Building From Ashes
Page 63
She frowned. “A guest?”
“Someone Cathy brought from town.”
Brigid rose and slipped on her shoes, tucking the journal she’d been writing in under her mattress. She walked to the door and opened it; the dog poked his head through. Max was looking sheepish.
“Who is it?” A warm rush filled her chest. Could it be Carwyn? She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arose. Max would never announce Carwyn. He was as welcome here the same as any of his family’s homes.
“It’s Patrick Murphy.” Madoc gave a soft huff and pushed through the door, headed to the stairs.
Brigid was still trying to gather her thoughts. She’d spoken to her employer the week before. Surely he would have mentioned coming to Scotland. Wouldn’t he?
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it’s him?”
Max said, “I have met the man before, Brigid. Yes, it’s Murphy. Cathy said he had to make some last minute trip to Edinburgh. She ran into him. He asked to come up to the house.” There was an awkward pause. “Are you refusing to see him?”
She looked up from contemplating the floorboards. “What? No! I was just surprised. Why would he want to see me? I’m…” Thirsty. Confused. Edgy. Without my live-in psychologist. “Hungry.”
Max smothered a grin and nodded. “Of course. I’ll warm some blood for you and bring it. He’s in the front parlor.”
“There’s a front parlor?” Brigid looked down at the black leggings and large green sweater she was wearing. Then she imagined Murphy in his tailored suits and perfectly knotted tie. She looked up at Max. “I’d better change.”
Just ten minutes later, she pushed open the huge door to the front parlor. At least, she was guessing it was the front parlor door. She’d changed into a fitted button-down shirt and pressed slacks she hadn’t worn since she’d left Dublin. The clothing felt itchy and constraining against her sensitive skin. She heard Max and Murphy’s voices from inside the room. “Hello?”
Sure enough. It was Murphy. And he looked just as he always did. If he dressed casually, she had never seen it. Of course, she had only ever seen him at the office. She heard stories of the bare-knuckles boxing matches that were held at his club in the early morning hours. Brigid certainly couldn’t imagine him wearing a suit while he beat the stuffing out of someone in the ring. The Dubliner turned and flashed a roguish grin. Her heart immediately gave an involuntary thump.
“Brigid,” he said and walked toward her. “You’re looking extraordinarily well. The short hair suits you.”
“Um… thanks.”
“And I’m so pleased to finally see you again.”
Murphy’s eyes were warm and familiar in a way that was more comforting than she had expected. It was nice to see him again. It reminded her of home and work. Suddenly, she smiled. “I didn’t—well, why didn’t you say you were coming when we spoke last week?” She grasped the hand he held out. His fingers enclosed hers. Cool. Refreshing, in a similar way to Anne. She wondered whether it was just a product of his water element. As he held her hand, a soft pulse, like a friendly hug, caressed her arm.
“I hope you forgive the intrusion. It was a last minute impulse when I had to make the trip to Scotland. Deirdre was in town last month and mentioned how well you were doing. When I ran into Cathy yesterday, I asked her if I could stop by.”
Why was he here? She thought they had covered most of the duties she would be performing once she came back to work in the new year. January would put her in Dublin eighteen months after she had been sired. A respectable and safe projection from what Cathy and Max had said. And Anne, who’d had to leave for the summer, would be back in the fall and could resume their counseling sessions to further prepare her to return to normal—well, almost normal—life.
“I’m sorry. Was there something you forgot to ask on the telephone? You didn’t have to come all the way out here.” She quickly added, “Not that it’s not nice to see you, of course.”
The dimple that occasionally peeked from his left cheek came out. “It’s just a social call, Brigid. You’re missed back home.”
By whom? She smiled. “That’s nice to know.”
“I understand you just woke for the evening. May I join you?” Murphy held a hand out, motioning to the low couches surrounding a table laid with the vampire version of afternoon tea. Small sandwiches. Bits of fruit and cheese. Mild foods that wouldn’t taste too strong to her sensitive tongue. Tea, of course. And then a steaming carafe of what Brigid guessed was fresh cow blood.
Appetizing.
“Thanks, yes. Help yourself.” She looked at Max, who was hovering in the corner and trying to be inconspicuous. “Max? Will you join us?”
He shook his head. “I’ll leave you to chat about work if you’re comfortable, Brigid. I haven’t given Cathy a proper hello since she’s been back.”
Lovely man. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Go to the back wing of the castle,” she teased him. “We don’t want to have to shout over her.”
Max threw his head back in laughter before he sped from the room.
Brigid just cocked an eyebrow at an amused Murphy. “Notice he didn’t correct me.”
“My dear Brigid—” Murphy smirked. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”
She snorted as she sat at the table. “Right. This family isn’t the shy type.”
