Chapter 6 Triarell’s Grove
When Lizzie thought Brun could not impress her any more than he already did, he proved her bitterly wrong by walking into the parlour exactly ten minutes later as agreed, dressed in perfectly fitted jeans and ankle-high boots, wearing a blue linen shirt which paired nicely with his eyes. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
Propriety be damned, she pushed her glasses over her nose and gaped, taking only care not to drool on the (most likely) authentic Persian rug under her feet.
“Shall we go?” he invited, gesturing towards the exit, apparently not noticing the way she was shamelessly ogling him, to her utmost relief.
She dashed through the door he was keeping open for her.
Once outside, Lizzie took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air of the Highlands. The air was not so clean in the city.
“Would a walk be okay or would you like to ride?” he asked and she snapped her head at him so fast that her neck hurt.
“Ride? As in horses? Do you have horses here?” she cried, her eyes widening.
He chuckled and pointed at her meaningfully, “You have horses, Lady Lochellen, I am only your warden.”
She arched a brow and he blushed.
“Well, your property’s warden, that is. You are of course a full grown woman.”
Perhaps he had not meant it as a patronising comment, but still she felt bothered by his choice of words. It was as if he were not fully convinced that she was not a child.
“Let’s walk if you don’t mind,” she decided, “I’ll leave the horses and coronets for another day.”
Brun chuckled and bowed his head pompously, “As you wish, Your Ladyship.”
Before she could scold him, he gestured ahead and guided her along the ample driveway. The impeccably kept gravel-covered path was flanked by two neat lines of evenly spaced silver birch trees and ended at an imponent iron gate at least nine feet tall. Each bar on its ribcage was decorated with elaborate whorls and flowery vines.
While they walked, Brun talked about the history of the property. His narrative was so vivid that it was as if he had witnessed those historical moments in person. Obviously, he was some sort of History buff.
He and Dad will be great friends, I reckon.
A couple of yards from the gate, Brun touched the small of her back steering her to the west of the property. They climbed up a gentle slope and then crossed a narrow stone bridge over a stream, arriving at a grove.
Lizzie halted, having a strong feeling of déjà vu. For a moment she was absolutely certain that she had walked amongst those trees before.
She studied the trees and it was as if she were walking in her back garden. Most were ash, though there were also beeches and oaks. And they were so familiar…She could almost recall what they looked like when autumn set in and their leaves reddened and then yellowed, and how the snow turned them into a magic winter landscape.
Yes, so familiar.
She belonged there…
“Is there something wrong?”
Brun’s voice startled her. He seemed surprised by whatever expression she wore on her face, a small crease appearing between his brows.
Then his gaze moved from her to the grove and he got flushed, “I apologise… I should not have presumed to take a young woman alone into such an isolated place…” with clenched jaws, he scanned around, “I think the gardener is here somewhere, but if you prefer to be somewhere less secluded…”
Lizzie felt even more awkward by his offended tone, but she did not know how to explain – without sounding like a lunatic – that the idea that he could attack her had never crossed her mind, and that what made her hesitate was some weird, inexplicable sensation.
“No, please, it’s not that…” she bit her lower lip, “Sorry, I guess I’m just a little tired.”
His shoulders sagged and he offered her one of his devastating smiles, “Would you like to go back then? Apologies, I should have waited until tomorrow…”
She shook her head, “No, I’m fine. I’m enjoying the walk.”
He smiled again, but his expression was less certain, “It’s not much further now.”
Lizzie followed him hesitantly, and once she found herself amidst the trees, every hair on her skin stood on end, because she was absolutely certain that she had been to that place before.
Brunwas not entirely sure why he had decided to take Lizzie to Triarell’s grove. When he offered to show her the property he had only thought of giving her a quick tour, tell her a little about its history, in the hopes that the fresh air would ease her tension, and then go back to wash for supper.
Yet somehow his legs had taken him to the bridge which he had not crossed in centuries and he was now standing amidst the trees that Triarell had loved so much, where she used to go to bring peace to her spirit.
He peered down at Lizzie as she pushed those ill-fitted glasses back over her nose for the umpteenth time. Her ebony hair was tied in a messy, lopsided braid that brushed her shoulder blades and her face was tilted upwards. Her green eyes – Triarell’s eyes – were trained on the trees.
Lizzie was not Triarell, Brun repeated to himself again, and yet there was something of her ancestor’s essence in her.
“This place is lovely,” Lizzie muttered softly, bringing her gaze back to him, “A nice spot for Yoga.”
