Wolf Island

by Cheryl Gorman

  She rose from the bed and slipped on her robe. A restlessness plagued her as though something were about to happen. She shook her head and smiled at her thoughts. This castle, the island, and, most of all, Devlin were responsible for her unusual feelings. These emotions were more like something Miranda might feel, not her.

  Abby tied the belt around her robe, then picked up a magazine lying on the coffee table, flipped through it absently, and laid it down again. Then she remembered the rabbit Devlin had found. He’d mentioned something about a trail of blood leading to the bookcase and how it had stopped. Now was the perfect time to check it out; the castle was quiet, and no one was about. Abby retrieved her flashlight and headed out the bedroom door. As soon as she stepped into the hall, she heard the strains of Devlin’s violin drifting up from downstairs. The music drew her like a spell. She crept down the stairs and sat on the bottom step.

  Had his mother ever heard him play? If she had, how could she listen to the notes he drew from the instrument and believe that he was anything like his father? The music wept with such yearning, such love. Her feet grew cold, and a chill swept over her body. The fire had died down in her room, and she knew that Devlin probably had a blaze going downstairs. But that was only an excuse.

  What she really wanted was just to see him, talk to him, touch him. Abby rose from the step and followed the sound of the music. At the end of a darkened hallway, she saw a door standing ajar with light spilling out. The music poured out into the hall.

  Abby looked through the opening. She saw Devlin standing with his eyes closed, much like she had seen him on her first day in the castle, holding the violin in his big but gentle hands as if it were a part of him. He stood in front of the fireplace and seemed unaware of his surroundings, only the music.

  She slipped inside the room and walked stealthily over to a chair to listen. Listening to him play was almost like listening to his heart. There was such passion, such longing, such happiness and deep sorrow all tangled up together in his performance. She sat in a chair and just watched him. He continued to play without opening his eyes. When he finally stopped, he exhaled a deep breath and opened his eyes. He jerked when he saw her, and his mouth popped open.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” he said with a hint of irritation.

  She probably should apologize, but she wasn’t sure why. His left brow rose as he waited for her reply, and his eyes were dark and compelling. “A while. You play beautifully. I tried taking up the violin once, but I never moved beyond the strangling-the-cat stage, so I switched to the piano instead.” She was unable to hold back the trace of laughter in her voice.

  He seemed to relax at her statement and laid his instrument almost reverently into its case. “Do you still play?”

  She smiled. “Yes, a little.”

  “I’d like to hear you.” Genuine interest rang in his voice.

  Abby felt a rush of warmth deep inside at his words. “All right. I’ll do that, sometime.” When she’d had the chance to practice, she would enjoy playing for him.

  He straightened, and amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Now is as good a time as any. It’s obvious neither of us is going to get any sleep. Here’s the piano.” He swung his arm out to the side, gesturing toward the instrument.

  “Now?” Surprise vibrated in her voice. Instinctively she fingered the belt on her robe. “I can’t possibly. I haven’t played in years. I’m -- I’m not prepared.”

  A grin creased his face and crinkled the outer corners of his beautiful green eyes. “It’s like riding a bicycle. It’ll all come back once you start playing again.” He paused, stepped close to her, and stroked the tip of his index finger over her nose. “I won’t take no for an answer. It’s the least you can do for sneaking up on me.”

  Her eyes widened. “If I recall, you caught me belly-dancing in the kitchen and didn’t say a word, so it’s only fair.”

  A sensuous light burned in his eyes, and he gave her a slow smile. “How could I forget?”

  Abby felt a blush warm her skin. She turned her face away from his penetrating gaze, rose from the chair, and walked to the piano. The room felt cozy, with the fire crackling in the grate. He settled her on the piano bench with a soft throw tucked around her legs. To her surprise, he plopped down beside her. His body heat radiated around her, and awareness expanded in her chest. She looked over at him. “I’m too nervous for you to sit beside me. Would you mind sitting on the sofa or taking a chair?”

