An Impossible Choice (All Things Possible Book 1) Page 3

  She glanced up again. The creases in his forehead were shadowed by the night sky, his square jaw appearing firmly set. Again, she thought he appeared to be plagued by…something.

  His eyes cut to her then, as if he sensed her quiet examination. “Argel.” He paused, as if in thought. “What an unusual name. How did you come to be called by it, Mary Phillips?”

  Glancing up at the moon, it struck Argel that it felt odd to hear her full given name; not even her uncle called her by it. “It means ‘refuge’ in Welsh. We came here, my uncle and I, when I was very young. We needed a safe place, somewhere to call home. I suppose he must have said we were seeking refuge or some other and it stuck.” She shrugged slightly. “I’m known to the entire village as Argel.”

  She felt his very solid arm stiffen underneath her hand. “How old were you?”

  Why was his voice strained? “I…must have been about six by the time we arrived.”

  The man beside her said nothing and they continued walking. Just when she had decided he would not respond, his deep voice nearly made her jump. “So young. What could you have possibly been seeking refuge from?”

  Argel’s palms suddenly felt quite clammy. What had she been thinking? She’d said too much! She knew better than to get too close to fire. She would only get burned.

  Still, for some reason, she felt compelled to talk with this stranger—about everything.

  Yet, what if that was his intent? Lure her in with his dark complexion, his good looks.

  Her stomach began to knot with nerves. What if he was actually here for her? The one she had fled from to begin with?

  No. Argel refused to live in fear—at least as much as was up to her. Be cautious, yes, but not afraid. Her uncle had enough fear for the both of them. She took a deep breath. “Refuge from my past, is all,” was what she finally settled on.

  There, that was safe.

  She sensed him look sharply at her, but before he could ask more, she interjected, “And you? What brings you to the wilds of Wales? What business could you possibly have with my uncle?”

  He looked ahead again and Argel watched as his jaw clinched and released, though not quite relaxed. “Your uncle and I, well, we worked together. Briefly, years ago. I promised I would find him again to, erm, conclude our dealings. When the time was right.”

  “Well, it must have been quite some years ago, because as I said, we came here when I was only a child. Surely even you were still in the schoolroom then. You are certain you mean my Jack Phillips?”

  He laughed, a wry sound, “I’m quite certain. My dealings with him were not that long ago—more like two years ago.”

  Argel frowned. “But, that’s impossible! He-we’ve been here ever since.”

  “Let me see if I can convince you,” Damon pursed his lips in thought and Argel’s forehead began to feel clammy as well. “Ah! Yes, a small silvery scar lies just to the left of his mouth. And his right hand, I remember it looked bur—”

  “Yes,” Argel flatly cut in, “that’s him. That’s my Uncle Jack.” She needn’t another reminder of his deformities—of her guilt.

  They walked on in silence as her mind worked out the matter until, distractedly, she spoke her thoughts aloud. “I still don’t see how. Perhaps on one of his trading trips. Though I didn’t think he traveled as far as where you are from.”

  “He travels often then?”

  “Yes, it seems lately he’s gone more than he’s home. When we came here, we had no experience with farming or mining or tending sheep, you see. We had to find our own way. To earn a living, he takes wool, mostly, sometimes other goods, to larger markets to sell for the villagers. They, in turn, pay him out of their profits.”

  “What did he do before you came here?”

  “I…I don’t know,” she faltered. “I was so young, I don’t remember.”

  “And you’ve never asked? He’s never mentioned it?” The strain in his voice made Argel begin to feel like this was some sort of interrogation.

  She frowned, trying to concentrate, to think back to her life before the tragedy. But it was as if her mind was in a fog, not allowing herself to think back that far. Her first memory was destined to always be her worst one. “No,” was all she whispered.

  He must have sensed her discomfort, because his voice gentled. “And you work at the hotel?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes,” she nodded, relieved. Here was something she could talk about. “I work there at the supper hour to help earn our living. I spend my days usually running errands for those elderly or unable to do so, just helping with odds and ends. I watch children for busy mothers—you know, things like that.”

