THE KEEP WAS built of lavender stone, cut in perfect rectangular bricks, set together seamlessly to form the tallest tower in the world. As Amy wound up the spiral staircase she paused at an arched window to look out.
Ferocious, fire-breathing, terrifying…the dragon lumbered closer, its heavy tread making the earth shudder. She ran up and up, a burning stitch in her side, but came no nearer the top.
Papa was up there. She had to get to him.
The dragon let out an earsplitting roar, breathing its red and yellow and blue fire through a window. She pressed herself against the wall as flames raced past her up the winding steps, in a thick burning line toward the top where Papa waited.
When it seemed as though neither her legs nor her lungs would hold out for one more step, she finally reached the top—but Papa was gone. In his place sat a skeleton, and it was on fire. It reclined in Papa’s favorite chair, holding an oval-framed picture, its feet bones resting on a bolster. Flames shot from its skeleton eye sockets and between its bare skeleton ribs.
The dragon’s roar shook the tower. Its glittering eyes looked straight into Amy’s before it bent its head and breathed fire into the stairwell. Red and yellow and orange flames burned a path all the way to her right hand. Her hand was on fire, burning brightly, and it started up her arm…
She screamed for help, but nobody came.
IT SOUNDED as though someone were in the castle, attacking Amy in the bedchamber next door.
His heart pounding, Colin leapt from the couch, struggled into his breeches, grabbed his knife from the desk and his rapier off the floor. Blades at the ready, he burst into the bedchamber, where Amy thrashed wildly in his bed.
Alone.
He could scarcely imagine what demons could cause such a nightmare.
He tossed the weapons into a corner and launched himself onto the bed with a force that nearly sent Amy over the other side.
“Amy, wake up!” He shook her frantically. “It’s naught but a dream. Wake up! You’re all right.”
AMY HEARD her own cries and struggled through her fog into reality, her screams turning into deep, wrenching sobs.
“Hush, it’s over.” Colin pulled her into his arms. The quilt, which she’d thrown off during her nightmare, slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, pressed her wet face into his warm chest. He rubbed her back through her chemise in a slow, soothing rhythm, murmuring to her all the while.
At last she calmed enough to pull away. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she sat up and stared at her right hand in disbelief.
“It was burning…”
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head, remembering both the real pain from her old injury and the many-times-magnified pain of the dream. But the sensation now was just the fading tingle of memory, and the hand was fine, not the skeleton fingers she’d been half-expecting to see.
“No, it doesn’t hurt at all.” She dropped her hand to the bed, still staring at it by the light of the dying fire. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I thought you were being attacked.” He laughed shakily and stood up. “I ran in here with my sword, ready to defend you. I’m not sure I’d have been a very effective warrior.”
“Oh.” She looked up, her gaze landing on his chest, which looked bronze in the shimmering firelight. A thin white scar, long since healed, made a diagonal slash across his left upper arm. She wondered fleetingly what had caused it. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. Why, he was nearly bare, clad in naught but a pair of unfashionably snug breeches. And here she sat, wearing only her thin chemise…
In an instant, she forgot her dream. Her cheeks flushed, and she shivered. She wished she hadn’t taken her gown off to sleep. Both of them were embarrassingly undressed.
“Cold?” he asked. He walked around the bed to retrieve the quilt, made a great show of shaking it out, then let it drift down upon her. The blanket seemed to embrace her as it settled. She wished it were Colin’s hands instead.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I don’t want to think on it at all.” She scooted down to lie flat and nestled into the covers. “Would you stay with me for a spell, though? We could talk of something else.”
“I’ll stay as long as you like,” he assured her, taking her hand. “What would you like to talk about?”
His hand felt warm and comforting. She shrugged. “Anything.”
“Would you like to talk about how much you like pickled snails?” he suggested with a teasing grin.
“I did like them,” she protested, although they both knew that wasn’t true. She’d tasted one bravely, even swallowed it without gagging, but her appetite had fallen off afterward.
Her stomach was grumbling now. “Are there any apples left?” she asked.
Colin’s smile was too knowing. “I believe there are.”
He left, returning from the study with a shiny red apple. When she sat up and reached for it, he pulled it back playfully. “Hungry, are you?” Grinning, he handed it to her and stepped over to the windows.
Amy took a bite and slowly chewed. She watched him peer out into the night, his hands linked behind his back.
“It’s still snowing hard,” he told her. “I reckon we may be stuck here through tomorrow.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she replied around a mouthful of juicy apple. The fruit was sweet, she was cozy, and she could think of worse fates than being stuck with Colin Chase another day and night.
“I should do bookwork tomorrow, so long as I’m here.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She took another crunching bite.
“What will you do?” He turned from the windows to face her.
Amy chewed and swallowed before answering. “I can read. Try my hand at preparing dinner. Help you with your bookwork.” She took another big bite.
“I don’t need any help.”
She shrugged again. “I’ll explore your castle, then.”
“I’m afraid there’s not much to discover.” He walked over to the fire, added a log from the basket, and stirred up the embers with a wooden-handled poker. “It’s small. And cold and damp.”
“None of that will stop me.”
Colin crossed back to her bedside and stood looking down at her with a wry smile, his teeth as white as the snow outside. “I suppose a bit of cold and damp are unlikely to deter the likes of you. So long as there’s not a horse involved.”
Grinning, she held out the apple core and slid down under the covers.
He put the core on the table next to the bed. “Better?”
“Much.” She wiggled under the quilt, getting comfortable.
“Good.” Offering her a distracted nod, he turned to the door.
“No, don’t leave yet.” She patted the bed beside her. “You said you’d stay as long as I liked.”
With seeming reluctance, he turned back and slowly sat down. Amy reached over and took his hand. He tensed; she saw the muscles go rigid beneath his bronzed skin.
The nightmare had left her completely. The apple rested comfortably in her stomach, the room was warm, the bed was soft, and her hand tingled in Colin’s. She gazed at his profile in the wavering firelight, willing him to kiss her. Just one more time. Just once more before he put her on a ship and she sailed out of his life forever.
Could she persuade him somehow? He hated her, didn't he? Or at least he didn't like her—she was naught but a bother to him, an inconvenience he needed to rid himself of. But he seemed to like kissing her, for some inexplicable reason…
She squeezed his hand, and he turned to meet her gaze.
Her heart beat faster. His eyes searched her face, and his free hand rose to wipe a bit of apple juice off her chin. His hand lingered; his knuckles grazed her cheek.
He was going to kiss her, she knew it.