  Devlin threw her a full-blown grin that sent her senses reeling. “Yes, I would mind. I used to sit beside my grandmother and turn the pages of her music when she played. I’m afraid I don’t know any other way to listen to someone tickle the ivories.”

  Abby imagined him sitting here by his grandmother, someone he obviously loved, and a little piece of her heart fell further under his spell. She couldn’t suppress her smile. “Okay.” She stretched her fingers and clenched her hands into fists in an effort to limber her fingers. Devlin placed some sheet music in front of her. “It Had to Be You.” She arched a brow and looked at him.

  “My grandparents’ favorite song.”

  How sweet of him to remember. “I’d like to meet them sometime.”

  When she said the words, an expression shone in his eyes that she couldn’t explain or understand, a mixture of hope shadowed with fear. She wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him, reassure him that the dark specter of his past wouldn’t haunt him forever, but somehow she sensed he wouldn’t welcome that kind of comfort from her yet.

  Abby turned her attention to the keyboard, looked at the top of the page of music, and put her fingers on the keys. She started to play, and to her surprise, the memory did come back. She stumbled over a few notes, but in all, her performance wasn’t too shabby. When she was done, she turned to Devlin and smiled.

  He watched her with such a profound expression of affection in his eyes. Could he care for her? Abby’s heart leaped at the thought, and warmth flooded her body. She knew in that moment that she cared for him; in fact, she was beginning to fall in love with him. A few more moments like this, another kiss or two, and she would tumble headlong into love with Devlin.

  “Very nice.” His low, husky words were so sincere, she couldn’t help smiling. “We should try a duet sometime.”

  Playing a duet would make them a duo, a couple, of sorts. If they did play together, the moment he picked up his violin and she touched the piano keys would make them two parts of a whole. Oh, how she longed for that to happen.

  The grandfather clock in the hall struck three a.m. Her body ached with fatigue, and her eyes felt gritty. “I think I’ll go up to bed and try to get some sleep.”

  She started to rise from the bench, but Devlin laid a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For the song. For being here.”

  His quiet answer caused a lump of emotion to slide into her throat. The gratitude she saw in his eyes reached out and squeezed her heart. Had no one else ever played for him?

  She left him sitting there alone, though she didn’t want to after his softly spoken words of thanks. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and never let go.

  Abby walked slowly up the stairs and made her way to her room. She closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. She waited until she heard his footsteps pass by her door and pad across the floor of his room. Unable to go to sleep without seeing him once more, she walked out into the hall and up to his door. She knocked lightly, opened it just a crack, and looked in. Devlin stood only a few feet away, his shirt off, his jeans unzipped and hanging loose about his hips. His chest looked broad and golden in the soft light of his room.

  She gasped at the sight. “I’m -- I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Do I look okay?” Amusement laced his sensuous voice.

  A blush burned her neck and cheeks. “Yes, of -- of course,” she replied, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. “Um, goo
dnight.”

  Abby quickly closed the door and willed her rapidly beating heart to calm to a more normal rhythm.

  “Goodnight, Abigail.” Devlin’s voice drifted to her from the other side of the door.

  If only a hole would open up so she could fall through.

  Cold. The freezing cold sliced into her bones.

  Icy water caressed her skin. Exhaustion plagued her; it pulled at her mind and body. Tired. So tired. She moved her head from side to side. “I can’t swim anymore. I can’t do it.” Abby paddled her arms through the water, gasping for breath, but the cold sapped more of her strength.

  “Help me, Abby. Help me.” Devlin called to her, his voice sounding weaker.

  Abby struggled valiantly to reach Devlin, but she had nothing to show for her efforts. “I have to keep trying. I can’t give up.” The harder she swam, the more the waves impeded her and the farther away Devlin drifted on the current. Oh, God, she had to help him.

