Bride of the Frontier (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 3) Page 10

  “You’ll ensure my grandmother makes it back home safely?”

  Nodding my head, I smirk over at him. “You know that I will, Logan.”

  “If you need me, I am just a messenger away and, Colt?” Jerking my chin, I watch and wait for him to continue.

  “Be safe, brother.”

  He grunts, lifts his hand in a wave and I watch as he jogs toward the barn where his steed is stored waiting for their next adventure. I don’t look away until he’s mounted and riding toward the exit of my property and the main road.

  Before he gets too far, Logan stops and turns his animal around to face me. “Colt?” he calls out. Lifting my hand, I signal that I’ve heard him. “She will be good for you, friend. She is what you’ve been missing.”

  Without another word or an opportunity for me to respond, he turns his horse around, clicks his teeth, gives him a little heel tap and they’re gone. I watch as they disappear and his words play on repeat a few times.

  She is what you’ve been missing.

  I want to pretend the words are lies, that she is not what I’ve been missing, but that would only be a lie to myself. Birdie is exactly that. She is beautiful, intelligent, kind, and sweet. She’s irresistible, open, and matches me in the bedroom as well.

  She is exactly what I need in this life—in this world.

  She is exactly what I need to stay away from as well.

  Birdie is not only what I need, she will be my weakness as well, and I swore that I wouldn’t ever have another weakness. When my enemies find out that she is connected to me in any way, that makes her a target.

  If they think that she is what I need, they will destroy her. I already know how the enemy thinks. I have been in this situation before and I will not allow another innocent woman to be harmed because of me, because of who I am and my position.

  I will not put my country in jeopardy with this prophecy either. I don’t know what would happen if she was taken by the enemy, that could cause issue with the gods’ entire plan.

  Until we know more, Birdie stays at my side and she is nothing but a woman I seek out for physical pleasure in the night.

  I hear the front door of the house open and turn around to see the town dressmaker walking toward me. He is a slightly overweight man in his mid-fifties, he’s wiping his bald head down with a handkerchief as he approaches.

  “Your woman, Martha, said that Miss Birdie would need a complete wardrobe, including a few ball gowns and city dresses?” he asks.

  He wants to know if he’s able to outfit her as the woman at my side, for all occasions and I have no doubt he will spread this all over town. It won’t take long for the Assembly to find out about her, and then they will try to push marriage.

  “That is correct. Whatever Martha suggested is what she needs. We’ll be in tomorrow, I’m sure that she needs some other essentials as well.”

  He nods his head a couple of times, huffing and puffing as if it’s been a strain for him to walk the few feet from the house to me. He turns his head to look back at the house, then shifts his gaze back to me.

  “May I ask…” he begins.

  “As long as it isn’t something I don’t wish to answer.”

  He smiles, but doesn’t say anything right away, then he squares his shoulder and clears his throat. “What I am going to ask, it isn’t proper and I should not be asking this of my country’s leader, but it is important when making dresses.”

  “Ask it then,” I state, arching a brow as I wait. I’m not sure what could be so important when it comes to fabric, but whatever it is, I am curious to hear it.

  He shifts from side to side. “Is she your mistress? See, if she is, I need to change some of the designs that I had in mind.”

  I could be angry, but it’s a simple question and he thinks that it matters what her clothing looks like, so he thinks that he needs to know. I could deny him the answer. I should, after all, do just that. Instead, for whatever reason, I don’t. Perhaps it’s because I want to believe that she’s inconsequential to me, so I try to convince him that she is, or maybe I am as she says—an asshole.

  “She is my mistress, for now.”

  He nods his head. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry I had to be so forward as to ask, but it changes designs.”

  He starts to walk away from me, but it’s nagging at me, the way he made it clear it changed the way dresses are designed.

  “How does it change the dresses?” I call out.

  Instead of answering me from his spot, he makes his way back over to standing in front of me. “The dresses will be a bit more daring, a bit flashier and lower cut, especially for the ball gowns.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, he spins around and walks away from me. I wonder if I’ve just made a grave mistake. It seems by these dresses, everyone will know that she is a kept woman, that she is the mistress to the man who is the leader of this country.

  BIRDIE

  The dressmaker leaves, but not before talking with Colt for a few moments. I watch them from the window, wondering if Colt can feel my gaze on him. He doesn’t look back at me, doesn’t give me any indication that he does. Instead, I watch him walk out to the barn and never look back.

  “Are you ready to learn some more?” Florence asks from the doorway.

  Turning around, I’m surprised to see her standing there and even more surprised that she wants to work with me again. We accomplished absolutely nothing the last time. I shake my head, unsure that I am, in fact, ready to work some more.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  She smiles, it’s knowing, and she dips her chin once. “Let’s go into the library, maybe just chat a bit?”

  I’m not sure what she would want to talk about, but I give her a smile and start to walk in her direction, she turns from me and I follow her into the library. I haven’t been in the room before, so as soon as the scent of old books hits me, I stop.

  Lifting my head, I gasp at the sight before me. There are hundreds of books, row after row, stacked from floor to ceiling. I don’t know anything about them yet, but I am surely going to find out.

