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‘I meant you would be better off…’
‘I know what you meant and you are a fool, because more than anything, I want you to come back, don’t you know that?
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well you must promise that you’ll come back to me.’
‘I cannot promise that Ilene.’ His voice sounded harsh to his own ears but he made it so. This was not the time to buckle under the weight of his emotions or to give her false hope. The last thing he wanted was to have her last memory of him as a weak fool. He hated seeing tears well up in her eyes and longed to comfort her, instead he turned, and left her like a coward.
***
For Ilene, sleep would not come that night, it dragged its feet until well into the witching hour in the middle of the night, and when it took hold, so did a terrible nightmare.
She was running through a stinking mess of bogs, her heavy skirts dragging her down, as they had done that day, in the sea. There were bodies all around her, white faces, blood-spattered, eyes fixed in the glassy stare of death.
Aidan stood in the midst of them, his face handsome, smiling, holding out his hand. She could hear Murray’s voice calling to her for help, close, so close, but when she tried to move, with every step she took she sank her further into the black mud. Something cold grabbed her ankle and pulled. She scrabbled at the ground, her nails tearing, as she was pulled under, first her legs, then climbing up her skirts to her waist, dragging, dragging. Aidan was still watching her with a smile. Her head went under the dark ooze and she screamed.
Ilene opened her eyes, shaking in her cold chamber. For a moment she could not breathe, trying to still her racing heart as she focused on the red glow of the embers in the fireplace and the flickering candle by her bedside. A thought struck her. If he died, then she would never have really lived with him as she should. There had always been the weight of her betrayal, her shame, her grief, pressing on them. He’d never had the chance to open his heart and let her in.
When her breathing calmed, the terror of the dream had been replaced by a fierce determination. She threw on her plaid and, flinching as her bare feet touched the cold flagstones, she grabbed her candle. One way or another, she was going to make him come back to her, safe.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ilene opened and closed the door in silence and tiptoed towards the bed, shielding the light of the candle with her hand, so as not to wake him. Placing it on the floor, she was just about to get into bed when…
He was up in an instant, grabbing her and pulling her to him in an iron grip.
‘Murray it’s me,’ she squealed.
‘Of course it is. Holy Christ, Ilene, you little fool, don’t you know that creeping up on a man, in the middle of the night, could get you killed.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘I…I was cold and I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d climb in with you so we could comfort each other.’
He frowned, and Ilene was afraid he would order her away, but instead, he flung the blankets back. ‘Best get in then before you freeze to death. But I warn you, climb into bed with me and it’s more than comfort you’ll be getting.’
Oh, that look of fierce desire on his face made her stomach flip over. There’s no going back now, she thought, as, with a racing heart, she climbed onto the bed beside him.
The light of the fire illuminated his hard body through his shirt, revealing the curve of his broad chest and heavily muscled arms. The rest of him, the part that could thrill her, making her lose all reason, was in shadow, and she was thankful for that
But, as she slid into bed with him, fear wormed its way into her head. Murray was a handsome, virile man who had no doubt bedded countless women before her. How could she possibly compete with them and arouse and entice such a skilled lover? Somehow she had to make him see how much she cared for him before it was too late. This could be her last chance to make up, in a small way, for all the wrong she had done him.
Ilene had no idea how to please a man sexually, other than by giving herself away and letting them do what they would. She was a novice at this but she was going to try. Before her was this glorious man, a bronze-haired god. Savage and brutal he may be, but he could also be brave and protective, passionate and tender and she wanted him so badly, she would have done anything he asked of her.
Half kneeling before him, she put a hand to his cheek, pushing her fingers into his hair while her thumb traced the length of the scar.
‘Don’t,’ he said, taking hold of her wrist. ‘I won’t have you pity me.’
‘That’s not why I’ve come.’
‘Ilene, if you mean to give yourself to me, as a way of saying goodbye, then know this, I can face death easily, but your charity I cannot bear.’
‘Hush, that’s not what this is. It’s not always for you to choose me, I get to choose you too.’
Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him, as if her life depended on it, tenderly at first and then flicking her tongue hesitantly against his lips, softly biting the lower one. The slide of his lips on hers was so delicious that she could not help but kiss him harder, as passion turned her loins to fire. Murray seemed to like what she was doing for he rose to his knees and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her against him, his tongue now invading her mouth and his manhood pressed against her, hard and ready.
