Free Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) by Stacey Brutger Page A

for the kind offer, but I can manage.” Though she struggled to contain it, sarcasm coated her words.
    The woman grunted, strode to the bed and tossed the gown and stockings down. Then she whirled and snatched at the front laces of Brighid’s gown. Unnerved at the almost violent attention, Brighid fell back a step under the onslaught.
    Instead of escape, the maid advanced with relentless determination and a ruthlessness that would do a general proud. “Stand still.”
    The harsh reprimand grated on Brighid’s nerves. She wouldn’t be surprised if the maid struck her if she dared even twitch. She captured the woman’s wandering hands and spoke slowly to ensure her point got across. “Your services are not needed.”
    “I was told to assist you.” Shaking off the restraining hold, the maid grabbed for the dress. “If you quit acting like a fractious child, we could be done much sooner.” She clicked her tongue. “As it is, we’ll barely have enough time to do something with that hair.” She sniffed as if affronted. “It’s too bad the unruly tresses had to be such an unfortunate shade of red—” she heaved a sigh “—but there is no help for it.”
    Anger lashed through Brighid, and the powers she fought so hard to suppress leapt forward in a bright burn before she could clamp a hold on them. Dear goddess, not now. Brighid bit her lip, afraid to witness what new catastrophe would befall.
    When a second passed then two without mishap, she released a shaky breath of painful hope.
    A hairpin dropped from the maid and clinked to the floor, quickly followed by another. A heavy hank of unwashed hair spilled over the woman’s face.
    “Lord preserve me.” The woman groped for the bun at the back of her head. Her impossibly stiff posture became even more rigid.
    Remorse engulfed Brighid, and she bent to scoop up the scattered pins.
    Offended at the show of concern, the maid lifted her nose in the air. “That will not be necessary.” With a vicious twist, she knotted her unkempt hair in a few efficient moves.
    Images of her own hair tortured in such a way flashed in her mind, and they both stared at each other. Brighid shoved the rusted brown pins in the woman’s hand, curled the gnarled fingers around them, then took the maid by the arm and escorted her to the door.
    “Here, now! What on earth are you doing?”
    The maid’s screech of protest made her ears ring, and she was surprised no one came running to find out who was being murdered. Brighid gave her another shove. The woman’s half boots dug in, scraping across the floor. Gritting her teeth, Brighid used both hands to thrust the protesting woman into the hall and slammed the door behind her.
    Panting hard, Brighid pressed her back against the door. The barrage of heavy pounding stopped after a minute, the harpy’s voice fading as she clomped down the hallway.
    She’d landed in a madhouse.
    The mauve dress on the bed suited Lydia’s coloring to perfection, but the dress would be drab and ill-fitting on her more padded bosom and hips, not to mention clashing horribly with her hair. She much preferred her own, more comfortable clothing. Her voluminous skirts allowed her greater freedom in case she needed to move fast. She would not hobble herself in the other dress. Brighid also favored wearing a corset in place of the normal stiff-boned supporting stays, allowing herself the luxury of dressing without assistance.
    Doing her best to clean the dress she was wearing, Brighid wrestled with the dirt and a hint of smoke that clung to the fabric, a dark reminder of last evening. She shook her head to erase the memories, and noticed her toes peeking from beneath the hem. She hated the vulnerability and cast a coveted glance at the bed—or more precisely, the delicate slippers on top. Touching the fine material, she shook her head and scoffed. They would be worthless if she needed to run, yet she couldn’t resist trying on something so fine. She tugged one