He leapt back at the dog’s sharp bark with a gruesome frown. His drawn features fell in long, shadowed creases, his eyes wells of blackness. He could have passed for the evil emperor something-or-the-other from thoseStar Warsfilms Brontë had made her watch. The epitome of the Dark Side.
“A cup. I need some water. From the well.” His presence rattled her. She longed to channel her stress and ask what the hell he was doing there in the dark, in the middle of the night, springing out on innocent passersby and scaring the shit out of them. On the other hand, she wanted no reason to prolong her departure.
Under pressure from Rab’s continued snarling, Derne backed between two of the statues and issued a few yaps of his own. “Call back this beast, Mistress Marshall, or I shall see him on a spit before dawn.”
“Rabbie! Stop it!” What more did he expect her to do while she was on her hands and knees with a candle in one hand?
God, she was never going to find that tiny device in the dark. Just as the thought formed, she swept her hand in a wide arc and found it. A bloody miracle. She climbed to her feet and dragged the shepherd away by the scruff. She did so without a word, though she would have loved to volley all sorts of timeless curses at him.
“If I see that beast in the castle again, I shall have you sacked!”
* * *
Into the bailey and out the postern gate, she broke into a run with the comforting presence of the dog by her side. Even he couldn’t ease the urgent need to get as far away from the castle as she could, as fast as she could.
Derne’s threat had nothing to do with it. He wouldn’t see Rab again.
Or her.
He’d never have a chance to sack her, just as she’d never have the chance to tell him where to go. As she would never see this place again. Never see Niall and Effie again. Never see Finn…
Or tell him goodbye.
A tear splashed on her cheek, but she kept moving. Doing what she had to do.
She couldn’t do it any longer. Couldn’t bear it.
Halfway down the main street of the inky village, Aila hit the return button on the device. She blinked against the sudden change from night to the blinding light of day and got a tree branch to the face for her trouble to boot. The village was gone leaving her surrounded by the trees of the castle parkland. The inn was less than a half mile ahead.
There was hardly a greater distance that she could put between her and Finn — two hundred and seventy plus years!
Bloodyfuckinghell, what had he done to her? Watching him…watching him watching her…. She’d been completely naked under his probing gaze, atremble in the face of raw intimacy.
A shudder traveled from head to toe. It was as if he’d found her deepest secret, one she didn’t even know about, and stripped her bare.
She’d never felt so emotionally wrought. Exposed.
Vulnerable.
And that would not do. Not at all.
God help her if Finn felt the same. God help them both. The injustice!
As she ran, the frenzy of emotion that drove her to run turned to anger. Burgeoning, blinding fury. Not at Finn. He’d done nothing to deserve it. Not even at herself for being such a bloody fool.
Nay. Each outraged beat of her heart pounded like the fall of a smithy’s hammer on an anvil. Each beat sent searing hot gushes of blood to flood her cheeks, to her eyes until she saw red.
It was all directed at one person.
Aila burst through the door of the inn, right into the taproom. Straight to a table for two near the window. Right where he’d said they be. It might have been the only truth Donell bothered with. How she’d been played!
“My goodness, Aila dear, what are you wearing?”
Ignoring Violet’s question, she came to a skidding halt and hurled the device in her hand at Donell with every ounce of fury in her heart. “Ye right git bastard! Who the fuck do ye think ye are?”
“Aila! What’s gotten into you?”
Aila couldn’t even spare a glance for the older woman as Violet pushed back her chair and stood. Her focus was reserved for Donell. The bloody architect of her misery. “Do ye have any idea what ye’ve done?”
