Page 5 of This Haunted Heart

Rynn Mavis

M ail bags covered both rows of seats in front, forcing me to crowd my pirate in the back of the stagecoach. I was angry with myself more than anything—actually no. I glared over at the rogue who’d robbed, coerced, and then stolen me right out of my bedroom, and corrected that thought.

I was angriest at him unequivocally.

We bumped and swayed over ruts made by wagon wheels in the muddy earth headed due south from Salt Rock. I kept to my side of the seat and didn’t try for the door again. The road was narrower, the terrain rougher in these parts, and full of jagged rocks. I didn’t want to put my arm back in a sling by leaping out of the cabin in a vain bid for freedom.

“Banish the thought, Rynn,” he warned when he caught me eyeing the handle.

“I’m not going to do it. I don’t want you to sit on me again,” I muttered, thinking of how he’d sat right across my legs the first time I’d had second thoughts about traveling anywhere with him.

And I wanted my money back—needed it. In case of emergencies, I kept a small portion in the bank at Salt Rock, but it was a paltry sum in comparison to what he’d taken. I needed all of it to retire properly.

I was done with the life I’d lived. Tired of the risks. Tired of having to trust people with only parts of me, never the whole thing. Tired of constantly having to move on and start over. Tired of not being allowed to put down roots, to nest and really live.

I was alone in the world, a fact I’d tolerated better when I was a wealthier woman, before he came along. His betrayal shouted the truth of my singularity louder than any hardship before it ever had.

I looked him over out of the corner of my eye. There were no noticeable bulges in his pockets. I doubted my cash was on his person, and I’d had jewelry in there as well but not much. I’d sold most of it preparing to move.

“I’m not a fool,” he said. “I wouldn’t carry that kind of money directly on my person.”

“Stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop reading my mind. It’s unseemly.”

“Then stop shooting your thoughts at me like they’re bullets.”

“Wish they were bullets,” I muttered.

“What was that you just said?” He pushed a sagging mail bag roughly away from him .

I ignored him. “Stupid sad eyes,” I murmured. “Stupid big hands . . . Stupid handsome son of a—”

“If you don’t stop cursing at me,” he growled, “I’m going to gag you with your own stockings.”

I wanted to call his bluff, but I’d already tried that once when he threatened to sit on me. The situation hadn’t ended in my favor.

“How’d you do it?” I grumbled at him.

“Which part?” he grumbled back.

“How’d you get into my safe? How’d you even know it was there?”

He stared ahead like the other side of the coach was more interesting than whatever else I had to say. “It doesn’t matter.”

Lips pursed, I thought on his words and reconsidered mine. “You’re right. It doesn’t. You have plenty of money of your own. Why did you get into my safe? Why are you doing this to me? That matters most.”

He breathed through his nose, long and slow. I waited. Then waited some more but less patiently, tapping my foot.

“Oh, for the love of God, say something!” I shouted. Then inspiration struck, and I gasped. “Is this about Utrecht?”

The venom in his glower turned my blood cold. “No, this isn’t about him .”

“If you think he tells me business secrets—”

He shook his head. “I don’t care about his damn business.”

“Utrecht doesn’t tell me anything, I swear it. You can’t ransom me or get something in trade. I’m not worth anything. I’m just one of many women he kept. He doesn’t care for me. He probably keeps a mistress in every city he frequents. Go on and steal one of them instead!”

He spun to face me so suddenly I yelped. A muscle in his clenched jaw jumped. “This is not about Utrecht. This is not a bid for information about that foul man or any of his businesses. I am not ransoming you to anyone—ever! In fact, I want the name Utrecht to never touch your lips again. Are we clear?”

I swallowed hard. As he waited impatiently for my answer, his angry breath warmed my face. I could taste him on my tongue: mint and cedar and honey. The spicy scent of black tea and orchids teased my senses. Fear—that wicked little devil—heated my cheeks and pumped thrills of pleasure through my pulse.

My lips parted around my next needy exhale, and I hated myself in that moment.

I hated him too, doubly so. How dare he make me feel this way, now especially.

