Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Eleven Reprieve

“I’m dreaming about him.”

It was the next Monday morning and Marian was having her breakfast with Sibyl.

Marian was also realising that Sibyl clearly needed a confidant.

“Yes, my dear?” Marian prompted. “Who?”

Sibyl looked distracted, the streak of fine weather had broken and the day was grey, rainy and cold and Sibyl was gazing moodily out of the diamond-paned windows. They were eating in a small breakfast nook in Sibyl’s warm and cosy yet elaborate kitchen. Marian had visited Granny Esmeralda’s abandoned cottage many times when the last owners left it unoccupied for years but she had not been there since the unknown (now known) Americans had bought it and refurbished it as a holiday home.

She’d been delighted when Sibyl suggested they not meet at a café but instead asked Marian to come to her house and Sibyl would cook for her. She’d been captivated by the loving renovation that Sibyl explained she and her father had done to Granny Esmeralda’s sweet cottage. It felt welcoming and warm and Marian was immediately relaxed and at peace there.

And her young friend was an excellent cook, making Marian homemade American pancakes with maple syrup and big bowls of bite-sized pieces of ripe, delicious fruit.

Now, food consumed, Sibyl was on her second cup of coffee and Marian was finishing a pot of tea.

“He’s away in London for three days,” she changed the subject, or at least Marian thought she did.

“Who?” Marian asked again, thinking she knew who but uncertain.

Sibyl started and seemed to come back to the room. She blinked at Marian and gave her a feeble smile.

“I’m sorry. It’s Colin. You should know Colin and I are together now,” Sibyl hesitated, then finished. “Well, sort of.”

Marian smiled encouragingly. “I guessed that when I saw you two the other night but, how do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

Sibyl shook her head and gently changed the subject. “And I’m dreaming about him, all the time, nearly every night. Except he’s blond and he’s…” She paused then stated, “This is going to sound stupid.”

But at her words, Marian’s heart skipped a joyous beat.

What did she mean, he was blond? Was she dreaming of Royce?

Dear goddess, was Sibyl Godwin clairvoyant?

“Go on, nothing’s stupid. You can tell me anything,” Marian urged, her voice betraying her excitement (she couldn’t help it, it was exciting).

Sibyl shuddered and then forged ahead. “It’s like he’s from another time. I’m there too, always. We’re wearing old clothes… not old as in age, a different style, clothes from a different time period, a long, long time ago. But the dreams are so vivid, so clear they almost seem real.” Sibyl turned to Marian. “Marian, I know you’re going to think this sounds a million kinds of crazy, but they don’t seem like dreams at all,” she leaned forward, her eyes intense but confused, “they seem like memories.”

Marian’s mouth parted in surprise.

She was a clairvoyant.

Hallelujah!

Sibyl, clearly oblivious to Marian’s elation, kept speaking.

“He makes me call him Royce in the dreams and he refers to me as Beatrice. And I get this very bad feeling that although they’re beautiful together, their story is not a happy one. I know that sounds even more stupid, considering they’re only in my mind, but I just get this sense, you know? Just like Colin and I will not end well.”

Marian closed her eyes to hide her joy, her heart skittered again and, when she opened them, she smiled reassuringly at the younger woman.

“You’re falling in love with Colin, aren’t you?” she said sagely.

“No!” Sibyl exclaimed instantly and strangely somewhat desperately.

Her forceful cry made Marian rear back.

Sibyl, being the sweet girl she was, noticed Marian’s reaction and immediately apologised. “I’m sorry Marian, but no, I’m not falling in love with Colin. I can’t,” she announced firmly.

This was not good news, nor was it what Marian expected to hear.

“Why on earth can’t you?” Marian’s voice had just the slightest edge and it, too, was desperate.

“He’s not the one. I’m supposed to…” She stopped talking, closed her eyes tight, and, when she opened them, she continued, “All my life I knew there was one perfect man out there for me. A man like Royce is to Beatrice. My match. I have a space in my heart that only this person fits into.” She bit her lip, her expression pained before she finished, “And it’s not Colin.”

