candle on her bedside table. For several heartbeats she studied the shadows in her room, looking for any signs of her tormentor.
Nothing.
Constance pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, rocking back and forth. The dream. It seemed so real.
It started out well enough. She’d been sitting in the dining hall, sharing a bench with Brian, eating with the whole Fitzroy family; even Nick and Marion were there. They’d been laughing and having a wonderful time. Then she went upstairs to her chamber afterward to retire for the evening and the dream changed abruptly.
Waiting for her behind the door was Finius Loutrant. He’d toyed with her, laughed at her terror and then pointed to the figure of a man lying on the floor by her bed. He was covered by black velvet. In the dream, Constance had approached him, lifted the velvet, and …
She shuddered, blocking the rest of the dream from her mind.
She jumped and cried out at the slight scratching at the door.
“Constance.”
She scrambled out of bed, grabbed a wrap and hurried to the door. She opened it and peered out. “Brian?”
He was there in the hall. Still fully dressed in a dark blue jerkin and breeches. She pulled him inside, then closed the door.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, her heart increasing another beat.
“I heard you cry out.” Brian glanced around the shrouded room, his expression unreadable.
Constance hugged herself, suddenly aware her simple garment hid little from Brian’s gaze.
“I had a dream, a bad one, that’s all,” Constance told him. At least the single flickering candle didn’t add much illumination to the room.
“I heard you say no, and then just now you cried out.”
Constance nodded. “I was startled when you came to the door. What are you doing out of bed? It’s late.”
She was aware his room was not close to hers, so she doubted he’d heard her from inside his chamber.
“I don’t sleep very well,” Brian admitted, backing toward the door. He looked uncertain. “If you are sure you are all right…”
“Wait,” Constance said, moving to block his hasty exit. He’d come to her room. She didn’t want him to leave now. “You have dreams, too, don’t you?”
For several moments Brian didn’t reply, just stared with sorrow-filled eyes. Afraid he would shrink back into himself, Constance took a step toward him. She met his dark gaze.
“I have them, aye,” he said in an almost reverent tone. “They aren’t something I talk about.”
“What do you talk about, Brian?”
He smiled a little. “Nothing.”
Constance sighed and turned away from him. She was weary of this constant fight to get him to open up. And her heart wasn’t in it. Not tonight.
He touched her shoulder and her whole body quaked.
“Want to tell me about your dream?” Brian asked.
Constance exhaled, trying to ignore her reaction to the touch of his hand. When they were held captive together, his touch brought her comfort. But now it was something else. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for those feelings.
“I don’t know if it will do any good,” Constance admitted.
“Now you sound like me.”
Constance turned to face him once more, hearing the amusement in his voice. She smiled back.
“I certainly wouldn’t want that.” She sighed. “I dreamt about Loutrant.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Brian said, searching her face.
“I know.”
He grasped one of her hands in his and squeezed it. “He’s dead. I saw him fall from the tower myself.”
“But he’s not dead here,” she whispered, tapping her head a little. She swallowed hard.
Constance stepped to within inches of Brian. She released his hand and walked into his arms. He pulled her into his embrace.
Being this close, feeling his strength envelope her, proved to be her undoing. She raised her chin just as he lowered his. Their lips met.
She’d thought about kissing Brian often enough, but in her imaginings it had never
Nothing.
Constance pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there, rocking back and forth. The dream. It seemed so real.
It started out well enough. She’d been sitting in the dining hall, sharing a bench with Brian, eating with the whole Fitzroy family; even Nick and Marion were there. They’d been laughing and having a wonderful time. Then she went upstairs to her chamber afterward to retire for the evening and the dream changed abruptly.
Waiting for her behind the door was Finius Loutrant. He’d toyed with her, laughed at her terror and then pointed to the figure of a man lying on the floor by her bed. He was covered by black velvet. In the dream, Constance had approached him, lifted the velvet, and …
She shuddered, blocking the rest of the dream from her mind.
She jumped and cried out at the slight scratching at the door.
“Constance.”
She scrambled out of bed, grabbed a wrap and hurried to the door. She opened it and peered out. “Brian?”
He was there in the hall. Still fully dressed in a dark blue jerkin and breeches. She pulled him inside, then closed the door.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, her heart increasing another beat.
“I heard you cry out.” Brian glanced around the shrouded room, his expression unreadable.
Constance hugged herself, suddenly aware her simple garment hid little from Brian’s gaze.
“I had a dream, a bad one, that’s all,” Constance told him. At least the single flickering candle didn’t add much illumination to the room.
“I heard you say no, and then just now you cried out.”
Constance nodded. “I was startled when you came to the door. What are you doing out of bed? It’s late.”
She was aware his room was not close to hers, so she doubted he’d heard her from inside his chamber.
“I don’t sleep very well,” Brian admitted, backing toward the door. He looked uncertain. “If you are sure you are all right…”
“Wait,” Constance said, moving to block his hasty exit. He’d come to her room. She didn’t want him to leave now. “You have dreams, too, don’t you?”
For several moments Brian didn’t reply, just stared with sorrow-filled eyes. Afraid he would shrink back into himself, Constance took a step toward him. She met his dark gaze.
“I have them, aye,” he said in an almost reverent tone. “They aren’t something I talk about.”
“What do you talk about, Brian?”
He smiled a little. “Nothing.”
Constance sighed and turned away from him. She was weary of this constant fight to get him to open up. And her heart wasn’t in it. Not tonight.
He touched her shoulder and her whole body quaked.
“Want to tell me about your dream?” Brian asked.
Constance exhaled, trying to ignore her reaction to the touch of his hand. When they were held captive together, his touch brought her comfort. But now it was something else. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for those feelings.
“I don’t know if it will do any good,” Constance admitted.
“Now you sound like me.”
Constance turned to face him once more, hearing the amusement in his voice. She smiled back.
“I certainly wouldn’t want that.” She sighed. “I dreamt about Loutrant.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Brian said, searching her face.
“I know.”
He grasped one of her hands in his and squeezed it. “He’s dead. I saw him fall from the tower myself.”
“But he’s not dead here,” she whispered, tapping her head a little. She swallowed hard.
Constance stepped to within inches of Brian. She released his hand and walked into his arms. He pulled her into his embrace.
Being this close, feeling his strength envelope her, proved to be her undoing. She raised her chin just as he lowered his. Their lips met.
She’d thought about kissing Brian often enough, but in her imaginings it had never
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