Dark Embrace (13 page)

“But I have a life, with family and friends who love me, and I love them.”

“Good! When ye go home, ye can share a joyous, lovin' reunion!”

Grandma's ring hurt her finger now. Brie looked at it, and it almost looked as though the garnet was glowing. “What do you want?” she muttered. Then, realizing she'd spoken aloud, she noticed Aidan watching her with interest.

“My grandmother guides me from the dead,” she said shortly.

He shook his head and walked out of the tent.

Brie tried to take the ring off, just to relieve her finger for a moment, but she couldn't. She sighed and sat down. Tears filled her eyes, only partly from exhaustion. She'd been brought back to the year of his hanging, and the reason was obvious. She was in the Highlands to save his life, both figuratively and literally. Less obvious was the possibility of redeeming him.

Maybe she was mad, she thought, to even think of guiding Aidan back to the gods. She couldn't help pushing him and testing him, she realized. If he was as evil as he said, their debate would have amused him instead of angering him.

Everything angered him.

And why not? He'd lost his son. The gods could have intervened, but it had been Fate. It was tragic and unfair, and to make matters worse, his son had been haunting him for sixty-six years. She'd be angry, too.

Her infatuation had to go. It was in the way. She hadn't gone back in time for a fling—or a life-altering romance.

But she was still feeling hurt. At least they were having a dialogue, she thought. Brie walked over to the tent flap and lifted it. Aidan was standing outside, right there, and he glanced at her. She shivered and pulled her wool plaid more tightly round her. “It's cold. Come back inside.” She was going to stop him from fighting Frasier tomorrow.

He slowly smiled. “So ye can seduce me away from my plans?”

“I couldn't seduce a randy freshman on spring break,” she said. “I could never seduce you.”

He walked past her, back into the tent. “I won't hang, Brianna. Not anytime soon.”

She tensed. “That's not what history says.”

He shrugged.

“Aidan, if you fight tomorrow, you are committing treason, and you will hang. Frasier will make certain of it.”

His gaze changed and became searching.

“Can you please postpone the battle? Please?” she pleaded.

He shook his head. “I dinna mind dyin'. But I willna die until I have avenged my son. So ye need not fear my hangin' anytime soon.”

“Do you want to die?” she cried. “Are you in so much pain that you seek escape in death?”

He jerked angrily. “Ye ask too many privy questions! I am tired of yer insolence, yer pryin'. I am tired of ye, Brianna!”

Somehow she shook her head and stood her ground. “You can read my every thought, and you are ruthless in doing so. Unfortunately, I don't have that power. It's okay for you to read my mind and uncover my secrets, but I can't ask a few personal questions?”

His eyes were wide. “The little woman has nails,” he said softly. “But ye need claws, Brianna, if ye think to go up against me.”

“I don't want to fight with you,” she said tersely.

“O' course not. Ye want to heal me, redeem me—and share my bed.” His eyes flashed.

She trembled. “Does being cruel please you?”

“Aye, it pleases me greatly!” he snapped.

Ian stepped between them.

Brie gasped.

Aidan's eyes widened.
He had seen Ian, too.
And then he cried out in savage frustration. “Nay! Come back, Ian! Come back!”

But Ian was still standing there, looking back and forth between them. Brie couldn't understand why Aidan could no longer see him. The small ghost turned and began talking rapidly to his father. She could not hear a word he said.

Aidan's face had become a reflection of raw, ravaged grief. He looked years older. “Is he still here?” he cried frantically.

She took his hand. “He's still here. He's speaking to you, but I can't hear him.”

Suddenly tears welled in Aidan's eyes. “Talk to him,” he begged her. “Please, talk to him.” And a tear slipped free and started a slow track down his cheek.

She had never seen a grown man cry, much less a man like this one. His grief was mushrooming in the tent like a nuclear cloud. It swept through her with stunning force. It crushed her from above, from the sides. She had to fight to stand upright, to breathe.
Aidan did not deserve this.
“Ian,” she gasped. “Can you hear me?”

The boy faced her and spoke.