  She saw the top of his head, with his dark hair now soaked and dripping into his green eyes. Waves lapped his face, making him sputter for breath. His arms struggled against the water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Blood from his wounds trickled into the sea.

  “It’s my fault. All my fault.” Abby moaned the phrase over and over. “Dev, I’m coming. Hang on.” But the rain poured harder from a sky filled with dark clouds, and the wind whistled over the choppy surface of the ocean.

  Abby swam harder, trying to draw closer to Devlin. She was almost there. If only she weren’t so cold. The cold cramped her muscles; it sucked at her arms and legs, trying to pull her under.

  She watched helplessly as Devlin flailed his arms. His big hands reached for something to hold on to; his fingers spread, trying desperately to grasp Abby’s hand, but she was too far away.

  “I have to save him. I have to. I’m his only hope.” The rain pounded harder now, a loud slap into the ocean followed by thunder and the flash of lightning. They had to get out of the water. Too dangerous. Abby saw Devlin’s head slip below the cool, gray water. “No,” she cried. “Devlin! Devlin!” Her cries were frantic. “Where are you?”

  Devlin’s head bobbed briefly above the water, his mouth open, sucking in air, his eyes wide with fear. Then he slid into the watery depths once more. Abby beat her arms and hands through the water. She swam harder and faster than she ever had in her life. The wind lifted white-capped waves from the ocean and splashed them into her face and eyes.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she plunged beneath the surface and opened her eyes. She saw the faint shadow of Devlin’s body as he moved silently toward the bottom. Abby stroked her arms through the turbulent waves and kicked her legs, but the more she swam, the faster Devlin glided through the water away from her. Her lungs burned as though they were about to burst. She had to help Devlin, but she needed air. She watched in horror as Devlin’s body disappeared into the murky depths.

  Desperate, Abby kicked toward the surface, her lungs hurting, her arms and legs like lead weights attached to her body. She saw the surface. Light shimmered through the water overhead, and the splatter of the rain sounded muffled and distant. Not too far away. Breathe. She had to breathe. Now.

  Chapter Nine

  Abby opened her mouth and sprang up in bed. The breath wheezed down her throat into her lungs. Her eyes were wide as she stared into the darkness of her room and saw only water. Her heart thrummed in her chest, and the sound of Devlin’s cries still rang in her ears. A moment or two passed before her heartbeat settled and her pulse reached a calm rhythm in her veins. She looked toward the window, hoping to see dawn’s light, but only darkness lay beyond.

  She frowned. Wait a minute. The window was closed, the curtains drawn. She was certain she’d opened it right before she went to bed because she liked to sleep in a cool room. She got out of bed and donned her robe and slippers, then opened the window a crack and walked to the hearth.

  The fire had grown cold, and now only ash-covered coals glowed softly in the grate. She threw a couple of logs on top and replaced the fire screen. She rubbed her hands together and listened to the wood crackle as the flames licked greedily at the new fuel. The wind blew in through the window, snapping the curtains in the chilly breeze, helping to clear her mind of the troubling images in her dream.

  Starting across the room to crawl back into bed, she noticed a flickering light beneath her closed bedroom door. A bubble of fear crept up into her throat. Alice looks for her lost love with a lantern. Ridiculous. There was no such thing as ghosts. Despite her fear, she walked to the door.

  She flung the door open, but the light was gone. Her heart grew cold and still inside her chest; her fingers grasped handfuls of her robe and clung.

  No, she refused to run. Abby pinched the skin on her outer thighs through the fabric of her robe to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.

  There had to be a logical explanation. Darkness filled every nook and cranny. Only a thin wash of moonlight drifted in through the windows lining the hallway. Then she heard it: the soft tinkling of chimes.

  The sound surrounded her in a soft, musical cocoon.

  “Abby.”

  She spun on her heel, her eyes staring down the other length of hallway, trying to find the source of the voice. She saw nothing but darkness. A cry of terror caught in her throat. Finally, the sound of the chimes faded, and Abby heaved a sigh of relief.

