Cyberevolution Book One: The Awakening: Fifty Shades of Dark Kaitlyn O'Connor by Kaitlyn O'Connor, Kimberly Zant, Marie Morin, Stacey St.James, Goldie McBride (11)

“I wanted to be pretty for you,” she said hesitantly.

He knelt beside the bench, his movements a little stiff, as if the motion pulled at his recently healed wounds. “Ye cannot improve upon nature, my lady. Yer as near perfect now as makes no difference atall,” he said, his voice gravely now with a different emotion as he settled one gauntlet clad hand upon her shoulder.

She shivered.

He frowned, looking down at the gauntlet suspiciously. “Is it cold then?”

“Aye, a little,” she responded, trying to ignore the dried blood upon it and wondering if it might soil her gown.

Removing his hand, he pulled the gauntlet off and tossed it to the floor before removing its twin. “My hands are worse,” he said, flexing his fingers and rubbing his hands together in an attempt to generate some heat.

“Ye should have stopped to warm yerself before the fire, my lord,” the lady said chidingly.

He grunted, his dark brows pulling together in a scowl. “I’ve nae seen ye in a month,” he said slowly. He seemed to notice the distaste in her expression and looked down at his armor self-consciously. “I should have made myself more presentable before I came to ye.”

She sent him a look that agreed with his assessment but relented as he began to turn away. “Nay! Ye were right to come straight up, my lord. It’s my place to see to yer comfort. Let’s get ye settled over by the fire and get the armor off and I’ll bathe the muck of the road off ye. Ye’ll feel better in no time.”

He stood with an effort, his expression vaguely offended, but he moved to the chair his lady had indicated and stood docilely while she and the maids removed his armor piece by piece. When he had been stripped down to his chausses and surcoat, the maids gathered the pieces of armor and left to take it to the armory to be cleaned and repaired, leaving the lord and his lady alone.

He watched her with the hungry eyes of a predator as she crossed the room and dug in his trunk to find fresh clothing for him, but he made no attempt to touch her until she seemed satisfied that he was clean. He was shivering when he climbed from the tub and she began to rub him briskly to dry him.

Before she could help him dress in fresh clothing, however, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Tossing her to the mattress, he fell upon her like a starving man. His palms were rough, chafed from his gauntlets and the cold as he caressed her body with them, following the path his hands blazed with his lips, filling his senses with her.

She uttered a sound of protest when he dropped her to the bed and covered her body with his, but in a few moments she was writhing beneath his touch excitedly, uttering little whimpers and gasps of pleasure.

The sounds set his mind on fire, unleashing the little restraint he’d placed upon himself. Pushing her gown up to her waist, he pulled her thighs wide and settled his hips between them, entering her in almost the same motion. A guttural sound of pleasure erupted from his throat as he drove his turgid flesh into her heated depths. Mindless with need now, he began to thrust and retreat from her body at a furious pace. “Ah, love, it’s been too long. I canna hold it,” he growled.

She gasped, raking her nails along his back as she went rigid and then began to jerk as her body found release. Her convulsions sent him over the edge. He thrust jerkily as her body milked his of his seed and lay heavily on top of her, breathing raggedly.

After a moment, he struggled to relieve her of his weight, settling beside her and running a hand caressingly over her. “Ye’ve missed me, as well,” he muttered, his voice still rough but threaded with pleasure.

“Aye. Tis a black sin the way my body craves yers,” she gasped.

He came up on one elbow. “Yer my wife. There’s no sin it.”

She looked unconvinced. “Yer men’ll be wonderin’ what’s become of ye. We should dress and join the others in the hall.”

“They’re not so witless they won’t know what’s become of me,” he said, chuckling. He got up though after a moment and moved to collect the clothing she’d lain out for him, watching her as he pulled them on.

Making a face at the stickiness between her legs, she rolled off the bed and moved to the tub to clean herself before she returned to the bench and sat once more, combing her hair.

When he’d dressed, he looked around for his pouch. Hefting it for a moment, as if weighing the coins within it, he crossed the room to stand behind her. Setting the pouch upon the table, he loosened the ties and pulled something bright from it. The gleam snared her gaze and she turned to look. Her eyes widened with wonder as the jewels caught the firelight and winked at her.

She gasped, one hand flying to her throat. “It is--beautiful.”

“Not nearly so beautiful as the woman it was made for.”

Dragging her gaze from the necklace, she looked up at him. “It is not....”

He looked confused for a moment. Finally, he frowned. “Nay. Tis nae pillage. I drew the design myself and had a goldsmith make it for ye.”

He was still frowning as he settled the piece of finely wrought gold encrusted with jewels around her smooth, white throat and grappled with the catch. “My fingers are too thick and clumsy fer so fine a thing,” he muttered.

“They are still stiff with cold,” she contradicted him. “Let me try.”

“Nay. This once, I’ll place it on ye myself.”

He looked relieved when he had managed to work the catch. Settling his large hands heavily on her shoulders, he kneaded them as he stared at her wavering reflection in the looking glass, as if he could not be so near her without touching her in some way. After a moment, he released his grip on her, leaving her to admire the reflection while he dug in the bag again.

A sharp cry of excitement erupted from her when he thrust his fist before her face and then turned it, uncurling his fingers so that she could see what lay in his palm.

“Earrings?” she said a little breathlessly. “Oh, but my ears are not pierced,” she added, disappointment threading her voice. “Pierce them for me so I can wear the set.”

Placing one on the vanity, he lifted the other and caught her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, pressing the shaft into her skin until she winced as a tiny droplet of blood appeared. He dropped the earring abruptly. “I’ve nae the stomach for it,” he growled.

She looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and surprise. “Ye’ve no trouble atall cleavin’ a man in two,” she said with a chuckle.

His gaze flickered over her face. “I’ve nae love for my enemies or the king’s enemies. Tis nae the same.”

She gave him a strange look and then glanced around the room for her maids. Seeing that only her sister had returned, she summoned her. “Elspeth, you must do this for me so that I can wear the set. My great brute of a warrior cannot bring himself to pierce my ears,” she added with a chuckle.

Elspeth’s gaze went immediately toward the lord. She frowned at the flicker of hurt she saw his eyes, quickly hidden, before he turned and strode back to the fire to stare at the flames broodingly. “It is precisely because he is not a brute that he cannot bring himself to inflict pain upon ye,” she hissed angrily. “For shame, Anne. He is a good man, a most noble man. He tries so hard ta win yer affection. Ye do not appreciate him as ye should.”

Her eyes narrowed with anger at the rebuke. She had not missed the look that had crossed her younger sister’s face as she watched her husband’s retreat. “And ye appreciate him more than ye should,” she snapped angrily, slapping her younger sister.

* * * *

She was crying so hard she could barely speak but only part of her distress was for her own loss. The greatest pain and fear was for him. It crushed her to see his pain. It terrified and bewildered her to watch the man she had always thought of as invincible crumble before her eyes, weeping like a lost child. “She is dead! Please, my lord. Let us take her home and lay her and the babe to rest.”

The look he turned upon her made her knees give way beneath her. “Nay! She is not dead. She sleeps,” he roared, furious at her suggestion. “Look. Her soul lingers still. She is as beautiful as ever. Death has not taken her. Her flesh is soft. She is warm.”

She stifled her sobs with an effort, lifting her gaze to look at her sister in the flickering lights of the torches that surrounded the great stone altar where her body had been lain. She could not understand herself why death had touched her sister so gently, why she looked as if she was merely sleeping, but she knew her sister had ceased to breathe many days ago now. She had been holding her sister when the breath left her body in a long sigh as the pain left her, never to return. It was true that she had not grown stiff with death. Her flesh was as smooth and unblemished as it had been in life, but she was not warm with lingering life. She was nigh as cold as the stone she lay upon.

“Ye are ill, my lord,” she said more gently, pleading with him to see reason. “Even I who loved her dearly cannot fathom the depth of yer loss, for I know how ye cherished her, but we cannot stay here. Let us take her home. Please. It does no good to continue to pray over her. She will not come back. She is gone.”

He ignored her plea, his gaze focused inwardly as if he was trying to barter with death for the soul of his beloved wife.

Despair filled her. She felt as if her own life was slowly draining away from her every moment that she had to endure watching his suffering, for she felt his pain as keenly as she felt her own. “She would not want this. She would want ye to go on with yer life to find what happiness ye can for yourself.” She didn’t know if that was true or not, but she knew she would have felt that way.

“Leave me. Go to my captain and tell him to take the men to the keep. I will stay with my beloved until she wakens. I cannot take her from here. Ye must see that. The power of the old gods lingers here among the standing stones. They keep her soul here.”

She stared at him hopelessly, fearfully. It was almost more than she could bear to see his pain. Please, God. Do not punish him any more. He is a good man. He knows not what he says.

He would die here with his beloved wife. Already the snow had begun fall and he refused to leave her side to eat or to sleep. His eyes were fevered, red rimmed. He was growing thin before her eyes.

His grief had taken his mind and she could think of nothing to do for him.

* * * *

A sob tore its way from Anna’s chest, leaving her throat raw and aching from the pain. It took an effort of will and focused concentration to make her fingers uncurl from around the piece and drop it back into the jewel case.

She leaned back against the couch dizzily when she’d finally managed to let go, gasping for breath, trying to force her galloping heart to slow down before she passed out.

An icy splash of water jolted her back from the brink of unconsciousness, snatching the air she’d been struggling for from her lungs. For many moments she could only gasp hoarsely, blinking against the water that rolled down her face and chest. Finally, she reached up with shaking hands and wiped the water from her eyes.

Liz stood over her, the now empty glass still in her hand. “What the fuck happened? What did you see? Tell me, damn it!”

Anna stared at the woman blankly, fighting to thrust away the images that almost seemed to linger in the room still, as if the past had been transposed over the present. She tried to collect herself. Minutes passed before the images at last faded and the world righted itself. “I don’t--I didn’t catch it all,” she muttered weakly, her voice faintly hoarse as it issued from a throat still raw with pain. “There was too much, too fast.”

Slamming the glass down on the coffee table, Liz snatched the jewelry box up, fastened it and strode from the room. “Pull yourself together,” she snapped angrily as she disappeared through a doorway at the opposite end of the room.

Shaking with reaction, Anna tried to do as she’d been told, but she felt weak all over. Her head was pounding almost nauseatingly as if she’d fallen and cracked it against something.

Her shirt and the front of her hair were soaked from the water Liz had dashed into her face. Wiping ineffectually at the water, Anna pulled the soaked, freezing material away from her skin, more than a little tempted to wring the excess water on the floor as anger finally sparked to life. It was only the thought that she couldn’t afford to piss off her main meal ticket that stopped her.

Leaning forward, she braced her forearms on her knees and allowed her head to droop, her eyes closed against the spinning blackness that still threatened.

She stiffened when she heard Liz’s brisk returning footsteps on the tiles and sat up just as Liz flung herself down on the chaise once more. “What the hell was that all about? Theatrics to convince me you’re a bonafide psychic? I would’ve thought we’d moved beyond that sort of thing by now!”

Anna reddened with anger. She didn’t bother trying to deny the accusation, however. “The piece dates back to the dark ages. It’s European--English, I think, but I couldn’t be certain.”

Looking slightly mollified, Liz leaned forward again, eagerness replacing the anger from before. “So I was right? It is authentic?”

Anna nodded, still struggling to regain her composure. “I’m sure of that.”

Liz giggled excitedly. For several moments Anna thought she would clap her hands like a delighted child. “You wouldn’t believe what I got it for!” she exclaimed in a breathless whisper.

She was wrong. Anna had no trouble believing Liz Bridgewater had acquired the necklace for practically nothing. Liz collected ‘hot’ rocks. Most of the pieces she’d ‘read’ for Liz had been stolen from another collector somewhere in the world, or a museum, and sold on the black market.

