Page 5 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
“It’s just rather amusing is all.”
I glanced over my shoulder, spine straight, and placed my hands on my hips. “What is amusing?”
He reached out, plucked a strand of seaweed from my hair, and tucked it carefully into his bag. “You see, there’s an ancient story around these parts about an old man who stumbled across a mermaid in these very same waters.”
My temper soothed. Just a bit, as the peculiar man went on.
“He thought at first she was a mortal woman in distress and went to save her from certain drowning. You see, she’d climbed upon a rock to sun herself, and the tide abandoned her, leavingher unable to return home. The poor maid was frantic, concerned her husband would be angry with her for being gone so long and eat her children.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Lovely story.”
But he was not deterred and continued on as we walked back to where I’d left my clothes. My own pace slowing in time with his. “You see, the old man slowly earned her trust and before long, he carried her back to the water. In return the maid offered him anything he desired. A gift for saving her.”
I shivered, rubbing my arms for warmth, and stepped unconsciously into his shade. “What sort of gift?”
“Well, you see, the seafolk could have given the old chap any manner of prize. Gold. Pearls. Power. Riches beyond his imaginings. Anything at all his heart desired.” His voice was deep and carried with it an unusual cadence that warmed me through and through despite the weather.
“And I suppose he became a fabulously wealthy man, then?”
The stranger shook his head. “No. You see, he didn’t want any of those earthly trappings. Nothing like that. Instead he asked for three things.” He held up his thumb and his first two fingers to underscore the point.
“It’s always three, isn’t it? In fairy stories, I mean.”
The edge of his mouth quirked for a moment before he continued on. “The man asked her to bestow upon him the power to help his fellow men. To heal the sick, to break the spells of witches, and to find stolen goods.”
“And what did they call such a fool, to give up the wealth of the world to find missing trinkets?” Secretly, I thought I might have made the same choice if given the option. After all, I had all the wealth I could want, and gave more of it away than I kept. I glanced up at the stranger, impossibly charmed by the story he’d woven. Enough to forget Tamsyn’s troubles—if forthe moment—and to forget the fact I was half frozen, or that I was standing in my underthings with a man I didn’t know.
“Pellars. They call them Pellars, Miss…?
“Vaughn. Ruby Vaughn.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Vaughn.” He ducked his head politely, before he brushed his hair back from his brow with a rough hand. “I’m Ruan Kivell.”
My breath caught in my chest at his name. Now, that was a surprise. Surely he couldn’t be the same fellow Mr. Owen had sent me after? But the name was unusual. There couldn’t be two in this area.
I raked my gaze over him, trying to make sense of him. I’d imagined someone suitably aged and perhaps with a stoop. Not…A man like this. “You… are Ruan Kivell?” Perhaps that was why he seemed so familiar? Had I met him before back in Exeter at one of Mr. Owen’s book meetings? No. No. Impossible. He was not the sort of man one forgot.
He nodded uncertainly, as if my shock was catching.
Mr. Kivell stood a good head and shoulders above me—which was quite a feat, as I was not an insubstantial woman. Handsome in a fashion, I supposed, with a square stern face with faint lines between his brows from worrying too much. Though he possessed an odd ageless quality that made it hard to guess his years.
“From Lothlel Green?” I asked slowly.
It was his turn to be surprised. “How did you know?”
I gave him a crooked grin. “Because Mr. Owen sent me here to bring you some books.”
If he’d startled me on the rock when I’d woken, I’d doubly shocked him now. His expression so comical, there was nothing to do but laugh.
CHAPTERFOURA Dreadful Dinner
ASit turned out, Mr. Kivell had been brought to the shore by a local farmer and the fool man had every intention of walking the several miles home—which boggled the mind considering he had collected half the seashore in that haversack of his—so for the sake of time I delivered both him and the box of books to his cottage. He was amiable enough, and it made for a pleasurable trip back to Lothlel Green, pushing Tamsyn that much further from my thoughts. It wasn’t until I parked in the lane outside his cottage that I recalled my reason for going to the shore in the first place.
Tamsyn. The bruises.
A coldness set in my belly, doubly worse than before. We said our farewells, and I watched him lug the great trunk through the gate and into his house. It was a charming, if small, white structure situated high up on the cliffside—likely only two rooms down and one up, if that—with an obscene preponderance of greenery surrounding it, all seemingly held together by a dry-stone fence. Leafy vines climbed up hazel trellises filling the air with scents I couldn’t even begin to categorize. Herbs and flowers. Bees buzzed everywhere. Cattle and sheepappeared like figures from a child’s wooden play set grazing in the lowlands below.
I sat watching his closed door long after Mr. Kivell disappeared inside. I don’t know why I waited, nor why I watched him so intently. Perhaps it was just dread of what I’d discover at Penryth. My little excursion to the seaside had been a pleasant diversion, but now I had to face the truth. Something wasn’t quite right at Penryth Hall.
