CHAPTER SEVEN
FROM THE EDGE OF THE FOREST, Aidan stared down the ridge, watching her stumbling to his tent. When she was safely inside, the handful of men he’d chosen to protect her clearly at their posts, he stared blindly into the night.
There was hope?
If he dared believe that she might truly speak with Ian and then she failed, he might finally die from the pain. It had been eating him alive for sixty-six years, and he knew he could not withstand it for much longer.
But he did secretly hope she might succeed, otherwise she wouldn’t be in his tent.
No matter what she said, though, she was not a friend.
He had no friends, not one—not even Malcolm. The Masters feared him; Malcolm feared him—and no one trusted him. Except, of course, Brianna.
The deamhanain also mistrusted and feared him.
They knew the truth. They knew he was evil—but not as evil as them.
They knew he turned away from mayhem, ignoring it instead of causing it.
They knew he lusted for power and took it, yet they knew he left the Innocent alive, not dead.
He was the son of a deamhan, but they knew he was neither a man, a Master nor a deamhan, but some strange beast in their midst.
I am your friend.
Why did she wish to be the friend of a half deamhan, half beast?
She was a fool. He could understand her loving him from first sight; many ladies had loved him instantly when he had been a very different man.
But she was a fool to love him now. She was a fool to have trusted him before he had decided that she served him well alive.
She was a fool to be determined to save him from hanging, and put her own life at risk in the Highland wars.
And to even think to redeem him? That was madness.
He had no interest in salvation. He had meant it when he had told her he’d found his way, not lost it.
His standard meant nothing. Saving her from the gang in New York also meant nothing.
He must have sensed that she would soon be useful to him.
As for the fact that he was soon going to hang, she had to be wrong.
He would never embrace death unless he had avenged Ian first.
Moray had vanished in time, but he would not die without taking his demonic father with him.
And he would not die until he knew what Ian wished to say to him.
Suddenly the grief he kept shackled in his chest rose up, consuming him as it had earlier.
He cradled his face in his hands. The urge to weep came again.
He hadn’t cried over Ian’s death, not till that day.
Aidan could not understand why his grief had finally boiled over. Of course, it was somehow her fault.
She had disturbed his life the moment he had first heard her cries for help and rescued her from evil.
She continued to disturb him with her faith, her plots, her plans.
He had almost found comfort in her touch a moment ago, when he must never find comfort with her.
He had to avenge Ian’s murder. He must never forgive the gods for what they had taken from him.
If he did, he might walk away from his vengeance.
And now Brianna wanted him to let Ian go? How could he even think of doing such a thing?
He trembled. His mind felt crushed, as if weighted down by huge stones. He could not tolerate fatigue. Tomorrow was war. He had to ignore the urge to lie down and rest; he would not sleep. He couldn’t imagine the nightmares sleep would bring.
He didn’t have to look at his tent to sense her. He was attuned to her all the time now, so if danger came, he could protect her. She was soundly asleep.
What woman of her age was a virgin?
He realized he was staring at the black shadow of his tent. He could pretend otherwise, but he did want her and he had from the moment he’d first seen her. He was aware of her in a way he hadn’t been aware of any woman, in all the years since his son’s murder. He was afraid of what it might mean.
He must never go to her for pleasure and he must never find comfort in her arms.
A wolf howled. In sheer frustration, he felt like answering the call, but he didn’t move. A memory assailed him.
He smiled down at his beautiful Irish mistress, holding her in his arms after lovemaking. She smiled back at him, whispering how much she loved him. He loved her, too, a little, and he moved away from her to give her a gift.
She’d wept over the simple gold necklace.
He’d held her and caressed her, put the necklace on for her, fed her sweets. When they were joined again, they were both smiling and laughing until the earth shattered….
Aidan cried out, enraged. What kind of foul play was this?
Why was he thinking of Catriona, who had been dead for a long time?
He wasn’t that man anymore—a man who could harbor genuine affection for another, a man who could smile and laugh, a man who enjoyed watching a woman open a gift, a man who was pleased by her pleasure!
