Chapter Nine
When Bryony went downstairs in the morning, she found a note on the mantel.
Bryony ~
We are leaving here this evening.
Pack everything you wish to take with you.
Stefan
Frowning, she read the missive again. Leaving? Where were they going? And why?
She fretted over the note all through breakfast and while washing and drying the dishes. If Stefan took her away from here, she might never see her family again. What if she refused to go?
What if he left without her? Did she want to stay here alone, with no way to leave the house? If the delivery boy stopped coming, she would starve to death.
With a shake of her head, she closed the door on her morbid thoughts.
Going upstairs, she opened the wardrobe doors and found a leather-strapped trunk inside that hadn’t been there last night.
Dragging it out of the wardrobe, she put it next to the bed.
She laid her dresses on the mattress and folded them one by one.
When that was done, she opened the trunk and found a smaller one inside.
Lifting it out, she pushed it out of the way.
She packed her books first, then her shoes, clothing, and nightgown. Her needlepoint yarns, thread, patterns, and scissors came next. She loaded her oils, paint brushes, rags, palette, and cleaning solution in the smaller trunk. The canvases wouldn’t fit.
Reaching under the bed, she removed the painting she had done of Stefan.
For a moment, she held it up, thinking once again that it was the best thing she had ever done.
She placed it between a couple of blank canvases where it wouldn’t be seen and loaded them all into a box she had found in the mudroom.
She took a last glance around the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything before going downstairs to prepare the noonday meal.
Sitting on the couch, her plate in her lap, she wondered anew why they were leaving this place. Was he going to sell her into servitude? Dispose of her? Or worse? She had heard stories of women who had been sold into brothels in distant countries.
She grew more and more anxious with every passing moment. As the sun began to set, she paced the floor, wishing she could stop time from passing. All too soon, Stefan entered the main room.
She stared up at him, her heart hammering like thunder in her breast. Had he always been so tall? So intimating?
Stefan frowned as he glanced around the room, wondering why she was so upset. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She backed away from him, her arms folded tightly around her waist.
He shook his head as he let his mind brush hers. Sell her to a brothel? Is that what she thought? No wonder she was upset. “Bryony, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she met his gaze.
“I am not going to hurt you. Or sell you into slavery. Or send you across the ocean to a foreign brothel.” If anyone was going to explore that exquisite body, he intended to be the one to do it.
“We are moving to a larger house, that is all.” It was the truth.
And a lie. They were moving because of the way she had smiled at the boy. The way the boy had smiled at her.
Her gaze searched his. She wanted desperately to believe him.
“Are you ready?” he asked again.
She nodded.
He lifted the new traveling cloak that had been folded over his arm and shook it out. Muttered an oath as she flinched when he placed it around her shoulders.
“Dammit, woman,” he growled. “I am not going to hurt you.” He took a deep, calming breath. “I am going up to get your things.”
She watched him climb the stairs, her fingers stroking the rich black velvet of the cloak.
He had read her mind again. That was troubling, indeed. As was the fact that his mother had been a witch.
She watched him descend the staircase, the larger trunk balanced on his shoulder, the smaller one tucked under his arm.
“I will put these in the carriage and come back for you.”
She nodded. They were taking a carriage instead of the buggy. That meant he would be sitting up front on the driver’s seat. She would be alone inside the carriage. With luck, she might yet escape.
He returned moments later. “The box upstairs? Did you want to take that with you?”
“Yes, please.”
He made a quick trip up the stairs and back down again.
She followed him out of the house, flinched when the front door shut behind her. He placed the box on the seat with her trunks, then handed her inside. When she was settled on the empty seat, Stefan spread a warm blanket over her lap.
“It is a long trip to the Mountain House,” he said, his hands braced on either side of the door. “If you need to stop for any reason, rap your knuckles on the roof.”
She nodded. “Wait! What about Daisy? We can’t leave her behind!”
