Dark Embrace (15 page)

She had witnessed an expression on his hard, grim face that she had never seen before—one of vast concern.

Brie hurried into the tent just as Aidan tossed his bloody leine to the floor, standing only in his boots. “Get Will. I want my boots off,” he said tersely.

Brie looked at his raw torso and his left arm. “Sit down.” She whirled and left the tent to find Aidan's page. “Will, bring water and soap, and whiskey or wine and anything else to clean his wounds.” Did they even have whiskey in the sixteenth century?

Will nodded and ran off.

Brie returned to the tent and saw Aidan standing there, unaware of her, lost in thought. She had been right. Something terrible had happened. She went to him and touched his arm, about to help him sit. As she did, a memory swished through her.

Her hand on Aidan's jaw, his thick, dark lashes fanned out, a harsh cry, simmering desire.

She was confused. Aidan suddenly looked into her eyes. She focused. “Let me clean you off.”

He sat. If it hurt to do so, he didn't make a sound. “Can ye get my boots off?” he asked very quietly.

She hated his calm demeanor! Now she prayed he'd erupt into rage. She took a boot and pulled it off, but not without a huge effort. She looked past his groin at his raw body. “How much does that hurt?”

“It doesna hurt.”

She reached for the other boot and yanked it off after a few moments of tugging. He was covering his pain. “What happened?”

“Doesna matter.” He lay on his back on the bed.

He was really hurt, and blocking it from her, she thought. She had never seen him appear tired, let alone lie down. The tent flap moved behind her and she was relieved to see Will with a bowl of water, soap and linens. “Thank you,” she said.

Aidan slowly sat up. “Will can attend me. Leave.”

“Like hell,” Brie cried softly. She already had the basin and linen and soap. His face hardened, but she ignored it, gently going for his raw chest. His body tightened as she tried to wash it, but he didn't make a sound.

She knew it hurt. She slowly and methodically washed the area. Suddenly she heard Will snicker. Brie glanced at him and he shrugged. “The Wolf will live,” he said, and walked out.

Brie turned back and realized why Will was so amused. “How can you be aroused now?” Clearly he was shielding himself from her, because she couldn't feel the desire, just as she couldn't feel his pain.

His eyes blazed. “I want ye to leave—now.”

She went still.

“I need power,” he said softly. “I can heal myself, mayhap because I was a Master once an' the gods are confused, but I'll heal quicker if I take power.”

And she understood why he was aroused. “You would never hurt me—you swore that you wouldn't.”

He breathed hard. “I am hurt as I haven't been hurt in my entire life, an' I am tired, very tired…. Ye need to leave.”

He dropped the block on his emotions. Thick lust swirled and filled her. It was hot and ravenous, dark and predatory, indifferent to everything but itself and intent on self-gratification. But with it, she felt desire.

She tensed, aware of the incredible difference between his passions. “I will never believe that you commit pleasure crimes.” Was she deluding herself? She'd felt this lust before, when they'd first met after her rescue from the gang. “Hold still,” she said, and she poured what looked like scotch over his raw torso. The lust was making her ill, but the desire made her heart race.

He grunted. “Are ye jealous of the women I'll take to my bed tonight?”

Oh, that hurt. She did not look up, trembling. “You have this huge reputation as a great lover, and I don't think that would be the case if you left your lovers dead.” She seized his left hand and started washing his raw arm with water, swiftly this time because she was so upset.

I am going to take power, Brianna, but I willna hurt ye.

She stiffened as his words washed through her mind. She looked up. He was staring at her.

“I don't believe it,” she whispered.

“I leave the women
alive,”
he said harshly.

It was so hard to grapple with what he was telling her. Yet that lust for power was unmistakable.

“Ah, ye've finally lost yer faith. Do ye fear me now, too?” He shrugged her off. “Dinna touch me.”

She backed away. He met her stare. “No, Aidan,” she finally said. “I don't fear you. And I guess I was right—you haven't left a trail of dead Innocents in your wake.” But she was terse. He was the son of a demon. Demons lusted for power and took it at will. Demons destroyed. But he hadn't used her, taken power from her or destroyed her. And while history accused him of many bloody deeds, he was admitting to leaving his lovers alive.

Dinna touch me.

Brie tensed, suddenly recalling her hands on his hard chest, his trembling, taut body, his spiking desire and hers. “What happened in that dream?”

Aidan looked at her with surprise. “Ye can fight my powers o' enchantment?”

