Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (3 page)

The fire would calm itself faster without her presence.

“Wait!”

Even through the thick door, Wyatt’s voice thundered after her. She ignored the command. Guided by the horse’s nicker, Brighid sprinted to the small outbuilding. Throwing open the gate, she ran to the nearest horse and mounted bareback, thanking the goddess for her wide skirts. A nudge sent the beast bolting forward in one powerful motion. Muscles bunched beneath her. She clutched the mane and grinned at the wild thrill of freedom.

Scarcely a yard flew by when a whistle pierced the air.

The horse halted immediately.

Without a saddle, Brighid flew over the animal’s head.

She landed on the muddy path, the breath knocked out of her. The storm clouds had scattered, revealing a star-studded sky, the faint lights twinkling down at her as if in silent laughter at her predicament. Wyatt’s face shifted in and out of focus as he peered down at her with concern. His lips moved, but no sound penetrated the strident ringing in her ears.

Brighid wheezed and mentally cursed him for his interference, every bone rattled from the fall. She rolled, her body creaking worse than an old crone’s as she pushed herself up on her hands and knees. The world twisted and spun, and her stomach lurched. Before she could regain her feet and make good her escape, the ground rushed up to greet her.

B
righid woke sometime later
in the same bedroom and sighed in annoyance. She remained motionless beneath the covers, waiting for any sound to alert her to the men’s whereabouts.

One man rested in the room next door, his snores audible through the wall.

The other man had disappeared.

Confident she could find the grove where she stashed her meager possessions, Brighid threw back the covers, stifling a moan when her spine seized in protest.

She didn’t have the luxury to coddle her body’s aches if she wanted to survive. Her feet remained tender, and she idly wondered what the villagers had done with her boots.

Burned them most likely.

She reached the top of the stairs without incident and headed down, skirting the protesting board, only to have the next step creak under the strain. She cringed at the wretched noise and hurried the last two steps, crouching on the landing in case the men decided to investigate.

She cast one last look over her shoulder at the staircase, inching back toward the door when her palm landed on something warm.

Her hand swept along the shape when her brain registered what she was touching.

A hard chest.

Brighid froze for a second, then twisted to meet Wyatt’s dark gray-green eyes, the hunger in them making her nearly swallow her tongue.

“Damnu ort!”
The curse slipped unbidden from her lips.

His smile turned puzzled. “What?”

Brighid snatched her hand back, curling her fingers into a fist, swearing she could still feel the touch tingle against her skin. Her face burned to what must be an unattractive shade of red that clashed with her hair.

Damn him, she cursed again, silently this time at having her escape foiled. She ignored his question to ask one of her own. “Why are you lying on the floor?”

His smile turned roguish. “Waiting for you.”

Brighid rolled her eyes, her own plans turning to ash. “Am I a prisoner?” Her breathing stuttered in her chest, then halted altogether while she waited for his reply.

“Of course not.”

Lips pursed, Brighid studied her nails while the terrible tightness in her throat eased.

“But you’re not allowed to leave until we can be sure the danger has passed.”

Brighid leaned back, affronted by his attitude. “You have no right to dictate my actions.”

When he rose to his feet, he towered over her, and she tipped her head back to keep him in view, biting back a wince when her neck protested the angle. With his hands on his hips, the smile gone, he transformed into an imposing figure who demanded obedience. Flickering shadows from the fire cast him in an almost sinister light, and his words only enforced that image.

“Actually, I do. Mysterious accidents have plagued my factory for the past few months, a number of my people have died, and a whole village tried to murder you before my eyes. I refuse to release you while you’re still in danger.” There was a calculated pause. “Unless you would like me to contact the police and let them handle the matter?”

Her spine straightened.

She couldn’t risk involving the law. They would dig into her past and endanger those who had fled with her and guaranteed that she’d be handed over to the powerful men were after her.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

He gestured to a chair, silently inviting her to sit, and more precisely, obey him. He leaned against the door with casual grace, effectively blocking the exit and held out a hand to assist her to stand.

She composed her face to reveal none of her unease. If she defied him, she had no doubt he’d turn her over to the law without an ounce of remorse.

Impotent rage thickened the air around her.

She’d thought better of him, though couldn’t explain why.

