Samantha James (14 page)

“Have you ever been in battle, Fionna?”

She frowned. What was he about? “You know that I have not,” she said almost crossly.

He trailed a fingertip down her nose.

“Well,” he said with a hint of brogue, “now you are.”

Fionna did not sleep well that night.

She tossed and turned, unable to put him from her mind.

Still tired, she visited her mother in the morning. It was Sunday and she would not forsake her visit. Mama was napping already. She did not rise, but remained where she was, lying on the sofa. She was groggy, still half-asleep, waking occasionally to stare at her.

Nonetheless, Fionna sat beside her, taking her hand between hers.

“Mama,” she whispered, “I’ve met a man, Mama.” She smiled slightly. “His name is Aidan. Aidan McBride.” She smiled slightly. “His brother is a duke. Can you believe it, Mama? Ah, but he has me so muddled I’m hardly able to write my stories! Difficult to believe, isn’t it? Do you remember when you and Papa could scarcely pry me away from my desk to eat supper?

“It’s all very strange, you see, how much Aidan and I are like Raven and Rowan. I know you haven’t read about them—why, you might be rather shocked if you did! But Raven had never been tempted by any man until Rowan came into her life. And, I know this may sound silly, especially coming from your daughter, but that’s how it is with Aidan. Rowan, you see, persists in prodding his way into Raven’s life. That’s exactly why it’s so uncanny, I think. No matter how hard she tries, Raven cannot ignore Rowan. No matter how
I
try, I can’t stop myself from…from wanting him. From wanting to be with him.”

Mama stared at her vaguely. Fionna drew a sharp painful breath. Like a blade it was, clear to her heart, for it all seemed so fruitless. Her mother’s state continued to worsen; all Dr. Colson ever said was that these things took time.

Part of her was screaming inside. Why was she talking to a woman who didn’t even know she was here? Who probably hadn’t the foggiest notion who she was or what she was saying.

It was all Fionna could do not to give in to an overwhelming despair.

Yet she couldn’t. If Mama couldn’t fight, then she must fight for her, for who else was there? She couldn’t give up. Mama was lost, somewhere in the darkness of her mind. Wandering again. If anyone could find her, it was she, her only child.

She had to believe it. She prayed with all her heart that deep down, some part of Mama was still there. That she could reach her. That Mama could
hear
her.

That Mama would come back.

“You’d like him, I think, Mama. He’s a bit rakish at times, yet that’s part of his charm. He’s not a philanderer, not a frivolous man. When I’m with him, at times I’m overwhelmed. At times I feel out of control. And when he leaves, oh, Lord, I feel…so alone!”

Tears stung her eyes. She plucked at her skirt, then glanced at Mama. Her eyes were closed.

“He wants me, Mama.
Me.
He-he’s told me so! Can you believe it? Why, I hardly can! I feel giddy with happiness, knowing that a man like Aidan McBride wants me, Fionna Hawkes. It’s because I’ve never experienced anything like this before, I know. And he fascinates me so that I can barely think sometimes. Why, sometimes
he’s
all I can think of.”

Mama’s eyes half closed. Her pretty blue eyes stared at the wall, vague and distant.

“I have a confession to make, Mama. When I write about Raven, I pretend that I’m Raven. Raven is adventurous. Relentless in her fight against evil creatures, beasts and demons. For Raven, there’s always a way out.

“But there’s no way out for me, Mama.” Fionna’s throat grew thick with tears. Her voice was low and choked. “And I’m so afraid I’ll fall in love with him, but I know I shouldn’t. Not with—with things the way they are.” The truth rent her clearly in two, as if cleaved by a blade. “I want to let him in, as close as he wants to be. He wonders why I deny him. And I don’t know how much longer I
can
deny him. He’s so determined. He persists and persists…and I’m so afraid I’ll yield!”

She swallowed. “Is this what love is like, Mama? Is this how you felt with Papa?”

Her mother’s face seemed to crumple. Tears filled her eyes.

“William!” she cried out. “Take me home, William. Take me home!”

Fionna bit her lips until they nearly bled. A single tear trickled from the corner of one eye. She dashed it away.

