Chapter 19
As far as plane rides go, Charlotte thought it could’ve been much worse in such a tiny flying projectile. The jet ride had been smoother than she’d expected, and they’d landed in one piece. Braydon kept the windows covered as they made their descent, and she sighed in annoyance.
“You can’t even give me a little hint?”
“No, that’ll just ruin the surprise, and I’m not about to do that.”
The captain came on the intercom a moment later and announced they were about to touch down. The wheels bounced against the ground, and Charlotte reached for Braydon’s hand. He squeezed hers and grinned as the jet slowed and finally came to a stop. The captain announced their landing complete and appeared from the cockpit to let down the door. “Welcome to Ireland.”
Charlotte glanced from the captain to Braydon, undid her seatbelt quickly, hopped to her feet, and hurried out of the jet. “Ireland,” she breathed. “You brought me to Ireland for the weekend?”
“You needed to get very far away from everyone,” he said, coming up behind her. “Come on, then. We have a ways to go to get to the estate. Your passport is in your purse, by the way.”
“And you planned all of this for me?”
He leaned in and kissed her sweetly. “I’m hoping for us.” He offered her his arm, and together, they descended the few steps to the ground.
***
The drive to the estate was not long, but it was beautiful. Charlotte had never seen such open countryside, dotted with sheep everywhere she looked. They were outside of Cork, but at that moment, Charlotte didn’t care where they were. It was open and clear, and Braydon was by her side. They drove down a long drive into the middle of nowhere. When the trees parted, Charlotte’s jaw dropped at the sight of the two-story estate house made of old stone covered in ivy. There was a rustic greenhouse off to the right side, all glass and reflecting the late evening sun.
“What do you think?” Braydon asked as they stepped out of the car.
“It’s fantastic. And we’re alone?”
His lips turned up in a smile. “Yes, we are entirely alone. Let’s get inside. The nights can get chilly, and a fire, I believe, is in order. Maybe even a hot bath.”
Charlotte nodded, liking the sound of the evening he had planned. She grabbed her bag and his, and they headed into the old building. The second she was through the door, Charlotte felt something wash over her—a strange sense of belonging, of being home. She’d never felt like that before and turned to stare at Braydon, confused.
“Something the matter?”
“No, it’s just… I think I’m really going to like it here.” She glanced around the open foyer and wondered what the rest of the place looked like. “Do you mind if I explore?”
He saw the excitement overflowing in her eyes and nodded. “Go explore—just don’t get lost.”
“Is it that big?”
“Maybe, and there could be one or two secret passages. I’ll get our things settled in and a fire going in the bedroom.”
He headed for the stairs with their bags as Charlotte set off down the hall and into the main living area. The hearth was large and made of stone and wood. There were carvings along the mantel, beautiful engravings that spiraled up to the beams in the ceiling. She left the main room and headed through the first door to the right. Shelves upon shelves of books surrounded her. The room was well lit with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side except where there was another door that led to the greenhouse she’d seen. She let her feet take her to the glassed-in room, amazed by the plants growing from one corner to the other. Obviously, someone maintained the estate when Braydon wasn’t there. She turned to leave when she caught sight of something on the floor.
When she moved closer, she saw a single stone raised higher than the others. Charlotte stepped on it, and a grinding sounded to her left. She turned in time to see part of the inside brick wall slide away to reveal a dark opening and a set of stairs.
“Secret passageways,” she whispered and glanced behind her. Braydon was nowhere to be seen. “Let’s see where you lead, then.” She headed inside and disappeared up the stairs as the passageway closed behind her.
***
It had been a while since Braydon had seen Charlie. He swore at one point he’d heard her laughing somewhere in the estate, but when he turned around, she wasn’t there. He grinned, wondering if she was, in fact, wandering between the walls as he sometimes did when he came here.
Braydon had built a fire in the bedroom hearth, found every single candle he could, and lit them around the room and the tub that sat near the large windows overlooking the grounds. The estate was definitely impressive. All that was left was the wine from the cellar and the fresh strawberries and other special items he’d requested to be brought upstairs.
“Charlie?” he called as he made his way back up the stairs. “If you can hear me, knock if you’re stuck in the walls or yell if you can find your way out.” He stopped for a second and listened. Faintly, he heard a yell. “Everything is ready if you would join me in the master bedroom.”
“I’m already there,” she yelled down to him, and he jumped, nearly dropping everything on the stairs as she leaned over the railing, grinning down at him with those beautiful, stormy eyes filled with mirth as cobwebs clung to her hair.
“You, my dear Charlie, are a mess.” He laughed.
She watched him climb the stairs and said quietly, “You did say something about a bath…”
Braydon stopped for only a second before he grinned, holding up the bottle of wine and the tray of strawberries and chocolates. “I did, didn’t I?” She smiled widely and walked backwards to the bedroom as he followed, his heart hammering in his chest. When she reached the doorway, she turned and headed to the large, claw-foot tub, turned on the water, and watched the steam start to billow.