  She turned and stepped back into her room. When she crossed the threshold, Abby jerked her head up. The window was closed. Again.

  But she’d opened it. She was certain of it. She ignored her fear and marched over to the window.

  If this was Devlin’s idea of a joke, she intended to give him a piece of her mind. Abby threw back the curtains, opened the window, and turned. She bumped into a solid, male chest and screamed.

  · * * * *

  The scream skidded up Devlin’s spine and made his blood run cold. He gripped her upper arms. “Abby, what’s wrong?”

  She squirmed out of his hold and stepped around him. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’ve just been scared out of my wits!” Her voice was shrill with fear.

  “I’m sorry.” He hoped his low tone would help to ease her fear. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Abby waved a hand through the air and glared at him. “I don’t mean just now. Well, I do -- but I mean before, too.” A ring of control edged back into her voice.

  “Before? What do you mean?”

  Suddenly, her gaze shifted to the bed. Her eyes widened and her skin grew paler. She walked to the bed and touched the coverlet. Devlin moved quickly to her side and looked over her shoulder. A mangled set of wind chimes lay on her pillow. Icy fear chilled his skin. Oh, my God. He’s been in her room!

  “How did these get here?” A tinge of hysteria coated Abby’s slightly high-pitched voice.

  Devlin laid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I don’t know, but I promise to find out.”

  She relaxed against his side a moment before pulling gently away from him. She tipped her face up, looked at him, and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “What’s going on around here?”

  To his relief, a wash of color had come back into her skin. The look she gave him was like the Abby he knew and ... and cared for. Warmth slid through his blood with an ease he had never felt with any other woman but her. The feeling frightened him, made him feel cold and hot all over, at the same time.

  Had he ever allowed himself to care for a woman in his life other than his mother or grandmother? He knew the answer. He had not. Too risky. And yet, somehow, a prissy schoolteacher had managed to crawl under his skin and stay there as if she were a part of him.

  She propped her fists on her hips and glared at him. “Are you and Otis in cahoots to scare me away?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He grasped her hands. She resisted his touch, but he gently pried her fingers apart and clasped his own around them. Her skin felt icy, an
d her hands were rigid, as if she were ready for a fight. He rubbed them between his own and lifted them to his mouth to warm them with his breath. Her hands relaxed for a moment. “I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t believe me.”

  Her hands stiffened slightly, and she pulled them gently from his. “No, I don’t.”

  Her reluctance to accept him at his word bothered him greatly. “You’ve got to trust me,” he implored with everything that was in him.

  She studied him for a minute. “I’m trying to, Dev. I really am.”

  He was getting to her; he could tell by that wistful note of longing he heard in her voice. His heart soared. He had to gain her trust. She gestured toward the chimes lying on the bed. “But what about those chimes? They just happened to show up in my room right after I’d been scared down to my toes.”

  Why was he surprised that Abby couldn’t trust him? No woman ever had. Oh, God, how he wanted her to. “I already told you why earlier. But let’s not debate that now.” He cleared his throat in an effort to hide his churning emotions. “Just tell me exactly what happened.”

  She frowned and glanced away. “I had a bad dream.”

  Devlin touched the side of her face and drew her attention back to him. “What was your dream about?”

  Abby turned and walked over to the fireplace. The wood popped and hissed in the grate as she held her hands out to warm them. “I can’t remember.”

  He suspected she could remember but didn’t want to tell him. He wanted her to tell him -- no, needed her to confide in him. He wanted to hear her relate every detail of her dream to him. Only to him. Did this dream have something to do with him? He didn’t want to think about her dreaming of him and being afraid. “Okay, then tell me what you saw or heard.”

  Devlin sat in a chair by the fireplace and listened to her gentle voice tell him everything that had happened. The more she talked, the more anxious he became. But he was careful to keep his face composed.