She was almost as certain that Liz knew they were stolen as she was that Liz didn’t realize that she knew it. “It’s priceless,” she responded, because it was true, and also because she knew Liz would be thrilled no end to hear it.

She was also almost positive that the necklace had never been on any market, black or otherwise. It had been stolen from a tomb--and that fairly recently. She didn’t think Liz would want to know that, though. She didn’t care where the pieces came from, but she didn’t like it if Anna suggested ‘bad vibes’ were attached to it.

“I’m sure. The jewels alone make it tremendously valuable,” Liz retorted with an air of supreme satisfaction.

Anna stared at her with a touch of surprise, realizing that Liz had no conception of the real value of the necklace. “There was--a great tragedy in the history of that piece.”

Liz waved that away. “Don’t tell me it’s haunted, or bad luck, or something like that. I’m not about to part with it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that you should. I just thought you might want to know.”

Liz studied her assessingly for several moments, but apparently her curiosity got the better of her. “What did you see?”

Anna covered her face with her hands, trying to sort through the images and come up with something, anything, concrete. “The woman it was designed for was beautiful. It was a gift to her from--some man who was close to her. Her husband, I think. He loved...” She paused, frowning as she realized that the emotion had been so powerful that ‘love’ sounded far too tame. “He worshiped her. When she died....”

“When she died?” Liz prodded.

“He was inconsolable, devastated--he went mad.”

Liz shivered. “I knew I didn’t want to hear it.”

Anna lifted her head and looked at the woman. She still felt weak, shaken, and faintly ill. She also felt a need to look again, to try to grasp the images that had poured through her mind too fast for her to fully assimilate them. “I could tell you more if I could just have another reading,” she said tentatively.

“No! I put it back in the safe. I’d just as soon not know anymore.”

Dismay filled Anna. The need to touch the necklace again grew stronger, almost like a hunger. “But--I might be able to pinpoint the time line when it was crafted a little better.”

Liz shrugged. “Dark ages--that’s close enough. Besides, I don’t think you’re in any condition for another reading. You still look like you’re ready to pass out.” Reaching into the pocket of the lounging robe she wore, she tossed a banded stack of bills toward Anna. The stack landed on the couch beside her and Anna stared down at it in surprise.

The band around it was stamped with a 500. Either it was only a partial stack of twenties or Liz was feeling especially generous. She usually only paid a couple of hundred when Anna had three or four pieces to read, and that very grudgingly.

Like a sleepwalker, Anna picked the stack up, folded it and shoved it into her jeans pocket without counting it. She never counted it. Either Liz paid her what she asked for, or she didn’t. She wasn’t in any position to argue if Liz short changed her and they both knew it.

She’d been dismissed.

Pushing herself to her feet, Anna looked around a little vaguely, still seriously disoriented, and finally moved away from the couch.

There were water stains on the cushions she’d just vacated, but most of them were from the half glass of water Liz had ‘revived’ her with.

Her shirt was still sticking to her.

“I expect to have something else in a couple of weeks,” Liz called out when Anna had reached the door to the hallway. “Call me?”

Anna nodded, resisting the impulse to tell Liz that the necklace was part of a set. She didn’t know why she was reluctant to tell her--If Liz knew about them she would be hot to find them and there could be a reward in it for Anna if she helped to locate the other pieces--but she found that she was loath to divulge the information.

“Try to be on time, next time. I had to reschedule my training session.”

Nodding again, Anna left the great room and met up with the maid in the hallway. “Could I use the bathroom?”

Maria’s lips pursed. She looked Anna up and down as if she thought she would taint the bathroom--or maybe she suspected Anna would steal something? Finally, grudgingly, she pointed to the door of the service bathroom just off the kitchen.

Anna wilted weakly onto the toilet when she finally managed to peel her damp jeans down to her knees. She didn’t need to relieve herself nearly as badly as she needed a few minutes to collect herself, however, and stayed put until some of the weakness seemed to leave her wobbly knees. The second time she heard the maid pause by the door to listen, she got up and struggled with the thick, damp jeans again.

Her reflection in the wide mirror over the lavatory gave her a jolt. Her pupils were dilated so wide that only a thin sliver of the gray/green irises was visible. Her complexion was still ashen, throwing her dark hair and brows into uncomplimentary relief. Thanks to Liz’s quick thinking, her bangs and the tendrils that had escaped her tieback and surrounded her face were slick and stringy. Wet, it looked almost black.

Her shirt had finally begun to dry, or she’d grown accustomed to the sogginess and her body heat had warmed it. The shirt looked as if she’d slept in it. Her jeans, in the bright lights from the bathroom vanity, showed stains.

The maid probably thought she was dirty.

Sighing, she turned the water on, washed her hands, and then switched to cold water and splashed the cooling liquid over her face until she felt a little better. The maid looked her over suspiciously when she left the bathroom and headed for the back door. As she let herself out, she glanced back in time to see the maid step to the doorway and check the bathroom to see if anything was missing.

A weak surge of anger flickered in her briefly, but as she stepped outside she felt as if she’d stepped into a blast furnace and she was instantly distracted by her discomfort. When she’d climbed in her car and settled behind the wheel again, she turned the car on. She didn’t need a key. She’d lost her keys several months earlier, which was when she’d discovered the lock on the steering wheel was broken and all she had to do was turn it to start the car.

It made her uneasy. It wasn’t much of a car and she doubted anyone would want to steal it, but she was going to be on foot if they did because she wasn’t going to be able to work enough to buy another one any time soon.

The slogan, ‘driving is a privilege not a right’ popped into her mind and made her angry as it did every time she thought about it. It was a pretty safe bet that whatever brilliant politician had come up with that slogan thought manual labor was a Mexican farm worker and had never worked for minimum wage in his life. A privilege? Eating was a privilege, too, she supposed. It was pretty damned hard to work without a car, or to buy food and shelter without a job.

The government had come up with an absolutely brilliant plan to eliminate poverty in the US. They were going to legislate the poor to death.

Deciding she’d allowed the car to ‘warm up’ as long as she could afford to, she dismissed her frustration over the helplessness of her situation, turned the car around and headed out again.

She ran out of gas about halfway back to the city and had to pull off and empty the contents of her gas can into the tank.

Nobody stopped.

She supposed she must look like a serial killer.

It took her ten minutes of pumping the gas pedal to finally get enough gas in the carburetor to start the car again.

When she got back to her apartment, there was an eviction notice tacked to the door--which was padlocked.

Sighing, she dug the bills from her pocket and counted out enough money to pay for several weeks, stuffed the remainder back in her pocket and went to beg the proprietor to let her stay for a little while longer. He eyed the bills suspiciously and held them up to the light to check them for authenticity, demanding another week’s rent.

Anna held onto her temper with an effort. “That’s the two weeks back rent and an advance on next week,” she said tightly.

“Yeah, but you’re always behind,” he growled.

“And this costs you extra?”

“It costs me extra aggravation. Pay up or go.”

She was tempted to demand her money back instead, but she knew he wouldn’t give it to her now that he had his grimy hands on it. Besides, there weren’t a lot of places that would let people pay by the week and there weren’t many places that would let you rent at all without a credit check, and what little credit she had was all bad.

Turning her back to him, she dug into her pocket again. She had just enough to pay for one more week and one twenty left over. Shit! Ramen noodles again.

Her stomach complained as she counted out the money into the old bastard’s dirty palm. “I need a receipt.”

He gave her a look as if he was insulted that she didn’t trust him. After shuffling the garbage on his desk for a few minutes, he finally found a tablet and tore the bottom edge off of a page that had doodling all over the top half of the sheet.

Anna examined the receipt carefully, glancing at the calendar behind his desk to make sure the weeks he’d noted were accurate and finally folded it and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. “You going to let me in now?” she asked when he didn’t so much as twitch.

He frowned, obviously irritated that he’d have to lift his saggy ass out of the chair and go take the padlock off. Finally, after digging around in his desk drawer another five or ten minutes, he pulled out a ring of keys and pushed himself up from his chair.

The effort cost him. He let out a belch that made Anna’s stomach churn.

Almost as disgusting, she saw when he had straightened that his belly roll was hanging out beneath the stained, too tight, T-shirt he was wearing, showing a good six inches of hairy belly and a belly button that looked like an abyss--except nasty because black hair surrounded the hole.

Giving him a wide berth just in case he felt the need to expel any other bodily gas, Anna followed him to the door of her one room ‘apartment’, shifting impatiently while she waited for him to find the right key and remove the padlock.

When he’d left again, she pushed the door open and went inside. It was hotter inside than outside. Leaving the door open, she set her fan in the doorway and went to open the bathroom window, hoping to pull some of the super heated air out so that the air conditioner had some hope of cooling the room to a bearable temperature before the next day.

She wanted to strip naked, but she didn’t dare with the door and window open, so she merely collapsed in a chair, waiting.

As drugging and mind numbing as the heat was, she was still wound up from the reading. While she sat staring at the fan blades, her mind kept churning away at the images. Nothing really clear emerged beyond what she’d already told Liz Bridgewater.

It confused her. Ordinarily, if she got anything at all it was pretty clear. All too often she got nothing, especially if the piece was fairly new because there was no real sentiment attached to it.

Maybe she’d gotten overload because the piece was so old?

That didn’t really make sense to her, though. As fried as her brain was from the experience, she felt that everything she’d gotten had come from one time, and only the two original owners. Either it hadn’t been handled since, by anyone because it had been in a museum, or it was as she suspected. The piece had been recovered only recently because somebody had robbed a grave.

Logically, it seemed to her that the impressions she’d gotten from the piece should have been a lot like the readings she got from something new and relatively untouched.

Except that powerful emotions were coiled around the piece, like nothing she’d ever run across--love, hate, passion, despair--and terrible pain, inconsolable grief. She felt nausea roll over her again as those emotions swept through her as strongly as she’d felt them before.

Pushing herself up from the chair, she moved the fan, closed the door and fastened the bolts. After turning the air conditioner on full blast, she trudged into the bathroom, fastened the window and stripped.

When she’d filled the tub full of cold tap water, she stepped in, gasping at the sharp difference in temperature between her body and the water. It took teeth gritted determination to sit down in the chilling water, but her body finally began to adjust and she lay back, staring up at the water stains on the ceiling while the tub finished filling. By the time she crawled out again, the water in the tub was roughly the same temperature as the room and her skin was wrinkled all over, but she didn’t feel like she might die from heat stroke.

Mopping off haphazardly, she returned to the main room and sprawled on the bed naked, dozing off almost immediately.

* * * *

 

Anger flickered in his eyes, dispelling the dead look that had been there for so long that she could scarcely remember the man he had been before, but it gave her no comfort. “Ye lie, madam. This cannot be, for I have not once broken my vow to my lady wife. I could not, for I knew from the first moment I set eyes upon her that she had taken my heart and with it a part of my soul. Without her, I am not whole, and I will never again be whole until I am reunited with her.”

“Tis true! Ye thought that I was her. The fever was upon ye and ye did not know what ye were doing, but it happened nevertheless. I tried to stop ye. Please, do not hate me. I could not help it.”

Hope welled within her for a moment, for she could see that doubt had assailed him, that he remembered something that gave him pause. In the next moment, however, rage and contempt filled his eyes, curled his lips with distaste. “I could never have mistaken ye for her unless my mind was turned with fever. Yer no more than a pale shadow of her, and if ye did what you say, then ye tricked me into betraying my vows. This is all yer doin’! Tis because of ye that she was taken from me. Whore! Get from my sight before I am tempted to break yer treacherous neck!”

 

Chapter Two

 

Anna felt as if she had a huge weight on her chest when woke. Her head was congested. Her throat hurt and her vision as she opened her eyes was blurry and unfocused.

