The Dream Catcher (5 page)

Her hand froze. There it was again – the heartrending sound of a woman crying in the corridor. Throwing the covers off, she jumped out of bed and ran barefoot across the room. The crying stopped as soon as she opened the door.

‘Is it you, Agnes?' Rose narrowed her eyes to peer into the darkness.

A shadow shifted and moved near the staircase.

‘Don't be afraid, I only want to help.' Rose took a few tentative steps in the corridor.

‘Nobody can help. It's too late. Nothing matters anymore. I might as well die.' It wasn't the young maid talking, but a woman, and even though she only whispered, Rose heard a strong French accent that reminded her of her father. That was strange…

The woman ran down the staircase, her dark cloak flying around her.

‘No! Wait!' Rose rushed in pursuit but the woman was too fast and had already reached the far end of the hall by the time Rose got to the last step.

Next she started down a passageway so dark Rose could hardly see where she was going. Panting, Rose tripped on an uneven flagstone and fell against a side table, sending a vase smashing onto the ground.

‘Bedbugs!' For a moment she wondered about clearing up the mess, but now wasn't the time to worry about a broken pot. This desperate woman seemed to want to end her life. Rose ran down yet another dark corridor, the sound of her bare feet on the flagstones echoing in the silence.

At the end of the corridor she reached a narrow, spiral staircase which must lead to the tower. A flutter of dark fabric disappearing in the stairwell caught her eye, and with a renewed sense of urgency she started up the stairs. No doubt the poor woman planned to throw herself from the top. She had to stop her. On the landing, a door stood half-open.

‘Hello? Are you in here?' she called. ‘Please let me help you. I just want to make sure you're all right, then I promise I'll leave you alone.'

It wasn't a woman's voice that answered, but a man's and it was loud and full of anguish.

‘Don't shoot, no. Please wait. It's too dangerous right now.'

It was Bruce McGunn. Rose's throat tightened in panic. Who was he talking to? Was the woman in the dark cloak trying to kill him?

The embers in the fireplace gave out just enough light for her to see that she was in a study. Shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, papers and files cluttered a large desk, together with a tray of food and a bottle of liquor. She wrinkled her nose. Someone must have spilled some whisky, she recognised its distinctive woody, harsh and bitter smell.

‘I said not to shoot. The whole place's going to explode.' It was McGunn's voice, again.

He sounded so terrified that instinct overtook caution. Rose darted across the room and down a short flight of steps but her feet caught in the hem of her nightdress. She flew forward, tumbled onto the four-poster bed and landed on top of the man who lay sprawled at the centre.

McGunn.

Something sharp and metallic scratched her cheek.

‘Bedbugs and stinky…!'

The man rolled over and trapped her under him, driving the air out of her lungs.

‘What the hell?' he growled.

‘Let me go, I can't breathe.'

Ignoring her, he grabbed hold of her wrists, lifted her hands and pinned them down on either side of her head.

‘Who is this?' He blinked a few times as if he was waking up.

‘Rose,' came her muffled reply. ‘Rose Saintclair… I mean, Rose McRae.'

There was a moment of stunned silence.

‘Lady McRae?' He let out a short laugh. ‘I should have known. No other woman knows curses as entertaining as yours.'

His fingers tightened around her wrists.

‘So, my
gràidheag
, I see you want a kiss after all, or maybe a little more than a kiss. You should have asked instead of jumping into my bed in the middle of the night and giving me a fright.'

Shame burned her face. She must be as red as the canna flowers that grew in the garden at Bou Saada and she was grateful for the semi-darkness preventing him from seeing her.

‘Don't flatter yourself,' she snapped. ‘I didn't jump into your bed, I tripped. And I certainly didn't want to kiss you. I only wanted to help, which I now bitterly regret. So please move off me and let me go.'

He only pressed down harder. ‘Not before you tell me what your game is.'

