Sapphire Dream (36 page)

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Authors: Pamela Montgomerie

BOOK: Sapphire Dream
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Sleep eluded Brenna in the cramped little bed, Larena snoring softly beside her. A very pregnant, very naked Larena. Brenna lay on her back, in her shift, at the very edge of the mattress, tense with worry.
At daybreak they were heading for Stour. Rourke, Malcolm, Hamilton, and her. Others would follow later, but they didn’t want to attract attention by moving too large a force at once. Four travelers would attract little attention. When they got close, they’d lay low until the middle of the night, then go in.
Hopefully.
The tour guide had speculated that the third earl hadn’t known of the existence of the cave and the entrance. What if he was wrong? The thought made her stomach churn. What if this didn’t work? What if they couldn’t get in?
But she knew. If she couldn’t get her father out the back way, she’d find a way to trade herself for him. He wasn’t going to die for her. No one else was going to die for her.
Her old life and all its responsibilities were gone, lost to her. And she’d been missing so long from this life she no longer had a place in it. She was completely expendable. Either she or the earl must die. And if it had to be her, so be it.
This would be her gift to those who’d suffered so much because of this prophecy and, indirectly, because of her. Her biggest fear was that Rourke would get in the way and try to save her. His death had nearly destroyed her once. She couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again.
The nearly total silence of the night pressed in on her. Larena was a quiet sleeper and the usual night sounds were missing here. The hum of the air conditioner. The sound of traffic on the street. The distant whine of a siren.
The only sounds that reached her ears were the footsteps of the guards walking the castle walls—or battlements, as Larena called them.
A wave of longing washed over her for the simplicity of that other time. She never would have thought the twenty-first century simple compared to the seventeenth, but for her it had been. Her only concerns had been to keep the restaurant running smoothly and to pay her bills on time.
For a single, harsh moment, she desperately wished Hegarty would appear and offer to take her back there. To that time and place where she’d spend her days off at the mall or the gym and her evenings in front of the television.
Simple. Boring.
Lonely.
She didn’t want to die.
It wasn’t the thought of death itself that terrified her, but the dying. And what would happen before. She had no illusions the Earl of Slains would merely lop off her head and be done with it. No, he’d use her first. He’d make her suffer. And after twenty years of searching for her, he’d probably make a spectacle of her death.
Shaking, she sat up and buried her fingers in her hair, trying to escape the terrifying scene playing out in her head. Men holding her down, fumbling with their pants.
Her heart thudded. It might not end that way. It might not. The prophecy said she’d win. Or at least take him down with her.
And if the fates were on her side? If she had the chance, would she really be able to slide her little knife through a man’s heart?
Oh yeah.
She’d never laid eyes on the Earl of Slains,
this
Earl of Slains, yet she hated him with every cell, every molecule, of her body. This man she could definitely kill. If she got the chance. If he didn’t kill her first.
Without realizing what she was doing, she climbed out of bed, her breaths quick and shallow.
She needed Rourke. With an urgency bordering on desperation, she needed to feel his arms around her.
Brenna headed for the door.
 
