Iron and Hemlock #3
“Hmm.” He stared into the fire for a long moment.
At length he said, “Well, I’m no Traveller myself; I don’t know how it’s done.
Unfortunately, those who do know are not the sort you can trust to see you home.
They’re more the type to take you to their lair and keep you.
” He smiled as if he understood the urge.
“I suppose we’ll just have to keep you ourselves. ”
Jordon’s hackles rose. “I’m not a lost puppy!”
“So I see,” he almost purred. “However, you need a dry place to sleep tonight. I can offer that.”
Her eyes narrowed in warning. “Can you guarantee I’ll sleep alone?”
His eyes swept slowly over her, reminded her that she wore only a blanket and a borrowed pair of slippers. He smiled. “You will be safe here; if you wish to be.”
His words made her stomach tighten under the scrutiny of this unwanted interest. The man was gorgeous, but too confident for his own good. She wasn’t going to encourage him. “Not interested,” she said firmly, and set aside her cup. She didn’t need more brandy when he was in the room.
“Very well.” He rose and offered her a hand up, then tucked it neatly through his arm. The gesture was so courtly she found it hard to object, though the feel of his heated skin against her hand was subtly delicious. She tugged free, saying, “I need both hands on the blanket.”
His smile was wolfish. “Of course. We wouldn’t want it to slip.”
Jordon was not used to blushing, so she tried to hide her face and ignored him. As she did, movement caught her eye. She glanced out of one of the dusty windows and stiffened as lightning flashed, illuminating the large shapes that prowled the yard.
Griffin followed her gaze. “Yes. They are awake. And busy, I suspect. You’ve brought quite a storm with you. It’s a good thing that you came to us. You seem to have stirred up some serious trouble. I don’t think any of the neighbours would have dealt easily with it.”
Jordon swallowed. “Are they like you? Griffins and such, I mean.” For all she knew, she’d landed in an entirely different world. Tonight, anything seemed possible.
He grinned. “I’m afraid not. They’re rather ordinary, for the most part. Careful on the stair; those slippers are rather big for you.” His hand hovered protectively at her back as she took the marble stairs in the floppy slippers.
She wished it wasn’t so protective. She was in more danger of stumbling from the heat of his hand than from the oversized foot gear. She held herself stiffly, ready to object if he got fresh, but the hand hovered, just shy of her back. It was worse than if he’d touched her outright.
Then she found herself silently following him through the draughty, dusty old house.
The only source of light was Griffin’s candle and the occasional flare of lightning.
Stern oils frowned down at her from the walls as they passed.
Sculptures of plaster and older, worm-eaten wood ones gazed at her with solemn, chiding eyes.
All around her, the house breathed, expectant.
She had the uncomfortable feeling that something was required of her.
To distract herself, she said, “You have a lot of art here. I expect to come upon the statue of David at any moment.”
He smiled down at her. “You’ll find no stone statues here. Gargoyles are touchy about that sort of thing. The idea of being trapped forever as stone . . .”
Jordon frowned. “Gargoyles?”
They had come to a lighted doorway. He paused outside and looked in. “Mrs Y. has been busy.”
Jordon peered in. Mrs Y. saw them and grunted in satisfaction. “We’ve not had guests in years. I had to pull the Holland covers off and fetch fresh bedding.” She’d lit a fire in the hearth, Jordon saw. It burned with a reassuringly yellow and orange flame.
Mrs Y. moved to the wardrobe and removed a neatly folded square of white.
She shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved, cotton nightgown with a row of tiny buttons down the front.
Pretty and old-fashioned, the bodice and hem had tiny blue flowers embroidered with twining silver vines.
She laid it across the bed. “There you are, and I brought warm water for washing.” She pulled a large jug from under a tea trolley and poured the steaming contents into the old-fashioned washstand.
“And that should be that until morning.”
Jordon paused, acutely aware of the man at her side. It felt too intimate with him here. “The room looks very comfortable, thank you.”
Mrs Y. looked satisfied. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. We rise early.” She let herself out.
Jordon glanced at Griffin. He hadn’t moved. “Well. Goodnight, then.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “It has been. I’ve enjoyed your company.”
Her blood felt thick, her heartbeat a little too strong. She wished now that she’d had nothing to drink. She didn’t handle liquor well. She licked her lips, searching for a reply . . . and he kissed her.
