Sapphire Dream

by Pamela Montgomerie

  The only sounds that reached her ears were the footsteps of the guards walking the castle walls—or battlements, as Larena called them.

  A wave of longing washed over her for the simplicity of that other time. She never would have thought the twenty-first century simple compared to the seventeenth, but for her it had been. Her only concerns had been to keep the restaurant running smoothly and to pay her bills on time.

  For a single, harsh moment, she desperately wished Hegarty would appear and offer to take her back there. To that time and place where she’d spend her days off at the mall or the gym and her evenings in front of the television.

  Simple. Boring.

  Lonely.

  She didn’t want to die.

  It wasn’t the thought of death itself that terrified her, but the dying. And what would happen before. She had no illusions the Earl of Slains would merely lop off her head and be done with it. No, he’d use her first. He’d make her suffer. And after twenty years of searching for her, he’d probably make a spectacle of her death.

  Shaking, she sat up and buried her fingers in her hair, trying to escape the terrifying scene playing out in her head. Men holding her down, fumbling with their pants.

  Her heart thudded. It might not end that way. It might not. The prophecy said she’d win. Or at least take him down with her.

  And if the fates were on her side? If she had the chance, would she really be able to slide her little knife through a man’s heart?

  Oh yeah. She’d never laid eyes on the Earl of Slains, this Earl of Slains, yet she hated him with every cell, every molecule, of her body. This man she could definitely kill. If she got the chance. If he didn’t kill her first.

  Without realizing what she was doing, she climbed out of bed, her breaths quick and shallow.

  She needed Rourke. With an urgency bordering on desperation, she needed to feel his arms around her.

  Brenna headed for the door.

  The soft rap at his door pulled Rourke from a dreamless sleep. He strode, naked, to answer the knock. The moment he opened the door, Brenna slipped inside.

  “Wildcat?” Even as he reached for her, she dove into his arms and wrapped herself around him, her body trembling. “What’s the matter, lass?”

  “Make love to me, Rourke.”

  And suddenly he understood. She was suffering from battle nerves, the fear and anticipation of death. But she wasn’t going to die. He wouldn’t allow it.

  His hand slid down her back, over the cotton shift and back up again. “You dinna have to go with us, lass. Tell me where the path is and stay here where yer safe.”

  “I’m not safe here. I’m not safe anywhere. Besides, you’ll never find the way without me.”

  He felt her fingers slide across his cheeks.

  “Kiss me, Rourke. Make love to me.”

  “Aye.” He couldn’t deny her, nor did he wish to. He took her into his arms and they came together in a wild recklessness that spoke of need and wanting as much as the fear of looming death.

  He pulled the shift over her head, letting it drop to the floor as he swept her into his arms and deposited her in the middle of the bed. The moment she hit the mattress, she pulled his face down to hers as if she couldn’t bear to be parted from his kisses for even a moment and kissed him with a wildness that nearly drove him over the edge.

  As her soft flesh pressed against his entire length, he tore his lips from hers and buried his face in her neck, drinking in the soft fragrance that was part sea nymph, part rose soap, and all Brenna.

  She reached for him, her fingers closing around his engorged root. “I want you.”

  “Aye, lass. Easy.”

  Her short nails raked gently over his sensitive skin as she pulled on him, driving him insane with wanting, but rough mating was not her way. She was looking for oblivion. Instead, he wanted to give her a memory to last a lifetime.

  “Brenna . . .” With effort, he pulled her an arm’s length away and peered into her face, faintly illuminated by the full moon’s light. Aye, he saw in her eyes the acceptance of death and the desperation to live until the very last moment.

  He took her hands in his, then lifted them gently above her head. “Do ye trust me?”

  “I want you inside me.”

  “Aye, I ken that. But ’twas not what I asked. Do you trust me, Wildcat?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Keep your hands above your head, lass.” He released her wrists, but she remained still as he’d told her to. “Aye, that’s it. I’m going to steal the nerves from ye, Wildcat. Then I’m going to please you.”

