Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins by Margeaux Laurent Page B

I had been struck. He
scowled at what he saw and I suddenly felt self-conscious.
    “Your face is bruised,” he said softly as he
pressed the cold, wet cloth onto my face and held it there.
    I was mesmerized by him; by the way I felt
when I heard his voice. I reached up and placed my hand over his.
When our eyes locked, I felt the strong sensation of bittersweet
rejoice, as one would feel if they had been reunited with a long
lost love—with someone they thought they would never see again. I
struggled to understand how I could have such strong feelings for
this man that I barely knew.
    “I am sorry that I could not stop them from
hurting you,” he said with his soft rolling accent.
    “You saw what happened?” I asked shyly.
    “No, I was on the other side of town,” he
replied while he brushed my hair away from my face. “It was very
brave of you to protect the child,” he trailed off.
    “Isaac is like family to me,” I replied.
“How did you know about Isaac if you were on the other side of
town?” I asked in confusion.
    “I heard the locals talking about what
happened,” he said with a serious expression, “I never should have
been that far away from you.” He seemed to be scolding himself more
than talking to me.
    “Do not blame yourself,” I said in earnest
as I reached for his hand, “It would not have mattered where you
were . . . I still would have protected Isaac.”
    “But I should have been there to stop that
brute from hurting you,” he said through clinched teeth.
    “I would not have wanted that,” my tone was
now serious. “Mr. Marthaler holds immense power in this town… he
would have had you killed for helping me. I would never want
someone to suffer on my behalf… especially not you.” Even as I
spoke the words I could imagine what horrible things the Marthalers
would have done to this man if that scenario had played out, and
the very thought of it terrified me.
    “You haven’t changed,” he said under his
breath as he shook his head in disbelief.
    “Who are you?”
    “My name is Greer,” he said, as he placed
the cloth near my hairline.
    “Where are you from?”
    He smiled a little, which made his features
accentuated. His eyes were sparkling and his olive skin flushed. “I
am from Scotland.”
    “Is that where I was in the dream?” I asked
him intently.
    “Aye.”
    “How did you know to save me? Are you a… a
witch?” Speaking the word out in the open felt dangerous, even when
said in the most hushed whisper.
    He did not answer but shook his head from
side to side, “I have my own magic though.”
    I nodded in reply. I had seen his magic.
    “Are you new to town?”
    “Yes,” he smiled, “You saw when I
arrived.”
    Sneachta placed her head on Greer’s leg and
started purring. He laughed at her and scratched her head.
    “Are you here on business of some kind?” I
asked, hoping that he would not say he was here to meet a bride
that was arranged for him.
    I saw the corner of his mouth slip into a
little smirk—as though he read my thoughts, ‘I am here on business,
but I am not married … nor am I here to meet a potential
bride.”
    I felt my cheeks grow hot and knew I was
blushing profusely, “Oh,” I stammered, “I didn’t mean…”
    His beautiful eyes searched my face and he
rested his hand on top of mine to silence me, “I did not come to
Burlington in search of a bride … but I never knew that we would
meet,” he whispered.
    At his touch, my head began to spin. He held
my hand gently in his and his fingers began to intertwine with my
own. His touch was strangely familiar to me.
    “How is it that we know each other? How is
it that I lo…” I stopped myself before the words could finish.
    Greer brushed back a curly strand of dark
hair from his face. He stopped crouching and seated himself at my
side, “I think we must have always known each other. The moment I
saw you at the port … it was as though I was looking into my past.”
Sadness crept