Draycott Eternal: What Dreams May ComeSeason of Wishes

by Christina Skye

  But she paid it no thought, all too aware of the curses that were growing closer every second. Before her she could make out a faint gleam, and she realized it was the star-flung sky.

  “I’m…coming…Adrian!”

  And then she was through, out into the chill night. Before her on the abbey’s high parapet stars gleamed like cold diamonds flung across a lapis sky.

  Best of all, a tall shadow paced the windswept battlements.

  His arms opened. Gray flung herself inside.

  “Well done. Oh, well done, my heart.”

  Joy welled up as Gray felt the hard muscles flex, tense, crush her close.

  Real again. As real in bone and muscle as she ever needed a man to be. And no matter who—or what—he was, being held like this was all Gray wanted or needed from life.

  Adrian’s lips brushed her hair, soft as the sweep of filtered moonlight. Warm as the kiss of the summer wind.

  The shot rang out before she knew it, cracking off the stone walls. Cursing, Adrian shoved her behind him and lunged toward the narrow opening that led from the stairs.

  Suddenly moonlight glinted off cold steel and the night exploded into sound. White-faced, Gray saw Adrian sway.

  Again and again the gun coughed. This time Adrian stumbled back against the wall.

  “Run,” he ordered. “Door to the house—beyond the far tower—”

  “Dear God, no!” Frozen, Gray watched Adrian’s tall form sway. His eyes were wide, raw with desperation and pain.

  “Go…now…sweeting. So d-damned s-sorry—”

  Oblivious to the stocky figure crawling out from the inner stairway, oblivious to everything but Adrian’s growing pallor, Gray plunged forward to catch him.

  But it was too late. Her hands slid through warm blood.

  For a moment his fingers dug into her wrists. “R-run!” he cried.

  Then, with a gasp, he stiffened and fell back onto the cold stone roof.

  Gray barely heard the muffled snarl, the squish of soft soles on stone. Even Gideon’s angry hiss seemed far, far away.

  “You’re next, Moira my sweet. After we finish our business, of course.”

  Wild-eyed, Gray stared down at the cold slabs where Adrian’s body lay unmoving, blood pooling in a dark ring about his chest.

  Harsh laughter hammered over the parapets, but even then, she did not move, unable to stop crying, unable to tear her eyes from Adrian’s pale features.

  How young he looks, she thought. His features were calm, perfectly chiseled, almost as if he were sleeping.

  Instead of dead.

  Dead a second time.

  Behind Gray came low cursing. “Did you really think you could escape me?”

  Suddenly a gun clinked against stone. “Now, Moira, turn around. I want to see your face when I pull the trigger. By God, I want to hear you beg.”

  Gray hugged her chest, biting down a sob as she watched the wind riffle Adrian’s long hair. Someday, my love. Maybe…someday…

  And then she turned to face her nightmare, knowing this was what Adrian would have wanted most.

  He was smaller than she remembered, his face unremarkable, his eyes flat and unintelligent. He was altogether forgettable—not the great menacing figure she had imagined.

  He was just a man, Gray realized, just a sick twisted man who needed a victim. She shook her head, feeling the fear and hatred slide away until she was free of her past at last.

  “But I’m not begging, Matt. And I’m not afraid of you at all. It’s over. You’ve come too late.”

  He bellowed a curse and raised a shaking arm to strike her, but the next moment a hissing gray cloud of fur exploded through the darkness and landed on his shoulders.

  His gun flashed, erupting in a pinpoint of flame. Gray felt something whine past her cheek. A second shot followed, searing along her wrist.

  She barely flinched. “You’re too late, Matt. I’ll never run again. And that was all you wanted anyway, wasn’t it? To see me run.”

  Every word stoked her pursuer’s fury. Cursing, he started toward her. “No, you’ll never be free of me! Never, do you hear?”

  Gray inched back, sickened by his hatred, wanting only to be done with him and all that reminded her of him. But she was not going to give him the pleasure of seeing her run—not when she had no hope of succeeding.

  Her fingers dug into the granite wall. She looked away, out over the sleeping countryside, over the wooded hills and shimmering moat.

