Rourke frowned. He’d never given any thought to Brenna’s father—a man who’d lost his wife and daughter within days of one another. His daughter had finally come home. Yet Rourke had conspired to keep her away.
Fool. Aye, she would be safer in her own world, but her world was not without dangers of its own. Her experience at fifteen told him that much. She had family awaiting her return, prepared to protect her with the same fierceness that his had shown when he went to draw out Cutter. Yet he would have denied her that. He would have sent her back to her isolation.
I’ve spent my whole life wondering why they never came for me, why they never tried to find me.
He poured himself a dram of whiskey and tossed it back, feeling the burn all the way to his empty stomach.
“I’m going after her.”
“You are only just recovered, lad.”
“If ye know who she is, then ye know well the danger that follows her. I’ll not leave her to the mercy of the earl and his men.”
“She has an escort of four.”
“Aye. Before dawn she’ll have an escort of five.”
“Seven. You’ll not ride alone.”
Rourke smiled and nodded. It was a good feeling to have kin at his back.
As he rode out of the castle a short while later, two of his kinsmen at his side, he wondered what had happened to that desperate need that had plagued him since he dove off the ship. The need to escape to the coast and sign aboard the first passage to the Caribbean.
Everything had changed. The sea held no interest for him. The Goodhope Plantation no refuge.
Brenna was not there. She’d taken the light with her when she left him. A light that had only begun to shine within his heart for the first time in twenty years.
When had the bane of his existence become the light of his very life? But she had. With every breath he took, he longed to touch her silken hair and catch a flash of her smile.
He loved her.
And he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Once he saw her into the keeping of her family, he’d turn to the cause of the problem that had plagued their lives for too long. The Earl of Slains. Brenna’s life would be in danger until the earl was dead.
The time was past for running. And that was what he’d been doing. Running. From the prophecy. From himself.
For as long as he lived, he would hate himself for what he’d done that day his parents died.
But he would run no more.
The time had come to fight.
FIFTEEN
Brenna and her escort started out the next morning after a restless sleep on the hard ground. Mist hung heavy, parting then reforming as the small party rode through. She wondered how her guide could possibly know where they were going when she could barely see ten yards ahead.
As they had yesterday, the four men rode two in front of her, two behind, keeping her safely tucked in the middle. The men were friendly and kind, but she missed Rourke badly.
Apprehension rode with her, turning her into a vibrating mass of nerves. Yes, she was excited at the prospect of meeting her family. But she was scared, too. Terrified that she’d come this far, waited all these years, for a reunion that would badly disappoint.
Dread swept over her, swift and unwelcome. She’d longed for her father for so long, and now that she’d found him again, she was seriously worried it was too late. She was too old, too used to being responsible for herself to become the responsibility of someone else. But this wasn’t the twenty-first century. Women didn’t easily live alone in this time.
She’d struggled too long to earn her independence to give it up now.
What if her father wouldn’t allow her that choice? What if he was a chauvinistic tyrant who demanded she remain under his roof and his thumb? The thought made her stomach churn. All she had was a single clear memory and she wasn’t even sure the man she remembered was her father.
The horse snorted beneath her as they trudged, single file, across mist-shrouded moors.
How was it possible she belonged in this place and not the other? If not for the Earl of Slains, she’d have grown up here. This would be the only world she’d ever known. Instead, for twenty years, she’d lived more than three hundred years in the future and never realized she was in the wrong time.
Her head ached from the confusing thoughts.
Her heart ached for her missing companion.
Had Rourke woken up yet? Was he angry with her for leaving, or relieved? Knowing her pirate, probably some of both. He liked to be in control, the one making the orders, so he wasn’t likely to be happy she’d made the decision to leave without asking him.
But then he’d realize he was free. She was being taken to her family and was no longer his responsibility. And he had his gold.
“Good luck, Pirate,” she murmured to herself. Her eyes blurred with the hot ache of longing for something that could never be. And with wanting someone who would be forever beyond her reach. And with the fear that she didn’t know how to do this on her own.
Anxiety slowly tied her in knots as they rode over the heathered moors toward what was at once her past and her future. The horses moved at a slow and steady pace as they avoided the main road. Angus feared the Earl of Slains could have other troops scouring the countryside in search of her by now.
“Riders,” Angus warned suddenly.
The men pulled up and circled their horses around her, two drawing guns, two drawing swords.
Heart thudding, Brenna yanked up her skirt and dug out the knife Rourke had given her, feeling a strange sense of warmth as her hand closed around the worn handle. As if Rourke, even now, tried to protect her. As she straightened, her gaze went from her small blade to the huge swords of her companions. She felt a little ridiculous. If she were going to survive in this place, she was going to have to learn to wield a bigger weapon.
The dull thud of distant hoofbeats carried to her through the morning mist. Definitely more than one rider, but fewer than the last time she’d heard the fearful pounding as she’d waited in that cave near Monymusk.
