Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (40 page)

“I chose to come back,” she said simply, knowing there was no “simply” about it. “To be with you.”

“But what of the king... his brother?” Was he truly arguing against his own happiness? Logan clamped his mouth shut, but only for an instant. Her happiness was more important to him than his own. And she’d seemed so anxious to return to her old life before. “Rachel, you were a Lady. You lived in a palace.” His eyes swept back toward the dilapidated cabin. “I can give you nothing like that.”

“Oh, but you can.” Her hand curved up around his cheek. He’d shaved this morning but there was still a rasp of stubble that sent shivers down her spine. “You... your love are worth more to me than all the treasures of this world.” Her fingers tightened. “I have seen the other side, and I know. Love is the only important thing.”

His kiss was gentle. When he looked down into her eyes again, his were searching. “Is this where you want to live?”

“Why do you ask?” There was no more reading his thoughts, yet she still knew there was something on his mind... something beyond worry about his lowly cabin.

“When you left, my heart broke, but I knew it was as it had to be.” He fingered a curl behind her ear. “I also knew ’twasn’t as it should be me living up here alone. When I was in Charles Town I spoke with Dr. Quincy again, and he told me of the work done with mental patients by a doctor in Williamsburg. I thought perhaps—”

The pressure of her lips cut off the rest of his words. “That’s a wonderful idea. You have so much to offer the world. So much to offer me.”

Rachel leaned into him, her head nestled on his broad shoulder. Together they looked out over the beauty of the mountains. The sun rose slowly, burning off the vapors that misted the valleys, unveiling the land’s secrets.

A breathtaking sight. But in her heart Rachel knew the best secret of them all. The one she’d shared with Logan.

Love was the only thing that mattered.

The End

I hope you enjoyed
My Heavenly Heart
. Writing it for you was such a special treat, Since I was a little girl I’ve believed in angels. And since I first saw
It’s A Wonderful Life
I’ve wanted to help an angel earn his wings. If you listened carefully with your heart as you read
My Heavenly Heart
perhaps you heard a tiny bell tinkle. I know I did.

The story of Logan MacQuaid and his angel, Rachel Elliott, completes the MacQuaid Brothers Trilogy. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading
My Savage Heart
and
My Seaswept Heart
as much as I enjoyed writing them.

So what’s next? How can I top a book with an angel of a heroine?

Well, I’ve always loved fairy tales—tales like Cinderella and Snow White, like Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel. Stories of queens, and sorcerers, and handsome heroes who save the day—though don’t be surprised if this hero receives a little help from the beautiful queen. Read on for a sneak preview of
Splendor
, my very own fairy tale romance, and watch for it on e-books soon.

I love to hear from readers. You can join me on
Facebook
,
Twitter
, my
blog
, or visit my website at
www.christinedorsey.com
.

To happy endings,

Christine

Once upon a time in a peaceful kingdom far away there lived a beautiful queen. But alas the fair queen was troubled....

One

The vision was upon her again.

Gasping, Cassandra shoved aside the counterpane and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She opened her eyes, praying the dream would fade... knowing in her heart it was no dream.

They were still there, the people, her people. Men and women, children, screaming, fleeing the onslaught of mounted soldiers. Trying to escape the fire-breathing guns and flashing steel of sabers. Trampled beneath the pounding hooves.

“No, stop!” Pale hands covered her face, trying in vain to erase the images. “Please.”

Gradually the scene before her eyes faded. The screams and frenzied shouts evaporated till they were but echoes. Then naught remained but the faint odor of brimstone.

Slowly Cassandra allowed her fingers to drift down her face. Her cheeks were wet from the tears she hadn’t realized she wept. When her eyes could focus, clearly perceive the everyday trappings of her bedroom, Cassandra let out her breath.

She stared at the tapestry hanging from the wall. A white unicorn with a golden horn, the symbol of her country, frolicked on a sky blue background. Fluffy clouds framed the beast. Cassandra loved the tapestry. It had hung by her bed since she was a child and always made her smile. But now the mythical animal seemed to mock her.

“Do something,” it seemed to say. “Save those who depend upon you?”

But what could she do? Besides, there was no danger. No armed troops roamed Breslovia’s soil. Her country had a long history of peace and neutrality.

Yet what of the visions?

As if on cue, Cassandra’s gaze snagged on a flicker of light reflecting off the gold mirror frame. Her vision blurred. Her heart pounded and she could feel herself begin to tremble. It was happening again.