Marian’s heart felt light at this news. It was all too right.

“How do you know it’s not Colin?” Marian asked, trying to appear calm.

“Trust me,” Sibyl answered, her voice sounding awful, “I know.”

Marian’s mind whirled with what to say.

This was all perfect, dreaming of the doomed lovers (without even knowing they existed!), living her life yearning for the special man that fits in her heart. It was perfect, beautiful, sublime.

Marian wished she could tell Sibyl about the legend, she itched to tell her. But she’d promised Colin. She had a tentative hold on his trust already; she certainly shouldn’t fall at the first hurdle. Marian could see in her crystal ball that things were still not quite right with the pair. Although, she could never hear the words they said, there was just something wrong.

Marian believed, though, that true love would find a way.

It did with Royce and Beatrice, even though, at their beginning, they’d had a time of it.

Just, it seemed, like Sibyl and Colin were.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Marian invited in a soothing tone.

Sibyl shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. He’s gone for three days and I’m glad.” Marian noted she didn’t sound glad, she sounded positively gloomy. “I can’t seem to get my head around things when he’s around. He’s overpowering. He fills a room… no, the entire house, with his presence. He didn’t let me out of his sight all weekend.”

Marian thought this was a strange turn of phrase for a young woman of this modern age to use the word “let” in regards to her boyfriend. Sibyl was spirited and she had free will, Colin Morgan didn’t own her.

“You feel suffocated,” Marian surmised.

“I feel safe, protected and taken care of, sometimes even precious.” Marian was surprised to hear her reply. “My mother would have a heart attack,” Sibyl muttered under her breath then she continued. “He’s a perfect gentleman, impeccable manners, very respectful, even, goddess, am I going to say this?” She asked herself then said, “Gallant.”

Then she dropped her face into her hands and rested her elbows on the table with despair.

At Sibyl’s words and her contradictory actions, Marian was genuinely confused. “Then, what’s the problem?”

Sibyl spoke to the table, “It’s temporary. I don’t want to like it. I know he’s going to go away.”

“He doesn’t have to go away.”

“Oh yes he does.” This was said with a finality that was absolute and completely conflicting.

Although Sibyl was making no sense, Marian felt her spirits plummet.

“Are there times when he’s cruel to you?” Marian asked gently.

Colin Morgan was, Marian knew, a somewhat difficult man.

This, for some reason, made Sibyl laugh, bitterly. A sound like that coming from a woman like Sibyl grated on the nerves, it was borderline obscene.

She lifted her head and her expression looked defeated. “Every second he’s with me, even though it’s unintentional. He doesn’t mean it, doesn’t even know it, I just feel it. And I did it to myself.”

This really didn’t make any sense.

“Sibyl, just tell me what’s troubling you. Maybe I can help,” Marian urged.

Sibyl stared at her for a moment and Marian felt hope that she would further confide in her. She had promised Colin not to tell Sibyl about Royce and Beatrice but she could help here.

Then Sibyl gave her a sad smile and said, “I don’t think you’d understand and if I told you, you would likely not want to have breakfast with me again.”

Marian covered the woman’s hand with her own. “I’m not sure you understand either, dear. And nothing you could tell me would make me feel the slightest bit different about you. I think you’re terrific”

Finally, Marian made Sibyl smile. It was not her usual dazzling smile, it was tremulous, but it was something.

“I think you’re terrific too,” Sibyl whispered but shared no more.

Some time later, after Marian left Sibyl’s cottage (it was now, firmly entrenched in Marian’s mind, as Sibyl’s cottage and she felt sure that Granny Esmeralda would approve of that), she went to her magic room to check her fermenting potions. Several of them she was likely going to have to use after all.

The only good thing that came of her visit with Sibyl was that obviously the girl had magic of her own. This could be most helpful. The fact that she was feeling memories from her past soul was a good sign.

And Marian still held hope that the feeling behind most of Sibyl’s words (even though the words themselves were rather dire) meant that whatever I -was that was standing between the two young lovers was an obstacle that could still be climbed.