“You came to me to take power,” she said slowly, struggling to remember. “But you didn't, did you?”

He stood, reaching behind him without turning, taking a plaid and wrapping it around his waist. “Yer a fierce, annoyin' woman,” he said, eyes hard. But his gaze moved to her mouth.

It was déjà vu. He had looked at her mouth with so much hunger…but he hadn't kissed her. She had kissed him—and then he had kissed her back. “You kissed me.”

“Ye recall the dream?” He was disbelieving.

“Just bits and pieces of it.” She shook. “Oh my God. That kiss—it was
huge.
” Her eyes widened as she recalled the explosion of passion. “It was desire, not lust! Did we make love?”

“Yer still a virgin,” he snapped, his anger blazing. “It was a damned dream!” He reached for a bottle of wine sitting on the portable desk and popped the cork with his fingers.

Bracing against the anger, Brie whispered, “Then why are you so upset?”

His mouth curled. “I'm hardly distraught over a dream. I haven't thought about it, not until now.”

He was lying. She felt the lie quivering between them, just the way she felt the desire cowering behind the lust for power. “Take the spell off me.”

He looked coolly at her. “So ye can relive the dream?”

“
You
came to
me
in a dream,” she whispered. Her heart lurched. What had happened?

His eyes widened. Then, savagely, he replied, “I came to use ye, Brianna, but ye refuse to ken the truth.”

She hugged herself. “No. Because I recall that kiss, and it was filled with passion.”

“I need power,” Aidan said, his gaze brilliant with sudden fury. “I want power. I went to ye to take power!” He whirled. “Ye want sex? Ye want pleasure? Find a lover, but it won't be me.”

His fury caused Brie to collapse on the bed. She looked up at him. He was livid, but the memories started rushing over her, through her. “Making love won't doom you, Aidan. It will heal you.”

“Ye canna heal me, Brianna. I willna allow it.” His teeth bared, he stormed from the tent.

A
IDAN STRODE AWAY FROM HIS TENT
,
furious with Brianna. The moment he'd closed the flap behind him, he started to limp. Pain stabbed through his knees and throbbed within him. He hadn't exaggerated. He was injured as he hadn't been injured since he'd been chosen by the Brotherhood. That giant had been dangerously powerful—and he knew its power had somehow been enhanced by Moray. He had just barely escaped with his own life.

But he hadn't destroyed the evil consuming the giant.

Head down, knees aching, his chest and arm still on fire, Aidan suddenly felt a huge and familiar white power barring his way. He halted, looking up, dismayed.

MacNeil stood before him, his green eyes dark, his expression grim.

A new, terrible tension assailed Aidan. “O' course. How foolish o' me not to ken ye'd be here.” MacNeil had the Sight, although he conveniently claimed he could only see when the gods allowed it. He had either seen Moray's return or he had sensed it.

“Let me heal ye, lad,” the tall, golden man said softly.

“Fuck off,” Aidan snarled. “I'll take power from the whores.”

“Yer in pain. 'Tis clear Moray has spent the sixty-six years growin' his evil powers. Yer fortunate to live this day.” MacNeil swept his hand out, and white rain shimmered over Aidan.

He would never forgive MacNeil for callously accepting Ian's death, and for knowing of it without warning him. He would never forgive MacNeil for choosing the gods over his son. Even though the healing shower instantly began to soothe his injuries, Aidan flung his power furiously at MacNeil. The golden Master blocked the silver wave easily and it veered off into the woods. Trunks cracked apart and the trees slammed to the ground, which briefly shook.

“Do ye feel better?” MacNeil asked.

“I will hate ye till I die,” Aidan snapped, breathing hard. “Did ye come to hear me beg fer help? Because I will never do so!”

MacNeil laid his hand on Aidan's arm. A wonderful warmth swept through Aidan's entire body, and he knew he was healed from the day's terrible battle. “I would never expect ye to beg fer anything from anyone, Aidan. But ye need me an' ye need the Brotherhood.”

Aidan shrugged away. “So ye'll battle with a half deamhan?” he laughed.

“To vanquish Moray? Aye, I'll command the brethren to aid ye. I already have.”

“I dinna want or need yer help,” Aidan said, but he began to seriously recall the events of that day. He did not know the extent of Moray's powers and he did not know if he had enough power, on his own, to destroy him once and for all.

“Ye've seen his newest power of possession.” MacNeil spoke quietly.