“Hatred,” he whispered, like he saw it in my eyes and plucked the thought straight out of my mind. “Yes, that’s closer to the truth of things.”

“We hardly know one another. Who do you hate so desperately?” I asked, and my voice shook. My hands too—they shivered as I fisted them in my frock.

Instead of responding, my pirate did an excellent impersonation of a marble statue, as stern and silent as a gargoyle.

Since he would not talk to me, I spoke out loud to myself.

“I hope this is about debauchery. Debauchery I can handle.” I filled the cabin with my forlorn sigh, ready to make a trade I could tolerate. I’d grown accustomed to transactions with serpents over the years. I knew how to talk them down. Usually. “If you’d just tell me something, anything! You mentioned lambing season. For all I know, you’re taking me someplace secluded so you can murder me the way you like, chop me into tiny pieces before you feed me to your sheep . . .”

“I would never do that,” he said sternly. “The sheep wouldn’t like you,” he added, less sternly. “My pigs on the other hand—”

With all my might, I balled my fist and punched him in the mouth. His jaw snapped to the side. When I made to strike him again, he caught my wrist and trapped it against his leg, pinning the side of my body to his.

“I’m not going to kill you, Rynn,” he said, chuckling. Frenzied glee lit his tawny eyes; walnut hair mussed and falling across his lashes made him appear perfectly wild. “You’re of no use to me dead, and there are enough ghosts in my manor as it is. I’ve no desire to add another to the mix.”

Ghosts? Surely, he meant the metaphorical sort. My fist smarted. It had caught on his teeth, cutting the middle knuckle. Opening and closing my fingers, I tested its functioning and hoped his face hurt worse.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he murmured softly, and some of the nerves clenching my stomach settled down at his earnestness. “I’m not like Utrecht, Rynn. I’d never put your arm in a sling. I wouldn’t harm a single hair on your beautiful head.”

If this devil wanted to bargain for my time, I might be willing, but my price would be steep.

“If you’re not going to hurt me, then admit to me what this is about,” I begged him, fire flaring in my belly. Fear and a racing heart and the unseemly passion the combination always inspired had me squeezing my thighs together wantonly. “You’re not the first man to assume that his desires are his alone and not fit for a crowded city. I couldn’t have read you so wrong all this time. I’m certain I’ve seen lust in your eyes when you looked upon me. If this is all about a passion you’re ashamed of, then say so. I demand to know what’s to become of me!”

“Debauchery you can handle,” he repeated.

I swallowed hard. “That’s right. Whatever it is, it’s probably not even as unusual as you assume. I’d wager I’ve even done it before—would probably enjoy it. This production to ensure your privacy is unnecessary . . . If that’s what this is . . .”

He licked his lip. Then he brought my fist up to his mouth. I tried to yank it away, but he reeled me in like I was as light as a bird. His hot tongue flicked across my injured knuckle, lapping up the blood there.

That admittedly, was something I’d never done before. A shiver of liquid pleasure flowed down my spine. I felt the touch of his tongue everywhere all at once, from the roots of my hair to the tips of my feet. My toes curled in my boots, and my fingers, trapped in his, trembled. One little flick of his tongue and he’d invaded me, body and soul.

He did not give my hand back to me, tucking it against his lap like he was going to keep it forevermore.

He didn’t answer my questions or confirm my suspicions. I wanted to believe that this shy man was unwilling to explore his passions outside of his own home and needed a captive courtesan to appease him. Perhaps the capture was part of the draw for him.

Perhaps he sought trouble the same way I did and we’d found it in each other.

Or perhaps I could still reason with this pirate. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to make a trade with a devil to get out of something awful. Oh God, it was just so disappointing that he was one. All this time I’d wanted desperately to believe he was something different. I had no reason to expect that for myself, aside from longing after it too much, fool that I was.

When you want something that badly, you start seeing it everywhere—especially in all the wrong places.

He left me to stew, as though having me in a panic was his preference. We bumped along in silence, my body pressed to his because he would not release me. His spicy scent was heady in my nose, and his thumb strummed mindlessly over that little injury on my knuckle, inspiring a whirlwind of feelings I longed to banish. It hurt and soothed all at the same time. My nipples pebbled rebelliously against my chemise.

