Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(43)

“Oh, Guillaume,” she said out loud, standing up from the dressing table and blowing out the candle. “What has become of you? Where are you now?” She wished she could stop caring about her missing brother. But even after the things he had done, her feelings were still there, damaged but intact.

Mira had trouble falling asleep. Her eyes remained open and staring through the darkness until the night had aged to pitch blackness. And in her sleep awaited troubled dreams that filled her mind with jarring impressions. She was sitting in an overgrown garden with Rosalie, the air thick with the smell of ferns and roses, the sunshine hot on the backs of their necks as they read together. Rosalie was smiling, her face open and vulnerable, her eyes the most intense shade of blue imaginable. “You’re learning so much,” Rosalie said warmly, and pointed to a long passage. “Try this one.” Mira bent happily over the book. Then she heard a smothered sound and an ominous rustle. As she looked up, Mira found that Rosalie had disappeared. The garden was green, quiet, and eerily empty. Rosalie! Where are you? Mira tried to cry out, but no words would come out of her mouth. She struggled to her feet in horrified silence. Guillaume—Guillaume must have taken Rosalie!

She started to run. It was hard to move her feet; they were heavy, as if they had been weighted with bricks. In desperation Mira doubled her efforts tomove. As she began to stumble to the ground, a huge pair of hands caught her tightly around the shoulders. “What happened to Rose? Where is she?” a voice snarled in her ear. Mira was looking straight into Rand Berkeley’s blunt-featured, golden-eyed face. It was harsh with anger. She shuddered with fear, unable to speak. Berkeley threw her to the ground and she felt herself falling, falling, downward like a stone dropped into a pond, reaching out in panic to grab hold of something. Abruptly the scene changed and she was at the bottom of the towering hill. At the top she saw Berkeley and Guillaume fighting, dueling with swords. As she heard the scissoring sounds of finely tempered metal and saw the flash of bright blades, Mira felt great frightened tears falling down her face and neck. Climbing up the hill, she opened her mouth to call to them. But she could not make a sound, and they ignored her as she approached. In a savage, efficient movement, Guillaume plunged a sword into Berkeley’s chest. Berkeley fell, his large body crumpling to the ground. Sobbing with terror and pity, Mira crawled to the prone figure while Guillaume ran away.

Blood ran in tiny rivulets from his chest to the ground, soaking into the earth like dark rain. And then Mira’s aching pity turned to utter despair, for she saw that the wounded man was not Rand Berkeley. She cradled his dark head in her lap, her body racked with sobs as she tried to stanch the blood with her hands. His drowsy silver eyes opened slightly and he seemed to smile derisively at her anguished panic. Then his face turned away and his body went limp. Alec Falkner was dying in her arms and she could not help him at all. Cold blackness surrounded them, causing her to clutch at Alec more tightly… her voice came back suddenly and a low cry came from her throat.

Jerking up suddenly. Mira shook her head and opened her eyes, her chest heaving with gasps. Her face waswet with tears, her body rigid. Patting a hand to her heart, she tried to still the frantic pounding of it as she looked around the room. It was a dream, she thought. Although she felt relief begin to take hold of her, remaining traces of fear were still congealed inside her.

In a few seconds the door vibrated with two or three decisive raps. Mira stared at it blankly, unable to move. Again someone knocked. This time she flew to the door without even putting on a peignoir over her nightgown, opening the door with trembling fingers. She could not believe that it was him… but it was indeed Falkner standing there, looking sleepy and irritated, and vaguely concerned. His robe was made of charcoal-gray silk which gleamed dully in the dimness of the room. How had he known that she needed him? And why had he bothered to come up here?

Alec sighed as he saw that she was all right.

“You must have cried out in your sleep. I was in my room when I heard… and I thought… Well, it seems that you’re all right, so I’ll go back to—”

He was interrupted as Mira threw her arms around his neck, shaking and upset, her words a rapid torrent.

“I was dreaming, but I thought it was real, and I couldn’t speak at all. It was horrible, horrible… Guillaume was there, and it happened all over again. He took Rosalie away—”

“Shhhh…” His eyes flashed with sudden sympathy. Alec closed the door and slid his arms around her. She was wearing a thin, high-necked nightgown, a modest garment that flowed around her in chaste folds. He stroked her back gently, his fingertips skimming over the curve of her spine. “It was just a nightmare.”

“... and I couldn’t find… I couldn’t talk, or tell anyone—”

“No matter how real it seemed, it didn’t happen. You know that nightmares aren’t real—”

“Yes, they are sometimes, they are,” she said tearfully, clutching him desperately. Alec picked her upeffortlessly, carrying her over to the bed. Mira clung to him, her fingers slipping on the silk that covered his wide shoulders. His body was so large and reassuringly solid, making her feel that nothing could hurt her when he was near, nothing at all. She did not let go of him, even while he slid two pillows behind her back, rearranged her twisted cotton nightgown, and brushed the escaping strands of dark hair away from her damp forehead. His manner was comforting, almost brotherly. She held on to the lapels of his robe as he braced an arm on one side of her, bending his head to listen to her tremulous whisper. “Thank you. I’m… I was afraid to be alone.” “No trouble at all,” he said, smiling down at her casually. “I’ve had a great deal of experience at taking women to bed.”