“Aye.” Aidan finally gave in. He needed information, so he would tolerate the abbot. “Can he emerge as anyone, at any time?”

“Aye, but 'tis easier fer him to possess the weak an' the evil.”

Aidan turned away. One of Brianna's demonic bodyguards could turn the corner, and it could be Moray. He faced the golden Master tersely. “He's disguised his evil well. He used to bring a great chill with him. I used to feel his black power long before I faced it. I dinna feel any chill or his particular power today.”

“He has been carefully sowing his powers all these years. He's learned to hide until he wishes otherwise. He managed to find a part of the Duisean,” MacNeil said, “and I think he has it hidden in yer lady's time.”

Aidan went still. The Duisean was the Book of Power, stolen from its holy shrine hundreds of years ago. The Brotherhood had been searching for it for centuries. “So he used the book to come back from Malcolm's vanquishing,” he said slowly.

“His return was written,” MacNeil said flatly. “I dinna ken if he had the pages of the Duisean then.”

“Like my son's death?” Aidan cried, trembling.

“I am not a god, and I do not debate their Wisdom and writings with them,” MacNeil said, laying his hand on Aidan's shoulder another time.

Aidan wrenched away. Ian's death had been written. Hadn't it?

Ian lives.

His heart filled with a savage, unbearable pain. He had been doing his best to avoid recollection of those terrible, cruel words until now. It was not true. It could not be true. Moray wished to torment him to his death this time.

“I remain sorry fer yer loss,” MacNeil said gravely.

Aidan shook with despair. “He told me Ian lives.”

“He plays ye, lad.”

Aidan trembled, staring. If Ian was alive, he could not be a ghost. Ghosts came from the dead. There was no hope. He did not want to ever have hope again.

“He distracted ye today. He'll do so again. He's played ye yer entire life, cat an' mouse. He hunts ye now.”

Aidan met MacNeil's concerned gaze. It was true. His father had started hunting him when he was ten years old and fostering with the Maclaine family. He'd hunted him lightly then, but he'd hunted him very seriously and ruthlessly from the day he'd been chosen and joined the Brotherhood.

“He'll never forgive ye fer defyin' him, fer servin' the Brotherhood. He'll never forgive ye fer allowin' yer lovers to live. He'll never forgive ye fer hunting down his three deamhan sons, one by one, an' destroyin' their families, their lands. Dinna let him torment ye further, lad.” MacNeil's large hand found Aidan's shoulder again.

This time, Aidan did not wrench away. This time, there was so much despair.

A powerful healer like Lady Allie could have saved Ian. A god could have saved Ian.

He forced the hope away. Ian was dead and Moray would have to pay with his life.

“This war must end and there will be one victor. Let us help ye, Aidan. Ye remain a brother, always.”

“Do ye ken how Moray can be vanquished?” he asked harshly.

MacNeil shook his head.

“Then I dinna care fer yer help.” He started to walk away.

“An' what about Lady Brianna?” MacNeil called to his back.

If you like virgins, my son, it can be arranged.

Aidan faltered. Instantly he reached out for her. She was asleep, but not dreaming. Even though she was not in danger, he did not relax.

His father had known that he'd chosen to go to Brianna in a dream, instead of taking power from the Innocent in the women's camp. Did he also know that Aidan had desire for her, instead of lust? Did he know that Aidan was resolved to protect her? If Moray knew any of those things, Brianna was in jeopardy.

His fear escalated wildly as he met MacNeil's gaze. Clearly the Master knew all of this, too.

“She can come to me at Iona anytime,” he said, and he vanished.

If he sent Brianna to MacNeil, she would be safe upon Iona's holy ground. She could look at MacNeil with her huge, trusting eyes; she could annoy him with her unwelcome opinions and she could covet him, body and soul, as she surely would.

He was rigid. He hated the idea of Brianna desiring the other man.

 

B
RIE DREAMED OF THE MEDIEVAL BATTLE
, the sound of swords and artillery, shouting men and screaming horses ringing in her ears. She waited frantically for Aidan to appear. She somehow knew he was alive, but she was terrified for him. And when he suddenly slid off his horse and into her arms, he was covered in so much blood that he slipped out of her hands.

He was going to die, she thought, panicked.

But he didn't collapse. Instead, as if she weren't there, he walked of his own accord into his tent.

What had happened? Who had done this to him?

And she felt the huge evil appear behind her. Brie tensed, very uncertain that she was dreaming now.