The coach was nearing a small town formed around a long dirt drag and a copse of magnolia trees. A strong wind covered the main road in fallen pink blooms.

“For how long am I to stay with you?” I asked timidly.

He turned his head, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders as though his body were growing stiff. We’d been riding for at least two hours. The coach was well-sprung, but the terrain was muddy gravel, and I was feeling similarly sore.

“You mentioned summering?” I added, trying to pry a word out of him.

“We’ll start there,” he said dubiously.

I scooted closer. “Tell me a date. Offer me something! We could compromise like rational people. I’d be willing to stay a week and give you no trouble. You pay me and return what’s mine, and we go our separate ways.”

“We’ll see,” he said absently, staring out his window at the nearing stables. The coach pulled off to the side to allow a larger wagon to drive through. We were off again quickly.

“A month with a fee?” I offered. “That’s overly generous.”

“Through the summer,” he repeated, “then we’ll see. ”

“I’m back to a week now and an even larger fee, since you won’t be reasonable,” I growled.

The bronze of his eyes caught in the sunlight through the window and glistened like a lit spark. “Twenty. Years,” he rumbled. “Then you can have your money back.”

My lungs squeezed like they had a band tied about them. I searched his face, his scars, his familiar eyes, studying him with renewed purpose. “ Who are you?”

He tried to turn back to his window, but I fisted my fingers into his morning coat and jerked, stressing the buttons. “Tell me!” I begged. “A name. Either one. Who are you, and why are you doing this to me?”

The horrors of my past tried to burn through my mind despite my best efforts to shove them down, to refuse to look upon them. Dwelling on any of it always induced a heartache that was too difficult to recover from. I’d be bedridden before I managed it.

“Through the summer,” he said instead, “then we’ll see.”

I shut my eyes against the burn of threatening tears. My past was a dark, decrepit, parasitic bedfellow strung with wrongdoings and woes. Memories whirled behind my lids. I didn’t allow myself to focus on any one of them. My vision blurred. I blinked to clear it, but one tear escaped.

He caught it on my cheek with his thumb and showed it to me. The little drop pooled there on the pad of his finger, small and sparkling instead of inky and rotten like it should have been.

“Finley,” he said to the teardrop, then he made a fist, trapping it in his palm.

I worked my throat. “That’s your name? Truly?”

“It is. ”

If he was lying, he was very good at it. I didn’t know any Finley. I probed his face, his scars, his haunted eyes with another long look. I didn’t know this man. At times there was something in his voice and his gaze that felt recognizable, but I didn’t know anyone by such a name. And, if I was being honest with myself, I’d often mistaken others for a young man from my youth. It happened even when they were the wrong age and the wrong height. Finley was taller and broader, but I was always finding bits and pieces of the one I’d loved in the glances and laughter of strangers, in smells and books . . .

Even in small cigarettes left on my windowsill while a stranger broke into my safe.

No matter how hard I’d tried to get away from all that, my past was always catching up to me. Even in the voice and eyes of this pirate.

As the Concord undulated along, I realized there was something here I did recognize. I knew this farming town: the small shops, the bakery, the Quaker meeting house. It had flourished since the last time I’d come through here two decades ago.

“We’re near Light Lily,” I whispered, reflecting on the mire I’d lived in from ages 10-18 and the horrid land baron whose family I’d been forced to serve by desperate parents who had too many mouths to feed. They’d put me in service the moment I was old enough to carry a pot of water and knew how to keep a kitchen fire burning. Unbeknownst to them, they’d handed me over to work for a monster.

“Welcome to ghost country,” Finley said.

An eerie wind entered the cabin, and the temperature plummeted along with my stomach.

My heart took off at a gallop. I clutched at Finley’s arm. “I can’t be in Light Lily.”

“You already are,” he said.

Frantic, I shook my head. “It can’t be so.”

He turned to me, sliding a firm arm behind my back. “We’re just passing through,” he said in that somberly soothing way I’d grown accustomed to before he robbed me and showed me his devil side.

My stomach churned. I stared at my lap, refusing to take in the sights and smells of a disastrous youth. “We have to turn back.”

