Page 26 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“Who else have ye lost?” She shook her head, her fingertips momentarily brushing his arm. “Dinna answer that. ’Tis none of my business.”
But once more, his lips were moving before his mind could stop him. “My brothers and sisters. My wife and…child.”
“Oh…” Elle breathed out, her eyes glistening with unshed sentiment. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I had no idea.” She stepped a little closer, her fingers brushing his arm. “The loss of loved ones so dear, that is a pain that does not wane. ’Tis unexpected. A hard pain to live with.”
Beiste’s heart clenched painfully. He didn’t want to talk about them. About the loss. The pain that he felt every damned day because of it. So instead, he did the next best thing. He slid his hands up her arms and tugged her against him, lowering his face toward hers. He stared into her eyes. Searching. Wanting. Desiring. Needing her to take away his pain.
“Lord, but ye are perfect. So beautiful. I need to kiss ye, Elle. I need to leave this place, these thoughts, and take ye with me. Will ye let me?”
She nodded, her eyelids fluttering closed.
Beiste wrapped her up in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, breathing in her floral scent, tasting the sweetness of her lips, glorying in the way her body molded so perfectly to his. The way her kiss, her touch, all of her, worked an enchantment to lessen his pain.
But at what cost?
What was he doing kissing her again? Bloody hell it felt so good…made him feel alive again. For so long he’d been lost. Dead. A man hidden by shadows, darkness that he wrapped around himself.
How easily he’d opened up to her and allowed in the light…
Damn cost! Damn pain! He wanted to be alive! He wanted to live again. Elle was making it happen, if only for a few fleeting moments. Could it be something that lasted longer? Could he allow himself to fall?
Nay, dammit! He couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself forget the losses. He couldn’t allow himself to put her in danger. Everyone he’d ever loved had been stripped from him. He could not allow that to be her fate, simply by falling for her. Simply by—
Loving her?
Nay. This wasn’t love. Couldn’t be and, yet, it felt so very much like what he’d had with his wife. Maybe more so. He’d confessed things to her, but never had he felt that she was the light in his darkness.
“Blast,” he growled against her mouth, tearing himself away. “I must go. We leave at first light.”
“Be well, Beiste.”
Her parting words were shadowed in her own emotion. And he didn’t want to dive down into those pools. Not yet. He couldn’t.
*
Beiste let outa growl and stabbed his sword into the rocky ground of the mountaintop. He stood in the center of what had been a camp. Cleared space where bodies had slept. Bones of animals they’d cooked littered the ground. Several campfires were fresh, but not lit. And not a single, damned Viking, outlaw or scrambling animal was in sight. The whoresons had eaten every last rabbit and tamped out their fires before rushing off.
He let out a curse and stabbed at the ground again. Beiste knelt and placed his hands over the ashes, gripping a half-burned log letting the dulled heat sink into his palm—perhaps two hours at most. They’d just missed them.
Probably had scouts that had spotted Beiste and his men despite not making any sounds. The number of rises in the mountain left plenty of places higher up in order to snoop. But why didn’t they engage? Why were they running? Every experience he’d ever had with the Norsemen had been violent. They didn’t run, they attacked. They didn’t hide from their enemies but made themselves known. The bastards were not acting as he expected them to. They were unpredictable and Beiste didn’t like that.
“Dealing with damned shadows,” Beiste growled.
“Look at this.” Gunnar held aloft a piece of plaid.
“Cam’béal colors.” Beiste took the fabric in hand. It was small and torn. Either deliberately left behind or torn on something. “Could be any number of prisoners’, but could also be Laird Erik’s.”
“Aye.”
Beiste climbed back on his horse and circled the camp. “They’ve got horse tracks going in every direction, trying to confuse us. We’ll have to split up.”
The whoresons could try and evade him, but eventually they would be caught. Come hell or high water, Beiste was going to get Laird Erik back.
*
Sleep evaded Elle.
Confusion ruled every inch of her darkened chamber. She would have gladly welcomed a visit from the old laird, if only to ask for an explanation of his son’s behavior. And maybe even her own feelings.
