Once Upon an Irritatingly Magical Kiss by Bree Wolf

Chapter Forty-Two

A Little Boy’s Heart

Never in her life had Christina felt this kind of fear. She had been concerned, worried, fearful even. Yet nothing had ever compared to this feeling of dread, of panic that had settled in her stomach. On top of that, her heart hurt. It physically hurt whenever she thought of Samantha, and tears would well up in her eyes again and again. Still, tears were of no help, and so Christina brushed them away determinedly.

The moment her family saw her return, they had known that something was wrong. They rushed forward to meet her, barely allowing her to explain before they continued onward to the meadow where Thorne waited.

Her brother carried Owen back to the house while Phineas and Drake took turns carrying Mrs. Huxley. They all searched for further clues but found nothing.

“There’s nothing left for us to do here,” her father said to Thorne, putting a hand upon his shoulder. “We should return to the house and wait for Mrs. Huxley to wake. Perhaps she can tell us what happened.”

Thorne’s jaw tensed painfully, but he nodded.

Fortunately, Mrs. Huxley began to stir the moment Drake stepped back into the drawing room and set her down upon the settee. A low moan rose from her lips, and she pinched her eyes shut.

Christina squeezed her husband’s hand, then rushed forward. Juliet placed a wet linen cloth upon the woman’s forehead as Christina sat down next to her, gently taking her hand. “Mrs. Huxley? Can you hear me?”

The woman drew in a trembling breath and tried to open her eyes. “What happened?” she whispered weakly, her eyes blinking fiercely against the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Where am I?”

Christina squeezed the woman’s hand reassuringly. “You’re at Pinewood Manor, Mrs. Huxley. Do you remember what happened? Where is Samantha?” Christina could barely contain her anxiety; yet she knew it would do no good to rush the woman.

Mrs. Huxley blinked and looked up at her. For a moment, it seemed as though she had no notion of what Christina had spoken. Then, however, her face seemed to pale. “A man,” she gasped, and her hand tensed upon Christina’s. “There was a man.”

Thorne stepped forward. “Did you know him?”

Mrs. Huxley tried to shake her head but flinched at the movement. “No. But…But Mrs. Miller did.”

Cold dread settled in Christina’s stomach, and she looked up at her husband, knowing that he felt the same. She could see it in his eyes. His hand settled upon her shoulder, for comfort as much as support.

“How do you know?” Thorne asked gently, yet the pulse in his neck beat wildly. “Did she say his name?”

“No,” Mrs. Huxley moaned, her eyes closing once more.

“What did he look like?” Thorne inquired, and Christina could feel his hand upon her shoulder tighten.

Around them, the room had fallen deathly quiet, everyone watching and listening, afraid to breathe a single word.

“Tall,” Mrs. Huxley breathed weakly. “Scar on his forehead. Disheveled clothing. Called…her…Ellen.” A long breath left Mrs. Huxley’s lips, and she slipped back into unconsciousness.

For a moment, no one said a word. Then Drake stepped forward. “We need to speak to the boy. He may know who that man was.”

Rising to her feet, Christina nodded. “He is still unconscious,” she mumbled, looking across the room at the small child her brother had settled on the other settee. “We don’t know when he will wake. If he will awaken in time to—” Her words broke off as her heart clenched painfully.

Instantly, her husband’s arms came around her, holding her tightly. “We’ll find her,” he whispered, his jaw set determinedly. “We will get her back.”

Her father stepped forward then. “Troy, can you take Mrs. Huxley upstairs? Juliet, see to her, please. I’ve already sent for a doctor.” Troy and Juliet nodded. “Where could they have gone?” His gaze moved to Thorne. “Is there a place near here where he could’ve taken them?”

Silently, Troy and Juliet moved. While Troy picked up Mrs. Huxley, Juliet held open the doors for him. Then they were gone.

Christina looked up at her husband and saw him hang his head. “I’m afraid I do not know these lands.” Indeed, they had only just moved to Pinewood Manor, hoping to find a home here for their family. It was a beautiful place, but they had yet to meet neighbors and acquaint themselves with the lay of the land.

Suddenly, Harriet jumped to her feet. “I know someone to ask!” she exclaimed, then rushed toward the door, barely sidestepping Grandma Edie as she hobbled back inside.

“What else is there to do?” Leonora mumbled, moving closer to Drake, who slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. “We have to do something.”

“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Thorne sighed tensely, casting an impatient look at Owen. “Perhaps when the boy wakes, we shall find out more.”

Phineas took a step forward. “Should we not search the surrounding area?”

“Yes, I believe that would—” Louisa began, but broke off when Grandma Edie suddenly rapped her walking cane onto the floor repeatedly.

Everyone stilled and turned to look at her.