  A low singing rose through her head. Far away there came a distant peal of bells.

  Something about the sound made Gray think of home, the home she’d never known.

  Once again the gun blazed in the darkness. Dimly she realized she must be in shock, because she barely registered the impact of the third bullet.

  She swayed, catching at the stone wall for support. She felt a brief burning, then the hot, thick rush of blood at her breast.

  But the pain was far away, blurred, as if it belonged to someone else.

  Behind her Matt cursed, then stumbled about in furious surprise. “What in the devil—”

  He never finished. A low, harsh voice cut him off.

  A voice Gray found achingly familiar.

  Her breath caught. She spun around.

  Faint spirals of light glinted off the windswept walls, growing brighter every second. And at the center of the strange, swirling radiance stood a man, broad-shouldered and long-limbed, his form growing brighter and more solid every second.

  “You! But—you’re dead! I—I saw you die!” Gray’s ex-husband stumbled backward, his face locked in a grimace of fear and disbelief.

  His ghostly pursuer threw back his head and laughed, filling the stone walls with a dark rumble of sound. And then he started forward, his face as hard as marble, his eyes glowing like blood-red coals.

  “Get—get away, damn you! It’s all a t-trick. You don’t frighten m-me, do you hear?” But the man before Adrian trembled, his breath coming jerky and fast. He staggered backward in a desperate effort to escape.

  “No? Then perhaps this will frighten you.” With an unearthly laugh, Adrian Draycott leveled gleaming, outstretched fingers.

  And dragged them right through his terrified killer’s body.

  “But—you c-can’t—dammit! I won’t—”

  With a shrill cry, the man turned and shoved wildly through the gap into the stairway, his gun clattering, forgotten behind him. Dark laughter and wild, dancing light followed him every step of the way as he crashed down the stairwell and threw himself desperately into the moat.

  Adrian laughed softly. “Gideon? I believe it’s your turn.”

  Hissing angrily, the big gray cat flicked his tail, then turned and glided off into the night.

  Only then did Adrian turn, a smile on his face. Slowly the fury faded from his eyes and was replaced with a look of crushing pain. “Dear God, if only I’d known—if only I could have spared you this.”

  Gray swayed, suddenly weak. She reached out for Adrian as the parapet seemed to sway and the stars to dance a dizzy jig overhead.

  Far away she heard the first low moan of approaching sirens.

  “Adrian, I don’t feel—”

  “Here, love. Right here.” Hard hands caught her close, pressed her to his chest.

  And then Gray saw the faint silver glow that trickled from her own hands, lapping about her arms and chest.

  She stared down, speechless, as the glow grew to dancing sparks, and the sparks to solid swirls of light.

  Her eyes sought Adrian’s, hazy with pain and shock.

  His hands tightened convulsively. Protectively. Infinitely gentle. “I love you, Gray Mackenzie. Will that love be enough for you? Enough for you to trust me? Now and forever?”

  She caught a ragged breath, feeling the dizziness grow. Around her the ancient stone walls gleamed, bathed in shimmering columns of light.

  She managed a nod and let her eyes finish the answer, shining with a love she�
�d never hoped to find again.

  He caught her up, secure in his arms, his long fingers buried in her silken hair. His smile then was just for her, full of love, full of light, full of joy and promise.

  Beneath her ear Gray heard his heart race and felt the heat of his love surround her, part of the same shimmering glow that lit the night.

  Adrian’s fingers twined tenderly through hers. “Then…then let’s go home, my heart. These old stone walls have missed you far too long.”

  A whirring filled Gray’s ears, echoed inside her head. Light and sound swirled up, cascading together into exquisite, luminous melodies. Her fingers tightened.

  Into the music they went.

  Into the light.

  Gray was still smiling when the music spilled out and the abbey walls shimmered away to nothing behind her.

  EPILOGUE

  THE MIDDAY SUN POURED DOWN from a cloudless sky onto a green lawn full of mail-clad knights and giggling, wimple-clad maidens.

  High above, in one of Draycott Abbey’s mullioned windows, Kacey Mallory Draycott, the wife of the twelfth Viscount, watched the festivities of the abbey’s first “Medieval Faire,” a faint frown tightening her beautiful brow.