Wiping her eyes, she pushed herself upright and moved to the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands.

She’d been crying in her sleep, she realized sluggishly, trying to grasp the threads of the dream that had made her ache with such sorrow that she’d begun weeping in her sleep.

It eluded her. Dismissing it after a few moments’ search, she got up and went to the bathroom to wash her face. She didn’t feel a hell of a lot better when she had, though.

Wobbling back into the main living area, she grabbed the pot that was her primary, and almost only, cooking vessel and went to the lavatory to fill it with water. After plugging it in to heat the water, she moved to the clothes stacked on the floor of the closet and searched through them for something to put on.

The room had finally cooled down to a temperature that was more or less tolerable.

Dragging out a shirt and a pair of jeans, she pulled them on. The shirt hung down to her knees and the neck was so big it kept slipping off of one shoulder, annoying the hell out of her, but the jeans fit better. When she was dressed, she moved to her food stash and looked it over. “Pork, Chicken, Spicy, or Beef noodles?’ she wondered aloud. She only had one chicken flavored pack left and she didn’t really care for the spicy noodles. Deciding on the beef, she tore the packet open and dumped the noodles in the pot of boiling water and then tore open the flavor packet and added that.

Glancing around, she discovered that her spoon was dirty. Irritable, she released an impatient huff, used the sliver of hand soap she had left to wash it, slung the water off and stirred the magic mixture. It smelled good and she was hungry. Unplugging the pot, she carried it across to set it down in front of the air conditioner to cool it off enough she could eat it and looked around for her mug.

Spying it on the table beside the bed, she grabbed it, rinsed the dregs of coffee out of the bottom and filled it with tap water.

There was no ice to chill it. The room came with a kitchenette, which included a tiny refrigerator, but nothing in it worked. She was doubtful it had ever worked. Setting the mug on the table by the bed, she collected the steaming pot of noodles and perched on the side of the bed, stirring and blowing.

The steam rising off the food felt good to her pounding head. As the pain eased, she went back to puzzling over the reading earlier.

She was still trying to choke down the noodles, which she’d had twice a day for the past two weeks, when the image she’d been struggling to recall flashed in her mind abruptly.

Earrings! The man in the vision had given the woman a necklace and matching set of earrings.

The noodles settled in the pit of her stomach like a rock as her belly clenched.

Setting the pot down, she scooted back on the bed until she could lean against the wall. What were the chances, she wondered, that the earrings would surface around the same area as the necklace?

She frowned. Whoever had sold Ms. Bridgewater the necklace couldn’t have had the earrings, otherwise she would have bought the entire set and she was almost positive that Liz would have shown her the earrings if she’d had them.

Why would they have been split up?

Two robbers, dividing the spoils?

It was the only explanation that occurred to her, but if it was true she was back to what were the odds of the thieves fencing the pieces all in one place?

She shook her head after a while, realizing that she was caught up in fruitless speculation. It wasn’t as if she could buy the earrings even if she happened to find them and if she couldn’t buy them she might or might not get a chance at a reading.

She didn’t even know why she wanted to. The effect the necklace had had on her should have been enough to convince her she didn’t want to get anywhere near the rest of the set.

It bothered her, though, that she couldn’t seem to get a firm grasp on the images and she realized after a time that she’d seen just enough of the story behind the necklace to tantalize her. She wanted to know the rest. It was like buying a book and discovering half the story was missing just about the time you were thoroughly hooked. Except she had seen the end and it was bad. She shouldn’t want to know how they had gotten there.

In a way she didn’t. It was like an itch you couldn’t locate, though. The longer it teased her, the more desperate she was to scratch it.

Dismissing it with an effort, she turned to pondering the real dilemma in her life at the moment. She had twenty bucks to her name. She was good on the rent for a few weeks, and she supposed she had enough noodles to get by on, but there was gas if she didn’t want to be on foot and then insurance if she didn’t want to end up in jail. With the new laws, she couldn’t even park the damn thing. The minute the insurance got canceled the company would run screaming to the cops and then she’d have her operator’s license revoked and she’d be fined and/or jailed.

If she junked it, she wouldn’t be able to do any more jobs for people like Liz Bridgewater because she wouldn’t have any way to get there and it was for sure they wouldn’t come within twenty miles of the dump she was living in.

So where did that leave her?

Maybe she should try getting a regular job again?

It wouldn’t last long. They never did. Sooner or later someone was going to hand her something, the ‘gift’ would kick in, and the boss would decide she had some kind of health problem he didn’t want to deal with when she went into meditation mode.

It was worth a shot anyway, she decided. Maybe she could make it through a few weeks and get over her current money problems.

Scooting off the bed, she went to examine her wardrobe to see if she had anything that might pass muster for a job interview. Without a great deal of surprise, she discovered she didn’t. She was either going to have scour the used clothing stores and invest part of her money in an outfit, or go down to the Salvation Army--which might or might not have something suitable that would fit her reasonably well.

It wasn’t much of a contest. She needed to try to get something free before she spent what little she had on a maybe.

Luck was with her. After only a short search at the charity center, she found a pair of dress slacks and a blouse that looked almost new and were of good quality. Feeling optimistic for the first time in a very long time, Anna clutched her bag and headed out for the long walk back.

It was early yet because she’d left her apartment before it was even good daylight knowing the earlier she got there the better her chances of getting something. Besides, it was cooler. The day was already beginning to heat up when she left to return home, though.

She’d passed an antique/pawn shop on her way to the Army. When she glanced up from her exploration of the sidewalk, looking for coins anybody might have dropped, she saw she was approaching the store again.

She slowed as she reached the plate glass windows, peering in at the merchandize.

It wasn’t the sort of place she would find the earrings, she decided.

Besides, she hadn’t even tried to find the best clothes she had to wear when she’d left the apartment, figuring the more down trodden she looked the better her chances that they’d give her something at the Army without a hassle.

And she was carrying a bag now. They’d think she’d come in to steal.

And she really hated antique stores. There was too much in there with a history.

She went in anyway.

She didn’t know whether she was more relieved or more irritated when she left the store and headed home again. She hadn’t found anything even close to the pieces she was looking for and, as she’d expected, the store clerk had followed her around watching her to make sure she didn’t try to pick anything up and hide it under her shirt or in the bag.

It was just as well, she decided. She needed to put the whole incident out of her mind and concentrate on survival. That was a full time job right by itself.

* * * *

Elspeth stabbed her needle into her finger when the distant sound of horns penetrated the solar where she and her sister and their ladies had gathered to ply their needles. Wincing, she dabbed at the droplet of blood with an embroidered handkerchief, sending a wide eyed glance toward the window before she caught her elder sister’s eye.

Anne looked as if she felt much the same as Elspeth did, frightened and at the same time so excited in was nigh impossible to fight the urge to rush to the window and peer out at the procession that must even now be flowing through their gates to try to catch a glimpse of the great man himself. The Earl of Westmoreland was due to arrive today and despite the fact that their father had yet to inform them of the purpose of the visit, it was no secret that he had come to negotiate with their father for a bride.

In truth, it wasn’t much of a negotiation on either side. The Earl was in need of a wife and the king had decided the best way to strengthen his boundaries was by forming an alliance between two of his most powerful border lords.

The question uppermost in Elspeth’s mind was which of them would be chosen. Anne was the eldest, by no more than a year, but still her father’s heir. Ordinarily that would have settled the matter, but she was the next thing to being betrothed already, for Lord Bainbridge had been hinting at an alliance between the two houses for well over a year and Anne had made no secret of the fact that she was not against the match.

It was a dangerous situation. Lord Westmoreland might take insult if her father offered his younger daughter instead of his heir. Lord Bainbridge most assuredly would take exception if he offered Anne, and Anne herself could be very difficult when she did not have her way. If she decided she would have none of Lord Westmoreland, she would defy the king himself and bring disaster down upon them all.

Elspeth was torn. She had heard such tales of Westmorland’s feats in battle that it had fired her girlish imagination. She thought of him as almost godlike, though she would certainly have never even hinted at such a thing to anyone other than Anne, who was her dearest confidant, for fear of being accused of blasphemy. Her fear of him almost matched her admiration, however, for he was accounted fearsome and a very dangerous man to cross.

She had been torn between the hope and the terror that she would be offered to him ever since Anne had overheard her father’s discussion with the courier who had brought the news.

Anne had flown into such a rage that their father had beaten her soundly for her impertinence and then had spent the weeks since trying to placate her, wheedling for a while and threatening for a while, showering her with all sorts of gifts in an effort to earn her cooperation.

It was one of Anne’s favorite tricks had their father but known it. She accounted a beating a small price to pay to have her way, especially since their father’s anxiety to make amends always manifested itself in a great outpouring of special treats, new gowns, jewelry, a great party to celebrate some minor occasion that would not otherwise have borne notice at all.

For herself, Elspeth was content not to attract that sort of notice. She would have liked the new gowns and jewelry for herself, but she did not want them badly enough to defy their father and risk a thrashing. She found it almost as painful and frightening to witness, though, as she would have to have felt the weight of their father’s hand herself.

“Do ye think that it is him?” she asked Anne in an excited whisper.

Anne gave her a look. “We are expecting someone else?”

Despite the sarcasm, Elspeth chuckled. Springing up from her seat, she dropped her mending into the basket beside her chair and rushed to the narrow window that looked down upon the inner ward. Pulling the hide back at one corner, she peered outside. Below, she could see men and horses already milling about as the Earl and his men dismounted.

“Father will box yer ears if he catches ye,” Anne said warningly.

For once, her curiosity overcame her wariness of such a threat. Instead of securing the hide once more and returning demurely to her bench, she pulled it wider and leaned out when she could not immediately spot Lord Westmoreland. She saw him finally, still mounted upon his great steed, recognizing him by his fine horse and his attire. Their father had gone out to greet his guests.

As she watched, drinking in the details she could discern from such a distance, he dismounted. “Ohhh! He is quiet tall,” she whispered loudly. “And very broad of shoulder. He is a fine figure of a man, Anne,” she said excitedly as she turned to look at her sister. “I do not think the tales have exaggerated him much for he is a good deal taller and broader than father.”

Anne looked intrigued, though she was at pains to maintain her façade of indifference. “Then most likely his feats have been grossly exaggerated for I have not seen a great hulking brute yet that was not as clumsy as the ox they resemble.”

Frowning, Elspeth returned her attention to the view outside the window. Almost as if he sensed her gaze, he looked up as she leaned out once more. Frozen with shock at being caught, Elspeth could not move for many moments.

Abruptly, she ducked inside once more, fastening the hide with shaking fingers and scurrying back to her mending.

Anne began to chuckle at the look on her face.

Elspeth frowned at her. “Hush! It is not the least humorous!”

“He caught ye gaping at him like a hayseed!”

Elspeth turned fiery red. “He is not likely to recognize me again at such a distance,” she said, hoping that she was right, certain she must be for she had gotten no more than a vague impression of his angular face and strong jaw.

“If ye do not want him to, ye should not wear that wimple again,” Anne said dryly.

Elspeth touched the head dress she was wearing self-consciously. “Oh! It is my best, Anne. Ye are right. He will know it if he sees it. What am I to do?”

Anne shrugged unsympathetically. “I told ye not to snoop.”

Elspeth looked at her sister indignantly. “As if ye do not! At least I do not go about listening at doors and key holes!”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “If you tell father that I have been, I will box yer ears!”

She knew it was no idle threat, but she was not particularly perturbed by it, except that their father would thrash them both if they got into a tiff while Lord Westmoreland was in the castle. Sniffing irritably, she grabbed her mending from the basket and began stabbing her needle into it again. Her heart was still beating unpleasantly fast, but the uneasiness subsided as she allowed herself the luxury of resurrecting his image in her mind. She thought he must be quite devastatingly handsome. Truthfully, she had not been able to tell at such a distance, but she had had the impression that he was.

