The Red Witch of Ravenstone Folly by Catherine Coulter

Author:Catherine Coulter [Coulter, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catherine Coulter
Published: 2021-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Two nights later

Brady saw a woman walking toward him in the soft, dim light. He lay perfectly still, wondering how he could be so awake when he was dreaming. If he wasn’t dreaming, then this meant he was in trouble. He felt a shaft of panic, and a yell built in his throat, but nothing came out of his mouth. It seemed he couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, could only watch and wait for the woman to reach him. He wouldn’t be afraid of a lady. As he watched her, it seemed to him like every step she took was a conscious decision. As she neared, he realized she wasn’t wearing a gown but scarlet scarves wound tightly around her. Her shoulders and arms were bare. He’d never seen such bountiful upper parts. Closer and closer she came, her long black hair flowing to her waist, swinging as she moved, as if moved by an unfelt wind. As young as he was, he recognized she was beautiful, and he also recognized deep inside that she was powerful. Dreaming, yes, he had to be dreaming. A dream couldn’t hurt you, could it?

She called to him, her voice soft, compelling, saying his name over and over, almost a whisper, but he heard her clearly. He wanted to speak, wanted to move, but he still couldn’t. He could only watch until she stood directly in front of him. She towered over him. She reached out and lightly touched her long white fingers to his face. Her fingers were warm, too warm, almost burning him, but he couldn’t move away, couldn’t make a sound. Her voice was low and soft. “Your skin is so smooth and white, your hair just like your father’s. You are a fine little English boy. It is a pity you are so young. If you were older, it would be different. But you should not be here. I never foresaw Grayson Sherbrooke finding your father, never foresaw your coming home. What shall I do with you? What shall I do with him?”

Brady jerked up in bed. He was panting hard. He was alone—of course he was alone. A dream—that strange woman speaking to him. He had to stop being afraid. She’d been nothing but a dream—well, sort of a living dream. Why had he made her up? He touched his cheek where her fingers had lain against his skin. It was no longer burning, but still very warm. But how could a dream make his skin burn? Brady felt a spurt of terror, jumped out of his very comfortable bed, ran across the hall to P.C.’s bedchamber, and dived onto her bed. A bit of moonlight shone through the window. He shook her shoulder. “P.C., wake up, wake up!”

P.C.’s eyes flew open. “Barn—Brady, what’s wrong? You had a bad nightmare, didn’t you?” She threw back the covers and pulled him against her, covering them to their noses. “It’s all right,” she whispered against his ear, squeezing him hard.

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