Into the Dreaming
Page 11

He leaned back. Fortunately, the lass was too short to reach his face without his cooperation. Or a step stool.
"You are so stubborn," she said, with a gusty sigh. "Fine, let's talk then. It's pretty clear we have a lot to talk about." She paused, then, "He doesn't know what kisses are," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "That's never happened in my dreams before." Perching on the end of the bed, her feet dangling, she patted the space beside her. "Come. Sit by me."
"Nay." When the kitten jumped daintily onto the bed and spilled across the velvet coverlet, he scowled at it. "You or that bedraggled mop of fur—I'm fair uncertain which is more useless. At least the beastie doesna prattle on so."
"But the beastie can't kiss either," she said archly. "And it's not bedraggled. Don't insult my kitten," she added defensively.
"You attribute high value to these kisses of yours. I scarce believe they are worth much," he said scornfully.
"That's because you haven't kissed me yet. If you did, you'd know."
Vengeance moved, in spite of his best intentions, to stand at the foot of the bed between her legs. He stared down at her. She scooped up the kitten and pressed her lips to its furry head. He closed his eyes and fought a tide of images that made no sense to him.
"Perhaps you're afraid," she said sweetly.
He opened his eyes. "I fear nothing."
"Then why won't you let me do something so harmless? See? The kitten survived unscathed."
He struggled with the answer for a moment, then said simply, "You may not touch me. 'Tis forbidden."
"Why not, and by whom?"
"I obey my king. And 'tis none of your concern why."
"I think it is. I thought you were a man who thought for himself. A warrior, a leader. Now you tell me you follow orders like some little puppet."
"Puppet?"
"An imitation of a real person fashioned of wood, pulled this way and that by its master. You're nothing but a servant, are you?"
Her delicate sneer cut him to the quick, and he flinched angrily. Who was she calling a servant? He was Vengeance, he was perfect and strong and… Och, he was his king's servant. Why did that chafe? Why did he suffer the odd sensation that once he'd not been anyone's serf but a leader in his own right?
"Why do you obey him?" she pressed. "Does this king of yours mean so much to you? Is he so good to you? Tell me about him."
Vengeance opened his mouth, closed it again, and left the room silently.
"Where are you going?" she called after him.
"To prepare a meal, then you will sleep and leave me in peace," he growled over his shoulder.
Jane ate in bed, alone but for the kitten. Aedan brought her fish roasted over an open fire and a blackened potato that had obviously been stuffed in the coals to cook, accompanied by a similarly charred turnip, then left in silence. No salt. No butter for the dry potato. Not one drop of lemon for the fish.
Warily, she conceded that she was probably not dreaming—the fare had never been so unpalatable in one of her dreams. And upon reflection, she realized that although she'd attended many dream feasts, she'd never actually eaten anything at any of them. Now, she choked it down because she was too emotionally drained to attempt cooking for herself over an open fire. Tomorrow was another day.
The tiger-striped kitten, whom she'd christened Sexpot (after apologetically peeking beneath her tail) because of the way the little tyke sashayed about as if outrageously pleased with herself, hungrily devoured a tender fish filet, then busied herself scrubbing her whiskers with little spit-moistened paws while Jane puzzled over her situation.
She'd been astonished to discover Aedan had no idea what a kiss was, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made.
Aedan not only didn't know he was Aedan, he didn't remember that he was a man, hence he didn't recall the intimacies of lovemaking!
She wondered if that made him a virgin of sorts. When they finally made love—and there was no doubt in her mind that they would, one way or another, even if she had to ambush and attack him—would he have any idea what it was all about? How strange to think that she might have to teach him, he who'd been her inexhaustible dream tutor.
He certainly hadn't liked being provoked, she mused. He'd grown increasingly agitated when she'd mocked him for obeying his king and had visibly bristled at the idea of being a mere servant. Still, despite such promising reactions, he had a formidable shell that was going to be difficult to penetrate. It would help if she knew what had happened to him. She needed to make him talk about his "king," and find out when and how they'd met. Were there indeed a "fairy king," perhaps the being had enchanted him. The idea taxed Jane's credulity, but, all things considered, she supposed she couldn't suspend disbelief without suspending it fully. Until she reached some concrete conclusions about what was going on, she would be unwise to discount any possibilities.