“I’ve always wanted a tub like this,” she said. “Big enough to swim in.”
“I don’t know if it’s that big.” He laughed and poured a deep red wine into two glasses, handing one to her. “You are enjoying yourself?”
She ran her fingers through the water and nodded. “I’m glad you brought me here.”
“I can see the worry on your face,” he said. “Call Milly if you need to, but I’m sure your mother is fine. They would let us know if not.”
“I was just thinking about the presentation again, too. Do you think we’ll get it?”
He set his glass down, pulled her to her feet, and looked into those grey eyes growing darker by the second. “I think you need to stop stressing and let me take care of you for a weekend. We can worry about all that when we go home Monday morning.”
As the tub continued to fill behind them, Braydon took her glass and set it aside. He wrapped his arms around her, leaned in, and kissed her like he’d wanted to all day. His lips moved against hers, and she sighed, leaning into his touch. When they parted, he felt a spring tightening inside of him, amongst other things, and pulled her as close as she could get. The large, king-size bed was all the way on the other side of the room, but the settee was so much closer. Not stopping their kiss, he guided her to it, and they sat down together, arms locked around one another as the heat continued to build.
Charlie’s fingers fumbled for the edge of his shirt, pulling it up over his head to reveal his chest. She slid her fingers across his muscles and smirked when he shivered, certainly not from the cold. Her kisses moved from his lips to his neck, nuzzling him until he groaned, and she moved down his chest. Her fingers tugged at his belt, but he stopped them as he lifted her sweater over her head, tossing it aside to marvel at what lay underneath. His breath caught, and he cursed.
Charlie giggled as she glanced down at herself. “What? I can’t wear pretty lingerie?”
“You’re trying to kill me, I’m convinced,” he muttered roughly. Her breasts were encased by black lace—diaphanous black lace—and nothing more.
As she laughed, Braydon scooped her up and turned them so she sat on his lap, his back pressed against the settee. Their eyes locked on each other; he reached around and unclasped her bra without breaking the contact. Her eyes narrowed and her breathing became more ragged as his fingers danced up her shoulders to the straps. Braydon wanted nothing more than to simply rip the rest of their clothes off and be done with it, but the look on her face was priceless. He wanted that even more. He wanted this woman. He wanted her, not just for a weekend but for a lifetime. With every kiss, he felt his heart overflowing with love; he was never going to be able to resist Charlie.
The last bit of lace fell away, and he let his lips surround one nipple, tugging, while his other hand pressed against her back. She sighed, arching into him. He wouldn’t be able to take this for long, and from the look on her face, neither would she.
“Braydon,” she whispered as her hands moved to his belt. This time, he didn’t stop them.
Too bad she hadn’t worn a skirt. The second his belt and zipper were free, he picked her up and laid her gently back against the settee, undoing her pants and sliding them down in one smooth move. Her panties were just as enticing as her bra, and he cursed while his fingers looped through them and he tugged them down, little by little, until she squirmed. Once they were off, he stood, pulled his pants down the rest of the way, and watched her lips curl into a smile as her eyes traveled down. That was it. Braydon couldn’t take it anymore.
He knelt and kissed up her leg while his left hand found her pussy. The second his fingers slid inside, she gasped and reached for him, wanting him. He was more than happy to oblige. Slowly, he made his way up her body, his fingers working until his length could replace them. He leaned down and kissed her long and hard, then slid inside, both of them quivering with need.
This was home. He knew it. When he moved inside her, their bodies were in perfect sync. There was no rush to the end, just him holding his Charlie, watching the storm grow in her eyes as the love he felt for her grew in his heart. He felt every beat of hers and knew, in that moment, she felt the same.
When he felt like he might explode, Braydon felt her release as she cried out beneath him. He followed barely a second later, and they held each other tightly, covered in sweat, listening to the water in the tub flowing.
“That was… incredible,” she breathed as she stretched up to kiss him. “But I think we have a problem.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“The tub.”
He stared at her like she’d gone crazy. “The tub?”
“Might be overflowing.”
Braydon glanced over and, with a very loud curse, jumped off Charlotte and the settee, rushing naked to the tub as Charlotte watched, laughing hysterically.
***
Charlotte picked up another strawberry and popped it into her mouth. The juices were sweet and tart as they exploded on her tongue, and she sighed, content—the water was warm, and Braydon’s body behind her even warmer.
“I could get used to this,” she whispered.
“If that’s the case, I should kidnap you every weekend,” he said, his tone serious. “Just wait until tomorrow morning when I make you an Irish breakfast.”
She snuggled against him, and the water swirled around them. Most of the bubbles were gone, and the candlelight reflected back at her. “Sounds delicious. What else are we doing tomorrow?”
