Rogue on the Rollaway. Shannon MacLeod

that perfect, muscled…stop it… “Don’t worry about it. I hated that table,” she assured him between clenched teeth, “but it’ll be back by morning anyway.”

      Faolan’s dark eyebrows flew up in surprise then dropped into a frown of unmasked suspicion. “And how will that come to pass, mistress? Have ye magic of yer own, then?”

      She beamed, waving a hand nonchalantly. “I’m dreaming, of course. And in the morning when I get up, I’m going to write all this down so I can remember it. This is one of the best dreams I’ve ever had. Just call me Alice and you’re my white rabbit,” she said, ending with a high pitched giggle.

      His look clearly said he questioned her sanity. “Ye said yer name was Colleen,” he reminded her, “and I wouldna have thought I resembled a rabbit at all, much less a white one.”

      “My name is Colleen,” she laughed. “Alice is a character from a book by…” she paused, then waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re just a dream.”

      “I’m no dream, Colleen,” Faolan said. Like a stalking animal, he closed the distance between them with fluid, purposeful grace. She took one step backward then another and another until the wall against her back prevented further retreat. He braced his hands against the wall palm down on either side of her, fencing her in with his body. His darkening eyes locked on hers, he whispered, “Ye called to me and I answered, lady. I’m here to fulfill yer slightest whim, give ye yer heart’s desires, satisfy yer…” His gaze dropped to her mouth, “…every need. Ye need only tell me what ye wish of me.”

      Her face flaming bright red, she ducked under his arm. “Good to know, thanks. Okay, then…umm…good night.” Giving him a quick smile she backed out of the room fast enough to leave skid marks on the carpet, fumbling for the knob and slamming the door closed behind her.

      * * * *

      “Going to ground like a frightened cony,” Faolan whispered with a grin, “but it’ll do ye nae good, my lass.” He stretched out on the padded cot just barely big enough to accommodate his bulk. Crossing his long legs at the ankles, he laid his head down, luxuriating in the softness of the sweet smelling down pillow. With one dangling hand, he felt around on the floor under the makeshift bed until he found his boots. She had cleaned them, he noted. Feeling around a little more, his hand came to rest on the empty sporran, which–heaven be praised–Colleen didn’t notice had followed him to his room all by its wee self. Lifting it to his lips he whispered, “My sgian dubh, if ye please.” He reached inside, pulled out the razor sharp knife tucked safely away in its leather sheath and slipped it under his pillow.

      With another softly spoken word, the bedroom lights were extinguished. He sighed with utter contentment and smiled into the darkness, pulling the sheet and blanket up over him. He was thankful this new owner of the amulet was a comely lass. The last had been Elizabeth, a vain, older woman who was as bitter within as without. His service to her did not extend to her chambers, a fact for which he had fallen to his knees daily and given thanks to any gods who would listen.

      Before her, there was the French madam Claudette, owner of the most prosperous whorehouse in Paris, frequented by nobility and gentry alike. He ran the games for her–cards, dice–whatever the vice du jour, occasionally pressing him into serving as a determent for drunken or abusive guests. She was a good woman, he remembered, fair with her girls and possessed of a sparkling wit. He had truly been sorry when she died, for he had grown fond of her over the years. It also meant having to leave again to wander aimlessly until summoned by the next owner lest his secret be discovered.

      It was a meager existence to be sure, and one so lonely that many nights he deliberately put himself in harm’s way hoping to end his torment. No matter where he traveled or who he served, the fact was inescapable. The amulet had to fall into the hands of a woman who would fall in love with him if he had any hope of breaking his enchantment. So much in love, in fact, that she’d be willing to give him the amulet to lift the curse. A noble thought, that, but within seconds of presenting him with the gift, the poor woman’s soul would take the place of his in the stone. Wishing the jealous faery straight to lowest hell for the millionth time, he turned over and punched the pillow, resolving to put her from his mind before sleep claimed him.

      Now here was a real woman, he smiled, reliving the evening. Colleen O’Brien. He liked the way her name sounded on his tongue. Eyes the color of spring grass, soft hair he ached to put his hands in, and a mouth so lush and full he hardened at the mere thought of tasting her sweetness. He had watched her move about her chambers. Aye, more closely than she may have realized. The fragrance of wild roses clung to her skin, trailing behind her when she walked, reminded him of balmy summer nights in Alba. The gentle curve of her waist just begged for his hands to encircle it. Her breasts, while not overlarge would fit comfortably in his hands and he allowed himself to wonder what else might fit as well.

      A sudden frown creased his brow when he realized how truthfully he had spoken when she asked him where he came from. She was no simple wench to be fobbed off with flimsy explanations, he reassured himself and smiled again, remembering her reaction to his words. On medication, she had said. He shook his head at the confusing words, and reminded himself to ask her what that meant on the morrow.

      Faolan yawned. Closing his eyes, he fell into an exhausted sleep so quickly he almost missed the silky voice that teased the outer recesses of his conscious mind. “Mayhap she’ll be the one to break your curse,” Aobhnait whispered. “Or mayhap not.”

      * * * *

      Colleen stared at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. So this was what crazy looked like, she marveled. Giving the bedroom doorknob an experimental wiggle as she passed to make sure it was locked, she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. The necklace she removed and placed on her dresser, but not before she stared into the large center stone again, searching for the movement she thought she had imagined before.

      Shrugging out of her robe and laying it down neatly near the foot, Colleen stretched and yawned. She flung back the covers and crawled into the huge king sized bed she insisted on keeping after the divorce. Her head barely touched the pillow before she was up again to check the bedroom door one last time. After pondering the flimsiness of the locked door for a moment, she dragged a chair against it as an added precaution.

      With the fervent vow she wasn’t getting up again unless something important was on fire, Colleen got back into bed. Giving the handle of the baseball bat a reassuring pat, she turned off the bedside lamp and burrowed under the covers. It was only a moment before she reached out and turned the other unused pillow sideways. With a sigh of resignation, she slid over to nestle up against it and fell asleep feeling only slightly a little less alone than the night before.