“If you can hear me, nod,” she whispered. Aidan's pain was so strong and consuming that she felt faint. If he didn't control himself, she was going to pass out.

Ian nodded at her, his eyes wide, as if he was listening carefully.

“What's happening?” Aidan demanded, wiping his face with his forearm. “Tell me about my son!”

“He can hear me,” she cried, meeting his stunned eyes. “Aidan, you're hurting me.” She had been forced to her knees.

Aidan covered his heart with his hand, but Brie was aware of the pain racking it, and it felt like it was about to explode. But as he battled himself, she felt the terrible anguish begin to dull. The sensation was like drowning and then finally breaking through the surface for air. She gulped oxygen.

When he pushed the grief further away, she stood up. “Ian, are you here to speak with your father?”

Ian nodded and waited expectantly for her.

Aidan cried, “Tell him how much I love him! Tell him I will find and kill Moray to pay fer what he did! Tell him I hunt the deamhan bastard every single day!”

Brie glanced at Aidan and then back at Ian. “Your father loves you,” she said softly. She knelt closer to the little ghost. “Are you here to ask him to release you to the afterlife?”

Ian shook his head.

Brie was shocked.

“What did he say?” Aidan demanded, even paler than his son.

“He said no,” Brie said slowly, still stunned. Why wouldn't the little boy wish to leave this realm? He'd been dead for almost seventy years. “Ian,” she began, but the little boy began frantically shaking his head. He pointed at her.

“What do you want to say to me? Do you want to tell me something?” she cried.

He nodded. He pointed at Aidan now.

“And you want to speak to your father, too?”

Ian nodded, then burst into tears of frustration. And he started fading.

“Don't go,” Brie screamed, but it was too late.

And Aidan knew, because he turned away from her, his body convulsing with his grief.

Released, his anguish erupted into the tent, lancing through her. She staggered under the repeated blows, then fell under the crushing weight. His pain kept pouring down on her. On her hands and knees, hurting so badly she wanted to die, she somehow looked up. This was how Aidan felt, she managed to think.

Aidan wept silently by the tent's closed flap door.

She knew he wouldn't want her comfort. She didn't care. She somehow stood and staggered to him, fighting her way through the hot waves of anguish. Brie managed to lay her hand on his back.

He roared incoherently at her and wrenched away from her, shoving through the tent flap. Brie didn't hesitate. He needed her now, as never before, and she ran after him. It was like slogging upstream through a high, racing river.

He moved faster, leaving her behind, climbing the hill toward the ridge above. His pain was dulling. She panted, lungs bursting, legs hurting. The force of his grief had lessened, and she could run more easily now.

He halted on top of the ridge, silhouetted in anguish and misery against the violet sky. Brie froze, seeing the waves of pain emanating so clearly from him. A few stars began to emerge in the growing darkness.

The waves visibly receded until he stood there alone, as mystical as an old god or a mythical hero. Brie took a deep breath, needing the air, and she started to trek up the ridge slowly. When she reached him, she put her arms around him and gently embraced him from behind.

He stiffened.

“You need comfort,” she whispered unsteadily. She laid her cheek on his trembling back. “Let me comfort you.”

He turned. Suddenly she was in his arms, his hands hurting her shoulders. “Well,” he snarled, “ye can comfort me the way the camp whores do.”

“I will comfort you as a
friend.
”

“I dinna have friends,” he shouted at her, shaking her.

“You are so wrong. You have
me.
” Her own tears finally gathered.

His eyes widened. “Dinna weep fer me!”

He still gripped her, but she lifted her hand and laid it on his rough cheek. “There is
hope.
I began a communication with Ian. It may take some time, but we will find out what he wants, and then we can release him.”

“I canna release him,” Aidan cried.

His tears were falling again, over her hand, and his rising grief filled her, too. She caught his beautiful face in her hands. “Let me help you. We can find a way to release Ian together.”

He seized her wrists so hard that she tensed in alarm. “How can ye help me? Yer a virgin,” he mocked cruelly.

She understood his fury, his need to lash out. “It's okay.”