“Whatever you want. We can go into town.”
“That requires looking decent,” she said with a laugh.
“You always look beautiful to me.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “But fine, town is out. I can show you the grounds. They are gorgeous, and I don’t want you to miss them. Weather should be nice enough. Maybe we can pack a wee picnic.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Your Irish is showing.”
“It happens now and again, especially when I’m here.”
“Was this your father’s home?”
“No, but we didn’t live too far from here. That’s why I bought it. Not exactly home, but close enough that it feels like it when I’m here. One of these days, I’ll bring Da back, somehow. I’ll find a way to make it happen. Maybe your mother, too. She could use some time away.”
She turned so she could see his face. “Your da can never come back?”
“If he wants to risk his life, he can.” He sighed. “I’d prefer him not to get shot while on holiday.”
Charlotte frowned. That just didn’t seem fair. No matter what his da had done, it had been years ago. Surely they had either forgotten it or let it go by now. She wanted Braydon to bring his da here, but there was nothing she could do. She certainly didn’t have any pull with the Irish mob.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said with a smirk. “Stop that.”
“Or you’ll what?”
He glanced past her to the bed, then back again, and waggled his eyebrows. “Or I’ll be forced to make love to you until you can’t think straight.”
She felt her whole body tingle at the thought of him inside her again. It wasn’t just sex as it had been that first night. No, last time—and every time after—was something so much more. It was love. He’d even said it himself. She toyed with the words in her mouth, wondering if she should say them, but decided against it.
“Braydon,” she whispered, leaning close.
“What?”
“I’m overthinking again.”
He stared at her long and hard with those green eyes, her leprechaun of a man, and laughed. “You asked for it. I warned you.”
He got out of the tub, dripping wet, and pulled her up into her arms. She barely had a second to protest getting the sheets wet before he tossed her onto the plush mattress, and, laughing, followed her.
***
Charlotte’s eyes opened slowly as the smell of fresh coffee and meat frying assaulted her nose. She stretched, feeling better than she had in a very long time. Her body was sore, and when she sat up, she grinned. They might have started in the bed but had ended up on a mound of blankets and quilts in front of the fireplace. Nothing remained of the fire but cinders. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back in time, when this estate was first built, waking up every morning like this, in front of a fire, so well loved by the lord of the estate.
She frowned as she pulled a quilt around her and got to her feet. Should she say it today? Admit her feelings for him and accept whatever answer he offered? She wasn’t sure if she could handle him saying no. No meant she would have to return home and most likely marry Quin. That she couldn’t and wouldn’t do. If Braydon said no, she would still turn Quin down. She and her mother would find a way to somehow salvage what little they needed.
“So you’re going to say it,” she told her reflection as she passed the mirror in the bedroom. “You’re going to march down there and say those three words to him.”
She sounded confident, but the second she was face-to-face with him, she’d completely fall apart. Hopefully not, she thought. There was no use waiting around, so Charlotte gathered the quilt and headed downstairs to the kitchen. As she reached the door, the loud humming reached her ears until Braydon broke out into song. It was old, she could tell that, and not in English. Part of her wanted to stand there and listen, but she moved to the doorway and grinned, watching him busy at the stove, singing as loudly as he could. He turned and spotted her and shut his mouth.
“Why’d you stop?” she asked. “I thought you sounded wonderful.”
His face turned red as he bowed his head and laughed. “Sorry, a song my da used to sing when he cooked breakfast. Guess I’m in a good enough mood that I remember the words.” He spooned the food onto plates. “My, Miss Charlie, I do believe you have left your clothes somewhere.”
Charlotte turned around. “You don’t like my new fashion statement?”
“I didn’t say that,” he mused as he walked towards her and pulled her close for a kiss. “You look like you slept well. Snored like a freight train,” he added as he walked away, dodging the smack aimed for his arm.
“I did not!”
“Oh, my ears beg to differ. Hungry?”
Should she say it now? The words were right there, so close to coming out, but just like before, she held them back and walked to the table as he set a plate in front of her. “How’s the weather outside?”
He poured her some coffee and joined her. “Perfect Irish weather. I’ve already packed some food and a bottle or two of wine. It should be a wonderful day out on the grounds.”
They ate in silence for a while before she looked at him long and hard, a grin playing at her lips. “Tell me about your da. He used to sing?”
Braydon laughed. “Well, he tried. His voice wasn’t exactly the best, but it was filled with happiness. Even after mom left us, he tried to keep his spirits high for me. I knew he missed home. He would cook some of the best authentic food and cursed like a sailor, though if you couldn’t understand his accent, you never heard it.”
“He sounds like a great dad.”
“He is,” Braydon said. “I talk to him a few times a week. He’s enjoying the ranch life. Would prefer to have sheep, as he always tells me, but cattle are just as well. Enough to keep him busy and on the move. That man never could sit still for very long.”