His hand slid under my hair, gently squeezing the back of my neck. The pressure was exquisite. “We’re not turning back.”

“No—”

“Rynn!”

“I cannot go any farther!” I shouted, and my voice broke. I was scared to look out the windows, frightened the monster would appear right there, ready to hurt me again. “There is a covered bridge through the mire here . . .”

“We’ll be upon it soon,” he said evenly. “It’s the quickest way, then you can put Light Lily behind you.”

“If I even lay eyes on that bridge, I swear to you my heart will stop in my chest!”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I’m rotten! I’m a vile woman more serpent than you will ever be! No harpy in hell is worse!” When I opened my mouth to say more, my voice cracked. I wanted to shout my apologies for all my wrongdoings at the sky, but my throat tightened around the words fighting for purchase on my tongue. I could say no more.

I burst into tears .

His gaze narrowed on me, expression hard and unreadable. “Going around the mire instead of through it would add many miles to our travels.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over my weeping. “We’d have to stop at an inn and wait to secure a ride with another stage.”

“Yes! We must!” I croaked. “I’ll behave!”

He scoffed. “I doubt you’re capable.”

“Please, Finley!” I clawed at the lapel of his morning coat, scrambling for something to dig my fingers into. “I promise you! If it is truly not your intention to harm me, then do not take me to that bridge!”

In my mind’s eye, that horrid baron was there, just like in my dreams, waiting to chase me through the mire.

Finley looked at me like I’d gone mad, and in a way, I had. I’d done many things in my life that I should regret, but there was only the one thing that inspired true remorse. None of my terrible deeds haunted me like the day I fled Light Lily, leaving behind the only person I would always hold dear.

I was a thief, a crook, a charlatan. I was an untrustworthy harlot. Guilt swamped me, and my stomach tied itself into knots. I was everything that evil baron had always said I’d become. But there was one boy who’d believed differently, and I’d abandoned him to take the fall for all of my crimes.

And I was so, so sorry for all of that. If only horrid guilt were enough to undo any of it.

Finley shouted for the driver to halt, and the Concord came to a rumbling stop.

“If I remove us from Light Lily now—”

“I’ll do whatever you want!” I vowed. “Please, Finley, you must!”

“You will do strictly as I command you to,” he said, his voice gone rugged, inviting no argument.

“I will.” I pulled at his coat, and he unwound my fingers from the fabric, trapping them against his leg.

“When we reach the inn, we are Mr. and Mrs. Finley. I will introduce you as my wife. You will act accordingly and make no attempts to contradict the fiction I will create for us to ensure we are tended to swiftly and properly. You will not behave in any fashion that would draw unwanted attention.”

“I will do as you say.”

“You will not flee from me.”

My lashes lowered, and I worked my throat. One swallow wasn’t enough to clear it. I tried again. “I’ll go to your summer home with you. You have my word. I won’t try to flee.”

I needed out of Light Lily as quickly as possible. I would have agreed to stand on my head in a pit full of weaver snakes if it got us gone from this wicked place. There was an affliction here. It permeated the air like a black fog. Its sticky poison pebbled my skin. It seeped inside me, filling my mind with disquiet and unease.

And memories. So many dark memories.

Gripping my jaw carefully, Finley lifted my chin until my eyes returned to his. Then he produced a silk kerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and wiped my wet cheeks with surprising gentleness.

“The mire stretches for miles in unexpected ways. I’ve lost animals to sinking spots in the marshes more than once,” he said, cleaning my chin. “The woods are full of black bears and weaver women. This is dangerous country. Attempting to separate from me will put you at risk of more than my disapproval. It isn’t safe to wander here.”

I blinked at him, thinking of my terrible dreams of late. “You believe there are actually witches in the woods?”

“As should you,” he said sharply. “Do we have an accord?”

I nodded, remembering the conflicting old legends about the witches I’d left behind along with everything else here in Light Lily.

He shook me gently. “Use your voice, Rynn. I want to hear the words from your lips. Convince me you mean them.”

“We have an accord,” I said through my teeth.

And fortunately, he believed me.