Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(33)

I exhaled, ready with a joke about Bran’s camera and how he wasn’t such a great stalker after all. But the words died when his hypnotic eyes searched mine.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

He meant the deer—I knew that. But for an instant . . . a tiny space in time . . . it almost felt like he was talking about me.

“Camera.” I blurted. “You . . . no camera.”

When he grinned, I wanted to tumble off the side of the mountain.

“I wish,” he started, then shook his head.

We were so close, I could smell mint toothpaste and sun-kissed skin as his breath brushed across my lips.

My eyes closed. Adrenaline shot through every cell in my body. Everything else fell away. My chest tightened. But this wasn’t fear. Well, it was. But not scary-frightening. No. Scary-exhilarating. Scary-wonderful. He’s going to kiss me. My very first kiss.

Bran’s chest moved in a quiet sigh that I felt more than heard. His hands tightened on my skin. My breath hitched, and I barely had time to think, Ohh . . . this is it, before he stepped back and let his hands drop, the moment lost forever, except in my imagination.





Chapter 15


DOUG’S SHY, BARITONE LAUGH FILLED THE LIBRARY AS I practiced walking . . . again. I was getting better, though the gown I was using while Moira finished our actual costumes was way too long.

“The trouble is,” Doug said, “you’re swinging your arms like an ape. Women don’t walk that way in the past. Here, Hope. Let me show you.”

The big guy pressed his palms together at waist height and made a curiously graceful turn about the room. “See? Don’t use your arms to balance. Just kick the hem out as you walk.”

Phoebe snorted. “No way, babe. I’m asking Gran to take our hems up. Hope will trip a million times if she has to do it like that.”

“She can’t let her ankles show.” Doug dropped onto a squishy sofa beside her. “You either, come to that. You’ll drive the lads crazy. Or else they’ll jail you for a harlot.” He sighed in false annoyance. “Then I’d have to go crack some medieval skulls. And who has the time?”

Phoebe leaned over and kissed the tip of Doug’s long nose. My throat tightened as I watched them exchange a tender grin. At first glance, they didn’t seem to work as a couple at all. Phoebe’s tiny delicacy against Doug’s brawn. But when he told me the story of how they’d met, I realized I’d never met two people more perfectly matched.

“It was my first day at school after Lu brought me to live at Christopher Manor.” Doug’s hands had flown over the keys of his laptop as we sat alone together in the library. I’d never seen anyone compartmentalize so completely, doing three or four things at once with absolute precision. “Well, ye’ll notice there aren’t a lot of people here with my skin color? My mum was from Senegal, see, and while in Edinburgh there were plenty of kids like me, here . . .” He shrugged. “Add in that I was already a foot taller than anyone else in my year, and, well, I caught the attention of some of the older lads.”

Phoebe entered. She stayed unusually quiet as Doug spun his tale. But she stood behind him, her fingers curled around his shoulders as he typed.

“They surrounded me on the playground. I was crying, missing my mum. Big as I was, it didn’t occur to me I could’ve beaten them senseless.”

“And that’s the truth of it,” Phoebe interjected. “Could’ve smashed them to pulp had he not been so gentle.”

“All of a sudden,” Doug said, “this tiny creature comes wading into the crowd, braids flying, yellow lunch box swinging in a mad arc. Let’s just say some of those brats lost their milk teeth that day.”

He smiled at me over her head. “She passed me a note in class the next day. It said ‘Will you marry me? Check yes or no.’ Of course, I checked yes so hard it tore the paper.”

“Made you fall in love with me, though, didn’t I?” Phoebe said.

“Aye.” He tugged her into his lap. “I guess you did at that.”

They giggled together, their warmth so genuine, it flowed over me like a summer wind. I turned away, knowing I’d never experience a love like that. One built on that kind of shared history.

My mind flipped back to those moments at the river when Bran Cameron and I had said goodbye. The entire ride down the mountain, I’d felt like an idiot for being disappointed. I mean, why on earth would someone like Bran Cameron kiss me? He was just being nice because I’d helped him. That was it. Still, when we parted, he’d stared down at me with an odd look I was still trying to interpret.





The next day, Lucinda, Mac, and Moira left for Edinburgh on some business they wouldn’t share, while Phoebe and Doug traipsed down to the village for lunch and some alone time. Collum? Who knew where he was. Probably eviscerating some poor, innocent target dummy with his big, shiny sword.

Just before they left, Lucinda had entered the library, where I lay sprawled on the tatty leather sofa, idly skimming through yet another description of the coronation of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

“Here,” she’d said, placing a stack of leather-bound books on the long table. “Read through these while we’re gone. I believe they may answer some of your questions and give you a better background on what the early Viators faced.”