The Thornless Rose Read Online Free PDF

her confusion with a tender brush of his lips, and she responded instinctively, their kiss deepening as her body arched against his, her blood ablaze with sudden desire, until the rest of the world seemed very far away.
    When he finally drew back, he stared into her eyes, and Anne’s heart seized when she saw his pain, the sheer desperation in his gaze.
    The feeling was apparently mutual, because he pulled her close and swore under his breath, “Bloody hell, the bastard will pay for this.”
    I don’t understand.
    He opened his eyes and stared at something in the distance. “Anne, go now,” his voice cracked, “because I can face anything if I know you’re safe.”
    His fingers gently cupped her chin, his touch unleashing more heat. He lifted her face for another kiss, and then—nothing. He was gone. She fought for control, her breathing erratic, her legs threatening to crumble. She touched her lips, still feeling his caress, his soft breath on her skin, but he was gone.
    The lights flashed on, the tourists once again milling about, unaware.
    “Mummy, they were kissing!”
    A small boy pointed at her, but his mother paid no attention.
    He saw us! Anne plastered a fake smile on her face until the boy disappeared into the crowd. He saw us, and that means I wasn’t hallucinating. But how? How could Dr. Brandon be here? She touched her lips once more. The way he’d held her, spoken to her, whispered her name, made her believe he was real—and he...
    He knew me. But how? A chill enveloped her as the memory of the monk’s stare supplanted Brandon’s.
    Trembling, she left the Abbey.

Chapter Four
    The skies had closed in again, and the gloomy, thick cloud cover mirrored Anne’s mood. Head down, she glanced up occasionally to make sure she was taking the correct route to her grandmother’s. She watched as the tips of her shoes advanced across the grain of the sidewalk, right, left, right, left. The monotony was comforting, something familiar. Something she could count on.
    “What happened to me? What?” she asked until it sounded like a chant. But every time she allowed herself to search for an answer, she felt lightheaded. She knew what she’d seen, what she’d felt, and crazy scenarios surged to mind. Ghosts? Magic? Hearing voices? Sainthood or a straitjacket seemed to be the only two options open for such experiences, and she sure couldn’t match resumés with Joan of Arc.
    Anne considered calling her parents to discuss her bizarro experiences, then shook her head. They might try to convince her to come home early, but she didn’t want to, not before she got to the bottom of this.
    She looked up to make sure she was heading the right way. Old, familiar mulberry trees stood sentinel as she made the final turn onto her grandmother’s street. The door opened before Anne reached the steps. The housekeeper, Trudy MacCunn Leach, stood there, a solid woman with gray hair and a strong face, her expression twisted with a mixture of annoyance and concern.
    “I’ve held tea for ye, Anne, but I canna say as I’m happy ’bout it, or ’bout yer grandmother’s goin’ off like she did with nary a word t’ me.”
    “Grandma’s gone? When? Where’d she go?”
    “Dinna I jus’ tell ye she went off without a word? I canna say more than I know, and that’s that.”
    Anne walked past Trudy into the parlor, sank down on the sofa, and raised her eyes to meet the housekeeper’s intense stare.
    “What’s troubling ye then, lass?” Trudy asked, her voice gentle now. “Would ye like a cuppa? Ye look a bit queer.”
    “Yes, tea.” Anne sighed. “And bring a cup for yourself. We need to talk.”
    Trudy nodded and left. Anne’s gaze fixed on the old photo still lying on the coffee table. She picked it up and stared. It looked so much like the man in the Abbey. Brandon?
    “All right, then.” Trudy returned carrying a tray heavily charged with a silver tea service and some small sandwiches.
    Anne put the picture back