by Diana Bold
Her sweet, giving nature enticed him, especially since he knew it camouflaged an iron will—an anomaly of strength and self-reliance in this world where most women were naught but vessels for men’s lust. Her intelligence aroused him nearly as much as her lovely body.
Somehow, she’d managed to make more of herself than should have been possible, and he wanted to know how.
As her tremors subsided and warmth returned to her limbs, he sensed that she had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Still concerned, he shook her slightly, forcing her to wake up and look at him.
“Are you going to be all right? I’m afraid to let you fall asleep, for fear you won’t wake up.”
She blinked, still seeming a bit confused. “Are you really here?” she asked again, cupping his face in her hands and gazing deeply into his eyes. “If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.”
A reluctant smile curved his mouth. Her obvious pleasure at seeing him warmed his heart. “Why do you assume you’re dreaming every time you see me?”
“Because you’re too beautiful to be real.” Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his in a tender, chaste kiss. When she drew back, her lovely brow knit with a troubled frown. “I expected you to vanish when I did that.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he told her, his voice rough with a strange mix of emotion—arousal, amusement and the strange need to make her see him as he really was. Not as a dream lover, but as a flesh and blood man. A man who had been alone far too long.
Her hands drifted into his hair, smoothing the heavy waves off his forehead and then behind his ears. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and then she kissed him again.
This time the kiss was not tender; it was not chaste.
Trevelan wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his chest as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. She tasted like the promise of spring, fresh and sweet. Steam rose around them, cocooning them in a cloud of warmth and desire.
She shifted position, straddling his thighs until the rigid length of his erection pressed against her hot, damp core. His hips thrust against hers in uncontrollable reaction. Only a few wet layers of clothing separated them, and he could easily imagine how it would feel to strip them away and bury himself deep within her.
Gasping, he tore his mouth away and lifted her off his lap, setting her as far away from him as he could. “Is that real enough for you?”
She stood in the waist deep pool, her chest heaving as if she’d run miles, the thin cloth of her chemise molding the full curves of her breasts, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He gripped the stone ledge beneath him, calling upon every ounce of his willpower to keep from going to her and picking up where they’d left off.
When she said nothing, just continued to stare at him as though he were some sort of freakish monster, guilt assailed him.
“I’m sorry.” He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, unable to look at her. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” She moved back toward him, sinking down on the stone ledge a few feet away. “I’m the one who threw myself at you.”
He glanced up and saw her twisting her hands in obvious embarrassment, her face stained crimson. Though he was glad to see color had returned to her cheeks, he felt terrible for making her ashamed of her passion.
“I loved kissing you,” he assured her hastily. “But you still don’t even seem certain that I’m real. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You must be a dream,” she told him wryly. “I’ve never known a man who cared whether or not he took advantage of a woman.”
“Well, I’m not like the other men you know,” he hastened to defend himself. “Where I’m from, men and women are equal.”
“Equality?” She frowned, drawing her knees up to her chest and peering at him through her tangled, wet lashes. “Where do you come from, Trevelan?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” He shook his head, the familiar despair welling within him. “And it doesn’t matter now. I can’t ever go back.”
“Don’t give up,” she whispered. “I know you missed your ship, but surely if you traveled further down the coast you could find another.”
“It’s impossible.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “The ship I missed was special. There won’t be another.”
“How can you be so certain?”
He shrugged and cast about for a way to change the subject. “Are you warm enough now?”
She gave him a sad smile. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
The urge to do just that, to pour out his secrets even though they compromised the safety of Halcyon, nearly overwhelmed him. And that would never do. No matter what Rhoswen had done to him, he’d never betray his people.
Pushing himself out of the pool, he strode toward the stairs, dripping water across the cavern floor. “It’s far too cold to sleep in the tower tonight. I’ll go up and get some blankets so you can make a pallet down here on the floor.”
Miranda watched him go, hurt churning inside her gut. He didn’t trust her. Though he’d been incredibly kind, had even saved her life, she must remember that he wasn’t here by choice. If he could, he’d leave both her and Hawkesmere far behind him.
Still, she couldn’t shake the memory of that kiss. She couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t stopped. She’d never felt such passion, such need, never really thought she was capable of wanting to touch a man simply to feel his skin next to hers.
With a deep sigh, she sank deeper into the steaming water, letting the heat soothe her. What decadence. If she’d known these pools existed, she probably would have spent every minute of the last few weeks down here. The thought of having a hot bath every single day sent a pleasant thrill through her and temporarily chased away her thoughts of Trevelan.
If only she could bring Violet and her family here. The children would love to splash in the warm water, and it would probably soothe both Violet and Garrick’s aches and pains. She wondered what Lord Simon would say if she were to ask him if her family could come and live in the tower. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure about the children’s ability to keep quiet about what lay beneath, and if Lord Simon discovered the pools, he’d take them over for himself.
