CHAPTER SIX #2
She was finally angry, and hurt. “Not fair. You can’t keep reading my mind whenever you choose! And I am not so foolish as to want you to love me!” But her heart ached even more now.
He faced her, arms folded, his expression one of smug male skepticism. “But ye’ve loved me since we first met.”
She felt crimson. “It was a crush. Women have crushes all the time. A crush isn’t love. It’s harmless, like a dream.”
His mouth curled. “Like a virgin’s dreams?”
Brie almost gasped. He knew. He knew she dreamed and fantasized about him sexually. “I have been nothing but kind to you,” she said hoarsely. “Do you want to humiliate me? Because I am humiliated now!”
His mouth firmed and their gazes clashed. “Ye need a real man, not foolish dreams.”
Brie went still.
“Why are ye a virgin still?”
She was aghast. “That’s a very private matter.”
“Is it? ’Cause ye think about sex all the time.”
She knew she was even redder than before.
“I don’t want a relationship.” In case he misunderstood, she continued.
“My mother was a very wild woman. She had many lovers, but she didn’t have any gifts.
I don’t want to be like her. I am really busy using my gifts to help others.
” She glared. “Like I am trying to help you now.”
His gaze was narrow and unwavering upon her. “So ye want to be ugly.”
She breathed hard. “I am not interested in flaunting my body, my hair or anything else!”
He made a harsh sound. “Ye can hide all ye want, but ye have pretty eyes an’ nice hair. Only a blind man wouldna notice.”
Brie was certain she’d mistaken his meaning. “You think I’m pretty?”
His mouth curved. “Brianna, I think yer pretty, but it doesna matter. In the dark o’ night, I never look at a woman’s face. I only use her body.”
Brie turned her back on him, shaken. She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t believe you.”
He laughed at her.
She dared to face him, and watched him drinking his wine. Suddenly she believed him. He really didn’t care who he was with—it was about sex, only sex. It wasn’t about attraction or anything else.
Her grandmother’s ring began pinching, hard.
Brie imagined her, and Grandma Sarah wasn’t smiling now. She was stern, as if telling Brie to get focused and remember why she was in the past. She didn’t want to think about her grandmother now. This was too important. “Don’t you miss holding someone in the middle of the night—someone you love?”
He whirled, spilling his wine. “Are ye mad?”
Brie shook her head. “I’m sad.”
He stared, and his anger burst forth. “No one holds ye in the middle of the night, Brianna!”
“But I have a life, with family and friends who love me, and I love them.”
“Good! When ye go home, ye can share a joyous, lovin’ reunion!”
Grandma’s ring hurt her finger now. Brie looked at it, and it almost looked as though the garnet was glowing. “What do you want?” she muttered. Then, realizing she’d spoken aloud, she noticed Aidan watching her with interest.
“My grandmother guides me from the dead,” she said shortly.
He shook his head and walked out of the tent.
Brie tried to take the ring off, just to relieve her finger for a moment, but she couldn’t.
She sighed and sat down. Tears filled her eyes, only partly from exhaustion.
She’d been brought back to the year of his hanging, and the reason was obvious.
She was in the Highlands to save his life, both figuratively and literally.
Less obvious was the possibility of redeeming him.
Maybe she was mad, she thought, to even think of guiding Aidan back to the gods. She couldn’t help pushing him and testing him, she realized. If he was as evil as he said, their debate would have amused him instead of angering him.
Everything angered him.
And why not? He’d lost his son. The gods could have intervened, but it had been Fate. It was tragic and unfair, and to make matters worse, his son had been haunting him for sixty-six years. She’d be angry, too.
Her infatuation had to go. It was in the way. She hadn’t gone back in time for a fling—or a life-altering romance.
But she was still feeling hurt. At least they were having a dialogue, she thought.
Brie walked over to the tent flap and lifted it.
Aidan was standing outside, right there, and he glanced at her.
She shivered and pulled her wool plaid more tightly round her.
“It’s cold. Come back inside.” She was going to stop him from fighting Frasier tomorrow.
He slowly smiled. “So ye can seduce me away from my plans?”
“I couldn’t seduce a randy freshman on spring break,” she said. “I could never seduce you.”
He walked past her, back into the tent. “I won’t hang, Brianna. Not anytime soon.”
She tensed. “That’s not what history says.”
He shrugged.
“Aidan, if you fight tomorrow, you are committing treason, and you will hang. Frasier will make certain of it.”
His gaze changed and became searching.
“Can you please postpone the battle? Please?” she pleaded.
He shook his head. “I dinna mind dyin’. But I willna die until I have avenged my son. So ye need not fear my hangin’ anytime soon.”
“Do you want to die?” she cried. “Are you in so much pain that you seek escape in death?”
He jerked angrily. “Ye ask too many privy questions! I am tired of yer insolence, yer pryin’. I am tired of ye, Brianna!”
Somehow she shook her head and stood her ground. “You can read my every thought, and you are ruthless in doing so. Unfortunately, I don’t have that power. It’s okay for you to read my mind and uncover my secrets, but I can’t ask a few personal questions?”
His eyes were wide. “The little woman has nails,” he said softly. “But ye need claws, Brianna, if ye think to go up against me.”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” she said tersely.
“O’ course not. Ye want to heal me, redeem me—and share my bed.” His eyes flashed.
She trembled. “Does being cruel please you?”
“Aye, it pleases me greatly!” he snapped.
Ian stepped between them.
Brie gasped.
Aidan’s eyes widened. He had seen Ian, too. And then he cried out in savage frustration. “Nay! Come back, Ian! Come back!”
But Ian was still standing there, looking back and forth between them. Brie couldn’t understand why Aidan could no longer see him. The small ghost turned and began talking rapidly to his father. She could not hear a word he said.
Aidan’s face had become a reflection of raw, ravaged grief. He looked years older. “Is he still here?” he cried frantically.
She took his hand. “He’s still here. He’s speaking to you, but I can’t hear him.”
Suddenly tears welled in Aidan’s eyes. “Talk to him,” he begged her. “Please, talk to him.” And a tear slipped free and started a slow track down his cheek.
She had never seen a grown man cry, much less a man like this one.
His grief was mushrooming in the tent like a nuclear cloud.
It swept through her with stunning force.
It crushed her from above, from the sides.
She had to fight to stand upright, to breathe.
Aidan did not deserve this. “Ian,” she gasped. “Can you hear me?”
The boy faced her and spoke.
“If you can hear me, nod,” she whispered. Aidan’s pain was so strong and consuming that she felt faint. If he didn’t control himself, she was going to pass out.
Ian nodded at her, his eyes wide, as if he was listening carefully.
“What’s happening?” Aidan demanded, wiping his face with his forearm. “Tell me about my son!”
“He can hear me,” she cried, meeting his stunned eyes. “Aidan, you’re hurting me.” She had been forced to her knees.
Aidan covered his heart with his hand, but Brie was aware of the pain racking it, and it felt like it was about to explode.
But as he battled himself, she felt the terrible anguish begin to dull.
The sensation was like drowning and then finally breaking through the surface for air. She gulped oxygen.
When he pushed the grief further away, she stood up. “Ian, are you here to speak with your father?”
Ian nodded and waited expectantly for her.