“Someone Cathy brought from town.”
Brigid rose and slipped on her shoes, tucking the journal she’d been writing in under her mattress. She walked to the door and opened it; the dog poked his head through. Max was looking sheepish.
“Who is it?” A warm rush filled her chest. Could it be Carwyn? She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arose. Max would never announce Carwyn. He was as welcome here the same as any of his family’s homes.
“It’s Patrick Murphy.” Madoc gave a soft huff and pushed through the door, headed to the stairs.
Brigid was still trying to gather her thoughts. She’d spoken to her employer the week before. Surely he would have mentioned coming to Scotland. Wouldn’t he?
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it’s him?”
Max said, “I have met the man before, Brigid. Yes, it’s Murphy. Cathy said he had to make some last minute trip to Edinburgh. She ran into him. He asked to come up to the house.” There was an awkward pause. “Are you refusing to see him?”
She looked up from contemplating the floorboards. “What? No! I was just surprised. Why would he want to see me? I’m…” Thirsty. Confused. Edgy. Without my live-in psychologist. “Hungry.”
Max smothered a grin and nodded. “Of course. I’ll warm some blood for you and bring it. He’s in the front parlor.”
“There’s a front parlor?” Brigid looked down at the black leggings and large green sweater she was wearing. Then she imagined Murphy in his tailored suits and perfectly knotted tie. She looked up at Max. “I’d better change.”
Just ten minutes later, she pushed open the huge door to the front parlor. At least, she was guessing it was the front parlor door. She’d changed into a fitted button-down shirt and pressed slacks she hadn’t worn since she’d left Dublin. The clothing felt itchy and constraining against her sensitive skin. She heard Max and Murphy’s voices from inside the room. “Hello?”
Sure enough. It was Murphy. And he looked just as he always did. If he dressed casually, she had never seen it. Of course, she had only ever seen him at the office. She heard stories of the bare-knuckles boxing matches that were held at his club in the early morning hours. Brigid certainly couldn’t imagine him wearing a suit while he beat the stuffing out of someone in the ring. The Dubliner turned and flashed a roguish grin. Her heart immediately gave an involuntary thump.
“Brigid,” he said and walked toward her. “You’re looking extraordinarily well. The short hair suits you.”
“Um… thanks.”
“And I’m so pleased to finally see you again.”
Murphy’s eyes were warm and familiar in a way that was more comforting than she had expected. It was nice to see him again. It reminded her of home and work. Suddenly, she smiled. “I didn’t—well, why didn’t you say you were coming when we spoke last week?” She grasped the hand he held out. His fingers enclosed hers. Cool. Refreshing, in a similar way to Anne. She wondered whether it was just a product of his water element. As he held her hand, a soft pulse, like a friendly hug, caressed her arm.
“I hope you forgive the intrusion. It was a last minute impulse when I had to make the trip to Scotland. Deirdre was in town last month and mentioned how well you were doing. When I ran into Cathy yesterday, I asked her if I could stop by.”
Why was he here? She thought they had covered most of the duties she would be performing once she came back to work in the new year. January would put her in Dublin eighteen months after she had been sired. A respectable and safe projection from what Cathy and Max had said. And Anne, who’d had to leave for the summer, would be back in the fall and could resume their counseling sessions to further prepare her to return to normal—well, almost normal—life.
“I’m sorry. Was there something you forgot to ask on the telephone? You didn’t have to come all the way out here.” She quickly added, “Not that it’s not nice to see you, of course.”
The dimple that occasionally peeked from his left cheek came out. “It’s just a social call, Brigid. You’re missed back home.”
By whom? She smiled. “That’s nice to know.”
“I understand you just woke for the evening. May I join you?” Murphy held a hand out, motioning to the low couches surrounding a table laid with the vampire version of afternoon tea. Small sandwiches. Bits of fruit and cheese. Mild foods that wouldn’t taste too strong to her sensitive tongue. Tea, of course. And then a steaming carafe of what Brigid guessed was fresh cow blood.
Appetizing.
“Thanks, yes. Help yourself.” She looked at Max, who was hovering in the corner and trying to be inconspicuous. “Max? Will you join us?”
He shook his head. “I’ll leave you to chat about work if you’re comfortable, Brigid. I haven’t given Cathy a proper hello since she’s been back.”
Lovely man. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Go to the back wing of the castle,” she teased him. “We don’t want to have to shout over her.”
Max threw his head back in laughter before he sped from the room.
Brigid just cocked an eyebrow at an amused Murphy. “Notice he didn’t correct me.”
“My dear Brigid—” Murphy smirked. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”
She snorted as she sat at the table. “Right. This family isn’t the shy type.”