Yet another reason to fear her precarious position in the tower.
As she glanced around, she admired the beautiful tile mosaics that had been worked into the cavern walls and along the edges of the pool. Long before her time, these caverns had obviously been used as a place of relaxation and healing.
The sound of Trevelan’s footsteps halted her circling thoughts. She wrapped her arms around her chest, suddenly self-conscious. When she’d woken up in his arms, she’d truly thought him part of her dreams and had acted accordingly. Now that she realized he’d been in and out of the tower for days, embarrassment topped her other rioting emotions.
What must he think of her?
She’d never acted so brazenly in her life. In fact, he was the one who’d called a halt to their escalating passion. He’d held her twice now, and both times he’d had far more self-restraint than she. Did he find her unattractive? She couldn’t forget how beautiful Rhoswen, his companion, had been. Any woman would fare poorly when compared with such a breathtaking beauty, and Miranda had few illusions about her red hair and freckles.
“I brought you a clean nightdress,” Trevelan told her, as he rounded the bottom of the stairs and came into view, his arms weighted down with what appeared to be every blanket and fur in the tower. “I hope it’s one you like.”
“Thank you,” she replied, her cheeks burning at the thought of him searching through her serviceable undergarments. No doubt he was used to women who wore ribbons and lace.
Depositing the pile in the far corner, he retrieved the nightgown and placed it beside the pool with a clean piece of toweling. “Do you trust me to keep my back turned while you dress, or shall I go back upstairs?”
“I trust you,” she assured him, her cheeks flaming even hotter as she scrambled out of the pool, dried off, and then pulled on the soft garments, all the while keeping her gaze locked upon his broad back. When she was finished, she crossed the space that separated them and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned and gave her a slow, thorough perusal. Lifting one large, elegant hand, he captured a lock of her wild, red hair. “I’ve brought a brush, if you’d like me to work the tangles out.”
“I would love that,” she whispered. “Though I warn you, ‘tis an impossible task.”
“Is that a challenge?” His lips quirked upward, and he motioned toward the pallet he’d made of her blankets. “Have a seat and give me your back for a moment while I change into something dry.”
“Of course.” She sank down in the center of the comfortable nest, wondering if he planned to share it with her tonight. Sweet Mary, she hoped so. She’d been carrying what seemed to be the weight of the world on her shoulders and longed to put it down, to feel like a woman—sheltered and cared for, if only for a little while.
A few moments later the blankets shifted behind her, and he pulled the heavy mass of her hair over her shoulders, his hands gentle yet competent.
“You seem like you have done this before,” she murmured as he began working her tortoiseshell comb through the tangled ends.
He gave a small huff of laughter. “Well, you’re wrong, but thanks for the vote of confidence. Tell me if I hurt you.”
“It feels wonderful,” she assured him, drifting in a pleasant haze of bliss. “No one has done this for me in ages. Not since my mother died.”
“Were you very young when you lost her?” he asked softly.
“Thirteen,” she answered, blinking away a sudden sheen of tears. She’d shut that part of her life in a locked box in her mind long ago and had rarely ever opened it. “Do your parents still live?”
He remained silent for a moment, patiently working the comb through her hair. “They do,” he answered finally. “But where I am from, parents and children do not bond with each other as they do here. Two people come together to create a child, then go their separate ways.”
She frowned, wishing she could see his face and wondering if he felt the lack of parental love as deeply as she had. “I suppose my father, whoever he was, did much the same thing. I never knew him.”
“I know my parents. We’re just not close.” He had managed to work out all the tangles, and now he stroked the brush through her hair with long, soothing strokes. “Did you inherit your lovely red curls from your mother?”
“Do not tease me,” she told him sharply, embarrassment streaking through her. “I realize that it is horrid.”
He set the comb aside and moved around her until they were face to face. “What are you talking about? You have the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen. From the moment I first saw you I’ve wanted to run my hands through it.”
She blinked, stunned by his obvious sincerity. “All my life I have been teased for my red hair.”
“I can’t imagine why.” He leaned forward and wrapped one long, curly strand around his wrist, pulling her closer, until mere inches separated them. “You’re beautiful, Miranda. So beautiful.”
The way he looks at me…
She lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips across his beard-stubbled cheek, a shiver racing up and down her spine. For the first time in her life she actually felt beautiful.
He made a soft, raw sound in the back of his throat and pressed his cheek more fully into her palm. “Would you mind if I stayed here with you tonight? If I held you in my arms again? Those hours I spent in your bed were the only restful ones I’ve spent since I got here, and I’m tired, Miranda. So tired.”
