An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1)

  Copyright © 2020 Kate Rolin.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.katerolin.com

  To my sister Rachel and my friend Erin for being my readers, critiques, and cheer squad.

  Chapter One

  Spring, 1814

  Beddgelert, Gwynedd, Wales

  Argel stood with her eyes closed on the stone bridge above where the rivers Glaslyn and Colwyn converged. Her hands tightly gripped the side and her mind focused on the cool touch of the stone. The sound of running water below soothed her nerves, while the bleating of sheep in the distance calmed her spirit—both much needed after her weekly visit to the widow’s house.

  Breathe in…

  And out.

  Obeying her own silent command, she slowly drew in a deep breath of crisp air and opened her eyes. Mountains of breathtaking beauty greeted her everywhere she looked—and she breathed again. No matter that it had been many years since coming to Beddgelert, the magnificence of those mountains surrounding the small Welsh village was never lost on her—a tragically beautiful reminder that she was trapped.

  Having regained a small measure of composure, Argel turned from the river and continued making her way home. The basket that hung limply on her arm weighed practically nothing now that the food and other goods it once carried had been deposited with the widow. The poor woman had no other family left after the passing of her husband four years ago, so Argel had made it a habit to check in on her regularly, taking care of anything she might need. Thankfully, other than poor eyesight, the older lady boasted of good health.

  Especially a sharp mind, Argel thought with a grimace.

  The old widow’s excellent memory meant every weekly visit consisted of the same discussion: the problem of Argel’s inability to find a husband, followed by a thorough listing of every eligible young—and old—man, in or around Beddgelert. There was no male of marrying age whose name she did not know.

  That is, until today.

  To Argel’s surprise, today’s visit was made much shorter as the widow had apparently forgotten half of the names on her roster—although Argel herself could now recite them all by heart.

  Though she hoped the slip was merely coincidental and not a sign of ailing health, Argel couldn’t help but be relieved at the abbreviated lecture. She was well aware of her lack of matrimony—no constant reminder needed, thank you. It was a topic she did not wish to dwell on, much less to ponder the reason no male had ever shown any interest in her.

  A shorter visit also meant she now had more time for herself before her evening shift began. Perhaps she could afford a quick visit to her special place before returning home.

  Deciding that was just the thing she needed, Argel turned and headed towards Church Street instead. She would likely have the place to herself this afternoon and could use a little peace and quiet.

  Just ahead, a gardener pushing a wooden cart crossed paths with her. “Good afternoon Benson!” she called out with a wave.

  He nodded in her direction with an answering smile and continued on, likely returning home from selling flowers that afternoon. She knew his routine well, just as she knew everything about everyone in Beddgelert. This quaint, friendly village had become more than her home—it was a part of her now. And yet…

  Her smile slipped just a fraction.

  Try as she might to fight it, a yearning for something more often crept its way in. For what, exactly, she couldn’t say. It did not happen often. In fact, it was rare enough that she had begun to believe it was rather a foreboding of sorts. It seemed that every time she began to feel discontent, bad things followed: the widow was made a widow, a wolf attacked the sheep, Davies lost his pig…

  Her parents died.

  As the sound of the gardener’s cart slowly drifted away from her, Argel froze in the road as she realized this feeling was once again creeping its way into her heart.

  No, no, no...not again!

  Despite the cool spring breeze, sweat broke out on her forehead. Panic. Her eyes darted about—what could she do?

  She-she needed to get to the church and pray away this sinful feeling! Beg for forgiveness. Ask for a heart of contentment—again.

  Picking up her skirts, she started to run.

  Out of nowhere, thunder roared. Argel paused and looked up at the heavens. They confirmed her fears. Dark clouds she had yet to notice were quickly gathering above her. The wind picked up then, whipping her skirts, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked in alarm, causing her to jump.

  Something bad was going to happen, she just knew it—and it was all her fault.

  Again.

  A high-pitched shriek came from behind her and Argel swiveled to see a girl racing over the stone bridge towards her. “Argel! Argel!” the girl cried, wildly flapping her hands and eyes as big as the moon.

  Argel gave a small sigh of relief. At least this was nothing serious. Wynny Hughes may be one of her dearest friends, but she was far too superstitious for her own good and all of Wales knew to take anything she may say with a grain of salt. Surely this time wouldn’t be any different.

  Feeling some better, she waved to her friend and smiled, but the girl did not slow down one bit, nearly running Argel over. “Run, Argel, run!” Wynny called over her shoulder as she ran past.

  “Wynny! Wynny, what is it?” Argel looked after the girl as a strand of her own hair blew loose, slapping her in the face.

  Her friend continued to run, calling out, “The devil! The devil has come to Beddgelert!”

  The skin on Argel’s arms immediately turned to gooseflesh, and she huffed out a nervous laugh. “Ridiculous, the devil in Beddgelert,” she muttered to herself. Where had Wynny even got such an idea? The villagers there weren’t particularly known for being overly religious—Argel was the most devout among them—then why this sudden spiritual declaration?

  “Argel! Argel, hurry!”