“I just thought you’d like to know,” she began, lifting her cane and pointing it toward the settee where Owen lay, “that the boy’s awake.”

Everyone whirled around, only to see that Owen lay as still as before, not even a muscle twitching.

“How do you know?” Louisa inquired as she stepped closer, slightly squinting her eyes as she observed the boy. “He looks as before.”

“Are you saying he’s pretending to be unconscious?” Phineas inquired as he stepped up to look over his wife’s shoulder.

Christina stilled as she looked across the room at the little boy. She remembered the hard look in his eyes the day they had arrived. He had learned to protect himself, always fearful, always distrustful. Who knew what had happened today? Was he afraid that he would be blamed? That his mother would be blamed?

“Would you give me a moment alone with him?” Christina said gently, looking from her husband to her siblings and parents. “I wish to speak with him.”

Although reluctantly, they all nodded and then one by one took their leave. “We shall be right outside,” Thorne said loud enough for the boy to hear. He squeezed her hand and gave her a nod of encouragement.

When the door finally closed behind all of them, Christina moved over to the settee and pulled up a chair. “Owen? Would you please look at me? I promise you have nothing to fear. All we want is to find Samantha and your mother.”

For a long moment, the boy lay completely still. Yet Christina thought to see a slight tremble go through him.

“I know you must be afraid,” she whispered, gently placing her hand upon his frail shoulder. “Did you know that man? Do you think he would hurt your mother?”

His eyes were pinched shut, but a single tear forced its way out and rolled down along the bridge of his nose. Then a soft sob escaped his lips.

Christina moved to sit on the settee with him and reached out to brush her hand over his head, careful not to come too close to his bruise. “Please, tell us what you know, and I promise you that we shall do everything we can to protect your mother.”

His teeth sank into his bottom lip, and then he finally blinked his eyes open and looked at her. “You promise?”

Christina nodded. “I promise. You have my word. Whatever happens, I will do what I can to ensure that she is safe.”

Inhaling a deep breath, Owen then pushed himself into a sitting position. The movement brought pain to his head and he flinched. Christina rose and brought over the bowl of water, then dipped a small cloth in and placed it upon his head.

Owen sighed when the cool cloth touched his forehead. “His name is Sullivan,” he said quietly, lifting up his hand to keep the cloth from sliding from his forehead.

“How does your mother know him?” Christina asked gently, torn between obtaining the answer she needed as quickly as possible and treating this boy with a kindness he had never known but deserved. “He’s not your father, is he?”

“No.” A shadow passed over his face. “Father died not long after I was born.”

A soft whooshing sound suddenly drew Christina’s attention, and she turned to see Biscuit fly across the room and then settle upon the back rest of the settee.

Owen flinched in fright, his eyes wide as he stared at the bird seated so close to him. “What’s that?”

Christina smiled at him reassuringly. “He is Samantha’s pet. You do not need to worry. He is very friendly.” She swallowed and turned back to the boy. “How does your mother know this man? Can you tell me—”

“Not her mother!” Biscuit squawked. “Not her mother!”

Christina stared at the bird, remembering the many instances when Biscuit had repeated words before, words he had heard someone say. Slowly, she turned her head to Owen, and the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. “Samantha is not her daughter, is she?”

Owen’s head sank. “She did not mean to lie, but she did not know what to do.” He swallowed, and another tear snaked down his cheek. “I’m old enough to help, yet I cannot do anything. I’m a burden to her. Because of me, she is forced to accept Mr. Sullivan’s help so we can survive.” His little hands balled into fists. “And he…he demands something in return.”

Christina gritted her teeth, wishing she were unable to imagine what precisely Mr. Sullivan demanded of Owen’s mother. The little boy’s misery broke her heart, and she understood that it had been nothing short of desperation that had brought Mrs. Miller to their door.

If only they had known the truth.

“What does he want with Samantha?” she asked, placing her hand upon the little boy’s clenched fists. “Do you know where he could’ve taken them?”

Owen shrugged. “I do not know. Mother came here to get away from him, but he followed us. The other day, she saw him at the edge of the forest, but bade me not to say anything. She talked to him and asked him to leave, but he would not.” Shy eyes rose to meet hers. “He said he had an idea, one that would make us all rich.”

Christina tensed, disgusted with people who were only out for money. She knew that once she had thought her own husband to be such a man. She could not have been more wrong!

But what were they to do now?

“She pleaded with him not to take Sam,” Owen continued, tears now running freely down his cheeks. “He wouldn’t listen. He wanted her to come, too, but she refused.” Christina moved to sit beside Owen, gently pulling him into her arms. “He said he would kill me if she did not.”

Christina could barely suppress the curse words that were at the tip of her tongue. Anger burned in her veins, and she held the boy tighter, willing herself to remain calm. “Thank you for telling me all this. Thank you, Owen.”

If only it would do any good.