“We will know more when it is opened and the outside read. But until then, sister, the document will make itself known to us when it is ready to do so,” Essie said in that calm way she had.
“You do know that it is an inanimate object and what you’ve just said is not possible?”
“And yet what we are is possible?”
“True,” Dorrie sighed. “I want to find it. Want to see the words that set us on this course.”
“And you will when the time is right.”
The day was cool, and a stiff breeze whistled through town. But that often happened when you lived close to the edge of a cliff. Dorrie felt some of her calm return with distance from the castle.
“Ash is a complex man. He reminds me a great deal of Max, Rory, and Maddie when we first met them,” Essie said.
He did. They had been cold and closed-off also. Dorrie looked down at Hep, who trotted at their side, his little head raised as if he were not the ugliest dog in the United Kingdom, but instead the princeliest. His eyes were bulbous, one ear turned down, and his black coat never achieved luster no matter how much his owner, Wolf, brushed him.
“Yes, he is certainly cold, and nothing like Gus.”
“Which is likely due to circumstance,” Essie added. “Does his presence here worry you, Dorrie?”
She refused to let that gasp slip from her lips. “No. Why should it?”
“He’s a Raven, and you are a Sinclair—and one of the last to marry.”
“Dev told me that he did not believe marriage to Ashford Charlton would make me happy.”
“How like our big, overprotective brother to speak that way. I heard Ash laughed with you all yesterday and stepped in to protect Warwick and you in that stable. Plus, all that business at the finish line,” Essie said.
“In truth I think he was shocked at our behavior,” Dorrie said. “We are not normal.”
“No indeed.” Essie laughed.
“He is a controlled man who shows little emotion,” Dorrie added.
“But there is usually a reason for who we become, and my guess is that Ash has suffered greatly.”
Dorrie didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t like to think of anyone suffering.
“Miss Essex!” They found Beth Brunt waving her hands as they reached the shops.
“Oh dear, I do hope her horrid husband has not done something else to harm her.” Essie hurried to where the woman stood, Dorrie on her heels.
“What is wrong, Beth?”
“It’s Mr. Brunt. He’s poorly, and nothing I do helps him.”
She was pale, thin, and a shadow of who she’d once been according to Essie, who had been her friend when they were children. The changes in her Essie lay at the feet of her husband.
“He’s burning up and complaining of a sore throat and head.”
“Stay here,” Essie said to Dorrie.
“Not bloody likely. You’re not going near that man alone.”
They hurried behind Beth to a small house set back slightly from the others. Dorrie followed Essie inside.
The house was clean but smelled of sickness. Small, with a single room curtained off, and an area for cooking. There were two chairs before the fire.
“He’s here.” Beth pulled back the curtain.