“Sounds like you two have quite a bit in common.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I hate cows.”
Charlotte stared at him with a raised brow until he started to laugh. They finished breakfast, and Charlotte hurried back upstairs to change, letting the quilt slip a little so Braydon caught a glimpse of her backside. She heard him curse. Her laughter echoed around her, a sound she rarely heard anymore. Being in this house with Braydon did something to her. She felt alive again.
When she was dressed, they headed out onto the grounds. The air was a bit cooler than she’d expected, but Braydon had packed a heavy wool blanket in the basket along with another to sit on. Being out in the open countryside, he was a different man—the man he would be if tragedy hadn’t struck his family and his mother left him and his da. Charlotte’s hand reached out and held his as they walked and he pointed out everything around them, from small quay walls to the ruins far in the distance.
They finally found a spot to sit under a large tree, centuries old. Its roots had grown out of the ground, and its branches were twisted and gnarled against themselves. Charlotte ran her fingers across the rough bark as Braydon set up the picnic.
“I wish we had trees like this back home.”
“There’s a story about this tree,” he told her as she sat down. He wrapped the wool blanket around her shoulders. “I can’t remember what it’s about exactly, but something to do with lovers.”
She raised a brow. “Of course it does.”
“I’m serious, but I think the ending is a bit tragic. They both are killed, or she dies and he kills himself. I can’t remember the details too well.”
They sat under the boughs of the tree and talked quietly about his da and her father and about their childhoods. Hers wasn’t nearly as exciting as his, but she had a few rare stories, mostly about the times she and her friends had gotten into trouble—like the time they tried to hide an entire litter of puppies in Charlotte’s bathtub.
“It had worked for a few days, too,” she said as she laughed. She remembered the look on her father’s face when he’d found them. “They cried while I was at school. I came home and found him playing with them out in the yard. It was one of the few times Father didn’t disapprove of my improper behavior, though we didn’t keep them. Found them all good homes.” She sighed as she stared off into the distance. “I wish I had been able to keep at least one.”
“You did,” he told her.
“What do you mean?”
“Those orphanages you set up? Those kids are like the puppies. They needed a home, and you gave them one, all of them.”
“I just hope they still have a home.”
“Have a little faith,” Braydon told her; suddenly, his eyes widened. “I remember the story now.”
She leaned back on one elbow. “Well, tell me.”
He put his hand on the tree as he started to speak. “There was a woman who lived in the ruins of the castle down there. She was the daughter of a very wealthy lord, and a beautiful lass, with long red hair and eyes that matched the clovers in the field.”
Charlotte closed her eyes as his words flowed over her.
“She was betrothed to another, a harsh man who did not provide for the people in his care. She wanted nothing to do with him, so she ran away. It wasn’t long before she was surrounded by ruffians on the road. They kidnapped her, meaning to sell her for ransom. But when the man who led the bandits saw her eyes, he could not bear to be parted from her,” Braydon murmured, and Charlotte noticed his accent slowly growing more prominent.
“The woman wanted to be free of him, of everyone, but she had no means to do so. The man though, he took care of her, and after a few days, she realized he wasn’t going to harm her. She traveled with him far and wide across Ireland, seeing the coasts and the rivers, the rolling hills and fairy mounds. And the woman realized she had come to love this bandit.”
“What happened then?” Charlotte asked, her eyes still closed as she pictured this woman with her bandit. “Or do I not want to know?”
“They became lovers,” he said. “And she became his. They wed under a tree much like this one, then roamed the countryside living off the land. But one day, they traveled too close to her home. Someone spotted her, a man who worked for her betrothed lord.”
Charlotte’s heart started to plummet.
“He followed them back to their camp with more men that night and attacked. The woman tried to stop them, swore she’d go back with the lord if only they let her bandit live. But the evil lord raised his dagger to stab the bandit. But her love for him was so strong, she stepped between and he killed her instead.”
Charlotte’s eyes shot open, and she stared at Braydon. His eyes filled with sadness, and his hand remained on the bark of the tree.
“The bandit went mad and slaughtered them all. He took his love and buried her beneath a tree, and legend says one that looked like the one they were wed beneath somewhere near her home. He spent the rest of his days roaming the roads, killing any who tried to bring him in.”
“But what happened to him?”
Braydon glanced around as a chill wind blew across them both. Charlotte frowned and reminded herself there was no such thing as ghosts.
“One day, he found his way back to her grave, drunk and in pain. He sat beneath the tree and died. Just passed away from a broken heart. Local legends say some nights you can see a pair of lovers wandering the hills and through the trees, hand in hand.”
The story ended. Braydon let his hand fall from the tree, but Charlotte grabbed it quickly and held it gently against her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin as she stared at him, and before she could stop herself, the words flowed.
“I love you, Braydon.”