“Perhaps I will loan ye one of mine,” Anne said almost idly.

Elspeth glanced up at her sister with a mixture of surprise and hopefulness. “Ye would do that?”

“I will consider it.”

She was just teasing her, Elspeth realized indignantly. She might have known.

She had only just managed to recover a modicum of calm when a maid hurried into the room. “Yer father commands yer presence below,” the maid said breathlessly, plainly agitated.

Anne and Elspeth exchanged almost identical expressions of trepidation. “Both of us?” they asked almost in unison.

“Lord Westmoreland expressed a desire to sup, for he and his men have been traveling much of the day and are weary and hungry. Yer father has ordered the meal set forward to accommodate his guest. Cook is distraught, for the main course is not yet done, and so I was sent to fetch ye to help entertain the Earl until the trestles can be set up and the food served.”

Anne looked indignant. “We are not magicians! How are we supposed to accommodate such an ill mannered demand?”

“It is not unreasonable if they have not eaten in so long,” Elspeth said placatingly. “Ye know very well that men have no notion of what is involved in preparing such a feast.”

“If he has been on the road so long, then his time would be better spent in washing the filth of his travels from himself.”

“He has gone to do so, my lady,” the maid said uneasily. “But it is not likely to take him long. He is a soldier. He will not linger to primp over his toilet.”

“Not even when he has come to woo a bride?” Anne demanded indignantly. “Well, he will find himself kicking his heels, for I am not about to dash down to placate him. I have not even dressed to dine. And someone must go and restore calm to the kitchen, I make no doubt, for I am certain ye are right and this has thrown everything into an uproar.”

“I will go,” Elspeth said hastily, trying to calm her sister, knowing their father with be furious with both of them if Anne deliberately snubbed their guest. “Ye go and attend yer toilet.”

As chatelaine of their father’s castle, it was Anne’s duty to perform such tasks, but as often as not she relegated such things to Elspeth anyway. After a thoughtful moment, Anne finally decided to be appeased. “Ye will not have time to change yer gown,” she pointed out.

“I am wearing my best gown now,” Elspeth admitted, albeit reluctantly, “for I was anxious and I did not want to take a chance that father would summon us before I had the chance to dress.”

“It will be soiled by the time that ye have run about the kitchen in it.”

“Then I will dash back upstairs and change my gown quickly.”

Shrugging, Anne set her own stitchery aside, summoned her maids and departed.

It took longer to bring order to the kitchen than Elspeth had expected. Cook had been so unsettled by the news that she must rush the cooking that she had burned herself and the sauce she had been preparing. The meat on the spit was barely half done. Directing them to remove it, Elspeth had the servants quarter the meat so that it would cook faster and return it to the spits.

Cook wept. She had already arranged a great platter to display the haunch artfully and looked unconvinced when Elspeth assured her the men were far more interested in being fed than in looking at it.

As Anne had predicted, she soiled her gown rushing about the kitchen. Leaving again when she saw that everyone was moving about with purpose rather than in a blind panic, she rushed upstairs again, barreling headlong into an immovable object. He caught her as she fell back a step, releasing her when she had regained her balance.

Flicking a quick glance at the man she had nearly run down, Elspeth saw to her horror that it was none other than Westmoreland. “I beg yer pardon,” they said at almost the same moment.

“I must hurry, for I am late,” Elspeth said a little breathlessly, bobbing a quick curtsy without meeting his gaze and rushing away.

She felt almost faint when she had slammed her door behind her, leaning against the stout wooden panel for many moments before she found the strength to move. When her maids had stripped her soiled gown from her, she dashed to the basin and bathed hurriedly in the tepid water that awaited her and then rushed into her next best gown.

She met up with Anne in the hallway.

“Ye are flushed from rushing about,” Anne pointed out. “I cannot think it at all becoming.”

Elspeth looked at her sister in dismay, trying to cool her cheeks with her hands. “And ye forgot to change the wimple.”

Elspeth touched it distractedly, wondering if there was any longer any point in changing to another one since she had practically run the man down in the hallway. She had not looked directly at him, though, and she and Anne were of much the same height and build. In truth, they were virtually the image of one another. Anyone who knew them at all well had no difficulty telling them apart, but people who did not know them well had been known to complain that they were alike enough almost to be twins.

“Here,” Anne said impulsively. “I will give ye mine and ye may give me yers. I do not care what he might think even if he should recognize it or if father has learned of it and decides to scold.”

Warmth flooded Elspeth at the unusually generous gesture. “Ye are certain ye do not mind?”

“I have said I do not.”

Elspeth did not know whether to be relieved at the exchange or not when they entered the great hall at last, for Lord Westmoreland’s gaze at once zeroed in upon the wimple that Anne was now wearing and she began to wonder if she would not regret the subterfuge.

“Ah!” their father exclaimed boisterously when they presented themselves to the small group settled near the great hearth. “My daughters. Lady Anne, my eldest. And Elspeth, my youngest daughter.”

Elspeth felt as if the ground had fallen from beneath her feet when she rose from her curtsey and met Lord Westmoreland’s gaze. Giddy with the eruption of warmth inside of her, she ducked her head shyly.

Their father chuckled with forced joviality when Lord Westmoreland returned his attention to his host. “Ye are no doubt thinking that they are like two peas in a pod, but they are not twins, I assure ye. Lady Anne is the eldest by nigh a year.”

Westmoreland smiled thinly. “Perhaps my eyes are better than yers, for they do not look like two peas to me. They are not nearly round enough, and are far too fair.”

Elspeth bit her lip to keep from smiling at the teasing remark and the gleam of amusement in his pale eyes, but Anne chuckled outright, drawing his gaze once more.

She was far too awestruck throughout the evening that followed to think of anything at all clever to say and deeply regretted that she had not her sister’s sublime confidence or her vivacity. Anne never cared what anyone thought of what she might say, however, and so she did not suffer the agonies of doubt that plagued Elspeth so that she never uttered a word until she had turned it over in her mind and thoroughly examined it. The upshot of that was that the conversation nearly always moved beyond her before she nerved herself to contribute, which only made her more self-conscious.

She was not entirely displeased with her situation for all that, for she enjoyed observing and she was happy to have the freedom to study Westmoreland to her heart’s content. He was quite as handsome as she had imagined, more so, she thought, for he was pleasing beyond his physical appearance.

He was neat in dress and fastidious in his person, his hands rough from sword and gauntlet but well kept, his nails clean and neatly trimmed. He was clean shaven, without a stray sprig of hair to be seen anywhere on his face or neck. He was quick of wit and possessed of a very good sense of humor.

She could see nothing at all to object to about him and a very great deal to admire.

She had not, previously, allowed herself to consider whether her father might offer her, but she allowed the thought to tease her fancy as she listened to his easy banter.

By the time they were allowed to leave the hall and seek their beds, she was thoroughly captivated and could scarcely wait to discover what Anne thought of him.

The moment she had readied herself for bed, she slipped a robe on and hurried to her sister’s room. Anne had settled on a bench near the hearth, her needlework in her lap, although she seemed more intent on studying the leaping flames than her stitchery.

“What do you think?” Elspeth asked in an excited whisper.

Anne sent an annoyed glance at her younger sister. “Many things.”

Elspeth colored at the sarcasm in her sister’s voice. “About the Earl of Westmoreland?” she demanded impatiently, crossing the room to settle on the bench across from her sister.

Anne shrugged. “He is coarse.”

Elspeth blinked at her sister in stunned surprise. “In what way?”

“In the way of a man more accustomed to the battlefield than the court. In the way of a man more comfortable bellowing orders and hacking men to pieces than wooing a maiden with tender words and gentle touch. He is a great, hulking brute and so awkward I wonder how much truth there could possibly be to his skills as a great warrior,” she said dismissively. She frowned thoughtfully, focusing her attention on her needlework. “He is quite old. Not as old--granted--as I had imagined, but old in experience and certainly not youthful in years. His eyes make my flesh creep.”

Dismay filled Elspeth. “You have taken a dislike to him or you would not say such things. He is--a most comely man and scarce more than a score your senior. He is a very powerful lord, renowned for his prowess as a soldier, true, but I do not find him at all repugnant and the maids nigh swoon when he glances their way.”

“Most likely from terror,” Anne retorted sarcastically.

“I do not feel at all frightened when he looks at me. I think his eyes are--quite nice. The color is most unusual, and his gaze very piercing, but I am not afraid, only disappointed that he did not truly seem to see me.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed on her sister’s face. “Were ye trying to catch his eye, then?”

Elspeth felt her jaw drop at the accusation in her elder sister’s voice. “I already said he did not truly appear to see me,” she said stiffly. “In truth, he did not seem to have eyes for anyone but ye.”

Anne preened herself over that comment for several moments before she slid another speculative glance at Elspeth. “I am the eldest. Ye need not be mooning over him, for if he offers for either of us, father will almost certainly offer me. Yer not even a woman full grown yet.”

“I am! I had my menses before ye!” The slap Anne dealt her caught her completely by surprise. She was too stunned even to consider retaliating and could only stare at her elder sister in shock, her hand over her stinging cheek.

“I am still the eldest! It will do ye no good to lust over him, for I will be settled first.”

Elspeth reddened with a mixture of guilt and embarrassment and revulsion. She had not consciously lusted over him. She did admire him a great deal, but she had certainly not imagined what it might be like to couple with him. “I do not lust over him!” she exclaimed, aghast at the accusation. “Ye did not seem to want the match. I only thought that if ye were so opposed to it....”

“I will tell father that ye’ve been lusting over him if ye try to usurp me and ye’ll find yerself locked away in a convent,” Anne said in a hissing whisper.

The threat was not an idle one and Elspeth glanced at the maids that sat across the room from them, wondering if any had overheard, if she needed to fear that they would carry the tale to her father. They all appeared thoroughly engrossed in their tasks, but she knew that meant nothing.

She realized it probably would not matter anyway. Anne was likely to carry the tale to their father whatever she had suggested otherwise--that she would only do so if she felt threatened, for it took no more than an incautious word to make her feel threatened. Very likely she would think it over and decide that it was better to be safe than sorry, that she had a duty to make it known to their father that Elspeth was less than pure in thought and suggest that she was not pure in any way.

Fear and anger coiled inside her, making it impossible for her to think of any way that she could protect herself from Anne’s wicked tongue.

She was a fool. She should have known better than to say anything at all, but she had honestly only intended to be helpful when she realized Anne was unhappy with the choice her father was likely to make for her.

She had not really realized until Anne had accused her of it that she was not considering sacrificing herself for her sister’s happiness. She was considering offering herself in her sister’s place because she was drawn to Lord Westmoreland.

“I do not understand ye at all,” she said finally. “Only last week ye were upset because ye said that ye had been led to believe that ye would be betrothed to Lord Bainbridge and ye had set yer heart upon the match.”

Anne shrugged. “I know my duty. It would be different if we had been betrothed, for then Westmoreland could not take insult at being offered a younger daughter. He is far more powerful than Bainbridge, however, and we cannot afford to insult him when there is no true impediment to the match.”

Elspeth swallowed a little sickly, realizing that it was Westmoreland’s power that had convinced her sister that he was not distasteful to her. She knew the way Anne’s mind worked. She might still prefer Bainbridge, might even truly care for him, but she would not allow her younger sister to make a better match than she had.

Frowning, she returned to her room, doing her best to put it from her mind. It did not really matter what Anne’s motivations were. Her father and Westmoreland would make the decision, and very likely it would have been Anne who was chosen anyway. It was better for all concerned that it seemed Anne was now willing to accept the situation. The marriage would be settled amicably and they need not worry about Lord Bainbridge’s displeasure, for between her father and Westmoreland it was unlikely that he would create a disturbance over the match.