  Inwardly, she groaned. Not again.

  Argel turned back towards the bridge to see little Cefin Lewis running towards her. He looked a fright, the freckles covering his nose in stark contrast to his sheet-white complexion.

  Squatting down, Argel opened her arms to the young boy as he reached for her. He clung to her neck so tightly she could barely ask, “Cefin, what in the world is the matter?”

  “Oh, Argel,” he sobbed, burying his face in her neck, “a demon in black is on the road a-a-and coming this way!”

  “Now, Cefin, whatever makes you believe ’tis a demon?” she soothed as she gently rubbed his back. “Have you even seen one before?”

  A few more sobs, and the boy finally lifted his head to look at her. “Argel, h-he was so tall, the tallest man I’ve ever seen! And dressed all in black…and his evil cape floated behind him as he flew!”

  Cefin gulped for air while Argel smiled down at him. “Flew? Surely you don’t mean you saw this…this thing fly?”

  Surely there was nothing for her to fret over. Nothing that she had caused.

  He jumped up in agitation. “But I did Argel! I did! He floated just above the ground, gliding into the village. We have to run!”

  The wind picked up at a frightening pace around them. “Now, Cefin, I don’t—”

  Flash.

  Lightning temporarily blinded them as the storm grew overhead. Argel blinked as her vision slowly adjusted. They both needed to get inside. Now. She needed to get Cefin to safety. She looked up to tell him ju
st that—

  And froze.

  The clap of thunder that followed the blinding light erupted just then, violently shaking the ground beneath them.

  And before her, a large hooded creature was swiftly approaching, black cloak billowing behind, eyes sharp and as dark as the storm clouds above them.

  Indeed, it appeared that the devil had come to Beddgelert after all.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Damon was on a mission: find the worthless scum who had cheated him and notify him that his payment had come due.

  As he stormed down the dirt road with determined steps, he clenched his fists. He was close, so close he could practically feel it—the promise of vengeance pumping through his veins.

  But first, he had to seek shelter from this nuisance of a storm that had seemingly come out of nowhere.

  He refused himself another glance at the dark clouds that he knew were rolling overhead, instead focusing his attention on walking faster.

  It was just his luck that, now that he was finally here, now that he was so close, something would arise to hinder his pursuit.

  He had been cramped in carriages and coaches for countless miles these past weeks in traveling to this forsaken place, and when he had heard they were close, he’d demanded the latest driver let him out—he’d walk the rest of the way.

  Face the clot on his feet, he would.

  Make him pay.

  Only, as he walked, Damon observed that this place was not quite forsaken after all. In fact, it was one of the most beautiful places he’d ever seen. That is, until high winds forced his hood up and his steps to quicken. Now all he looked for was a villager to direct him as to where he could seek shelter, but not a soul lay in his path. He thought he’d heard a woman scream nearby, but it must have only been the wind.

  He turned with the winding path and crossed the bridge that appeared to be taking him to the village center. Someone just had to be—

  There!

  Lightning chose that precise moment to blind him, but Damon continued forging on, his step never faltering. As vision returned to normal, he feared he’d imagined things, but no, there in his path was a woman and child. Surely they could help him.

  The woman looked up just as thunder roared, and suddenly a need to protect arose deep within him. They both appeared to be so frightened, the child practically shaking. It was evident to him that they’d, too, been caught by the storm unawares. His jaw clinched in determination as he picked up his pace even more.

  Damon drew near and called out over the wind, “Come with me!” Billowing his cloak out, he drew it around the trembling pair and without waiting for their response, lifted the woman to her feet, urging them on. “Where to?” he shouted as the felt the air charge about them. Lighting struck again, too close. They needed to find shelter quickly.

  “By there!”

  The Welsh phrase drew his attention to the woman huddled underneath his cloak. She held an arm outstretched, pointing to a stone building across the street, and was clinging to her child with the other.

  Damon wasted no time and ushered them on. Upon reaching the door, the female threw it open and pushed the boy in ahead of her. Damon followed them inside, and, with a last glance to the blackened skies, he firmly shut the door.

  A small scratching sound, a soft whoosh, and warm light enveloped him. He turned swiftly to observe his surroundings: the young woman had found a candle and match, the child was gawking at him as if he wore snakes on his head, and they appeared to be standing in a very small room or large closet—covered in straw. “That candle may not be a good idea in here.” Damon gestured to the floor. If the stuff was dry enough, one spark and they’d be burned to a crisp.

  Just then, another clap of thunder sounded and he heard the heavens finally let loose with what sounded like a torrential downpour.

  The young woman arched a brow, one side of her mouth softly pulling into a smirk, “You were saying?”

  What was he saying? He’d forgot, for at the moment he was captivated by what must be an angel standing before him—she practically glowed in the candlelight. Fire danced in what he thought must be brown eyes—eyes that were rimmed with thick lashes that cast mesmerizing shadows as she blinked. A small dimple slowly appeared alongside her gentle smirk. She looked beautiful and kind.

  And good.

  Everything he was not.

