Sapphire Dream (20 page)

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Authors: Pamela Montgomerie

BOOK: Sapphire Dream
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He held her tight and lowered her to the plaid, following her down. Then he was on top of her, his hard arousal pressing against her abdomen through the fabric of his pants.
Flashes of memory clawed at her. Fear leaped in her chest and she began to push at his muscled chest. She pounded on him with her fists, tried to kick him, to knee him in the balls.
Rourke leaped off her, his lips full and reddened from her kisses, his expression one of total disbelief.
Brenna scrambled to her feet, shaking.
Clothes. She needed clothes. Some defense.
Anything.
She turned and grabbed the blanket off the ground, pulling it around her in a flurry of dust and dirt, then started for the hill.
She needed clothes.
Tears stung her eyes, blinding her. She didn’t even see the pirate until he blocked her path.
“Wildcat?”
She tried to dodge around him, but he stopped her, gripping her shoulders with a gentle firmness. As he touched her, she began to sob.
 
 
Rourke stared at the woman before him in utter confusion. He knew women were hard to understand at times, but this one was beyond fathoming.
He pulled her cautiously into his arms, afraid she would pull away at any moment, but she leaned into him, accepting his comfort.
She’d been so ready for him, thrusting herself against his tongue, falling apart beneath his mouth. She’d wanted him. Until he’d been ready to make love to her. Once more she’d rejected him.
Memory of her expression flashed in his mind. Not rejection.
Fear.
She’d been wild with it.
God’s blood. Suddenly he understood. Someone, somewhere, had hurt her. He closed his eyes and ran his hand over her hair, almost afraid to touch her.
Slowly her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccoughs. She pulled away, not meeting his gaze.
“I need to get my clothes.”
“I’ll fetch them, Wildcat.”
She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes glossy with tears, then wiped her damp face on the plaid. “And my soap?”
His heart clenched and a small smile found its way to his mouth. “And your soap.” A wildcat could only be brought so low.
He gathered her things, then returned to the fairy ring where she now awaited him. He turned away as she quickly dressed herself. He would not take advantage of her again.
“I’m done.”
When he turned back, he found she’d donned the skirt and bodice as well as her underclothes. She was seated on one of the fallen stones, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Slowly, he sat beside her, keeping some distance between them, not wanting to crowd her. “I would never hurt you, Brenna.”
She stared at the dirt at her feet and sighed. “I know.”
“But someone did, didn’t he?”
She tormented her bottom lip with her teeth, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “They. There were three of them.”
His hands turned to fists. “I’ll kill them.”
She shook her head. “They didn’t . . . they tried but they didn’t. But they would have.”
“When?”
“I was fifteen.”
“I’ll kill them.”
“They were boys. Teenagers. They didn’t . . .” She looked away, then met his gaze with painful defiance. “They didn’t actually rape me.”
The air left his lungs on a harsh relief, but her fragile strength told him there was much she wasn’t saying. “They still hurt you. They still frightened you.”
Her lower lip started to wobble, and she clamped down on it, closing her eyes. “Yeah.”
He felt a great weight lift from his heart. She’d never truly rejected him. He’d frightened her, which didn’t please him, but he’d not been the cause of the fear. Not directly.
“Tell me, Wildcat, if ye can. What happened?”
She was silent for a long time as tears leaked out from under her closed eyelids, and he regretted asking her to speak. Finally, she swiped at the tears and looked into the distance, as if seeing into the past. Her past.
“I was living with the Prestons—a family who’d taken me in. I was alone in the house, doing laundry in the basement, when Brandon, the Preston’s fifteen-year-old son, came home with a couple of friends and started heckling me and saying . . . nasty things. They were all fifteen. Little creeps, though they were taller than I was. And stronger. I told them to go away, but . . . one of them grabbed me. Then the other two joined him. They . . .”
She buried her face in her hands and started trembling.
It tore at Rourke to watch her. He longed to pull her back into his arms, but feared he would scare her again. Instead, he moved closer and touched her hair, letting his palm slide down onto her back.
“They pulled off my clothes and dragged me to the floor. I tried to fight but they were too strong. They groped at me, squeezing my breasts and . . . and . . . touching between my legs. And laughing. Then Brandon laid on top of me, crushing me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.”
Her voice broke, stabbing at Rourke’s heart. “He rubbed himself against me, his jeans tearing at my skin. He was so heavy. I was furious. And terrified. Finally, one of his friends pushed him off me. He knew how to do it for real. He was going to rape me. I fought them, but Brandon and the third boy held me down while their friend unfastened his pants and started to pull them down. I saw his . . . penis. How big it was.”
Rage seared through Rourke, and with it a burning need to hurt the creatures who had terrified her.
Brenna straightened and turned to him. “Then Mrs. Preston came home and the three of them ran off.”
“But ye’ve ne’er forgotten.”
She sighed deeply and shook her head. “It’s not the sex that scares me. It’s being pinned.”
He reached for her and cupped her jaw, running his thumb over her small chin. “If ye want me, there are other ways.”
“I know. I’m not a virgin, Pirate. I just . . .” She closed her eyes.
“ ’ Tis all right, Wildcat.” He cupped her far shoulder and gave a gentle tug, wanting to hold her. To his relief, she leaned against him, laying her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her with gentle care.
“You don’t scare me, Pirate. Not really. I can’t help my reactions when you get too close.”
The unfamiliar sensation of warmth curled in his chest, a tenderness he’d not felt in many, many years. He ran his free hand over her head, following the line of her wet hair. Slowly her trembling stopped, but he continued to stroke her head and her shoulder, comforting her and, amazingly, himself. Peace seeped into him, quieting his demons.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, the closeness. The tenderness. As a small lad, he’d spent nearly every evening curled up on the lap of one of his parents, listening to the
seannachie
, a visiting bard, or a musician, or simply listening to the adult conversation around him. In the years since their deaths he’d had no one to share such kindnesses. He’d had women by the score, but there had been no caring. Lust, sex. But he’d never stayed afterward for he’d known he would never find what he sought with any of them. Why Brenna? Why did simply holding her feel so right?
Her head slipped, then righted itself with a jerk, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.
He roused her. “Come, lass. We’ve time for a wee bit more sleep.” He rose and pulled her up with him, then spread out his plaid and waited for her to lie down. As he started to cover her with the blanket, she stopped him and gazed at him sleepily, her eyes unsure.
“You make a good pillow, Pirate.”
He smiled. “Ye wish me to stay?”
She nodded sleepily.
He lay down beside her and gathered her against him, utterly content to hold her for as long as she’d allow.
Her slender hand moved over his chest and she snuggled closer to him. “I don’t know why or how, but you drive out the cold.”
“I thought you’d warmed.”
“That’s not the cold I mean.”
He understood. She drove out the cold of his own soul.
What would he do when she left?
TEN
 
