Dark Embrace (12 page)

She turned away, mortified. He hadn't known—she'd misunderstood his choice of words—but he knew the humiliating truth now. She wanted to vanish into the dirt. Better yet, she wanted to find herself in her loft in the present, realizing that this was an insane and not-very-pleasant dream.

His grasp on her seemed to tighten. Then he spoke with care. “I gave ye my word. I said I wouldna hurt ye. I meant it. Just keep yer distance from me.”

She pulled away from his hard hands. “I need a weapon,” she said tersely, not looking at him. Did he think her an absolute nerd? Did it matter? She
was
a nerd, and he was no prize. “I cannot manage without a means of defending myself.”

She could barely believe what she was saying, or that she meant it. At home she carried pepper spray and a gun, but she'd never used the gun except at a firing range. If she had the weapon now, though, she'd use it.

He tilted up her chin, forcing their gazes to collide. “Ye can have as many weapons as ye wish.” He dropped his hand to reach into his boot, and handed her a small dagger. “Take this fer now, but ye willna need it.”

Brie clutched the dagger. As small as it was, it still did not fit comfortably in her hand. But then she hated weapons, and doubted any weapon would feel right.

“Ye'll live to go home, Brianna. Dinna think so much.”

She looked up at him. His harsh tone had softened ever so slightly. Was he trying to reassure her? His gaze was odd, searching.

He stepped away from her, breaking the moment. “Can ye ride?”

When he wasn't angry, he reminded her terribly of the old Aidan. She wet her lips, acutely aware of him now. Somehow, the seething army had vanished into an indistinct and jumbled background, as if it were just the two of them standing there. His power tugged inexorably at her. “Not really.”

He had seized a pair of reins from a young page, and led a gray horse forward, not looking at Brie. She wondered if he was aware of that magnetism, too. “She's docile. Ye'll ride with me at the start.”

“I haven't been on a horse since I was five, and then it was a very small pony in a very small riding ring.” She focused on the horse. It was
huge.
But she wasn't going to tell him she was afraid of riding because the pony had bolted and she'd fallen off and broken her arm.

He studied her and said, “Get on. I'll lead ye, or Will can.”

“Great.” She smiled brightly at him.

He handed the reins to Will. Before Brie could blink, Aidan had seized her waist and was lifting her abruptly and setting her down on the saddle. The gray horse snorted, shaking its head, moving restlessly. Brie seized the saddle, her heart thundering.

Aidan palmed her knee while jerking on the bridle. “If ye relax yer legs, ye'll be fine.”

Brie met his gaze as his hand enveloped her knee. It was a simple, offhand gesture, but his hand was warm and strong, even through her jeans. He was grim and unbearably gorgeous. She'd probably never have his hand on her leg again. Her body warmed and she thought about his hand sliding upward. Being around him was not easy.

He dropped his hand and leapt onto a big, magnificent black charger. Brie stared, breathless. The animal was as beautiful an example of its species as its master, and it suited Aidan perfectly. The stallion was explosive and hot, as if it knew they were going to war and it wanted to go immediately. It pranced and reared, kicking out at the closest horses. All of them dodged to get out of its way. Aidan simply sat on the beast, as if allowing it a moment of mischief. Then he laid his hand on the stallion's huge shoulder, and it went still.

Brie looked at man and stallion—a magnificent pairing—her heart racing. He had enchanted the stallion, she thought, certain he was still speaking to the black horse, in some language only the two of them shared. She would never tire of watching him, she thought. Then, clearly aware of her watching him, he looked up at her from beneath his thick lashes.

His eyes were hot and bright.

She inhaled. She'd never received that look before, but she knew what it meant. It was sexy and promising and so impossible; it was the look a man gave to a woman when he wanted her.

Suddenly Aidan whirled the black, unsheathing his sword and riding into the fray of knights and Highlanders.

Brie stared after him, her pulse explosive, her heart filled with yearning.

The stallion reared, screaming, pawing the air.
“A Dhomhnaill!”
Aidan shouted, raising his sword high.

His warrior power abruptly, intensely filled the ward, almost knocking her off the mare. Swept by so much force, Brie held on to the saddle horn, overwhelmed by the power and excitement, by adrenaline and bloodlust.

Four thousand men, within Awe and on the loch's shores, responded.
“A Dhomhnaill!”

His frenzy—and the frenzy of his four thousand men—consumed her. Brie did not move, clutching the saddle.
“A Dhomhnaill,”
she whispered into the echoing roar, aware of having no will of her own now. He had mesmerized everyone, and she was no exception. Her mind was consumed.

And once more, the black took to the air. Aidan's sword bit the sun.
“A' Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe!”