She instantly forgot what she’d been going to say. His lips were soft, scorching hot. Or maybe she was the one on fire. Her insides certainly seemed to be in meltdown.
His hands were gentle, yet firm as he slid one into her hair, used the other to span her waist. He kissed her as if they were already old lovers, as if he had the right.
It was long moments before she was able to lower her head, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know you.”
He gently stroked the hair away from her face. “You know this.” When she turned her head away, he said, “You’re a widow, aren’t you?”
She looked at him, startled. “How did you know?” It came to her then, just what age she was in. He would have certain ideas about “good women”. It was ironic, considering her origins, that he was actually right.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he said with certainty.
“That’s not exactly true,” she hedged, backing away a step. “I don’t understand what you are.”
He looked at her keenly. “One advantage to being more than a man is that I can smell exactly how you feel right now. It is difficult to resist.”
She swallowed. “Make an effort. If for no other reason, you don’t want to father a child tonight.” She had not been on birth control since her husband had passed away nearly two years ago. She had not been ready to risk her heart again.
To her surprise, his eyes flared with interest. “Don’t be so certain!
If I thought such a thing were possible .
. .” He took a careful step back. “Children require a more careful level of courtship. I will have to consider this.” He made her a slight bow.
“Goodnight.” Before Jordon could ask him what he meant, he was gone.
As a man of dual nature, Lord Griffin had often had to battle the animal side of himself. Tonight, he was inclined to agree with the animal. He wanted her, and when she’d mentioned children . . .
He shook his head. Well, it had been coming on him for some time now. He had fought the urge to take a mate, partially because he enjoyed his freedom, partially because he’d never found a woman who seemed right. Of course, he’d never met a woman like Jordon.
She was a puzzle. He wasn’t particularly bothered by her origins, but he was interested to know why the banshee had come after her. As far as he knew, the banshee were never far from their native bogs and moors. He’d never met one in person until tonight. Had she somehow angered them?
He reviewed what she’d told him. Someone from her time tried to kill her – a man? She was brought here, apparently by lightning, and it had saved her life. The banshee attacked her. Had they been sent? A powerful fae could arrange that. Fae could also time travel.
An interesting puzzle, and griffins loved puzzles. He would have to consider this. And since the lovely Jordon was part of the puzzle, he would have to think very earnestly of her as well. Smiling to himself, he made his way to his room.
Jordon dreamed of her killer. She could not see his face, could not seem to remember it, either. Yet she knew it was him.
He was a shadow in her dreams. Warm, seductive. “Ah, Jordon, my love! We got off to a bad start. And here I’ve come to make amends.” He held a white rose in his hand, a sign of peace. “Do you forgive me?”
Jordon was in the same room she’d fallen asleep in, but instead of soft quilts and a cotton gown, now her only covering was a thin silk sheet. In the dream she was aroused, deeply so. It made her angry. “Go away!”
His voice was teasing, though he pretended to be wounded. “Ah, but I’ve promised to make peace with my sister. She was very upset that I put you in harm’s way.” He moved closer as he spoke, trailed the rose over Jordon’s calf. “I’ve been very naughty.”
She gulped and kicked at the rose from under the sheet. “Get out!”
He ignored her, sat on the bed. Jordon hunched into a ball at the headboard. “You’re making me angry,” she bit out. Even the force of her arousal was not enough to combat that.
He scanned her slowly. “It will come to a choice, you know. There could be peace if you choose me. Griffin . . . he is an animal, you know.” He shook his head chidingly.
“Jordon.”
She didn’t know who spoke her name, but the shadow seemed annoyed. “He would come,” it said.
“Jordon!” It was Griffin’s voice, and he sounded concerned.
“Interfering animal,” the shadow said, and stood up. “Very well. There will be other nights.”
“JORDON!” Griffin roared, and this time her eyes flew open. She sat there staring at him . . . and then she looked down at her foot. A single white petal lay on the quilts. With a cry of alarm, she kicked it off as if it were a spider. It flew into the air and vanished.
“Did you see it?” she asked Griffin, panicked. “The rose? He brought a rose!”
“I believe you,” Griffin said soothingly, stroking her back. “I heard you through the wall.”
“W-what wall?” she gasped. She was hardly coherent. The dream had scared her so badly.
“Mine is the next room,” he said, still soothing. “I’m glad you woke me.”