  “Rourke, it’s the middle of the night.”

  “Do ye have somewhere ye need to be, then?”

  She laughed. The sound, little more than a soft burst of air, was enough.

  He smiled and moved his hands to her shoulders, kneading them gently, then lifted each arm and eased the tension out of her muscles.

  “Roll onto your stomach, lass.”

  When she did, he continued the sensual exploration of her back, pulling the tightness out of her muscles as he slowly worked his way down her spine with his thumbs, then retraced the journey with his mouth, eliciting tiny moans from her.

  Her skin was like satin, her scent beyond intoxicating. Any tension he released from her body went directly into his. Aye, but he wanted her.

  Shifting, he straddled her legs, sitting back on his haunches as he slid his hands over the soft flesh of her rump, her groan of pleasure echoed his own. His body hardened. His breath became labored.

  His hands slid still lower, easing the tightness in each trim, muscled thigh. Curving his hands around her legs, he slid his hands upward until his thumbs grazed the damp heat of her.

  “Rourke.”

  He slid his fingers inside her. She was ready and weeping for him.

  “Rise on your knees, Wildcat.” He helped her pull her knees up, lifting her rump to align with his root. “I’m going to take ye from here, Brenna.”

  “Yes.”

  He grabbed her hips between his hands and pressed himself against her, finding the heart of her. With a single, slow thrust, he buried himself deep within her sheath. Pleasure and tenderness thundered through his body.

  Brenna cried out and pressed herself back, tighter against him, driving him deeper.

  Over and over again, he pushed himself into her, his body tightening, rising.

  “Rourke.”

  “Aye?” he gasped.

  “I want to see you. I want to face you.”

  Gritting his teeth, he buried himself deep within her and held her tight against him, then slowly pulled out of her. The loss of her heat was torture. But when he expected her to move so that he could lie down, she rolled onto her back and spread her thighs, welcoming him.

  “Ye need me beneath you, Wildcat.”

  “Maybe.” She reached for him and pulled him down on top of her. “But I want to feel you over me, Rourke.” Her hands caressed his face. “I love you, Pirate. What’s more, I trust you.”

  Her words went straight to his heart like the stab of a well-honed blade. You shouldn’t trust me. He sank back inside her because his body needed her too much to consider doing otherwise, and shoved his dark thoughts away.

  Brenna met his thrust, pushing her hips against his as if she would devour him even as he buried himself within her. She pulled his head down and he kissed her, sinking into the sensations of his body, reveling in the passion that burst between them.

  Ah, saints, she was magnificent. Each thrust drew a small moan from her throat, each moan building in intensity until she was nearly shouting her pleasure. Together they reminded him of a pair of wild horses racing for a cliff. Closer and closer they rode until finally, in an explosion of light, they leaped over, falling. Falling.

  He rolled to his side, taking her with him in the circle of his arms. “Ye did it, Wildcat. My being on top dinna scare you.”

  “No.” The word brimmed with smiles and
she curved her body around his. “Nothing about you scares me.”

  As he stroked her hair, cradling her head against his heart, a wave of such tenderness as he’d never felt in his life broke over him, tethered by a guilt as deep as the ocean. He’d always intended to take his secret to the grave, but now he wondered if it was fair to her. She thought she loved him. But once she knew the truth, her heart would harden against him. And as badly as he’d wanted to avoid that, it might make his death easier on her, if it came to that.

  “You make me weak,” she murmured against his chest.

  He stroked her back. “There is naught weak about ye, lass. Ye ken that.”

  “I need you, Rourke. I don’t want to need you.”

  “Needing another doesna mean you’re weak.”

  For several moments she was silent, as if taking in his words. Or lost in her own thoughts. “It does, though,” she said finally. “Because if you don’t need anyone, it doesn’t break you when they leave.”

