She’d concluded that there had never been two Drustans, merely two fourth-dimensional manifestations of a single set of cells. Rather like a solitary beam of light refracted by a prism, where the beam of light was Drustan, and the prism was the fourth dimension. Although the single light aimed into the prism would refract in multiple directions, it was still only one source of light. Were that light a person, why wouldn’t his cells bear the imprint of his alternate journey? If the memory was there, perhaps remembering would be too confusing, so the mind would seek to resolve those “memories” by labeling them “dreams” if recalled at all, discarded as nocturnal fancies.
Drustan was going to listen to every word, if she had to talk herself hoarse.
And she knew just how and where he was going to be doing it, she thought smugly, tucking the lance beneath her arm. She might be small, but she was not harmless. Enough shilly-shallying about, feeling wounded and ineffectual. It was time to do battle.
“Get in there and try it,” Gwen told the guard.
He cast her a dubious glance.
“Go on, just try it,” she said peevishly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The guard glanced at Silvan, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded, smiling. At his nod, the guard sighed and did as he was told.
“Can you get out?” Gwen asked a few moments later.
There was the sound of muffled thuds, kicks, and punches, then, “Nay, milady, I canna.”
“Try harder,” Gwen encouraged.
More thuds. Soft cursing. Good, she mused. Perfect.
She and Silvan exchanged smug grins.
Drustan crept down the stairs, his bare feet silent on the stones. It was four in the morning, and although she was asleep, stealth was ever wise with her in residence. He’d heard her enter her chamber last eve, try the connecting door, then sigh and lean against it when she found it still barricaded. The bed ropes had squeaked for a time as she’d tossed, but finally all had grown quiet.
He’d stretched out on his back in his bed, hands folded behind his head, refusing to think about her sleeping nude on the other side of the wall. But the tricky part about refusing to think about something was that you had to think about it in order to remind yourself what not to think about.
And he knew she would. Sleep with nothing on, that is. She was a sensual wee lass who would enjoy the silky slide of velvet coverlets against her fine, smooth, creamy skin. Slipping with tender velvety abrasion over her puckered nipples, twining about her hips, probably twisting and turning to enjoy—
Exasperated, Drustan gave a vicious shake of his head. Christ, he was going mad, that was all there was to it.
Probably from being spied on all the time. She thought he didn’t know she lurked about watching him all the time, but he knew. She was a living heat, strolling about his castle, all lush curves and temptation.
Thus such stealth to do a man’s business. He could have gone outside, but it irritated him that he’d even briefly considered it. It was his castle, by Amergin! She was making him positively irrational.
As he rounded the corner, he stubbed his toe and cursed in five languages. Glancing down, he made a mental note to have the pile of lances moved out to the armory. He couldn’t imagine why they were lying beside the staircase in the first place.
Shaking his head and muttering beneath his breath, he walked the few paces down the corridor and slipped into the garderobe.
Aha! Gwen shouted silently. Finally! She dropped down from the stone arch in the corridor. People rarely looked up, and the darkness in the corridor had provided further camouflage. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, hurried to the hall, and plucked up several steel lances that were piled flush to the wall of the stairs.
Creeping silently back to the door of the garderobe, she braced one end of the steel lance against the stone wall and then gently, oh-so-quietly, wedged it into place. She understood bracing and pressure points with the best of them.
Two, then three, then five—although only two had held the helpful brawny guard just fine. Drustan was a large man, and she wasn’t taking any chances that he might crash the door down on her head.
A small giggle built inside her. Trapping the laird of the castle in his own garderobe appealed to her sense of humor. Then again, the fact that she’d been going without sleep for the past three nights, waiting for him to make a nocturnal journey, probably had a bit to do with it too.
She stepped away from the door and ducked into the Greathall, thinking to give him a few minutes of privacy and time to discover he was locked in and get the worst of it out of his system.