  I want to read them all, one by one, and I have a feeling since I haven’t been able to sleep much that it won’t take me long to get through them all. Ignoring Florence, I walk as if they’re calling me to them, I glide toward the case.

  Reaching for the first book in view, I slip it from its place on the shelf. I’m under no illusion that I’ll actually know any of these, we’re in another dimension or something after all, but I still read the title.

  Madame Frederick’s Tale

  Turning to Florence, I hold the book up, considering there is no back jacket or blurb to read, I ask her if she knows what this one is about.

  Her eyes widen and she grins. “It’s about a bored woman who had everything she could have wanted, and yet, she craved more. She got that more, then found herself easily bored with that. She ruined lives, that one did.”

  I grin. “Sounds like Madame Bovary, it even has a similar title, huh.”

  “Come and sit with me,” she offers as she makes her way toward the small sofa in the room.

  Clenching the book in my hands, I follow behind her and sink down on the sofa next to her. Florence watches me for a long moment and I wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t say anything right away, instead she watches.

  “Your career, women have these where you’re from?” Nodding, I tell her yes. “It is to take portraits of people?”

  I smile, shaking my head. “Yes and no. I photograph all milestones, birthdays, pregnancies, weddings, families, and sometimes people with their pets.”

  “This is what they do in your world? Celebrate normal life?”

  I hum. “They do, I suppose. People like to capture moments of their lives in photographs, then look back on it in remembrance. Especially, after a loved one is gone, it’s a way to keep them alive, to remember the fond times.”

  Florence nods. “I would like for you to tak
e my picture before I leave here. Logan will probably never have children anytime soon, and I am getting no younger. One day he may want them to know what their great-grandmother, the witch, looked like.”

  Smiling, I reach over to her and wrap my hand around hers. “You aren’t going anywhere for a long while, Florence. You’re the most young at heart person I know and I would love to take your picture.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t have my equipment.”

  Her lips curve up into a grin. “We have a studio in town. I don’t like sitting in those stuffy things. Plus, women like me, witches, we were taught that the camera would steal our magic. Seeing you, I know that it is not true. You have magic in spades. I can feel it coming off of you in waves.”

  “You can?”

  “I can, Birdie. We must figure out how to harness it, how to control it and how to teach you to use it on command. Magic is a wonderful thing, but if you cannot control it, then it is useless.”

  Pressing my lips together, I wonder if I can control it. I couldn’t earlier, not even a little. I haven’t been able to since I’ve been here and apparently, I’ve been using it and I haven’t even known it.

  “How can I control something that I don’t even know I’m using?”

  “That, my dear, is what I am going to help you with. It will take us some time, but we will figure it out, together.”

  “If it never happens?” I ask on a whisper.

  Her lips twitch. “It will, just be patient.”

  Maybe I should tell Florence that I am not a patient person, not by a long shot. My sister, Liv, she’s patient. Even Sybilla has patience above and beyond me, but I don’t have any and I think Dru has even less, but she’s such a closed book, I couldn’t even truly guess.

  Thinking about my sisters sends a wave of sadness throughout my entire body. I miss them and I’m worried about them, worried about where they are and what is happening to them. I try not to think about it, try to push the thoughts from my mind, but it doesn’t work. That’s also another trait of mine that isn’t the best, lack of patience and I’m a worrier on top of that.

  Letting out a sigh, I turn to Florence. “Okay, teach me how.”

  Her lips curve up into a grin and she nods her head. “Then let’s get to work. But we should go out back, things could get messy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  COLT

  I leave Birdie alone for the remainder of the day. I’m not sure what she does, but I hear a lot of squeals, growls, and stern talking from her and Florence out behind the house. I wanted nothing more than to spy on them, but I thought it prudent to stay away. Not for her sake though, for my own.

  I’m falling for her.

  Fast.

  Too fast.

  I clear my throat as I wait for her appearance at dinner. Ernest doesn’t say anything, as always, he stands right behind me and to the side, a silent statue and observer. I should ask him what he thinks about all of this, and perhaps I will, but not yet. Not while I’m still trying to figure out the truth of it all.

  “Ernest,” I call out.

  He steps forward a few paces, then turns to me. “Yes, sir?”

  “If you could find a way to get a missive to the scholars up north, I would appreciate it.”

  He dips his head once. “I can do that.”

  “I need a trusted man, not just a simple messenger,” I explain.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I could send one of my soldiers when they arrive, but I need all of the men that Logan has sent my way for protection, for Birdie. One man pulled away from protecting her could be the end. I’m not going to make any mistakes again.

  I did that once, I’m not going to think that other men in times of war are as righteous as I am.

  Not all men follow the rules of warfare, or maybe they do, maybe there just aren’t any rules and I’m assuming too much of my fellow human to think that they would not harm the innocent.

  The dining room door swings open and Birdie appears. I expect her blue dress from earlier, but instead she has on a green frock. Standing, I walk over to a chair and bow slightly as I pull it out for her.

