Dark Embrace. Brenda Joyce
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started down a dark hole that was obviously a spiral staircase. “Wait, please,” she cried, rushing after him.
He began to vanish down the spiraling steps, as if he hadn’t heard her. He was obviously ignoring her.
Brie rushed forward, pain erupting from her ribs. Her depth perception gone, she tripped and went flying down the stairs.
She landed hard. After the agony of their journey through time and her bruised or fractured ribs, it hurt impossibly and she cried out, tears finally filling her eyes. For one moment, as his hands instantly closed on her arms, she felt dizzy and faint. And then she felt only his large hands and the strength coming from them.
His grasp was reassuring, she managed to think. But that was impossible, because of what he had become.
“Will ye nay watch where ye go?” he demanded with heat. “Do ye have two left feet?”
Her ribs throbbed and she looked up into his vivid blue eyes. His mouth was inches from hers. She was almost in his arms, so close she could see him perfectly. What was she going to do with her attraction to him?
His eyes changed, smoldering.
“I can hardly see at all. I need my eyeglasses,” she managed. Had he just looked at her mouth?
“Yer hurt,” he said flatly, his gaze on hers. “The possessed boys hurt ye.”
She nodded, biting her lip, wanting, absurdly, to apologize for being a klutz. Even more absurdly, she wanted to move closer to him. He simply didn’t feel that dangerous now. She felt like putting his hand on her throbbing ribs, as if his touch would soothe them. And she felt like touching his perfect face. The urge to reach out to him was so strong, she began to lift her hand.
He became very still, his face hardening, his eyes brilliant now. Abruptly, he put his arm around her and hefted her to her feet, then pushed her away, against the wall.
His anger spewed, filling her. She began to feel sick, his emotions too much to bear. “Stop,” she begged. “What is wrong?”
“Ye stay far from me,” he warned. “I dinna wish to have ye here. I dinna wish fer ye to have any cares fer me an’ I dinna wish to converse! Do ye ken?”
She gasped. “You brought me here! I wasn’t given a say in the matter.”
His mouth curled unpleasantly. “Yer friend Nick needed a reminder. He canna triumph over me.”
Their gazes were locked, his blue eyes ablaze. “Is that why I’m here?” Brie didn’t believe it.
He stared, his eyes harder now. “Ye summoned me against my will. I dinna care fer any summons, ever. And I dinna like yer man, Nick.”
Brie stared back, perturbed. “I do not have the power to summon anyone. You heard me, and you rescued me,” she said slowly. “For all that anger, you did the right thing. Oh…and Nick is not my man. He’s my boss.”
“I dinna care,” he snarled. His sudden anger shifted, a mask settling over his features. “Claire’s below. She’ll heal yer ribs.” He turned to go.
He knew she was hurt, and somehow, he knew exactly where. “Aidan, wait.”
He faced her. “Will ye ever cease yer talk?”
She took a breath. “You saved me from the subs. I haven’t said thank you. Thank you, Aidan,” she added firmly, and she smiled hesitantly at him.
His eyes widened. Angered all over again, he whirled and started down the stairs.
He was a powder keg, she thought, and it took only a word or a look to set him off. She started after him, but didn’t dare rush. There was more light on the landing below, and she saw his shape far ahead, vanishing into another room. A moment later she paused on the threshold of the great hall.
Although she couldn’t make out details, it was a huge, high-ceilinged room. One wall contained a massive fireplace, where a large fire blazed. Two chairs were before it, and a long table was in the hall’s center, with benches on either side. The room was large, yet the furnishings were so spare.
Aidan sat at the head of the trestle table and was pulling a trencher forward. Brie smelled roasted game and ale.
She hesitated. He wasn’t alone.
A small boy of nine or ten stood beside him. He was dressed like Aidan, in a knee-length tunic and a plaid, and he had dark hair and blue eyes. Brie almost thought she knew him, but that was impossible.
The boy looked at him pleadingly, but Aidan only drank from a heavy cup. Brie sensed the child was really distressed.
Brie tensed. It was one thing to be rude to her; it was another to ignore an unhappy child.
Brie was so upset it took her a moment to speak. Maybe she could help the child, if Aidan would not. “Hello,” she said, smiling brightly even though it was forced. “Do you speak English? Can I help you?” she asked, kneeling so they were eye to eye.
Aidan choked on his wine. His brilliant gaze had widened with shock.
Brie ignored him. The boy was now facing her. He was so familiar, yet she knew she couldn’t have met him. “I’m Brie,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”
The child seemed bewildered.
Brie’s concern escalated. “Are you okay? Where’s your mother?” she asked, realizing he might not speak English.
Aidan shot to his feet with a roar. “What ploy is this?”
Brie leapt back. So much pain went through her that she was blinded by it. The pain came from him, not her ribs.
Aidan seized her arm, shouting at her. “Who do ye speak with?”
Brie fought the pain flooding her. That terrible knife was in her heart again, and with it there was so much despair. Her vision cleared, and she looked at the boy. He started speaking to her. She did not hear a word.
Her heart slammed as a vague memory tried to surface.
Aidan seized her shoulders now, hurting her. “Who do ye see?” he roared at her.
Had she seen this boy on Five? Brie looked at the frightened, expectant child, then at Aidan. “Oh my God. You don’t see him?”
Aidan turned white. “Nay, I see no one!”
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