Dear Lord, what have I done?
Loud noises drifted to her ears from outside. She ran to the open window and saw guards dragging Duncan to the town square amidst the townspeople’s shouts and insults. More people were marching the square to witness Duncan’s burning at the stake. They shouted their eagerness for the burning to take place.
“No!” she screamed.
Rose raced to the door and opened it, but her father blocked her way out with his body. He glared at her, his eyes shooting daggers, then grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her back inside her room. When she struggled to push through again, her brother, who was just behind their father, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Rose shuddered as she faced both men and tried to defend her love. “Father, have mercy, Duncan is not a devil worshiper, he is just an innocent man,” she pleaded, shedding anguished tears.
“Only warlocks see unexplainable things. I will not allow sorcery in my town. How could you fall in love with a farmer’s son, and a devil worshiper at that? You’ve disgraced us!”
“I trusted you, Papa. I told you your future, as seen by Duncan, to protect you from…” She glanced over at her brother. “From him.”
Her brother strode toward her and slapped her hard on the cheek. “How dare you believe I would be the death of our father?”
The slap must have left a reddened mark; it stung so badly she was on the verge of crying tears of pain, but she was already crying tears of sorrow from her broken heart. She deserved that slap; it was nothing compared to the pain her beloved Duncan would feel if she didn’t save him.
She faced her father. “Please, Papa. Spare him, and I’ll marry whomever you want.”
Duncan had made her promise not to tell anyone about his gift, because he knew no one would believe him and he would be accused of sorcery. But when he had the vision of her father’s death, she had revealed the vision—and her love for Duncan—hoping to save her father.
Now her father would die and she had led the love of her life to his death. But as long as he drew breath, she would try to save him. There was time, because he was still alive.
She broke free of her father’s grip and dashed to the door, but her brother clutched her shoulders and threw her to the floor. Rose gasped as her head hit the table; she felt blood slide down her face.
“You can watch his execution from the window, as a lesson for you. He is a blackguard and a devil worshiper!”
They left her sobbing in agony, the twist of the door lock clicked. She gathered her strength and flung herself against the door, hoping she could rattle it open, but the damn thing was as strong as steel.
“Papa, please spare his life, he is no devil worshiper,” she whispered between her sobs, “He is just a man, a wonderful man who trusted me with his secret and his love.”
Duncan knew things. He saw things no one would believe. Duncan’s extraordinary gift allowed him to predict events, and each and every one of them came true. Whatever he had, it was not devil worship. People were not ready to comprehend his gift; she had known that, but she’d still told her father about Duncan’s vision. And because he was poor, her father took his revenge on him.
“Ahhh, beloved Duncan, what have I done to us?”
She struggled to the window and saw him in the middle of the cheering crowd, tied to the stake as fire ignited around him. She was numb now. Her eyes stung with tears, her gaze frozen. She wished time would freeze, too. Guilt feasted on her heart, killing her with every lick of flame that touched her beloved Duncan.
Her lost love.
She wailed in agony as he screamed his last word: “Rose!”
* * * *
Startled from his sleep, Mac sat straight up on the sofa in his office. His neck pained him from the awkward position he’d dozed off in. Was it a cry that awakened him? He tilted his head and concentrated on the sounds of the night, but heard only crickets chirping mingled with the soft rustle of the curtains against the open window.
Silence.
Had he dreamt of someone shouting?
He sighed and smoothed his hair with shivering fingers, his heart still pounding from the sudden wakening.
“Noooo!” The scream filled the hallway; it was coming from Miranda’s room. He shot to his feet and dashed to her room. He heard her murmur and cry. But when he tried to push the door open, it wouldn’t budge.
The keys! He’d forgotten the keys.
Mac darted back to the office, snatched the keys from his desk, and turned on his heels to get back to Miranda as fast as he could. Oh, sweet heavens, if she were hurt, he would never forgive himself. He twisted the key in the keyhole and opened the door.
He switched the light on and searched for Miranda. Her bed was empty. His gaze skimmed the room and found her curled beside the window, holding the curtains in her hands and shivering. Her eyes were wide open and weeping.
He rushed to her and held her shoulders.
