Legends of Havenwood Falls 2

by Belinda Boring

  But it was her temperament that drew me in like a moth to a flame. She was both fire and tenderness—chaos and stability—strength and fragility. She was a walking contradiction to me, because one moment she would flay me on the spot with her shrewd brown eyes, and in the next breath, gently cradle a wounded bird in her hands. The way she viewed the world was at complete odds with how I had been forced to see it.

  She saw injustice and sought to correct it by showing kindness to others.

  I saw injustice and wanted to rain down blood and violence until I gained my revenge.

  Drowsiness beckoned until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. With one last murmur of her name, the world dissolved, and I found myself someplace strange.

  “Marcus?” The breathlessness of her voice caused a ripple of awareness to pulse through me. She’d never spoken to me like that before, and the part I had tried denying flared back into existence. I felt greedy for such softness.

  “Catriona,” I replied, finding her sitting on a brick wall covered with green moss and vines. “Where are we?”

  I couldn’t tell if this was a figment of her imagination or if she was visiting a place she knew.

  “The ruins where Lancelot and Guinevere would meet secretly.” There was a wistfulness about her as she looked around with fondness that told me she was a romantic at heart. “At least, that’s what I’ve told myself. I’m sure this is merely the long-forgotten home of someone.” Catriona stroked the brick wall she was still perched on. “But I like to come here and think.”

  She gave me a pointed glance that told me I was often the subject of such musings.

  I slowly started walking around, noting how secluded it was, half believing that this was actually a place that lovers rendezvoused—stealing kisses and heated embraces away from the prying eyes of the world.

  “I could see that,” I confessed, gingerly touching a rich green vine with budding white flowers dotting it. “We live in a world where the forbidden intrigues us.”

  “And where we can’t always act on our passions.”

  Her response caused me to stop long enough to study her next. “You have passions, Catriona?”

  Females in society didn’t have the luxury of acting upon their own, let alone acknowledging openly that they were stirred by the same instincts and cravings men were.

  “Why are you here, Marcus?” she gently pressed. “I’ve never dreamed of you before, yet here you are as though you belong here with me.”

  Like a queen on a throne, she hadn’t moved since I’d come across her, the height of the broken wall making it so she sat higher than me.

  With the light shining from behind, she looked ethereal.

  “How do you know you haven’t brought me here yourself?” I countered, unable to keep myself from being somewhat honest with her. I held her gaze as long as I could before lowering my eyes.

  I was completely out of my element here and unsure of how to proceed. In the waking world, I would exert my dominance and force her to cower and answer whatever questions I had. I wasn’t used to being asked my intentions.

  “So, at last, you are my prisoner.” Her smile was genuine and void of any malice. I couldn’t say I would be as gracious if the roles had been reversed. “Seeing as you are intruding on my dream, I would say I also hold all the control.” A twinkle sparked in her eyes, revealing a side of mischievousness I hadn’t seen before either.

  “So it seems,” I replied and bent at the waist, offering my respect. “What would you wish of me, my lady?”

  I added a flourish with my hand and was rewarded with the soft tinkling of her laughter. Another sound I hadn’t known I needed until this precise moment.

  I had nothing to lose by dropping the persona I held in the waking world. If there was ever an opportunity to lower my guard and simply enjoy something carefree and innocent, it was now.

  Sadness skated across her features. “No matter how much I would love for this to be real . . . for us to hold a genuine conversation where we mutually liked one another . . .”

  A stray tear fell from her lashes. It killed me not to reach over and capture it with my thumb. These emotions—the foreignness of feeling compassion after all these many years—churned up confusion inside me. Bit by bit, I could feel the façade I had cloaked myself with fall, until all that was left was . . . me.

  I didn’t like it.

  I hated it.

  But I also embraced it, stood in awe of it—of knowing such affection was still possible for a monster like me.

  “Pretend with me then,” I encouraged, and finally moved from where I’d been standing to her. Knowing this was only a dream, I bravely took her hand and held it between my own. The warmth of her skin felt real enough to send a shiver up my spine.

  Warning bells sounded in my head—cautioning that to proceed would only result in heartache and would be dangerously reckless. In truth, the last time I had allowed myself to feel anything remotely close to the romantic feelings swirling about in my chest, I’d woken to find myself holding a dead body in my arms, and the wrath of a gypsy clan dragged down upon me.

  Drop her hand, a voice screamed inside me. Wake up. The way before you is folly and you know it.

  My fingers twitched as if they longed to obey, but I held on tighter. This was what I had been secretly craving—yearning for. Human connection. Revenge had kept me warm throughout the years, but it hadn’t brought me a speck of solace.

  I was bone weary of constantly fighting.

  Just once, I wanted to see what it felt like to find that peace in another.

  “Catriona,” I murmured, finally cupping the side of her face, my thumb softly circling over her skin. “We are quite impossible.”

  She nodded, holding herself still as though with one wrong move, this would all fade away. I could see the questions bubbling up in her eyes, each one waiting to be asked. I was sure she was biting her tongue, unsure about whether to give them voice, or whether she should remain silent—waiting to see where this moment might lead us.

