Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“No more, Irene. I mean it. Whatever you’re putting in her food, it must stop. I’m going to let her go. Do you hear me?”

“No, Ira, no—Please, you must listen to me.”

The voices moved away.

Stop putting what in my food? Her mind cleared, and she realized suddenly that Irene was poisoning her. But that was crazy, wasn’t it? Why would she? Because they’re afraid you will tell the truth about them. That you’ll blackmail them forever.

“But I promised Ira I wouldn’t,” she whispered. Her throat was parched; her voice sounded scratchy to her own ears.

She was fully alert now, and, thankfully, alone. She remembered Saint sitting next to her, speaking to her. What had she said?

What am I going to do?

You’re going to leave, that’s what you’re going to do. I have to get my strength back, she thought. And I don’t dare eat or drink anything. She pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Slowly she rose, only to fall back, her legs too weak to hold her weight.

Byrony covered her face with her hands. She didn’t cry, she was too afraid. She’d never felt so alone in her life. Why couldn’t Aunt Ida bustle through the door? Tell her the Misses Perkins were here to visit. Tell her—There was no one.

You have to rely on yourself once you leave. You must begin now.

She looked toward the windows. It was late afternoon. Anytime now, Irene or Eileen would bring her something to eat. She had to pretend. Tonight, she had to be strong enough to leave tonight. She thought of the beautiful necklace Ira had given her for Christmas. She couldn’t wait to sell it. I’m going to rest now, she thought. Tonight, late, I’ll sneak out the window. I’ll ride Thorny south, toward San Jose. I’ll be all right.

She was asleep when Irene quietly opened her door and peered in. She frowned a moment, then shrugged and carried the tray of food back downstairs.

It was near to midnight. San Francisco was fogged in. It was eerily gray, the air so thick and heavy that it was difficult to make out anything beyond several yards away.

Brent rode his stallion across Market Street and cut over to South Park, to the Butler house. The fog was lighter here. He reined in just a bit down the road. It was dark, thank God, not a single light. He’d found out from Saint which room was hers. She wasn’t sleeping with her husband.

He wondered briefly if Saint had any idea what his words would result in. Probably; the man was damned perceptive.

“So,” Saint had said, his eyes nearly closed, “I suppose I’ll just go see her again tomorrow. Hopefully she won’t be too drugged.”

Brent could still remember his rage.

“Of course, it’s really none of your affair, Brent. But you said you wanted to know.” Saint rose, stretched as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and added, “I think I’ll try my hand at some rouge et noir downstairs.”

Then Brent had asked him where Byrony’s room was.

And Saint had told him.

“So she has her own separate room, does she? Not still sleeping with her husband?”

Saint had merely smiled at him. “Who knows?” was all he said.

Brent hadn’t really questioned his own decision. He made it, and that was that.

What would she say when she saw him? Would she refuse to come with him?

He shook his head, and quietly dismounted. He tethered his stallion to one of the few pine trees and walked toward the back of the house. He stopped in his tracks, a wide smile on his face, and tossed aside the rope he’d brought. A skinny pine tree was nearly touching the side of the house, rising to the second story.

Byrony had packed a valise. She was shaking from weakness. I’ve got to get dressed now, she thought, I’ve got to. But she simply had no more strength. She sat down on her bed, looking blankly at the lone flickering candle. It would gutter out soon, she thought blankly, and there aren’t any more. How can I dress myself in the dark?

She jumped at the noise. Her heart pounding, she stared toward the window. She watched it pushed open. She watched a man swing his leg over the ledge.

Brent.

His eyes met hers in that moment, and he grinned.

Byrony could only stare blankly at him, not really believing that he was here.