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She fought even harder, but only for a moment, then her body relaxed and her arms came around him, holding him close.
Her mouth moving over his sent an unexpected wave of desire through him. He considered pressing his advantage. The way she was responding, it
wouldn’t take much to get her wanting more. A flip of a few buttons, some well-practiced moves, and he could bury himself inside her. Pound deep into her and feel, for a few moments, at least, something besides the gnawing guilt. The hurricane fury. It was tempting. Why the hell not?
But she came to her senses first. Broke his kiss. Jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. Then rolled away as he grabbed his wounded side with a whoosh of pain.
She got to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her eyes glazed with anger and confusion. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just come in here, attack me and then act as if I’m supposed to be grateful you’ve saved me. Mayhap someone needs to save me from you.” Her voice grew louder and shriller as fear wore off. “And then you molest me as if I’m some slag who’ll welcome your advances.” She blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.
His gaze roamed over her body. It was just as well she’d stopped things when she did. As desirable as she was, she was definitely off-limits. No entanglements. It would only make killing her more difficult in the end.
“It was a kiss,” he said. “But don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
Ellery hadn’t moved since the man sat her down with a mug of tea and ordered her to stay put. At first she’d been too humiliated at the dismissive way he’d looked her over as if once he’d kissed her, he’d decided she wasn’t worth his effort. Then belated fear had grabbed hold of her and she’d shivered, teeth chattering, until he’d shoved the tea in her hands. She hadn’t even noticed him brewing it.
She stared down into the milky liquid with a wrinkle of her nose. A good, strong whiskey would have gone a lot further to calming her.
One hand on the door, he glanced back. “I need to check the house and garden, and see if I can pick up their trail. Be the hunter and not the hunted for a change.”
She ought to be glad he was leaving. After all, those horrible hounds had been chasing him, not her. If he was gone, she was safe. But then, why did she feel as if she’d never be safe again?
She clutched the mug tighter. Had it been only hours ago she’d wished for someone to share her empty nights? She had someone now. A hunted man with the power in his broad frame to snap her like a twig. A man who attacked her, kissed her, and insulted her all in the space of five minutes. She burned again with embarrassment, remembering the kiss they shared. She’d accepted it and even returned it. She closed her eyes, mortified at her easy surrender. Like mother, like daughter?
Thinking of her parents made her remember the man’s explanation of his arrival. He said he knew her father from the Peninsula. But she’d lived with the army long enough to recognize that this man’s skills far outstripped the common soldier’s. In fact, she thought few could best him in battle. So if he wasn’t a fellow soldier, then what brought him to the Peninsula and how would he have cause to know her father? A reliquary, he said. A treasure that her father kept safe for him. More than likely it was this man’s own stolen loot. The French rout had made rich men out of more than one soldier that day.
“I’ve secured the house, but dawn’s near. They won’t be back tonight.”
Ellery looked up to find him standing in the hall. He must have come through the front door and explored the whole cottage in the time she sat here mooning.
He watched her. In the darkness, his amber-gold eyes shone bright against the hidden planes of his face. “Are you better?”
She struggled to throw off the weight that pressed upon her from all sides, resenting his sympathy. “The tea helped. Thank you.”
He reached to his scabbard, fingering the pommel of his sword. “I found this while I was looking around. I hope you trust me enough now to know I’m not planning on murdering you.”
That was the point, wasn’t it? What did she know? Not much. Since his arrival, she felt like a spectator in another person’s story. She needed answers, and she needed them now. “Mr…. Mr. Bligh. What’s your name again?”
He gave a hint of a smile, but his gaze remained cold. “Conor. And you’re right. You do need answers. I’ll tell you what I can, but some aren’t mine to give and some you won’t believe even if I do tell you.”
Her eyes widened. “You see? It’s things like that that make me feel like I’ve wandered into a nightmare. You pluck my thoughts from the air, you…you,” she waved her arms at him, “you walk about perfectly normal as if you never fell at my feet or were shot. And these Keun Marow hunt you. Death hounds out of a faery story.”
He drew up a chair and sat down across from her. “I pick up a stray thought or two. Only the most focused, the most forceful. It’s a gift, like my ability to heal, my ability to fight. I was born to it as were all of my kind.”
Trying to concentrate on his words, she found his nearness disturbing. She crossed her arms as if that would keep a safe distance between them. “What kind are you?”
“We’re known as Other. Those born holding both fey and human traits. Witches, healers, wise men,” he paused as if weighing his response, “the brotherhood of amhas-draoi.”
“But the fey world isn’t real. It’s legends and myths. Faery tales to pass away an evening by the fire. No one believes.”
His voice was firm. “It doesn’t take belief to make the fey world real. It just is. And you wanted answers.”
“And those creatures hunting you? Are they of the fey world as well?”
He leaned toward her, the line of his jaw hardening, his face inches from her own. “Yes, But they aren’t hunting me, Miss Reskeen. They’re hunting you—and the reliquary you’re holding.”
She shoved her chair back from the table, glaring across at him. “I’ve heard enough. I don’t know what you hope to gain by barging in here and trying to frighten me, but I’m not such a dupe as you imagine.”
He reached out and grabbed her arm. “I need that box. It’s about”—he spread his hands a little over a foot apart—“this big. Very old. Jeweled. Do you remember now?”