Still, she thought achingly. Still, her mother asked for Papa.

Her step was slow, as if it hurt to walk, as she left the hospital for home.

The day was cloudy, laden with dark, grayish skies, the air thick and heavy and cold. Fionna
shivered as she went upstairs and shoveled more coal into the stove. She disdained tea for an early supper, then walked into the parlor to sit for a while before beginning to work. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at her favorite chair. She still couldn’t bring herself to sit in it, for that was the very spot where Aidan had explored her body with such shockingly intimate expertise.

And she’d relished every thrill, every shiver of delight.

But it was just as she’d told Mama. For Raven there was always a way out. But this was a man, flesh and blood, Fionna reflected silently. Aidan. And in spite of her arguments against it, she wanted him.

And that was something Fionna didn’t know how to fight.

If only it was so easy. If only she could let him in, as close as he wanted to be. As close as
she
wanted him. Perhaps someday, she reflected wistfully, when her life wasn’t so complicated.

But by then she would be too old.

By then Aidan would be gone.

She was reminded of everything she’d confided to her mother, things she hadn’t even dared to admit to herself.

No, it wasn’t fair to encourage him. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

He was brother to a duke.

And her mother was mad.

It was an impossible situation.

Nothing could ever come of it.

She was right. They’d resolved nothing. And Aidan wanted everything.

More than she could ever give.

In the evening, she began work on the current chapter of
Demon of Dartmoor.
But first she glanced over the last chapter, the one she’d just turned in—the one that was most suggestive. Nay, more than suggestive. The one she was certain would have readers gasping for air and clamoring for the next, or heaving it across the room.

She was betting on the former. Sales had improved most profitably since she’d heightened the allure between Raven and Rowan in
Demon of Dartmoor.
And surely enough, not long after she began to write, it wasn’t long before the tip of
her
hand touched the tip of one breast. Touched and pressed…and circled.

The pen slipped from her fingers. The other hand joined the first, the pressures strengthening, the pleasure intensifying ever more…Shocked, she shoved her chair back from her writing desk. A trifle dismayed with herself, she fanned the pages and set them aside.

Aidan McBride was proving most detrimental to her completion of
Demon of Dartmoor.
He continued to stifle her creativity! She spared a quick glance at the clock ticking on the mantel, then
hesitated but an instant. Snatching her mantle from its berth, she ventured outside. She needed to think.

She needed to walk.

She loved the dark. She loved the night. And she would not be robbed of her inspiration.

The temperature was much the same as it had been throughout the day. She lifted her face, hunching her shoulders against the chill, aware of a sifting fall of snowflakes drifting from the skies. While some might not have considered it a particularly welcoming environment, Fionna scarcely gave it a second thought. She’d trudged through snow. She’d braved rain and wind and, occasionally, a bit of thunder. Nothing stopped her. Nothing gave her pause—nothing but that blasted uncanny feeling of being surreptitiously surveyed.

Heaven help her, she felt it now.

Disquietude plagued her. Then a shiver slid the length of her spine, why, her entire body. She halted just around the corner from her home, her ears straining. Unbidden, she recalled those other nights when she’d heard footsteps behind her. At the same instant, she recalled not just that, but the day she’d found her book of spells shelved in the wrong spot. And those dead, accursed flowers laid on her doorstep.

She could not say with absolute certainty that she was not being watched. She whirled, search
ing every scrap of land, between every tree. Had she been able to see something—anything!—then she could fight it. But to confront what she could not see…

She whirled and walked straight into a broad, wool-covered chest. Like a wall, it was. With a cry, she actually reeled backward.

Strong hands caught her elbows and brought her upright.

She recognized his scent even before she recognized
him.

“Aidan!” A plea or a curse? “What the devil are you doing about at this hour? Must you startle me so?”

“The better question, my love, is what are
you
doing about at this hour?”

Drat the man! Must he dog her every step?

“I am concerned for you, Fionna,” he said quietly. “If you insist on these nightly jaunts, let me at least accompany you. I promise, it will be as if I am a ghost.”