Perhaps her father would offer her to Bainbridge in Anne’s stead, she thought, trying to decide how she felt about the possibility.

She had thought he was very handsome and personable until she had met Westmoreland. It would not be difficult to accept such a match, she decided, trying to convince herself that she would be satisfied.

Assuming, of course, that Bainbridge was interested in the switch, which he might not be. He was not as powerful as Westmoreland, but he was still a powerful lord and could look high for a bride. Her dowry would be handsome, but there were probably others more personable than her who also had bigger dowries to offer.

* * * *

Anna studied the façade of the building, trying to decide whether she really wanted to find the pieces she had been searching for for almost a week. She could not for the life of her figure out why she had felt so compelled to look in the first place. Ordinarily, she wasn’t obsessive about these things. She was more prone to trying to avoid taking on other people’s heartaches than gravitating toward them.

In spite of every attempt to reason the impulse away, though, she found herself pushing the door of the obviously very expensive shop open and stepping inside.

She was afraid to move for several moments after she got inside. Quite aside from the fact that there probably wasn’t a single thing in the store that was under a thousand dollars, the place was filled with antiques and she didn’t need her gift to know that they were authentic. Vibes pelted her from every direction as if the ghosts of the people who had owned the pieces drifted around her.

Taking care not to touch anything, she finally moved a little deeper into the store, glancing around for a display case that might hold jewelry.

A woman standing at a counter in roughly the center of the store had looked up when the little bell above the door jangled at Anna’s entrance. When Anna glanced at the sales clerk, she saw the woman was eyeing her suspiciously, her gaze tallying up the value of the second hand clothing she was wearing and the well worn sneakers she had on her feet.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked coldly, but politely, as if she’d already summed Anna and her wardrobe up and knew to the penny what she was worth and what she could afford to buy--nothing.

“I was--uh--looking for jewelry, actually.”

The woman’s gaze flickered over Anna skeptically.

A blush that was part embarrassment part annoyance started at Anna’s neck and climbed all the way to her hair line. She wasn’t exactly a girly girl. Her typical wardrobe consisted of a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers--or flip-flops if it was summer. The only reason she was wearing sneakers now was because she’d been out job hunting, again.

She wore no make-up--who could afford the stuff anyway?--and her hair was unfashionably long and tied behind her neck in a pony tail.

A moron could tell just by looking at her that she’d never worn a piece of jewelry of any description in her life.

“A--uh…” She hesitated. The woman wasn’t likely to believe ‘client’ but birds of a feather flocked together and ‘friend’ wasn’t going to inspire the woman to believe she was close to anyone who could afford anything in the store, let alone antique jewelry. “A woman that I work for bought a necklace. She thought there might be some other pieces that matched it and I told her I’d look around and see if I could find....”

“What sort of necklace?”

The male voice came from behind her. Deep, rich, and laden with some accent that she couldn’t quite identify, the sound sent a warm quiver of pleasure through Anna. When she turned to see the body that went with the voice, though, it was like a lightning strike.

A disorienting sense of deja`vu hit her right between the eyes at almost the same instant pure animal attraction steamrolled over her.

His regular features formed a face that was distinctly male, surprisingly attractive and strangely fierce looking all at the same time. He was tall--at least six feet--big boned and had plenty of muscle to cover all those bones if the dress shirt stretched across his broad chest was anything to go by. His dark hair was a good bit longer than was fashionable, hanging down to his shoulders in one of those shaggy looking cuts guys had worn in her foster mother’s hay day.

Strangely enough, although he looked mature, she couldn’t see anything about him that indicated he was anywhere near her foster mother’s age, however--unless it was his eyes. His eyes looked--worldly, or maybe world weary would’ve been a better description. The faint lines around them and between his brows seemed more indicative of someone who had known a lot of pain than a person who had known a lot of laughter.

As her own jolt of surprise waned, she noticed that he was looking at her strangely and that the color seemed to have drained from his face, leaving his swarthy complexion unnaturally pale.

His dark brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “Have we met?”

There was a strangely unsettling note in his voice now. Although Anna couldn’t quite put her finger on it, it made her wonder if she actually had met him before, under less than agreeable circumstances. She dismissed the feeling. Whatever it was threading his voice, it couldn’t be that. She wouldn’t have forgotten a man who looked like him, and certainly not one who she found so attractive. She’d slept with guys who didn’t have as much effect on her when they were fucking her as this guy did at ten paces.

Her imagination was just running wild, she decided, because the guy gave her heart palpitations and she wanted to believe the attraction was mutual. She shook her head. “It’s weird, though, because I felt a little deja`vu myself. I must remind you of someone else.”

He seemed to collect himself with an effort. “I suppose so,” he said slowly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Anxious to dispel the awkward silence that fell between them, she jogged her mind for her purpose in coming into the store to start with. “It’s very old--the necklace. I thought it looked medieval.”

The woman uttered a bark of disbelieving laughter. Anna glanced at her sharply, sorely tempted to say something abusive. The clerk sobered at her expression. “You’re familiar with the history of jewelry making?” she asked, exquisitely polite.

Anger surged through Anna. “It looked like a medieval period piece,” she said tightly.

“My name is Simon Weston,” the man said, drawing her attention once more. “I’m the owner of this establishment.”

When Anna glanced at him she saw he had his hand out. Without thinking, she held her own hand out, clasping his in a firm handshake.

The moment her palm touched his, a whirlwind of images slammed into her like a tidal wave. Dizziness washed over her. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned. She felt as if she had. More than a little shaken, Anna stared at his hand as if it was a snake, wondering a little wildly at first if he had something in his hand that had sent a jolt of electricity through her.

Her ‘gift’, thankfully, was generally strictly restricted to touching inanimate objects and she couldn’t always pick anything up from those. She’d received such an avalanche of images from touching his hand, though, that she hadn’t even been able to ‘see’.

Something he’d been holding, she wondered a little dazedly?

After a moment, she realized that he was studying her piercingly. She forced her lips to curl into a facsimile of a smile. “My hurt hand--forgot,” she explained, flexing her hand unconsciously.

He seemed to accept the lie but she had the sense that that was because he wasn’t really listening to the explanation she’d invented. He seemed … preoccupied with his own thoughts. “Maybe you could describe the necklace?”

Still more than a little rattled, Anna found it difficult to recall the details of the piece. “Actually,” she said apologetically, “I think I might do a better job of sketching it. Do you have a pen and paper?”

She was almost immediately sorry she’d suggested it. The automatic writing was worse than ‘seeing’. People didn’t know what was going on in her mind, but the drawing thing freaked them.

The look he gave her seemed curiously relieved, almost as if he’d been trying to figure out a way to delay her departure and was pleased that she’d made the suggestion herself. “Come on back to my office.”

Her imagination had gone wild, she decided in the next moment. He was just being polite because the woman hadn’t been--or maybe he’d decided she couldn’t possibly be as dirt poor as she looked and he didn’t want to chance losing a sale?

When they reached his office, he opened the door and pushed it open for her to proceed him. His hand brushed her back just above her spine as he ushered her in, sending a jolt through her and she skittered inside. He was frowning as he settled in his chair. Embarrassed by her skittish behavior, Anna settled nervously on the chair in front of his desk as he opened a drawer and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a pen and placed them on the desk top.

Relieved when he didn’t try to hand them to her, Anna stared at the pen uneasily for a moment and finally picked it up. To her relief, although she felt a hard jolt go through her, there were no images. The pen must be new, she decided, closing her eyes and struggling to summon the image.

Propping one elbow on the desk, she shielded her eyes with her hand, not because of the glare, but because she hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was in a trance state and drawing with her eyes closed. Summoned, the image flowed into her mind and from her mind into her hand. Her hand began the rapid stroking movements. When her hand finally ceased moving, she opened her eyes, studied the drawing to make certain she’d captured the image accurately and finally looked up at Simon Weston.

She couldn’t quite fathom the penetrating, absorbed look in his eyes, but it brought a flush of color and warmth into her cheeks as it occurred to her that he must have noticed what she’d done, despite her attempt at subterfuge.

She was beginning to get really uncomfortable under his steady gaze when finally, almost reluctantly, he transferred his gaze from her face to the piece of paper. He stared at it in silence. Slowly, his expression changed from polite interest to piercing and she realized he probably couldn’t see it that well from where he was sitting.

She handed it to him, shifting closer until she was perched on the edge of the seat. “The gems were mostly red--these tear drop shaped ones--rubies, I think. Maybe garnets, but they looked richer, like rubies. Emeralds here. Diamonds here.”

He was white faced when she looked at him again, as if he’d seen a ghost, or was laboring under some strong emotion that he was having difficulty controlling. “This friend who has this piece--what’s her name?” he asked, clearing his throat when the question came out hoarsely.

“Why?” Anna demanded before she considered whether she wanted to get on the guy’s wrong side.

She saw a flash of anger in his eyes as he narrowed them at her. It wasn’t just irritation at her tone. She realized uneasily that he’d tensed all over, as if he was about to jump to his feet--or was trying to resist the urge to. It didn’t take a great leap from there to figure out that he was working hard to resist the temptation to grab her and shake the information out of her.

He either recognized the necklace, or he knew immediately that the piece was priceless--probably the latter. He was a dealer, after all. He must know if it was even half as old as she’d guessed, dripping a fortune in precious gems that it was the sort of thing one could name pretty much any price for it.

With an obvious effort, he leaned back in his chair. Settling one arm on the chair arm, he hooked his chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger, idly stroking his lips with his third finger as he studied the drawing.

The relaxed pose didn’t make her feel a lot better. The muscle working in his jaw still denoted a lot of suppressed tension. Finally, as if he realized the only reason she hadn’t already departed was because she was too unnerved to consider leaping to her feet and running, he glanced up at her. “I’m not trying to get your finder’s fee. I just want to be sure there’s a buyer.” He tapped the paper. “This is a very valuable piece.”

Anna couldn’t prevent the hot tide that flooded her cheeks. So much for thinking he hadn’t judged the book by its cover.

His gaze flickered over her face. “So... There isn’t a buyer?” he said slowly. “This is just speculation?”

Disappointment fed her anger. She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him about Liz Bridgewater. She’d lose that customer faster than she could spit if he approached her client. She supposed, in the back of her mind, she’d been thinking Liz would buy them if she found out about them and there would be money in it for her--assuming Liz could come up with the money so quickly after the purchase she’d already made. She really hadn’t thought beyond locating the pieces, though, because she was beginning to feel really desperate to get another reading and she wasn’t going to get close enough to the necklace for another attempt.

“There’s a good chance she would buy them. She collects this sort of thing.”

“Them?”

“The earrings--if there are earrings,” she added self-consciously. “There’s always the possibility that there isn’t another piece that goes with the necklace. I was just thinking that it could be part of a set and if it was then she would probably be interested and I could make a little extra cash for helping her.”

He looked startled for a moment. “I thought you said she thought there might be something that matched.”

Anna reddened again. The big problem with making things up as you went along was trying to remember the last lie. Unfortunately, it was usually duress that inspired her to lie, which meant that she wasn’t in a state of mind conducive to remembering the little details. “That’s what I meant. She thought so and I figured I’d just look around.”

Dropping the paper onto the desk, he picked up a letter opener from his desk and began toying with it, twirling the point in the center of one palm. “And now you think that there might be earrings?”

“Or a bracelet.”

His brows rose, but she could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe that lie. He pointed at the drawing with the tip of the letter opener. “That appears to be a very valuable piece and, if it’s anywhere near as old as you seem to think, it’s unlikely there would be anything else--certainly not now, but its doubtful that there ever was.”

Frustration surfaced at his dismissive attitude and caution went out the window. “There was and there is, maybe not around here, but its part of a set.”