  “I never wished this life for you. In another lifetime, I know I could grow to love you deeply, to delight in growing old with you. You are quite a remarkable woman . . .” I struggled to find the right words, my tongue tripping over my own thoughts. “A treasure to any man.”

  “Then why do you act so abominably toward me? Why must we be enemies?” The earnestness in her voice was almost strong enough to break me. There was nothing more I wanted in this moment than to promise her things would change and that the happiness she desperately longed for could be ours.

  But we weren’t part of some fairy tale of star-crossed lovers, fighting against the odds to be with each other. My reality was set in stone—at least until Knox and I found a cure. By then, it might be too late for anything to grow between Catriona and me.

  “What do you want from me?” I finally asked, holding the side of her cheek as I tilted her head to look deep into her eyes. “Ask now, because once this dream is over, what we want can never be.”

  Catriona slowly slipped from the wall and stood before me, her hands hanging by her side, fingers loosely gripping her nightgown’s material. She looked so unbelievably small amongst her surroundings, but her request revealed the magnitude of her heart.

  “Love me, Marcus. Even if it’s just for the briefest of seconds. Let me have something to hold on to once this is over.” Tears began to fall again. “I know I mean nothing to you, but please.”

  For some reason, her request came as a shock. I’d expected her to beg for her freedom or to have more control in the waking world—to even be friends. That made more sense to me than a request for love, no matter how temporary and fleeting it was.

  I responded instinctively, pulling her into my arms as I rested my forehead on hers. It was the most intimate position I’d ever been in, regardless of how many times I’d shared my bed with another. It was as though our spirits gently spoke—communicating the emotions I knew I couldn’t even dare
to voice.

  “You don’t know what you ask.”

  “Am I so unlovable that you can’t even muster the smallest of sympathy for me? I am lonely, Marcus. I am your wife in word only . . . and even that is viewed scornfully by you. Give me something that I can hold on to when we return and you . . .”

  Again, she struggled to complete her fevered petition. Her body relaxed into mine as a signal that she was done trying to convince me. She was accepting that any hope for a relationship was a feeble one. I’d watched that belief disappear in reality, and now . . . now I was witnessing its death in her dreams.

  It was that realization that obliterated any kind of resistance in me. Let them believe I was a monster, because I knew I played my role masterfully, and their hateful opinions meant nothing to me.

  But hers . . . somehow, along the way, she had come to matter.

  “Catriona,” I whispered again, the thudding of my heart loud in my ears. “Will just one moment be enough? I can’t give you what you want, but if a small token will appease you, then . . .”

  My words faded away as I cradled her face in both hands.

  What I was about to do was extremely dangerous. Not for her, but for me. It threatened to unravel any hope of being the particular beast needed to exact my revenge.

  Love and hate couldn’t exist within a person at the same time.

  Catriona claimed that it would be enough for her—that she would cherish whatever morsel I offered, but the truth was this:

  I didn’t know if it would be enough for me.

  Could one more taste last a lifetime?

  Lowering my head, my mouth hovered over hers, lips barely touching. We were both lonely. We both craved an intimacy that had so far been withheld from us. It made sense to find that comfort with each other.

  But at what cost?

  Was loving Catriona worth abandoning my thirst for retribution?

  Which battle could I live with—the violence and singular focus required to hunt my cursers to the ends of the earth, or the agonizing restraint needed to ignore my need for this remarkable woman?

  She had shown no fear when facing me, a man who had no qualms about treating her worse than the horses in his stables. She’d shown incredible courage, facing days filled with the unknown, her life no longer her own to control.

  Knox had been right. I’d been wrong this whole time. Perhaps trusting Catriona and giving in to the feelings we both shared could only bring happiness to my dark existence.

  Maybe.

  Hopefully.

  I couldn’t think any more. Closing the distance between us, I seized her mouth and surrendered. I kissed her as though everything depended on the electricity passing between us. I poured every piece of me into it, and she replied with her own intensity.

  I was drowning in her.

  I lost myself in her.

  For the briefest of seconds, I would’ve given up everything for her—my mission, the search for a cure, every twisted thought that had consumed me and shaped me into the man who now clung to her like a lifeline.

  It wasn’t until a thought brazenly infiltrated my mind that I dared to pull away, breaking the seal of our mouths.

  We both stood there with heaving chests, desperately trying to slow our breathing, lips bruised from our outburst of passion. Her hair was mussed, and I longed to drag her back against me, to embrace her and never let go.

  But there was no denying that one traitorous thought.

  She doesn’t know who you truly are.

  And with that singular sentence, I woke up with a start.

  Chapter 9

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come into this room.

  Catriona lay peacefully under the covers, still locked in the dream we’d shared. The dwindling flame of a candle slowly burned, offering a small amount of light in the darkened bedchamber.

  Turn around and leave, an inner voice cried, trying to reason with my heart. This path will only lead to misery.

