Midnight Whispers - Paranormal Romance (2 page)

“Ah, there
you are, Kyra.” Her aunt was at the stove, cooking up the morning meal. “Would
you mind fetching some water from the well this morning?” She pointed to the
wooden bucket sitting by the door.

“Not at all.”
Kyra picked up the bucket. “I’ll be right back.”

She stepped
back out into the sunshine and went to the stone well sitting in the middle of
the field. It took her three tries to get it onto the hook, and another two
tries to fill it—she’d watched her aunt do it before, but seeing and
doing were two different things.

“Having some
trouble?”

Kyra jumped
and turned, the bucket falling from her hands. She bit back a curse as she
heard the bucket clank against stone as it fell down the well, and leveled a
glare at the person who had interrupted her—a tall, lean man wearing dark
brown trousers and a loose cotton shirt.

“Whoa, there.”
He took off his hat to reveal shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes that
twinkled with humor. “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Kyra propped
her hands on her hips. “You could have waited until I’d finished pulling the
bucket all the way out. Now what am I going to tell my aunt when I come home
empty handed?”

“Now, now.”
He waved her concern away as he brushed past her. “I’ll get it out for you
right quick.” Dangling the rope, he somehow managed to get the hook around the
bucket handle, and hoisted it right up. He then fastened it properly, sent it
back down, and filled it.

“Here you go,
miss.” He handed her the now-heavy bucket. “No harm done.”

“Thank you.”
She took it from him, frowning. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

He grinned
again. “I could say the same thing about you. My name is Jake. My family owns
the big farm just around the bend.” He pointed past the wooden fencing about a
hundred yards away to where a green and white farmhouse stood.

Kyra smiled.
“Ahh, I’ve seen it. It looks like your family is doing very well.”

Shrugging, he
turned back to her. “We do alright. Ms. Woodward is your aunt, I take it?”

Kyra nodded.
“Yes. I’ve been living with her a few days now.”

“I see.” He
studied her for a moment. “You don’t look like a woman who is familiar with the
country life. If I were to judge you by your accent alone… I might say you were
one of the gentry.”

Kyra’s back
stiffened a little at the slight censure in his voice. “I
was
…before the
rebels attacked our home and killed my parents.”  She felt her throat
tighten, and forced herself to look away. “It’s why I’m living out here in the
country…with my aunt.”

His
expression instantly softened, his eyes filling with sympathy. “I’m so sorry…I
didn’t mean to...” He reached out to touch her arm, but she lifted her chin and
turned away from him.

“Of course
you didn’t,” Kyra replied, waving him off as if she hadn’t just shared the
worst tragedy of her life with a total stranger.  “Good day, sir.” She
walked away without a backward glance, wishing the lump in her throat would go
away.

****

 “It
seems you’ve received a package, Kyra,” her aunt announced early the next
morning.

Kyra was
frying bacon on the stove, but paused to give her aunt her full attention.
Sylvia clutched a bouquet of lavender in her hand. Who on earth would be
sending her flowers?

“It came with
a note,” her aunt added, handing Kyra a scrap of paper along with the flowers.
She took over the stove while Kyra moved off to the side to read it.

My deepest
apologies for offending you yesterday—it was not my intent. I hope these
flowers will help convey both my regret to you and my sympathies.

Sighing, Kyra
tucked the note into her skirt pocket, then found a vase for the flowers and
set it on the table. While she was arranging them, her aunt slid two plates
onto the table with bacon and eggs.

“Are you
going to tell me what that was all about?” she asked as they both seated
themselves.

Kyra
hesitated only a moment—what harm could it do? She quickly regaled to her
aunt the specifics of her encounter by the well.

“Ah, yes,
Jake.” Her aunt surprised her by smiling. “He is a very nice young man. The
Whitakers come from good stock, after all. You mustn’t begrudge him his
animosity toward the gentry, Kyra. He has good reason for it.”

Kyra
swallowed a forkful of eggs. “And what might that be?” She feigned indifference
in her tone, but in truth she was curious.