“Miranda, what’s the matter? Talk to me!”
She sobbed and mumbled, her tears streaming on her reddened and inflamed cheeks, but didn’t reply.
“Wake up, wake up.” He shook her gently.
He knew she was having one of her visions. Her eyes were rolled back, her body shivering, and she was mumbling gibberish words. Her skin was hot and sweaty. Mac couldn’t bear to see her in this condition and do nothing. He’d had visions that disturbed him during his life and he was grateful they stopped when he found her a few years ago. They could be terrifying.
Mac carried Miranda to the bathroom. He had to wake her up from her vision.
He stepped into the bathtub with her and stood her up, still holding her with one hand around her waist. With the other hand he turned the faucet. Cold water rushed from the shower, spraying both of them.
“Huh…?” she gasped.
Miranda opened her eyes and clung tightly to his body. She had a dazed look in her eyes, as if she were unsure: was she in the vision or reality?
She looked at him with drowsy eyes. “Duncan…” Her muscles weakened under his hands, her body collapsed, and he caught her in his arms as she fell.
Mac shivered from the cold as he carried her weak, soaked frame to the bedroom, grabbing a towel on his way. He eased her onto the bed. At least she was out of her vision and he could relax a bit. Some visions mentally affect the person in a negative way. And as delicate as she was, she might not be able to handle that experience. Miranda was shaking like a leaf in the wind.
He reached for the first button on her nightgown with shaky hands, unsure of the wisdom in what he intended to do. But he had to take her wet clothes off or she would catch a cold. As he unbuttoned her nightgown, her pink nipples pointed at him, her plump breasts transparent through the thin cotton. He drew a deep breath at the sight of her. The ache grew within him.
Deep. Primal. Touching his soul, the longing filled him, a yearning to take her nipple between his lips—kissing, licking, and suckling upon it. He wanted to awaken her with an imperative throbbing between her thighs, to bury himself deep within her moist softness.
With shaky fingers, he opened all four buttons of her gown and pulled it over her head. Mac covered her naked body with the quilt, taking extra care not to catch a glimpse of her lower body. He pulled the quilt around her all the way to her neck and sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with a towel.
She looked so innocent with her angelic delicate crests of eyebrows, her long lashes, chiseled nose, and ripe, pink lips. A groan escaped him, despite himself. He traced the soft line of her full lips. It had been a long time since he kissed a woman, and he had never thought he would miss kissing until he saw Miranda. All Madam Gabriela’s women provided a release, filled a need, but there was no kissing. He never allowed it.
He shook his head to thrust the thought out of his brain, but his body screamed.
“Miranda, wake up. You’re safe now,” he whispered into her ear, being careful not to startle her as she woke from her faint. Could this vicious vision attack be his doing? Did he, unknowingly, trigger this vision when he called her Rose?
Damn, she could have been sleeping peacefully if it wasn’t for my slip.
Her head moved left and right weakly as she mumbled and opened her almond-shaped eyes to reveal vibrant, rainforest green irises that pierced his soul.
“Where…am I?” Her voice faint and shaky, she searched his face, still confused. “Oh, I’ve killed…I’ve killed you. Please, Duncan, I didn’t mean it! I loved you. I tried to protect you. If I could do it over again, my love... Oh, Duncan, please forgive me.”
Her vision must have been the one where Duncan was burned alive. Mac could still feel the fire; he had suffered from the same visions, feeling Duncan executed.
Miranda’s hands slipped around his neck and she pulled him closer to her. The intimate touch took him by surprise. She was still between wakefulness and the confusion of reality, but he obliged and leaned closer to her.
“Sorry, so sorry…you trusted me,” she whispered into his ear, her warm breath brushing his earlobe. He trembled and held the sheets with clenched fists. Blood raced in his veins to parts in his body he wanted to ignore at that moment. He held his breath.
Miranda snuggled her face in heated desire against his neck. The soft, silken flesh tormented his senses in sweet agony.
