Chapter Twelve #2
He laughed gently. “Trust that I have utmost respect for the fairest gender. They say that the legend of the princess repeats itself. She died tragically. The prince survived, doomed to live without her, devastated, never recovering from grief. It is a painful tragedy for the husband too, knowing that marriage and the curse killed his wife.”
“Is that that, or part of the natural course of life? Women give birth, and take a risk that way. Often they do not survive their spouses and children because of that fact.”
“You have a point, but Dundrennan’s tradition says that tragedy visits only if the laird loves his wife. We are taught—from childhood, mind you—that love brings tragedy.”
“Then I am sorry for you.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Those who inherit this place must weigh the risks and decide.” Quietly said, his eyes so steady that Christina caught her breath as their gazes met.
“Is there not a way to break the spell? It is often the case in such tales. A charm, a miracle—a kiss.” She watched him.
He leaned down. “They do say the curse could be lifted if the ancient princess’s true love, Aedan MacBrudei, finds a way to wake her. Not bloody likely. Those two ancients are long gone.”
“Aedan?”
“A family name. Many have carried it. No one has broken the curse, evidently.”
Christina felt the warmth of compassion, even affection, enveloping her. She felt so sad for him, wanted to touch and console this lonely, strong, intense man. He believed he could never find the love he so richly deserved.
Why did she feel this way toward him? She scarcely knew him. He was undeniably attractive and fascinating, but he could be infuriating. The road—the stones—his decision to isolate himself all because of some old tradition.
“I would think,” she said crisply, “you are not a man to follow beliefs blindly. You seem to me to be a strong-willed man who goes his own way. Why let an old curse bind you? Why give up on something so precious without knowing if you could have it, without allowing yourself to try?” She stopped, blushed in the dark. “Oh, do forgive me for that.”
“Nothing to forgive. You are honest, and I appreciate it. Until a few years ago, I did not give the curse much credence. I thought it would not affect me. I was not the heir, you see. Then my older brother died, and I learned the power of our tradition.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were wed, Mrs. Blackburn. You have known love.”
“I thought I did. But I was young, and I was mistaken.”
“I had a fiancée,” he said then. “She was a bright and cheerful girl. You would have liked her, I think. She took a fever a few weeks after my brother died and I became the heir. She died but two months later. I did not believe in the curse until that day.”
“I am so sorry,” she said in a rush. “You loved her.”
“I was very fond of her. I wonder now if it was the sort of love that fills the heart like sunshine in a dark place. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think I do.”
“But I cannot allow myself to find out. I will not risk a woman’s life again. Falling in love is unthinkable for me now.”
Her heart thumped. “I had the impression that you and Miss Stewart might wed.”
“My cousin and my aunt like to think so. Amy thinks she can end what she calls Dundrennan’s silly curse.
I could marry her. She is young, but a pleasant lass, and we would not be unhappy.
But I do not love her in the deeper sense.
She is a silly wee thing, and will not change.
I am fond of her, and that is enough. Otherwise, I keep a distant heart. ”
“Amy would always know that. It is sad.”
“It is,” he agreed. She sensed something raw, something lost, under the response. “Well, you have seen the Remembrance in moonlight, as you wanted.” He stepped back.
“Are you not curious to go inside?”
“Aye, but I will not cross through there if caution can protect someone.”
“It protects you as well, from the sting of Cupid’s arrow.” She said it lightly.
“I am impervious to that.” His words were not light.
She tilted her head. “Are you sure of that?”
He paused. “Oh, Mrs. Blackburn,” he murmured, and drew her to him.
His lips touched hers softly, and what plunged through her felt tender and quickly fierce as he kissed her. She gripped his arm for support, and he cupped her cheek with one hand, his mouth on hers in a slow, deepening kiss. She faltered, sank, held on to him.
As the kiss abated, she renewed it, hungry, craving more, not wanting him to step away.
He groaned low and pulled her closer, so that she tilted her head back and drank in the kiss, his strength, his mystery.
She felt with exquisite clarity that she wanted this, needed this desperately from him, only him, yet she did not know why.
Her craving intensified, shivered down through her body.
Had he urged more beyond kisses in the moonlight, she would have surrendered willingly, given him all, her very soul.
The urge, powerful and real, felt astonishing.
Then he drew away. Cool night air woke her, dissolving the kiss as if it were a spell, as if she emerged from a dream. She felt breathless.
“Madam,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I took the advantage, testing my limits here. That was not chivalrous. I promised it would not happen again. I apologize.”
“It is not necessary.” She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. Why did she yield so easily to his touch? She had only met him recently, yet she felt as if she had always known and understood him. “The moonlight—can bring on a sort of madness, perhaps.”
Perhaps I am simply lonely, she thought. Perhaps he is too.
“Moonlight could be part of it. Let me take you back, Mrs. Blackburn.”
“Christina,” she whispered.
He repeated her name softly, warmly, and took her arm to guide her to the garden path. Once there, he removed his hand and moved slightly ahead. There was something protective in it.
Reaching the back of the house, he guided her through a side door, and they walked in silence to the shadowy foyer. Moonlight streamed through stained glass windows, bathing the space in magic. She drew a breath, paused.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He waited.
“You tested your limits out there. What did you learn?”
He leaned close. She caught the faint scent of spicy soap, felt the warm caress of his breath. Brushing his fingers over her brow, he tucked a loose strand gently back in place. She watched him, enthralled.
“I learned that if I ever fell in love”—he tipped up her chin—“it would be with you.”
“Oh, I see,” she breathed.
“Do you?” He kissed her again, so exquisitely that she felt like a rose blowing open in sunlight. Too soon, he let her go and stepped back. Inclining his head, he walked away down the dim hallway. The library door opened, closed.
She stood in the foyer, a hand flattened on her breastbone, a buttery trembling in her limbs. Turning to go up the grand staircase, she sank to a lower step in the dark satiny pool of her skirts.
She understood his fear of love. She feared it too, for a different reason. Love had not been kind to her, and she had never wanted to venture along its thorny path again.
But now she was falling in love with the accursed laird of Dundrennan.