“You seem very certain--now,” he said slowly, studying the letter opener again.

Anna forced a smile and stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Obviously you haven’t seen anything like it or you wouldn’t be questioning me.”

He tensed when she got up, but remained where he was. “Why the rush?”

Anna shrugged uncomfortably. “I just don’t want to take up anymore of your time.”

He smiled, a slow curling of his lips that completely transformed his harsh features once it reached his eyes and not only demolished what little remained of Anna’s composure, but totally obliterated every other thought from her mind.

Her belly clenched in response. He had a beautiful smile. It lit up his whole face and transformed him from attractive to stunning.

It stunned her anyway. Like waving a magic wand, poof, she was transformed instantly from a reasonably intelligent individual to a blithering, hassling idiot.

“Do I look like I’m complaining?” His gaze, as it flickered over her, was blatantly sensual, almost like a caress. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it,” Anna snapped, wincing inwardly, and then dismissed her caustic reaction. He wasn’t interested in her, she reminded herself. He was interested in the damned necklace.

He looked taken aback for a moment. His smile vanished, a tinge of color creeping into his cheeks. He seemed to wrestle with himself for several moments, but finally his determination to keep her from slipping completely through his fingers overcame his pique at having his overture snubbed. “Why don’t you leave me your name and phone number? If I run across anything I’ll give you a call.”

Disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach, which was stupid since she hadn’t fallen for the ‘flirting’ anyway, but the suggestion made it obvious his focus was the pursuit of a big sale, eliminating any possibility that his interest in her was personal. “I don’t have a phone.”

His look was one of patent disbelief, but he couldn’t prevent another fluctuation of color in his cheeks, belying his attempt to appear merely surprised, but not terribly disturbed. She supposed in this day and age when almost everyone walked around with a phone stuck in their ear it was hard to believe, but she didn’t need one, and she couldn’t afford one, and she didn’t have the credit to get a phone even if the first two hadn’t been true.

He studied the letter opener frowningly. “I’m going to a show day after tomorrow. Why don’t you stop in again later in the week and I’ll let you know if I run across anything like you’ve described?”

Anna didn’t even consider it. She didn’t have to because she had no intention of coming back. “Sure.”

* * * *

The drone of the priest’s voice grew distant as she stared up at the man she would soon be bound to for life. Her gaze was focused more inward than on the man in front of her though. She was trembling inside and struggling with the effort to keep it there, to calm herself before she disgraced both of them by fainting dead away right in the middle of the ceremony like a fearful virgin. It was hard to say whether she was more excited by the prospect of becoming his wife or more terrified.

She had not objected to the match, but she was no longer entirely convinced that she’d made the right decision. He was wealthy and powerful. As his wife, the wife of a man already in great favor with the king, she would hold a position that put her firmly with the upper echelons of power, and she wanted that. She wasn’t nearly as certain that she wanted the man that went with the title and wealth and power.

Physically, he was not unattractive. He was, in point of fact, unusually well favored, his features strong, well formed, and sharply defined, his skin free of pock marks or scars. He not only had all of his teeth, but they were white, not blackened and broken and disgusting. He was tall, broad of shoulder, and powerfully built, as was to be expected of a man who had become a warrior of such note.

He was not old, and not repulsive in either his manners or person.

The way he looked at her filled her with both excitement and dread, for she knew his mind was on the marriage bed.

She decided finally that she was dissatisfied because he unnerved her, and because she felt, somehow, as if she had been tricked.

It was Elspeth’s fault, she decided irritably. She had been against the match the moment she’d heard of it. She had already accepted her father’s first choice, had grown accustomed to the idea of being Bainbridge’s wife, and had begun to look forward to it. The discovery that her wishes were immaterial had infuriated her to the point that she’d set out to dislike Westmoreland before he had even come to offer for her.

Elspeth had mooned over him like a sick calf, though. Her excitement about him had been contagious and before she’d even realized it, she’d begun to consider what it would be like to have her place usurped by a younger sister, about the fact that Elspeth would have a higher ranking among the aristocracy.

She was the eldest. It was her right and duty to marry well.

It hadn’t dawned on her until she’d come to stand before the priest that by ‘winning’ the prize for herself, she was very likely handing Bainbridge over to her sister.

That thought made it very difficult to find any pleasure in her current position and she couldn’t help but wonder if Elspeth had intentionally tricked her because she’d really wanted Bainbridge for herself all along.

She’d seen the way Elspeth looked at Dafydd. She wasn’t fooled. Elspeth always coveted whatever she had.

She was brought abruptly from her thoughts as the priest’s voice petered to a halt and Lord Westmoreland reached for her. Panic went through her for just a moment. Ruthlessly, she quelled it, lifting her lips for the kiss of peace and trying not to think about the fact that it sealed her fate forever.

* * * *

Anna felt like death warmed over when she woke. She pushed herself upright with an effort, rubbing her aching chest, wondering at the emotions that still clung to her when the images were fading so rapidly she wasn’t certain what the dream had been about. Had it been merely a dream, or visions spawned by her encounter with the necklace?

Confusion filled her as she struggled to recall the details, any specific facet of the dream. She could only grasp bits and pieces of it now, but from what she did remember of the dream it seemed it must have been around the same time period.

Shrugging it off after a moment, she went into the bathroom to perform her morning ritual, but she still felt like pure hell when she emerged. When she’d scratched through her stash of filched condiments, she found one packet of instant coffee and one of cream substitute--no sugar. Sighing in resignation, she put water on to heat and sprawled face down on the bed again to wait for it to boil.

She had not had one decent night’s sleep since she’d touched that twice damned necklace and she was no longer certain if anything she was dreaming was actually attached to the piece. She was beginning to suspect, in fact, that it was just the aftereffects of too powerful a jolt to her psyche, nightmares spawned by the true images and not things that had ever really happened.

It was taking a toll on her though, the restless nights. She stayed tired, and worse, her eyes looked bruised from her disturbed rest. She had a bad feeling that between the dark circles under her eyes and her thinness everybody that looked at her immediately decided she was a junky. She had not managed to find a job despite every effort. She had tried everything within a reasonable walking distance, including the ‘shooting galleries’, the convenience stores she usually avoided because she really didn’t like the idea of trying to earn a living while dodging bullets. Either they weren’t hiring, or it was a place she’d already worked for in the past and they weren’t willing to give her another chance.

And she only had a couple of weeks before her insurance was due. Even if she managed to land a job next week, the chances were slim that she’d get enough time in to cover the premium before they canceled it.

That was probably the root of her nightmares, not the necklace, but the sense of doom that was hanging over her.

Hearing the hiss and sizzle of boiling water, she rolled off the bed and went to make a small cup of coffee. She needed something strong and one packet wasn’t going to get her the high she needed if she filled the cup with water.

Her weak morning stomach nearly rebelled at the concoction, but she nursed it down, mulling over her problem.

She’d discovered the show Simon Weston had spoken of was being held at the auditorium at the fairgrounds--at least she supposed it was the one he’d mentioned. There was one, anyway, maybe the one he’d spoken of and maybe not.

It was too far to walk, though. It would take her so long to get there the show would be over before she’d walked that far to say nothing of the fact that she would then have to turn around and walk the streets at night to get back to her apartment.

She could use some of her precious gas, or buy public transportation to get her most of the way there--but then she’d have to buy a ticket to get in unless she could figure out a way to sneak in.

Grabbing up her jeans off the floor, she dug in the pants pocket and counted her money. She still had close to sixteen dollars.

“I have lost my mind!” she exclaimed abruptly. “Sixteen dollars to my name and I’m thinking about going to a frigging antique show instead of looking for money!”

She didn’t know where else to look, though. As hard as she’d tried to avoid thinking about the fact that she’d hit a brick wall and didn’t know which way to turn, she was at her wits end. She’d divided her time between job hunting and ‘touching base’ with all three of her other ‘clients’ in the hope that they might want her for something and had come up with zilch.

She didn’t know now whether her desperation was internal or external or a combination of the two. She didn’t know if she was desperately wanting to go to the show or just frantic to avoid thinking about a problem that didn’t seem to have a solution.

Lying in bed feeling sorry for herself certainly wasn’t going to help.

Coming to a decision, she dragged out her ‘best’ jeans and the dress blouse acquired for job hunting and pulled them on.

She just hoped she wouldn’t run into Simon Weston, or if she did that he wouldn’t recognize the clothes she’d been wearing when she went into his shop. When she’d combed her long, dark hair, she studied it in the mirror, realizing it had gotten really long since the last time she’d trimmed it. It was almost to her waist. She needed a hair cut. She wasn’t much of a hair dresser, though, and it would probably look worse if she hacked it off than better. Sighing irritably at her urge to primp, she gathered the hair back and wound a rubber band around it to secure it at the base of her skull.

Neat was going to have to do the trick.

It had been a long time since she’d been attracted enough to a man to worry about her appearance, but since she ordinarily didn’t spend as much thought on it, she had to admit that she was more than half hoping she might get another glimpse of him.

The thought alone was enough to make her belly clench spasmodically.

Unfortunately, she was a long way from tempting a man like that. She looked like one of those religious nuts that thought it was sinful to cut their hair or wear makeup.

She decided after a moment that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. As an explanation for her appearance it sounded better than poverty stricken. If she did meet him, and the opportunity presented itself, she’d claim her religious views prohibited adorning herself.

That wasn’t going to help her get into the show, though. She knew she didn’t look like anybody that could possibly have any business there, but she decided she would at least give it a shot. If nothing else, maybe it would take her mind off of her troubles for a little while.

After a brief debate, she decided to take the car. If she didn’t figure out a way to come up with some money, it wasn’t going to matter whether the tank was empty or not. She still wouldn’t be able to drive it out to Ms. Bridgewater’s place ‘in a few weeks’ without the risk of ending up in jail for driving without insurance.

She was already damp with sweat by the time she managed to get the car started and chugged out of the parking lot. It coughed as she pulled into traffic, threatening to die and almost getting her creamed by a driver who seemed to think he could run her over and come through the accident unscathed. Instead of slowing down, he swerved into the next lane and laid down on his horn, glaring at her and mouthing obscenities.

“Like the fucking car is going to run better if you honk at it,” she yelled at him out of her window.

The parking lot at the fairgrounds was packed Anna discovered with a start of surprise. It cost her five dollars to park for half a day and she had to park about two miles from the entrance. She would’ve backed out and left right then except that there were four cars lined up behind her by the time she found out it would cost so much to park.

Grumbling, Anna drove up and down until she found a spot, parked her heap of junk between a Mercedes and a high end SUV and got out. Finding a vantage point, she cased the place, watching the security moving back and forth around the entrance and the people passing in and out of the gate. There was a narrow strip on one side that was wooded, but it was cleared well back from the fence that surrounded the grounds. A paved road ran along the other side. On the opposite side of the road from the fair grounds were the steel buildings of a small industrial park. One of them had a field of storage buildings. After a few moments, she moseyed over in that direction, pretending to look the storage buildings over as she wandered down that side of the park, glancing occasionally toward the fairgrounds.

There was a break in the fence just behind the auditorium. As she watched, a door at the rear of the building opened and a half a dozen people spilled out, heading toward the flea market that had been set up behind the auditorium. Crossing the street, she headed for the break, peered around to make certain no one was looking in her direction and pushed through. A jagged wire protruding from the broken links in the fence tore a two inch hole in the leg of her jeans and gouged her leg.

Ignoring the pain, she strode boldly around the building and stopped at the first stall, pretending an interest in the assortment of junk displayed, tensed to run if anyone questioned her presence.

When no one strode up and seized her, she shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and sauntered along the dirt path between the stalls until she found a break, then turned and headed back toward the auditorium.

She ran into trouble the minute she pulled the rear door of the auditorium open.

“I need to see your ticket stub.”

