Dawn Brown - The Witch Of Stonecliff

His phone hummed in his hand and he looked down at the screen.

I want 2 hear ur voice.

Guilt squirmed in his stomach. Sophie hadn’t wanted him to come and, God forbid, anything happen to him. His sister would never forgive herself for her part in his scheme.

It wasn’t fair to put her in this position, forcing her to keep his secret, but there’d been no one else. He couldn’t tell his parents. Even if they wouldn’t have tried to stop him—and they would have, he was certain—he couldn’t worry them more than he had. His father must have aged ten years in the first three months after the attack, and his mother’s voice still trembled slightly when her gaze flitted to the scar across his throat.

As for Tom, he would have physically sat on Kyle to keep him from making this trip, and Grace’s fears would have come out in a stern lecture about responsibility that would somehow inflate the guilt already pumping through his veins. Only Sophie would keep his secret. Maybe out of nostalgia, remembering that tumultuous camaraderie of their childhood. Or maybe, two years younger than Kyle’s thirty, she was young enough to believe she could have her brother back. Either way, he didn’t want her worrying about him more than she already was. Besides, he wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t tell on him if he didn’t ring her.

He dialed her number as he emerged from the edge of the trees and started toward the lodge. Pinning his mobile awkwardly between his ear and shoulder, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Sophie answered before the first ring finished. “‘Lo?”

“It’s me.”

“Thank God,” she breathed. “I’ve been worried.”

Again that sharp twist in his gut. “Sorry. I was…” He’d been helping the woman who may have tried to kill him. He settled for, “I was speaking to someone.”

“When you didn’t answer me right away… I think this is a bad idea, Kyle.”

“I’m fine, really. You can’t panic every time I miss a text or a call. I sleep, you know? Shower. Go to the toilet.” He forced his tone to remain light, hoping he could draw a laugh from his little sister.

“I wish you’d never told me what you were up to. You’ve put me in a terrible position. If something happens to you, they’ll blame me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he told her with more conviction than he felt. After all, she was his fail-safe, his just in case. And worse, she knew it.

* * *

As soon as Eleri locked her bedroom door behind her, she peeled off her sweater and t-shirt in a single yank over her head. Her skin, cold and clammy, itched as though tiny invisible bugs scurried over her flesh. She tugged off her trousers next, hopping on one foot to the nearest lamp and turning the switch. While she peeled off the rest of her clothes, she made her way to every light in the room until the space glowed brightly. The shadows chased safely to the far corners of the room.

In the en suite, she turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Once the bathroom steamed, the spray as hot as she could stand, she stepped into the big iron bathtub.

The nearly scalding water beat at her skin like tiny hot bullets, but Eleri barely noticed. She bent and snatched the soap from the wire basket on the edge of the tub and rubbed it hard over her body, determined to scrub the crawling sensation from her skin.

When her arm tired and her raw skin stung, her knees gave out and she sunk slowly to the bottom of the tub. Kneeling, she tucked her chin to her chest against the spray pelting the top of her head and back. Her ragged breathing sounded in her ears, and the trembling in her muscles eased.

What a bloody mess she was in. She needed to get away from this house, from the village. But she couldn’t. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

She lifted her leaden arm and turned the tap, shutting off the water. Exhaustion slammed into her like a wrecking ball. She wanted to climb into bed and pretend the day had never happened.

The last thing she wanted was to face Kyle again after he’d witnessed that mess with Paskin. What if he asked questions?

She should skip Hugh’s dinner. It was the butler’s bloody idea, after all. Instead she dragged on a clean pair of gray trousers and a white blouse and returned to the bathroom. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the sink and frowned. God, she was plain. From dull brown hair, the ends curling and brushing her shoulders, to dull brown eyes, to pale skin, her blouse and trousers as bland as the rest of her.

She couldn’t even change. All her clothes were the same, varying only in color—beige, gray, white. All perfectly practical had she still been serving customers in a flower shop, or when she mucked about in the garden, but nothing for company.

Since when did she care what she wore to dinner? She finished getting ready, and less than fifteen minutes later she was making her way down the hall to the stairs.

As she rounded the last corner in the passageway her gaze caught on the burned-out wall sconce at the top of the stairs. Warlow still hadn’t replaced it. Dark shadows stretched across the corridor like a veil. Eleri slowed, unease prickling along the back of her neck. The smell hit her next. Putrid and rotted, the stink wafted to her nose, filling her nasal cavities, trickling down her throat until she wanted to gag.

Whispered voices filled the air around her. The stench intensified.

Eleri whirled around and started back the way she’d come. She’d use the servants’ stairs again. She couldn’t manage this now. Not after her run-in with Paskin.

Once on the main floor, she hurried down the hall to the parlor, but Hugh’s voice stopped her outside the door. “We’re delighted you could join us tonight, Mr. Peirs. There are few men willing to dine with Eleri just now.”

Her cheeks flamed. Why in the hell would Warlow say something like that?

“I’m not worried,” Kyle replied.

“How strange. Why is that?”

“Even if Ms. James were indeed guilty, with an investigation going on, I should imagine her own self-preservation would keep me safe.”

“But surely you’ve heard the story of the frog and the scorpion? The frog carries the scorpion across the river and the scorpion stings him even though they both will die because the scorpion can’t help what it is.”

Dull fury pulsed behind her eyes. Eleri strode into the room and pinned Warlow with a hard stare. “In your cautionary tale where I’m the scorpion and Kyle the frog you left out yourself; the big, fat toad.”

Warlow let out a long suffering sigh from where he stood before the fireplace. “I meant nothing by it, Eleri. You had concerns about Mr. Peirs’s motivations for staying here while there was a murder investigation in the works. This dinner is to help alleviate those concerns.”

“So the abject humiliation was for my benefit. I should have realized.” Eleri lowered herself to the edge of the settee, half-tempted to sit on her hands to keep from throttling the butler. “You may leave and see to my father now.”

She risked a glance at Kyle. He watched her, a bemused smile curling his lips, lounging in a frayed chair near the fireplace. She suddenly wished she had worn something else.

He looked good in dark charcoal trousers, a white shirt untucked—which looked casual rather than sloppy—and navy jacket. His brown hair, a tad too long, was swept back away from his forehead, revealing the long lines of his face, straight nose, slightly pointed chin. Those smoke green eyes stood out bright against the dusky hue of his skin.

He really was an attractive man. The only thing marring all that perfection was the jagged scar at his neck.