Thirteen Chances (36 page)

The girl’s eyes darted to the desk, and with a gloved hand, she slowly pulled out the drawer. Finding the key, she picked it up, shouldered her pack, and looked at him. “Okay,” she said quietly. Her voice, smooth and feminine, quivered just a bit. From fear or the chill, he didna know which.

Gabriel strode across the great hall toward the staircase. He’d settle her in for the night, then retreat to his own chamber. Hopefully by the morn, the weather would clear and she’d leave.

Just as the girl stepped into the great hall, every light in the room extinguished, leaving it pitch-black. She froze and waited several moments before she finally grew impatient, cleared her throat, and drew a deep breath. “Hello?” she called, and her voice cracked.

Gabriel stood mere yards from the girl. He could sense her urgency, yet he found himself unable to answer her calls. ’Twas as if his bloody tongue were tied. While she couldn’t see in the darkness, he could, and verra clear. While the blackness covered him, he boldly studied the quiet American lass.

A wee thing, she came no higher than his chest. She’d pulled off her hat, and he could see hair the color of straw that was shorn at a sharp angle and swung at her jaw. Wide blue eyes stood in stark comparison to her fair skin and pixielike features. White, straight teeth worried her full bottom lip, and those large eyes shifted left, then right, trying to see in the dark. She wrapped her slender arms about herself, slowly spun in a circle, and heaved a sigh.

Then she stopped, faced him, and sucked in a startled breath. Her eyes, which appeared to be locked with his, widened to a frightening width, and she swore.

Only then did Gabriel realize the bloody lights had come back on.

She probably thought he was a lunatic.

Slowly she began to back away from him. Her eyes traveled the length of him, and then she glanced behind her, taking a few more hesitant steps.

Damnation, he hadn’t meant for her to catch him looking at her so closely. He cocked his head as she continued to walk backward, seemingly toward the front entranceway.

“Why are you dressed like that?” she asked, her voice now barely above a whisper.

Gabriel frowned and glanced down at himself. The conjured image of his modern garb was gone, leaving him in his usual clothes: his plaid, boots, and sword.

He swore.

She turned and ran for the door.