“Hallo a Bhrianna.”

That terrible voice was terrifying and somehow familiar. Brie turned and faced a handsome blond demon, who smiled at her. “It's you, isn't it? You did this to Aidan,” she said.

He laughed. “Who else could hurt your lover so badly?”

He reached for her. “My son prefers to amuse himself with virgins, rather than take and destroy Innocence. You yearn to redeem him, but I will never allow it.” He pulled her into his embrace. “He will die before there is ever salvation, fair Brianna.”

Brie went still, but her heart exploded in terror. “You're not here with me, now! I am dreaming. No one has seen you in sixty-six years!”

Brie tried to struggle free of him. He instantly let her go, laughing. She had to wake up now, before something terrible happened. Panicking, she raced after Aidan into the tent, aware of Moray following, his pace unhurried and unrushed. But the tent was empty.

Crying out, she whirled as the flap fell closed behind Moray. “He left you a virgin. How pleasant for me,” he murmured.

Brie felt her clothing vanish. She screamed.

 

H
ER SCREAM SHRILLED THROUGH THE NIGHT
.

Aidan instantly felt his father's evil. He ran toward his tent, expecting another scream. It did not come, and fear began. He thrust inside and was greeted with shadows and the dim light cast from one lantern. Brianna lay in bed, thrashing in her sleep.

Moray was not standing over her.

He slipped instantly into her dream and found her naked in the deamhan's arms. Moray laughed. “It's only a dream, my son.”

Aidan flung all his power at him.

Moray lifted Brianna and used her as a shield; the energy blazed into her. She went limp and lifeless in his father's arms.

“Tsk, tsk. You destroy Innocence?”

No one could die in a dream! Panicked, he left the dream and sat down beside her, seizing her shoulders. “Wake up!” he roared, terrified that she would never awaken now.

Brianna's eyes flew open.

“Yer nay hurt. 'Twas a dream,” he cried, choking on relief.

She threw her arms around him and clung.

He held her hard, as hard and tightly as he could.
Had she died in the dream?

He was already in her mind. She was reliving the dream, going limp and lifeless in Moray's arms. His father's laughter filled the tent.

He stiffened, glancing warily around. Moray was not present. But Brianna looked up, eyes wide. “Is he here? I thought it was just a nightmare. Aidan?”

“Ye heard him?” Aidan asked carefully.

She nodded.

Aidan breathed hard and reached out, straining. It took a long moment, but he finally felt the black evil filling the confines of his tent. “I'll be seeing' ye in hell very soon,” he snarled.

“You'll see me tomorrow,” Moray murmured.

And the evil weight vanished. Aidan knew he was gone.

“Aidan? What's going on? What's happening?” Brianna cried.

She was terrified—and in his arms. And it was a soft, warm, caring woman he held. He wanted to soothe her, but not the way he'd so often soothed Ian in his previous lifetime. He wanted to soothe her by moving over her, by kissing her face, her breasts, her hair. All he had to do was take her face in his hands and press her down onto the bed. His body was already hot and inflamed. When his body was in hers, she would not be thinking of this nightmare, his deamhan father and the dream death.

But he made no such efforts.

Moray was hunting her now.

It had become terribly clear. Moray would use her against Aidan, just as he had begun to fear. He must not take her, touch her or soothe her, not in any way. He already cared to protect her, and that made her—and him—terribly vulnerable.

He must send Brianna to Iona immediately.

For one more moment, he held her in the circle of his arms, acutely aware of her warmth and caring, and even of her love. If he did not behave with extreme caution, she would suffer the same fate as Ian—or even a worse one.

“I'll guard ye while ye sleep. I willna allow anyone to step into yer dreams.”

Her eyes widened. She glanced down between them, where he throbbed helplessly against the linen leine. “I can't sleep now,” she whispered.

And he realized he hadn't shielded his desire from her—or his anger and fear. Instantly he put a block between them, but that didn't change what he really wanted to do. It didn't ease his body, which clamored for her. He released her and stood up.

Very careful to sound indifferent, he said, “Yer a beautiful woman, Brianna. Ye ken a Highland man will always respond to beauty with virility.” He shrugged.

“I'm not beautiful,” she said, her green eyes unwavering on his. “Aidan, I just died.”

He went still and his heart lurched.
Was this another new power?
“Are ye certain?”

She nodded, looking lost and vulnerable, pulling her covers up to her chin. “No one dies in a dream. I
died.
”