  The bulk of a man beside her stopped suddenly, causing her to jerk backward. He peered down at her curiously, “You must have a very good heart then.”

  Said heart reacted curiously. “No, no,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean to sound like that—boastful.” A hot flush rose to her cheeks then, so she turned to walk on and he followed. “Well,” Argel began again, rather overly-cheery, “I’m so glad you have found us! I’m sure my uncle will be delighted to hear you have arrived.”

  “He will be surprised, I’m sure,” came the deep rumble beside her.

  Neither spoke again until they reached the little cluster of houses Argel called home. “There, that second one, close to the hill.” She pointed ahead, her outstretched hand glowing in the moonlight.

  “It’s dark,” he murmured. “Are you quite sure you’re safe here? Alone?”

  She warmed at his concern as a soft breeze picked up, bringing with it the scent of the previously fallen rain. “I can look out my window and hit any of my neighbors’ houses with a stone. I believe I feel quite safe.” She grinned as she turned to face Damon. “You’re the newcomer here, remember? Not I.” They had reached her door and she reluctantly stepped away from his arm.

  He inclined his head, “Very true, Argel.”

  At his movement, the scent of sandalwood floated her way. Why did she feel so warm every time he said her name? “Thank you for the pleasant walk, and for your company.”

  “It is I who should thank you. You have cheered a weary traveler this evening. You will be at the hotel again tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow evening, yes.” Argel tried to steady her breathing. Did…did he want to see her again?

  “I will have to introduce you to my assistant, Mr. Pendenny, then. He arrived here not long after I and is likely waiting for me back at the inn.” Stepping closer, he looked down into her eyes, his own narrowing again. “I suppose I should go. Until tomorrow, Argel.”

  For a moment, Argel felt that he was going to touch his hand to her cheek.

  But he didn’t.

  “Until tomorrow…Damon,” she breathed, but his face seemed to harden at her response. Why did she feel she was constantly saying the wrong thing around him?

  He turned to go, but paused only a few steps away to look back at her sharply. “Your uncle—you said he won’t return for a few weeks?”

  “Yes, that’s right. At least a fortnight.” Argel’s heart skipped a beat. He had the ability to transform from roguish charmer to something more…threatening in the space of a breath.

  “You’ll send word as soon as he’s arrived, won’t you?” The tall black figure stood still as a statue.

  “Of-of course,” she blinked. “Right away—though I’m sure we’ll see each other now and then in the meantime. It is, after all, Beddgelert. No one is a stranger here for long.”

  He smiled then, teeth gleaming white in the night. “So it is. Well, I look forward to many…meetings with you, Argel.”

  He turned a final time with a flourish and walked away, his black cloak again billowing behind him with every sure step as he disappeared into the night.

  Confusing man. Perhaps she should fear him—this enticing stranger—but Argel couldn’t seem to manage it.

  Besides, it seemed he was a
friend of her uncle’s.

  Chapter Three

  “Good morning Mrs. Hughes. Is Wynny about?” Argel raised a hand to shield her eyes from the bright morning sun, adjusting the basket in her other.

  A fairly plump, middle-aged woman looked up from where she sat on her knees while working in a small garden. “Well, hello, Argel. Yes, Wynny’s tending to the chickens by there,” the woman nodded in direction of the hen house as she wiped her hands on her apron. A baby boy attempting to crawl on a nearby blanket looked up at Argel and cooed.

  “Thank you,” Argel smiled as she wiggled her fingers at the babe. “I’ve come to see if she would like to walk with me into the village. I’ve some errands to run.”

  Mrs. Hughes took a sip from her water jug and wiped at her brow. “How lovely, dear. I’m sure she can afford the time, and it will save a trip for myself. Carys is in the kitchen and Mr. Hughes took Arwyn with him to the fields today, and with the babe…” She paused and looked around at the work still remaining in the garden. “Yes, tell Wynny to stop by Cobbler Lewis’s while you’re out. Her da’s boots should be repaired by now.”

  “I will, thank you Mrs. Hughes.” Argel turned and headed for the small hen house.