“A' Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe!”
the men roared.

The castle walls visibly shook.

And this time, the war cry echoed for long moments, filling the ward, the castle, and cloaking the loch, where the water churned and the ducks took flight. It filled the woods, where the pines danced and wolves suddenly howled. Even the mountains shuddered.

Brie stared at Aidan, who was in a savage euphoria. So was she.

His men roared again. Brie understood the war cry:
For the Wolf of Awe!

His blazing eyes swung to hers. He spurred the stallion to her. “We're ready,” he said, reaching for her reins.

“A' Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe,”
Brie whispered.

“C
AN YE WALK
?”
Aidan asked her.

Her mare came to stand beside his stallion. Brie was sore, exhausted, chilled to the bone and incapable of even smiling at him. But now she glimpsed the field below the ridge where they sat astride their horses. The sun was setting, fingers of bloodred staining the deepening sky and the snowy glen, and a sea of tents, cook fires and men filled the horizon. She couldn't recall ever seeing such a welcome sight. “Thank God,” she murmured, shivering.

They had been riding all day. Aidan hadn't said a word to her since leaving Awe, and for most of the day he'd left her with Will and the four huge giants, who were her bodyguards. Twice Aidan had returned to her side, and she knew it was only to see if she was in one piece. He had kept a tight rein on his emotions and she felt nothing from him when he came by. Considering she'd been so swept up in the war frenzy that dawn, she was relieved.

She'd managed okay. The mare was pretty mellow, and Brie decided she even liked her. At noon—or when she assumed it was noon—Aidan had returned to hand her a half loaf of absolutely delicious bread, stuffed with a meat she couldn't identify. Before she could say thank you, he'd galloped off.

It had been the best sandwich of her life. Clearly, the Earl of Sandwich had not invented the meal.

Now Aidan urged the stallion down the ridge, leading Brie's mare. They were stopping for the night, and Brie couldn't wait to get off the horse and collapse in front of a warm fire. Why anyone liked riding horses was beyond Brie's comprehension. If only there was such a thing as a medieval Jacuzzi. She'd settle for a natural hot spring.

Aidan halted before a large black tent with red and silver trim, which was flying a red flag with a snarling black wolf's head set against a large gold Celtic cross. Brie stared in shock, forgetting all about her aching muscles and blisters.

Aidan leapt from the stallion. As he handed the reins to Will, his hand moved over the horse's neck in a gesture of affection. “I'll help ye down.”

“What is that?” Brie gasped, nodding at the pennant.

“My standard,” he said.

Demons feared crosses and all holy objects. They lost all their power when on holy ground or within a holy place. No demon would bear such a standard—at the least, it would be weakening. “That's a cross,” she said.

“I've had the standard fer decades,” he said abruptly. “It brings fear into the minds and hearts of my enemies. Do ye wish to stay on the mare all night? It can be arranged.”

She stared into his simmering blue eyes, aware that he was becoming angry because she was raising a subject he did not wish to discuss. He blamed the gods for Ian's fate, and he'd walked away from them. He acted as if he hated them, but did he really? She wasn't buying, not for a New York minute, that he used the old standard solely for its effect on his enemies.

Was he clinging to a sliver of his previous life? Subconsciously, was he clinging to faith?

“To answer your question, I think I'm crippled for life. And no, I do not want to sit up here all night. I wouldn't mind never getting on a horse again.”

His face tightened as he held up his hand. The moment Brie put her hand in his, she felt his heat, his virility. His gaze lifted, his blue eyes searing and bold.

How could he not feel the pull between them, too? she wondered. She reminded herself that he had the ability to make every woman want him. But he didn't need to use his powers of sexual enchantment, because most women would look at him and drool. She knew she had better remind herself that this was very one-sided. His interest in her was her connection to his son, period.

But what, exactly, would their sleeping arrangements be?

He clasped her waist and a moment later she was standing on the ground. As he released her, Brie winced. Her legs were done. She'd probably be lame for life. “Ow,” she finally said, looking up at him. “And I do mean ow.”

For an instant Brie thought he might smile, but his face remained set in stone. “After a good night o' sleep, ye'll be fine fer the march tomorrow.”

She doubted it.

“But if yer too sore, ye can ride in a weapons cart.”

Great,
Brie thought. She'd seen the carts pulling early medieval cannons—both the smaller mortars and the larger bombards. Those vehicles looked even more uncomfortable than the back of a good-gaited horse.

“Will, help Lady Brianna into the tent an' settle her fer the night.”

Brie had the feeling she'd been dismissed. As far as she could see, there was only one black tent flying Aidan's flag. If she slept there, where was he sleeping? She had a huge reason to be concerned—in fact, she had about four thousand of them. “Aidan, I can't sleep alone.”