Brun blinked at her but did not reply, staring at her as if she were a ghost.
A ghost would not have scared me half as much.
“Are you okay?” she took a step closer and tentatively reached for his forearm, “You are a little pale… Maybe we should go back?”
Her touch was warm and soothed him like a healing balm. He had to restrain the will to moan aloud at the unexpected pleasure it caused.
Another human’s touch.
He could not remember the last time someone touched him with that innocent simplicity.
A genuine offer of friendship.
His eyes burned, but he forced a smile, “Yes, of course, forgive me, I was just lost in thought for a moment,” then he gestured around, “This grove was… I mean, it was said that this was the late Viscountess Lochellen’s favourite place in Glennloch, that she would spend hours here in quiet… huh, reflection.”
She turned her gaze to the trees again, “I can see why, one can almost feel as if the trees could talk.”
Alarm bells rang in Brun’s head and he took a step closer.
“What did you say?” he demanded, his jaws clenching.
Lizzie frowned, startled by the urgency in his voice, “Did I say something wrong?”
“What did you say?” he repeated slowly, “About the trees talking?”
She chuckled nervously, taking a step away from him while hooking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “Nothing, it was just a way of speaking, it’s just… I can feel, I mean, I can guess how ancient this grove is… It has this mystical aura if you know what I mean…” When his expression remained alert, she shrugged dismissively. “Don’t mind me, it was just a small Lord of the Rings moment!”
Brun’s frown only deepened, because he did not have the foggiest idea of what she was talking about.
“You don’t know The Lord of the Rings? Tolkien?” she huffed, sounding horrified at his lack of knowledge on the topic, “Really big book about the battle for the Middle Earth? Magic rings, hobbits and elves?” then she gestured around meaningfully, “Talking trees?”
Heavens! She is talking about a fantasy book!
Feeling the tension drain away from his body, his frown turned into a scowl, “Forgive me, I am not very fond of reading nonsense about elves and the likes,” Brun declared grumpily.
Lizzie flinched at his rude remark, “Of course, sorry, not everyone likes the genre…”
He realised his blunder a moment too late. Definitely taking Lizzie to Triarell’s grove had not been his brightest moment.
“Let’s keep walking this way,” he suggested in a lighter tone and went ahead of her, hoping to use the time to recompose himself.
Lizziewas still annoyed when they left the shadow of the trees behind, wondering what had made Brun so agitated out of a sudden. It was obvious that he loved Glennloch: she just wanted to be nice and show she admired it too.
Was it possible that he was upset that she was now the owner of everything and he no longer could be the lord of the manor? But he must have known for a while that that moment was going to happen. A few months at least.
Right?
Her train of thoughts were interrupted when he halted, taking a step aside.
They were on the top of a hill from where they had an obstructed view of Loch Tay. The sun was starting to set, turning the water’s surface into a golden mirror, while the hills around it became the darkest green.
Her irritation dissolved into a puff of smoke at the breath-taking sight. There was an ancient beauty there, an immortal witness of the Earth’s ages that silenced her into awe.
For a moment Lizzie expected to see all the legends that she was fond of coming alive. She looked to one side and pictured fairies peeping from behind the trees, then turned her gaze to a hill expecting to see dragons taking flight from there, while knights in shimmering silver armour drew their longswords to fight dark magical monsters.
Her gaze was attracted down to the loch’s shore and she could almost see a line of figures clad in silky robes climbing out of the water.
There was a passage hidden there. Hidden in plain sight.
A gateway to another world.
Wait! What?
Lizzie felt a strange pressure on her head and the sounds around her became muffled. In the next breath, her vision darkened.
“Please forgive my behaviour in the grove,” Brun’s voice snapped her into the present and thankfully the weird sensation vanished as quick as it started.
She blinked, glad to feel normal again. I am only tired from the trip.
He went on, “That place brings some… difficult… memories for me... of someone I… lost, a long time ago,” he explained staring down at the loch, “She… she loved that grove…”
The pain in his voice was raw and deep and Lizzie found herself placing her hand gently on his arm again.
“I am sorry,” she said simply, unsure what else she could say.
Brun smiled sadly at her and then checked his watch.
“Why, it’s late already. We’d better start heading back and wash for supper, or Mrs Clisham will have my hide!”
After the awkward moment by the loch, they walked back to the manor in uncomfortable silence. Despite the unease between them, Brun dutifully guided Lizzie to her bedroom.
