Free My True Love by Karen Ranney Page B

itself.
    She took one step closer. Propriety did not halt her. It was as if her greater fear silenced any thought of it. Or perhaps they had already vaulted over those gates the moment she’d whispered in his ear and kept him silent in his pain.
    “How did you know about this place?” One of a hundred questions he had for her. He was not as much enraged as he was confused. He told himself she would say something that would easily explain. Except that she said nothing. Instead, she trembled and her face paled.
    An arc of lightning flashed above them, a vein of light that surged across the black sky. The storm was above them, so loud that he would not have been able to hear her answer had she given him one.
    The clouds, tired of their show of bravado, opened up, showering them with heavy drops. In only seconds they were drenched. Her eyes were closed, her face as pale as death. But she made no move to escape the rain. It was as if she were frozen in that moment, held stiff and taut. A streak of silver lightning plunged into the ground, followed almost instantly by a hollow clap of thunder. It felt as if the air had been split in two.
    Her eyes opened wide, the look in them stark and wild. She pulled away, escaping into the darkness of the stairway.
    He followed her down the spiral steps. Halfway down another burst of thunder halted her. Her back flattened against the curving wall, her eyes clenched shut. Just before he reached her, she moved again, descending the remaining steps slowly, as if she finally realized her danger in taking the slippery steps too fast.
    As she reached the stone floor, the lightning struck again. The glare of it illuminated the interior of the tower. His foot touched the last step as the world seemed to shatter around them. She ran to ward him, her figure made white by the unremitting glare. Her face was ashen, her hands clenched into the fabric of her skirt. Her arms pressed around him, her cheek lay flat against his chest. Her trembling vied with the shuddering earth.
    He held her with his uninjured arm, the two of them encapulsated in darkness. Another flash. He looked up. The sky sizzled. Then the world became white fire, his hearing deadened by the eruption of sound. He was pressed against the curving wall of the tower, his arms holding tight to Anne, as the ground shuddered, helpless, beneath them. The wind blew the dust around the inside of the tower in a whirlwind; the rain entered from the stairwell opening and dampened the air. It was an otherworldly scene, one that he could have easily imagined in one of his fevered dreams.
    When it was over, he pulled away from her, pressed his fingers against her cheek. She tilted her head just so, as if she leaned into his touch, fitted herself to it. His fingers trailed to the base of her throat, his thumb extended upward beneath her chin.
    She glanced up at him then. A look not unlike the one she’d given him in the meadow. His fingers halted their exploration. He dropped his hand. The storm raged around them, and his thoughts were as chaotic.
    The storm, instead of abating, seemed to hover overhead. The sound of it increased, the tower magnifying the deep rumble of the thunder until it sounded as if God himself snarled.
    Perhaps it was because their clothing was sodden or because he’d spent the last week dreaming of her, but he was suddenly acutely aware of each curve of her. His hand trailed around her waist, feeling the suppleness of it, the gentle taper of her hips beneath the material of her skirt.
    In that instant, he envisioned her naked against him, standing on tiptoe in order to fit her body more perfectly to his. He would hold her there, bend his head in order to rain kisses on her shoulders, press his face against her breasts, touch her softly and sweetly and with the greatest care. He could almost feel her bare skin beneath his fingertips. Could taste the texture of her lips, feel the warmth of her breath on his flesh. He wanted,