“Nah. I’ll just go with—”
“No.” I stumbled as she basically shoved me toward the stage. “Go on with you, now. You’ll want to see the bairns dance. It’s adorable.”
Without another word, she scuttled off to join the group of men and women gathered around a different table.
“Okay.” I frowned, huffing as I stomped off toward the edge of a sparse knot of people who were watching the baby dancers. “Guess I can take a hint.”
I was still grumbling under my breath when someone tugged at my skirt. I glanced down to find a little girl in red and white Highland dancer’s plaid blinking up at me through too-long bangs.
“That man thaid to give you thith.”
No more than five or six, the girl pulled a hand from behind her back and thrust out a dimpled fist. In her chubby palm lay a shiny red apple.
She giggled when I took it, revealing a gap where two baby teeth had disappeared into fairyland. I tried to thank her as she raced off to join her friends near the stage, but my voice too had apparently absconded.
Lids closing, I raised the round, fragrant fruit to my nose and breathed in the scent of ice and memory. The apple’s cool skin brushed against my lips as I smiled and opened my eyes.
And there he was, leaning against the side of the nearby ale stand, arms and ankles casually crossed, as if he’d been waiting there since dawn.
Grinning, he pushed away from the weathered wood and took three long-limbed strides toward me.
I’m dreaming, I thought. Gotta be.
The dreams came often now, leaving me gasping and sweaty, filled with a new kind of nameless ache. But the boy standing before me did not disappear, or dissolve into mist that filtered through my fingers.
Chapter 5
FROM RUMPLED BLACK HAIR TO HIGH-TOP SNEAKERS, Bran Cameron looked perfectly at ease draped in the odd dichotomy of ancient kilt and vintage Lord of the Rings tee. Bran was a person comfortable in his own skin, a reality I couldn’t really comprehend. I wondered idly if he’d meant the plaid to match the startling blue and green of his heterochromatic eyes.
“Madainn mhath.”
As he spoke, I realized two things simultaneously.
One . . . that I was staring like a starveling at a pretty piece of cake.
And two . . . that the air, so rich in oxygen only seconds earlier, had gone suddenly and woefully thin.
“W-what?”
“Madainn mhath. It’s Gaelic for good morning.” He flicked a hand at his attire. “Seemed appropriate, considering.”
“I know what it means.”
“Well, of course you do,” he said. “You are a superhero, after all. Though I must say, I believe I prefer that skirt to a cape and tights.” A slim dark eyebrow cocked as his gaze tracked down my bare legs. “You know,” he mused, “we never gave you a proper superhero name. Personally, I prefer Brain Girl, but we can open the floor for discussion if you—”
“Bran.” His name tasted of mountains and heather and caramelized sugar. “How . . .” I had to stop, swallow. And then I couldn’t stop the questions that had built inside me for weeks.
“What are you doing here? Is it safe? Are you all right? What about Tony? Oh God, I can’t believe you’re really—?Does Celia know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here. I’m really, really glad you’re here. It’s just . . .”
As I continued to babble incoherently, he took my hand and towed me toward a shady spot behind the ale stand. As I followed, my gaze slipped down past back muscles that moved under a snug T-shirt, slim waist encircled by a wide leather belt, and narrow hips concealed by yards of tartan wool.
He stopped, turned, and caught me staring. He was smiling when I looked up into a face I’d known since I was four years old.
“I did warn you the sight of my bare knees might drive you mad with lust.” His voice sounded scratchy, strained. “Do you remember?”
I did. Of course I did. I was the girl who remembered everything, wasn’t I?
Up close I could see the changes in his features. Jaw sharper than I remembered. Cheeks leaner under rough stubble, making the slightly too-long nose more pronounced. The injury he’d sustained and the corresponding blood infection had taken their toll. But his eyes—?one blue, one green—?strangely hypnotic and indescribably beautiful, looked the same as they had when we were little more than babies.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s something of a long story,” he said.
“What happened? Is it Celia? Did she kick you out? Is it your—”
He placed two fingers lightly against my lips, stopping the flow of words. A grin, sweet and slow as maple syrup, curved one side of his mouth as he leaned in and whispered, “Forgive me. But for God’s sake, Hope, just . . . stop talking.”
And then his arms were around me and he was burying his face in my hair. I couldn’t breathe, yet somehow my mouth and nose and lungs filled with the scent and taste of him. Fabric softener and fresh-cut wood and, always, the tang of ripe apples that lingered just for me.
I couldn’t get close enough.
His mouth skimmed up the side of my neck, along my jaw, across my cheek. Achingly soft, his lips touched my brow and closed lids. When his mouth finally . . . finally pressed against mine, I arched against him. My fists clenched in the warm fabric of his shirt. My lips opened under his, and I felt the groan rumble through his chest.
His fingers tangled in my hair, roamed down my back. When I nipped at his bottom lip, he gripped my hips to pull me hard against him. A pressure was singing inside me as he lifted me off my feet and we spun, my back slamming against the rear wall of the ale stand.
I thought I heard . . . something . . . but when he swallowed the air that whooshed from my lungs, I didn’t care . . . I didn’t care . . . I didn’t care. Not about anything but being here with him and doing this forever. Short skirt be damned, I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him and kiss him until the stars died out. I wanted . . .
“Um, guys?” Someone cleared her throat. “So sorry to interrupt, but you might want to know you have something of an audience.”
Bran stilled. His regretful sigh brushed against my neck, rippling shivers across my skin. His grip loosened and I slid down until my toes once again touched the earth.
Breathing hard, he stared down at me. His blue and green eyes drilled into mine with such raw need, I felt it in the marrow of my bones.
“Damn,” he whispered as he rested his forehead against mine.
My reply came out high and oddly squeaky. “Y-yeah.”
We turned to find Phoebe grinning at us like a Miss America contestant. Behind her, Doug was being all honorable, trying to shoo away the clutch of giggling tween dancers who’d gathered to watch.
“Told you that outfit was the right call.” Phoebe winked sagely. “Just proves one should always listen to ole Auntie Phoebe when snogging’s on the menu.”