“I like courtesans and whores,” he hissed.

“I am not leaving you like this. In fact, I am not leaving you anytime soon.” She stroked his jaw.

He threw her hands aside. “Dinna touch me! Dinna come close. I dinna want yer friendship an I dinna want yer warm little body in my bed. I want power. I want blood,” he shouted at her. “I want my deamhan father's head!”

Brie cringed, Aidan's wrath filling the night, filling her. It was so savage. “I know you do. I want revenge, too.”

“Ye ken nothin'! I want my son!”

“I know!” she cried, seizing his hands. His pain-filled, blue gaze met hers. “Aidan, Ian is dead. You have to let him go.”

“He's my child! How can I let him go?” he cried, and tears streaked down his face.

“You can…and you will,” she whispered.

He jerked away from her hands. “I canna leave my son!”

“Then you are selfish,” she said. “Can't you see that your poor son wants peace, and until you give up, let go and stop this vengeance, he will never be at peace?”

His eyes were huge. “Damn ye, Brianna!”

Aidan strode toward the forest. She watched him until he vanished into the darkness there. Hadn't Grandma always said that the truth hurt the most of all? She tripped, stumbling down the hill, crying now. She hadn't meant to be cruel, but she had spoken the truth. If Aidan could only see what he had to do, then he could find peace, too.

And maybe he'd recover his soul, at last.

F
ROM THE EDGE OF THE FOREST
,
Aidan stared down the ridge, watching her stumbling to his tent. When she was safely inside, the handful of men he'd chosen to protect her clearly at their posts, he stared blindly into the night.

There was hope?

If he dared believe that she might truly speak with Ian and then she failed, he might finally die from the pain. It had been eating him alive for sixty-six years, and he knew he could not withstand it for much longer.

But he did secretly hope she might succeed, otherwise she wouldn't be in his tent.

No matter what she said, though, she was not a friend.

He had no friends, not one—not even Malcolm. The Masters feared him; Malcolm feared him—and no one trusted him. Except, of course, Brianna.

The deamhanain also mistrusted and feared him. They knew the truth. They knew he was evil—but not as evil as them. They knew he turned away from mayhem, ignoring it instead of causing it. They knew he lusted for power and took it, yet they knew he left the Innocent alive, not dead. He was the son of a deamhan, but they knew he was neither a man, a Master nor a deamhan, but some strange beast in their midst.

I am your friend.

Why did she wish to be the friend of a half deamhan, half beast?

She was a fool. He could understand her loving him from first sight; many ladies had loved him instantly when he had been a very different man. But she was a fool to love him now. She was a fool to have trusted him before he had decided that she served him well alive. She was a fool to be determined to save him from hanging, and put her own life at risk in the Highland wars. And to even think to redeem him? That was madness.

He had no interest in salvation. He had meant it when he had told her he'd found his way, not lost it. His standard meant
nothing.
Saving her from the gang in New York also meant nothing. He must have sensed that she would soon be useful to him. As for the fact that he was soon going to hang, she had to be wrong. He would never embrace death unless he had avenged Ian first.

Moray had vanished in time, but he would not die without taking his demonic father with him.

And he would not die until he knew what Ian wished to say to him.

Suddenly the grief he kept shackled in his chest rose up, consuming him as it had earlier. He cradled his face in his hands. The urge to weep came again. He hadn't cried over Ian's death, not till that day. Aidan could not understand why his grief had finally boiled over. Of course, it was somehow her fault.

She had disturbed his life the moment he had first heard her cries for help and rescued her from evil. She continued to disturb him with her faith, her plots, her plans. He had almost found comfort in her touch a moment ago, when he must
never
find comfort with her. He had to avenge Ian's murder. He must never forgive the gods for what they had taken from him. If he did, he might walk away from his vengeance.

And now Brianna wanted him to let Ian go? How could he even think of doing such a thing?

He trembled. His mind felt crushed, as if weighted down by huge stones. He could not tolerate fatigue. Tomorrow was war. He had to ignore the urge to lie down and rest; he would not sleep. He couldn't imagine the nightmares sleep would bring.