With every mile closer to his childhood home, Rourke’s dread grew. It was a good thing they rode horseback, for he doubted he’d be able to convince his feet to take the steps. Twenty years since he’d been back. Twenty years since he watched his home burn, his parents die.
Picktillum Castle sat high on a hill overlooking the village of Monymusk. If there were any other way to reach Hegarty, he’d not be going near either. But Hegarty had told him to meet him here.
Tension grew in his chest, wound through his innards like adders, a brutal reminder of why he’d been so anxious to avoid Scotland, why he’d wanted naught to do with the prophecy again. Why Brenna had to go home. For herself. For her safety.
For his sanity.
This was Hegarty’s doing, this attempt to draw him home. Hegarty could try to manipulate him all he wanted, but he would never go near Picktillum again. Not for any reason. If Hegarty did not appear within a day or two, he and Brenna would leave Scotland. Hegarty would have to find
them
if he ever wanted to see her or the sapphire again.
Brenna rode at his back, her slender arms circling his waist. They’d turned over her mount to a pair of travelers soon after they started out. She’d have ridden alone without complaint, but he knew it took a toll on her. And their ride would be short this morning.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had selfish reasons as well. He wanted her close. These might be the last few hours he would have her near if Hegarty was indeed awaiting their arrival.
But the closer they got to Monymusk, the more certain Rourke became that Hegarty wasn’t the only one waiting for them. They rode into a trap, he was certain. Cutter and the earl’s soldiers would be there.
Brenna could not be with him. He knew what he had to do, though she would be most displeased with him.
Displeased, aye.
But safe.
 
 
“That’s Monymusk,” Rourke said.
Brenna peered around him to get a good look. The small village sat nestled between river and hills. The sun glistened off white stone buildings, most roofed in thatch. In many ways this village resembled the others she’d seen, bustling with activity as people went about their daily business.
Instead of riding into town, Rourke made a wide circle, finally climbing into the low, rocky hills behind.
“What are we doing?” Brenna asked as they dismounted.
“I need to change.”
She eyed him with surprised amusement. Last time she looked, he didn’t have any luggage.
He saw her expression. “I’ll don the plaid.” He tied the horse to one of the pines, removed his plaid bundle, then led her up a path in the rocks to the mouth of a small, well-hidden cave. He ducked inside.
“Do you want me to wait out here?”
“Nay. Come in.”
Brenna followed him. The cave was small, about the size of her tiny bedroom at home, and well lit since the light found its way into the corners easily enough. The ceiling was high enough for Rourke to stand straight with room to spare.
She stretched her legs as she watched Rourke lay his belt on the ground and the long plaid blanket on top of it, gathered so that it more or less fit the belt.
He pulled off his boots, then unbuttoned his pants, turned his back to her, and dropped them without a single seductive glance or comment. Since she was certain he didn’t have a shy bone in his body, she suspected the show of modesty was strictly for her. Of course, his shirt fell halfway to his knees, so it wasn’t like he was flashing her in any way. But the shirt was thin and she could tell he wore nothing beneath. A frontal view would have been interesting.
It seemed she was the only one having lecherous thoughts, though. Ever since she’d woken the second time, he’d treated her like a fragile china doll. She’d shaken him up this morning. She’d shaken them both.

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