Read Online Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 by Laird of the Mist - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laird of the Mist
Ads: Link
heat rise to her face as she went on. "If
I had known—that night—I would never have—I am a faithful wife, Sir
Alistair," she said earnestly.
"Aye, I know ye are."
"How can you know that?"
"You're still alive," he answered bluntly. "That
tells me you're either faithful or a very clever liar, and ye haven't the face
to hide your thoughts and feelings. What happened that night was—well, it was
no fault of yours, lady. 'Twas well beyond your ken. And mine, as well,"
he added with a rueful laugh. "Who would have thought—"
"—that you were real," she finished softly,
looking down at the flowers in her hand.
"Oh, I'm real enough. But no threat to your happy marriage. Believe me, lady, I am just as eager to forget last Beltane as you
are."
She rose swiftly to her feet, blinking hard against
the tears that stung her eyes. He was right. She should forget it. Beltane had
not been the shining magical encounter she had believed it. It had all been a
mistake, a terrible, shameful mistake. Coming here tonight had only made things
worse.
"Wait."
He was on his feet as well, looking down at her.
"Forgive me," he said, and when he smiled, Deirdre's heart began to
pound. "I am as surprised as ye must be yourself, lady. But that is no
excuse for my rudeness. Of course I will say nothing to anyone of this."
The silence seemed to draw around them, cutting them
off from the familiar world. Slowly Alistair held up his hand and after a
moment Deirdre, moving as if in a dream, placed her own against it, palm to
palm. A shock ran through her at the touch, and when she heard his sharply
indrawn breath, she knew that he had felt it, too.
"You can trust me," he said, his voice
little more than a whisper.
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. "I know."
"Deirdre, I—"
"Goodnight," she interrupted hastily, taking
a step back. "I hope one day you find your way home again."
With that she turned and fled. Alistair watched her
go, every muscle tensed as he fought the temptation to run after her. When she
was gone, he lay back on the hard ground and stared into the dark water of the
pond.
From the trees came the cawing of the corbies.
W hen Deirdre lay down beside her daughter, she was sure
she would not sleep. Yet no sooner had she closed her eyes than she plunged
into deep slumber that lasted for an hour.
Then the dream began.
It started with a sound; harsh, insistent, echoing
strangely through a swirling mist. The corbies, Deirdre thought, an icy dread
striking to her heart.
The croaking seemed to come from first one direction,
then another. Deirdre wanted to run, but she was paralyzed by fear.
The mist lifted and the dark water of forest the pool
rippled before her eyes. The sound grew louder, closer, and all at once she
realized it was not a bird at all, but a heavy form crashing through the
undergrowth. 'Tis Brodie, she thought. He's awake, the potion didn't work. I
cannot let him find me here.
"Deirdre ! "
Snap . The
sound of leather on leather was one Deirdre had heard many times before, when
Brodie drew off his belt, doubled it over brought the two pieces together. Snap .
Deirdre's paralysis broke and she ran blindly through the forest, the sound of
her own breathing harsh in her ears. In the distance she heard soft music and
made for the sound, racing headlong down the path.
She came breathless to a clearing and there was Ronan
Fitzgerald, as dear and familiar as her own twin, sitting cross-legged on a
boulder. His raven head was bent over the harp in his hands.
He gazed up at her with sorrowful green eyes.
"Ah, Dee, how came you here? Why do you seek me now? I would have given
you all the world, but 'twas not enough."
"Deirdre ! " Brodie roared
from the forest behind her. "Dinna think to hide from me."
"Ronan, help me ! " she
cried, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Who is that?" Ronan said sharply, standing
and gazing over her shoulder. "Not your...? God's blood, Dee, what kind of
trouble are you in?"
She
I had known—that night—I would never have—I am a faithful wife, Sir
Alistair," she said earnestly.
"Aye, I know ye are."
"How can you know that?"
"You're still alive," he answered bluntly. "That
tells me you're either faithful or a very clever liar, and ye haven't the face
to hide your thoughts and feelings. What happened that night was—well, it was
no fault of yours, lady. 'Twas well beyond your ken. And mine, as well,"
he added with a rueful laugh. "Who would have thought—"
"—that you were real," she finished softly,
looking down at the flowers in her hand.
"Oh, I'm real enough. But no threat to your happy marriage. Believe me, lady, I am just as eager to forget last Beltane as you
are."
She rose swiftly to her feet, blinking hard against
the tears that stung her eyes. He was right. She should forget it. Beltane had
not been the shining magical encounter she had believed it. It had all been a
mistake, a terrible, shameful mistake. Coming here tonight had only made things
worse.
"Wait."
He was on his feet as well, looking down at her.
"Forgive me," he said, and when he smiled, Deirdre's heart began to
pound. "I am as surprised as ye must be yourself, lady. But that is no
excuse for my rudeness. Of course I will say nothing to anyone of this."
The silence seemed to draw around them, cutting them
off from the familiar world. Slowly Alistair held up his hand and after a
moment Deirdre, moving as if in a dream, placed her own against it, palm to
palm. A shock ran through her at the touch, and when she heard his sharply
indrawn breath, she knew that he had felt it, too.
"You can trust me," he said, his voice
little more than a whisper.
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. "I know."
"Deirdre, I—"
"Goodnight," she interrupted hastily, taking
a step back. "I hope one day you find your way home again."
With that she turned and fled. Alistair watched her
go, every muscle tensed as he fought the temptation to run after her. When she
was gone, he lay back on the hard ground and stared into the dark water of the
pond.
From the trees came the cawing of the corbies.
W hen Deirdre lay down beside her daughter, she was sure
she would not sleep. Yet no sooner had she closed her eyes than she plunged
into deep slumber that lasted for an hour.
Then the dream began.
It started with a sound; harsh, insistent, echoing
strangely through a swirling mist. The corbies, Deirdre thought, an icy dread
striking to her heart.
The croaking seemed to come from first one direction,
then another. Deirdre wanted to run, but she was paralyzed by fear.
The mist lifted and the dark water of forest the pool
rippled before her eyes. The sound grew louder, closer, and all at once she
realized it was not a bird at all, but a heavy form crashing through the
undergrowth. 'Tis Brodie, she thought. He's awake, the potion didn't work. I
cannot let him find me here.
"Deirdre ! "
Snap . The
sound of leather on leather was one Deirdre had heard many times before, when
Brodie drew off his belt, doubled it over brought the two pieces together. Snap .
Deirdre's paralysis broke and she ran blindly through the forest, the sound of
her own breathing harsh in her ears. In the distance she heard soft music and
made for the sound, racing headlong down the path.
She came breathless to a clearing and there was Ronan
Fitzgerald, as dear and familiar as her own twin, sitting cross-legged on a
boulder. His raven head was bent over the harp in his hands.
He gazed up at her with sorrowful green eyes.
"Ah, Dee, how came you here? Why do you seek me now? I would have given
you all the world, but 'twas not enough."
"Deirdre ! " Brodie roared
from the forest behind her. "Dinna think to hide from me."
"Ronan, help me ! " she
cried, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Who is that?" Ronan said sharply, standing
and gazing over her shoulder. "Not your...? God's blood, Dee, what kind of
trouble are you in?"
She
Similar Books
