“Witches,” Clarissa blurted. “What a story.”
Their mother took another sip of tea. “It really is. It followed my family through the years. If my girls haven’t told you, it’s tradition in our family for the maternal line to take the name Tanglewood. I kept it when I married David, my mother kept it, my grandmother kept it. There was a Tanglewood witch back in the 1800s—oh, I suppose she would have been my great-great-great-aunt—who people said could cure any illness. She made this elixir…” She laughed. “It was basically a snake oil cure. But people swore by it.”
Nathaniel tugged at the cuff of his suit. “So more than one generation of witches.”
She rolled her eyes. “A few generations didn’t perpetuate the legend. Sometimes a Tanglewood woman would give birth only to boys. But for some reason, other generations kept reviving it. And now there are dozens of spooky Tanglewood stories. My brother Sam has kept some of the journals and things. He lives in Minnesota. He’s more into the history than I am.” She tucked her hair behind her ear again. “Anyway, don’t you worry, Clarissa. Despite the weird family history, I am not a witch and cannot turn you into a frog. I can tell you from personal experience that the rumors about the Tanglewood witches are complete hooey.”
Raven choked and coughed into her hand.
“No wonder we look so much alike.” Avery still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
Their mom leaned forward and focused on Clarissa. “No one expects anything from you. I am here for you if you want to get to know me, but I understand how difficult this must be. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you want, it’s fine with me.”
Clarissa took three ragged breaths and lost the fight to keep her tears at bay. “I have a family?”
Mom’s eyes turned misty. “If you want one.”
Clarissa left Nathaniel’s side and strode across the room to their mother. Sarah stood and pulled her into her arms. Although it made a nice picture, Avery watched the two with mixed emotions. She’d grown close to Clarissa over the previous weeks. She already loved the woman like a sister. This was good news. So why the heaviness in the pit of her belly? Because she couldn’t understand her physical response, she plastered a smile on her face and worked hard to display a casual demeanor. No reason to outwardly show an emotion she didn’t even understand. Inside though, tension built in her shoulders and the healing cut on her chest throbbed.
The two women parted, and Nathaniel clapped his hands together. “How long will you be staying with us, Sarah? I’ll tell the staff to ready a room for you.”
“Only three days, I’m afraid. I wish I could stay longer but I can’t. Have a business to run.”
Three days. Avery closed her eyes and thanked the Lord for small favors. They could keep her busy for three days.
That evening, since Raven was supposed to be pregnant, she and Gabriel stayed behind while Avery, her mother, Nathaniel, and Clarissa took a ride around the grounds of the estate on four of Nathaniel’s prized horses. Avery’s mare was a sweet-natured Appaloosa named Millie, who made no attempt to keep up with the beast Nathaniel rode, a stallion twice her size with a disposition that matched his name, Diablo. Her mother rode a Thoroughbred named Luna who was so dependable Avery thought her mom could drop the reins and have the same experience as holding them. Clarissa’s horse was far more spirited, but Nathaniel’s mate proved to be an accomplished rider.
Distracted as she was by the stunning grounds, Avery didn’t think again about what had happened that day until they’d all shared dinner and retired to their rooms, exhausted from the day’s activities. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep until finally she gave up and decided to walk down to the kitchen for a warm glass of milk.
As she stepped into the hall, a flash of light caught her eye. It was a reflection of gold in the shape of a silhouette, as if a woman in a gold lamé dress had slipped from the hall a half second before she’d turned her head and the gold flash was all that was left in her wake.
“Laurel?” she whispered. Perhaps the oread was up here cleaning. Avery followed the light past the other bedrooms and down an adjacent hallway. This was a direction she didn’t normally go in the house. Mistwood was an absolutely massive manor. There were many areas she hadn’t yet explored, and she felt a tingle of curiosity as she padded down the empty hall.
An open door revealed a bedroom with furniture draped in white sheets. Hmm, this wing must not be used often. A red Persian carpet runner covered the length of the hall, which was bordered in dark wood wainscoting. Framed portraits hung between brass sconces that filled the space with a warm ochre glow. Curious, she approached the first portrait.
From his lofty advantage, a middle-aged man in a powdered wig stared down at her with pursed lips from over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. His mouth drew a cruel line, matched only by the coldness in his eyes. She had no idea who he was, but he looked like an asshole.
“Damn. Pull the bayonet out of your ass.” She moved on to the next portrait. This one was of a portly woman with feathers in her hair, pink cheeks, and a fan in her hands. Her Mona Lisa smile made Avery feel like she was keeping a secret. “Ooh la la. How did you know Nathaniel?” She giggled under her breath.
She had to pass another bedroom to reach the next portrait—this one clearly of Nathaniel, although his hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail and he was dressed in a neckcloth and tailcoat. She chuckled. Clarissa needed to see this tomorrow. And if she’d already seen it, Avery wanted to be there to needle her about it. So weird. It was much easier to forget about the age difference when her mate didn’t look like Paul Revere.
She sidestepped to the next picture. Everything stopped. Even her breath halted in her lungs. Cerulean eyes stared down at her from over a straight-edged nose and full lips in a perfectly symmetrical face with a strong chin. Long, auburn hair collected around his shoulders, the color somewhere between light brown and red. It contrasted sharply with the plaid that cut across the formal-looking coat he wore. Clearly he was Scottish. If the facial features weren’t a dead giveaway, the kilt was. The portrait cut off at the hip, but she could make out the top of the kilt, a sword belt and sporran.
“Who are you?” she asked the painting in breathless wonder. Her finger hovered over the canvas, and she tried to curb her desperate urge to touch. She could stare at that face all day. What was it about him she found so interesting? The mouth, she decided. The corner of his lips turned up impishly like he was up to no good, and the twinkle in his eye seemed to share the mouth’s general disdain for authority. It was at odds, that twinkle and quirk, with the formality of the uniform. This was a man who was true to himself. This was a man who made his own rules.
She would like to meet this man.
“You found Xavier.”
Avery leaped back and spun to find Nathaniel in the hall in a pair of black silk pajamas. She placed a hand on her pounding heart. “You scared me! I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I was having trouble sleeping. Again.”
“Again. Right.” They’d run into each other before in the middle of the night. It seemed they both suffered from insomnia. “I’ve never been in this part of the house.”