The door to the Viscountess Bedchamber, as the room was simply known, was in itself a work of art in wood, sculpted by Fae artisans with woodlands scenery, such as deer drinking by streams, packs of wolves hunting, swans floating on peaceful lakes, singing birds and such. People in ancient clothing were also depicted in everyday life scenes, like ploughing fields, chopping wood, weaving, or herding sheep. It had so much detail that it could be a story book carved in wood.
And spells. Hidden amongst the seemingly bucolic scenes, there dozens of magic spells, mostly of the protective kind.
Without a word, he pushed the door, making way for her.
The chamber was a large room dominated by a four-post bed with diaphanous bed curtains. A wide alcove window that stretched from floor to ceiling faced the loch, and a chaise long was placed in front of it, making it a perfect spot of an afternoon reading. The window was flanked to the right by a dressing table and to the left there was a large writing desk, above which hung a portrait of Triarell and Ryul. An eighteenth-century chest was laid at the foot of the bed and on the opposite side of the window there were two doors.
It was the first time since Triarell’s funeral he set foot inside the Viscountess Bedchamber. For a moment Brun was frozen where he stood, staring at the empty bed and seeing Triarell’s lifeless body again as if it had happened on the day before.
After Ryul followed his wife to the grave, Brun burned the bed where Triarell died, nearly setting fire to the whole manor. Only Darron’s cries of panic at the raging flames had brought him to his senses and saved him from killing the whole household that day.
Clearing his throat, he looked at Lizzie who was gaping in astonishment, her green eyes scanning the room.
“You will find all modern comforts here I hope, but I’ll be more than happy to arrange anything else you may need,” he declared gesturing around, “Most of the original furniture was destroyed by a… by an accidental fire after the previous Viscountess passed away, but I… I mean, my predecessors tried to restore some of its original decoration as best as they could,” then he pointed at the additional doors, “The door to the right is your closet and the one to the left is your private bathroom.”
“My closet?” she repeated, pushing her glasses against her face. Again.
Brun acquiesced, “It is empty of course, but you will find that your income will allow you to fill it up with whatever you wish.”
“My income?” she repeated once again and he smiled this time. There was something quite endearing in her simple and genuine manners.
Although she was the spitting image of Triarell, she was as sweet and warm as Gweyir. And possessed Aranna’s sharp wit.
Curious…
“You will soon find out that you are now quite rich, Your Ladyship,” he kept his expression serious, but he allowed a hint of amusement distil into his voice as he used her title. Then he checked his watch, “Supper should be ready in about an hour, I reckon. Would that be enough time for you to prepare?”
Although she was comfortably soaking in a massive bathtub, Lizzie wanted to punch Brun on the face.
From hunk to punk in less than four hours!
Maybe he did not mean anything by it and it was just his pompous manner of speaking, but she felt annoyed by the way he had asked if one hour was enough for her to prepare.
Was he just being courteous? Trying to make her feel comfortable in what was now her home, or was that just his way to hint at how scruffy her appearance was?
If that’s the case, at least he’s a lot more subtle than my mum.
However, the biggest question of them all was: if she had spent twenty four years of her life not caring about her appearance and shunning her mother’s attempts at cleaning her up, why should she care about what a stranger (however mind-blowing gorgeous he was) thought about her appearance?
Perhaps all that ladyship story was starting to get into her head.
Huffing, she climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a ridiculously soft robe, furiously towelling her wet hair while she returned to the bedchamber.
Mr Clisham had placed her suitcase over the bed and it now looked very shabby in comparison to the glamour of the room. She had used that same suitcase to backpack everywhere during her college years and it bore the obvious signs of its disastrous encounters with airports from all over the world. Coming to think of it, it was a miracle it was still functional.
With a sigh, Lizzie slid the zipper open and dug into the side pockets to find clean underwear and the handful of cosmetics she bothered to use. After pulling up her pants and hooking a bra, she rubbed moisturiser on her arms and legs and with her hair still wrapped in a towel, went on to study the contents of her suitcase, knowing with a sinking feeling that she would not find any piece of clothing there that would satisfy his lordship’s tastes.
Believing she would find a manor in ruins and a toothless octogenarian to hand her a ring of pointless keys, Lizzie had picked up her cabin-sized suitcase and shoved a couple of extra pairs of jeans and a collection of five T-shirts in the impressive variety of three colours – white, gray and black.
Most of them were new at least.
Well, new-ish…
I am as hopeless as my mother says.
