“Fairies,” he whispered.
Bree giggled. “Or bogles.”
“We’ll blame it on Brodie.”
“I think I’ll try to sleep for a couple of hours,” Bree said. “It’s only six o’clock.”
“I’ll walk you up. I need some rest, myself.” Ronan put an arm around her back as they walked up the stairs past Sorcha’s door. Had Faelan gone back for another round after he’d found Bree’s bed empty? “You speak Gaelic?”
“A bit.”
“What does
“You’re out of your mind.”
“What?”
“That’s what it means…
She was out of her mind. For feeding Faelan, giving him a bed, sleeping with him, when all he did was hide the truth. Before she and Ronan could say good night, her door flew open. Faelan stood in his underwear, glaring at them, mouth so tight she was afraid he’d grind his teeth to powder. His eyes blazed from Ronan’s bare chest to his arm at Bree’s back.
“You good here?” Ronan asked Bree.
“Fine,” she grated. If he hadn’t been there, she would’ve told Faelan what he could do with his glare.
“Good night then. Faelan,” Ronan kept a straight face until he turned away. Bree saw him grin.
“Where’ve you been all night?” Faelan demanded before Ronan was out of hearing. “And why’s he half naked?”
“Go ask him.” She shoved past Faelan. If this was how things were in his day, treating a girl like he owned her one minute, like a leper the next, and bouncing from bed to bed, then he could go back.
Faelan shut the door, his arms stiff, hair mussed like he’d been sleeping. “What were you doing with him?”
Bree whirled on him. “Faelan, there were plenty of times in my own home when I would’ve been justified in saying this, but I didn’t.” She walked around him and opened the door. “I’m saying it now. Get out!” She put a hand on his chest and pushed him into the hall. He scowled and blinked as if she were the one being rude. He started to say something, but she shut the door in his face and locked it.
He was like the rest, a toad in a Prince Charming shell.
She stepped over his discarded jeans and T-shirt, changed her mind, picked them up, jerked open the door, and dumped his clothes at his feet. He was still standing there when she relocked the door. She crawled into bed without undressing. It was warm, and it smelled like him. He’d slept here. She buried her face in the dent his head had made, and soaked the pillow with tears, swelling her eyes, making her temples throb. When she finished crying, she got out of bed and rummaged in the side pocket of her suitcase for one of the sleeping pills she’d brought, since Faelan seemed nervous about flying. The sketchbook was there. She’d brought it on a whim, thinking she’d face her ghosts while Faelan faced his.
Bree’s hands trembled as she opened the first page. An abyss of shadows and gloom rushed at her, and blocked memories loosed with each turn of the page. There were sketches of the graveyard and the crypt beneath the overhang of trees that looked more human than wood. Of a castle. This castle, or was it Druan’s? A face looked out of a window, a monster with thick skin and sharp teeth, like that thing in the chapel, but worse. Bree as a little girl, reaching for the burial vault with bloody hands as a light glowed behind her.
Memories flashed in her head, like an old movie reel, becoming clear for the first time since that night. She remembered screaming for help, clawing at the blocked door until blood dripped from her nails. Then she’d heard the whispers, soothing her. Her sobs quieted, and she’d fallen asleep. She’d dreamed of the shiny man like she had so many times before. He was tall and beautiful and kind. He’d always told her she was special, that she had something great to find. This time he told her that her father was gone, but he’d sent someone else to protect her. He showed her a man’s eyes. Beautiful, dark eyes. She’d awoken to yells and lights and a dozen searchers. After the commotion died down, her grandmother took her inside and explained that her father was dead. She never told her grandmother that she already knew. Bree turned the page and gasped.
Before she’d hidden the book, she’d drawn her protector’s eyes.
Chapter 26
Bree awoke to yells and the clash of metal. A battle! She bounded out of bed. Had the demons found them? She ran to the window overlooking a fenced area she thought was a riding ring. There were no horses. There were warriors, at least a dozen of them, practicing in the late morning mist hanging over the meadow. Most of the sparring men were dressed in kilts. Some fought with swords, lunging and sidestepping, others hand-to-hand combat.
Ronan stood bare-chested, holding a bow. He pulled an arrow from a quiver belted on his kilt. There was no way he could hit the target. It was a hundred yards away. He nocked the arrow and drew back, held for a second, then released. The arrow hit dead center of the bull’s-eye. Cripes. Robin Hood had nothing on this guy.
Her gaze shifted, and she saw Faelan standing off to one side, a sword pointed to the sky. Like the others, he wore no shirt. Even this far away, she could see the muscles in his arms and back tense as the sword lowered and his body began to move in that flowing rhythm of power and grace. Poetry in motion.
She pulled herself from her stupor, gave her teeth a quick brushing, threw her hair into a ponytail, and left wearing wrinkled jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt. Over the cries and clash of metal, Bree heard more familiar sounds. The clink of dishes and pans accompanied Coira humming a tune. Breakfast smells filled the hall, stronger as Bree neared the kitchen. Coira was setting a buffet with the usual fare and others Bree didn’t recognize.
“Good morning. I hope the noise didn’t wake you.”
“Do they always do this?”
“They have to stay ready for battle. You get used to it after a while.”