Brenna gripped her knife tight as she waited for a glimpse of the riders. Her heart pounded in her ears, her stomach clenching with dread. She didn’t want these men to die. Too many had lost too much already because of her.
At last she caught a glimpse of three riders and recognized the strong, agile carriage of the man in front.
“Rourke,” she breathed.
“Rourke, is that you?” Angus called.
“Aye!”
Brenna’s heart soared at the sight of him, and then crashed like the small wooden bird they’d tried to fly. She was so relieved he wasn’t a bluecoat and dizzy with joy that she hadn’t yet lost him forever; but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she could deal with his ranting at her for leaving without telling him. How was she supposed to take command of her own life if he wouldn’t leave her alone to do it? She knew better than to think she could send him away. The man didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.
As the three joined the group, Rourke’s gaze met hers, his eyes as pale and intense as ever, but lacking any visible emotion. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, neither his eyes nor his expression gave anything away. He turned to talk to the other men, but her eyes refused to move, instead drinking in the sight of the man who even now held her heart hostage. His color was back, his movements strong and assured. No one would ever guess he’d died just three days before.
The men decided that one of her companions and both of Rourke’s would return to Picktillum while Rourke continued on with them to Deveron House. As they started off again, Rourke moved beside her. The others gave them space, riding both farther ahead and farther behind than before.
Brenna didn’t want privacy, but heaven knew she couldn’t escape him. She was doing well just to keep the horse moving in the right direction. Evasive maneuvers were way beyond her current skill level.
“Wildcat.”
She could
feel his gaze on her.
His voice wasn’t hard with accusation as she’d expected. Maybe he wasn’t going to read her the riot act for leaving him. His simple presence soothed and strengthened her as if already he were shouldering her doubts and fears.
This wasn’t good. She would never learn to stand alone if he kept holding her up.
“Wildcat, I—”
“Rourke, don’t.” She held up her hand, not looking at him.
She wasn’t sure she could say what she needed to say if she fell into his gaze. “I didn’t want you to come. I need to learn to live in this world, to make my own decisions and fight my own battles. Your being here makes that too hard, especially since you’re always so sure you know what’s right.”
She hazarded a look at his face and found him staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. “I need you to back off, Pirate. Give me some space. Let me figure out who I am. I’m returning to my family. I’m sure you’ll be welcome there, but you can’t make decisions for me anymore.”
His head swung toward her, his eyes piercing. “I’ll not let ye come to harm.”
“If I’m clearly in trouble, then I’d appreciate the help. But I won’t allow you to hold me back and lock me up just because things may get a little dangerous. I have to live in this world. Not hide from it.”
Rourke stared at her for a long moment, then inclined his head and met her gaze. “I had no right to try to send you away without telling you that ’twas here you belonged. I’m sorry for it. But I’m not sorry for trying to keep ye safe, Wildcat.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “Which is exactly why I left. You have to back off, Rourke. You have to. Or you’re going to suffocate me, and I’ll end up hating you as much as you’d hate someone who tried to steal your choices. And I don’t want that to happen.”
They rode in silence for several minutes before Rourke finally spoke. “Aye. I’ll back up. But I’ll never stop trying to keep you safe.”
Brenna sighed. She’d asked him to back off, not back up. But the term probably didn’t mean anything to him. As he pulled up and allowed the small party to re-form as before, with him taking one of the back positions, she wondered if he’d understood anything she’d said. He was a man. Worse, a seventeenth-century male. They weren’t known for being the most liberal when it came to women’s rights. She had a bad feeling she was going to be fighting this battle with every male who crossed her path for years to come.
The specter of a dismal, frustrating future rose before her. Her father marrying her off to a man she hated. A husband who considered her little more than a possession. A society that turned its back on her for her rebellious ways.
At least Rourke seemed to like her despite her stubbornness and her twenty-first-century mind-set. If only she could stay with him.
Longing arced through her. She needed him. She needed his strength and his understanding, especially now as she headed into the unknown.
But she needed her own strength even more.
Blood surged through Rourke’s body, his veins pulsing with life, his heart pounding with strength. He knew not if it was the brush with death that made him feel so alive, or the magic that still lingered in his veins. Or simply his nearness to Brenna herself.
She rode just ahead of him, safely between the men as she had all day, the evening sun setting fire to her hair, making the strands sparkle as if dressed with tiny red and gold gems. In the simple green gown, the color of the moors, she was dressed to blend into the landscape, attracting as little attention as possible. But the color only accentuated her beauty until he ached with the need to touch her and hold her tight in his arms again.
Back up, she’d said. He grunted. If she thought he would leave her to the mercy of the earl, she was sorely mistaken.
Despite her strength of mind and will, she was soft. Over the years, he’d met his share of women capable of taking care of themselves. Brenna wasn’t one of them. Aye, she’d taken on his crew, but if he’d not intervened, she’d have lost. She wasn’t battle hardened. She’d never fought to the death. Never killed.
Aye, Brenna was strong, but hers was a strength layered with vulnerability. He wasn’t certain she could see it, but he could.
