Set in Stone: A Contemporary Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 1)

by Kylie Stewart

  “That was him?” I heeled my horse forward against the threat of rain. “I never expected him to look like that.”

  “No one does,” Elaine scoffed. “I’ve only seen him once before. Rumor has it, whatever he wants, he gets. That includes women.”

  I snorted. “Elaine, really now? You’re going to go on lies of people who probably just want to see him undone?” I shoved a tree branch out of the way. “Be kind.”

  Elaine glowered at me for a brief minute before her face turned smug. “He was looking mighty hard at you, my lady. Careful, you might become the next princess in the Dragon’s tower.” She giggled as she trotted ahead.

  I followed, rolling my eyes. Princess, I was not. I belonged to no one and would be no one’s plaything, which was probably the reason I was still single and had only been in one serious relationship in my entire life. I remembered what a lovely romance that had been.

  Lancer Rivers had been a man of his word—honor, raw passion, and wanted nothing more than to please me. A shiver ran through me, thinking of his deep, forest-green eyes. I had to shake my head to rid my mind of haunting thoughts. Those days were long behind me, and the barn loomed ahead.

  I focused on untacking Blackie and threw a cooler over his damp body. I walked him in the indoor arena with Elaine and a few others walking horses to make sure they were dry and breathing normally. We gave them a quick brushing before we offered carrots to the two hardworking stable horses.

  We changed our shoes before heading to Elaine’s car to make the trek back to London. The ride was generally quiet, minus the radio humming as background noise. Elaine smiled and turned up the volume when she heard our art gallery showing announced. I couldn’t help but smile back. We had a few patrons to thank.

  Elaine and I had met in college as art students. She was a master at oil paints, and I transformed soft clay into frozen moments in time. The two of us had quickly risen to the top of our class, and now that we had graduated, we owned our own studio. We gave classes, seminars, and also showed off our own works.

  This show was my big breakout. I was the headliner, and Elaine was my assistant. It was a partial charity event for the local community art programs in the London area for underprivileged children. Part of the proceedings would go to local schools.

  One of our biggest sponsors was none other than Sir Thomas Mordred, the president of the very illustrious and rich G.R.A.I.L. Company. As far as I knew, the wealthy man was a technology powerhouse, not only in England but also in the world. Either way, we were grateful for his helping hand and interest in children and community events. I had never met the man, but Elaine was smitten. She had only met him once in a meeting, regarding the art show, and to her, he could do no wrong.

  For a Sunday night, the outskirts of London were fairly easy to navigate. We shared an apartment above our studio. I couldn’t say enough about how fortunate Elaine and I had gotten right out of college to be as successful as we were.

  I stretched as I stepped out of the Volkswagen and yawned. Though my mind was hardly tired, my body had other ideas.

  “I hear you.” Elaine caught my yawn.

  We both exited the parking garage through the elevator. It brought us to our front door, and I let Elaine lead the way. From our living room window, we had a view of the London skyline. It still took my breath away. So much history seeped into England’s land. The pastures were full of blood, sweat, and tears; the industrial pavement and new buildings hid old rivers and forgotten castle foundations. A surge of pride I couldn’t deny rippled through me. It was good to be English. Elaine would argue—her Scottish pride was as hot as her flaming red hair.

  “See you in the morning, Allie.” Elaine gave me a sleepy wave as she half stumbled to her bedroom. I locked both the front doors and made my way to my own quarters. Once in the comfort of my own space, I untangled my hair from the pinned-up braid and let the mahogany tresses fall in waves over my shoulders. I rubbed a finger under my eye, catching some stray mascara trying to smudge. A chill cut through me from the cold, and I decided a hot shower was in order.

  We each had our own spa-size bathroom. I turned the warm water on in the standalone glass shower. I selected a long, silken nightgown that fell to my ankles to slip on once I finished. The emerald color danced with the red highlights in my hair. A slit on the right side ran all the way up to my thigh. I had no one to impress, but I enjoyed feeling sexy.

