Sleeping With Beauty. Laura Wright
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I told them that you would be spirited and brave.” Her large brown eyes darkened. “I told them that if they did not take great care of you…”
Cold fingers inched up Cathy’s spine as the woman’s voice trailed off. But she refused to show her fear. She forced on her finest royal countenance and said, “I think you should finish the story.”
The old woman’s yellow smile widened. “I told your father and mother that if they did not take great care, they would lose ye.”
“Lose me?” she exclaimed.
“Aye.”
Deportment all but dropped away. “What are you talking about?”
“Cathy, you up there?”
The call shot between Cathy and the woman, breaking the trance that seemed to hold them both captive. Whirling around, her heart pounding in her chest, Cathy saw Fran coming up the steps, her blond hair bouncing about her shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Cath?” Her sister-in-law’s deep brown eyes were filled with apprehension.
“This woman. She’s—”
Fran cocked her head, glanced past her. “What woman?”
Cathy stilled, her pulse pounding a feverish rhythm in her blood. Slowly, she turned. The woman was gone.
On legs that had gone from unsteady to leaden, Cathy lumbered up the stairs, saying nothing, Fran following closely behind her. Cathy tried not to wonder where the old woman had disappeared to, or if there had been a woman at all. She tried not to think that perhaps she’d gone crazy.
As they entered the bedroom, Fran asked softly, “Are you all right, Cath?”
Cathy sat on her bed, shoulders falling forward. No, she wasn’t all right. She was completely and totally overwhelmed. She turned to Fran and explained, “I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s rarely been alone, rarely known happiness and never known love. I’m so bloody tired of living on other people’s terms.” She searched her new sister’s eyes. “Do you understand what that’s like, Fran?”
Fran sat down beside her, took her hand. “Yes, actually I do. Until I met your brother, I hadn’t lived at all.”
“Why is that, do you think? Were you afraid to live or—”
“I think I was afraid to believe that love existed for me.” A soft smile graced Fran’s mouth, the smile of a woman who now knew differently. “I’d been hurt pretty badly, and I didn’t want to feel that kind of pain again. But your brother offered me a second chance.”
Cathy sighed. “I’d like a first chance—to live. I think I deserve one.”
“Of course you do.”
Seven years of thoughts, plans, midnight fantasies and heartfelt hopes danced through Cathy’s brain. Was she brave enough? Weary enough? Desperate enough to grab hold, to take what she wanted?
Perhaps the old woman had come with a warning, not just a story from the past. A warning from her mother and maybe even from Cathy herself, that if she continued on this path, living in unhappiness, not really living at all, she’d truly be lost.
A shadow of apprehension grazed her heart, but she brushed it away. “You’re my sister now, Fran. Can I count on you?”
Fran squeezed her hand. “Just tell me what I can do.”
“Help me pack.”
One
Mosquitoes nibbled on her neck, unseen animals made sounds she didn’t recognize and the package of oatmeal she’d consumed an hour ago sat like a steel plate in her stomach.
But Cathy had never felt happier in her life.
Three days ago, dressed in typical college-backpacking-across-Europe grungewear, armed with a fake passport she’d paid dearly for and an American accent she’d learned to flawlessly imitate during her many years of travel, Cathy had followed through on her seven-year-old plan and left Llandaron for her own tour of the United States.
True to her word, Fran had helped Cathy pack and get to the airport. And as the burden of giving the king his daughter’s runaway note was a great one, Cathy thought it best not to tell her sister-in-law where she was headed.
During the entire flight to New York, Cathy had worried about her father’s reaction. But once she’d arrived in the Big Apple, she’d forced herself to let go of her concerns. Regardless of his anxiety over her whereabouts he would have to understand that in her current state of mind, she was of no use to him or to the people he wanted her to visit.
From New York, she’d taken another flight to Dallas, then another to Denver, then a cab to the hiking company’s office, enjoying her freedom every step of the way.
Her plans for the trip had gone off without a hitch, and she was certain that no one had followed her.
She grinned. She was fairly certain of it anyway.
To her right, the morning sun filtered through a stand of fragrant pine, as though eager to spotlight the needled path she walked. To her left, shards of silvery-white water cascaded down a canyon to a rushing river. The gentle slap of water against rock lulled her, yet drove her farther, up into the majestic mountains. The Colorado Rockies were just as beautiful as her old friend from finishing school had told her they would be.
A perfect place for a weary princess to escape.
As requested, the hiking company had dropped Cathy off at the base of the mountains, where the trails began, climbed and spread. Armed with a full backpack of supplies, a walking stick, pepper spray and an emergency beeper, she hiked deep into the mountains. Each night she followed the map to one of the hiking company’s sparse little cabins. She ate what was packed for her, slept on the hard, thin mattress that was provided and never complained.
She embraced her freedom, the adventure and the survival.
The word survival nicked her on the ear, made her pause midstep on the precarious stretch of narrow trail. Instinct gripped her sharply. She cocked her head to one side, listened.
She’d heard something.
Ten feet below, water smacked against rock. High above, birds twittered gaily in the swaying trees. She’d heard it all before.
Yet, there was something else.
Before she could examine the sound further, all thought suddenly froze in her brain. Barreling out of the woods came a horse and rider. Black stallion and shadowed man, heading straight for her. Time seemed to slow as river and hooves pounded.
Cathy’s heartbeat hammered in her chest, stumbling as she tried to think. She could only stare, motionless, as the snorting stallion drew nearer, nearer, then reared.
Cathy scrambled to get out of its way. Left, then right. Dust and pine needles flew and crackled. But in her haste, her foot caught on a rock still wet with dew.
Down she went, her backpack slipping off her shoulders, tumbling away, over the ravine. A scream escaped her throat as she saw only rock—her last thought on the old woman’s prediction.
“I told them they would lose ye…”
Then the ground rose up to claim her.
A violent blast of curses echoed through the mountain air. Gut tight, Dan Mason jumped off his now-lame horse and scrambled over to the woman. He touched her hand, but she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Where the hell had she come from anyway? he wondered, gaze flickering up and around. These paths were always clear. Especially at 6:00 a.m., when a man was looking to run from the demons of the night before, month before—years before.
As gently as a man used to dealing with hard-core criminals could manage, he rolled the woman to her back, brushed aside strands of long tawny curls and touched the base of her throat. A strong, steady pulse beat