"Do you want to tell me what's upset you?"
"I'm not upset."
"You're wound up, unhappy, and as pale as ice."
"It's personal. It's family business."
The fact that her dismissal stung surprised him. But he only shrugged and lapsed into silence.
"I'm sorry." Now she did close her eyes. She wanted peace. Couldn't everyone just give her a moment's peace? "That was rude of me."
"Forget it." He didn't need her problems in any case, he reminded himself. Then he glanced at her and swore under his breath. She looked exhausted. "I want to make a stop."
She started to object, then kept her eyes and mouth closed. He'd been good enough to drive her, she reminded herself. She could certainly bear a few minutes longer before she buried all this tension in work.
He didn't speak again. He was driving on instinct, hoping the choice he made would bring the color back to her cheeks and the warmth to her voice.
She didn't open her eyes again until he braked and shut the engine off. Then she merely stared at the castle ruins. "You needed to stop here?"
"I wanted to stop here," he corrected. "I found this my first day here. It's playing a prominent part in my book. I like the feel of it."
; He got out, rounded the hood, and opened her door. "Come on." When she didn't move, he leaned down and unfastened her seat belt himself. "Come on. It's great. Wait till you see the view from the top."
"I've wash to do," she complained and heard the sulkiness of her own voice as she stepped out of the car.
"It's not going anywhere." He had her hand now and was tugging her over the high grass.
She didn't have the heart to point out that the ruins weren't likely to go anywhere, either. "You're using this place in your book?"
"Big murder scene." He grinned at her reaction, the uneasiness and superstition in her eyes. "Not afraid are you? I don't usually act out my scenes."
"Don't be foolish." But she shivered once as they stepped between the high stone walls.
There was grass growing wild on the ground, bits of green pushing its way through chinks in the stone. Above her, she could see where the floors had been once, so many years ago. But now time and war left the view to the sky unimpeded.
The clouds floated silently as ghosts.
"What do you suppose they did here, right here?" Gray mused.
"Lived, worked. Fought."
"That's too general. Use your imagination. Can't you see it, the people walking here? It's winter, and it's bone cold. Ice rings on the water barrels, frost on the ground that snaps like dry twigs underfoot. The air stings with smoke from the fires. A baby's crying, hungry, then stops when his mother bares her breast."
He drew her along with him, physically, emotionally, until she could almost see it as he did.
"Soldiers are drilling out there, and you can hear the ring of sword to sword. A man hurries by, limping from an old wound, his breath steaming out in cold clouds. Come on, let's go up."
He pulled her toward narrow, tight winding stairs. Every so often there would be an opening in the stone, a kind of cave. She wondered if people had slept there, or stored goods. Or tried to hide, perhaps, from the enemy who would always find them.
"There'd be an old woman carrying an oil lamp up here, and she has a puckered scar on the back of her hand and fear in her eyes. Another's bringing fresh rushes for the floors, but she's young and thinking of her lover."
Gray kept her hand in his, stopping when they came to a level midway. "It must have been the Cromwellians, don't you think, who sacked it. There'd have been screams, the stench of smoke and blood, that nasty thud of metal hacking into bone, and that high-pitched shriek a man makes when the pain slices him. Spears driving straight through bellies, pinning a body to the ground where the limbs would twitch before nerves died. Crows circling overhead, waiting for the feast."
He turned, saw her eyes were wide and glazed-and chuckled. "Sorry, I get caught up."
"It's not just a blessing to have an imagination like that." She shivered again and fought to swallow. "I don't think I want you to make me see it so clear."
"Death's fascinating, especially the violent type. Men are always hunting men. And this is a hell of a spot for murder -of the contemporary sort."
"Your sort," she murmured.
"Mmm. He'll toy with the victim first," Gray began as he started to climb again. He was caught up in his own mind, true, but he could see Brianna was no longer worrying over whatever had happened at her mother's. "Let the atmosphere and those smoky ghosts stir into the fear like a slow poison. He won't hurry-he likes the hunt, craves it. He can scent the fear, like any wolf, he can scent it. It's the scent that gets in his blood and makes it pump, that arouses him like sex. And the prey runs, chasing that thin thread of hope. But she's breathing fast. The sound of it echoes, carries on the wind. She falls-the stairs are treacherous in the dark, in the rain. Wet and slick, they're weapons themselves. But she claws her way up them, air sobbing in and out of her lungs, her eyes wild." "Gray-" "She's nearly as much of an animal as he, now. Terror's stripped off layers of humanity, the same as good sex will, or true hunger. Most people think they've experienced all three, but it's rare even to know one sensation fully. But she knows the first now, knows that terror as if it was solid and alive, as if it could wrap its hands around her throat. She wants a bolt hole, but there's nowhere to hide. And she can hear him climbing, slowly, tirelessly behind her. Then she reaches the top."
He drew Brianna out of the shadows onto the wide, walled ledge where sunlight streamed. "And she's trapped."
She jolted when Gray swung her around, nearly screamed. Roaring with laughter, he lifted her off her feet. "Christ, what an audience you are." " Tisn't funny." She tried to wiggle free. "It's wonderful. I'm planning on having him mutilate her with an antique dagger, but..." He hooked his arm under Brianna's knees and carried her to the wall. "Maybe he should just dump her over the side."
"Stop!" Out of self-preservation she threw her arms around him and clung.
"Why didn't I think of this before? Your heart's pounding, you've got your arms around me." "Bully."
"Got your mind off your troubles, didn't it?" "I'll keep my troubles, thank you, and keep out of that twisted imagination of yours."
"No, no one does." He snuggled her a little closer. "That's what fiction's all about, books, movies, whatever. It gives you a break from reality and lets you worry about someone else's problems." "What does it do for you who tells the tale?" "Same thing. Exactly the same thing." He set her on her feet and turned her to the view. "It's like a painting, isn't it?" Gently, he drew her closer until her back was nestled against him. "As soon as I saw this place, it grabbed me. It was raining the first time I came here, and it almost seemed as if the colors should run." She sighed. Here was the peace she'd wanted after all. In his odd roundabout way he'd given it to her. "It's nearly spring," she murmured.