  I agreed with the thought blaring inside my head, but it didn’t prevent me from completely entering her sanctuary and closing the door behind me. The effects of the kiss we’d exchanged—her plea for something more than merely coexisting in the same house—all these things wreaked havoc over my senses.

  It felt as though my entire being was at war with itself, and for the first time, I was undecided how to move forward. It didn’t matter that I’d instantly rushed to her side, hoping to continue the kiss that had ravaged my self-control. The truth still rang loud and clear.

  Catriona St. James had no idea with whom she was begging to have a meaningful relationship. Whatever ideals she imagined while she hid away in this room—whatever fantasies she concocted in her lover’s dream hideaway—I could never be that man for her.

  The sooner she understood why it was impossible, the faster she could relinquish those expectations and accept the bitter hand Fate had dealt us both.

  I needed to wake her and take her to the only place I knew that would remove any confusion and release me from the temptation of wanting what we couldn’t have.

  She let out a faint sigh and shifted slowly, not resting until she found a comfortable spot. It felt like a sin to wake her—to shatter the tranquility that graced her beautiful features and replace it with one of revulsion and disgust.

  There would be no gazing up at me, no sinking into my embrace, once she’d heard my complete confession. She would be confined to a doomed marriage and left to live out the rest of her days in bleakness, always hoping for the one thing she couldn’t obtain.

  “Catriona,” I whispered, nudging her arm to rouse her. I was on the verge of losing my nerve, of bargaining with my conscience that a few more minutes of ignorant bliss would be worth it.

  A coward’s choice, but it was all I could do not to take a seat and continue watching her sleep. Such beauty right before me was a heady invitation to refuse.

  I repeated her name again, this time louder.

  Thick eyelashes fluttered open, and it took her a few moments to completely wake up. I knew the instant she recognized she wasn’t alone, because she quickly sat up and tugged the bedding up under her chin, as though it would protect her from my cruelty.

  She was no longer the Catriona from the dream.

  I mourned that it was seeing me that destroyed it.

  “Mr. St. James?” she asked, her voice shaky. Strands of her thick black hair were messed from her pillow, and I watched in fascination, wanting to smooth it out for her.

  “There is something I want to show you,” I answered, shaking myself to dislodge the lovesick thoughts that threatened to addle my brain. This was the very reason why I didn’t want to get close to her—to allow myself to feel anything toward Catriona beside obligation. “Come, you’ll need to put on your shoes and an overcoat.”

  She didn’t move. She simply stared at me as though I was some apparition delivering a message that made little sense.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked, this time going to retrieve her coat myself. “There is a conversation we must have that is long overdue. All I ask is that you hear me out and make your decision once you’ve heard all the details.” Holding out the jacket, I waited as she quietly slipped on her shoes.

  It wasn’t until she’d finished buttoning up her winter coat that she spoke. “Can this not wait until the morning?” Her words were muffled behind her hand as she stifled a yawn. As she came closer to me, she sniffed the air. “Are you drunk? Is that why you’re dragging me from my bed?” She had the sense to look apprehensive.

  I did my best to feed her fears. “You need to be afraid, Catriona.” It was difficult not to take offense when she flinched away from my extended hand. “I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

  With a trust I wasn’t worthy of, she placed her hands firmly in mine, and nodded. “Then show me, Marcus.”

  We walked through the house in absolute silence, neither of us breathing a word. Only our footsteps echoed in the still
hallway as I slowly led her out through the kitchen door into the cool early-morning air. The sun had yet to peep above the tree line, and the chirping birds that often sang their song each morning were still nestled in their nests.

  There was a crispness that left me feeling alive. It was chilly enough to set goose bumps across my skin.

  “Slow down, Marcus,” she begged, tripping over the hem of her nightgown and clutching my arm for balance. “I’m not familiar with the path we’re on, and I don’t want to fall.”

  In my haste, I’d forgotten that she often kept to the house and inner gardens. I’d chosen the place where I went to reflect specifically for that reason. Not even Knox ventured this way.

  “Only a little farther, and then I’ll explain everything,” I promised, and gripped her hand tighter. The hero in a story might have gathered her up in his arms, offering to carry her safely, but I was already skating on thin ice. Even if Catriona was able to look past the curse, I wasn’t her hero.

  It was everything I could do not to be her own personal villain.

  There was always a solemn hush whenever I entered the clearing, and it was no different now. It was only a small glen, but surrounded by tall trees, and with the full moon shining above, I was reminded why I chose to build the gravesite for Primrose here.

  Her body was buried far from here, but I’d erected the gravestone as a reminder of what had been lost that night. I came here every day to offer my penance for somehow playing a part in her death. I’d eventually remembered being knocked across the head by cutthroats, after trying to protect Primrose from their advances. It truly had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I’d still been there.

  I’d spent hours trying to convince myself that I’d done everything I could to defend her honor. The strangers had spewed out such filth at the young gypsy woman, I was surprised God didn’t strike them down for such depravity.