Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(26)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She lay back on the bed and absently pet her dog.

Last night, after Colin left, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about him, the night or his desire to see her again (and hers to see him). She had definitely not thought about his light caress. She figured it was simply bad luck that she’d run into him. She had managed to live a year in England without ever seeing him and she hoped she could continue with her life and never see him again (or, at least, this was what she told herself).

Unfortunately, that did not include seeing him in her dreams.

The real man was clearly unbalanced, or perhaps not, but she was not going to allow herself to discover the truth.

The dream man was anything but.

Last night, in her dream though, he had been blond. His hair the exact colour of hers, golden and thick. He’d been wearing some sort of tunic, hose and high, soft leather boots with a gold, intricately linked chain settled low on his narrow waist. She had been wearing a gown of soft, pale blue wool, she also had a belt made of delicate silver filigree inlaid with roughly cut aquamarines tied low on her waist.

Sibyl blamed her father for her dream’s medieval wardrobe.

They were riding a midnight black steed, the horse’s muscled power beneath her, her lover’s same power emanating into her back as he held her close to his chest atop the horse. One of his arms was wrapped protectively and possessively about her waist.

This moment was a stolen one, her lover wending his expert way through a heavy wooded area until he found the place for which he was looking. They were not supposed to be out there alone together some foreign part of her knew and felt the illicit excitement of it.

He alighted from the horse then dragged her off, sliding her tantalisingly down the length of his hard body.

Then he bent his head to kiss her and it was sweet and wild and beautiful and absolutely everything a kiss should be.

When he lifted his head, his eyes hooded and sexy as they had been in the entryway to his house a week before, she’d whispered, “Colin.”

This made him grin a very devilish grin.

“Are you trying to make me jealous, wench? ‘Colin’ indeed. Say my name when I kiss you.” Then, his lips on hers, he whispered, “Say it, Beatrice… Royce.”

Confused and not knowing what to do, not knowing why he was calling her Beatrice, and wanting another of those kisses, she did as he commanded and murmured the name, “Royce”.

The instant she did, he kissed her again and it was all the things before but now also hot with need. She felt desire flood through her as she slid her hands into his hair. He lay her down on the forest floor right next to the horse, his body settled on top of her and she gloried in his heavy weight.

The horse shifted and she felt the unsettling feeling they were being watched.

It was then she awoke, the limbs that had been entangled with his were simply wound through the sheets of her bed.

“I am going insane,” she told the dog and Mallory whined.

She pulled the covers off the bed and grabbed some jeans and sweater to wear to take her dog for a walk. She resolutely shoved the dream aside (it was only a dream, just a dream, Colin Morgan was forever out of her life, forever and ever, she vowed).

So it was a lovely dream.

So it was a particularly delicious and lovely dream.

It was just a dream.

She went through her morning regime, thinking only of the things she needed to think about.

Walk the dog, feed her pets, brush her teeth, wash her face, take a shower and so on.She sat at her dressing table, lightly applied her makeup and attempted to do something with her hair.

Sibyl loved her bedroom, it was (as was the whole of Brightrose Cottage, but especially her bedroom) her sanctuary, perfectly, splendidly her.

It had a lovely fireplace with a black, wrought iron grate surrounded by tile in a rich jade colour. It had gleaming, wide-planked floors scattered with thick, pastel-coloured throw rugs. The walls were painted a very pale green. She and her father had found and restored an ornate iron bed and they’d painted it white. It was covered with very feminine, soft sheets and comforter scattered with dainty, pastel flowers with big, fluffy pillows at the head. It had window seats in the diamond-paned windows covered with plump pillows and cushions. The bed was flanked with lovely French provincial bed stands and there was a matching dressing table with an oval mirror.

It was all girl, fresh and inviting and lovely.

If Colin Morgan stood in this room, his immensely masculine presence would be so out of place, the very thought made her laugh out loud. She took comfort in that thought and in her room that morning. She needed as much comfort as she could get after the fiasco at Lacybourne, the conflicting events of last night and her glorious dream.

Later that morning she walked into the Community Centre with a cheerful wave to Tina who was cooking lunch for fifty pensioners in the enormous kitchen.

Sibyl went straight to work on a grant to get their own minibus. Social Services could help Annie, of course, but even after another visit from Sibyl, they remained firm that they couldn’t do much about the minibus driver.

So Sibyl had priced the cost of buying the bus and training Kyle to drive it. They also needed enough money for petrol, insurance, maintenance and a cushion in case of repairs for several years.

As she created the budget, she saw the rising amount with even more rising alarm.

They’d need a heck of a lot of money but, as ever, Sibyl was determined to find it.

And she would, somehow.

It turned out Annie had no children even though she said she did. Sibyl thought that everyone had to look out for their neighbours and the best people that did that were the volunteers and staff at the Centre. Certainly, the minibus driver did not.

Kyle walked into her shabby, corner office with its makeshift tables she used as desks and the hand-me-down (most likely handed down two or three times) couch shoved against the wall. Detritus from talent shows, fayres, Easter parades and all sorts of Community Centre events crowded every corner and available surface.

His droopy moustache twitched and she found herself grinning at him after witnessing this endearing habit.

“You want me to make those deliveries for you today, luv?” he asked.

Kyle helped her deliver her girlie goods to the various stores that stocked them.

“Please. The shops in Clevedon and Clifton are out of product, they’ve ordered huge and the boxes won’t fit in the MG.”

“Great car but a death trap,” Kyle commented darkly and he’d said this before, about half a million times.

Day-after-day, Kyle was assuming more and more of a position as Father Figure in Absence of Bertie and Sibyl appreciated his gruff, but loving, concern.