  “Always good to see you Argel,” Mrs. Hughes’s voice called after her. “Hwyl fawr. Tell your uncle that you and he are to come for supper when he returns.”

  “I will,” Argel answered back over her shoulder. “Hwyl fawr.”

  The clucking of chickens grew louder and Argel turned the corner of the small house to find her friend tossing feed for the excited birds. “There you are Wynny. Want to walk with me into the village? I need to visit the dairy and your mother needs you to—”

  “I heard you met him!” Wynny’s head shot up, eyes round as she interrupted Argel.

  “Met…who, Wynny?”

  “You know—him.” Wynny looked both ways and then whispered, “The devil!”

  Argel burst into laughter. Had Wynny truly believed him to be the devil? Her friend never failed to surprise her with all her superstition and nonsense—which was ironic, because in their learning, Wynny had always been a far superior student in numbers than she. But that practicality ended when it came to common sense. “Yes, I met him. I even talked with him and he—”

  Wynny gasped in horror.

  “—and,” Argel continued, “I can assure you he is completely human.” Or, so she thought. “He’s simply a friend of my uncle’s; he’s come here to see him.”

  “Well…” Wynny pursed her lips as a chicken pecked at the girl’s foot for attention. “If you say so. I suppose I am relieved, though the other would have been more exciting!”

  They both laughed as Wynny tossed the remainder of feed on the ground. Argel sat down on a nearby bench, leaning back against the wood-planked house. “Yes, it would have been indeed! He even walked me home last night, though I suppose it would be a far better tale to say I was accompanied by a demon.”

  Wynny gasped again and whirled around to face her, while also working to untie her apron. “He walked you…? You let him…? Argel Phillips! I never!” She stamped her foot, frowning. “Oh, drat—these blasted strings!” Argel jumped up to assist her friend, who sighed. “I wish I had your figure, Argel. I’m a plump young girl who will turn into a fat old maid,” Wynny despaired, tugging at her apron as Argel worked the knots in the back loose. “Even this old thing won’t fit over my bosom.”

  “Oh Wynny, you are not fat! Not even plump! Why, I wish I had even half the curves you do.” Argel finally worked the tie loose and stepped back.

  “Oh, you say that, but if you had your wish, you would regret it. You’d soon tire of all the boys and men greeting your chest and not your face when you walk into town. Besides, you have an elegant, slender figure. I envy you, you know.”

  The discarded apron hit Argel in the face and she looked up to find her friend grinning, no real malice in her sweet face. “Come Wynny, enough talk of bosoms and figures. Let’s walk into the village.” She bit back the thought that almost escaped—that at least the boys paid attention to Wynny.

  “Alright, I just need to grab my hat.” Wynny ran into the house, but returned quickly.

  They stopped by the cobbler first for Mr. Hughes’s boots. As they walked up, a little boy came running out of the shop. “Morning Argel, Wynny!”

  “Hello, Cefin,” Argel called out as he ran towards them. “Feeling much better after yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes, much! A little storm can’t scare me. I’m seven years old, you know!”

  Argel grinned and ruffled his hair. “Demons either?”

  “Argelll,” the boy groaned as he rolled his eyes.

  “Cefin, is your father home?” Wynny asked. “I need to pick up my Da’s boots.”

  “Yes, he’s inside there,” Cefin pointed before running off down the road. “Bye Wynny! Bye Argel!”

  Argel waited outside while Wynny paid for the boots. She smiled and waved to Benson as he pushed his cart into the village—this time filled with vegetables to sell.

  When her friend retuned, she slipped an arm through hers and they continued making their way down the street. “What a beautiful morning it is, Wynny,” she leaned her head back, basking in the sun. “Let’s go down to the river and soak our feet, just for a bit, before I fetch milk from the dairy.” She never got that foot soak last night as she had been too distracted from her interaction with Damon.

  Wynny adjusted her wide-brim straw hat. “Yes, let’s! It’s freezing, I’m sure, but I don’t care. I—” Wynny jerked them both to a stop, bringing Argel’s head back down. “Look Argel,” she whispered cautiously, “by there!”

