Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [7]
“What I want is an explanation.” But he did sit, and because the hot liquid in his cup smelled glorious, he drank. “You said you knew I would come, you knew my name. I want to know how either of those things is possible.”
It wasn’t permitted to lie to him. Honesty was part of the pledge. But she could evade. “I might have recognized your face. You’re a successful and famous man, Calin. Your art has found its way even into my corner of the world. You have such talent,” she murmured. “Such vision.” She arranged scones on a small plate, offered it. “Such power inside you.”
He lifted a brow. There were women who were willing, eager to rock onto their backs for a man who had a hold on fame. He shook his head. “You’re no groupie, Bryna. You didn’t open the door to me so that you could have a quick bout of sex with a name.”
“But others have.”
There was a sting of jealousy in her voice. He couldn’t have said why, but under the circumstances it amused him. “Which is how I know that’s not what this is, not what you are. In any case, you didn’t have the time to recognize my face from some magazine or talk show. The light was bad, the rain pouring down.”
His brows drew together. He couldn’t be dreaming again, hallucinating. The teacup was warm in his hand, the taste of the sweet, whiskey-laced brew in his mouth. “Damn it, you were waiting for me, and I don’t understand how.”
“I’ve waited for you all my life.” She said it quietly, setting her cup down untouched. “And a millennium before it began.” Raising her hands, she laid them on his face. “Your face is the first I remember, before even my own mother’s. The ghost of your touch has haunted me every night of my life.”
“That’s nonsense.” He brought a hand up, curled his fingers around her wrist.
“I can’t lie to you. It’s not in my power. Whatever I say to you will be truth, whatever you see in me will be real.” She tried to touch that part of his mind, or his heart, that might still be open to her. But it was locked away, fiercely guarded. She took one long breath and accepted. For now. “You’re not ready to know, to hear, to believe.” Her eyes softened a little, her fingertips stroking his temples. “Ah, Calin, you’re tired, and confused. It’s rest you’re needing now and ease for your mind. I can help you.”
His vision grayed, and the room swam. He could see nothing but her eyes, dark blue, utterly focused. Her scent swam into his senses like a drug. “Stop it.”
“Rest now, love. My love.”
He felt her lips brush his before he slid blissfully into the dark.
Cal awoke to silence. His mind circled for a moment, like a bird looking for a place to perch. Something in the tea, he thought. God, the woman had drugged him. He felt a quick panic as the theme from Stephen King’s Misery played in his head.
Obsessed fan. Kidnapping.
With a jolt, he sat straight up, terrified, reaching for his foot. Still attached. The black cat, which had been curled on the edge of the bed, stretched lazily and seemed to snicker.
“Yeah, funny,” Cal muttered. He let out a long breath that trailed into a weak laugh. Letting your imagination turn cartwheels again, Calin, he told himself. Always been a bad habit of yours.
He ordered himself to calm down, take stock of the situation. And realized he was buck naked.
Surprise ran a swift race with embarrassment as he imagined Bryna undressing him with those lovely tea-serving hands. And getting him into bed. How in the hell had the woman carted him into a bedroom?
For that was where he was. It was a small and charming room with a tiny stone hearth, a glossy bureau. Flowers and candles again, books tucked into a recessed nook. A doll-size chair sat near a window that was framed in white lace curtains. Sunlight slipped through them and made lovely and intricate patterns on the dark wood floor.
At the foot of the bed was an old chest with brass fittings. His clothes, clean and dry, were folded neatly on it. At least she didn’t expect him to run around in his skin, he decided, and with some relief reached quickly