Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings (20 page)

Then cried out as her climax swept through her, as blinding as sunlight, as volatile as thunder. She clung to him still, shaking, trembling, slipping slowly downward again, downward into the mist, out of the light, but still feeling. Oh, yes, still feeling so much. Brian, the sleekness of his skin, the strength of his flesh. The hair-roughened quality of his legs, his belly, his chest. The texture of his cheeks. The force of his heartbeat. The ragged heaving of his breath …

He eased down beside her, still gasping. She curled against him, her eyes closed, her head lowered. Reason was rushing upon her swiftly now. She had just made love with Brian Wilde, a man she hardly knew. She had wanted him so badly, so instinctively, that she hadn't thought about Brandon for a second, though she had never been able to forget him for a full minute in the company of another man. She had never even thought to go so far with any man since Brandon had died.

Brian Wilde.

The man who made her think that she was losing her mind.

She groaned suddenly, and his fingers touched her hair. “What is it?”

“We shouldn't have done … this.”

“Why not?”

“We're not that … well acquainted.”

“I dare say we are now.”

She sat up, staring at him. She wished she didn't like the way he looked quite so much, his hair tousled, his fingers laced behind his head, his chest and torso damp and appealing. “I should be afraid of you,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Why? Because you might lose your virtue?”

“There's my sanity,” she said softly. “Or my life.”

He sat up suddenly, his smile vanishing. “Oh, my Lord, I forgot!” he murmured in dismay. “Your head—”

“My head is fine. Honestly,” she murmured.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

He lay down, studying her. His face was in shadow, but the moonlight touched her own, she thought.

Once again she didn't know what was truth and what was not.…

And Brian Wilde did.

She shook her head suddenly. “I shouldn't be here. It's really very rude. I—”

“Making love is rude?” he queried politely.

She felt a flush cover her cheeks. “That's not what I meant, and you know it! I have to get back. If Darryl has returned—”

“Darryl left you,” he reminded her irritably, his eyes narrowing. “And Darryl is the man you followed into the crypt. How do you know he's not the one who clunked you over the head—assuming you
were
clunked over the head?”

“I'm telling you—”

“All right! But you needn't rush back. You shouldn't go back at all. You should stay here.”

“Wonderful! Stay with a man who seems to think I should be committed to an asylum!”

“What?”

“Well, you continue to doubt my word—”

“You started this, worrying about Darryl.”

“Damn it, Brian Wilde, all we ever do is fight!”

He reached for her suddenly. “Come here!” he commanded.

“But—”

He pulled her relentlessly against him. “I know a way to keep us from fighting!” he whispered huskily against her lips.

“But—” she began again.

She never finished. His lips touched hers. One thing led to another.

A silver mist seemed to roll in upon them once again. The taste of ecstasy was too rare, too sweet, not to be savored one more time.

Perhaps she
was
losing her mind. She shouldn't trust him.

She shouldn't …

But in the silver magic of the night, it didn't matter in the least. There was only one thing she knew for certain.

Whatever she should or shouldn't be doing, she absolutely couldn't deny him this.

Chapter Five

T
wo days later, Allyssa stood in the center of the family crypt again.

It was broad daylight outside. She had made sure to come at noon, when the sun was high in the sky. She wasn't sure what she had expected to find, though whatever it was, she wasn't finding it.

The crypt was well cared for, though it was an eerie place, even by daylight. Some of the coffins were incredibly beautiful. Some might well fit in museums—minus the family corpses, of course. Numerous knights, in stone and in wood, lay side by side with their ladies, holding tightly to their swords and lances. The faces of some were hidden by the visors of their helmets; others were bared to the world, with rich mustaches and beards in place. The Victorian coffins and sarcophagi were heavily carved with skeletons and death's heads, many adorned as well with elaborate poems about the deceased. In the twentieth century the coffins became much simpler. She found her great-grandfather's—he was the most recent inhabitant of the tomb. His coffin had been carved from a very simple, off-white marble sarcophagus adorned only with his name, Padraic Michael Evigan, etched directly into the marble in broad letters. Someone apparently still loved Padraic, for wildflowers had been scattered over his coffin, while the rest of the crypt was barren of them.

The place was huge, she thought, trying to estimate its size. At the least it was about three thousand square feet, with several smaller rooms breaking off from the main tomb at the foot of the aboveground stairway. The first room contained both the oldest coffins and the newest ones, with all the years between having been interred deeper in the crypt.

Allyssa had been afraid to come, yet afraid not to come. She knew she hadn't fallen down the stairs.

Options … she had options, she reminded herself, and with the thought a little pang seemed to tear at her heart. She had made Brian take her home the other night. He had been bitter and mocking, but he had played her game. At the castle she'd told Darryl that she and Brian had had dinner together, and that was all. Brian had watched her, as if waiting for her to say more. But she hadn't. She had merely stared at him, silently imploring him to remain silent himself, and he had done so. But she hadn't seen him since.

Darryl had gone out of his way to be charming, riding with her around the estate, taking her to Mrs. MacKenzie's. In the taproom, she had met a number of the local people, who had welcomed her, cheerfully assuring her that the castle was haunted, as any ancient castle should be.

Haunted … She wondered if she should add that possibility to her options. What would Brian say? Either I
am
losing my mind, she thought, or someone is playing a trick on me, or you really are an evil man trying to make me think I'm insane—or the place is haunted.

But she wasn't able to put that possibility before him, because he made no effort to see her. The solicitor had stopped by to make arrangements to read the will on Friday morning; some of the neighbors, the parson and his wife, and the local doctor, had made calls, too.

But Brian had kept away.

She sighed, sinking down on the slab by Paddy's coffin, then shivered suddenly and looked around, feeling eerily as if she weren't alone anymore.

