Sapphire Dream

by Pamela Montgomerie

God’s blood. Suddenly he understood. Someone, somewhere, had hurt her. He closed his eyes and ran his hand over her hair, almost afraid to touch her.

  Slowly her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccoughs. She pulled away, not meeting his gaze.

  “I need to get my clothes.”

  “I’ll fetch them, Wildcat.”

  She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes glossy with tears, then wiped her damp face on the plaid. “And my soap?”

  His heart clenched and a small smile found its way to his mouth. “And your soap.” A wildcat could only be brought so low.

  He gathered her things, then returned to the fairy ring where she now awaited him. He turned away as she quickly dressed herself. He would not take advantage of her again.

  “I’m done.”

  When he turned back, he found she’d donned the skirt and bodice as well as her underclothes. She was seated on one of the fallen stones, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Slowly, he sat beside her, keeping some distance between them, not wanting to crowd her. “I would never hurt you, Brenna.”

  She stared at the dirt at her feet and sighed. “I know.”

  “But someone did, didn’t he?”

  She tormented her bottom lip with her teeth, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “They. There were three of them.”

  His hands turned to fists. “I’ll kill them.”

  She shook her head. “They didn’t . . . they tried but they didn’t. But they would have.”

  “When?”

  “I was fifteen.”

  “I’ll kill them.”

  “They were boys. Teenagers. They didn’t . . .” She looked away, then met his gaze with painful defiance. “They didn’t actually rape me.”

  The air left his lungs on a harsh relief, but her fragile strength told him there was much she wasn’t saying. “They still hurt you. They still frightened you.”

  Her lower lip started to wobble, and she clamped down on it, closing her eyes. “Yeah.”

  He felt a great weight lift from his heart. She’d never truly rejected him. He’d frightened her, which didn’t please him, but he’d not been the cause of the fear. Not directly.

  “Tell me, Wildcat, if ye can. What happened?”

  She was silent for a long time as tears leaked out from under her closed eyelids, and he regretted asking her to speak. Finally, she swiped at the tears and looked into the distance, as if seeing into the past. Her past.

  “I was living with the Prestons—a family who’d taken me in. I was alone in the house, doing laundry in the basement, when Brandon, the Preston’s fifteen-year-old son, came home with a couple of friends and started heckling me and saying . . . nasty things. They were all fifteen. Little creeps, though they were taller than I was. And stronger. I told them to go away, but . . . one of them grabbed me. Then the other two joined him. They . . .”

  She buried her face in her hands and started trembling.

  It tore at Rourke to watch her. He longed to pull her back into his arms, but feared he would scare her again. Instead, he moved closer and touched her hair, letting his palm slide down onto her back.

  “They pulled off my clothes and dragged me to the floor. I tried to fight but they were too strong. They groped at me, squeezing my breasts and . . . and . . . touching between my legs. And laughing. Then Brandon laid on top of me, crushing me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.”

  Her voice broke, stabbing at Rourke’s heart. “He rubbed himself against me, his jeans tearing at my skin. He was so heavy. I was furious. And terrified. Finally, one of his friends pushed him off me. He knew how to do it for real. He was going to rape me. I fought them, but Brandon and the third boy held me down while their friend unfastened his pants and started to pull them down. I saw his . . . penis. How big it was.”

  Rage seared through Rourke, and with it a burning need to hurt the creatures who had terrified her.

  Brenna straightened and turned to him. “Then Mrs. Preston came home and the three of them ran off.”

  “But ye’ve ne’er forgotten.”

  She sighed deeply and shook her head. “It’s not the sex that scares me. It’s being pinned.”

  He reached for her and cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her small chin. “If ye want me, there are other ways.”

  “I know. I’m not a virgin, Pirate. I just . . .” She closed her eyes.

  “ ’ Tis all right, Wildcat.” He cupped her far shoulder and gave a gentle tug, wanting to hold her. To his relief, she leaned against him, laying her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her with gentle care.