He didn't have to look at his tent to sense her. He was attuned to her all the time now, so if danger came, he could protect her. She was soundly asleep.

What woman of her age was a virgin?

He realized he was staring at the black shadow of his tent. He could pretend otherwise, but he did want her and he had from the moment he'd first seen her. He was aware of her in a way he hadn't been aware of any woman, in all the years since his son's murder. He was afraid of what it might mean.

He must never go to her for pleasure and he must never find comfort in her arms.

A wolf howled. In sheer frustration, he felt like answering the call, but he didn't move. A memory assailed him.

He smiled down at his beautiful Irish mistress, holding her in his arms after lovemaking. She smiled back at him, whispering how much she loved him. He loved her, too, a little, and he moved away from her to give her a gift.

She'd wept over the simple gold necklace.

He'd held her and caressed her, put the necklace on for her, fed her sweets. When they were joined again, they were both smiling and laughing until the earth shattered….

Aidan cried out, enraged. What kind of foul play was this? Why was he thinking of Catriona, who had been dead for a long time? He wasn't that man anymore—a man who could harbor genuine affection for another, a man who could smile and laugh, a man who enjoyed watching a woman open a gift, a man who was pleased by her pleasure!

I love you….
Catriona's voice washed over him, even though he had no wish to revisit the past. And he saw them together, two lovers in the midst of so much simple, mortal pleasure, alive with happiness.

Her eyes darkened, turned green. A silly pince-nez sat on the tiny bridge of her nose, amidst three freckles.
I'm your friend,
Brianna whispered, touching his cheek, as he slid deep and hot into her. She was smiling, her eyes aglow with love.

And the pleasure was stunning, but not as stunning as his need.

Aidan stood stiffly, unmoving. He was in disbelief.
What was happening to him?

He was dreaming of taking Brianna to bed for sexual pleasure. He needed power, not pleasure, and he did not want a friend! He did not want to ever see her looking at him that way, with her warm body beneath his, joined with his. But his body was recalling pleasure for the first time in decades: simple, mortal, sexual pleasure; pleasure for the sake of pleasure and nothing else.

He did not like this!

He started down the hill. Tomorrow he was going to war, and tonight he would take power with a dozen different, faceless women. He would wallow in the power, relish it, embrace it. Evil lusted for power, and so did he.

But she wasn't sleeping soundly now. She was dreaming.

Every Master and deamhan knew that dreams were reality, but of a different realm, one transcending the physical and earthly plane where mortals were bound until death.

That was why dreams were so often vivid. For they were real—mortals simply didn't know it.

But the dream world was governed by a whimsical goddess, and the rules were as insubstantial as the realm. Every dream could be unwritten or rewritten an infinite number of times, an infinite number of ways. In dreams, Fate was constantly erased, eroded, changed. In dreams there was right and wrong—and then there was no right, and no wrong, because the next dream would be different. And in a dream, no one could die.

In her dreams, he could not hurt her, and if he did, tomorrow it could be rewritten.

He tensed, refusing to lurk now. The whores' camp was very close to the southern wood. But although he was determined to ignore Brianna, he faltered. She dreamed of him all the time, and her thoughts had told him her dreams were very sexual and erotic. He wished he hadn't ever heard her thinking about her active fantasy life.

His heart was racing now.

His loins were hot and thick.

He glanced at his tent and his mind slipped helplessly into hers.

But the dream was an innocent one. She was with her lady friends.

He was almost disappointed that she was dreaming about the women and not him, but it was better this way. He made up his mind and started to walk away, but as he did, he listened closely to her. She was so happy and so well-loved. And then she looked at him and smiled.
“Aidan.”

In her dream she stood on the threshold of a room, starkly and lushly naked. There was no mistaking what she wanted—and what would happen next.

He knew he must turn his mind away from hers. He knew he must continue on to the whores' camp.

He knew that whatever happened next, it could be rewritten on the morrow.

Ablaze, he stepped into her dream.

