Now available from Hard Shell Word Factory.
Excerpt
"Lass, why did you wish to speak to me?"
Gena shivered and turned to face him. Anthony stood just inside the open doorway, his face hidden in shadows. Gena could only imagine the curious look that must surely grace his brow.
"I have met you before." Her whispered words hung like broken promises in the air. Gena moved toward the windows and paid no heed to the motes of dust her movements stirred. She paused and used the sleeve of her robe to wipe a clear spot on the dust covered pane.
In the moonlight she clearly saw the sorry state of her mother's prized garden. Weeds grew in silent victory, choking the life out of rose bushes, lilac and honeysuckle that once grew in abundance. Dead vines clung to cold castle walls, reaching upward toward the heavens.
Anthony moved to stand behind her. "I have no memory of meeting you. This morn in the village was the first glimpse I had."
A sad chuckle escaped Gena's lips. "Nay, you misunderstand. I said I have met you, yet you have never met me." She turned to him. "Do you ken who I am?"
Slowly, he nodded. "Aye, I was told you are Gena of Inveraray, sister to Callum."
Gena lowered her gaze. "Aye, 'tis the truth you were told." She braved another look at him. A shiver raced down her spine. His eyes matched the image of her dreams. "I am also ken by another name, one not so favorable."
Anthony grimaced. "Aye, I heard that as well." Gentle fingers moved to touch her cheek. "I believe 'twas a jest--"
"Nay," she whispered, hypnotized by the gentle touch of his hand and the husky whisper of his voice. "'Twas the truth. I am ken as Gena the Mad."
Silence spread between them. Slowly, Anthony lowered his hand. "Why tell me this? Why beckon me to meet you at such an odd hour, and in such an odd place?"
Gena smiled and moved away. "I dream, milord." She lingered by a tarp-covered table. The cloth covered a statue of cherubs her mother once loved.
"We all dream--"
"My dreams come true." The sound of his boots striking the floor made her pause. He stopped so close behind her, she could feel the heat of his body through the velvet of her robe. She turned and looked up at him. It took all the courage she could muster not to run away.
"I dream of famines, floods, war . . . " Her voice faded and she had to walk away. He stood too close.
"What else do you dream, lass?"
Gena paused before the carved hearth and rubbed at the thick dust that covered the rich wood. "Death."
Silence echoed in her ears. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and continued. "My dreams, if they appear thrice, come true." She took a deep breath and faced him. "I dreamt of you."
The leather of Anthony's boots made nary a sound as he walked. He tread over ancient rugs in his quest to reach her side. The hilt of his sword glimmered in the faint light of the moon when he passed before the garden doors.
"Methinks I should be honored that a lass as comely as yourself saw me in her dreams." He paused before her. "However, I recall the fear that touched your eyes this morn in the village."
Gena forced herself to look away. He was her assassin. The gentle touch of his fingers against her chin made her hands tremble.
"Tell me what I did in your dreams to cause such an emotion."
This was not how it was supposed to be. He was to have appeared in battle. Blood should have flowed in rivers around him as claymores struck deadly blows. The gentleness of his touch did not match the power his presence demanded.
"Lass, I wish to ken."
Gena swallowed hard and took a step away. "Your sword."
He creased his brow and rested his hand on the glimmering hilt. "My sword?"
"Aye." She gave him a slight nod and met his eyes once more. "Draw it."
"For what purpose?"
"Draw it."
"Again, I ask why?"
Stubborn male, she thought as a weary sigh escaped her lips. "My dreams always come true."
Anthony shook his head, confusion clear upon his brow. "What has my sword to do with your dream?"
"Draw it and I will show you."
Eternal silence passed between them. Gena's breath halted in her throat and she wondered if he would do as she asked.
Slowly, his hand moved. The sound of steel sliding against steel filled the abandoned room. Shivers raced along Gena's spine. She felt bumps appear on her skin as the tip of his blade came free of its sheath. The light of the moon caught upon it and flashed a shaft of brightness across her eyes.
"Now what do you wish, lass?"
His voice was a gentle caress that swirled around her heart and attempted to rob her of her courage. Biting the inside of her cheek to regain her nerve, Gena reached out her hand.
Her fingers curled around the end of the cold metal. She lifted the blade, not pausing until the tip rested between the valley of her breasts.
The darkness could not hide the surprise on Anthony's face. Gena tightened her hold. The blade cut into her flesh. She winced, yet maintained her hold. Gena closed her eyes a moment and said a quick prayer for her soul. May it know peace at last.
"Lass! Release my blade!"
"'Tis a prophecy you fulfill this night, milord." Gena braced herself for what she was about to do and had a final look into Anthony's haunting eyes. "You are destined to kill me."
Gena closed her eyes and fell forward.