If she wished to believe she didn’t need him, so be it. He’d walk behind her, protecting her back until she was safe. Then he would go after the Earl of Slains himself.
As they rode, he felt her tension as if it were his own and wished he could ease it. Unfortunately, he feared his presence only added to it. She didn’t want him here. But it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t leaving her.
With night approaching, he began to look for a room with a bed, for he had coin aplenty. When they came upon a small brick house with a sign in front indicating a room available, Rourke negotiated a fair price. Angus and the others would encircle the house, keeping watch through the night while he kept watch over Brenna.
Though he braced himself for her displeasure, she said naught when he ushered her into the small room and closed the door behind them. Instead, she went to stand at the window, not moving even when the matron brought a tray with their supper.
“Come, Wildcat. Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She had said the same both times they’d stopped during the day to eat the victuals packed from Picktillum’s kitchens. To his knowledge the lass had not had a bite since his arrival.
“Ye must eat, Brenna.”
“I can’t,” she said miserably, “I’ll throw up.”
“The earl willna get you, Wildcat. I’ll not allow it.”
“It’s not the earl I’m worried about.” She turned to face him, her knuckles white as she held her elbows. “It’s my family.”
Sympathy and understanding flowed warmly through him. “Aye. I felt much the same as we drew near Picktillum. ’Tis not easy to go home.”
She shook her head, silent, as withdrawn as he’d ever seen her.
“ ’Twill be all right, lass. Your homecoming will bring much joy.” Joy he’d have denied them all if he’d talked Hegarty into sending her back.
“Maybe.” She sounded far from sure.
He couldn’t blame her. He himself knew nothing of her family nor anything of what had happened over the past twenty years. Only what James had said, that her father still lived and mourned her bitterly.
He walked slowly to where she stood and put his hands on her shoulders, expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. He felt a tremor go through her as if on a great sigh. To his surprise, she slipped her hands around his waist, tucking her head beneath his chin, flooding him with sweet warmth.
“I don’t need you,” she murmured.
“Aye.” A smile twitched at his lips, for her arms were locked about his waist as if she were a drowning sailor and he her only hope. He stroked her hair, pushing the sleek strands out of her face, as his heart swelled with love. She did need him. She might not wish to, but she did. And they both knew it.
“What is it?” Brenna eyed the meat on the plate with wary curiosity.
“Boiled mutton.” Rourke sat across the tiny table from her, digging into the bland-looking food as if he were starving. “ ’Tis a wee bit dry, but ye must eat, Wildcat. ’Twill do you no good to be weak and daft-headed when tomorrow comes.”
He was right, of course. Despite the knots in her stomach, she cut off a small bite and put it in her mouth. The meat was tough and as dry as cardboard, but her stomach told her to keep eating. Despite the knots, it was empty. And hungry.
She tried to ignore her companion as she ate. His presence was too overwhelming. Her need for him too much. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms. But she had to keep some distance between them. For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was her own survival. She wasn’t sure she could live through yet another heartbreak.
Everyone she’d ever loved had left her or sent her away. Her father, her aunt Janie, her first and best foster family, the Changs. None of them had done it on purpose, but the
result had been the same. Crushing grief. Debilitating loss.
She refused to go through that again when Rourke left to go back to sea. But the more time she spent with him, the more she needed him. And the harder it was going to be to avoid heartbreak.
When she’d eaten all she could, she pushed her plate to Rourke.
“Ye canna eat more?”
“No. It’s all yours.” Her gaze moved to the tiny bed in the corner. One bed, considerably smaller that a twin-size bed at home. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“On the floor.”
“In here?”
“Aye. I’ll not leave you alone.”
Great. Though she was glad to have him watching over her in case the earl’s men found them, sleeping in the same room with the man was not a good idea. She had to keep her distance. Worse, she had to make him keep his.
He finally finished eating and rose to lay the plates out in the hallway.
“Will ye be sleeping now, lass?”
Brenna sighed, meeting his pale gaze. “I’m not sure I can, Rourke. I’m too wound up. Why don’t you take the bed, and I’ll sleep here if I get tired enough.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he went to stand behind her to grip her shoulders, his magical fingers pressing and rubbing all the tight spots between her shoulder blades and along the sides of her neck.
“If I’d known you gave massages, I’d have asked for one days ago.”
“Ye like it, eh?” His voice held a smile.
“If feels heavenly.”
She felt him move and knew he’d knelt on the floor behind her low stool. But his thumbs never stopped their careful strokes, easing the tension in her shoulders.
His fingers trailed along the side of her neck, pulling her hair aside. And suddenly she felt his lips on that sensitive flesh, following the same path his thumbs had worked moments before, sending tendrils of pleasure floating along the surface of her skin.
A moan escaped her throat before she could stop it. Oh, this wasn’t a good idea. How was she ever going to build up defenses against the man if she let him touch her like this? Touch her until she was melting in his arms.
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