Chapter Four
Stefan did not appear the following night, nor the next four nights.
Bryony told herself she was relieved by his absence.
She had asked Leanora if she could bring her some small canvases and paints and the girl had agreed.
It made all the difference in how Bryony passed the lonely hours after Leonora had gone home.
Though she could not leave the house, Bryony sat at the window in her bedchamber and painted the things she saw—Daisy, standing hipshot in the corral, the distant mountains shrouded in clouds, a rooster scratching in the dirt near the barn, a single red flower growing in solitary splendor in a patch of weeds.
One afternoon, she painted Leanora, though portraits had never been her strong suit. Leonora had been so pleased with the result, she had begged Bryony to let her have it, saying the portrait would be the perfect gift for her mother’s birthday.
The evening of the fifth day, Bryony sat on the couch in the main room. She was in the middle of sketching the sailing ship depicted in the painting over the mantel when Stefan’s image suddenly sprang to mind. She immediately ran up the stairs to her room and found a new canvas.
Sitting by the window, she began the initial sketch, her excitement growing as the image in her mind took shape on the canvas.
When the sketch was done, she sat back, pleased with what she had accomplished.
He stood in profile on a windswept hill, gazing into the distance.
She would paint him clad in black, of course.
The cloak billowing from his shoulders would also be black, maybe lined in crimson or a deep, dark blue. A breeze ruffled his long, dark hair.
Not wanting anyone to see her work before it was finished, she hid the canvas under the bed.
Stefan appeared that night soon after Leanora had taken her leave. He found Bryony sitting on the couch, gazing into the hearth fire, a pensive expression on her face. As though sensing his presence, she glanced over her shoulder, a wary expression in her eyes.
“Something troubling you?” he asked, moving to take the chair alongside the couch.
She shrugged, her gaze sliding away from his.
He regarded her for a moment, and then let his mind brush hers. And grinned. She thought he was a witch, that he had used magic to control the rain when they went walking the other night. Well, she was right, in part. But he had no wish to discuss it.
“Where were you?” Bryony asked, then bit down on her lower lip. She hadn’t intended to ask him but the words had slipped out.
He arched one brow. “Did you miss me, fair Bryony?”
“Of course not.” It was both the truth and a lie. She told herself the only reason she missed him at all was because she hated spending so much time alone in his creepy old house.
His smug expression told her he knew the truth. “Leanora tells me you asked her to bring you canvas and paints and she did so.”
Bryony nodded, hoping she hadn’t caused the girl any trouble.
“I will see that in the future you have a ready supply of both. Is there anything else you wish?”
“Nothing, my lord. Save my freedom.” She enjoyed doing needlepoint, but she refused to ask him for anything.
“Stefan,” he reminded her.
“No. Stefan.”
“Does it bother you to say my name?”
“Yes. It makes it sound like we are…friends.”
“And that bothers you?”
“We are not friends. We are prisoner and keeper.” He was the most exasperating man! How was it possible for her to be afraid of him and attracted to him at the same time.
“Ah. Do you not have the freedom of the house?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“I do not keep you in chains. Or beat you. Or abuse you.”
“But you will not let me go!”
“No.”
“Why? Why must you keep me here?”
“As I told you, I have been alone a long time. I rather enjoy your company.”
She stared at him. His voice was quiet, yet she sensed the pain beneath it. Had he lost a loved one? A wife? Was that why he had been alone? “Surely there are people you can turn to who would welcome your company. Who would comfort you.”
“What of you, fair Bryony? Will you not comfort me?”
“I…I would not know how.”
“I could teach you.”
His gaze moved over her, his eyes dark and filled with secrets. It sent a shiver down her spine. Struck by a sudden, nameless fear, she shook her head.
“I thought not. Leanora told me you wished for books to read. I will take you to the bookseller’s shop in the city. Tonight, if you wish.” His gaze challenged her. “Unless you are afraid to go with me.”
The thought of going anywhere with him was disconcerting, which was odd, since they were alone in the house. She was no safer here than she would be anywhere else. But the thought of being in a shop surrounded by books was too tempting to pass up. “I…I would like that.”