He had been about to walk away. He paused, slowly looking at her.

She flushed. “Demons are everywhere. My being alone in that tent is not a good idea.”

“I hardly said ye'd sleep alone.” Galloping hoofbeats sounded, and he turned.

Brie looked past him. A rider streaked toward them from the north, where Inverness lay. Aidan strode forward as horse and rider halted, the bay coated in sweat and lather. The rider, Brie saw, was a young Highland man. Obviously an emergency was at hand.

She prayed the march would be called off. That would solve the matter of his hanging, at least for now.

A flurry of Gaelic followed.

“What are they saying?” Brie asked Will, who was waiting patiently for her.

“Royal armies are on the road ahead, coming south, hoping to cut us off,” Will told her, apparently unperturbed.

Brie did not like the sound of that. “Cut us off from what? Will there be fighting?”

“We're to tryst with the MacDonald an' Maclean armies, closer to Inverness. But the Frasier has his men between them an' us. Come into the tent, my lady. Ye'll be warmer inside. An' dinna think o' the battle on the morrow. Ye'll be well-guarded.”

“Tomorrow!” Brie cried, utterly aghast. Aidan would go to war
tomorrow
and commit treason. There would be no taking it back!

She turned and saw Aidan stalking off into the camp, various men following him. She got it. They were the leaders of the lesser ranks and he was having a war council.

How on earth was she going to stop him from going to war? Will lifted the heavy canvas flap. Brie stepped inside and was instantly distracted.

The interior was spacious and well-furnished. She was surprised by the sight of a small bed on a low wood frame, the bedposts beautifully carved. A portable desk consisting of a slab of attractively carved wood on two plain stands was present, as was a chair with a leather seat and back and a beautiful, iron-banded wood chest. A Persian rug was on the dirt floor. “This is how Aidan goes to war?”

“Aye. 'Twill take months to besiege Inverness,” Will responded.

Brie slowly faced him, acutely aware of the single bed behind her. Aidan had made it clear that he and she were sharing the tent. One of them would probably sleep on the floor.

It shouldn't be a big deal, but it was. “There's only one bed.”

Will grinned at her. “Then yer fortunate, my lady. His prowess is well known.”

Brie tried not to look at the bed. Every inch of her was firing up, when she knew nothing was going to happen. Except…he'd given her that male look twice today. Sex was probably no big deal for him. What would she do if he made a pass at her?

Her heart thundered. She'd accept. She wouldn't even think twice about it. She recalled Claire's warnings and dismissed them. Aidan wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't use her—not demonically. She was sure of it. And only a fool would refuse a man like that.

Will glanced at her. “O' course, we have hundreds of women to choose from. He may be well occupied until late in the night.”

“Of course,” she murmured. A medieval army would have a population of camp followers, especially for a long siege. They weren't going to share the bed, or the tent. He'd probably have Will sleep inside with her, to guard her. She was dismayed, absurdly. She should be relieved.

Brie sat down on the bed and realized she was ready to collapse. She wasn't just physically exhausted, but mentally, too. She needed to think, to figure out how to convince Aidan to retreat from this war. But just then, she was too tired.

The tent flap opened and Aidan stepped inside. He gave Will a look, which sent the young man out. Brie stood as he walked to the desk, not looking at her. The spacious tent suddenly felt really small. She was acutely aware of the bed behind her, and the fact that they were alone.

“Will says you'll fight the royal armies tomorrow.”

He poured a glass of wine. “Aye.”

She trembled. “I made the decision to trust you. You have to trust
me
now.”

He turned and stared for a long moment. “Why should I trust ye, Brianna?”

“I have your best interests at heart.”

He laughed without mirth. “Aye, ye plot to change my life, against my wishes.”

Brie tensed. He was right. “You're so caught up in your grief, you can't think straight.”

He tossed back some wine and said, “Dinna dare speak down to me.”

She trembled. “I am not patronizing you.”

He drank more wine, then refilled his cup and another one.

“Aidan, you have lost your way. I want to help you find it again.”

“I beg to differ with ye,” he said coldly. He thrust a cup at her. “I dinna lose my way—I found it. I like the darkness.”

“No one likes the dark. That's like saying you'd rather be alone and unloved than surrounded by friends and family, beloved by all.” She clutched the cup to her chest.

His anger crashed against her. “I like the darkness,” he said flatly. “I like being alone…an' I dinna yearn fer love.”

She wasn't going to win this argument—not just then, Brie thought.

“But we both ken
ye
yearn fer love, Brianna. Ye yearn fer
my
love,” he mocked.

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!”