Page 31 of A Rogue in Twilight
She could not bear to be alone—and she feared he might be under threat as well. She had tried for years to tell herself the fairy stories were all fancy. But in her heart, she had always felt that they had the ring of truth.
But how could she explain to Lord Struan that the wildfolk had appeared in her room, that she could hear their horses’ hooves outside? How could she tell him that the Fey rode out tonight, and had entered Struan House? He would never believe it.
He would think she had gone mad in the middle of the night, hearing thunder and rain. But what she had seen was not mere imagination.
Were the locks here made of true iron? Had Struan shut the house as he had promised? She reached the bottom of the long staircase, wincing as she went.
Eilidh…Soft as a breeze. That was her birth name, her fairy name, which Donal had said she must never use. A sudden crack of lightning made her leap and shriek. Blue-white light filled the hallway. The dog rushed ahead, pausing to look back at her.
She heard her name again. She hurried on, suddenly tempted to glance back.
Never look behind you in a fairy-held place, her grandfather had said,for in that moment they will have you.
Chapter Eight
Ascream, anda blaze of lightning through the windows had James on his feet. He ran from the study into the wide hallway, the terriers barking and running with him. That was no banshee.Elspeth!Alarmed, he turned for the stairs just as the wolfhound hurtled toward him. A ghostly figure in white followed.
The slender wraith leaped at him, arms looping about his neck. “What—Elspeth!”
“Oh! Oh, Struan!” She sank against him, trembling. He gathered her close as another whipcrack of lightning flickered. She felt so good, too good, in his arms. He smoothed her tousled hair, his heart beating heavily. “What is it? You are frightened.”
“I am not,” she protested, clinging to him like a squirrel on a tree.
“Well, I was bloody frightened,” he said. He held her tightly. “I thought you were a ghost. What happened?”
“I could not sleep, and came down to find you.”
“Just thunder and lightning, my dear.” He had not meant to say it that way.
“I am scared of such things. I just thought—I might sit and read while you worked in the study, if you were still awake.” The way she clutched the lapels of his waistcoat belied her words. He had been working in shirtsleeves for comfort, his coat still damp.
“You ran here as if demons were after you. I thought you were the banshee herself when you came at me in that floaty white thing—”
“Hush!” Her fingers pressed his lips. “Do not call theban-sith!”
“It’s just the storm, or creaking hinges, or rain.”
She shook her head. “It is not that—oh, James, please—”
Then, for no reason that he knew, he was kissing her. Tender and fervent, one kiss melting into another as he tilted his head to hers, caught her face in his hands, pushed his fingers through her hair. She moaned and sank against him, her mouth urgent beneath his, driving him onward when he knew—and surely she knew—this should not happen.
Yet he wanted this so keenly that his mind went foggy. Catching her by the waist, he pulled her hard against him, pressing his body to hers through thin fabric. The wanting pulsed so hard through him that he thought he might go mad with it. He was already a bit of a lunatic where she was concerned.
Not this way. Stop.The thought sobered him. He took her by the shoulders and put a little distance between them. “Enough, else we both regret it.”
“I do not regret it,” she said, breathless.
“Sorry, I was trying to comfort you—poorly done. We must be practical.”
“Neither of us need be that. But we do need to—to—be careful.”
“Careful, aye.” He moved back, heart pounding. What was driving him? This girl was more than he had ever bargained for when he came to this place. “If you do not want to be alone upstairs, come to the study. But cover up a bit, lass, would you. I am not so strong a fellow.”
“Oh, you are,” she said with a little laugh.
About to answer, he just smiled. She had a sort of lucent glow standing in the dark hallway, her face a pale oval, her thick black braid slung over her shoulder, the white billow of the gownshowing more than she might realize. His grandmother’s gown, he told himself. Yet her eyes were as luminous as moonlight even on this dark night, and she looked frightened. He felt protective and deucedly entranced at the same time. He turned, glancing behind him, and reached for her hand.
“Never look over your shoulder at the fairy ilk,” she said oddly.
