Always Mine (6 page)

She did not dare twitch a muscle. After hearing the door close, she peeked through thick lashes. She was alone.

Over the years, she had learned much about the Sinclair and Morgan families. Brianna’s mother died after birthing her, and her sister, Alana, took over the duties as mother.

When Brianna was eight years old, the baron founded Saint Anne’s Abbey with Alana as its abbess.

Damron Morgan was noted for his temper and strong will.

After his marriage to Brianna, she gave him two sons, but their history said she later leapt from the parapet of Blackthorn Castle.

“Not bloody likely,” Lydia muttered aloud. She had never believed it, for Brianna had lived at the abbey with Alana. She damned well would never put her immortal soul in danger.

How in blazes did she get here in Brianna’s body?

Had all those misty flashes of strange memories over the years belonged to a previous life? Even at five years old, when she had seen Damron’s likeness, she claimed he

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belonged
to her. Her father told her she misread Damron for Demon, though she now believed it was more than a child’s mistake. She remembered the feeling of fierce possession that filled her as she bought the brooch, the face and voice that begged her to vow she would never leave him. It was Damron’s as surely as it had been tonight.

When she’d walked high above on the castle parapets, the wind had blown as furiously as a hurricane gust and lifted her into the air for scant seconds before dropping her back against hard stone. Her head struck something. Then, darkness. She’d heard the raptor’s voice, felt the flutter of its wing feathers.

She had moved through black nothingness until the echo of a frightened voice cried out, “Please God, please God, help me!” The sensation of moving ended then with a sense much like slipping on a muddy river bank and sliding into the water.

She’d felt another blow to the head. More darkness. When she again became aware, she had struggled to make her body respond to her mind. Had her soul returned to a former life then?

She had often thought about the journey of souls, but always in the sense that souls went forward into another time.

What if her matured soul was called back to relive a previous life? Maybe this explained why she had felt such a tie to the drawing. If she had once been Brianna, it would account for those strange images that did not belong to Lydia.

Was there a way back? One thing she knew for certain. If she indeed was in a former lifetime, she had no intention of leaving the way the early Brianna had.

Hours later, Lydia woke with tears streaming down her face. The same nightmare often plagued her. An unseen man accused her of betraying him. A flash of light hit shiny metal, a sword raised to strike. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

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Someone stirred beside her. She was not at home in her bed.

Before she could stifle it, a distressed cry escaped her lips.

Elise turned over, and Lydia forced herself to lie still. She broke into a cold sweat. No longer could she hope the past days were a dream.

“Oh, Brianna, you look frightful.” Elise raised up on an elbow. “Have you been crying? Did you not sleep? Does your head hurt? Your forehead does not stick out like an egg this morn. Do you want to stay in bed today?” She bounced up with the exuberance of a colt.

“No, I haven’t been crying, yes, I did sleep, no, my head doesn’t hurt, and I don’t want to stay in bed.” Lydia forced herself to smile at the sweet young woman and watched her as she rose and went about her morning ritual.

While they slept, someone had built up the fire. Other objects, not there the night before, were on the washstand. She watched Elise wash her face and hands, then rub a small branch with green foliage over her teeth. After she worked a soft-looking woolen cloth over each tooth, she rinsed and nibbled sprigs of parsley that were beside the first greenery.

Once Elise was finished, Lydia went over and discovered the cleaners were sprigs of hazel. They cleaned her teeth much better than she expected. The parsley freshened her mouth even more, but she wished she had a toothbrush and toothpaste.

She finished and dressed, the clothing no longer feeling strange. Though it was more comfortable than modern garments, she felt unnerved without underwear. Determined to make the best of her life, she beckoned to Elise.

“Come, let’s do some exploring.”

Elise scampered after her. They collected warm hunks of bread and thick slices of dark yellow cheese as they threaded through the early diners in the great room. Elise grabbed two apples, stuffed them in her pockets, and stuck another under

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her chin. Lydia didn’t catch up with her until she reached the stables. As she passed the stall housing Damron’s white destrier, the horse reached out his huge head and snorted.