“We go together like ramma, lamma, lamma, da dingity, ding dee dong.”

Sibyl was sitting in the Community Hall with Jem watching her girlie quartet sing a song from Grease while Jemma sewed a poodle onto a child’s full, felt skirt.

“The choreography is fantastic, Jem,” Sibyl whispered as we watched. The girls, it seemed, were having a blast and they looked great.

“What?” Annie shouted, sitting beside her. “What’s happening now?”

“They’re dancing and singing, Annie,” Sibyl raised her voice so Annie could hear her.

Kyle and Tina, Sibyl, Jemma and a couple of the other volunteers had a rota to go once a week to tidy Annie’s house, fill her fridge and spend some time with her. That afternoon was Jemma’s afternoon but it was also Talent Show practice. Annie decided to wait it out, far better sitting in the Hall with kids rushing around and music blaring than sit at home in virtual silence and complete blindness.

“Wearing poodle skirts!” Annie shouted and Sibyl smiled.

“Black ones, with white poodles that have pink bows,” Jemma yelled.

“I used to have one of those,” Annie informed them of something that might, or might not (as Annie told tales) be true and neither Sibyl nor Jem responded.

“Chang, chang, changity chang cha bop…” the girls sang as Annie, Jemma and Sibyl lapsed into silence and Sibyl lapsed into reflection.

Colin’s three day trip turned into a five day trip. He’d called and told her he wouldn’t be home until, at least, Friday.

Today.

She found she missed him, even though she knew that was wrong so she tried not to think about it… and failed.

The good thing was that he couldn’t claim back this time and she desperately needed it to get her head straight.

Her time with him had been good, sometimes (she hated to admit it, but it was true) wonderful, and always she’d forget who she was to him.

Then he’d do something unintentional to remind her.

Mostly, he would order her about which, she thought, considering the frequency he did it, could be a part of his nature but she wasn’t in the place to test it.

For instance, once, after a long day in her Summer House Girlie Laboratory, she had put her hair up to get its heavy weight off her scalp. She’d forgotten it was up when she walked into the front room from the kitchen after he’d used his key to enter the front door. Mallory was all over him but the minute he turned his attention to her, his eyes shifted to her hair. He didn’t say a word but she lifted her hands up to tear the clip out immediately.

It was times like those, although infrequent, but always painful, she knew exactly what she was.

“How is your new young man?” Annie shouted, taking Sibyl out of her thoughts and she saw Jemma’s eyes shift to her.

No one knew about the arrangement but she had told Jemma, Kyle and Tina about Colin. She had to, in case he called her away or she couldn’t get to work for some reason. Jemma knew something was wrong but, in pure Jem Style, she didn’t push it. If Sibyl wanted to tell her then Sibyl would choose the time.

But of course, news this meaty ran like wildfire through The Community Centre and all of its patrons were agog. Not once in over a year had Sibyl had a boyfriend.

“He’s been away,” Sibyl shouted back.

“When’re we going to meet the lad?” Annie yelled.

The idea of Colin being addressed as a “lad” made Sibyl burst out laughing. The idea of him confronting all the oldies at the Pensioner’s Club nearly made her double up with laughter. He’d scare the pants off them; they’d have to have a row of ambulances available to whisk the oldies directly to hospital, all of them suffering from a rash of strokes and heart attacks.

After she stopped laughing, she yelled back, “He’s a very busy man, Annie. I don’t know.”

“Miss Sibyl, your phone’s ringing,” Ben, one of the boys who was practising a somewhat alarming rendition of a rap song (although neither she, nor Jemma, really understood the words so they couldn’t judge) in her office, stood by her and held out her mobile phone.

She saw who it was on the display, quickly got up and, as she flipped it open, ran into the Day Centre without looking back and, once there, slid the doors closed behind her.

“Hello?” she greeted.

“Sibyl,” Colin returned tersely.

It was Colin and, with that one word, she knew he was angry.

“Colin.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

Sibyl was struck dumb at his tone and his question.

He had no idea she worked at the Community Centre.

Indeed, in all their time together, he knew nothing personal about her except from what he could tell through observation and from the photographs scattered about her house.

