Simple.
Of course, before she made that phone call, she’d have to find the nerve to do it, and that would be the tricky part.
Ten
Liar!”
From somewhere in the endless black void, the accusation flew at Colin, pummeling his body and his soul with its inherent anger.
“He lied to me.”
Colin shivered as the plaintive whisper rolled over him. The pain in Abigail’s voice hit him harder than the accusation alone ever could have. Like some vicious beastie, it clawed its way into his heart, leaving an empty, gaping hole in its path.
He awoke from his sleep and sat up on the narrow cot in his quarters, one hand clasped to the wound on his chest to hold back the flow of blood.
Only there was no blood. Indeed there was not even any wound. It had all been a dream.
“By the Fates,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his sweat-slicked forehead. All hope of sleep forgotten, he slipped from his bed and crossed to a small window facing out over the Hall of the High Council’s magnificent courtyard.
He’d never experienced a dream so real. Not even the others he’d had regularly of the woman in whose bed he’d landed when he’d been pulled from his own time.
And dream of Abigail he did. Almost nightly now. Exactly as he just had. Dreams of her melting in his embrace, her body warm and inviting under his eager hands.
At least that had been the flow of the dreams before tonight. Before Abby had disappeared into the black void and this entirely different experience had overtaken him.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the lingering emotion brought on by her plaintive cry.
Why? Why would he dream of her being so distraught with him? Granted, he’d not told her everything, but how could he possibly have told her more? At the time, he hadn’t understood what had happened himself. He still didn’t completely understand, if the truth be known.
But he’d never lied to her. He would never have willingly caused her such pain as he’d heard in her voice.
Grabbing up his plaid, he wrapped it around himself and stepped out into the indigo-hued night. The dream had been more than a dream, of that he had no doubt. It had felt—still felt!—too hauntingly real.
The time had come.
With purposeful steps, he made his way across thecourtyard and slipped through a small side door leading into the Great Hall itself.
He crossed the eerily empty enormous hall to take the great marble staircase two steps at a time. Without conscious thought, he willed himself to move silently, stealthily, as he’d been trained to do here in this place. Not until he’d wound his way through the labyrinth of corridors to stand in front of a massive carved wooden door did he stop to consider the man behind the door.
Like as not, Pol would be sleeping.
Too bad for him. Colin needed answers and he needed them now.
He fortified his defenses in preparation for the mental onslaught his ancestor’s shattered Soul always presented and then pounded his fist against the wood, surprised when the door swung open at his first touch.
“Come in, my son. Join us.”
Across the room, Pol sat facing him, with Dallyn, High General of the Faerie Realm, standing at his side.
“I must speak to you, your highness.” If there were answers to be had, these were the men who would have them.
Pol rose to his feet, the golden robe he wore flowing around him like liquid sunlight as he gestured to a chair next to him. “Grandfather,” he corrected on a sigh. “As my descendant, Colin, you’re entitled to address me as grandfather.”
“As long as no one else is around,” Dallyn murmured.
Colin chose to ignore them both in favor of dealing with the matter at hand.
“You asked that I come to you if the dreams changed.” Though how his Faerie ancestor had known he washaving dreams of any sort was another of those mysteries beyond his understanding. “They’ve changed.”