“Ha! What misguided soul named you Angel? Lucifer better suits your personality,” Lydia muttered as the huge warhorse stomped and shook his head at her. Was he reprimanding her as harshly as would his master?

Several empty stalls separated him from Sweetpea. The beautiful mare tossed her head and nickered, begging attention. When Lydia drew close and the horse bumped her shoulder in an unmistakable sign of affection, she felt a surge of joy. She stroked the warm, soft hair between the mare’s eyes and whispered, “Hello, love.” On hearing her voice, Sweetpea shook her head.

“So. You think I talk strangely, too. Don’t worry, sweets, I have your treat.” She reached into her pocket for an apple that wasn’t there. “What happened to your apple?” When she realized she had expected one to be there, she caught her breath.

“Do not fret. You keep forgetting your name, so I knew you would forget her apple. I brought it for you.” Elise grinned and handed one to her. “You do talk strange, but ’tis lovely.

Like when you sing with Galan.”

As Lydia offered the apple to Sweetpea, she raised an eyebrow and would have questioned Elise about this business of lovely singing. Why, after her friends had told her she shouldn’t even hum in the shower she was so off key, she only mouthed the words of the hymns during church service.

A sense of heat and a tingling awareness on her nape warned her of Damron’s presence. Sweetpea tossed her head and stamped her hooves. When a strong, tanned hand brushed across Lydia’s shoulder to pull the mare’s ear, the traitorous horse seemed delighted. Damron stood so close, he pressed against Lydia’s back. She could hear his deep voice rumble in his chest as he spoke to the mare.

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“Ah, my treasure. How lovely ye are with yer dainty neck and beautiful face.” Damron’s breath ruffled her hair as he caressed the mare’s ears and ran his strong hand sensuously down the mare’s neck. “Soft as velvet. So warm and soothin’ to the hand. What a magnificent body.” As his hand continued its caress, Sweetpea quivered and tried to move closer to him. “So eager to please me.

What noble offspring ye will bear.”

“Huh. I’ll bet he doesn’t talk that sweetly to a woman,”

Lydia muttered to herself.

She tried to deny the heat that went through her at his words. Pressing close to the rails to keep from brushing against him as she edged away, she stole a look at him and was again struck with his appeal.

His face wasn’t what she would call beautiful for a man.

Each feature lent strength. His broad forehead and prominent brows accented demanding emerald eyes. She had always wondered about their color. A straight, arrogant nose added character, while sensuous lips graced a strong jaw that refused to yield to any softness. She forced her gaze from his lips. Why did she have this insane urge to taste them?

His energy flowed over every inch of her, feeling like lightning strikes. Pivoting on her heel, she sprinted for the door.

She felt his heated gaze explore her back.

Damron had not missed the tension that rippled through Brianna when he pressed close to her at the stall. Nor did he miss seeing her nostrils flare, catching his scent, as he studied her profile.

Had she known he was speaking of her while stroking the mare, she would have run from him as swiftly as a hare from a hunting dog. ’Twas her dainty neck and beautiful face he admired. Her skin that he found soft as velvet when his hands had roamed over her checking for injuries after her fall.

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He had not missed the heat that built and radiated from her, nor the quiver that ran through her when she scoffed that he would not talk that sweetly to a woman. Her pupils had dilated, ever so slightly, when she studied his face.

On eyeing his lips, the tip of her tongue had moistened her own. He had no doubt that along with her fiery nature would come an equally heated passion. And, with God’s help, ’twas she who would bear him noble offspring, did she but know it.

For several hours, Brianna and Elise roamed the floors of the castle, climbed the winding stairways and opened doors to look in each room.

“Elise, why are there no rushes on the other floors?” From all she knew of the period, it was the custom to cover the floor space with them. They collected debris pitched from careless hands, and the leavings of the hounds and falcons. “And how is it that everyone seems to bathe frequently?” From what she had read of the eleventh century, they were afraid of bathing.

“Why, because of your Nathaniel, of course.” Elise stared at her with worried eyes.