And Sibyl did everything she could to keep it this way. If she let him in, she knew somewhere deep inside of her, she wouldn’t want to let him go. Even with what she was to him, there was no denying the otherworldly strength of her attraction to him or that bizarre connection she felt between them. She knew this and she hated it just as much as felt strangely safe in knowing it.

“I’m –” her mind raced to find a lie.

“You sound like you’re at a club.” His voice was short, curt and obviously furious.

“I’m not –”

“A bad one,” he interrupted.

She felt a hysterical giggle bubble in her throat and she gulped it down.

“I’ve been calling for an hour,” he went on.

Her eyes rounded and she took the phone away from her ear to stare at its display.

Blooming hell, she’d left it in her office.

When she put it back to her ear, he was still talking, “… home right away.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I want you home right away.”

Her heart stopped and her stomach plummeted.

Her girls were on the stage.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At the cottage, where I’ve been for an hour.” His voice was ice cold.

You’re available to me when I say, where I say, he’d said.

Bloody, bloody hell.

“Colin –”

“Now,” he said simply.

“I’m at work,” she explained, her voice a plea.

“I don’t care,” he bit out.

“Colin, I can’t –”

“Now, Sibyl,” and, without another word, he rang off.

She flipped the phone shut and then opened it again.

Three missed calls.

Bloody hell.

She ran to the Hall just as the girls were jumping off the stage.

“Miss Sibyl,” Flower was calling to her, her voice plaintive, “we can’t get that last part right.”

“We’ll never get it right,” Katie moaned as the four of them stopped in front of Sibyl.

Sibyl was in a panic. Flower, Katie and their two friends Emma and Cheryl were staring at her with need and expectation.

And it was Colin or four little girls. She had to decide in a split second who needed her most.

It took her less than a second.

Colin would have to wait and Sibyl would have to suffer the consequences.

She turned off her phone, buried it in the back pocket of her cords and took a deep breath.

“What part is giving you trouble?” she asked Flower with an overbright, shaky smile.

She arrived home nearly an hour later even though the drive from work was twenty minutes. She could, of course, lie and say that it took her that long to get home; Colin had no idea where she worked. But Sibyl couldn’t lie, she’d already lied to Colin once and if they kept stacking up she knew she’d get them messed up and get caught in one of them one day.

She pushed open the door to her house, feelings of dread seeping through her body.

Colin was standing in the living room staring out the back window, emanating rage even though he didn’t move a muscle.

He had a drink in his hand. Gin and tonic. Once she knew that was his preference, she made certain she stocked it in her house, just like she made certain she had Diet Coke and rum when her sister came around, good Scotch when her father was there and margarita mix and tequila for her mother.

The minute she entered the cottage, he turned around.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

“I told you, Colin, I was at work,” she replied softly.

He processed this and she could tell by the muscle leaping in his jaw that he did not like it one bit. Then he put his glass on a table and started toward her.

“Your phone is off,” he informed her.

“Yes, I… well, I had to turn it off.”

She really wished she was a good liar. It would certainly help in this situation.

“Why is that?” His voice sounded curious, curious and cold and very, very menacing.

He’d reached her and when he did, his hand came up to curl around the side of her neck. This could have been a loverly gesture but, at that moment, it was most definitely not.

“I was in the middle of something urgent and –” she started, his eyes turned to stone and immediately she stopped speaking.

“Did you forget the rules?” he asked in a quiet, scary tone.

No, she didn’t, though she had been harbouring some, small, lingering hope that he had, until that moment.

She shook her head. “Colin, I –”

“Be quiet,” he ordered softly, dangerously and thus she felt a tremor slide through her and instantly ceased speaking.

She was already in enough trouble; she was not stupid enough to throw fuel on what appeared to be a rather blazing fire.

He looked away from her, lost in thought, lost in angry thought. Then his eyes focussed on something and he smiled a wicked smile.

Sibyl, in a panic, looked behind her but all she saw was the dining area. She longed to say something, even tell him why, share a piece of herself, maybe he’d understand. But she didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was.

