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Authors: Shannon Drake
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her eyes, she discovered that Bruce Creeghan was with her still.
She drifted, and in her dreams, he came toward her. He was dressed in black, and the very darkness combined with that of his hair and the fire of his eyes gave him a Satanish appeal. He smiled, and in his eyes she felt the curious power that so beckoned to her. And in the darkness all around him he was before her, and his hands were upon her shoulders, beneath her gown, and the gown was falling to the ground in a rustle of lost purity, of lost innocence. And then she felt his kiss against her naked shoulder, slow, lingering, and then the fire was stoked in a line to center and swirl within her breast, for the liquid flame of his tongue touched her there …
She jerked up, wide awake, very aware of the dream, shaking and horrified …
And yet, wondering what it was that had awakened her. There was no light in her room. The single candle she had left burning had died out.
The doors were opened, she realized. The doors to the balcony beyond.
And she had heard something. Not something near. Something far away. Something tremendous, like thunder.
She leapt from her bed and slipped out onto the balcony, hugging her sheer gown to her as the night wind ripped upon it.
She heard the wind, and again she heard a sound like thunder. She walked to the wall and listened, holding tight to the ancient stone. Far below her, she could hear the sounds of the sea, slashing hard against the cliffs.
She blinked, thinking that she saw a flicker of light on the cliffs below. But then there was nothing. The light was gone.
She waited, but there was nothing more. Just the wailing sound of the wind, and the crash and thunder of the waves upon the stone. No more lights appeared. The wind was cold, and it was seeping through her fragile clothing. She started to back away from the wall.
As she did so, she came against something as hard as the rock, but not cold, not cold at all. She felt the touch of something living, vibrant, pulsing. She nearly screamed, but she did not. She could not. A hand clamped down firmly upon her mouth, and a searing whisper touched her ear. “Don’t scream, milady. ’Tis me, Bruce. Laird Creeghan.”
Terrified, she raked at his hand with her nails. He swore furiously and his arm locked around her waist. Lifting her feet from the ground, he carried her, squirming, into her room and there set her down. “By all that’s holy, woman! Would you be a wailing harpy this night and waken the very dead? Hush, I’m tellin’ you, hush!”
Within the circle of his arm he spun her around. When her eyes met his, large and luminous, he smiled slowly, and held still, but then began to ease his hands from her lips. “Don’t scream!” he warned her.
She still wanted to scream. He had startled her at first. Now he was in her room. And she was scarcely clad, and his legs were bare and he was dressed only in a velvet smoking jacket.
“What in the hell were you doing out there?” she demanded heatedly.
“On me own balcony, you mean?” he cross-queried.
“Behind me!” she exclaimed.
“What were you doing out there?” he demanded.
“I—I thought I heard something,” she said. “But you! Your chambers are in the other tower. Hogarth told me—”
“Milady, my chambers may be elsewhere, but the door next to this one leads to my library, and if I may remind you, Martise, I am the master of this castle. I roam it at my liberty. But tell me, milady. It is late. Atrociously late. It is near dawn. What brought you awake, and to this balcony?”
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“What?” he persisted.
“A noise, something, a sound.”
“That is all?” he demanded quickly. He was very intense.
She shook her head, at a loss. “I don’t know. Something woke me. I came out. And then … I backed into you. And there was nothing wrong until then.”
“Nothing wrong? Noises in the night did not frighten you?”
“Should I be frightened?”
“Aye,
She drifted, and in her dreams, he came toward her. He was dressed in black, and the very darkness combined with that of his hair and the fire of his eyes gave him a Satanish appeal. He smiled, and in his eyes she felt the curious power that so beckoned to her. And in the darkness all around him he was before her, and his hands were upon her shoulders, beneath her gown, and the gown was falling to the ground in a rustle of lost purity, of lost innocence. And then she felt his kiss against her naked shoulder, slow, lingering, and then the fire was stoked in a line to center and swirl within her breast, for the liquid flame of his tongue touched her there …
She jerked up, wide awake, very aware of the dream, shaking and horrified …
And yet, wondering what it was that had awakened her. There was no light in her room. The single candle she had left burning had died out.
The doors were opened, she realized. The doors to the balcony beyond.
And she had heard something. Not something near. Something far away. Something tremendous, like thunder.
She leapt from her bed and slipped out onto the balcony, hugging her sheer gown to her as the night wind ripped upon it.
She heard the wind, and again she heard a sound like thunder. She walked to the wall and listened, holding tight to the ancient stone. Far below her, she could hear the sounds of the sea, slashing hard against the cliffs.
She blinked, thinking that she saw a flicker of light on the cliffs below. But then there was nothing. The light was gone.
She waited, but there was nothing more. Just the wailing sound of the wind, and the crash and thunder of the waves upon the stone. No more lights appeared. The wind was cold, and it was seeping through her fragile clothing. She started to back away from the wall.
As she did so, she came against something as hard as the rock, but not cold, not cold at all. She felt the touch of something living, vibrant, pulsing. She nearly screamed, but she did not. She could not. A hand clamped down firmly upon her mouth, and a searing whisper touched her ear. “Don’t scream, milady. ’Tis me, Bruce. Laird Creeghan.”
Terrified, she raked at his hand with her nails. He swore furiously and his arm locked around her waist. Lifting her feet from the ground, he carried her, squirming, into her room and there set her down. “By all that’s holy, woman! Would you be a wailing harpy this night and waken the very dead? Hush, I’m tellin’ you, hush!”
Within the circle of his arm he spun her around. When her eyes met his, large and luminous, he smiled slowly, and held still, but then began to ease his hands from her lips. “Don’t scream!” he warned her.
She still wanted to scream. He had startled her at first. Now he was in her room. And she was scarcely clad, and his legs were bare and he was dressed only in a velvet smoking jacket.
“What in the hell were you doing out there?” she demanded heatedly.
“On me own balcony, you mean?” he cross-queried.
“Behind me!” she exclaimed.
“What were you doing out there?” he demanded.
“I—I thought I heard something,” she said. “But you! Your chambers are in the other tower. Hogarth told me—”
“Milady, my chambers may be elsewhere, but the door next to this one leads to my library, and if I may remind you, Martise, I am the master of this castle. I roam it at my liberty. But tell me, milady. It is late. Atrociously late. It is near dawn. What brought you awake, and to this balcony?”
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“What?” he persisted.
“A noise, something, a sound.”
“That is all?” he demanded quickly. He was very intense.
She shook her head, at a loss. “I don’t know. Something woke me. I came out. And then … I backed into you. And there was nothing wrong until then.”
“Nothing wrong? Noises in the night did not frighten you?”
“Should I be frightened?”
“Aye,
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