  Argel peered up the road to see, not one, but two figures making their way towards them. She recognized the taller of the two as Damon, this time without his cloak, though his breeches and coat were still black. She turned to her friend who looked to be more than a mite scared. “Wynny, ’tis fine,” she said calmly. “I’ve met him, remember? He’s just a man.”

  “I know,” Wynny squeaked, still staring at the approaching pair.

  “Come, stay by me. I’ll introduce you. You’ll see.” Argel tugged her friend along, who only slightly stumbled.

  The two men stopped in front of them as they met, appearing to have been in some deep discussion. “Good morning, Argel,” Damon inclined his head, his smile even more dazzling than Argel remembered.

  She felt her cheeks warm, “Good morning, Damon. I hope you rested well. Here, may I introduce my friend Miss Wynny Hughes? Wynny, this is Mr. Damon Westlake.”

  A coughing fit hit his companion just then and Argel eyed the man curiously.

  Damon politely bowed, “A pleasure to meet you Miss Hughes. And this,” he shot a glare to the man beside him, “is Mr. Titus Pendenny, my business associate.”

  Dressed in a gray coat and tan breeches and wearing spectacles, Mr. Pendenny quickly recovered and bowed his head as well. “A pleasure to meet you both,” he said, his voice much deeper than Argel had expected, though she noticed he never once looked away from her dear friend.

  She glanced to see Wynny blushing all the way from the neckline of her pale blue dress up to her golden hair and smiled. Perhaps it was a very good thing that these two strangers had traveled to their village after all.

  “Pendenny,” Damon’s sure voice cut through her thoughts, “Argel is the girl I told you of earlier—Mary Phillips.”

  It was Argel’s turn to blush, hearing that Damon had spoken of her, and she nearly failed to notice Mr. Pendenny’s eyes shoot to hers, growing wide behind his wire rims. “Y-yes, Mary Phillips, you say…” The man cleared his throat. “I’m told you have quite the singing voice Miss Phillips,” he finished, seemingly recovered.

  Argel tilted her head. Odd man. Despite his bookish appearance, he was rather quite handsome with sandy brown hair and well-defined cheekbones—if one preferred that to towering, dark, and brooding.

>   Judging by the look on Wynny’s face, she did.

  Argel smiled up at him, noting that he was not nearly as tall as his friend, “Please, call me Argel.”

  “Are you staying long Mr. Pendenny?” Wynny cut in before he could respond.

  Mr. Pendenny smiled for the first time since they had met. “Indeed, Miss Hughes. I, too, am here on business with, erm, Mr. Westlake here to meet with Miss Phillip’s uncle. It sounds as if we still have a few more weeks until he returns.”

  Wynny beamed up at him, not saying a word, so Argel began, “Yes, likely not more than two—”

  “Please, call me Wynny,” her friend breathed from beside her, cutting her off.

  “It would by my pleasure, Wynny,” the man took his brown Wellington hat in his hands, appearing to be caught under the same spell as Wynny.

  And her friend said she never had good luck with men.

  Argel glanced up at Damon and grinned. He cocked a dark brow, seemingly amused as well, and cleared his throat. “We are off to visit the copper mine. Is this the right direction? The instructions given at the hotel were not exactly…precise.”

  “Aye, follow the road north by there to Sygun,” Argel pointed in the direction.

  “Thank you,” Damon smiled down at her, warming Argel more than the spring sun. “We must be off, but I hope to see you again later. You said you would be working this evening, did you not?”

  He hoped to see her. Argel’s middle fluttered. “Yes, every evening except—”

  “—Sundays,” they finished together.

  “Until this evening then. Good day Argel, Miss Hughes,” Damon smiled to them both as his companion merely nodded, eyes only for Wynny.

  “Good day!” Argel called out as they turned to go. “See, Wynny, he’s not so evil after all. He’s even friends with nice Mr. Pendenny.”

  Wynny merely sighed as they watched the pair walk further up the road.

  The men turned down the road out of sight and Argel arched a brow. “The river, remember?”

  “Yes,” Wynny turned to her, her voice dreamy, “I remember.”