  I stripped off the riding clothes and stepped into the hot stream, relishing the water caressing my chilled body. I leaned my head back and let the water tame my wild waves. I was average height for a woman of twenty-seven. In American terms, I was five-foot-five. I was slender and had an athletic build after spending years on the rowing team, playing football, and horseback riding. A slight hourglass figure helped dresses cling to my thinner frame.

  I was lucky if I filled a B cup on a good day of eating nothing but fish and chips and drinking ale. Either way, Lancer had enjoyed my body. My eyes flew open, thinking of the mornings spent sharing shower space with his larger frame. I bit my lip to keep my emotions at bay. We had ended our relationship mutually, stating we were both moving in different directions. It had been just as hard for him as it had been for me. I had felt so safe in his arms, so complete. I had loved him and told him so. He had only made it worse by confessing his love in return.

  I let my hand slide down the side of my face, along my neck, over my collarbone, and rested it against my empty heart. We hadn’t spoken in six months. The communication had gotten shorter and less personal. Who was I kidding? He was three years my senior and ran in the elite circles of England, yet for two years, he’d worshiped me, and I’d believed him to be my all.

  I stuck my face under the spray and washed the feel and memories of him from my body. No matter how much my flesh cried out for him, he wasn’t coming back. That was a year and a half ago. It was in the past—dead, gone, and buried. A flash of gray invaded my mind, and I found myself staring at the tile flooring. The way the man in black had looked at me was a look I knew well. It had said, “Come and try me.” It was a tease, a lie. Heeding Elaine’s warnings of the rumors about the man known as the “Black Duke,” I brushed thoughts of him from my head.

  I wrapped myself in a plush towel and stepped out of the shower. The steam in the bathroom kept the chill away from my damp skin as I started to dry my hair. I could still use his handsome looks as a base for my newest creation—my headlining piece for the art show, which I had to finish in less than three months.

  Once I was done with the nightly routine of washing and moisturizing, I slipped on the nightgown and fell on my queen-size bed. I hugged a goose-down pillow to my face, my long hair clipped up to keep it under control, and I sighed. The day had been long and full of surprises. The faster I fell asleep, the faster I could wake up and get down to the studio to start sculpting. Little did I know, sleep had more surprises in store for me.

  It was warm, too warm. A light sheen of sweat glistened on my body. I was wearing my nightgown and had my arms crossed over my chest to cover it.

  Where the hell am I?

  My hair was still clipped up, so I must be in my apartment?

  What the bloody hell?

  The sudden creaking of a door opening somewhere sounded, and red flames bathed the white walls. The flames licked higher and higher, and I was frozen.

  I can’t move!

  I tried to scream, but a rough hand clasped over my mouth. The harsh touch soon turned to a caress as the fingertips traced the outline of my lips. The other hand of whomever was behind me unclipped my hair and growled as the long waves cascaded down.

  My heart beat like a sparrow’s wings, fluttering against my ribs and flying as fast as it could in fear. I tried to turn to look and see who held me. The hand that burned my lips lowered and grabbed my waist, yanking me against his body—his hard, hot body.

  Oh, dear God! What is this?

  I was weak against this stranger. My heart hamm
ered against my ribs; my thoughts fluttered like a butterfly. He was so foreign yet so familiar.

  I dug my nails into his clothed thighs. He twisted fingers through my hair to expose my neck. His breath warmed my skin. This was too much. He was too much.

  It suddenly dawned on me that this was a dream. It had to be. Was I dreaming of Lancer? I tried to speak, but only a moan escaped as his tongue swabbed over the juncture of my neck and shoulder. The flames were getting higher, consuming me. Burning me. He was the fire, and he succeeded in searing through my defenses. His teeth grazed my skin and lowered to my shoulder, biting to elicit a moan from my lips. The space between my thighs ached from years of neglect. I had no idea what or who or where this had come from, but I wanted it.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  I could feel his pause as he thought about my request. Would he humor me? He held all control over me. He continued trailing kisses up and down my shoulder and neck until I was breathless with desire.

