Always Mine Read Online Free PDF Page A

herself up and edged back against the hard wood of the headboard. The dizziness had gone, and the pain
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    in her head had diminished to dull pounding. On seeing her arms and hands, she frowned, stretched her fingers wide and held her arms close to her eyes. Why did they seem different? Puzzled, she rubbed her eyes, then gripped the edge of the covers and peered beneath them. Never had she seen such a nightgown, other than in drawings of medieval women’s clothing.
    Was she dreaming? Or had she stumbled on a medieval festival in full swing? Glad to have thought of a reason for the strangeness of her surroundings and memories, she began to relax.
    A wooden screen painted with colorful Celtic designs closed off one corner of the room. She slid off the bed, and when her bare feet touched the cold stones, her toes curled. Shivering with each step, she made her way to the screen and peeked behind it.
    Atop a stand was a pitcher of water and a large bowl with several white cloths beside it. Tucked beneath was something that looked like a chamberpot.
    She shuddered and decided to wait for Elise to direct her to the bathroom. A hint of sound caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder to see a young man ease the door shut, and then stride toward her.
    “Get out! This room is occupied.” She stabbed her finger toward the door, anger giving her voice the tone of authority she needed.
    Even so, it sounded different. It lacked its usual depth.
    “Do not be afeared, Brianna. ’Tis I, Galan.” In several long strides, he reached her and grasped her shoulders.
    Before she knew his intent, his warm lips caressed her cheek. She gasped and flattened her hands on his chest and shoved, but she may as well have tried to move an ancient oak. He did not budge.
    The door burst open, striking the wall with an earsplitting crash. She cried out as her gaze flew to the doorway to see who had stormed into the room.
    Chapter 3
    A very large man filled the doorway, blocking out the soft glow of rushlights on the landing. Although the room was too dim to see his face, Lydia read anger in his taut body and widespread legs. It had to be the obnoxious man from the clearing who stood there.
    He was still in costume.
    Everything here was much more authentic than at any Medieval Festival she’d ever attended. She’d better abandon that idea in favor of her dream theory. Surely she’d absorbed more of her mother’s books on medieval life than she’d realized. The actors’
    clothing and the room’s furnishings were much as she had seen portrayed in the tomes. Even more puzzling was the ease with which everyone spoke Old English and Norman French.
    “If ye dinna wish to mourn their loss, remove yer hands from her,” the man ordered Galan. His words were thick with menace as he placed his powerful legs firmly in a battle stance.
    Lydia felt the full force of his possessive gaze sweeping over her.
    “Ye shame yerself, Brianna! Get ye back in bed.”
    Lydia’s skin flushed that the men had seen her in such a
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    thin garment. She dashed over to yank the sheet off the bed and hold it up under her chin. Humiliation escalated to anger.
    “My name is not Brianna. You have no right to barge into my room, and certainly no right to tell me what to do. This person may be in your command, but I am not.” She thrust out her chin and narrowed her eyes. She used the same tone that had never failed to quell her ex-husband, Gordon, when he sought to usurp her control over the Genetics Research Laboratory. But today she sounded different. She must be more frazzled than she thought.
    A feral growl rumbled from the man’s chest. Exuding pure menace, he stalked toward her. He was playing the part of the arrogant medieval lord of the castle far too seriously. She had the feeling he never ignored a challenge.
    Especially from a woman.
    Prickles of unease scampered up her back, much like mice scurrying to their hiding places on