He lifted himself on his elbows, and her mouth brushed against his bare chest. She tasted the salt and heat of his skin, breathed in his male scent that mingled with scents of forest and sea… and then she stopped breathing altogether. Good Heavens, the man was naked. Only the counterpane and her thin nightdress stood between her and his heavy, hard body of which she could feel every single line.

He stared down. ‘I want to know why you're here.' He spoke slowly, separating each syllable, and didn't sound amused any longer.

She swallowed hard, struggling to focus her thoughts.

‘I– I…'

‘You'd better explain yourself a little better before I get angry. You were snooping around my study, looking for information to give McRae about my business, checking my papers to find out if his little schemes to ruin me have succeeded. Is that right?'

She shook her head. Cameron was right, the man was seriously deluded; no doubt the result of too much drinking.

‘I wasn't spying on you.'

‘Then what are you doing here?'

‘A woman was crying outside my room. She ran away and, as I feared she was about to take her own life, I followed her. She came in here, but I promise I didn't know this was your room. I just wanted to talk to her. Then I heard you shout that someone wanted to shoot you, that there was going to be an explosion and people were about to get killed, and I guess I didn't think. I ran to help you… and I fell into your bed.'

She knew she was blabbering, but she couldn't concentrate, with his fingers like steel manacles around her wrists, his body hot and heavy on top of hers.

‘
I
was shouting?'

Even in the dim light, she felt the intensity of his stare.

She nodded.

He muttered a curse, rolled off her and sat up in bed next to her, pulling the sheet up to cover himself.

‘Get out,' he growled.

Rose didn't hesitate. She climbed out of the bed and stood shivering in her nightdress in front of him.

‘So where is she, and why did she want to kill you?'

‘Who are you talking about?'

‘The woman, of course. I came to help her. What have you done to her?'

‘Sweetheart, there hasn't been any woman in here for a while,' he replied. ‘You imagined her.'

She crossed her arms on her chest and tilted up her chin.

‘I didn't imagine anything. I heard her cry, I even talked to her. I think she was French but I couldn't be sure because she was only whispering.'

She frowned and looked around the room.

‘Is there another way out of the tower?'

‘No.'

‘Then she's still here. I know what's going on! You seduced her, took her by force, that's why she threatened to shoot you. She wanted revenge but now she's terrified and she's hiding.'

She took a few steps towards him. ‘Where is she? Under the bed?'

She bent down to look. Nobody hid under there.

‘Or behind the curtains?'

She walked across to the window. The curtains weren't drawn. That was odd. She wondered briefly if Lord McGunn needed to see the night sky, the moon and the stars just like her. No one hid behind the curtains. She turned towards the massive wardrobe pushed against the wall.

‘Perhaps she's in there…'

‘Enough! You're giving me a headache with your nonsensical chattering.'

His voice was hard.

‘There's no one here, and for the record, I don't need to force women into my bed. They fall into it quite willingly, like you did.'

She opened her mouth to protest but he held out his hand to silence her before she could utter a sound.

‘Quiet, I said. There's been no woman in this room tonight, apart from you.'

He sighed and raked his fingers in his dark hair.

‘I had a nightmare, that's all, and so did you. Now go and wait in the study next door while I get dressed. I'll take you back to your room. I don't want you straying into another man's bed, things could get complicated.'

Her cheeks heated up again. ‘I don't stray into men's beds.'

‘You could have fooled me.' He turned to one side to turn up the flame of the oil lamp on the bedside table and the room was bathed in a warm light.

‘I told you, it was an accid…' The words died on her lips. All she could do was stare at him as the sheet he'd been holding slipped away.

His chest was powerful and golden with a peppering of dark hair that formed a line down his hard, flat stomach. A dark blue tattoo was stencilled above his heart – symbols or letters of an alphabet she'd never encountered before. A crescent-shaped medallion hung around his neck. She put a hand to her cheek where its rough edges had grazed her skin earlier.

He glared at her. ‘What are you waiting for? Ah well, if you don't mind seeing the rest of me…'

He started to pull the sheet down. This time she let out an undignified squeal and hurried out.