  He inhaled. The sharp intake of breath sent my heart galloping.

  Oh, yes, please, yes! Say something. Say anything!

  My legs twisted into each other to keep the heat from building any higher. Still behind me, the man took my hand in his and raised it out in front of us. He had a light tan, and the muscles in his forearm worked through his skin. His fingers didn’t look as rough as they felt. They were long, tapered, and elegant, as if they were used to gentle touch or perhaps the playing of an instrument.

  Could I consider myself an instrument?

  A silver ring with a large ruby graced his ring finger.

  The gesture was so subtle, so odd, but I could feel him assessing our size difference through our pressed hands. He nuzzled into my ear, wringing another sigh from my lips.

  “I found you, my lady. And I shall take you in time. Sleep well, Alexandria.”

  I bolted upright in bed, gasping and breathing hard. The aching in my womb was fading from the abrupt separation. My gaze darted around the room.

  Nothing.

  Just the white walls covered with posters, pictures, and shelves filled with objects I had collected over the years. No flames and no man.

  It wasn’t who I had thought it was. He wasn’t the one I had lost—no, far from it.

  Who was that?

  I let my down my still-damp hair. A flash of gray again raced through my head, and my chest tightened. Had I just dreamed of—no. There was no way. I stood and grabbed a bathrobe from behind my door. With only one arm in, I raced to the kitchen. I made a quick cup of tea and slipped quietly down the stairs and through a door that led to the studio. The room flooded with light, and I gathered everything I needed.

  He was my muse now. He would be what I created. That man in my dreams—I would mold him, not let him mold me.

  I furiously sketched what my final form would take. Pleased with my product, I pulled out the buckets and buckets of clay that I would need to start casting. I heard a thump on the stairs, and Elaine appeared, her long hair tossed in tight ringlets all over.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing up at this hour? It’s two in the morning, Allie.” She stumbled over to where I had been drawing. She pointed and tutted at me. “You’re going to make this?”

  “Yes.” I was filling a bucket with water.

  “In less than three months, you’re going to make this?”

  “Yes, I am. It is going to be my big reveal for the show.”

  “In less than three months?” Her red brows arched.

  “Yes. Why?” I continued to gather instruments and brushes.

  “How big is it going to ruddy be?” She sighed, used to my last-minute strokes of genius.

  “Full-scale.”

  “Pfft, ‘course it is.”

  She studied the sketch, and I saw her slowly begin to understand the method behind my madness.

  “Whatcha going to call it?” Her voice slipped thick with sleep into Scottish brogue.

  I looked up at her with a wide smile. “Legend.”

  Two

  Avalon

  Earlier that day . . .

  I stared out the window of the grand dining hall and played my fingers against the wood craftsmanship framing the glass. The adrenaline was still pulsing through my veins. Fingers twisted and knuckles popped as I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply and then exhaling to try to find calm. The coincidence of me grabbing Phoenix and the hounds to go for a gallop and meeting her head-on was almost too much. It was a gift. Normally, I had to pursue, I had to search, and I had to hunt. Not this time. This time, fate led her to me.

  I placed my free hand over my heartbeat. It was pounding, strong and steady, eager for what lay ahead. I needed to stay focused; the devil himself wasn’t above giving a gift to cause our course to sway. I had learned this the hard way over the years.

  My staff had been curious, as I had galloped into the stable yard and practically jumped off my mare’s back. What had honestly taken them for a spin was the smile that graced my face. It was a rare occurrence. If I had lacked decency, I’m sure I could have skipped through the front doors, only to run up the grand staircase and slide down on its banister. Yet I had taken control of my emotions. This wasn’t something to be giddy about. In fact, when I had heard her voice, it had not only caressed the secret parts of my body but had taunted my soul. She was so different. My lips twitched into a mischievous smirk; I liked this different.