  “It doesn’t seem right, Nicholas. So much gaiety and life when…”

  Behind her Nicholas Draycott frowned. She was still too pale, still too quiet. And he’d so bloody hoped this idea of hers would cheer her up, help her forget.

  Long, gentle fingers circled Kacey’s shoulders and swept aside her silky blond hair. Warm lips skimmed her neck. “It was your idea, remember? You’ve put Draycott Abbey back on the map.” He slanted an ironic glance at the laughing figures below. “Although I’m not sure I’m entirely thrilled at the idea.” His hands tightened. “But it’s what Gray would have wanted, I think. Certainly that’s what matters most.”

  Kacey sighed, staring out at the billowing tents and colorful stalls. Slowly she nodded: “You’re right, of course. You’re always right, you insufferable man.” Her hands reached up to clasp her husband close. “It is what Gray would have wanted. But do you know, sometimes I almost feel as if she’s still here, that I hear her soft laughter drifting over the moat. It’s crazy, I know, but—”

  Abruptly she stopped, staring down at the milling figures.

  “Look, Nicholas!”

  “At what, my love? The dancing bear or the monk who’s rapidly losing his sandals?”

  “No, there, just beyond the moat. The woman with the auburn hair. It’s—I could swear it’s Gray!”

  Nicholas’s lips tightened. His hands locked about Kacey’s shoulders.

  “Oh, I know it can’t be. I know it’s crazy and impossible. But just the same I—”

  This time it was Nicholas who gasped, seeing a tall figure in armor and black velvet stride across the green lawns. “It can’t be!”

  “Can’t be what, Nicholas?”

  “Adrian!” He shook his head soundly. “No, of course, it isn’t.” Slowly his mouth curved in a dark smile as he watched the two figures fall laughing into each other’s arms, watched the tall, bearded man lift the woman with auburn hair up and spin her around in circles.

  A long sleek cat inched from one of the nearby stalls and stood studying the laughing pair.

  “By God! Yes, he just might…” Nicholas’s smile grew to a wolfish grin.

  “Nicholas?” Kacey turned to stare at her grinning husband. “What are you muttering about? Who can’t it be—”

  And then she sputtered as her husband cut her off with a fierce kiss planted fiercely against her still-parted lips.

  With a soft sigh Kacey slid closer, twining her hands about her husband’s neck. Abruptly, she pulled back, her eyes wide with worry. “Nicholas, you can’t. We can’t! The mayor and his wife will be here any minute to judge the costume parade. And then there will be a joust and fortune-telling and—”

  His hands eased over her silk-clad chest. “I don’t need my fortune told, sweet one. I’m doomed to a life of utter bliss in the arms of my beautiful wife.” He angled her a besotted smile. “And Marston will manage all of those things splendidly. He always does. Sometimes I even wonder why I bother to appear at all.” His fingers slid the fragile silk straps from his wife’s shoulders. “And Marston will certainly see to it that the mayor and his wife are kept suitably entertained for another hour or so while we—”

  “But Nicholas, I—”

  His hands eased the wisp of apricot satin lower. “You’re impossibly beautiful, do you know that?”

  Kacey’s eyes darkened as his fingers slid over the warm skin he had just bared. “But those two—they were—”

  Nicholas tongued the pebbled crest that spilled into his fingers. “Come, love, can’t you leave a pair of lovers to enjoy a moment’s rest?”

  “But they weren’t resting, they were—” Her eyes closed as her husband’s lips slid over her aching skin. “Oh, Nicholas.”

  In the soft, erotic rustle of silk and heated skin that followed, the laughing pair below were entirely forgotten.

  OUT IN THE HOME WOOD, where the green leaves whispered and the pool bubbled up crystal from the little glade, two shadows drifted, then shimmered to luminous reality.

  Sunlight glinted off auburn hair, spilling forward onto gleaming black.

  “Adrian! They saw us, I’m sure of it!”