Anna looked up at the man guarding the back door assessingly and felt around in her pockets. She frowned. “I thought I put it in my pocket.” Pulling her hands out, she made a show of searching her back pockets. “I guess I dropped it,” she added after a moment.

His look was plainly disbelieving. “I can’t let you in without one.”

“Back in, you mean,” Anna said tightly. “Look, I already paid one time. You mean to say I’m going to have to pay again to get back in?”

“I didn’t see you go out.”

“Maybe because I went out that door over there?”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Like you would when this place is packed! Exactly what does that mean?”

“It means I can’t say you had a ticket before and since I can’t I’m not letting you in.”

People were looking at them, but Anna had expected it and she didn’t care. She was willing to stand there all day and wrangle with the guy if necessary, because she knew if she yielded and let him escort her out she wasn’t going to get another chance. He’d watch her and she would’ve wasted her gas for nothing.

“What seems to be the problem?”

The deep male voice was familiar. It sent a combination of pleasure and dismay through Anna in equal measure. When she glanced up, she saw without surprise that it was Simon Weston.

He looked even better than she remembered and the scent of his aftershave that wafted past her nose was enough to make her warm and wet all by itself. It took an effort to direct her mind back to the problem at hand. “I lost my ticket stub and this jerk won’t let me back in,” she lied.

“I’m not allowed to let her in unless she shows a stub.”

Simon shook his head, smiling faintly. “I knew you’d get into trouble. Didn’t I tell you you had to keep up with the ticket if you were going to go outside?”

Digging into his pants pocket, he produced a money clip holding a roll of bills big enough to choke a horse and peeled off a twenty, handing it to the guard.

The guard looked at it doubtfully. “She has to get another ticket.”

All pretense of good humor vanished from Simon’s expression. “I’m an exhibitor. I shouldn’t have to pay for my workers anyway. I certainly don’t have time to spare standing in line at the ticket booth.”

The guard studied him uneasily and finally nodded. “She should be wearing a badge then.”

Ignoring the comment, Simon caught her wrist and turned away, hauling her with him.

Anna didn’t even think to protest. She hadn’t managed to come to grips with her libido when he’d stunned her by coming to her rescue. Even worse, the moment his hand had closed around her wrist she was hit with such a disorienting barrage of images that she could do nothing but stumble blindly along in his wake, fighting the dizziness. The murmur of hundreds of voices, the closed in feel of being a room so filled with people and objects only added to her confusion.

At last, he stopped, pushing her down in a chair. She closed her eyes, relieved beyond measure but still feeling faintly ill.

“You’ve hurt yourself,” he murmured.

She realized he’d squatted down in front of her only when she felt his fingers examining the tear in her jeans.

A jolt went through her as she felt one finger trace the flesh around the scratch lightly.

She jerked upright, pushing his hand away, trying a little frantically to remember if she’d shaved her legs. “It’s nothing, really.”

He studied her frowningly. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

Not from the scratch. “I just feel a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“When did you eat last?”

Embarrassment flooded Anna’s cheeks with color. She glared at him. “I’m fine. I appreciate you helping me out back there, but I’m fine.”

He grabbed her wrist, shoving her shirt sleeve up and examining her arm thoroughly before he released it and examined her other arm. By the time he’d finished, Anna had realized what he was looking for--needle tracks. Between vexation and disappointment, the urge to cry tightened her throat. “I’m not a user. Want to check between my toes? The crack of my ass?” she added with calculated crudity so angry with herself for being stupid enough to think he might be even vaguely interested in her that she wanted to convince him that she was just as trashy as he seemed to believe.

“You look like warmed over death,” he ground out.

“Go to hell!”

“I’ve been there,” he muttered. He seemed to tamp his anger with an effort. “What are you doing here?”

Anna folded her lips and crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t think that falls under the heading of your business.”

“Wrong.”

Surprise flickered through her.

He glanced away and for the first time Anna noticed the woman from the shop was watching them, her arms folded over her chest, a look of disapproval on her face.

“Watch the booth. I’m going to grab a bite to eat over at the food court.”

He didn’t ask Anna if she wanted to go. He pulled her to her feet and planted one of his ham sized hands in the middle of her back, guiding her away from the booth. Even through her shirt his hand seemed to singe her skin. Her stomach twisted into a hard knot and stayed that way.

It was some relief that she was not pelted with images again, but not much.

What had she been thinking? It was insane to want anything to do with the man, she chided herself. He handled antiques all the time. She wouldn’t have been able to get within a mile of him without being inundated with images even if there’d been an opportunity.

The moment the smell of food wafted past her nose, her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud snarl. Simon sent her an amused glance. “So, you are hungry.”

“It would’ve been a lot more polite to pretend you didn’t hear that,” Anna muttered resentfully.

His smile disappeared. “That was uncouth, wasn’t it?” he said tightly, guiding her to a chair and releasing her. “What would you like?”

“I’m not hungry actually.”

“And you weren’t gate crashing either, I suppose?”

She sent him an indignant glance. “If that’s what you thought, why did you help me?”

His gaze flickered over her assessingly. Placing his palms on the table he’d sat her at, he leaned toward her. “You and I both know you had no intention of showing up at my shop again. An opportunity presented itself. I took it. Now, what would you like to eat?”

Anna studied him uneasily. As tempting as it was to simply go with the flow and take the offered meal, the guy unnerved the hell out of her. “Why don’t you pick?” she said finally.

His eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, until his mouth was near her ear. “Don’t make me hunt you. You wouldn’t like it.”

 

Chapter Three

 

Despite the threat, Anna watched Simon as he moved toward the vendors selling food. The moment she saw that his attention was focused on the server, she got out of the chair and walked quickly toward the sign she saw that indicated the restrooms. She glanced back as she reached the edge of the serving area and, to her horror, her gaze locked with his.

Whirling, she moved faster. Her mind was chaotic, but she realized that if she could just reach the lady’s room before he could catch up to her he wasn’t likely to follow her inside. She could worry about what to do after that once she shook him.

She had barely turned down the corridor that led down to the restrooms when she was jerked to a halt by a hand closing around one arm. Grasping her other arm when she turned, he pushed her back until she came up against a hard wall.

“No more games,” Simon growled. “Tell me how you know about the earrings.”

Anna stared up at him in dismay, realizing instantly that he hadn’t even questioned if the earrings actually existed. Had she stumbled upon the seller, she wondered a little wildly?

She didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

Truth be told, she was having a very hard time even focusing on what he’d asked her. He had effectively caged her, using his broad hands and muscled arms as barriers on either side of her shoulders, his body in front, and the wall behind her back. His body touched hers no where, and yet she could feel him almost as surely as if he were pressed tightly against her. His aura constricted her lungs in her chest, tightened around her heart, making her dizzy and tingly over every inch of her skin. His heat and scent enveloped her, adding to her distress, causing a rush of desire through her that was far more overwhelming and unnerving than the anger etched on his harsh features.

“Don’t touch me,” she gasped as he swayed closer, feeling fear surge to the surface at the threat of contact. She didn’t know what it was about him that created such a maelstrom of images inside her mind, but she had no desire to experience it again. “I can’t bear it.”

Something flickered in his eyes. His face paled.

He did not move away.

“Then tell me and I will withdraw.”

She saw that he had misunderstood and distress filled her, but she realized almost at once that it was just as well. She hadn’t meant to insult him. She had spoken thoughtlessly, without consideration for how it would sound to him, but it was true, nevertheless. As attractive as she found him on a physical and mental level--even chemical--psychically he terrified her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said shakily.

“Try me.”

“It’s the gift.”

He frowned, looking puzzled now, though she could see anger still simmered just below the surface. “The gift?”

“Or curse, depending upon the circumstances. I see--things. When I touch an object sometimes there are very strong emotions linked to it. Then, I see the act that created the emotion--sometimes. Sometimes other things. I don’t know any other way to explain it.”

His look was plainly disbelieving, leaving no doubt in her mind that he wasn’t the sort of man that entertained the possibility that there were unseen forces that surrounded the known world. She didn’t know whether to be more relieved or sorry when he removed his hands from the wall and straightened.

She was accustomed to the look. She hated it, which was why she had such a small clientele and lived on the verge of financial disaster. She didn’t like telling people. They almost always treated her like she was a nut case. Sometimes, much more rarely, they actually believed her and then that was almost worse. Then they either looked at her like she was some sort of demon or they followed her around worshipfully.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate her gift. She did. She just hated the way people reacted to it.

“So--you saw that earrings were a part of the set?”

She could tell just by his tone of voice that he meant she’d made an educated guess. She didn’t know why it seemed important to disabuse him of that misconception --maybe it was just because she couldn’t bear to think he would dismiss her as a nut case. “She was a bride,” she said as he turned away.

He paused, went rigid.

“I saw him place the necklace around her throat and then he held out his hand and in his palm was a pair of matching earrings. But her ears weren’t pierced, so he couldn’t put them on her. She asked him to, but he couldn’t bring himself to give her pain, or mar her beautiful flesh by piercing it even with something as lovely as the earrings he had paid a king’s ransom for.”

He was white faced when he turned to look at her again, but the disbelief had vanished. In its place was something else, something she couldn’t quite interpret.

“You saw all of this?” he asked, his voice strangely hoarse.

Uneasiness filtered into her again at his reaction. “It’s sort of like dreaming in some ways. I see things that happened in the past. A lot of the times the images are blurry and unclear, but I feel things, too, like you do sometimes in a dream where you just know some things even though you don’t know why or how you know them. I--knew it when I took the necklace. The images weren’t very clear, but some of it I saw, some I--just felt.”

He studied her curiously and finally raked his hair back absently. “Let me buy you something to eat.”

Anna shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t take hand outs.”

His lips pursed. “It isn’t a hand out. Call it a date.”

“I don’t like being obligated either. What am I going to be expected to do to pay for it?”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “I’m not looking to get laid. Even if I was, you aren’t my type.”

She’d asked for it with her snippy remark, but the retaliation still stung. “I didn’t know men had a ‘type’ other than male or female,” she snapped.

To her surprise, the anger in his eyes faded and amusement took its place. “We can talk.”

Anna glanced down the corridor toward the line at the restroom. When she looked at Simon again, she could see he had tensed. “Fine.”

Anna almost choked on the drool that pooled in her mouth when Simon set a plate brimming with food in front of her. She wasn’t a vegetarian by choice but by necessity. She hadn’t seen that much meat in one place in a while and it was an effort to remember her manners and not dig in and start wolfing the food down immediately.

“So--tell me about this gift of yours.”

Anna swallowed the mouthful of chicken with an effort. “What do you want to know about it?”

“Have you always had it? Or was it something traumatic that brought it out?”

“Like a near death experience? No. I don’t remember when I couldn’t do it … which is probably one of the reasons I never got adopted. I was always weird.”

His brows rose questioningly. “You have no one?”

She sent him a sharp glance. The question made her uneasy, but she’d already opened her big mouth. Caution had gone right out the window the moment she’d focused on the food. “A few foster brothers and sisters. We keep in touch.”

She could tell from the look on his face he knew she was lying.

“How does it work?”

“I don’t summon it if that’s what you’re asking. It happens or it doesn’t.”

“Happens?”

She sighed, more than a little irritated by his determination to pursue the subject. She hadn’t pegged him for a paranormal fan and she didn’t think he was. She was more inclined to think he was patronizing her. “When I touch things.”

“That must make your life … difficult.”

She glanced at him in surprise at his insight. No one had ever considered how hard it might be for her to deal with it. “Extremely.” She didn’t elaborate. She’d begun to realize he was working his way toward something specific, that he had no real interest in her--past, present, or future.

“Things? Not people?”

Surprised again, she frowned. “Things,” she said slowly. “I’ve never had a reaction to touching anybody before.”