  She sinks down, dipping her chin as her cheeks tint pink. When she is settled, I lift my head and grin at the sight of Ernest helping Florence into her seat before he takes his own. Once we’re all seated, Martha appears with soup.

  I hear Birdie groan as soon as the soup is placed in front of her. I watch as she looks longingly at her food. She’s hungry and far too thin. Then, I remember her saying that she wanted food sent up to her room last night.

  Drat.

  I forgot. I was so consumed with myself, with my thoughts and guilt, that I forgot to take care of her. She is mine now. My mistress. If I do not take care of her, she will suffer and I make it a point not to allow any woman to suffer, especially mine.

  When Martha makes her way over to me, I call her down so that only she can hear me. “When we’ve finished, will you bring a plate up to Birdie’s room?” I ask.

  Martha turns her head to look at me, then gives me a knowing grin and nods her head. “Yes, sir,” she whispers.

  Dinner is spent in mostly awkward silence. I don’t bother asking what the women did for the day, I already know. I also don’t attempt to converse with Ernest, not only do I already know what he did today, I also know that he’s not one to have polite pointless conversation. He’s more of a talk only if you have something to say kind of man.

  After dinner, Florence retires to her room, claiming a headache and Ernest retires to his, claiming nothing as is his way. This leaves me and Birdie alone. Smiling, I push my chair out, then make my way over to Birdie’s seat.

  Holding out my hand, I look down at her. Slowly she turns to me, lifting her head, her eyes finding my own. Something behind them has changed, I don’t know what it is, but it’s there… lingering.

  “Colt,” she breathes.

  Dipping my chin a bit more, I grin. “Darlin’.”

  She lifts her hand, slipping her palm in mine. Gripping her fingers, I gently pull her hand up, her body rising from the chair with it. Her other hand lifts and she places her palm against my chest. Smiling down at her, I touch my mouth to hers. She will never be my wife, but in this house, behind these walls, she will be everything else.

  “Bed?” I ask.

  She licks her lips, her eyes focused on mine. She breaks eye contact, shifting her gaze to the side, then slides her eyes back to meet mine. They’re different, so different, and I’m curious as to what is working behind them, something that I will find out later. Much later.

  “Yes. Bed,” she breathes.

  Gripping her hand, I turn, tugging her behind me and together we make our way upstairs. When we’re inside of the bedroom, her bedroom, I think about taking her to mine, but ultimately decide against it.

  I don’t know why I don’t guide her into my room, but it doesn’t feel right yet. Maybe soon, maybe never. I’m not sure how I feel about her sharing my actual bed. I own this bed too, so she’s still in my bed, even if it isn’t the one that I usually sleep in.

  We’re only in the bedroom for a moment when there is a knock on the door. Turning around, I open it and grin at the sight of Martha standing on the other side with a tray in her hand. Taking the tray from her, I thank her before I close the door and turn to Birdie.

  “What’s that?” she asks, her lips parting in awe.

  Smiling, I jerk my chin toward the very small table and chairs in the corner. Carrying the tray over, I set it down before I face her.

  “Turn around,” I instruct.

  Birdie’s lips curve up into a grin and she shakes her head once, but does exactly what I demand. Reaching for the back of her wool dress, I start to unbutton, then unfasten her laces. She lets out a moan, then a sigh, as soon as her corset is completely loose.

  The dress pools at her feet, the corset lands somewhere in the vicinity before she turns to face me, wearing nothing but her sheer undergarme
nt blouse. Her nipples are in view and I wonder if she would eat this meal in the nude.

  Shaking my head, I decide not to ask her. That is something I could ask a soiled dove to do, but this lady, even as my mistress, I could never ask it of her. She clears her throat, reaching for the waist of her bloomers and unties them. I watch as the ruffled material falls to the floor, leaving her in nothing but the long blouse and stockings.

  Birdie reaches for my hand and guides me over to the small table and chairs. She sits in one and I sit in the other, across from her.

  “This looks delicious,” she breathes.

  I stare at her, unable to look away. “Yeah, it does.”

  BIRDIE

  Food.

  He remembered.

  Reaching for the piece of roasted beef, I bring it to my lips and moan as it touches my tongue.

  “Amazing,” I exhale.

  Colt chuckles, and I clear my throat, lifting my eyes to meet his gaze. He looks like he’s starving, but not for food. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I silently watch him for a moment.

  “Tell me something,” I blurt out.

  “About?”

  I shrug a shoulder, reaching for a potato and slip that between my lips, trying my hardest not to make sex noises, but fuck, I haven’t been able to really eat in days and I’m hungry as shit. Continuing to eat as slowly and ladylike as possible, I wait to see if he’s going to start talking, he doesn’t.

  “About yourself, Colt,” I say with an exasperated sigh.

  He chuckles, reaching for a piece of beef on my plate. I watch as he pops it into his mouth and begins to chew. I can practically see the wheels turning inside of his head at my question. I don’t really care what he says, but I want to get to know him a little. He’s a complete stranger to me.

  “I am the leader of this entire country and I feel like a fraud,” he announces.