  His fingers played with her hair. “Or when they betray you, aye? We all betrayed you, Wildcat. Your mum and your aunt by dying. Your da by sending you away and not coming for ye when you were lost in that other time. And me.” The admission felt like broken glass in his throat. “I betrayed you, too.”

  Her hand, tucked under her chin, moved to stroke his chest. “I understand why you tried to send me home without telling me I was from here. You only wanted to keep me safe from the Earl of Slains. You didn’t betray me.”

  “Aye, lass, I did. And not just then. Another time.” He shuddered, then shuddered again. Part of him wanted to push her away, to not be touching her as she stiffened in his arms. But a greater part couldn’t bear to lose her until that very moment. He pulled her tighter, as if in holding her he could keep himself from breaking apart with the weight of the guilt. With the bitter, crushing weight of his self-hatred.

  “I betrayed you worst of all, Brenna. Worst of all.”

  She stilled, but didn’t pull away. “What do you mean?”

  Another shudder tore through his body. “It’s about the fire, Wildcat. The one that destroyed my home. It was my fault. My fault my parents died. My fault you had to be sent away. It was all my fault.”

  “Rourke . . .”

  Guilt twisted in his gut. His throat closed against the words. But he had to tell her. He owed her the truth. All of it.

  “ ’Twas I who sent the earl’s soldiers to Picktillum that day. ’Twas I who told them you were there.”

  He felt her stiffen beneath his touch. “You gave me away?”

  “Aye. I wanted them to take you.” He was glad for the dark, glad he couldn’t see the hatred and disgust that would appear in her eyes.

  “Why?”

  Her soft confusion raked at his heart.

  “I was angry with you. You’d broken the swan I’d carved for my mother’s birthday. I didn’t know . . . until James told me, I didn’t know you’d just learned of your own mother’s death. The messenger had arrived just that morning with the news. You were bereft and came seeking me as you did every day. But instead you found the gift.”

  The day unfolded before him as if he were once more there, in that room.

  “I’d spent hours finding the right basket, lining it with my mum’s favorite wildflowers and heather to set the swan upon. I’d left it on my desk, waiting for the best moment to surprise her. But when that moment came and I returned to my room for it, I found you instead. You’d dumped the basket and flowers onto the floor and were holding the swan in your hands. I was outraged and ordered you to leave my chamber.”

  He blinked, seeing her as she’d been all those years ago. Cherub-faced and bonnie, her baby’s cheeks wet, her lashes spiked with tears. Fury flashing in those green eyes.

  “You threw the swan at my head. The bird crashed against the wall instead, and broke. I wanted to hit ye so bad the tears started leaking down my face. I didna want anyone to see, so I fled and saddled my mare and left Picktillum alone. I was almost to Monymusk when I came upon a pair of the earl’s soldiers. They asked if I kent ye. If I knew where you were. I told them. I badly wanted them to take you away.

  “I returned home a short time later to the sounds of shouts and screams.” Sweat broke out on his body as he remembered the sight of his father’s head. His mother lying in a pool of her own blood. The fire.

  “My fault.” He released her to roll off the bed, unable to stand the feel of her against his rancid flesh.

  But as he sat up, Brenna grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her words rang with harsh conviction.

  “Wildcat, you don’t understand. It was her birthday. I killed her on her birthday.”

  “You didn’t kill her.” She rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him so tightly he thought she was trying to choke him.

  But, no. It was the guilt choking him. He pulled her onto his lap and buried his damp face against her neck, desperate for her touch, her words, even as he knew she should hate him. God’s blood, but he hated himself.

  “You didn’t kill her, Rourke. Think about it. The soldiers were already in Monymusk. They must have known I was at Picktillum.”

  “The earl had soldiers scouring the countryside for you. ’Twas only one of many places they were looking.”

  “You don’t know that. They’d probably followed the messenger who’d brought the news of my mother. You only confirmed what they already knew.”

