Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [83]
“Emily and I created a fantasy world. We escaped there whenever our real world became too oppressive. When two minds create together, reality can be breached. We made Golan. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
I had, but only a mention. As I remembered it, no one knew much about this mental terrain of the youngest Brontë girls. “Tell me about it. Or better yet, tell me why it’s important. I really don’t have time to stand around discussing literature.”
“From the unhappiness of reality, Emily and I escaped to Golan. We were able to create a world suited to our sensibilities.” She smiled. “Emily was my anchor. She was so much stronger than I. So much hungrier. And then she created Heathcliff, a man of such dark passions the world remembers her. Her creation became bigger than her.”
The sunlight had begun to penetrate her and in the distance I heard Sweetie strike another trail. “Jitty, what are you telling me?” It was wasted effort to ask. She never came right out and told her what was behind her costumes or periods. I had to figure it out for myself. It was, undoubtedly, one of the rules from the Great Beyond.
She shook her head. “Danger is never where you expect it, Sarah Booth.” Her stilted Victorian speech began to lessen and her dark, hot dress grew transparent. “When the world was so treacherous, who would have thought TB would get me?” And then she was gone.
“Baaaaayoooo-eeeee!” Sweetie’s excited yodel filtered through the bright green woods, bringing me back to the moment and the job at hand.
“Millicent Gentry,” I said softly to myself. Had the dogs found her body? I wished for the company of my partner, but Tinkie was pursuing another thread. It was up to me to march forward and see what the dogs had sniffed out.
Jitty might have presented herself as Anne Brontë, but it was Wuthering Heights that infected my imagination as I stepped off the path and into the woods.
Trying to follow Sweetie’s insistent bay, I was totally unprepared for the root that caught my foot and sent me sprawling. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and for a moment I thought I was seriously injured, perhaps paralyzed.
“Miss Delaney, are you okay?”
The unexpected male voice sent me turtling onto my back. Digging my heels into the ground, I pushed to escape.
“Sarah Booth!”
I looked into the dark visage of Barclay Levert. True to form he wore a black T-shirt and jeans that showed off every muscular inch of a long, lean body. He was hotter than Chinese mustard on an August day.
The image of Jitty as one of the Brontë sisters came to mind—had she conjured this man in the woods, perhaps summoned him with her supernatural mojo? How far did Jitty’s powers extend? Was Anne just a teaser to the appearance of Emily’s most thrilling Heathcliff?
Barclay knelt beside me, his strong, capable hands easing beneath my shoulder blades and lifting me up as if I were dandelion fluff. “Relax and breathe,” he said, his strong fingers massaging my back. “Don’t fight it. Just relax.”
I tried to do what he said, but I sounded like a seal barking for attention.
“Sarah Booth, relax your diaphragm.” He placed a hand below my breasts and pressed gently. “Let the oxygen in.”
His touch was hot and electric and I finally drew in a gulp of air. I coughed and pushed him away. “What the hell are you doing here?” I managed.
“Looking for you and Mrs. Richmond. There was no one at the house, and I heard the frantic barking and howling of the dogs. It concerned me, so I came to the woods.” He looked in the direction of the dogs’ cries. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You could say that.” I tried to ease away from him, but he took my arms and pulled me to my feet as he stood. The man had the grace of a panther. My diamond engagement ring winked in the sunlight and brought me to my senses.