“My Nathaniel?”

“Do not tell me you forgot Nathaniel?” Elise gasped, sounding both scandalized and horrified simultaneously.

“Indulge me. My mind is a little foggy today.” She took hold of Elise’s arm, for she looked ready to take off at a run to fetch Lady Maud.

“Ever since I can remember, you have always called Lord Bleddyn your ‘Nathaniel.’ You allowed no other to call him such. If we did, you wrestled us onto the ground for the doing.” She eyed Lydia warily. “Do you remember now?”

When Lydia shook her head, Elise sighed. “He believes dirty rushes cause diseases. Mother has the rushes in the great

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hall changed often. And Bleddyn claims bathing will not open the body to ill humors but will aid in healing wounds.”

Lord Bleddyn? That hadn’t told Lydia anything, because she still didn’t know who he was by either name Elise called him. She knew better than to question her further, for the girl was already peeking warily at her from the corner of her eye.

When they reached the top floor, they stepped out on the walkway that bordered the inner bailey and connected the main building to the tower housing the buttery and pantry.

The wind pulled their hair and whipped their clothes about their legs. Lydia felt a jolt of panic, remembering another time of standing high above a castle and feeling the wind take control of her body. She grabbed the wooden railing.

She sensed someone’s gaze and glanced at the opposite walkway. Damron watched her. She turned her back on him, squared her shoulders, then followed Elise to the outer bailey.

Before going below, she stopped to study the view.

At the far corner of the outer bailey was a small orchard.

As she admired the denseness of the trees, she was startled by a vision of herself laughing as Galan chased her among them.

When he caught her, his warm lips kissed her forehead.

Shock jolted through her. What was between Brianna and Galan?

The vision left as quickly as it came. She took a deep breath and held to the wall, calming herself with the view.

The land was beautiful. Green fields stretched to the edges of the forests, and verdant mountains loomed in the distance.

How wonderful not to see houses jammed together. No planes flew overhead. No cars streaked down crowded high-ways, polluting the air and harassing the ears.

Elise ran down the stairway at the next corner and shouted back to her.

“Hurry, Brianna. Mother told me last eve that Galan is to

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take us for a special outing. She says it might help your memory to come back the sooner.”

When Lydia followed, she found they were again at the stables. She grinned as Elise, with help from a groom, scrambled awkwardly onto a mare.

Galan came to put his hands around her waist and seated her on a strange, boxlike saddle. He gave her a soft squeeze before releasing her, then turned and gained his own saddle.

Closing her eyes, she hoped she would adjust to the saddle.

Lydia was an accomplished rider, and her training took over when she held the reins in her hands.

The next half hour was most pleasant. The trees had begun to wear their summer colors. Yellow and violet wildflowers carpeted the ground. They stopped at a lake where wispy trees overhung the water. After a servant spread a blanket for their comfort, their escorts moved to a discreet distance.

Galan retrieved food from a bag tied to his saddle, and placed a loaf of flat, heavy oat bread, a wedge of cheese and a roasted chicken on the cloth. A flagon of ale and three goblets joined the food.

As they ate their meal, Lydia felt that someone besides Elise and Galan watched her. Each time she looked up, she could not see who it was. Surely it must be her imagination.

“This next sennight will be as years, my little love,” Galan whispered in her ear. His lovely blue eyes gazed into hers as he pressed ever closer to her side.

Strange, but she didn’t feel awkward with him. His nearness felt natural. The early Brianna must have been very fond of this man. Oh, my. How fond? Had she allowed his caresses? Perhaps more?

“If only time would fly as swift as eagles,” Galan murmured. He began to nuzzle the sensitive skin below her ear with hungry, nibbling kisses.

Good heavens. Just how intimate had the two been? She

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jerked, and his nibble, a little too eager, decided it. She yelped and shot to her feet.

“What is it? Did a bee sting you? Oh, my goodness, do run before it gets you again,” Elise advised as she jumped up and started doing a little dance of worry, hopping from one foot to the other as her gaze searched for the flying assailant.