  “You don’t scare me, Pirate. Not really. I can’t help my reactions when you get too close.”

  The unfamiliar sensation of warmth curled in his chest, a tenderness he’d not felt in many, many years. He ran his free hand over her head, following the line of her wet hair. Slowly her trembling stopped, but he continued to stroke her head and her shoulder, comforting her and, amazingly, himself. Peace seeped into him, quieting his demons.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, the closeness. The tenderness. As a small lad, he’d spent nearly every evening curled up on the lap of one of his parents, listening to the seannachie, a visiting bard, or a musician, or simply listening to the adult conversation around him. In the years since their deaths he’d had no one to share such kindnesses. He’d had women by the score, but there had been no caring. Lust, sex. But he’d never stayed afterward for he’d known he would never find what he sought with any of them. Why Brenna? Why did simply holding her feel so right?

  Her head slipped, then righted itself with a jerk, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

  He roused her. “Come, lass. We’ve time for a wee bit more sleep.” He rose and pulled her up with him, then spread out his plaid and waited for her to lie down. As he started to cover her with the blanket, she stopped him and gazed at him sleepily, her eyes unsure.

  “You make a good pillow, Pirate.”

  He smiled. “Ye wish me to stay?”

  She nodded sleepily.

  He lay down beside her and gathered her against him, utterly content to hold her for as long as she’d allow.

  Her slender hand moved over his chest and she snuggled closer to him. “I don’t know why or how, but you drive out the cold.”

  “I thought you’d warmed.”

  “That’s not the cold I mean.”

  He understood. She drove out the cold of his own soul.

  What would he do when she left?

  TEN

  With every mile closer to his childhood home, Rourke’s dread grew. It was a good thing they rode horseback, for he doubted he’d be able to convince his feet to take the steps. Twenty years since he’d been back. Twenty years since he watched his home burn, his parents die.

  Picktillum Castle sat high on a hill overlooking the village of Monymusk. If there were any other way to reach Hegarty, he’d not be going near either. But Hegarty had told him to meet him here.

  Tension grew in his chest, wound through his innards like adders, a brutal reminder of why he’d been so anxious to avoid Scotland, why he’d wanted naught to do with the prophecy again. Why Brenna had to go home. For herself. For her safety.

  For his sanity.

  This was Hegarty’s doing, this attempt to draw him home. Hegarty could try to manipulate him all he wanted, but he would never go near Picktillum again. Not for any reason. If Hegarty did not appear within a day or two, he and Brenna would leave Scotland. Hegarty would have to find them if he ever wanted to see her or the sapphire again.

  Brenna rode at his back, her slender arms circling his waist. They’d turned over her mount to a pair of travelers soon after they started out. She’d have ridden alone without complaint, but he knew it took a toll on her. And their ride would be short this morning.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he had selfish reasons as well. He wanted her close. These might be the last few hours he would have h
er near if Hegarty was indeed awaiting their arrival.

  But the closer they got to Monymusk, the more certain Rourke became that Hegarty wasn’t the only one waiting for them. They rode into a trap, he was certain. Cutter and the earl’s soldiers would be there.

  Brenna could not be with him. He knew what he had to do, though she would be most displeased with him.

  Displeased, aye.

  But safe.

  “That’s Monymusk,” Rourke said.

  Brenna peered around him to get a good look. The small village sat nestled between river and hills. The sun glistened off white stone buildings, most roofed in thatch. In many ways this village resembled the others she’d seen, bustling with activity as people went about their daily business.

  Instead of riding into town, Rourke made a wide circle, finally climbing into the low, rocky hills behind.

  “What are we doing?” Brenna asked as they dismounted.

  “I need to change.”

  She eyed him with surprised amusement. Last time she looked, he didn’t have any luggage.

  He saw her expression. “I’ll don the plaid.” He tied the horse to one of the pines, removed his plaid bundle, then led her up a path in the rocks to the mouth of a small, well-hidden cave. He ducked inside.