“One of his
sisters was romanced by a young man, the son of an Earl. He got her with child,
then broke her heart without a care before rushing off to marry a wealthy
heiress from a highborn family.”

Kyra lowered
her eyes—she’d heard stories of that sort of thing happening all too
often, and it was part of the reason why she’d never been able to look upon the
majority of the men that ran in her social circles without disdain.

“That is a
sad story,” she said after a moment.

“He sends her
a small sum of money every month for the expenses of the child,” her aunt
continued, “but her heart has never quite recovered from the betrayal. Of
course it doesn’t help that the poor boy is the spitting image of his father.
Amelia is about your age.” Kyra lifted her head. “It’s entirely possible that
she could benefit from some female companionship.”

Kyra finished
her breakfast, then pushed back her chair so she could take her plate away. “Perhaps.”

****

When she
arrived at the well the next day, he was standing there, his shoulders propped
up against the stone rim, his straw hat drawn down over his head. He lifted it,
and she saw that quick flash of a grin.

“I was
beginning to think you would never come.” He pulled off his hat and pressed it
against his chest. “I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

“I wasn’t
aware we had an appointment,” Kyra replied as she hooked the bucket onto the
end of the rope. This time she got it right the first try, and lowered it
without difficulty.

“Did you get
the flowers that I sent?”

“I did. They
are lovely.” She pulled the bucket back up, unhitched it from the hook, and
then set it down in the grass. “My aunt told me about your sister. You owe me
no apology, Jacob. I would probably feel the same.”

His mouth
thinned momentarily, and then he smiled again, but some of the sparkle had left
his eyes. “I’d appreciate you calling me Jake. Jacob sounds awfully formal.”

Kyra smiled.
“So did your letter. Pretty fancy words for a farm hand,” she teased gently.

The grin was
back, and he sketched her a mocking bow. “I can put a flourish to my words and
speech when I’ve a mind to it,” he said in an affected accent, and she laughed.
“My father’s mother was a school teacher and as such he thought it was very
important that we be educated as well as hard-working. I could recite Plato’s
Republic backwards to you, if you like.”

Kyra raised
her brows. “Really? Well why don’t you carry this back home for me and see how
much you can get through?”

He laughed,
but picked up the bucket all the same. “Now you’re just trying to get me to do
your work!”

****

They
continued to meet by the well every day, where they would talk about life,
before Jake walked her back to the house, carrying the heavy bucket of water in
his heavy, calloused hands. It turned out that he and her aunt knew each other
better than Sylvia had let on—they chatted like old friends, and she
discovered that before she came to live with Sylvia, Jake would come over a few
times a week to help out.

The more time
she spent with him, the more her heart warmed. She had once believed, not too
long ago, that she was destined for a life of solitude in the country,
believing that because she was highborn she would have trouble connecting with
country folk. But it seemed as though there was more of her mother in her than
she ever realized because she felt more at home here than she ever had on any
of her father’s estates, even surrounded by luxury.

“Would you
like to come and visit the farm?” Jake asked one day.

“Visit?” Kyra
wasn’t sure what to say. “You’d like me to meet your family?”

He grinned.
“They aren’t going to bite, Kyra. They’ve been curious to meet you.”

“You’ve been
talking to your family about me?” she teased. “I’m not certain whether I should
be flattered or worried.”

Hooking his
arm in hers, he laughed. “Only good things, I swear.”

Kyra dropped
the water off and told her aunt where she’d be, who let her go without
complaint. Kyra wondered whether or not her aunt had perhaps deliberately been
pushing her in this direction, surreptitiously matchmaking between her and
Jake. It was entirely possible she knew exactly when he would be at the well
every day and so had timed when to send Kyra out.

She couldn’t
exactly blame her aunt, she thought as they crossed the field and approached
the house. Up close it seemed even larger and grander than it had from
afar—it was certainly no mansion, but it had a sturdy cheer about it that
no amount of luxury could duplicate.