 
The soft rap at his door pulled Rourke from a dreamless sleep. He strode, naked, to answer the knock. The moment he opened the door, Brenna slipped inside.
“Wildcat?” Even as he reached for her, she dove into his arms and wrapped herself around him, her body trembling. “What’s the matter, lass?”
“Make love to me, Rourke.”
And suddenly he understood. She was suffering from battle nerves, the fear and anticipation of death. But she wasn’t going to die. He wouldn’t allow it.
His hand slid down her back, over the cotton shift and back up again. “You dinna have to go with us, lass. Tell me where the path is and stay here where yer safe.”
“I’m not safe here. I’m not safe anywhere. Besides, you’ll never find the way without me.”
He felt her fingers slide across his cheeks.
“Kiss me, Rourke. Make love to me.”
“Aye.” He couldn’t deny her, nor did he wish to. He took her into his arms and they came together in a wild recklessness that spoke of need and wanting as much as the fear of looming death.
He pulled the shift over her head, letting it drop to the floor as he swept her into his arms and deposited her in the middle of the bed. The moment she hit the mattress, she pulled his face down to hers as if she couldn’t bear to be parted from his kisses for even a moment and kissed him with a wildness that nearly drove him over the edge.
As her soft flesh pressed against his entire length, he tore his lips from hers and buried his face in her neck, drinking in the soft fragrance that was part sea nymph, part rose soap, and all Brenna.
She reached for him, her fingers closing around his engorged root. “I want you.”
“Aye, lass. Easy.”
Her short nails raked gently over his sensitive skin as she pulled on him, driving him insane with wanting, but rough mating was not her way. She was looking for oblivion. Instead, he wanted to give her a memory to last a lifetime.
“Brenna . . .” With effort, he pulled her an arm’s length away and peered into her face, faintly illuminated by the full moon’s light. Aye, he saw in her eyes the acceptance of death and the desperation to live until the very last moment.
He took her hands in his, then lifted them gently above her head. “Do ye trust me?”
“I want you inside me.”
“Aye, I ken that. But ’twas not what I asked. Do you trust me, Wildcat?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Keep your hands above your head, lass.” He released her wrists, but she remained still as he’d told her to. “Aye, that’s it. I’m going to steal the nerves from ye, Wildcat. Then I’m going to please you.”
“Rourke, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Do ye have somewhere ye need to be, then?”
She laughed. The sound, little more than a soft burst of air, was enough.
He smiled and moved his hands to her shoulders, kneading them gently, then lifted each arm and eased the tension out of her muscles.
“Roll onto your stomach, lass.”
When she did, he continued the sensual exploration of her back, pulling the tightness out of her muscles as he slowly worked his way down her spine with his thumbs, then retraced the journey with his mouth, eliciting tiny moans from her.
Her skin was like satin, her scent beyond intoxicating. Any tension he released from her body went directly into his. Aye, but he wanted her.
Shifting, he straddled her legs, sitting back on his haunches as he slid his hands over the soft flesh of her rump, her groan of pleasure echoed his own. His body hardened. His breath became labored.
His hands slid still lower, easing the tightness in each trim, muscled thigh. Curving his hands around her legs, he slid his hands upward until his thumbs grazed the damp heat of her.
“Rourke.”
He slid his fingers inside her. She was ready and weeping for him.
“Rise on your knees, Wildcat.” He helped her pull her knees up, lifting her rump to align with his root. “I’m going to take ye from here, Brenna.”
“Yes.”
He grabbed her hips between his hands and pressed himself against her, finding the heart of her. With a single, slow thrust, he buried himself deep within her sheath. Pleasure and tenderness thundered through his body.
Brenna cried out and pressed herself back, tighter against him, driving him deeper.
Over and over again, he pushed himself into her, his body tightening, rising.
“Rourke.”
“Aye?” he gasped.
“I want to see you. I want to face you.”
Gritting his teeth, he buried himself deep within her and held her tight against him, then slowly pulled out of her. The loss of her heat was torture. But when he expected her to move so that he could lie down, she rolled onto her back and spread her thighs, welcoming him.
“Ye need me beneath you, Wildcat.”
“Maybe.” She reached for him and pulled him down on top of her. “But I want to feel you over me, Rourke.” Her hands caressed his face. “I love you, Pirate. What’s more, I trust you.”
Her words went straight to his heart like the stab of a well-honed blade.
You shouldn’t trust me.
He sank back inside her because his body needed her too much to consider doing otherwise, and shoved his dark thoughts away.
Brenna met his thrust, pushing her hips against his as if she would devour him even as he buried himself within her. She pulled his head down and he kissed her, sinking into the sensations of his body, reveling in the passion that burst between them.
Ah, saints, she was magnificent. Each thrust drew a small moan from her throat, each moan building in intensity until she was nearly shouting her pleasure. Together they reminded him of a pair of wild horses racing for a cliff. Closer and closer they rode until finally, in an explosion of light, they leaped over, falling. Falling.
He rolled to his side, taking her with him in the circle of his arms. “Ye did it, Wildcat. My being on top dinna scare you.”
“No.” The word brimmed with smiles and she curved her body around his. “Nothing about you scares me.”
As he stroked her hair, cradling her head against his heart, a wave of such tenderness as he’d never felt in his life broke over him, tethered by a guilt as deep as the ocean. He’d always intended to take his secret to the grave, but now he wondered if it was fair to her. She thought she loved him. But once she knew the truth, her heart would harden against him. And as badly as he’d wanted to avoid that, it might make his death easier on her, if it came to that.
“You make me weak,” she murmured against his chest.
He stroked her back. “There is naught weak about ye, lass. Ye ken that.”
“I need you, Rourke. I don’t want to need you.”
“Needing another doesna mean you’re weak.”
For several moments she was silent, as if taking in his words. Or lost in her own thoughts. “It does, though,” she said finally. “Because if you don’t need anyone, it doesn’t break you when they leave.”
His fingers played with her hair. “Or when they betray you, aye? We all betrayed you, Wildcat. Your mum and your aunt by dying. Your da by sending you away and not coming for ye when you were lost in that other time. And me.” The admission felt like broken glass in his throat. “I betrayed you, too.”
Her hand, tucked under her chin, moved to stroke his chest. “I understand why you tried to send me home without telling me I was from here. You only wanted to keep me safe from the Earl of Slains. You didn’t betray me.”
“Aye, lass, I did. And not just then. Another time.” He shuddered, then shuddered again. Part of him wanted to push her away, to not be touching her as she stiffened in his arms. But a greater part couldn’t bear to lose her until that very moment. He pulled her tighter, as if in holding her he could keep himself from breaking apart with the weight of the guilt. With the bitter, crushing weight of his self-hatred.
“I betrayed you worst of all, Brenna. Worst of all.”
She stilled, but didn’t pull away. “What do you mean?”
Another shudder tore through his body. “It’s about the fire, Wildcat. The one that destroyed my home. It was my fault. My fault my parents died. My fault you had to be sent away. It was all my fault.”
“Rourke . . .”
Guilt twisted in his gut. His throat closed against the words. But he had to tell her. He owed her the truth. All of it.
“ ’Twas I who sent the earl’s soldiers to Picktillum that day. ’Twas I who told them you were there.”
He felt her stiffen beneath his touch. “You gave me away?”
“Aye. I wanted them to take you.” He was glad for the dark, glad he couldn’t see the hatred and disgust that would appear in her eyes.
“Why?”
Her soft confusion raked at his heart.
“I was angry with you. You’d broken the swan I’d carved for my mother’s birthday. I didn’t know . . . until James told me, I didn’t know you’d just learned of your own mother’s death. The messenger had arrived just that morning with the news. You were bereft and came seeking me as you did every day. But instead you found the gift.”
The day unfolded before him as if he were once more there, in that room.

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