Page 62 of Rebellion's Fire

“I saw it,” she whispered. “Tonight, when I smelled the smoke, and later when I watched the tower burn, I remembered…imagined…a man in the flames. That was my father, wasn’t it? In my memory.”

“I don’t know,” Adam said again. His fingers closed around hers on his wrist, forcing her to realize how hard she gripped him, but when she tried to release him, his other hand held hers in place. “It doesn’t matter now.”

She tried to laugh. “It’s an unhappy house. Why do I deny it?”

“Because you were happy there, maybe. Or because you will be.”

“Maybe,” she said. She knew her smile was twisted. “Or maybe I’m just delusional. Or plain mad.”

His eyebrow seemed to quirk in the firelight, as reflected flames shot over his face. “Like me?” he said without emphasis.

She flushed, glad of the dark and the merely flickering light to hide it. He’d remembered her words. Stunningly, they appeared to have…hurthim.

“You killed my men and abducted me,” she said gruffly. “I was trying to be rude. I don’t really believe you’re mad.”

He stirred, though still, his gaze remained on her face, his hand warm and rough over hers. “I probably am, a little. My mind is not…conventional.”

“Is anyone’s?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “I shouldn’t have drunk your poppy tincture. It gave me more waking dreams, confused my thoughts and memories. Did I kiss you?”

A surge of embarrassment heated her skin. Thank God for darkness. “You were confused by the pain and the poppy. You were probably fevered, too.”

His eyes slid away from hers, then almost immediately came back as if he forced them. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, searching wildly for a change of subject. But all she could think of was the deeper darkness of her house that night, save for the faint glow from the lamp that cast more shadows than light upon him. And the sudden, silent assault on her senses. He hadn’t spoken one word to her.

At least her answer seemed to relieve him, for his shoulders lowered by about an inch. “I’m glad. In my memory, you touched my face and kissed me back.”

She shook her head in violent, instinctive denial, but something kept her gaze locked to his. It could have been pride or weakness. Certainly, she was very aware of her vulnerability, lying prone with her hand held between both of his, while he sat looming over her, his face almost directly above hers. Half his length separated their heads, but not their bodies.

He said, “You’re no longer afraid of me.”

It wasn’t strictly true. The glow of his intense eyes caused a thrill, deep in her belly, that was at least partly fear. Surely. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I am when you lower over me like that.”

His fingers curled over the hand he held, lifting it from his wrist. “No, you’re not,” he said and kissed her palm.

She forgot to breathe. If he were to kiss her again, as he had in her house the night he escaped, there would be no one to disturb them, nothing to make him stop.

He said, “You don’t flinch.”

“Neither do you.” It was almost a gasp.

A smile flickered over his face. “No…”

“What?” she asked unsteadily. Was he seeing now? Or just remembering, as she was… “What do you see?”

“Right now? Just you.”

She couldn’t move or even breathe under the force of his gaze. She had to make herself, before his lips asked the question she was sure she could read in his eyes. Slowly, so as not to startle him, or, perhaps, herself, she drew her hand free and turned away from him under the blanket.

“We both need to sleep,” she reminded him.

The silence deafened her. He didn’t move. Then, at last, she felt him lie down in his previous position.

She was too aware of him now, far too aware to sleep. She couldn’t help going over their odd conversation again in her head.

“Are you happy, Adam?” she murmured aloud before she could stop herself.

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