On the front porch, she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him good-bye and said, “Don’t worry, Tavish Uilleam. It was just a scary call from a lunatic.”
Doona float away from me with your secrets. He towered over her and insisted, “If that’s all it was, why are ye so scared?”
“Phobia.” She shrugged. “I’ve already said, there’s none worth telling.”
You’re deflecting. “Perhaps it’s better if we talk about this after you’re rested.” Tavish pulled her into his arms gently, yet there was something dark in the way he claimed her mouth with a crushing kiss; how he crushed her against him, almost to the point of hurting. Breaking the kiss and gazing deeply into her eyes, he said against her lips, “Little Elf, what ye doona get is that for me, everything about ye is worth knowing.”
The mere thought of giving herself to all that male intensity; to rely on his quiet, commanding presence; to simply let him step in and take care of her made her ache with longing, and at the same time it left her uncertain. Her memories were too camouflaged to be revisited in the spur of that moment, much less shared, without causing great damage to herself and to others around her. They had always been on the fringe of her mind, influencing her psyche, orchestrating her life. No one orders me around anymore, not ghosts from the past, not dominant men from the present.
However, she was utterly bewildered about her feelings and decided to stay away from the risk, any risk, and to stick to her previous plan to have no strings attached until she regrouped and reconsidered her life. She stepped out of his embrace and opened one of the doors.
“Thank you for dinner. It was fantastic.”
“You were fantastic. We were fabulous. Together.” There was an edge of savagery in him, which she had glimpsed when he had walked to her door the first day. “Sleep well. I’ll be back at eight.”
“No,” she stated. “I have errands to run.”
You’re lying. “I wasn’t asking,” he hissed. His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared slightly. “Besides, we have plans in London tomorrow.”
“Change of plans. Next Monday would be better.” I need some time. Her mood shifted from thoughtful to cautious. “Listen, Tavish Uilleam . . . you and I . . . we have just begun to know each other.”
“And?”
“Can we just be for a while? No expectations?”
Both of his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “No expectations? You’re trying tae tell me we’ll be fuck buddies?”
She flinched not only at the expression on his face but also at the dripping scorn in his voice. “Don’t make this hard for me.” Didn’t you want to have a fucktion-ship, Laetitia? Here is your chance.
“Hard? We spent mind-blowing hours together, making love, after weeks of circling each other, and I am making this hard by asking ye tae stop lying tae me? By asking ye to tell me about your past? A subject ye stray away from any time our conversation veers toward it?” He pushed a hand in his midnight-black hair. “Ye canna keep me locked outside, Laetitia!”
“We agreed to take it slow,” she reminded him.
“Look at this. Ye live alone in the middle of nowhere; ye have no friends, but the ones at work, which are few.” He motioned wide with his hand. “Ye doona go out. Ye have no life. Who are ye trying to fool?”
“It’s my choice. You knew it from the beginning,” she said, raising her chin.
“Why don’t ye trust in me? Goddammit! I’m no’ the enemy, Laetitia. The man on the phone is.”
“I don’t know that man.” That at least is true. She could feel him watching her averted profile as if attempting to read her thoughts. “Are you willing to take what I’m willing to offer?”
“Nae. This is no’ what I want from ye.” With his hands on his back, he paced back and forth and declared, “Ye push others away, Little Elf. Ye just doona want tae acknowledge this.”
“This is ridiculous.” Laetitia wasn’t ready to let him inside yet, and with a brittle edge in her normally sweet voice, she said, “A few hours in bed gives you no right to analyze me or order me around.”
“Well, a few hours like those we shared in bed gives me the right tae feel concerned and protective.”
“That was sex.” She felt a chill wash over her as she glanced up at him.
Tavish folded his arms across his broad chest, as his green eyes betrayed a fire that smoldered inside him.
“If I wanted a one-night stand or wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sex, I’d have gone looking somewhere else.” Her continuing denial of their emotions and her insistence on shrouding her secrets after all they had shared made him snap to the point where he wanted to punish her for making him hurt. “Are you to trying to say ye just fucked me tae say thanks for signing ye on as an artist for The Blue Dot?” He closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath when his words reverberated in the cold air.
“Good night, Tavish Uilleam.”
He opened his eyes in time to see her closing the door. “Laetitia—”
She steadied herself on the wall, breathing deep and then let her trembling legs carry her to where they had sat together earlier. His smoky-sweet scent still hung there.
She fell there, and Cleopatra lapped at her chin, sensing her confusion. While she did hate him for cracking the illusion of a life she had managed to create for herself, deep inside she was grateful for it.
Since she fled her home in Ireland, Laetitia had acquired the ability to blend into the background of wherever she was, almost invisible to the untrained eye.
Even with her otherworldly appearance, she learned to appear as part of curtains, doorways, bookshelves, and especially gardens.
She’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was safe and comfortable.
She became an expert at emotional evasion.
It should have been easy to make him uninterested. It should have been easy to deflect his attention. But truth was, she didn’t want to be invisible to Tavish.
And if her secrets, which she didn’t understand herself, could be uncovered, she was sure he was the one who could do it.