She wasn't alone, she reminded herself. She was here with dozens and dozens of dead relatives. But she wasn't losing her mind; she was a sane and logical person, and she didn't believe in ghosts. The door to the stairs and the outside world was wide open. There was actually a bright sun in the south of England today.

And she was alone. She had walked around the entire place, sliding her fingers along the stone wall to find some other entry or exit, and she had discovered nothing. Other than the fact that, even in daylight, the inner rooms were dark and musty and smelled like …

Death.

Once again she shivered. It was time to get out of this place.

She slipped off the slab by Paddy's coffin and started for the stairs, but when she reached the doorway and looked up, she froze.

Someone was coming. Someone dark and towering and huge against the sunlight was staring at her. She threw up an arm to shield her eyes against the glare, amazed at the fear racing through her. Whoever he was, he had only to come down those stairs, press her back and lock her in with the dead forever. Perhaps he was one of them, come to make her stay.…

“What in God's name are you doing in there?”

She let out the breath she had been holding, and her heart seemed to shudder within her chest, as if it had stopped right along with her breathing.

It was Brian. “What are you doing?” he repeated angrily, striding down the stairs and coming to stand before her.

“None of your damned business!”

He walked past her into the crypt, staring around as if he expected something to be changed. “How do I know you're not some little gold digger, willing even to rob the dead?”

She stared at him, locked her jaw and swung around, but before she had taken a full step he caught hold of her shoulders and swung her back again. Another tingle of fear swept through her.

He had been the one to find her the last time. How could she be sure that he wasn't the one who had cracked her on the head? He was the one who kept appearing … and denying his every appearance.

“Did you follow Darryl here again?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened. “No. Why?”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“Communing with the dead,” she retorted sharply. The gold sizzle of his eyes swept her. “And I'm quite finished doing so,” she continued. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go back above ground now.”

He stared at her without moving.

This was it, she thought. The end. She'd been an absolute fool. She'd fallen for this man. She'd fallen for the look in his eyes, the seduction of his touch. Fallen for the husky tone of his voice and the hungry way he looked at her. She'd trusted him blindly against all reason, and now she was going to pay the price.

His eyes left hers at last, and he looked around the tomb once again, then sighed deeply. “All right. Let's get out of here.” He caught hold of her arm, pushed her forward, then led her up the stairs, away from the tomb.

A pair of flying, trumpet-playing angels guarded the stairway from either side of the tomb. Allyssa found herself sinking down on those steps, in the shadow of an angel. Brian did the same.

“So how is cousin Darryl?” he asked her.

“Fine.”

“Still certain you're a pillar of virtue?”

Allyssa stared at him, feeling color stain her cheeks. “What did you want me to tell him? ‘I'm sorry, you were busy, so I went to the tomb and got myself conked on the head. But Brian found me, so naturally I went home with him and …'”

Her voice failed her, right when she had intended to be flippant.

“You're ashamed? You have regrets?” he demanded.

“It just …” she began.

“Oh, that's right. It's rude to sleep with one man while you're living with another.”

“Oh, would you stop!” she cried. Leaping up, she started away from the cemetery with long strides.

“Wait!” he snapped, catching up with her in seconds and taking her arm again. She tried to shake him off, but he refused to let her go. “Excuse me for having found you so damned fascinating!” he seethed, spinning her around.

“I—”

“Let's get lunch,” he said. Without giving her a chance either to agree or refuse, he started walking so quickly that she couldn't do anything other than try to keep up. To her surprise, she found that there was a car in front of the castle, a small BMW. He led her to it.

“Yours?” she murmured.

“I do drive upon occasion,” he said curtly.

Apparently he didn't believe in speaking while he did so, either, she reflected sourly a little while later. Nor did he just drive down into the village. They traveled for nearly thirty minutes until they came to a small town with a delightful open-air restaurant overlooking a tiny creek where black swans swam.

He suggested the lamb, the first words he'd spoken since leaving the castle. “The Dover sole is also excellent here,” he told her.

In the end, she opted for the fish. It was nice to be out and away, she reflected as they waited for their food. He had ordered dark beer for both of them, and she sipped hers, becoming accustomed to the fact that it was served warm. Then she leaned back and watched the swans.

“So what were you doing in the tomb?” he asked her.

She brought her gaze from the swans to his eyes. Hard and gold, they assessed her. “You brought me to lunch just to get an answer to that question?”

“I brought you to lunch because I wanted to see you away from the damned castle again,” he said.

She smiled, then lowered her lashes quickly, not wanting her eyes to give away too much. She had wanted to see him again, too. No. She had wanted much more than just to
see
him again. She wanted the magic of that night again. Not just the shimmering excitement, but the warmth, the tenderness. The way she had felt when he held her. So coveted, so secure.

“I was trying to find …” she murmured.

“What?”

She lifted her hands, palms up. “I don't know, exactly. Another entrance or exit. Is there one?”

He arched one brow. “I don't know,” he said at last. “I never thought about it. I certainly never looked for one.”

“Well, I don't think there is. I looked, and I didn't find one.”

Brian leaned back, staring at her sternly now. “Stay out of the tomb.”

“But it was broad daylight—”

“And it's still underground, dark and dank, and you found yourself in danger there once before.”

“According to you, I fell down the stairs.”

“I don't know what happened. Neither of us really knows what happened. I thought we agreed on that?”

She smiled again, her lashes lowered. “I don't think we ever agreed on anything. I think you just did your best to convince me that you weren't
dis
agreeing with me—at least for the moment.”

He reached across the table. His hand, large and bronze, covered hers, and her heart began to thud. “Want to try to reenact the night and find out just what we did and didn't agree upon?”