“Of course,” she breathed, humbled by his sweet request. Bending forward, she pulled down the top blanket invitingly
Trevelan buried his face in the sweet smelling cloud of Miranda’s hair, letting the exhaustion he’d battled for weeks overwhelm him. For some reason when he held her in his arms all his anger and frustrations fell away and contentment flooded him in an indescribable rush.
Dangerous, he knew, to allow so much of his well being to be tied to this woman he barely knew—a woman who wasn’t even of his world, but of this one he wanted so desperately to escape. But despite his misgivings, despite all the reasons he knew he should stay away, he couldn’t help but pull her closer.
She snuggled against him, her face pressed to his shoulder, her arm thrown across his chest and one of her knees drawn up over his. The pallet beneath them was nowhere near as comfortable as her bed had been, but still infinitely better than what he’d become used to.
The blizzard had given him the perfect excuse to do exactly what he wanted—he could remain by Miranda’s side all night without having to worry that Lord Simon would somehow find out he’d been there.
“Sleep,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his throat. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
He brushed his lips to her temple, thinking that he’d never felt this close to anyone in his entire life. He and Rhoswen had been lovers off and on for years; they were chosen mates and had known each other since they were children, but he’d never once held her simply for comfort. They’d shared passion, but had never bothered to share a bed afterward.
Rhoswen had never loved him. He realized that now, but at the time he hadn’t even known anything was missing. As he’d told Miranda earlier, the people of Halcyon were rarely affectionate, living more in their minds than their bodies.
Unfortunately, that luxury had been taken from him. He’d been thrust unceremoniously into a world that was far more physical than anything he’d ever known before. The struggle just to survive took all his energy.
“Thank you for coming to look for me,” she whispered, just as he was starting to drift off. “I owe you my life.”
“Then we’re even,” he told her softly. “You already saved mine.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Long after Trevelan had fallen asleep, Miranda lay awake, tracing his features with her gaze, luxuriating in the warm press of his beautiful body against hers. She still couldn’t quite believe he was real and half-feared he’d disappear if she closed her eyes.
Though he had shrugged off her gratitude, she was very aware of how close she had come to dying tonight. If he hadn’t cared enough to come looking for her, she would have frozen to death in the tower.
It had been foolish to attempt the trek back from her sister’s house through the storm, but Garrick had seemed so agitated by her presence, she hadn’t wanted to overstay her welcome. Her mistake had been clear within half a mile, but she had been too stubborn to turn back.
By the time she had reached the tower, she had been so numb with cold and exhaustion she had fallen straight into bed. Tremors still shook her at the thought of her own stupidity.
Frowning, she wondered how Violet and her family fared. The storm would cut through their ramshackle hut, the snow sifting its insidious way through every crack. Dear Lord, how she would like to bring them here, to this cavern, where they could bathe in the hot water and wait out the winter.
Seeming to sense her troubled thoughts, Trevelan stirred and blinked up at her. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
She brushed a strand of silky hair from his eyes and leaned down to press her lips against his. “I am worried about my family,” she murmured after she drew back. “My sister and her husband live in the village. I wish there was some way to bring them here, so they could stay warm. My brother-in-law is crippled, and my nephew has an illness of the lungs…”
Trevelan stared at her for a moment, a strange expression flickering over his features, as though a shocking idea had occurred to him, but he daren’t put it to words. Then he gave a huff of laughter and pushed himself to a sitting position. “Winters are hard here, aren’t they?”
She nodded, uncertain what he wa
s getting at. “Is there any place where winter isn’t hard? I imagine there will be many who won’t make it through this one, if this first storm is any indication of what is to come.”
“What if I told you I could offer you and your family a better life than what you’ve known so far?” he asked softly. “I could give you a comfortable, safe home, with hot water and heat all year round, but in return you’d have to help me do some things and give up everything you now know. You’d have to walk away from Hawkesmere and never look back.”
She blinked at him, stunned. “I don’t know. I don’t understand exactly what you’re saying.”
“I’ll show you,” he told her. “And then you can make up your mind.”
* * *
Sebastian leaned against the entrance to a small cave, watching Rhoswen with no small amount of amusement. The storm he had feared had swept in yesterday afternoon, forcing them to take shelter in a larger cave several miles further up the river. They had huddled together beneath the strange, thin blankets she had brought along, yet somehow managed to stay toasty warm. This morning she had been all fired up to get started and had not complained even once about their arduous trek through the snow.
Now, she paced back and forth along the back wall, pressing her hand against random spots, muttering under her breath. Since she had first mentioned that she believed there was another entrance to the hot springs — one that led many miles through an underground cave system no less — he’d had his doubts.
He had spent hundreds of hours beneath Titania’s Tower, bathing and examining the mosaics. If there was another way in, he was certain he would have found it. Impressed as he had been by Halcyon’s recordkeeping and data bases, thousands of years had passed. Perhaps there had been some mistake. This cave certainly did not seem to hold the answers.