Colin angry, she’d already learned, was a very bad thing.

He put pressure on her neck with his hand, bringing her toward him and as he did this, he tilted her face up with his thumb on her jaw.

Then his head descended but he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, with his lips against hers, he said, “I’ve been trying to think of a suitable punishment for you breaking the rules. I paid fifty thousand pounds for this privilege, Sibyl. If you were an employee of mine, I’d sack you.”

“Okay,” she agreed shakily and perhaps a little foolishly. “Maybe you should sack me.”

“Then you’d have to pay back the fifty thousand pounds.”

Her eyes rounded in alarm. She’d already “anonymously” donated it to the Community Centre for the minibus.

He watched her expression closely.

“I didn’t think so.” His voice was smooth as silk but not in a good way.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice so far from silky it was ludicrous.

His arm closed around her as his other hand caressed her cheek using the backs of his fingers. She felt a shudder go through her as he drew her against his hard body.

Once his arm was tight around her waist, her body pressed firmly against his, his lips still against hers and his eyes heavy-lidded, he said, “I’m going to fuck you on the dining room table.”

She jerked her head back, shock, fear, anger and hurt all at once coursing through her.

“No!” she cried.

“Oh yes,” he returned smoothly.

“No!” she repeated and started to struggle against him.

She couldn’t believe this, he wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Stop struggling,” he commanded.

“Colin, you can’t do this! You promised.”

“I can, I will and you’re going to let me. In fact, you’re going to beg me to do it in the end. I’ll see to that.”

This was a promise, a promise she was pretty certain he could keep and she felt panic and despair sear through her body.

“Colin, don’t do this!” she pleaded, feeling every bit of the years of Mags’s gently-bred empowerment of her girls flying out the window. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Maybe you should try tears, Sibyl. They won’t work but it might be amusing,” he taunted in an ugly voice.

Sibyl glared at him and she hated him in that moment and, in so doing, she felt fury rage through her system. She completely forgot her vow never to lose her temper again and she didn’t even consider counting to ten.

Therefore, she shouted, “Let go of me!” and very nearly wrenched herself free but his hand at her cheek dropped and his arm sliced around her, slamming her back against his body.

“I said, stop struggling,” he ground out.

“They’re little girls, Colin!” she yelled and he immediately stilled at her words but she was so angry, she didn’t notice. “They’re little girls and they needed me. I couldn’t run out on them. I would have, I promise you, at any other time, but they needed me.”

She pulled free of his now loosened arms and sucked air through her mouth, expelled it through her nose like a bull and she stared at him with all the hatred she felt for him at that moment.

“They needed me,” she repeated. “I picked them over you. I did it on purpose because they needed me more. So, okay, you want to fuck me on the dining room table, you want to make me beg for it? Do it! I understood the consequences. But you should know why!”

He was watching her and she was breathing heavily and this went on for longer then Sibyl could endure.

“Do it!” she shouted.

“What little girls, Sibyl?” he asked quietly and her body jolted at the words.

“I… what?”

Good goddess, she’d said too much.

Her stupid, stupid temper!

“Who are these girls who needed you?” he pressed.

She threw back her shoulders at the same time she tossed her hair off them and her guard immediately came up. She wouldn’t let him in, couldn’t let him in.

“They’re a part of my life, a part you’ve no place in, so it’s none of your goddamned business,” she informed him truthfully. “You didn’t pay your fifty thousand pounds for that privilege.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that pronouncement but she was too caught up in her fury to register it and nowhere near a place where she would allow herself to understand it.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded.

To her stunned surprise he turned and walked back across the room. Once there, he picked up his glass and resumed his stance at the window.

She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, watching him, but he didn’t move, although the muscle in his jaw did.

Her fury started to drain out of her (though not entirely) and she stalked to the kitchen.

She was pulling food out of the fridge and cupboards to make dinner, just to have something to do while Colin considered her next torment. She might as well be fortified enough to suffer it.

Bran came through the cat door, looked at his bowl of food which was full of biscuits, his expression showing his distaste for this repast and looked at her. His meaning was clear.