She had planned to stay a week or so – at the Bed and Breakfast! – to sign the papers needed to sell the property, or whatever was left of it, and then go back to Cornwall to wallow in her misery during the rest of summer; however, after seeing Glennloch, it became clear that selling it would not be the simplest option.
Under the T-shirt pile, Lizzie found her pyjamas, which were in fact an oversized white T-shirt and a couple of socks’ balls, and bit her lower lip feeling disheartened.
But then, a flash of colour called her attention. Beneath her so-called nightgown there was something else in royal blue at the bottom of her suitcase…
Puzzled, she pulled out the mysterious item, unfolding a cocktail dress wrapped around a pair of mid-heel silver slippers. Her mother knew it would be a cold day in hell when Lizzie would agree to wear something like that, so she must have sneaked it into her suitcase.
All things considered it was a less flashy garment than her mother would normally have chosen. She could say it was even rather discreet. The body was fitted, though not overly tight and it had a delicate lace embroidery along the squared neckline and over-the-shoulder sleeves.
She hesitated. That dress was not her style at all, but at the same time she was feeling her female pride inexplicably wounded.
No harm in showing that I can be a lady should the occasion call for it.
With renewed determination, she pulled the dress over her head, deciding that the occasion certainly was calling for it.
Thedrawing room door creaked andBrun lifted his eyes from the newspaper he was reading. It was one of the few old habits he could not shake, because the idea of reading the news on the tiny screen of his mobile was utterly abhorrent to him.
“Ah Lizzie, right on time, Mrs Clisham has just–”
He swallowed the next words when she slipped timidly into the room, looking like a puppy who got lost from her mother.
Only she was far from being a puppy. Or a little girl.
Far, way far from it…
Gone was the teenage girl outfit from earlier. She was using a knee-high royal blue dress that hugged her form elegantly, hinting at her female curves without being vulgar. Her bare legs were well-shaped and small feet were prettily wrapped in silver slippers.
Not a girl at all, but a woman. A grown woman.
The squared neckline revealed a tanned chest and the soft curves of her breasts which were far more generous than that loose old T-shirt had suggested.
But it was her hair that took his breath away.
The locks were still humid and falling in ebony layers down her back. They turned and curled naturally in certain angles, exactly in the same way that Triarell’s hair had. If she removed those glasses, there would be no difference between her and her ancestor
How can this be?His mouth suddenly became dry, and all his senses were assaulted by an explosive mixture of memories and emotions.
“Is there something wrong?” Lizzie’s voice sounded from very far away and for a moment Brun thought he had been sent back in time, hearing Triarell’s voice in her descendant’s body.
He blinked, realising that he was staring at her. Lizzie was frowning and even the little crease between her dark brows was identical to Triarell’s.
This is too much…I will surely go mad before this week is out…
He ought to reconsider his original plans: he would need to disappear a lot sooner.
“My apologies,” he folded the newspaper slowly, deliberately using the time to regain control of his emotions, “You look…” he started, unsure how to finish that sentence, reckoning that ravishing, although accurate, would sound highly inappropriate to say to a woman he had met only a few hours before, “You look lovely,” he breathed finally, settling for safer ground.
She smiled, clearly delighted with the compliment and he felt inexplicably satisfied in seeing such pleasure on her face. Triarell would take compliments such as those candidly, but one could see she was never truly affected by them.
Well, but Lizzie is not Triarell! You must remember this!
“Thank you,” she replied shyly, “I don’t normally wear these kind of stuff, but my mum hid this one in my bag…” she gestured to the dress and he took advantage of the moment to shamelessly study her body a little more, “She’s flipping her lid with this whole ladyship business…”
He laughed, “Well, compliments to your mother’s taste. This dress really…” again he struggled with words that would sound proper, in particular considering how uneasy she had felt to be alone with him earlier. The last thing he wished was for her to feel unsafe in his company, “suits you.”
Lizzie smiled again, but Brun could not help noticing that a shadow crossed her green eyes.
“Are you hungry?” he stood up and crossed the room towards her as if compelled by a magnetic force.
“I can’t believe I will say that after everything Mrs Clisham forced me to eat at tea, but I am ravenous,” she replied placing a hand meaningfully over her stomach.
Before he could stop himself, Brun reached for that hand, allowing his fingers to briefly touch her belly. The gesture made him feel like a young lad again, stealing furtive touches from the maidens in a ball.
Then he brought her hand to his lips, his gaze never wavering from her eyes.
“Let us eat then, Your Ladyship.”