“You want his urgency, his despair,” Aedan said, and ducked to scoop Christina into his arms. “Show the moment he takes her out of the briar, desperate to save her.”
“Aye, that is it!” John came near to adjust their pose. “This way—step forward. Perfect.” He returned to the easel.
“Comfortable?” Aedan asked her.
“Aye. But how long can you hold me up like this?”
Forever,he thought. “If I get tired, I will just drop you to the floor.”
“Oh,” she said. “But would you?”
He laughed, shook his head. “Never.”
“Hush,” John said. “Christina, tip your head back so you look unconscious. There! The swan neck, the pale face, so lovely.”
As she leaned her head over his arm, her loose, soft hair swept over his skin. Aedan breathed in its lavender scent, shifted his weight slightly to keep her close and safe.
John worked fast and free with the chalk as candlelight flickered and rain drove against the windows. Aedan felt her soft breathing. He studied her face.Perfect.
The sight of her collapsed in his arms reminded him keenly of the painting he treasured, the girl made of paint who fascinated him. A strange magic worked its way through him, a powerful protective urge, as if she were truly in danger and only he could save her.
“John,” Christina said, “have a heart. Aedan has been holding me up a long while.”
“It’s no hardship,” Aedan defended.
“Very well, set her down. I have what I need. Thank you. That’s all for tonight.” John sifted through his drawings, muttering to himself, on fire with creativity despite the hour.
Removing weapon and chain mail, Aedan dropped the hauberk with a heavy chime on a table and laid the valuable old sword beside it. Turning, he saw Christina looking out the window, the green tartan drooping on her slender shoulders.
“You look tired,” he said, going to her.
“I am. I should go to my room.”
“Shall I see you safely down the stairs?”
She looked up, narrowed her eyes. “If you like.”
He wanted to sweep her into his arms again and carry her off like some medieval hero. Something about the posing sessions made him feel forceful and passionate beyond the bounds of hisown reserved and somber self. Or perhaps it was his very real need to be with her, love her, protect her.
Dear God, he thought, he adored her. She stood with weary simplicity in the plain gown and Highland blanket, her dark-auburn hair bedraggled, her face forlorn. Love filled him, flowed over, poured full from his soul.
He had said he loved her fiercely. More than that, he loved her in a magnificent, generous, expansive way. How could a love that strong retain a curse that went against its very nature? True love could rise above trouble and invite joy upon joy.
He frowned. What if the Dundrennan curse was false? What if refusing to believe the legend could change fate? His thoughts tumbled and reshaped as a new possibility dawned. What if he expected only happiness instead of tragedy? Would that change the curse?
She glanced at him. “What is it? Why do you look at me so?”
I love you.The need to say it set him on fire. He leaned down. “Mrs. Blackburn—”
She watched him, eyes intent, a rich dark blue in candlelight. “Sir?”
He took her arm and led her away. She called good night to John, who answered absently, intent on his work. Aedan picked up one of the flaming candles in a brass dish and conducted Christina to the narrow door in the hallway they had used before. And as before, he went ahead, so that if she stumbled, he would be there to catch her.
Candlelight made patterns on the stone walls as they descended quietly. Each step took them deeper into the secluded spiral of the old stairwell. The very air seemed charged with what he felt, raw physical need and far more.
He had begun to hope, really hope this time. He intended to end the curse by denying its existence. It was just a story. Nothing more.
The thoughts crowded his mind, his heart, and his body joined in, hope turning to excitement and desire. Soon he could bear it no longer. Holding the candle, he reached the landing by her bedchamber and stopped, waiting as she glided down to the step just above where he stood. Taller, he faced her directly. Setting the candle in a niche provided for such, he reached for her.
