episode 4
1582 Words
The coach slowed, and Oliver glanced out the window. He noticed a spot of light
in the distance that grew brighter as the carriage approached. A
coaching inn. Thank God. He could sleep for a sennight after the past few days
he'd endured.
The carriage rumbled to a stop in the coaching yard, and Oliver didn't even wait
for Rene to let down his steps. He threw open the door and
bounded outside, stopping the instant the scent of honeysuckle tickled his nose.
Miss Hazel was here. She had to be. Her flowery scent was
stronger here than it had been all day along the road.
What a stroke of luck! They could have a conversation about what had
transpired the previous evening and get a few things straightened out.
Final y, with a purpose to his step he hadn't had in quite a while, Oliver strode
straight into the taproom. Without a doubt, she was here. Miss Hazel's
the scent was so overwhelming that he had to clench his teeth to keep from growling
aloud for her.
His eyes swept across the darkroom, taking in a few locals who were well -
foxed, a swarthy fellow with a child on his knee, a couple of buxom taverns
wenches, and one portly barkeep who sported a bulbous nose and a bald pate.
Ah, perfect. Oliver smiled. Just the man he needed.
He hailed the owner toward him with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, sir?" The fel ow scrambled forward.
"I need accommodations for the evening."
"Of course." The man nodded.
"But first," Oliver began, "I'm looking for a woman."
The tavern-keepers dark eyes twinkled. "I'm sure I can find someone to keep
your company, sir." The man looked deeper into the taproom.
Oliver shook his head, which was certainly the first time he'd refused an offer of
companionship. He was only interested in one woman at the moment.
"You misunderstand me. I'm looking for a woman who is traveling this road as
well. My cousin from the north. Miss Hazel."
The tavern-keeper reared back on his heels. "Beg your pardon, sir. I didn't mean-
-"
"Is the lady here?" Oliver barked. Honestly, there was only so much bumbling a
a man should have to deal with.
Before the barkeep could reply, Oliver heard her. The delicate lilt of her voice
came from a private dining room far in the back.
"Never mind." Oliver brushed past the man and pushed his way through the
throng toward the back of the room where a heavy oak door separated him
from the lass, he'd thought of most of the day.
Oliver took a deep breath, then slowly pushed the door open.
She was just as mesmerizing as she had been the night before.
Unaware of his presence, Hazel chatted with an older woman, a maid
or chaperone of some sort. Oliver frowned. If the woman had been
keeping tabs on her charge the previous night, he wouldn't be in this current
situation. Well, he'd still be on the road to Glasgow, but he wouldn't be tied to
Miss Hazel for the rest of his days. Though, now that she was within his line
of sight, he couldn't quite find it in his soul to be sorry about the turn of events.
Oliver scoffed to himself. He must still be drunk on the moon to entertain such
thoughts. Then a frightening idea popped into his head. What if, since
he'd claimed the lass, he could never get her out of his mind? What if he'd lost
what little power he had over his thoughts? Exactly how doomed was
he?
The strangled sound he heard must have come from him because Miss
Hazel's gaze shot to him in the doorway. Their eyes locked, and all the air
in Oliver's lungs escaped. Her blue eyes met his, and for a moment the world felt
right, as though everything made sense.
But then she sputtered. And coughed. Whatever she'd been chewing so properly
was now lodged in her throat. She turned red and then a bit purple.
And that was when Oliver snapped out of his trance and realized he'd better do
something. He strode forward, yanked her from her chair, and began to pat
her on the back. When a choked gasp was his only reward, he clapped her on the
back a bit harder.
Suddenly, she coughed violently and drew in a great inhalation of breath. Tears
poured from her eyes as she turned toward him. He felt the oddest
the compulsion to brush her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. So strange. It
was a sensation he'd never felt before.
"Are you alright?" he asked after he swal owed past the lump in his throat.
He was completely surprised when her eyes narrowed and she cuffed him on the
shoulder. Outrage oozed from her. She stomped her foot and baled
up her fists and growled, "Oh, ye!"
"Happy to see me?" He flashed a smile at her, the one that never failed to charm
maids or serving wenches. "You left before we had a chance to speak this morning."
"Miss?" her companion asked, rising to her feet and glaring at Oliver.
But his Scottish angel didn't answer. She just turned on her heel and bolted from
the private dining room.
Oliver chased her through the taproom and out into the coaching yard. He reached
her before she could round small stonewall that disappeared into
the darkness.
"Where the devil are you going?" Oliver demanded as he grabbed her elbow.
"How dare ye touch me?" she hissed at him, yanking her arm free. Without
waiting for a response, she took off down a cobblestone walk leading away
from the inn.
Oliver fol owed, feeling like a puppy chasing after his master. "Miss Hazel," he
cal ed to her.
She spun around and shot one glance at him. "What do ye want?" she
snapped.
"I need to speak with you," he said, closing the distance between them.
"How did ye find me?" She furrowed her brow as she looked past him.
How could he avoid it? Her scent had teased him the entire day. God, that would
sound ridiculous. "Bit of good luck on my part," he hedged instead.
"What do ye want?" she spits out. Fiery little thing she was, with her blue eyes
flashing indignantly.
Ah, to be in control of himself. To manage as well as other Lycans. To hold her in
his arms again. "You," he admitted before he could stop himself.
She must think him the most insane man. Biting her the night before, chasing
after her in the dark tonight. It was a wonder she'd stopped at an inn at all. Any woman of sane mind would have fled as far and as fast as she could.
Miss Hazel shook her head at him as though he were some sort of worrisome
gnat. " Me? For what?" she asked, her lilting voice rising with
irritation.
"You asked what I wanted, Miss Hazel. I want you." Among other things he
could never explain to her. At least not now. she blinked at him, not Hazel she had heard him correctly. She tried to ignore
the flutters in her bel y that his confession stirred within her and focused
on his amber eyes instead, concentrating on his future. A flash of something
would be more than helpful. Her cursed power had never failed her until now.
A cool breeze tousled his golden hair, and her eyes fell to his lips. Heat flooded
her and the bite on her shoulder burned. Gently she touched the injury
he'd given her.
Still, no visions came to her. Nothing. He was a complete enigma,
which was more than disconcerting. Hazel had never tried so hard to look
into someone's future. Of course, she'd never needed to before. She stomped her
foot in frustration and held in a scream. Why couldn't she see anything
about him? Why was her gift failing her when she needed it most?
"I want you," he repeated, his grave voice rumbling across her.
She snapped back to her senses and punched her hands to her hips. "Ye want me,
do ye?" she asked haughtily.
A small grin tipped the corners of his mouth. "You have no idea."
She scowled at him. How dare he find this amusing? "Wel, I doona appreciate
bein' mauled by ye--or anyone else, for that matter. So just turn around and go back ta Hampshire where ye belong."
The smile faded from his lips. "I'm afraid that's not possible."
"It's very possible," she informed him. "Ye just get back in yer coach and go the
another way. I have nothin' else ta say ta ye."
He shook his head as his captivating eyes darkened. "Running away from me
again? You struck me as a girl with a bit more fire in her than that."
A bit more fire? She wished her coven sister, Bella, was there with her. The
warrior witch could singe the man until he'd had enough fire to last a
lifetime.
"I'm no' running' from ye. I doona ken where ye would get such a ridiculous idea.
I doona even ken who ye are."
"Allow me to remedy that," he said smoothly. "The Earl of Brimsworth, at your
service."
Brimsworth? Hazel recognized his name immediately and took a tentative step
back. She might not know his future, but she knew enough of his past.
- Writer