  “It doesna excuse what I did.”

  “What you did was selfish and mean-spirited,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t evil and it wasn’t without justification. I’d ruined your precious gift. Broken it. You wanted to hit me and you didn’t. That was huge for a kid your age. You found a more mature way to handle it . . . for a ten-year-old. You tried to send me away. You had no way of knowing they meant to kill me. And even if you did, you were ten.”

  A last shudder rolled through him as he realized she forgave him, crumbling the terrible weight of guilt he’d carried with him for so long. Could he ever forgive himself?

  He rolled onto the bed, tucking her tight against his side as he saw that terrible day from a different angle for the first time. Through the eyes of a man grown instead of a horrified wee lad.

  “I never meant for you to get hurt, Wildcat.” Idly, he stroked her arm. “You annoyed the cockles out of me when you followed me around. But when your attention was turned elsewhere, I enjoyed watching you. I admired your spirit. You were, even then, a bonnie wee thing.”

  Her hand pressed lightly against his heart. “Is this why you’ve never gone home?”

  “I couldna face my kin after what I’d done.”

  “They never blamed you.”

  “They didn’t know.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered.” She touched his jaw with her finger. “Do you hate me still for breaking your swan?”

  “Nay. You were but a wee ’un.”

  “As were you. Just as you forgive the little girl who used to be me, you have to forgive the little boy who used to be you.”

  She rose then and covered his mouth with hers. It was all the invitation he needed. He slid his tongue between her lips, drinking from the well he’d feared all but lost to him. The sweet nectar of her forgiveness swept through him, loosening the dam of self-hatred lodged in his chest. So many years of hating himself. So many years of blaming himself.

  Could he let it go now?

  And then her tongue met his and all he could think of was Brenna. It was she who’d released him. She who’d liberated him, even though she had every right to hate him.

  His spirit soared and he gathered her to him, loving her with a force that stole his breath and threatened to crush his heart beneath its weight.

  His wildcat.

  She rose and straddled him, taking him deep inside her. He loved her with his body until they were both tired and sated, then held her tucked tight against him as she slept. With his last
breath, he would protect her. With his last drop of blood he would see her safe. Yet, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t leave her behind when the sun rose. He’d fought for her right to go after her father and he respected her too much to take that away from her.

  Deep in his soul, he knew she sought the final battle with the Earl of Slains. But that he would deny her. She would lead them into Castle Stour and aid in the rescue of her father. Then, God willing, return safely to her kin.

  The final battle was his and his alone. A retribution that had been a long time coming. For all he’d stolen from Brenna and himself, the earl would pay with his life.

  EIGHTEEN

  Two days later, Brenna stood at the edge of the surf near the small beach where she and Rourke had swum ashore barely a week ago, watching Castle Stour. Over the course of their two-day journey from Fintrie Castle, her fear and anger had slowly melded to form a single hard knot just below her rib cage. She never thought she’d be calm as she faced the prospect of death, but that’s exactly what she was. Calm and deadly determined.

  Rourke’s big hand cupped her shoulder, holding her tucked against his side to keep her steady against the rolling edge of surf that continually ensnared their feet. Moments before, the sun had set, but the light was still bright enough that she could see the cave’s entrance clearly.

  “It’s there in the cliffs, just below the castle walls.” Brenna shaded her eyes from the lingering brightness, wishing she had a pair of binoculars. “A skinny upside-down triangle. It’s not facing us head-on, so it looks even skinnier from here.”

  They’d come full circle, right back to where they started. They’d even approached the castle the way they’d left, taking the path between the surf and the sea caves. As a pair of seagulls soared by on the evening breeze, she turned to look up at Rourke, drinking in the sight of his strong profile, wishing things could have been different.

  “I think I see it,” Rourke murmured. “The rock just below it looks like a nose sticking out.”

  And it did. “Yep, that’s it.”