It didn't make any sense, she thought, as she paced the study. Lord McGunn may have had a nightmare but the woman had been there. She'd seen her, talked to her and followed her up here. So where had she gone? Rose rubbed her hands along her arms but she couldn't stop shivering. Her bare feet were so cold she could hardly feel them anymore.

Lord McGunn walked in. He had slipped a white shirt on, a pair of black trousers and black slippers. He held the oil lamp in one hand, and a green and blue blanket and a pair of grey woolly socks in the other.

‘Wrap this around you.' He gave her the blanket and pointed to the socks. ‘They're too big but at least they'll keep you warm as we walk back to your room.'

She mumbled a thank you as she pulled the blanket tightly around her shoulders. It smelled of pine, and of McGunn's skin. It was as if she was in his arms all over again. Her face on fire, she bent down to slip the socks on her feet.

‘I want to get a couple of things straight before we go,' he said. ‘One, you do not speak about tonight to anyone. Nothing happened and you were never here. Second, there was no mysterious weeping woman in a black cloak, French or not. Is that clear?'

‘But–'

She frowned. Something that he'd said wasn't right, but she couldn't think what. He lifted his finger to her mouth, stroked the contours of her lips, and then she couldn't think at all.

‘Do you ever stop talking?' he scowled. ‘Be quiet and listen for once. I don't think McRae would like to hear that his bride visited another man's bed in the middle of the night, especially my bed. Do you?'

He dropped his hand by his side.

He was right, Rose thought. Cameron must never know about tonight. Even if he believed her about the woman in the black cloak, he would be shocked and terribly angry to think she'd been in Lord McGunn's room, let alone his bed.

‘You're not going to tell him, are you?' she asked, her voice tight with apprehension.

‘No.' He bent down towards her and pointed to the graze on her cheek.

‘You're bleeding.'

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her cheek with the square of linen before she could protest.

‘It's merely a scratch,' she forced herself to speak even though her throat was suddenly too tight. ‘I'm used to far worse. Life in Bou Saada can be dangerous, you know.'

‘Bou Saada? Is that where you come from?'

She nodded. ‘It's an oasis at the edge of the Sahara. We have a small estate there. My father bought it before retiring from the army.'

‘If your family is French, why can you speak English so well?'

‘My mother was brought up in England and insisted on teaching my brother and me.' She almost added that English was about the only thing her mother had managed to teach her.

‘There. I think you'll live.' McGunn stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket.

He looked down, a smile lifted the corner of his mouth and, for a fleeting moment, he reminded her of someone else.

‘Of course,' she replied, touching her cheek. ‘I told you it was nothing.'

‘Tell me all about the dangers of living in Bou Saada,' he said, leading the way out of the study and into the staircase. ‘You're making me curious.'

‘There are poisonous plants, snakes and scorpions for a start. I was stung by a scorpion once when my father took me camping near the mountains. It was very painful. I lost count of the times I fell from trees and…'

‘What were you doing climbing trees?'

He stopped so suddenly at the bottom of the stairs that she bumped into him. She swallowed hard and pulled away.

‘Picking dates and oranges, of course,' she answered. ‘The best ones are always at the top, everybody knows that.'

‘Of course. How silly of me.'

‘It's also the best place to be if you want to spy on French soldiers and throw stones at them.' She had done that often enough and was rather good at it. She was good at other things too, like dressing up like a native dancing girl and passing messages to rebels.

‘Any other dangers you care to mention?'

She nodded. ‘Oh yes. There are salt marshes that can swallow a dozen men and their camels in less than three minutes; Tuareg raiders who appear from nowhere and melt back into the sand dunes like ghosts, and horrid French soldiers, of course.'

She shivered. ‘They're the worst, the stinking jackals! Hopefully it won't be long before Abd-el-Kader and his rebels wipe them out and the country is free of them.'

He looked puzzled, and she wondered if she should have made her opinions so blatant, but instead of asking what she meant he shrugged and started walking again.