  “See? I told you it was the devil! And he looks tamping!” The not-so-discreet whisper came from the forgotten lad.

  Oh, the child.

  Clearly she was a married woman, a mother. Unless…perhaps she was a widow? He’d known younger…

  “Hush Cefin! ’Tis only a man. See?” The angel turned her sweet gaze upon Damon once more and he saw a hint of humor there—along with a bit of trepidation. “Sir, would you be so kind as to remove your hood? I’m afraid the boy here is a bit frightened of you.”

  “I’m not scared Argel,” the lad countered, “even if it is the devil!”

  “Cefin!” The young woman sounded mortified.

  He hated the way his pulse picked up at hearing the boy use the unusual name. Surely lads didn’t call their own mothers by name…even here in Wales. Damon cleared his throat and lowered his hood as bidden. He had to stoop slightly as his head nearly touched the ceiling of this small space. “My apologies Miss…Argel, was it?”

  The young lady blinked and shapely lips parted, but no sound immediately came forth. Was his question too forward for a woman in such a village? Particularly an apparently unmarried one?

  “Argel,” the boy whispered as he tugged on her sleeve.

  “Erm…yes,” she muttered, subconsciously brushing a stray curl from her face. “Well, Mary actually, but everyone calls me Argel.”

  Argel…very nearly an angel after all. Damon couldn’t help but smile—something he wasn’t accustomed to. “A pleasure to meet you Argel. I am Damon Wes—”

  The boy gasped. “Demon! He said he is a demon, Argel!” Evidently his fear had swiftly returned.

  “Damon,” she clarified. “His name is Damon, Cefin. See? He is only a man in a cloak. Mr., erm…”

  “Westlake,” Damon inclined his head, “but please, call me Damon.” Was it the candlelight, or did she blush?

  “Damon,” she replied, almost shyly, before her attention quickly turned to the child beside her. “This is Cefin Lewis, a neighbor boy and son of the village cobbler. And,” she smiled, “apparently a boy with a great imagination.”

  “Understandable—the storm, a stranger. Why, I’d probably believe I was seeing an apparition myself.” Damon bowed to the child, “A pleasure to meet you, Cefin. And I can assure you I am completely human.”

  When it appeared that the boy was too stunned to speak, Damon glanced around again. “Where, exactly, are we anyway? Some sort of storage room? And why all this straw?”

  “It was for Davies’s pig,” she answered softly, “his home before he passed.”

  “May he rest in peace,” the boy added solemnly, head bowed and hand to his chest.

  “A home for a pig? You mean a…pig lived in this room?” That would explain the faint stench Damon now detected. He wondered just how long the creature had actually been gone.

  A smile pulled at Argel’s lips. “Yes, a pig. Davies’s pig was like family to him, more pet than farm animal. He quite liked the indoors, so Davies cleaned out this store room and made it the pig’s home.”

  Damon shook his head. He had never heard the like. “Well…what was his name?”

  Argel cocked her head, “Davies, like I said.”

  “No,” Damon stared at her, “the animal.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Name him? Why would he name him? He’s only a pig.”

  Cefin burst out in laughter. “Name a pig…”

  Confused, Damon looked from her to the boy, when he caught Argel’s eyes watching him, an amused look on her face. He realized, then, that she was teasing him�
��something he normally detested, but with her…

  “You sound like you are from somewhere far away,” Argel said, changing the subject. “What brings you to Beddgelert?”

  Damon looked directly into her curious eyes, trying to decide just how much information to divulge. “You are correct. I’ve come from London, though my home is in Abingdon-on-Thames. I have never before set foot in Wales, but I’ve come now on business.”

  He watched as her forehead creased prettily in confusion. “Business? What business could you possibly have with our village? We’re nothing more than a handful of poor farmers.”

  “Not poor farmers,” he said firmly, “but one man in particular.” If the man was still here. If this hadn’t all been a wild goose chase. An idea occurred to him then. “Perhaps when it lets up outside, you could take me to him.”

  “Gladly,” she smiled warmly. “What’s his name?”

  For a moment, reality seemed suspended. Here it was. After all this time and searching, he was one step closer to justice.

  Damon took a deep breath.

  “Jack Phillips.”

  The words echoed in the small room and his voice sounded sinister to his own ears. Even now the name tasted like bile on his tongue.

  Argel’s eyes widened with…delight? Was she, too, happy that Black Jack’s reckoning had come?

  She clapped her hands together, “Why, how splendid!”

  “Erm, you know him then?” Damon frowned, feeling as though everything he knew was crashing down around him.

  “Of course I do, he’s my uncle!” Argel beamed as Damon’s stomach turned to stone.

  Chapter Two

  Damon sat at a dining table in the Beddgelert hotel staring into the contents of his mug, his reflection more fearsome than the storm he’d encountered earlier.

  Black Jack Phillips was gone.

  All this time. All this planning, and tracking, and traveling. He had finally found the scoundrel’s home—only to find the man yet again missing.

  According to his niece, he was simply gone to England to sell wool for the villagers and would return in a few weeks’ time.