Halcyon Rising (28 page)

A low, bitter laugh came from the dark corner where her sister and brother-in-law slept. “How gracious of you, Miranda. An angel of mercy is what you are.”

“Hello, Garrick,” Miranda answered softly, keeping her irritation masked. Though she loved her sister’s husband like a brother and knew how much frustration his injury caused him, she grew tired of being the focus of his anger.

“She
is
an angel of mercy,” Violet snapped. “I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“’Tis nothing,” Miranda hastened to assure them both, unwilling to be the cause of what she feared were increasing arguments between them. “As I’ve said many times before, my patients give me far more than I need.”

“Did you bring us a picture?” Gwen dragged the basket across the floor toward the table, her face filled with excitement.

“No,” Miranda answered, and the crestfallen look on her niece’s face filled her with guilt and regret. One of the benefits of living in the tower had been the piles of paper and ink her predecessor had left behind. She’d always been good at drawing animals and had taken to sketching the children something each time she visited. “I am sorry, my sweet. I didn’t have time to draw you anything this week.”

“Twas a lie, of course. She’d had plenty of time, but had been unable to draw anything but Trevelan. Several days had passed since the night he’d appeared in the tower, and she grew more certain with each passing day that she’d dreamt it all. If he were real, wouldn’t he have returned by now?

Lord knew, she didn‘t have such willpower. She’d have gone to him in a heartbeat if she knew where to find him. But another relentless search of the tower had still not revealed any secret passageways or tunnels, another indication that the wonderful night she’d spent in his arms was a product of her imagination.

“Will you draw me a unicorn next time?” Gwen whined. “I was hoping for a unicorn.”

“I wanted a dragon,” Will piped up. “A blue dragon.”

Miranda did her best to banish all thoughts of Trevelan and return her attention to her family. They were all she had, and she couldn’t afford to ruin what precious time she had with them lost in hopeless dreams.

“I’ll draw you both a picture next time,” she promised. “A dragon and a unicorn.”

The storm swept in over the mountains during Trevelan’s second trek back from the coast. The wind and snow blinded him, cutting through his thin clothing like needles. Numb and exhausted, he nearly missed the cave that hid the entrance to the tunnels. Even after he’d stumbled his way in out of the weather, he couldn’t shake the fatigue that scrambled his thoughts and made him want to sink to his knees and sleep the rest of the day away.

Dangerous, he realized, forcing himself to keep moving, to keep the blood pumping in his veins. If he fell asleep now, he might never wake up.

By the time he reached Old Halcyon, his thoughts had cleared a bit. As he soaked the last of the chill from his bones in the hot springs, he wondered how Miranda would weather the storm. The tower’s thick stone walls and heavy wooden shutters would protect her from the wind, but also held the chill like an icebox.

Perhaps he should check on her. He could restoke the fire, so she wouldn’t have to get up in the middle of the night….

The storm gave him an excuse, and heaven knew he’d been looking for one.

As he pulled on his ragged clothes, he promised himself he wouldn’t wake her and wouldn’t stay long. Besides, he’d had no luck in his endless search for food today, and Miranda always had extra. He hated stealing from her, but sometimes he had no choice.

He never took much, just enough to tide him over for another day—a small slice of ham, a piece of bread. He swore he’d find a way to pay her back someday.

An hour later, he stood in her herbarium, eating a carrot and shivering as the wind howled ferociously outside. The swim through the underwater tunnel that connected Old Halcyon with the tower was always harrowing, and he hated that there was no way to transport things from one side to the other without getting them wet.

He’d left one set of the clothing he’d taken from Sebastian on the tower side so he’d have something dry to don when he arrived, but his hair was still damp and quickly turned to ice as he made his way through the tower. A glance out the unprotected windows in the stairwell showed a blizzard of mammoth proportions brewing outside. Drifts of snow already obscured part of the castle. By morning, the people of Hawkesmere would have a hard time digging themselves out. Comforting himself with the thought that no one would be out in this weather, he eased open the door of the tower’s uppermost chamber and slipped inside.

Silence and darkness greeted him. No fire burned in the grate, and he sensed something was terribly wrong.

“Miranda?” he called, reckless with fear. “Miranda, are you here?”

When no one answered, he crossed the dark room to the grate, fumbling to find the flint and get a spark. An eternity seemed to pass before he managed to start a fire. Once it took, he lit the end of a twig to use as a torch and stood up, circling the room. A dusting of snow trailed across the floor from the doorway and frozen clothes were piled at the foot of the bed.

In the center of the mattress, huddled beneath a mound of blankets, Miranda lay deathly still. With a harsh cry he sat down beside her, pulling her into his lap and shaking her roughly.

“Miranda, wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. Please, wake up.”

To his great relief, he found the flutter of her pulse beneath the fragile skin at her throat, but she remained unresponsive. She wore nothing but her shift, and the blankets had failed to bring warmth back to her freezing feet and hands.

Knowing the risk he took, yet unable to think of any other way to warm her, he picked her up in his arms and strode down the stairs. He shifted her awkwardly, his arms burning with strain as he carried her down to the hot springs below.

Without pausing to disrobe, he stepped into the pool, fully submerging Miranda beneath the steaming water. When she broke the surface, she was gasping and choking, flailing wildly, her eyes wide and and unfocused.

“It’s all right,” he told her, gathering her close to his chest as he sank down on one of the rock ledges. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

She kept fighting him for a few moments, and it was all he could do to keep her from doing him serious damage. But at last his soft words seemed to penetrate and she subsided against him, breathing heavily.

“Trevelan?” she asked at last, her voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable. “Where are we?”

“The hot springs beneath the castle,” he replied, pulling her to a sitting position on his lap and staring down into her dilated eyes. “I found you in the tower. There was no fire, and you were freezing. I couldn’t rouse you, so I brought you down here.”

“You saved me.” She brought a trembling hand to his face, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. “I got caught in the storm when I was returning from visiting my sister in the village. By the time I got to the tower I just wanted to get out of those cold, wet clothes and get in bed.”

“You would have frozen to death by morning.” He hugged her tightly, shuddering when he thought of how close he’d come to losing her. Frightening to realize that without her, he had no one. “When I saw you lying there so still… I thought I was already too late.”

She returned his embrace, shivering uncontrollably as feeling returned to her frozen limbs. He murmured inanities, smoothing one hand up and down her back, hoping to offer some comfort.

As always, the soft press of her lovely body had its inevitable effect, and he shifted uncomfortably, wishing to spare her his animalistic reaction. No other woman had ever made him react so strongly. He wondered if she were really the cause of his base desires, or if he’d become a product of his environment.

He gave a soft, internal snort of self-derision at his inane thoughts. Of course it was her. Since the first moment he’d seen her, he’d been beguiled. Perhaps this attraction was in part due to the fact that her appearance was so different from all the women he’d known before, but he had a feeling he would have wanted her no matter what she looked like.

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.”

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.