Cates, Kimberly by Gather the Stars

Author:Gather the Stars [Stars, Gather the]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-20T23:44:26+00:00

CHAPTER 12

The beast was stalking him.

Gavin could feel its fetid breath against his throat, hear its claws raking at the bars of its prison. It snarled in malevolent anticipation. Victory was assured. It would feast on Gavin this night.

Gavin knew the cold sweat of terror, the subtle madness that would follow. With each second that ticked past, the bars of that prison were melting, thinning. Soon the beast would be free.

No! He staggered to his feet and paced the confines of the tiny croft. He had to fight it, had to beat it back. He couldn't let it escape, not with Rachel here to see him, hear him.

Christ, it had been painful enough that she know about Prestonpans, but to expose her to this ugliness caged inside him, trying to break free—no, he'd rather slit his own throat than have her hear so much as a whisper of his pain.

His gaze flashed to where she lay cuddled on the makeshift bed he'd made for her near the fire. The light turned her skin to sweet cream, her hair to dark secrets. Her gown was wound around the supple curves of her body, but not half so tangled as the emotions he'd stirred between the two of them with his kiss hours before.

Gavin could still see wonder clinging to her lashes, awe painted onto the rose silk of her lips. He could feel the confusion still clutched in the curve of her hand.

And he felt a wild jealousy toward the Scotsman who had built this croft, carved the cradle that lay tucked in the shadows. He felt as if he would gladly sacrifice everything—his name, his future, his life, for just a tiny space in time where he could build dreams for Rachel the way that simple unknown man had built them for his lady. He yearned to hew for her a bed out of bog oak, to work for her until his hands bled, to love her until this simple hovel was transformed in her eyes into a place more beautiful than any enchanted castle on a fairy hill.

But that was as impossible as the other phantasm he futilely chased—the ability to wash his hands clean of blood, dredge his spirit from the muck of battlefields and failures and regrets.

Exhaustion suffocated him, grief so heavy his whole being seemed carved from stone. A harsh sound tore from his throat, and he stifled it beneath his fist, biting his knuckles until they bled.

The beast snarled, mocking him. No coward could ever defeat it. It was too brutal, too savage, too strong. Nothing could save him on the nights when it came, hunting in the place where his nightmares lived.

Nothing, not even an angel...

Rachel.

Every fiber of his being screamed with the need to touch her. But he couldn't. He shouldn't even stay here, watching her like a damned soul with his face pressed against the gates of heaven. A noble man would walk away, knowing he had no right to touch her, even with his eyes, knowing he wasn't worthy.

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