I love you…. Catriona’s voice washed over him, even though he had no wish to revisit the past. And he saw them together, two lovers in the midst of so much simple, mortal pleasure, alive with happiness.
Her eyes darkened, turned green. A silly pince-nez sat on the tiny bridge of her nose, amidst three freckles. I’m your friend, Brianna whispered, touching his cheek, as he slid deep and hot into her. She was smiling, her eyes aglow with love.
And the pleasure was stunning, but not as stunning as his need.
Aidan stood stiffly, unmoving. He was in disbelief. What was happening to him?
He was dreaming of taking Brianna to bed for sexual pleasure.
He needed power, not pleasure, and he did not want a friend!
He did not want to ever see her looking at him that way, with her warm body beneath his, joined with his.
But his body was recalling pleasure for the first time in decades: simple, mortal, sexual pleasure; pleasure for the sake of pleasure and nothing else.
He did not like this!
He started down the hill. Tomorrow he was going to war, and tonight he would take power with a dozen different, faceless women. He would wallow in the power, relish it, embrace it. Evil lusted for power, and so did he.
But she wasn’t sleeping soundly now. She was dreaming.
Every Master and deamhan knew that dreams were reality, but of a different realm, one transcending the physical and earthly plane where mortals were bound until death.
That was why dreams were so often vivid. For they were real—mortals simply didn’t know it.
But the dream world was governed by a whimsical goddess, and the rules were as insubstantial as the realm.
Every dream could be unwritten or rewritten an infinite number of times, an infinite number of ways.
In dreams, Fate was constantly erased, eroded, changed.
In dreams there was right and wrong—and then there was no right, and no wrong, because the next dream would be different. And in a dream, no one could die.
In her dreams, he could not hurt her, and if he did, tomorrow it could be rewritten.
He tensed, refusing to lurk now. The whores’ camp was very close to the southern wood.
But although he was determined to ignore Brianna, he faltered.
She dreamed of him all the time, and her thoughts had told him her dreams were very sexual and erotic.
He wished he hadn’t ever heard her thinking about her active fantasy life.
His heart was racing now.
His loins were hot and thick.
He glanced at his tent and his mind slipped helplessly into hers.
But the dream was an innocent one. She was with her lady friends.
He was almost disappointed that she was dreaming about the women and not him, but it was better this way. He made up his mind and started to walk away, but as he did, he listened closely to her. She was so happy and so well-loved. And then she looked at him and smiled. “Aidan.”
In her dream she stood on the threshold of a room, starkly and lushly naked. There was no mistaking what she wanted—and what would happen next.
He knew he must turn his mind away from hers. He knew he must continue on to the whores’ camp.
He knew that whatever happened next, it could be rewritten on the morrow.
Ablaze, he stepped into her dream.
I AM SHAMELESS, brIE THOUGHT, slowly crossing her loft.
Her body was hot and alive, and she felt as beautiful as a seductress.
She felt her hips swing as she went to him; she felt her hair tangling over her breasts.
Aidan stood in the doorway, unmoving. His blue eyes were blazing with heat and desire, their brilliance almost blinding.
She could barely breathe, and her mouth was dry. She knew she was dreaming; she couldn’t possibly be in New York City with him, like this, but it didn’t diminish her excitement. “I am so glad to see you,” she whispered. “I have missed you.”
He started. His face set, he said, “Hallo, a Bhrianna,” and his smoldering gaze slid down her naked body.
She went still. No one had ever looked at her in such a bold, hot way—no, Aidan had looked at her that way.
He had looked at her that way when she was not dreaming, at Awe—she was almost certain.
And no one had ever desired her this way before.
Vaguely, she wondered at her empathy. Why was she feeling him in a dream?
His gaze had become an erotic caress. Her skin tingled beneath it, swelling. Distracted, she gasped, “I really need you.”
His mouth shifted but didn’t curve. “Aye.” He reached for her.
His hands closed on her, and his grasp was stunningly real—too real. Her body fired, and the heat in his eyes thrilled her. “You want me,” she managed. But she was confused.
“Aye, in yer dreams,” he said tersely.
Something was awry. Brie inhaled. Their gazes held. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”