Page 98 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
He blinked, sensed a ripple in the atmosphere, and put it down to pure shock. He drew in a breath, then breathed deeper still, forcing himself to take an extended moment to grapple with his surprisingly diverse reactions, to muzzle and suppress them without examining them and allowing them to distract him. That accomplished, he fixed his gaze once more on her eyes and, with carefully reined aggression, asked, “What, exactly, does that mean?”
He needed to hear the whole story, and he needed to hear it directly from her rose-red lips.
They parted, and she said, “My consort is the man fated to be my one true lover, my protector, my husband, the father of my children.”
Again, he felt that odd ripple in his awareness—stronger this time, a schism opening within him as if reality had ruptured. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the cause; her words had evoked, provoked, a torrent of turbulent emotions, half of which he didn’t recognize—he shoved them down, locked them away. He couldn’twantto be her consort—couldn’t want any part of the position, the life, she was defining.
That, apparently, she and everyone else in the Vale had been anticipating he would accept.
As if to confirm that, she added, “He will rule here by my side.”
He frowned. “What about Marcus?”
She shook her head. “His path lies elsewhere. He can’t rule in the Vale—only the Lady of the Vale, the one chosen by the Lady in each generation, can. She and her consort together.”
Me and you together.She didn’t say the words, but he heard them.
It didn’t really matter. This wasn’t the life he wanted—the life he’d chosen, the life he’d spent years crafting for himself. The life he was determined to have.
That life lay in Glasgow, not here.
But anger and resentment simmered—that she’d brought him to this, to feeling the tug he was determined to deny. Tofeelingthe connection with her, with this place—to experiencing again the comfort of his roots, the very real pleasures he’d so steadfastly blocked from his mind.
All that he’d turned his back on long ago. All he’d consistently refused over the years.
Including her.
Yetshehad pulled him back—back to where emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge, much less feel, seethed in a restless reckless sea inside him.
And she’d done it deliberately, even after he’d explained it wasn’t what he wanted.
That life here, with her, wasn’t something he would accept.
“How long have you believed that your fated one was me?” Some part of him was curious; he wanted to know.
She hesitated, but then she raised her chin and, her gaze still meshed with his, replied, “Since that Christmas Eve we spent in the Fieldses’ cottage. I had suspicions before, but after that, I knew.”
“And you never thought to mention it?” It took effort not to pace, to prowl; he forced himself to remain where he was and return her steady gaze. “We’ve met often enough since, yet not even over the last week and more we’ve spent together did you feel it appropriate to say a single word?”
Her chin firmed. Her eyes narrowed; the green started to sharpen and spark. “When, exactly, could I have told you? You didn’t believe—youstilldon’t believe. And without some degree of acceptance of the Lady’s power, of her influence, telling you that you were one of Her chosen—chosen to be my consort—would have achieved precisely what?”
Her voice had grown stronger, her accent more clipped. Before he could answer, she went on, “It was patently obvious that the only way you would ever come to accept the position that is rightly yours was if you spent time here—with me, in the Vale—long enough to see and understand for yourself.” She crossed her arms and stared him in the eye. “That was all I could influence—all I could accomplish. All I could do was bring you here and trust that you would open your eyes and see.”
Her plan had worked, but he wasn’t, even now, going to concede. “That’s all very well, but the life of your consort is not the life I want.”
He made the statement coldly, clearly—deliberately brutally. Although she didn’t move a muscle, didn’t flinch, he felt her reaction—he might as well have slapped her.
But then a furious flame erupted in her eyes; she seemed to grow taller as she lowered her arms and raised her chin. Her eyes seared his. “So. You’ve decided on a particular path, and no matter what evidence is laid before you—nor how compelling that evidence is—you will not turn aside.” Her voice resonated, thick with power—the power of her personality, of all she was. Ruthlessly, with a harshness all her own, she stated, “The path you’ve chosen is thewrongpath, but because it’s the one you’ve decided on, you refuse to turn from it. Pigheaded doesn’t begin to describe you, for in this you are deliberately harming yourself.”
He managed a sneer. “Some men prefer not to live under a cat’s paw.”
“And some men are blind beyond reason.”
There was hurt as well as fury in her voice.
He shackled the emotions that tried to erupt—to respond, but in what way he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to trust what he felt. Not about her.
It was she who flung away and started to pace. “You’ve been shown the right path, and youhaveseen it—you’ve recognized it.” She tossed a raking glance at him. “Don’t bother to deny it. I can see. I can tell.”