“You aren’t getting any more wet food, you had some this morning,” she snapped at her cat.

Bran regarded her haughtily for a moment then, although cats couldn’t shrug, still it seemed Bran did so and then trotted out of the kitchen.

“Greedy little minx,” Sibyl muttered under her breath as she slammed a pot on the stove. “He’d weigh two stone if I didn’t dole out food like a prison warden.” She knew she sounded like a lunatic, muttering to herself, but she also didn’t care.

A movement at the doorway caught her eye and her head jerked up to see Colin leaning against the doorjamb watching her.

“What now?” Her words where sharp.

“Sibyl, a warning,” Colin replied softly. “You’ve had a reprieve, you should be careful with it.”

“Meaning?” she retorted.

“Meaning, if I were you, I wouldn’t push me,” he replied.

“No, I mean the reprieve,” she prompted.

“I promised not to take you on the table; I won’t take you on the table. That’s what I mean,” he explained.

Instantly, her eyes locked with his, Sibyl felt something in her shift.

It was slight and if she wasn’t in a heightened emotional state, she might have missed it.

But she knew he wasn’t giving her this reprieve because of a promise; he was doing it because he was a decent person. He had a temper that could rival hers (even best hers most of the time) but having the thought of doing something cruel, and voicing the thought, was nothing at all to doing the thought.

If he had done what he said he was going to do, she would never have forgiven him.

And he knew that so he didn’t do what he said he was going to do so that would never stand between them.

Relief flooded through her but she carefully tucked it, and her thoughts, away.

Instead, she asked, “Do you want some dinner?”

She was not going to thank him for not “taking” her on the table but offering him dinner was the closest she would get.

“Will it be vegetarian?” he asked mildly.

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll go out,” he decided.

Colin did punish her, although not by having sex with her on her father’s table.

He excruciatingly slowly made her climax with his hands and mouth while he watched and, through it all, he refused to allow her to touch him, kiss him or turn to him nor did he slide inside her, no matter how much she begged.

It was magnificent.

And after, when she’d whispered not-at-all-convincingly, “I think I hate you,” then he’d taken her, her fully sensitized body so raw and open she’d actually cried out the second time she came and he feared she drew blood when she bit him on the shoulder.

That had been beyond magnificent.

Earlier, he’d been so furious with not being able to contact her, he couldn’t think of anything else. In fact, for a week without her when he was in London, he couldn’t think of anything but her. The minute the train came into Yatton, he drove directly to the cottage, not even stopping at Lacybourne. He didn’t intend to wait another moment to have her in his arms.

He was even dreaming of her, except he knew he was Royce and she was Beatrice, dark hair and medieval clothing. She called him Royce in the dreams and she stared at him with all the love in the world in her eyes. He had them every night and they were most vivid dreams he’d ever had.

But she had not been at the cottage when he arrived and was not answering her phone.

Colin was not used to not having what he wanted the moment he wanted it. And he didn’t like that at all.

He also didn’t like that he seemed to have an insatiable desire not only for her body, but for her company but she much preferred to be somewhere else, even after days apart. He’d always been pursued, chased, seducing only when that game needed to be played. He was a target, a trophy, all the woman of his experience grasping and sucking everything they could from him. Not once had Colin met a woman who had her own life, her own interests or anything outside her pursuit of him. He had never been in this position and found he contradictorily loathed it and admired it.

Then she’d shouted at him about her “girls” and something shifted in him through her speech.

Her eyes were furious; blazing with an intensity he’d never seen the like on her or anyone. Even though she refused to allow him into that part of her life, had been for days keeping him at arm’s length, carefully guarding anything personal, he knew those girls, whoever they were, were so important to her she’d likely lay down her life for them.

Or throw fifty thousand pounds at them.

He knew from her expression this afternoon that the money was gone and he also knew, most likely, she hadn’t spent it on herself.

It was time to find out just who the hell Sibyl Godwin was.

Robert Fitzwilliam was due to make a report in a week.

Colin was going to give him until Tuesday.