Warm, honey
oak flooring and furniture greeted her inside, gleaming in the morning light
streaming in through the many windows. The walls were papered in cream
patterned with yellow roses and tiny green leaves, and fresh flowers were set
in baskets and vases on window sills, tables and other surfaces where they
would be best displayed. Kyra took a deep breath and smelled their florid
scent, along with the warm, yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread.

Following the
scent to the kitchen, she saw a woman standing at the counter with her dark
hair tied back and a white apron covering her body, as she buttered a loaf of
bread. Next to her was a young boy chattering away, his bright red hair sprouting
up in tufts, a pair of suspenders barely managing to hold his trousers up against
his small frame.

They both
turned to look at her with identical blue eyes, the exact same shade as Jake’s,
and in a flash of awareness she realized that this must be Amelia and her young
boy. Though the boy’s eyes were open with innocent curiosity, the mother’s were
more assessing, suspicious even. Kyra held her gaze evenly, studying the faint
lines that had begun to mar her smooth skin and her too-white knuckles as she
gripped the counter.

Jake moved
forward, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room and picked up his
nephew, swinging him into the air. The boy giggled, and the sound warmed Kyra’s
heart. “How are you these days, Jamie?” He propped the boy on his hip and
turned to face his sister. “Amelia, I’d like the two of you to meet Kyra.”

“Ah, yes,
you’ve told us about her.” Some of the suspicion left Amelia’s eyes as she came
around the counter. She gave Kyra a small smile that didn’t quite reach her
eyes, and Kyra noticed that her posture was not quite relaxed. “You are
Sylvia’s niece?”

Kyra inclined
her head. “I am. My aunt speaks highly of your brother, and your family. It’s
very nice to meet you.”

They chatted
for a time, and Kyra found herself warming to Amelia—though quiet and
reserved, she had an inner light and sweetness that seemed to beckon. She could
see how a woman like her would’ve tempted a nobleman despite his common sense,
though she still did not forgive the unknown man for his actions. If the
experience had left bitter feelings toward her child, it showed neither in
Amelia nor her son—Jamie was a bright and eager boy and seemed well
loved.

She met the
rest of Jake’s family too—his father, mother and three brothers; one
older, two younger. They all shared the same fair hair, blue eyes and sturdy
bodies, and seemed to be a genuinely well-rounded family. Kyra enjoyed being
with them, and was reluctant to leave when Jake announced it was past time to
take her back. She allowed him to walk her home, though, not wanting to upset
or anger her aunt by being late.

“My family
really seems to like you,” he whispered.

“I quite
liked them as well,” Kyra admitted with a smile.

“You’re free
to come by whenever you like,” Jake told her as they stopped outside her aunt’s
cottage.

“I might just
do that.”

He picked up
her hand and, never dropping his gaze, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Pleasant
warmth tingled through her. “I would like that very much. Have a good evening,
Kyra.”

She watched
him walk away, admiring his loose gait and muscled body as she cradled the hand
he’d kissed, until her aunt called her name and she went inside.

****

That night,
she dreamed of death and darkness—the rebels were ransacking her house,
breaking and looting her family’s precious belongings, slaughtering the house
staff so that the stench of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air. She could
still hear the cackling and shouting from the rebels, but intermingled were the
sound of wolf cries—long, pained howls interspersed with snarls and angry
growling. She groped blindly, wishing she could see what was happening, but
darkness cloaked her, suffocating her until she could neither move nor breathe.

When she
broke free of the dream she sat up sharply, gasping for the breath she’d been
denied in her sleep. As before, she heard wolf cries—but this time they
were angry and pained, as they’d been in her dream. Frustration and curiosity
rose up in her—what was the connection between her and these wolves? Was
it normal for them to weave themselves into her dreams with such conviction?
Was it simply a reality intruding on her nightmares, or something more?

Sighing, she
fell back onto her pillow. She didn’t know how, but somehow, some way, she was
going to figure it out.

****

 “I am
going to lie down for a bit, Kyra,” her aunt said one afternoon after they’d
finished pulling vegetables from the garden. “You should take a bit of time for
yourself to relax, if you like, or go next door and visit the Whitakers.”