“She is already there.” His gaze held hers for a long moment, then he closed the door and swung up onto the seat.
Taking up the reins, he clucked to the team.
It would have been easier, and faster, to transport the two of them to his other lair, but he didn’t want to use his powers in front of Bryony any more than necessary.
She thought he was a warlock. That was all the truth she needed to know.
He smiled inwardly, wondering how long it would be before Bryony attempted to escape. He mulled it over for a time as the horses broke into an easy canter. Likely the first time he slowed the team, he decided.
Bryony stared out the carriage window, watching the countryside pass by. Of course, there was little to see in the dark save for the stark outlines of tall trees on both sides of the road.
How far away was this new house? If she made a run for it before they got there, where would she go? She had no idea where they were, or if there were any houses or a town nearby where she could hide. No money with which to rent a room or buy victuals.
Bryony guessed they had been traveling close to three hours when the carriage slowed. A short time later, she saw lights outside the carriage window. And a row of houses!
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. Should she jump out of the carriage and make a run for it, or wait for another opportunity? What if she didn’t get another chance? What if she jumped and broke her leg? Or her neck? Where was her courage?
She took several deep breaths, opened the carriage door, and jumped.
She landed hard, the breath whooshing out of her lungs as she rolled over and over on the hard ground.
When she stopped, she lay still, taking mental inventory.
She didn’t think anything was broken, although she was definitely bruised.
She took another deep breath, her gaze darting left and right as she gained her feet and then sprinted across the road toward the lights.
She knocked on the nearest door. When a tall, scar-faced man with a thick black beard and matted hair opened the door, she knew immediately that she had made a dreadful mistake.
Raucous music played behind him. The room was dimly lit, the walls papered in a horrid red.
Scantily-clad young girls surely no more than fourteen or fifteen years of age lounged on a red velvet couch.
The portrait of a nude woman hung on the wall.
She heard boisterous laugher and cries coming from the rooms upstairs.
It was a house, Bryony thought, suddenly sick to her stomach. But not the kind she was looking for.
She was turning away when the man’s ham-like hand snaked out and clamped down on her wrist.
“Come on in, girlie.” A broad smile revealed a set of wide-spaced, yellow teeth. “We can always use another doxy.”
Bryony opened her mouth to scream as the man yanked her across the threshold, but terror trapped the cry in her throat. Terror that intensified as four men gathered around her, arguing about who would try her out first.
The man who had pulled her inside won the argument. He was hauling her up a narrow flight of stairs when the front door exploded inward and Stefan stood silhouetted in the doorway, his dark eyes blazing with anger.
Tall, dark, and deadly, Bryony thought, as he strode into the room.
She stared at him, certain she was having a nightmare when his eyes took on a faint red glow moments before the other three men swarmed toward him.
Dreaming, she thought. She had to be dreaming.
It was her last thought before darkness swallowed her whole.
Stefan swore as he killed the last of the men.
It had been a long time since he’d been in a brawl like that, at least until recently.
Now, in a matter of weeks, he had killed six men.
And regretted none of them. He glanced at the bodies that littered the floor, unmoved by their deaths.
No mere mortal took what was his and lived to tell the tale.
Ignoring the frightened girls who stood huddled together in a far corner, he lifted Bryony into his arms and carried her out of the bordello and into the carriage.
Sitting down, he cradled her in his arms and pulled the blanket over her.
This was all his fault. He had known she would run, if given the chance.
Cursing himself, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, oblivious to the numerous cuts and bruises he had received during the fight with the pimps. Wounds that were healing, even now.
Holding her close, he transported them, carriage and all, to his lair in the mountains.
It had been a long time since he had traveled to this part of the country.
It was his favorite lair and even in his absence, there were servants there to look after the house.
He had sent word ahead, alerting the staff that he was coming, assuring that the Mountain House would be ready for them when they arrived.
He brushed a kiss across Bryony’s lips, hoping she would find this lair more appealing than the last.