She hoped they wouldn’t be mortally hurt when the last one was unveiled.
He could easily have caught the door if he so wished, but he had done enough damage for one night. Stupid, Tavish Uilleam. So stupid. He shook his head at himself. Tomorrow. Apologize tomorrow.
Leaning on the car long after her deadbolts and alarm had engaged, he contemplated if that lovely and innocent woman was an illusion. Tavish hadn’t survived so many years in battle without learning to trust his instincts, and they told him she was somehow falling into a trap.
What trap, and when it was bound to close, he had yet to determine. But, even if she wanted to, he wouldn’t step aside and see her get hurt.
Outside, hidden in the park in front of Laetitia’s house, very close to them, he had heard and watched each and every one of their movements. And he had not liked what Laetitia had said to Tavish, and how Tavish had talked to her.
Guilt was a terrible burden, and he’d been carrying it since he had discovered she was his, nine years ago, and he hadn’t succeeded in taking her from that eerie monastery. Her escape was so stealthily done that he had lost track of her, until recently. He should have called on her as soon as he could. But he feared that he would scare or confuse her more; he had no proof of who he was, or who she was.
He hadn’t completely made his mind up about the man. She could be making another mistake. If she were, he intended to rectify it as soon as possible. He pushed to his feet and stealthily went back to his tent in the middle of the woods.
For now, he would wait and watch, observing the man, questioning his intentions.
He had plenty of practice with waiting.
Ireland
March 2007
The library door creaked when Laetitia pushed it opened. She loved the place, with its shadowy and smoky air, the shelves crowded with old tomes. Whereas all the other rooms of the monastery were enormous, dark, and musky, leavi
ng her feeling small and helpless, here among the inanimate authors she felt happy and alive.
Reaching the end of the room, she saw him there. She frowned. The library, like the cemetery, was not a place to meet; they were her havens. In the woods or by the creek, every time he was available, free from his duties at the monastery, they found a place to be together.
“Come,” he said, towing her to the end of the room. “I have a surprise.”
A surprise?
“Peace, Brother,” said Geoffrey.
Regardless of the fact she couldn’t see the leader of the cult, she bowed her head, hoping to avoid incurring more than his regular, daily verbal abuse.
Geoffrey was the supposed wise and caring spiritual guide where it concerned the cult. At fifty-two years old, he was short and wiry thin, which betrayed a strength Laetitia knew too well. He was permanently enveloped in his black monk robes, and his voice and behavior were steady and calm, except when he was with the girl who had no name. He didn’t like her, and no one intervened or tried to put a stop to his obvious pleasure at ruling her into submission in the most abusive ways.
Turning to Laetitia, Geoffrey remarked, “Dirty and shabby as usual, freak.”
The sharp whiplike tone of Geoffrey’s booming voice made her shiver in fear. Hating him for humiliating her, and angry with herself for not contesting, Laetitia forced the words out of her mouth, “Good morning, sir.”
Looking down at the carpeted floor, Laetitia didn’t retort that she had showered an hour ago, and there was nothing she could do about her clothes. They were old, and she had outgrown them quickly in recent years. She didn’t ask for a new robe. She didn’t even ask for a discarded one; they were donated to an institution for the poor. She didn’t ask for anything.
She simply didn’t.
She had learned that no matter what, nothing about her could please Geoffrey, and she didn’t know why.
Sinéad, Geoffrey’s mother, stepped out of an unlit corner. She had once been a stunning woman but had not aged well. At sixty-nine years old, her gray hair fell past her waist, braided tightly, highlighting her sunken eyes and lined face. Her blue eyes were so pale they were almost white, and her papery skin had an unhealthy shade due to the days she stayed closeted in the cellar concocting teas and cocktails. The long-sleeved red-and-white embroidered robe covered the uncountable cut marks on her arms she felt compelled to make during each séance. She rarely spoke, and her footsteps were quiet, yet none could fail to notice her chilling presence.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Lady Sinéad.” He rose for a brief moment, in deference to her age and position in the cult.
Laetitia stood there looking at the floor, waiting for an invitation to sit.
Not deigning to reply to the greetings, not even looking in their direction, Sinéad sat ramrod straight in a tall wooden armchair across Laetitia.
Unlike Geoffrey, Sinéad had never said a harsh word to Laetitia, much less beat her. She ignored Laetitia’s existence. Even the most hard-hearted of the acolytes in the brotherhood found it creepy to watch their interaction—or lack of thereof. A ghost would have received more attention from Sinéad.
“Sit,” Geoffrey spit out.
I’ll get you back for this, Geoffrey. Laetitia sat stiffly, hands on her lap, head bowed.
“I’m terribly disappointed with you, but what else could I have expected?” Geoffrey asked.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, sir,” she whispered.
“You offered yourself to Brother Kinsella. Then denied him.”
Laetitia’s head snapped up so quickly she banged it on the wood of the chair, wishing she could wilt away. What?
“Midnight Saturday will be her baptism, then your wedding,” Geoffrey decided. “Invite your brother. He’d like to stand by you at the ceremony.”
For Laetitia, those words held a weight, which hung as a shroud in the library.