A stab of disappointment pierced her, and Brighid glared at his proffered hand, still able to feel his too-intimate touch linger around her ankle. It would be unwise to risk repeating the experience even if curiosity urged her to give into temptation and touch him one last time to see if the spark between them had been a fluke or something far more dangerous…attraction.

She needed to resist his charms. His nearness was enough to fluster her, and any attraction would only be a distraction and endanger her mission to rescue her cousins. She couldn’t risk being compromised by something as frivolous as desire.

But there was no sense in tempting fate.

She gathered up her skirts and rose rather inelegantly to her feet. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, and she estimated he stood a little less than six feet tall, though he seemed much more imposing. With as much grace as she could muster, Brighid sat in the high-back chair he’d indicated. The temptation to use her powers was appealing, but she resisted. Her powers couldn’t be trusted. If she let them loose, she’d likely find herself in more trouble.

She would bide her time. He had yet to harm her, had actually saved her life, though she refused to be grateful for his interference. With a little more time, she would have evaded death on her own. The rain would have extinguished the flames long before they touched her.

Silence stretched while she waited for him to speak.

Conscious of seconds ticking away, she didn’t move and tension slowly tightened her shoulders.

Yet the blasted man continued to stare as if trying to divine her secrets by studying her face, and she caved at his silent demand.

“I’ll agree to stay—” Brighid lifted her hand at his triumphant expression, “—but I need to collect my belongings first.”

Magic spilled out of her at the casual gesture, and the painting behind him crashed to the floor. Brighid bit her lip, cursing her carelessness. Her magic rose with her emotions, and no matter how much she wished otherwise, his mere presence evoked disturbing feelings she didn’t know how to block.

He strode to where the picture had landed and shook his head. “I’ll have them retrieved later.”

“Unacceptable.” She couldn’t leave them behind. They were all that remained of her past. To lose more would break her.

He picked up the picture, his brows furrowed, and re-hung the painting in the precise way she was beginning to suspect he did everything, and resumed the argument as if they’d never been interrupted. “I cannot permit it. You’ll be too exposed. The danger is still too fresh to risk it.”

His arrogant assumption that she would obey put her on edge, and she rose to her full height, planting her hands on her hips to keep from strangling him. “I am not one of your subjects to rule.”

“We need to find the truth behind the attack. You can’t go wandering the countryside when there are people out there who mean you harm.” He leaned over, planting his hands on the table and met her defiance with his steady gaze. Their faces were separated by only a few inches, those lips of his so enticingly close she could smell the sweetness of the port he had earlier. “I might not arrive in time to save you if it happens again.”

Brighid wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his statement. If only he knew. Even if she wished to remain under his protection, she couldn’t risk it. People were already suspicious, watching her every move. She couldn’t chance getting caught, no matter how attractive she found him and his offer to protect her.

She needed to get back to her cousins, help them complete their training and finally put a stop to the men hunting them before they managed to capture everyone.

“Though your offer is tempting, I am truly sorry, but I cannot accept.” She tore her gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes, her attention drawn to the painting over his shoulder, and barely managed to stifle her gasp.

All the trees, every shrub, every branch in the painting was stripped of foliage.

The once-nude nymphs were now clothed in outfits constructed of leaves.

Proof of her dratted gifts.

Brighid turned away so as not to draw attention to the painting and hurried toward the door. Any faint possibility that she could stay had been dashed. Her fingers had barely touched the doorknob when he reached over her shoulder and held the door shut with a casual strength that she envied. Muscles corded his arms as he effortlessly trapped her inside with him. Her eyes traced the burns that marred his skin, blanching at what he had so foolishly risked for her, but her treacherous mind immediately landed on one thought.

He saved her once.

She tried to ignore the leap of illogical hope that he could save her from the past as well.

“No,” he contradicted, not unkindly, “you’ll accompany me home and stay as my guest until the matter is settled.” His head descended, his lips inches from her ear.

War raged inside her.

Could she stay and not give herself away?

The question remained unanswered when he spun her around. She braced herself to be kissed senseless. She opened her mouth, whether in protest or invitation, she didn’t know, when she spied a hank of rope dangling from his hand. Without giving her time to react, he bound her wrists, taking care to avoid her injuries.

