Rory straightened. “I am—”
“No.” This time the word came from Sima. “Ye heard the lass. She doesna want ye to go.”
He looked back at Juliana, slumbering oblivious to the world again. “We doona ken if she even heard us.”
“Whether she did or dinna, the message is still the same.”
“Message?”
Sima gave him a level look. “A message. Mayhap from the fae if nae from her. Doona question from where, just heed the advice.”
“But…” He couldn’t totally dispute Sima’s theory when even he’d suspected the fae in having a hand in this whole debacle of rescuing Juliana. A man might not openly admit to believing in their existence, but a prudent Scot wouldn’t tempt the faeries, either. “I canna just sit here and do nothing.”
“Yearedoing something.” Sima patted his hand and picked up the candle she’d put on the bedside table and walked to the door. “The lass seems to sense your presence. ’Tis why ye need to stay.”
He looked at Juliana again after Sima had gone. Did she really know he was here? Or had she been mumbling in a dream she was having? He hated feeling helpless.
He moved to the window, where dawn was breaking. Outside, the storm continued to rage, but there was also a storm raging inside him. He’d been an idiot to tease Juliana, enjoying making her blush while it had been the fever spiking that was making her face red. He truly was an eejit.
He walked back to the bed and took her hand, which felt like she’d just held it over the fire. “I doona ken what I can do for ye, but I am here, lass. Doona die on me.”
…
Juliana continued to fade in and out of consciousness. Sometimes her eyes would flutter open and the brightness of the day would cause her to close them. When she’d open them again, the room would be dark, save for the flicker of a candle and the banked fire in the hearth. But always, she saw Rory sitting in a chair nearby. Once, at night, she wanted to ask him why he was there, but the effort to speak was too much, and she’d drifted into oblivion once more.
But her fever made the nightmare of two years past return.
Once again, she was six and ten and back at the Earl of Woodhaven’s country estate. Her sister Emily—the countess then—had gone to visit a neighbor. Leaving Juliana and Lorelei at home should have been perfectly safe. The earl was snoring away the effects of opium he’d purchased from one of the dens in London, but no one had thought one of his gaming hell cronies would arrive at the door that afternoon.
Baron Bistrow pushed past the elderly butler and demanded to see the earl. Juliana stupidly fancied herself the lady of the manor, since Emily was gone, and told the baron he could speak with her. Lorelei, just a year younger, peered down from the banister and caught the baron’s attention. Knowing that the earl’s friends were all unsavory sorts, Juliana told Lorelei to go back upstairs. Surprisingly, for once, her sister didn’t argue.
Juliana led the baron into the library, thinking it would be a better place to conduct whatever business he wanted to discuss than the front parlor. Unfortunately, the library door had a bolt. She tried to scream when he locked it, but he was too fast. He clamped a hand over her mouth and ripped the bodice of her gown before she fully realized what was happening.
“I came to collect the gambling debt Woodhaven owes me,” he said, “but I’ll take you in exchange for it.”
She bit his hand, which only resulted in a backhanded slap from him that made her world go hazy. He grabbed one breast roughly and squeezed hard while he stuck his tongue down her throat so far she gagged. She fought, flailing at him with her fists and kicking until finally he yanked a handful of hair and pulled her head back.
“If ye keep fighting, I will take that pretty little sister of yours next.”
When she looked into his eyes, she knew he meant it. “If I stop fighting, do you promise me you will not harm her?”
He laughed, but he finally nodded. She went limp after that and let him do what he wanted. Afterward, she lay on the floor, bruised and bleeding and no longer a virgin.
“No. No…” She sensed another presence in the room. Was it the baron? Dear Lord! She had to escape! She tried to force her eyes open. “No…!”
And then she felt someone take her hand. It was a gentle, soothing touch, as was the voice. Not the baron, then. Whoever it was, she felt no danger. Perhaps there were guardian angels after all. With a sigh, she slept.
When Juliana woke again, the sun was streaming through the partially closed curtains on the window. She squinted against the brightness, letting her eyes adjust, then opened them once more and gazed at the ceiling. Memories came flooding back. Going to the tower. The door handle breaking off. The cold—the horrible, bitter, icy cold—and then Rory finding her. She had a vague recollection of him carrying her. She thought he might have undressed her as well, but she wasn’t sure. It could have been a fever dream. She might have imagined the whole thing, since there was no reason for him, of all people, to remove her clothes. There were maids. Still, it had seemed so real. Andpleasant. Unlike the nightmare.
Slowly, she turned her head on the pillow to look around and felt her eyes widen at the sight of Rory asleep, slumped in a chair near the bed. So that part had been real. She had seen him when she briefly awoke. Had the other part—his taking her clothes off—been real, too? A strange little tingle coursed through her.
Maybe it hadn’t been a fever dream.
Chapter Eighteen
Rory opened his eyes to find Juliana lying on her side, head propped on her arm, watching him. He pushed himself upright in his chair.
“Ye are awake!”