  “Do you want me to wait out here?”

  “Nay. Come in.”

  Brenna followed him. The cave was small, about the size of her tiny bedroom at home, and well lit since the light found its way into the corners easily enough. The ceiling was high enough for Rourke to stand straight with room to spare.

  She stretched her legs as she watched Rourke lay his belt on the ground and the long plaid blanket on top of it, gathered so that it more or less fit the belt.

  He pulled off his boots, then unbuttoned his pants, turned his back to her, and dropped them without a single seductive glance or comment. Since she was certain he didn’t have a shy bone in his body, she suspected the show of modesty was strictly for her. Of course, his shirt fell halfway to his knees, so it wasn’t like he was flashing her in any way. But the shirt was thin and she could tell he wore nothing beneath. A frontal view would have been interesting.

  It seemed she was the only one having lecherous thoughts, though. Ever since she’d woken the second time, he’d treated her like a fragile china doll. She’d shaken him up this morning. She’d shaken them both.

  Is this how it would end, then? They’d find Hegarty, convince him to send her home, and this would be it? Part of her wanted that desperately. An end to the confusion and chaos. A return to her world, her well-ordered life.

  But part of her dreaded the thought of never seeing Rourke again. He’d become important to her so quickly—for obvious reasons. He knew where they were going, how to get food, how to fight with actual weapons. But his importance somehow transcended the obvious.

  As she’d told him this morning, he drove out the cold. In a matter of days, they’d formed a bond she couldn’t explain. A bond that, at least for her, went far beyond their mutual attraction.

  She liked him. A lot. Maybe too much.

  And in a matter of hours she might never see him again.

  He lay on the plaid, fastening the blanket and belt around him. He then stood and tossed the extra length over his shoulder, tucking it into his belt.

  “What think you?”

  Oh, man. Braveheart come to life. “Amazing. Instant Highlander. It may be a poor man’s garb, but it looks good on you, Pirate.” The understatement of the year.

  He cocked his head with a small grin. “Do ye think?”

  She laughed at the pleasure in his eyes. Her gaze slowly slid down his strong, muscular legs. “Oh yeah.”

  He reached for her and pulled her lightly against him, then quickly stepped back to keep distance between them even as his hands clasped at her back.

  “I wish to kiss ye, lass,” he said, his eyes warm silver.

  Sweet heat washed through her and she lifted her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to meet hers, but he resisted, taking it slow. He kissed her, lips closed, for long moments, a mere press of one mouth to another.

  He was being excruciatingly gentle with her, but the tremors in his hands telegraphed his desire loud and clear. Rather than tell him she wasn’t quite so breakable, she showed him, opening her mouth over his and sliding her tongue between his lips.

  With a groan, he took her invitation, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue sweeping inside on a thrust of hot possession.

  The heat intensified until her breath was ragged, and her pulse raced. They tasted, devoured one another, her hands deep in his hair, his own becoming more and more frantic as they moved over her back and lower, pressing her against him, against the hard evidence of his arousal.

  She pushed her hips against him, wanting the feel of him. Needing him.

  Rourke wrenched back. He cradled her face and rested his forehead on hers as he took a deep, unsteady breath.

  “Forgive me.” His tone was worried, regretful. “I lose all reason when I touch you.” He lifted his head, his hands sliding over her shoulders and upper arms. “You’re shaking.”

  She met his silver gaze and smiled. “Not from fear.” She couldn’t hold the smile. “From wanting you.”

  And she did want him. Her way. Slowly, carefully. Her in control. And she had no doubt that he would do that for her—when the time was right.

  His eyes drifted closed as he visibly struggled for control. “Ah, Wildcat. Ye slay me.” He opened his eyes and gazed at her with such thinly controlled passion, she thought she would melt in his hands.

  “I want you more than breath. If you’ll have me. If ye can. But now is not the time.”

  “I know. We have to find Hegarty.”