Sinéad tilted her head, unblinking, looking at the men for a long time. Then she eyed Laetitia from head to toe and back again. “Don’t.”
Laetitia gaped at her, flabbergasted. Don’t what?
“I’m tired of this, Geoffrey.” Sinéad rose and pinned her son with her ghostly eyes. “You’re going too far, and you know it.”
Her hand hovered over Laetitia’s head as if in doubt, but then Sinéad’s fingers brushed Laetitia’s hair. The caress curled around her heart, light as a breeze, soft as a feather, scented as a rose, satisfying for all the times it hadn’t happened and leaving her hungry for more. A lump worked its way to her throat. “My lady . . .”
Geoffrey’s bloated face turned red. “Mother!”
“You’ve always been a sweet girl. I’m sorry.”
Laetitia’s mind was too numb for a moment to understand she was apologizing. “For what?”
“For having done nothing.” Sinéad’s hand fell, and she left the room silently.
“This whole conversation had negative influences.” Geoffrey breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “It’s imperative that I find peace.”
I hope you find your peace in hell. Laetitia’s head stayed lowered until he exited the room. “What was that all about? I didn’t offer myself.”
“No, you didn’t, but you denied me.” He rose and brushed his hands on his robes. The brotherhood had brought a mind opening, a physical cleansing and respite to his troubled soul. He had been enjoying his time there immensely, especially when with Laetitia, but she was being too hard to get. He had just sped up what he would have achieved in a few months more, but his patience was short and his desires rampant. “See you on Saturday. Midnight. Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER 26
Beardley Lodge
6:53 a.m.
Dawn found her already showered and dressed, having breakfast. The fleeting feeling of safety had gone entirely, but this time she would not flee.
Through her bedroom curtains, she had seen Tavish watching her house for a long time before driving way.
And even as his headlights faded away, she stayed seated, as a depressed mood settled over her.
For a whole year, she had spent contemplating the events of her past. Then when nothing happened, she concluded that she had managed to hide herself well, that her new life would remain free of them. That every shadowed wonder, every cloudy thought, and every darkened corner were mere creations of her fertile imagination.
A prayer for them not to find her had turned into a litany in her head, as the days dragged slowly by, and still nothing happened.
She convinced herself that her uneasiness was merely caused by hidden longing, never fulfilled family love; and also for the abuse she had suffered, and the betrayal of the one she had thought loved her.
After all those years, Laetitia had the courage to open the door of her house, and herself, to the unknown that Tavish represented, certain that she was safe, and he was going to be safe in dealing with her. But that phone call had just proved her wrong.
Muttering nonsense, she grabbed her bag, crossed to her garage, and put it in the wicker basket of her vintage Lady Raleigh bicycle.
She didn’t know what she was going to do, but she needed out.
Sleep hadn’t come easily. It took a while for Tavish to reconcile Laetitia’s behavior with the woman he had come to know, and when he did, he had slept poorly, waking several times from disturbing nightmares.
Tavish had a tendency to be intensely involved with the members of his family and their problems. Even his friendships had tended to be intimate. This tendency had increased after he had come back from the war. The difficult situations he had experienced made him become even more sensitive and serious.
And with Laetitia, it all spiraled out of control with her slippery behavior, imposed limits, and flashes of secrecy.
He craved a sign from her that they had a chance to be together, but her slippery reaction had only spurred his need to assert his dominance and control. “I’ve not been on my best behavior,
Little Elf, but I am going to apologize. You wanting or—fucking great! Speaking out loud again!”
He called the concierge before he jumped out of bed and went to the shower.
When she returned, Laetitia was not surprised to find Tavish waiting for her on her porch. If she were true to herself, she would confess to having dragged herself out of her house to avoid confronting him without having had time to think. She needed to understand what was going on between them and how her past could affect their budding relationship. Her heart squeezed as if it had been put in a vise as she pedaled the last few feet and parked her bicycle in her front garden.
She studied the perfectly chiseled lines of his face, and her eyes moved down.
He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved, collared twill-weaved shirt, also black, its zipper opened enough to tempt her with his dangerously sexy look. Yet, it didn’t take away his tumultuous and too-serious, in-control air.
His ink-black hair was even more windblown, as if he’d run his fingers through it in frustration more than a few times.
His eyes lit on her the instant she flipped down her kickstand, threw back her hood, and alighted from her bicycle. “How did you come in?”
He climbed down the stairs, stepped forward, then halted, visibly holding himself back.
Controlled Tavish, calm Tavish, was now volatile.
Lustfully so.
Protectively so.
Insanely crazed so.
And it all reflected in his face.
Laetitia was oddly affected by his mix of emotions.
He crossed his arms and held his legs slightly apart, and his words came out in a mix of anger and relief. “You’re OK.”
“Yes.” Does he care so much? In that instant, desire along with a dose of longing and yearning caught in her throat, making her choke on her own words. “And—and . . . why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, ye received six calls from an unknown number and got a strange message last night that left you quite afraid. You’ve been gone since before I arrived. Which was quite early, in fact.” He raised that maddening eyebrow of his. “And you have no’ answered my calls.”