That was exactly how it felt. As if a
ghost
followed her. She sought to suppress a shudder.

“May I accompany you home?”

She released a jagged breath. “If you must.”

It was but a short distance to her door. He gave a slight bow. “Good night,” he said softly.

She hesitated. “Good night, Aidan.”

How on earth she stayed herself from calling him back, she never knew.

Somewhere in the depths of his being, Aidan knew that Fionna sensed what
he
already knew.

In time they
would
be lovers.

The tactician in him had long ago decided his plan of attack. Impatient though he was, he must continue to persuade her. Woo her. Court her. Strip away her defenses little by little.

He had not been a master strategist for nothing.

Yet thus far she had proved herself vastly elusive. Elusive and aloof. Fionna was not a woman to yield oh-so-sweetly. To be swayed from a course she did not want.

It only made him want her all the more. But he could not go to her,
make
her want him. She must come to him. And it must be of her own free will. Her decision.

Not his.

Else all would be lost.
She
would be lost.

He had judged long ago that she was a woman of remarkably strong will. She girded herself. Guarded herself with a will of iron, the will of a soldier.

The challenge was to make her want him as much as he wanted her.

To help her recognize that in yielding to the passion she held deep in check—to yield to her desires—was not defeat at all. Not surrender, but victory.

Victory for both of them.

And oh, but the lady was proving quite the challenge indeed!

But Aidan was ever up to a challenge; he relished the parry and retreat.

But the choice must be hers. The next approach must be hers. Difficult as it was, he must force himself to wait, to let her come to him. He had forced as much as he dared.

Saints be praised, it did not take long, else he’d have been at his wit’s end. His butler Alfred admitted her early the very next evening.

He strode into the marbled foyer, his expression warm. After Alfred took her cloak, Aidan clasped both her hands in his, keeping them close, though he sensed she fought to snatch them away. Must she always fight him? And herself as well?

Yet he felt the way she trembled, the way she fought to control it. “Fionna! A pleasure to see you.”

He could almost see the way her heart lurched. His smile was hardly guileless, and he knew she saw it by the tilt of her chin.

“Come.” He led her into the drawing room. “Sit.” He did not release her fingertips until she’d eased herself onto the very edge of the sofa, poised as if she sought to flee at any instant. He smothered a laugh and sat close to her, as close as he dared without inciting her ire.

“Tea?” he inquired politely.

“No, thank you.”

“Wine?”

“Certainly not.”

After Alfred exited the room, she wasted no time in announcing the reason for the visit.

“I believe we should come to an accord,” she declared. “There are treaties in battle, are there not?”

“But of course. Those in opposition may agree to negotiate treaties…or negotiate surrender.”

She did not like that. She maintained a pleasant enough countenance, but he could have sworn he could hear the gnashing of her teeth.

“Naturally, however, there must be willingness by both parties to enter into discussion first,” he said.

“And you refuse?”

“I did not say that. But clearly you are not happy with the status quo, else you would not have come to propose a treaty.” There was a most gratifying satisfaction in reminding her of that.

“I am not interested in surrender.” It was a flat denouncement. “A treaty, yes.”

“A treaty under what terms?”

“That we remain friends!”

He gave a low chuckle. “If no terms of agreement are reached, Fionna, then it is simply a return to the battlefield.”

“So we’re back to that again, are we? You won’t agree that we can be friends?”

“Friends? No more than that?”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

“Well then…No.”

“Then it is no battle we engage in, my lord, it is an outright declaration of war.”

She desired him. Every bit as much as he desired her. Aidan had already recognized long ago that his feelings were not lust. His emotions were too engaged. His heart was too engaged.

But Fionna fought it. She fought both her feelings and his, and every instinct in him clamored to prove what she refused to acknowledge. Yet he feared it would only drive her away.

She would not give in. By God, he would not give up.

“Not so,” he told her smoothly. “You have set out your terms. I have yet to set out mine. I have but one, Fionna—that you leave open the possibility that there can be something…more between us.”

Her eyes were snapping, her mouth pinched tight. “You are the most disagreeable man I have ever met.”