  He released her slowly, then grabbed his boots and sat on one of the rocks in the cave to pull them on.

  “How fare your feet, Wildcat?”

  “My feet?” Not the part of her anatomy that was currently drawing her attention. “They’re surviving.”

  “I wish to see them.” He stood and pushed her gently down onto the rock.

  Why did she get the feeling he was up to something?

  He knelt before her and took first one boot off, then the other, and examined each of her feet.

  “You’ve blisters.”

  “It’s not a problem since we’re riding now. I haven’t had to walk much.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Brenna narrowed her brows with confusion. “Why?”

  He reached up and cupped her jaw with his warm hand. “Trust me.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. Had he somehow hidden another gift like he had the soap? Comfortable shoes, maybe?

  As she closed her eyes, she felt his hands on her ankles, pushing her feet together. Then the brush of rope against the backs of her heels. With a gasp, she realized what he was up to.

  “Rourke!” Her eyes flew open and she tried to kick free of the rope, but he was too quick. And too strong. She stared in disbelief as he tightened the knot binding her ankles together.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rourke stood, his eyes filled with regret as he backed away from her. “Forgive me, Wildcat. I canna take you with me. ’Tis too dangerous. The knot is firm, but you’ll cut yourself free quickly enough.”

  She tried to tear at the rope, but like he said, it was too tight.

  “You couldn’t simply ask me to stay here?” Her chest hurt, a physical pain.

  “Would you have said aye?” His tone told her he already knew the answer. So he would force her. Betray her unquestioning trust.

  He backed out of the cave slowly, carefully, shoulders hunched like a man who knew he was destined to live the rest of his life in the doghouse.

  Her heart began to pound with unreasoning fear. “Rourke, don’t do this! Please don’t leave me here like this.”

  Frantically, she dug at the uncooperative knot, breaking a fingernail down to the quick.


  “Cutter and the others are awaiting me in Monymusk. I’ll not endanger you again.”

  “What if he kills you? You’d leave me here to die?”

  He turned, the sun sparking golden highlights in his brown hair. “You have a knife, Wildcat. Use it to cut through your bonds, but I’ll be away before ye do.”

  His face filled with regret. “Trust me, lass. I’ll return for you. Be here so that I can find you, eh?”

  Then he turned and left.

  “Rourke! Don’t you dare leave me here. I’ll kill you, Pirate!”

  But he didn’t reply. Moments later, the sound of retreating hoofbeats met her ears.

  “Damn you!” She cursed him with every word she knew as she lowered herself back onto the rock and dug the knife out from the scabbard strapped to her thigh. As soon as he returned, she’d kick him in the balls so hard he’d never stand straight again. Then she’d kill him.

  As she worked to cut the heavy rope, fear overwhelmed her anger. What if he didn’t come back? What if he’d simply decided she was too much trouble and wanted to be rid of her?

  What if they killed him?

  The rope came loose in her hands and she ripped it off her ankles and ran out of the cave, but he was already little more than a speck in the distance. She stood there, shaking with the magnitude of her powerlessness, with the utter devastation of his betrayal, until the speck disappeared.

  “Damn him.”

  Unshed tears burned her eyes. She’d sworn she would never be helpless again. Now here she was, without a horse, without money. Without Rourke.

  What if he never came back?

  This was all Hegarty’s fault. What right did he have to rip her away from everything she’d worked for? If it weren’t for him, she’d be worrying about tomorrow’s menu selections, not men trying to kill her. She’d be at the restaurant, or the gym, not trapped in a cave in the hills of seventeenth-century Scotland with no horse. With no pirate.

  Alone.

  Again.

  Anger and apprehension tore at her nerves, shredding her courage and her heart.

  She’d trusted him, dammit, and he’d betrayed her. He’d been so gentle this morning. So sweet. Then he’d turned around and stripped the last ounce of control from her fingers. Without asking. Without discussion. He’d made the decision she wasn’t coming.