  “Of course they saw us, woman. As guardian spirits, we must make ourselves visible to the owners of the abbey now and again. Just to keep them on their toes, of course. There, I think I’ve finally mastered the business. First you fix your gaze. Then you draw a slow, steady breath and count backward from twenty.” His body swirled, then took on solid form, sunlight gleaming off polished armor.

  “Wonderfully done! Twenty, you say?” Gray’s eyes narrowed as she began to count.

  A moment later, she, too, shimmered into full form, her long golden gown gleaming about her ankles. “I did it!”

  She looked down and studied the brooch pinned to her dress. “I’m so glad I found your brooch. It must have fallen there in the tunnel all those years go.”

  Warm fingers slid beneath her long hair. She sighed, easing back against the hard body behind her. “But, Adrian, surely not—not here? Anyone might come across us!”

  “Ah, that’s the beauty of it, love. Only Kacey and Nicholas can see us. And they, I assure you, are far too busy to go out searching for ghosts right now, guardian or any other sort.”

  His fingers slid lovingly over the sweet curves barely covered by Gray’s tissue silk gown. “Ah, God, Gray, you task me sorely! From morning to night you set me working with no reward. Had I known our partnership would be like this—”

  “You had a kiss at dawn and rather more than a kiss at noon, stubborn man.”

  Adrian’s lips slid hungrily over her neck. “Bloody less than I wanted,” he grumbled.

  “Well, there was that kitten to be rescued from the moat. And those wretched men from London were going to chop down that ancient oak beside the road. You couldn’t allow that, could you?”

  The man beside her gave a long-suffering sigh and mumbled something about letting the whole damned home woods be hewn down to twigs.

  Gray turned and twined her arms about Adrian’s neck, nibbling a path across his hard jaw. “And there were the roses. Only you seem to be able to work such magic with them.” Her tongue teased his ear.

  “Stop that! Damn and blast, woman, that’s unfair! Not when I can’t—”

  Adrian’s breath caught as he watched her silken gown skim to the ground in an erotic whoosh. “Sweet God almighty! Gray—”

  “Now who’s too busy to—”

  Laughter rang out over the glade, a soft sound formed of birdsong and the sighing of the wind.

  And the soft moans that only lovers know.

  There beneath the shadows of a giant rowan, one might have sworn two lovers pressed close, eyes like smoke, hands urgent and hungry.

  And there in the quiet glad
e, while the moat bubbled happily and lazy bees droned from rose to rose, the two shadows met and became one.

  And the long years of sadness were banished from Draycott Abbey forever.

  SEASON OF WISHES

  PROLOGUE

  Mid-October

  The Marshes

  Essex, England

  FOR A BIG MAN, Ian McCall’s hands were amazingly gentle as he eased the dial of the shortwave radio. Inside the crowded van greenish diodes left trails of cold light across his face. “Any answer yet?”

  The man beside him shook his head. “They’re still counting the money.”

  Ian McCall fought his exhaustion. As Security International’s most seasoned kidnap negotiator, he knew the next decision was his. “They’ve had fifteen minutes to count the money. It’s time to push them. Otherwise, they’ll run—and they’ll put a bullet in that little girl first,” he said harshly.

  His boss, Sir George Rolland, rubbed his neck impatiently. “It’s your call, Ian. You’ve been mediating with them for three months now. If anyone knows what these animals will do, it’s you.”

  “They aren’t professionals. They’re unpredictable and probably shot high on drugs. If we don’t act now, we lose our edge. Then there’s no telling what they’ll do to their hostage.”

  The director nodded grimly. “Take over.”

  Ian drew a hard breath and flipped on the broadcast switch near his left palm. His voice was precise, but carried the hint of soft Highland cadences. “Largo, are you there?”

  There was no answer.

  “Largo, this is Baker.” The code name rolled smoothly from Ian’s tongue. Field personnel in hostage situations knew better than to use their real names. If they didn’t know that, they didn’t survive for long. “What the hell is taking so long in there? We want the girl out now. Get her in front of the cottage where we can see her.”

  Static rose in a sharp wave, followed by a voice rough with exhaustion and raw excitement. “We’re still checking the money, Baker. Three stacks to go. Your people had better not have left anything out.”