His lips skimmed hers, back and forth, in a slow, tantalizing caress that made her quiver under his touch. Then he claimed her ripe lips with hungry kisses. Her lips parted, giving him access to her sweet tongue; he caught her wet, soft tongue and suckled on it. He weakened under the potency of her allure; he absorbed her essence into his very being. When he deepened his kiss to long, drugging kisses, they went to his head. Mac stroked her neck seductively; she gave a faint moan and arched her back to touch his body, which made him melt even more. Her eyes drifted closed, every inch on her body, nutrified the beguiling desire that dwelt within him.
Pulling back slightly to breathe, he whispered, “Oh, love, you are luscious.” He claimed her mouth again with heated urgency, inhaling her sweet, warm, womanly smell mingled with a faint, flowery perfume. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, feeling her naked body through the covers. What would he feel if his body touched her inflamed flesh? Oh, the torture, the devastating feelings he suffered!
Mac hesitantly trailed his fingertip down her throat to the center of her neckline; his heartbeat matched the throbs of her heart. Her chest heaved under his deft, sporting touch. His hand slipped down under the cover, cupping her bare breast. She gasped with delight against his hungry mouth as his thumb teased her nipple. His mind raced with unbelievable thoughts of those pink, pointing buds of hers; he wanted to suck on them and twirl his tongue around the tight, peaking tips.
Miranda’s hand slipped under his half-open shirt, reaching his chest. Her touch stoked the flames that leapt along his nerve endings with every stroke from her hands and each kiss from her plump lips. A part of his body swelled to larger proportions.
He couldn’t handle the anguish any more. If they didn’t stop, he would explode or take her, right there. She was ready for him.
Mac drew a deep breath, inhaling her sweet fervor. “Miranda, Miranda…” She opened her eyes, a smile on her flushed face, and reached with her hand to touch his mask. She caressed it with the tips of her fingers. “Let me see you, all of you.”
He held her hand and placed it down in a gentle push. “No, it will scare you.”
“I want to know you,” she whispered.
He knew better. She was in a state of emotions she might regret in the morning, and that, he wouldn’t be able to handle.
“Sleep. We will talk in the morning,” he said in a shaking voice.
“Don’t want to talk…touch me. I have found you at last,” she said in a hushed voice.
He pulled gently away from her as she drifted off to sleep, mumbling, a smile on her face.
Mac closed the door behind him and didn’t lock it this time. God only knew he wanted to be under the covers with her, feeding on her silky body, embedding his swollen flesh where she most ached for fulfillment. Honor, however, demanded he retreat—even as his heart called out to him to forgive.
Miranda stretched her body and rose to a sitting position, smiling; the soft, silken sheets brushed against her as the cover fell to her waist. A tingly feeling of happiness filled her thoughts. At first, she didn’t know why her body vibrated with such a delicious sensation. A cool breeze brushed her chest and, as she glanced at her naked body, she gasped and pulled up the cover, self-consciously covering her breasts.
I was stripped of my cotton nightdress!
She remembered kissing Duncan…no…the mask…he was Mac.
Miranda froze.
Blinking a couple of times, her mind registered the previous night’s events. It hit her like a fist in the gut as she recalled that she’d had a vision, the details of which she recollected very well now. Mac waking her up, the shower, and the kisses. She swallowed hard as heated waves washed into her head. She bit her lower lip. She had encouraged him.
Miranda slid off the bed and scuffled toward the bathroom to shower. Determination filled her; she’d confront him about what happened. If she didn’t mention the kiss, it was likely he would put it down to her being confused and under the influence of the vision. But she would talk about what he said last night, about Rose and her relationship with Miranda.
Miranda held still under the showerhead as the warm water splashed and slid across her heated skin, soothing her throbbing nerves. She had stood in the same spot, as she hung on to Mac’s body when she thought he was Duncan.
The familiarity of his body, the closeness, the intimacy, and the warmth had been strong and forceful. When she’d nuzzled and breathed in his ear, she somehow knew he would melt. She knew how to touch him, how to make him surrender to her kisses—and he had. The way he knew how to touch that throbbing nerve on the back of her neck, one of her weak spots, to make her muscles loosen up…Miranda’s hand slid to her breast and squeezed, and her body echoed the tingle she felt when he touched her. The feelings of the night came rushing back.