Shoulders gleamed like freshly cast bronze, droplets of silver light snagging on a hair-roughened chest before they trailed down a flat belly to long, hard-muscled legs. And there, framed by narrow hips, a dark nest clung between his thighs, outlining...
A squeak of disbelief erupted from Fallon's chest, fire spilling into her cheeks as the realization struck her.
Ciaran of the Mist loomed before her, naked except for the dagger in his hand.
Chapter 2
She knew him.
The fact slammed against the inside of his skull with the force of a battle hammer. He didn't dare fall, must keep alert, ready. A warrior's senses throbbed through him as he fought to hide the cold stone of fear weighing his belly and to still the tremor in his hand.
The whole world writhed in mist, strange, unearthly shapes looming above him, below him, grasping at him. An even thicker, more terrifying haze filled his brain—confusion, bewilderment, emptiness.
No matter how he searched, nothing was there but a thundering pain in his temple that made his stomach churn and a brutal chill from the battering of the wind. He couldn't catch a shred of memory. He was lost, somehow. But he'd never known a man could be so lost he couldn't find himself. Even his body felt unfamiliar, as if it didn't quite fit. As if it belonged to someone else.
But whom? He struggled against a choking sensation of panic.
The only real thing in his world was the woman, with her rippling flame-colored hair a banner against the backdrop of stone. As unearthly as the place itself, she seemed to shimmer in the mist, her heart-shaped face painted with lantern light, skin creamy as a babe's, chin determined, tip-tilted eyes brimming with fairy tales, lips full and ripe, parted in astonishment, awe. Unspeakably strong, terrifyingly vulnerable, she seemed to have cast a net woven of moonbeams across his senses.
Even so, the aura ofknowingin her raked across his wire-taut nerves. Did she suspect the truth? That he was no one. Nothing. A creature lost within his own haze-filled mind.
Who am I? Help me.The scream echoed through him, silenced by a hard core of pride not even panic could banish. Fear filled his mouth, unfamiliar enough to taste bitter. He loathed himself instinctively for feeling it.
With all the effort he could muster, he crushed the horror welling inside him, his voice rusty and unfamiliar as he forced out the words.
"Where am I?" Sweat soaked him despite the chill.
Blast, she'd been staring at him so hard she'd all but bored holes through him, but suddenly her gaze flitted around like a berserk moth, up above his head, to the side, anyplace it didn't touch him. "I... I... can't—"
"It's a simple enough question!" he roared. "Where am I? What happened to me? An accident? Accursed thieves? Damn you, tell me—"
"I can't! I can't even think with you... you standing there—"
"Would you prefer me flat on my face? It would be easy enough to arrange!" he snapped as the earth heaved again. He reached out, bracing himself against rough stone with the palm of one hand.
He'd obviously roused her temper. "At least then I wouldn't see quite so much of you! Maybe you're accustomed to running about like that inTir na nOg, but these days we prefer more covering." She yanked off her cloak, revealing a willowy form garbed in delicate blue cloth, a white sash caught beneath lush breasts. She thrust the cloak toward him, embarrassment emanating from her in red waves.
"What are you babbling about?" He started to snap, then glanced down. Bare flesh gleamed in the moonlight. Naked. He was standing here naked! His face flamed. "Where the blazes are my clothes?"
"You came this way. It might have been nice if someone had warned me! Although, I imagine Mama didn't think the information appropriate fare for a six-year-old."
He glared at the woman, his skull splitting with pain as he lunged for the cloak, struggled to wrap it around him. But his fingers felt clumsy as oxen hooves. The garment was still warm from her body. But it couldn't stave off the hideous sense of being vulnerable, imprisoned inside himself.
"Answer me, now! Where am I?"
She blinked, bewildered, as if he were a particularly dull child. "We're at your castle."
"Mine?" His gaze slashed about, trying to grasp some wisp of familiarity, some shred of his lost self. But even his eyes betrayed him, his vision blurred, distorted, useless. But even still, he could see the jagged rubble. "Falling down. Must not care for refurbishing."
"It's just very old, and—"
"Damn the castle." His hand swept up to rake back the hair tangling across his face, but his fingers collided with something sticky. A gash in his temple. The woman noticed it at the same moment.
"You're hurt!" she gasped. "When I threw the stone, I must have injured you."
Blast, why did it hurt so much to glare? "You did this to me?"
"I didn't mean to. I was just so disappointed. I thought it was all a lie—the stories I'd believed for so long."