  The light jingling of the crystal decanter pouring whiskey into a rocks glass drew my eyes from the dark forest back to the dimly lit room. I saw M, my most trusted friend and head of house, reading my mind. I offered him a tight-lipped smile.

  “I take it your ride was eventful.”

  M handed me one glass, and I tipped my head, motioning for him to join me.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He poured another and walked over next to me. M was shorter than I was, with long brown hair he slicked back into a ponytail. He hid behind thin-rimmed glasses, and his light, willowy frame made one think if he were pushed, he’d tumble over. I knew better.

  “That it was, M. That it was.” I took a swig, allowing the burn to lick my throat and boil in my stomach. A different burn was growing elsewhere. I raked a hand through my hair and pushed strands out of my face. I sighed. “I saw her. She and her friend wandered off their riding trail and ended up on my estate. Such luck, no?”

  M took a careful sip, eyes crinkling as his brows knitted together. He drank the whiskey because it cost us so much money. He didn’t actually enjoy it as I did.

  “Luck, perhaps, but keep your mind, Avalon.”

  A note of warning rang in his words. What he meant to say was, “We’ve been through this before and gotten too far ahead of ourselves. Focus.”

  “What does she look like?”

  He glanced over at me. I pursed my lips.

  “You already know what she looks like.” I crossed my arms, keeping the one with the rocks glass free for my enjoyment.

  “Yes, but you told me not to tell you anything this time around, so I am merely obeying your wishes.” With a heavy sigh, he nodded. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “God, yes!” Just by seeing her, it was as if the chains were falling from my body . . . but not my heart. “Those eyes so, so blue. They are like ice piercing me. That’s something I can understand.” I meant it as a joke, but I could see the worry on M’s face. “She’s a thing of beauty, M, and I intend to have her.”

  “Do not be so bold. The lady does have choices. You’ve never stood in her way before,” M warned. “You have only ever wished for her happiness.”

  “Yes, but now, it’s my turn. Mine. She’s mine.” Desperation gripped my ironclad heart. “I refuse to let her go this time. I wouldn’t survive it.”

  My companion just nodded, his gaze fixating on my right hand. “Do you think she needs tempting?”

  I looked at him, at the ring, and then at my almost empty glass. I frowned. I didn’t want to interfere too
much. I didn’t want to impose upon her so suddenly. Her eyes haunted my soul. I could still feel them and wondered if she was thinking of me tonight. I had done my best to piqué her interest. Her eyes had been all over my body the moment I stopped Phoenix in front of her and her friend.

  Jaw tensing, I chewed over the options in front of me. After I set the empty glass down, M refilled it effortlessly. I raised it to him after picking it back up.

  “Perhaps,” I answered.

  With a silent nod, he turned and walked out of the hall. I watched him go as I downed the glass in one gulp and grabbed the decanter. It was coming with me.

  Once in my chamber, which was large enough to be fit for a king, I pulled off my black button up and stared at the bed. The mirror that settled just to the right of the grand four-poster bed with irreplaceable fabrics from far-off places taunted me. I studied my form. Scars marked my body, including a large, telling one over my heart. The killing blow. I rubbed my chest, and ghostly pain flooded my body.

  There was nothing she wouldn’t like about me. Ego had become a friend of mine in place of an empty bed. I wanted no other. I took from others out of necessity to survive, but the void inside me never filled. It remained as constant as my longing for her.

  I took a swig right from the crystal jug and then set it lazily on the bedside table. I lay down carefully, as I held the ring over my head, watching the ruby glitter and reflect the dancing of flames from the hearth.

  M had given it to me hundreds of years ago. It granted me the ability to go to the person I longed for the most in her dreams. Talk about getting into somebody’s head. I hadn’t used it in quite a while, but this time, this might just do the trick.

  I closed my eyes, whispering, “For I am the flame that burns for you.” I felt the room lurch, and I searched desperately for her.