 

I
AM SHAMELESS
, B
RIE THOUGHT
, slowly crossing her loft. Her body was hot and alive, and she felt as beautiful as a seductress. She felt her hips swing as she went to him; she felt her hair tangling over her breasts. Aidan stood in the doorway, unmoving. His blue eyes were blazing with heat and desire, their brilliance almost blinding.

She could barely breathe, and her mouth was dry. She knew she was dreaming; she couldn't possibly be in New York City with him, like this, but it didn't diminish her excitement. “I am so glad to see you,” she whispered. “I have missed you.”

He started. His face set, he said, “Hallo, a Bhrianna,” and his smoldering gaze slid down her naked body.

She went still. No one had ever looked at her in such a bold, hot way—no, Aidan had looked at her that way. He had looked at her that way when she was not dreaming, at Awe—she was almost certain. And no one had ever desired her this way before. Vaguely, she wondered at her empathy. Why was she feeling him in a dream?

His gaze had become an erotic caress. Her skin tingled beneath it, swelling. Distracted, she gasped, “I really need you.”

His mouth shifted but didn't curve. “Aye.” He reached for her.

His hands closed on her, and his grasp was stunningly real—too real. Her body fired, and the heat in his eyes thrilled her. “You want me,” she managed. But she was confused.

“Aye, in yer dreams,” he said tersely.

Something was awry.
Brie inhaled. Their gazes held. “This
is
a dream, isn't it?”

“Does it matter?” He pulled her closer and she gasped. He reached for his sword belt, and suddenly all of his clothes vanished, even his boots. Brie looked at his hard, sculpted body. She looked at his perfect, tight face and his huge arousal. She wet her lips, her pulse so rapid now she started feeling faint.

He clasped her shoulders, breathing hard. His tension was so high it had become painful. “I am going to take power, Brianna, but I won't hurt ye,” he said harshly.

He was going to take power, not make love to her? That was all wrong. In her dreams, he made love to her, and laughter followed in the aftermath of their passion. In her dreams, she felt her desire, not his. “I'm becoming nervous,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, and he pulled her close against his hard, quivering body. “Dinna fear me now,” he whispered.

Brie gasped. The contact between their skin was electric, shocking, exciting—and real. Her confusion increased. Was she dreaming or not?

His face impossibly set now, he pushed her hair back over her shoulders, and suddenly his hands slid down her back. She shivered in pleasure and lifted her eyes to his. He was staring at her mouth with a raw hunger. Then he met her gaze.

“What's wrong? Why aren't you kissing me? Why do I keep feeling you?”

He shook his head, and slid his hand quickly over her breast. She gasped in more pleasure, but he abruptly lifted her in his arms and was carrying her to her bed. Why wasn't he caressing her and kissing her? she wondered, finally becoming alarmed.

He laid her on the bed, panting. Sweat beaded his temples. His hand slid into her hair, anchoring her head. “Ye canna control yer dreams,” he said. Softly, he added, “Ye canna control me.”

“Something is wrong,” she breathed, but she no longer cared. Tears came. “I'm hurting and hot. Hurry.”

His gaze slid down her body. Brie realized he was fighting himself, but she didn't know why. Then he reached down and slid his hand over the slick depths of her womanhood. She arched against him, throbbing softly.

But he didn't caress her.

She arched again and somehow looked at him. “Please.”

His blinding gaze lifted to hers. He was trembling; he shook his head. “If I make love to ye, I am doomed.”

Brie jerked to sit up.
This was not a dream.

He stood, magnificently aroused, his entire body taut. He shook his head and started to back away, but his gaze kept moving back down her body as if he had never seen a naked woman before.

Brie leapt to her feet and took his face in her hands. “I love you. It's only a dream. Let me make love to you.”

He started shaking his head in negation, but his gaze was fixed on hers—hot, hard and anguished. He was distressed. She felt that now, too.

“You're the one who's afraid,” she whispered. She tried to smile, and ran her thumb over his jaw. To her shock, he gasped, his eyes flying in confusion to hers.

She drew back, releasing his face. “What is it?”