“Before?”

She flicked a glance at him, keeping her expression blank with an effort. “What?”

“You said before. You’ve never had a reaction to touching anybody before. Was that why you didn’t want me to touch you?”

She shrugged. “I meant I haven’t, ever. And I almost never get anything off of objects unless they’re old.”

He didn’t fall for it. She was fairly certain he didn’t actually believe in her gift at all, but he didn’t disbelieve either, and she could see he was wondering if she’d ‘read’ him. She could also see he didn’t like the idea that she might have.

Her mind leapt back to the suspicion that he might have been the one that had sold Liz the necklace.

He nodded. “That could be inconvenient,” he murmured.

The comment aroused her curiosity and her wariness. “How?”

“If you saw things when you touched people. It would make a relationship difficult.”

Maybe that was what had bothered him, and maybe not. “I already said it doesn’t work with people.”

“So you did.”

Silence fell. Simon broke it when she finally pushed her plate away. “This woman you did a reading for....”

She’d seen that one coming a mile off! She didn’t fall for the pregnant pause, though. “My client.”

He seemed amused by the term, which she found offensive. What was she supposed to call them, anyway?

“You have a lot of--clients?”

Smart ass! “A few regulars,” she said stiffly.

“What do you do besides that?”

“When I’m not playing Madame Linstrom, you mean?”

“You are touchy on the subject.”

“Maybe because I don’t feel like I’ve got anything to prove to you?”

“Maybe because you do?”

Anna’s lips tightened. “Thanks for lunch. I have to be going.”

“To look for the earrings? That’s why you’re here, right?” He leaned forward. “This place is swarming with security. You couldn’t even get in the door. Do you honestly think you could steal something like that and get away with it?”

Anna surged to her feet as rage worked its way through her. She planted her palms on the table and leaned toward him until they were almost nose to nose. “You are a total asshole!” she growled. “I didn’t come to steal anything. Just because somebody’s poor it doesn’t automatically follow that they’re a damned thief!”

He sat back in his seat, studying her. “What are you doing here then? Not looking for me.”

“You are so full of yourself! Is that what you thought?” she gasped, indignant that he seemed well aware of her attraction to him.

“Unfortunately, no.”

She glanced away from him. “I just wanted to touch them, ok? Not steal. I’ve got no use for anything like that and I’ve spent all the time in jail I want to.”

“What were you arrested for?”

“Not what you’re thinking!” Anna snapped.

His brows rose. “You read minds, too?”

She sighed, rubbing her head absently. “Knowing things I shouldn’t,” she finally said tiredly.

He digested that in silence for several moments. “It sounds like a troublesome ‘gift’ all the way around.”

“Hey, we were all young and stupid once,” Anna said irritably. “That was juvy. I don’t have a record anymore. I learned my lesson. I just keep my mouth shut now, whatever I see.”

His gaze flickered over her. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“You’re not much more than a kid, now.”

That was a slap in the face. Here she’d been panting over the guy and he was dismissing her as a kid? “I was never a kid. I was just under aged.”

“So--age is a relative thing?” he said, smiling faintly.

Anna began snatching up their trash and putting it on the tray. “I guess. Let’s just say I don’t have much in common with most of the people my age.”

“I doubt you’ve got much in common with many people of any age.”

He was probably right, but it still smarted. Ignoring it, she carried the tray to the trash can and emptied it. She discovered when she’d stacked the tray that he’d followed her.

“Want to take a walk and have a look around?”

It was a sad thing that she did want to, no matter how uncomfortable she was around him, or how uneasy he made her, or how certain she was that his interest wasn’t in her at all but in her client and the damned jewelry. She was almost as hungry for company as she was starved for food. She wanted to spurn his peace offering, but there was just no getting around the fact that the guy fascinated her. “Why not?” she asked almost flippantly. “I was going to anyway.”

She jumped when his hand closed around her arm just above the elbow. Frowning, he released her, gesturing toward the row of booths at the front of the auditorium. Shoving her hands into her pockets she followed him, slightly to the rear. After glancing around at her a couple of times, he slowed his steps to match hers. The first place they stopped at had a display of antique furnishings, mostly smaller pieces of furniture and various household items. Simon paused to examine a sideboard, opening the drawers and doors and examining the joints. There was a display of china set out on top.

When he’d finished, he straightened and glanced at her. “What do you think?”

Surprised, Anna merely looked at him for several moments. Shrugging, she turned and trailed her fingers along the surface of the wood and then touched the pattern on one of the plates.

“Nothing?”

Anna glanced from Simon to the proprietor, who was watching them. Crooking her finger at him, she waited until he leaned down. “Reproductions,” she said in a quiet voice near his ear.

He was frowning when he straightened away from her. After glancing cursorily at a few other pieces he touched her lightly on the back, urging her to the walk once more. The next booth had stacks of old comic books, magazines and rows of old leather bound books. Ignoring the display, Simon continued along the isle until they reached another display similar to the first except that the furnishings were obviously European. Without a word, he gestured for her to precede him, trailing closely behind her as she moved from one piece to the next. Keenly aware of his warmth behind her, Anna found it a little difficult to concentrate on the pieces.

She wouldn’t have touched the bed if she hadn’t been distracted. A shock went through her the moment she did. Images flooded her mind. She snatched her hand back.

Simon was looking at her thoughtfully when she glanced up at him. She reddened.

“You saw something.”

Anna’s face reddened even more. “Uh--not really.”

A slow smile curled his lips. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Liar.”

She bit her lip, trying to refrain from smiling back at him. “It’s from a brothel.”

His eyes darkened as he gazed at her. “Anything interesting you’d like to share?”

The question surprised a chuckle out of her. “You don’t want the gory details, believe me.”

“Proof positive that you don’t read minds.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “I’ll never tell.”

“That interesting? That is intriguing. Remind me never to let you near my bed.”

Anna sent him a sharp glance.

“Pathetic. It would just be sad.”

She burst out laughing and covered her mouth to muffle the sound.

“Don’t do that--not when I humiliated myself just hear you laugh.”

Her laughter died as she stared up into his eyes. Warmth flickered to life inside of her. Her belly tightened. Swallowing, Anna looked away with an effort.

“Now that we’re out of listening range, tell me what you thought,” Simon prodded as they left the booth and strolled along the isle once more.

Anna glanced at him. “By our standards, they’re all antiques--so they should be pretty valuable here. I expect most Europeans would just consider them ‘used’. Nothing he had was more than a couple of hundred years old at the most.”

“You are either amazingly intuitive, imaginative--or there is something to this strange tale of yours,” Simon said thoughtfully

“And you aren’t certain which it is?”

He seemed to consider it for several moments. “I’m not sure it matters. I think you would be an asset.”

Anna looked at him in surprise. “An asset?”

“What would you say if I offered you a job working for me?”

Anna stopped abruptly. “You aren’t serious.”

“Don’t I look serious?”

Frowning, Anna started walking again, resisting the urge to flee when it occurred to her that he might be offering because he felt sorry for her. “This isn’t--because you think I need the job?”

He shrugged. “There wouldn’t be much point in offering if you already had one, but no, not entirely. This is a tough business. Anything that can give one an edge over competitors is certainly worth having.”

She thought that over for a few minutes. “I can’t always tell anything. It’s not something I have any control over.”

“Still.”

She glanced at him a couple of times, but she knew she couldn’t afford to turn down any offer at all, whatever his reasons. Regardless, she felt she had to warn him. “Sometimes my reaction is--unnerving to people.”

“I’ve got a counter girl. I would want you working behind the scenes with me.”

She rubbed her temple. “Simon...” Breaking off, she glanced at him self-consciously. “I meant to say Mr. Weston.”

“Simon.”

“I don’t have a regular job because I have ‘spells’ and it totally freaks people out. You’ll freak, too.”

“I’ll struggle not to,” he said dryly. “I don’t ‘freak’ easily.”

Anna bit her lip, tempted to smile at the image of Simon in a blind panic. Somehow, she couldn’t envision it. “When do I start?”

“Today. You can help me find the choice pieces I want to acquire here.”

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

She looked at him uncomfortably. “What does the job pay?”

“Time plus commission,” he said promptly, all business. “If you find something of great value, and I make a good profit on it, you get fifteen percent.”

She was relieved that he’d offered what seemed to her a reasonable percentage. That meant he wasn’t angling for anything else, she felt sure, and she wouldn’t have to quibble over her pay. Not that she would have anyway.

She nodded. “All right.”

“Do you think, since we’ll be working together, you could tell me your name?”

She immediately remembered she’d snubbed him when he’d asked before. She smiled at him a little sheepishly. “Anna Linstrom.”

He looked away. “We’ll go to the booth and give Cheryl a break before we get started.”

Cheryl, Anna discovered without a great deal of surprise, wasn’t thrilled when she learned that Anna would be working with them. Anna hoped that didn’t mean that she was going to be waging a ‘fire Anna’ campaign behind her back, but she didn’t have a lot of faith that it didn’t.

When she’d gone, Anna sat down on the stool in the rear of the booth, watching Simon. She knew she should be busy, or trying to look busy, but she couldn’t think of anything to do. “I didn’t think to ask what I should wear.”

He glanced back at her, his gaze flickering over her. “Jeans will do.”

“That’s a relief. Is there anything I should be doing?”

He looked around the booth speculatively and finally shook his head. “There’ll be plenty for you to do when Cheryl gets back.”

Nodding, Anna sat quietly for a while, merely studying him as he moved around the booth. He was a big man. She hadn’t just imagined it because she’d felt intimidated by him. She wondered if he’d played football. He sort of had that beefy build like men who ran interference as human shields, not that she had ever actually seen a football player in person. “Where are you from, originally, I mean?”

He glanced toward her. She had a feeling that he was surprised, but it didn’t show in his expression. “What makes you think I’m not from around here?”

“The accent.”

He didn’t seem that pleased that she’d noticed. “English.”

“No kidding! Cool! But you’re American now, right?”

Obviously torn between amusement and irritation, he merely nodded. Anna took that to mean he didn’t welcome her prying into his personal life and kept her other questions to herself. Unfortunately, her interest didn’t wane. She knew he had a right to question her as a potential employee, which was why she hadn’t tried to hide anything about her past. He’d have found out most of it just by checking on her. The reverse wasn’t true, though. She did not have the right to know about her employer.

She decided it was just as well. There was probably no surer way to screw up a job than to get involved personally with the boss and she needed a job and money a lot worse than she needed to get laid--of course it was pretty obvious he wasn’t interested in her anyway.

She found herself studying him for clues about his age, though. Thirty something, she finally decided, mid to late, probably since he’d referred to her as a kid and she doubted he would have been thinking like that if he’d been in his late twenties or early thirties. Besides, he looked mature, not old, but not young either, and then there was the lucrative business he had. She figured it would have taken a while to build it up, unless he’d inherited it and that didn’t seem likely at all since he’d said he wasn’t born in the U.S.

She’d only just managed to dismiss him from her mind and turned her thoughts to trying to decide what she was going to do with her money when Cheryl returned from her break.

The remainder of the day was a blur. By late afternoon she was beginning to regret her decision to work for him. She wasn’t used to dealing with so much at one time and she had a couple of really nasty encounters that made her feel downright ill, a flat iron that had been used as a murder weapon and a trunk that had been used to move a body.

She’d had to make a dash to the restroom to puke after the last encounter. Simon was waiting outside when she made it out again. After one look at her face, he’d caught her arm and ushered her outside.

“What was that all about? You’re not pregnant?”

Anna gaped at him in total shock for several moments before outrage surfaced. “Not unless it’s the longest pregnancy on record!” she snapped. “Because I haven’t been laid in--well I don’t remember the last time, damn it, but it’s been a long time. No, I am not pregnant. I can’t touch these things without feeling it, too. I told you.”