“Very well. Get your cloak while I ready the buggy.”
With a nod, she bounded off the couch and ran up the stairs. She was going to the city!
Bryony felt a rush of excitement as the buggy pulled up in front of Ye Olde Book Shoppe.
She had loved books since she was a child.
Her mother had read to her every night before bed, legends of gallant heroes and brave heroines, stories of hope and faith from the Bible, and fairy tales, which had been Bryony’s favorite when she was young.
Stefan handed Bryony out of the buggy and followed her into the shop.
He watched her face light up as she perused row after row of books.
Her choices fascinated him—Jane Eyre, David Copperfield, Ivanhoe, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
And Frankenstein. He grinned inwardly. Little did she know she was living with a real-life monster.
Bryony carried the leather-bound volumes to the counter where a clerk wrapped them and added up the bill. Stefan paid for them without comment.
“Would you care to stop for tea?” he asked as they left the bookshop. “Or perhaps dessert?”
Bryony felt her mouth water at the thought of sweets.
Grinning inwardly, Stefan stowed the books under the seat of the buggy, then took her hand in his, partly because he liked touching her, partly to keep her from trying to run away.
Bryony walked beside him, acutely aware of his presence. He was a tall man, well-proportioned and strong, yet light on his feet. Next to him, she felt small and helpless.
When they reached the tea shop, he stood behind her as she scrutinized the pastries.
Bryony licked her lips. So many to choose from. How was she ever to make up her mind?
She finally decided on a raspberry tart and a cup of green tea.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked, as they found a table near the front window.
“I have no taste for tea.” His gaze moved to the hollow of her throat. “Or sweets.” At least not the kind she meant.
Bryony ate slowly, refusing to let him spoil her enjoyment. Leanora was a good cook, but she didn’t often make rich desserts.
Stefan watched her surreptitiously as she ate, felt his desire spring to life as she licked a bit of raspberry from her lips, wishing he could do the same.
When she finished, he again took her hand.
He needn’t have bothered, she thought, as they walked along the sidewalk. She had no intention of trying to run away. What was the point? She was sure he could easily overtake her. And who knew whether he would punish her for trying to escape?
Stefan shook his head as he divined her thoughts. She truly believed the worst of him, he mused. And then sighed. If she knew who he was, what he was, fear would swiftly over-ride her caution and she would run screaming from his presence.
Afraid he might surrender to the desperate need to take Bryony in his arms and make love to her until sunrise, Stefan bid her good night at the door.
She was a constant temptation and it was driving him crazy.
Never before had he wanted a woman the way he wanted her.
Not for the first time, he told himself to let her go before he did something he would regret. And knew he would not.
When she was safely inside, he strolled through the night, his thoughts turned inward. Lost in self-recrimination, he didn’t sense the presence of the hunters until it was too late. He let out a harsh cry as pain speared through his back. A wooden stake. It missed his heart by inches.
They were on him in an instant, silver-bladed knives slicing through cloth into his arms, his back, his chest. Silver weakened him, but never like this.
His reflexes were slow, sluggish…as if he had been drugged.
The silver, he thought, dully. They had done something to it.
For a moment, he thought they would prevail and he stopped fighting.
Why not let them win? He had lived long enough.
Seen it all. Done it all. Maybe it was time to surrender.
But then he thought of Bryony and knew he had to see her, hold her, one more time before he took his last breath.
He screamed his pain and his fury as he grabbed hold of one of his attackers and broke his neck.
The second hunter was a fighter. He managed to rake his blade across Stefan’s belly before Stefan hurled him against a tree, breaking his back. The third hunter turned and ran.
Bleeding from numerous cuts, Stefan stared at the two lifeless bodies. He hated drinking from the dead but he needed blood badly to heal. He was bending over the nearest hunter when he heard hoofbeats and the raucous hoots and laughter of men in their cups.
Cursing under his breath, he dragged himself into the brush at the side of the road, the need for blood the most exquisite kind of torture.
It left him weak, his body throbbing in agony.
His vision blurred into a red mist. A low groan rose in his throat as he summoned the last of his waning strength and transported himself to his lair moments before the darkness engulfed him.