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“No!” Her voice boomed, power and authority. “You are not welcome here. You have no right here.”
The shadows in the doorway swirled, coalesced, formed into a man. He wore sorcerer’s black, piped with silver, on a slender frame. A face as handsome as a fairy-tale prince was framed with golden hair and accented with eyes as black as midnight.
“Bryna, your time is short.” His voice was smooth, laced with dark amusement. “There is no need for this war between us. I offer you such power, such a world. You’ve only to take my hand, accept.”
“Do you think I would? That a thousand years, or ten thousand, would change my heart? Doomed you are, Alasdair, and the choice was your own.”
“The wait’s nearly at an end.” Alasdair lifted a hand, and thunder crashed overhead like swords meeting. “Send him away and I will allow it. My word to you, Bryna. Send him away and he goes unharmed by me. If he stays, his end will be as it was before, and I will have you, Bryna, unbound or in chains. That choice is your own.”
She lifted a hand, and light glinted off her ring of carved silver. “Come into my circle now, Alasdair.” Her lips curved in a sultry dare, though her heart was pounding in terror, for she was not ready to meet him power to power. “Do you risk it?”
His lips thinned in a sneer, his dark eyes glittering with malicious promise. “On the solstice, Bryna.” His gaze flickered to Cal, amusement shining dark. “You, warrior, remember death.”
There was pain, bright and sharp and sudden, stabbing into Cal’s belly. It burned through him like acid, cutting off his breath, weakening his knees, even as he gripped Bryna’s shoulders and shoved her behind him.
“Touch her and die.” He felt the words rise in his throat, heard them come through his lips. He felt the sweat pearl cold and clammy on his brow as he faced down the image.
And so it faded, leaving only a dark glint like a smudge, and an echo of taunting laughter.
5
Cal pressed ahand to his stomach, half expecting to find blood, and worse, dripping through his fingers. The pain had dulled to numbness, with a slick echo of agony.
“He can’t harm you.” Bryna’s voice registered dimly, made him aware that he was still gripping her arm. “He can only make you remember, deceive you with the pain. It’s all tricks and lies with him.”
“I saw him.” Dazed, Cal studied his own fingers. “I saw it.”
“Aye. He’s stronger than I’d believed, and more rash, to come here like this.” Gently she put a hand over the one bruising her arm. “Alasdair is sly and full of lies. You must remember that, Calin. You must never forget it.”
“I saw him,” Cal repeated, struggling to absorb the impossible into reality. “I could see through him, the table in the hall, the flowers on it.”
“He wouldn’t dare risk coming here in full form. Not as yet. Calin, you’re hurting my arm.”
His fingers jerked, dropped. “Sorry. I lost my head. Seeing ghosts does that to me.”
“A ghost he isn’t. But a witch, one who embraced the dark and closed out the light. One who broke every oath.”
“Is he a man?” He whirled on her so abruptly that she caught her breath, then winced as his hands gripped her arms again. “He looked at you as a man would, with desire.”
“We’re not spirits. We have our needs, our weaknesses. He wants me, yes. He has broken into my dreams and shown me just what he wants from me. And rape in dreams is no less a rape.” She trembled and her eyes went blind. For a moment she was only a woman, with a woman’s fears. “He frightens me. Is that enough for you? Is it enough that I’d rather die than have his hands on me? He frightens me,” she said again and pressed her face into Cal’s shoulder. “Oh, Calin, his hands are cold, so cold.”
“He won’t touch you.” The need to protect was too strong to deny. His arms tightened, brought her close. “He won’t touch you. Bryna.” His lips brushed over her hair, down her temple. Found hers. “Bryna,” he said again. “Sweet God.”
She melted into him, yielding like wax, giving like glory. All the confusion, the doubt, the fear slid away from him. Here was the woman, the only, the ever. His hands dived into her hair, fisted in those soft ropes of red silk, pulled her head back so that he could drive the kiss deeper.
Whatever had brought him here he would face. Whatever else he might continue to deny, there was no denying this. Need could be stronger than reason.
The sounds humming in her throat were both plea and seduction. Her heart hammered fast and hard against his, and her body shuddered lightly. She nipped at his lip, urging him on. He heard her sigh his name, moan it, then whisper words ripe with longing.
The words were in Gaelic, and that was what stopped him. He understood them as if he’d been speaking the language all his life.
“Love,” she had said. “My love.”
“Is this the answer?” The fury returned as he pushed her back against the wall. “Is this what you want?” Now his kiss tasted of violence, of desperation, nearly of punishment.
Her own fears sprang hot to her throat, taunting her to fight him, to reject the anger. But she offered no struggle, took the heat, the rough hands until he drew back and stared at her out of stormy eyes.
She took a steadying breath, waited until she was sure her voice would be strong and sure. “It’s one answer. Yes, I want you.” Slowly she unfastened the buttons running down the front of her dress. “I want you to touch me, to take me.” Parted the material, let it slide to the floor so that she stood before him defenseless and naked. “Where you like, when you like, how you like.”