“How quaint, a kind kidnapper.” She tugged, but the rope remained firm. The more she struggled, the harder the strands bit into her skin. Any attraction she might have felt for him vanished, replaced by cold dread. “You’re making a mistake.”

“You won’t budge me on this. You’ll accompany me home where I can keep you safe.” He said it with an easy grin and a carefree attitude that belied the determination burning in his eyes. One finger traced a raw spot on her wrist, and she flinched. His face darkened with emotion, and she couldn’t resist taunting him.

“Remembering last night? Or perhaps realizing you’re no different?” He went rigid at her accusation. Those eyes of his frosted over, leaving them gray and cold and impenetrable. She swallowed hard but refused to look away.

When he turned on his heel and left, the rope firmly in one hand, she’d never felt so small and insignificant.

Like a dog on a leash, she had to follow him out the door or risk being dragged off her feet.

A second later, a cheerful whistle broke the silence of the misty air. His good mood plucked at her last nerve. Squinting against the early morning light, Brighid watched Wyatt prepare the horses. His movements were swift. Competent. Though his hands were strong, he was gentle when he touched the mare. She found herself fascinated by his movements.

Shaking off her distracted thoughts, she worried the ropes, reluctantly admitting defeat when they refused to give way.

His footsteps were light as he walked toward her. His lips compressed when he saw the chafing on her wrists, and she glared up at him in defiance. Without a word of reprimand, he lifted her onto the waiting saddle with an ease that left her breathless. When her fingers lingered a little too long against his powerful shoulders, she jerked back, and adverted her eyes, both to conceal her reaction and so he couldn’t anticipate her next move.

She willed herself to wait for the perfect moment.

He dashed it by taking the reins of her horse.

“Where are these things you want to collect?” He winked at her over his shoulder, his eyes more green than gray, as if she were on a romantic outing with him instead of his prisoner.

Relieved that he would do as she asked nearly melted her anger, but she couldn’t afford to trust so easily. He was working an angle. If he took her to his house, he would essentially be placing a target on her back. He drew too much attention to himself, and she would be exposed just by being in proximity to him.

“What about your friend?” She glanced suspiciously over her shoulder at the lodge.

All amusement faded, and his face hardened. “He’s going to investigate the incident last night. Tell me where your things are hidden or we leave them behind.”

The thought of him pawing through her possessions dismayed her, but she couldn’t refuse his offer. If she left them behind, they would be lost to her forever. “They’re in the large oak by the stream.”

“In the glen?”

She swung around and frowned at him, disturbed that he guessed the location so easily. “Yes.”

The horses set off at an easy pace. Against her will, Brighid enjoyed the freedom of the ride. It had been months since she could afford such luxury. The wind caressed her face, and she tipped back her head, inhaling the dewy morning air, wishing she could rid herself of his scent. It teased at her senses, distracting her from plotting her escape. Different scenarios flickered through her mind, each one dismissed as soon as they formed.

When the animals stopped, she dismounted with an agile jump before he could order her to remain seated. She stepped on the base of the trunk. With her hands still tied, she snatched her staff and bag from the hidden nook and leapt to the ground. The strap of the bag swung precariously as she turned.

Only to come face to face with her jailor.

“I’ll take those.” He relieved her of the bag. When he made to reach for the staff, Brighid back away.

“I have it.” Her knuckles whitened on the smooth wood, the familiar nicks and grooves offering a small comfort.

“A stick?”

Brighid cradled the staff protectively.
“Lorg.”

Wyatt reached over and plucked it from her arms, tossing it from one hand to the next as if testing the weight. He shook his head. “This isn’t a proper staff. The proportions are wrong for someone your size.”

The chiding tone grated on her nerves. “Hand it back.”

“It’s hardly better than a branch.” He gave her a roguish smile that she imagined many women found charming. “I’ll purchase one more suited to you.”

Brighid snarled at his condescension. She wasn’t one of his girls to swoon over a smile from him. She snatched the
Lorg
out of his hands. “These are my possessions. I ask you to treat them with respect. They might appear worthless to you, but they’re all I have left.”

He stilled at her rebuke, the humor stripped away to reveal a man who looked genuinely contrite. “My apologies.” He tipped his head in a short bow, all signs of flirtation gone. “You’re correct. That was inexcusable. I only wished to make you smile and grant you a small gift after your terrible experience.”