invade her any further, but
she had no command over her body. "As a special wedding gift to you, I can
spare your Mr. Wolfe."

Spare him?

"Surely you realize he is destined to die when you become my
bride." He caressed her thigh. "You won't believe the passion you
will feel when we make love, Roselyn. It will be like a thunderbolt,
a—"

I have no interest in that
moment.

"That is because you don't know what it is like. But once
you feel it, my dear, you will live for the instant the energy courses through
every fiber of your being."

At the
expense of someone else?
No
thanks.

"You will change your mind, my dear, once you have tasted the
fruit of our union. And tomorrow will be like no other consummation. It will be
a triumph, the zenith of the Bastyr tradition."

Rose loathed his touch, felt dirty wherever his fingers drifted.
She couldn't fathom a lifetime chained to the bed of this man. She had to get
away.

"There is nowhere to hide, Roselyn. You shall be mine."

What about Taylor? You said
you would spare him.

"Mr. Wolfe? Yes, I could be persuaded to bargain for
him."

What kind of bargain?

"I will give you his life if you will tell me where the emerald
is—the one your mother stole from me."

The emerald?

"Yes. It’s a large stone. Surely you know where it is."

Rose thought of the emerald in the wooden box and of Bea, who had
said she'd kept the box hidden under her bed for fifteen years. If she revealed
the secret location of the emerald, she might be jeopardizing Bea's safety. Yet
if she didn't tell, she would send Taylor to his death.

"Thank you, my dear. That wasn't hard, was it?"

What do you mean? I told
you nothing.

"Ah, but you did. You don't need to form words with those
beautiful lips of yours, Roselyn. Those are for kissing, not for
speaking."

You—you read my mind!

"Of course. We are on a similar—how do they say it
these days
?—
a similar wavelength, you and
I." He chuckled and caressed the side of her face. "Until tomorrow
evening, my dearest Roselyn, when I return to make you mine."

He pressed an impassioned kiss on her lips. Rose cringed and
willed herself to float away from him, somewhere far away where his mind
couldn't follow.

Taylor woke up just as dawn sent a herald of light through a
crack in the gauzy curtains. He pushed the hair off his forehead and sat up,
wondering what time it was. As he tilted his watch to the light, he glanced
over at the bed to see if Rose still slept. The bed was empty.

Taylor leapt to his feet, crushed by the possibility that she
might have left Brierwood at first light. Surely she would have said goodbye to
him, wouldn't she? Last night he had felt a growing bond between them, as if
they could work through this madness together and come out with something substantial.

He grabbed his cane and hurried out to the hall.

"Rose?" he called at the threshold of her bedroom. When
he received no response, he opened the door and spied her bags still clustered near
the closet.

"Rose?" he ventured farther into the room and checked
the bath. She wasn't there, either. Perhaps she and Bea were downstairs eating
a quick breakfast.

Taylor walked to the stairs and descended, noticing with every
step that the pain in his leg was not as severe as it had been yesterday. Maybe
the plantain had done more good than he had expected it would. Maybe the secret
lay in tender loving care, the kind of attention he had received from Rose.

The kitchen was bare and showed no evidence of breakfast. Where
could Rose be? He wandered out to the
foyer,
uncertain
in which section of the house he should look.

Suddenly Edgar soared down from the chandelier and landed on the
settee.

"Edgar," Taylor greeted the bird. "Where's
Rose?"

The raven cocked his head. Taylor could have sworn the bird was
listening to what he said. Then Edgar cawed, bobbing forward with the effort,
and flapped down the hallway toward the back of the house.

Intrigued, Taylor followed him to the rear entry. He unlatched
the door and looked out at the misty garden. The rear grounds had been
transformed by morning fog into an alien world of drooping greenery and
unrecognizable lumps and shapes. Through the fog he caught sight of something
white fluttering near the sundial and an occasional splash of gray green where
the shrubbery and clumps of flowers appeared and disappeared in the roiling
mist.

Taylor stepped out and cautiously peered into the fog, wondering
if the creatures he had seen the night before were still around. He let his
vision slide out of focus in the hopes that he might see a clearer version in
the hidden auric world, but the fog obstructed his special vision as well.

"Rose?" he called, returning his gaze
to the sundial.
He didn't recall there being anything white near the stone
and metal timepiece, and he wasn't about to venture into the garden without a
damn good reason.

A muffled moan drifted his way.

Taylor stiffened. He took a step toward the sundial and paused,
listening intently. The moan came again.

He limped across the flagstones, guided by the soft moan into the
claustrophobic world of mist.

When he got within a few feet of the sundial he could see the
outline of Rose's body where she lay, sprawled face up on the hard, cold
surface of rock, her white nightgown draped over the edge, her flaming hair in
wild profusion around her ivory face. What in the hell was she doing out here?
Had she walked in her sleep without him even knowing? What kind of protector
was he?