“No, oh, no. Please.”

She scrambled from her bed, not even bothering to grab up a cloak before lifting a corner of the tapestry. Behind the woven silk, a door built into the stone wall opened slowly, silently, when she pulled a small lever.

Cassandra slipped into the corridor. It was dark, but she knew the way. Even running from the vision as she was, she knew every step, every turn in the long, descending tunnel. Her bare feet padded down the passageway hacked into solid rock for some distant ancestor. Some king or queen who’d ruled Breslovia before her.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever. But not even its comforting darkness could blank out the scenes of horror from her mind. So she ran faster, harder. Gasping for breath, trying to escape the inescapable.

She could smell the damp earth, could vaguely sense the wavery lightening of the tunnel’s end. But the splashing tumble of cascading water was drowned out by the cannon fire and screams reverberating in her head.

Sticky with perspiration, Cassandra plunged forward into the waterfall that hid the tunnel entrance. The cool water engulfed her, soaking her thin cotton nightrail, but it did not purge the horrific images.

“Try to think of something else,” Cassandra admonished herself as she tossed back her head, allowing the crystal droplets to pound her face. But it did no good. She could still see them, hear them... feel their fear.

Then, suddenly, another sensation overwhelmed her, clawing away at the visions. Her relief was short-lived. Cassandra swallowed, stepping far enough forward on the slippery rock ledge to look about. For she could swear someone watched her.

Blinking water from her eyes, she scanned the area. The moon was full, gilding the feathery willow trees that lined the glistening pool at the base of the falls. Somewhere in the night an owl hooted, and Cassandra let out her breath. She was letting fantasy blur the sharp edges of reality, much as mist softened the landscape. There was no one here.

No one knew of the secret tunnel but her. She was safe.

Yet the feeling that eyes followed her every move would not dissipate.

And then she saw him.

Cassandra stood still, as still as he, wondering if the stranger was real or another vision conjured up by her mind. Tall and muscularly built, he leaned against an oak’s trunk near the reed beds by the pool’s edge. Moonlight blazed on the open white shirt he wore, and caught the shine of his boots. His face was in shadow, but she could sense his eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like long moments while her visions of death and destruction ceased. And all the while water tumbled over her body.

He was the first to move, pushing his shoulder off the tree trunk and taking several steps toward the pool into the moonlight before squatting down. His eyes left hers long enough for him to pick up a twig and toss it into the swirling water; then they were back, searching hers.

“You are real, aren’t you?” he finally said in a low deep voice. “For I should feel quite foolish conversing with a figment of my imagination.” He paused. “However lovely.”

Because she was thinking the same of him, wondering if she had conjured him up as a way to fight the awful visions haunting her on this night, Cassandra smiled.

His responding grin made Cassandra’s toes curl.

“Do you speak, Mistress Water Nymph?” The man accompanied his words by pushing himself to his feet and taking several more strides in her direction.

“Of course. But I’m no more water nymph than spawn of your imagination.”

“I can see that now.” His voice was even lower than before.

He was perhaps two rods from her, near the end of the ledge where she stood. He extended a hand toward her, and the spray from the falls quickly wet his sleeve. But he appeared not to notice as he stood, waiting.

His hand was large and well formed, the fingers long, and Cassandra could do no more than stare at it. She should turn around and retreat into the tunnel, she was certain of that. Even if he chased her she would find her way through the labyrinth better than he. Yes, that was what she should do. But though her mind made the decision, her body seemed unable to carry through.

Even when he moved closer.

“’Tis obvious you’re chilled. And I do have a cloak at your disposal.” He motioned back toward the tree, where he’d originally stood. Cassandra could see something on the ground, though she couldn’t tell what.

His boots splashed in the water.

Cassandra could see his face again, found herself beguiled by his expression. Without waiting to weigh the consequences her arm lifted. Before she could draw in a breath his hand, warm and firm, encompassed hers.

He drew her toward him till she was pressed against his wet hard body. Only then did he back up toward the shore.

Cassandra could barely breathe. Close up he seemed so much taller, so much broader. He was overpowering. One of his muscular arms held her to him, pinning her body to his. Her flesh tingled and she felt lightheaded. When his thumb lifted her chin Cassandra looked into blue eyes as clear and deep as the pool behind her.