years. Not since Deanna had showed her how to cage her anger and her sorrow with the horses. She wanted to cry, too, like the child she’d once been, but the years of conditioning wouldn’t let that happen.
“You can’t put him in the dungeon, Missy,” Grace said. “It ain’t right.”
Anger’s slow growl thrummed through Melissa’s body. “Why not? He’s ready to sell my soul for a story. Why not give him a story that’ll fit right in with the trash he writes?”
“You don’t know that.” Grace sidestepped, hiding the stranger from Melissa’s view. “You don’t know he was even heading here.”
“What else is there around here? The thriving metropolis of Fallen Moon?” Melissa waved her hands at the buttressed ceiling. “I don’t think he’s here to admire the architecture.” She resumed pacing the far side of the room to keep from exploding.
A part of her realized that her anger resulted from her encounter last summer with Brent Westfield. He’d wormed his way into the castle under false pretenses. One of her paintings had sold for a fantastic amount at a charity auction sponsored by James Randall, Dee’s father. She’d succeeded despite her condition, and that success had come as a pleasant surprise. For once she’d been normal. Pride at her accomplishment had let the reporter’s interest in her work lower her natural defenses.
She cringed at the memory. The interview she’d never given, filled with lies and bizarre innuendoes, had hurt more deeply than she’d admitted to anyone. That the people of her own town had let the lies feed their imagination almost bled her dry.
“You can’t put him in the dungeon when he’s hurt,” Grace said, her voice gentle.
“His kind always survives,” Melissa scoffed, knowing Grace was right.
Grace crossed her arms over her ample chest. “My eyes might not be so good, but some things you don’t need to see to know. Mark my words, Missy, you’re making a terrible mistake.”
When Melissa didn’t answer, Grace caught her shoulders and shook her. “You keep him caged like that and you’re no better than the townsfolk who pass judgment without knowing any of the facts. Let him go.”
“No,” Melissa said firmly. Her body shook. Her anger’s poison filled her veins and she couldn’t stop it. “I can’t, Grace,” she pleaded, wanting Grace to understand the desperate need she had to assert dominion over her tiny world. “I have to show them once and for all that I’m not a witch, that I need to be left alone.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want, child?”
No, it wasn’t, but she’d learned long ago certain things couldn’t be changed and certain prayers were never answered. And if she had to choose between being a freak and being alone, she would go with loneliness.
This man couldn’t fulfill her dreams, but he could put an end to the witch. “That’s the way it has to be.”
Grace rolled her eyes in exasperation. Ignoring her, Melissa moved away to gather the contents of Tyler Blackwell’s wallet from the floor. She riffled through the items, noting with interest that his wallet held no pictures—not even of his Lindsey. Why? Was this man as alone in the world as she was? Suddenly she had to know. She wanted to know everything about him. Adversaries needed to start the battle on an even footing. He knew about her, she had no doubt; she’d find out about him. Melissa tucked the wallet back in the jeans pocket, retaining only his driver’s license.
“He’ll have to see a doctor for that head of his,” Grace said.
Melissa stood up. “Send for Adam. After Adam’s seen him, put him in the dungeon.”
“Missy—”
“If he’s hurt that badly, Adam’ll have him transported to a hospital. If he’s not, he has a lesson to learn.” Melissa handed Grace the driver’s license. “And see what Dee can dig up on Tyler Blackwell.”
“Missy—”
“Tell her to bring me her report as soon as she has it.”
Melissa leaned on the foot of the bed and stared at the unconscious man. “It’s my decision. I’ll live with the consequences.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”
AN HOUR LATER Melissa made her way down the steep steps of the northeast tower to the cell where Grace had installed Tyler Blackwell. Grace tucked a blanket around the unconscious man’s body, now clad in sweats belonging to Grace’s son, who was away at college.
“How’s he doing?” Melissa asked, stopping at the open cell door.
“Doc says he’ll be all right.” Grace kept fussing with the blanket. “His body temperature’s back to normal. He woke up once, then fainted.”
“Maybe he’s tired.” Melissa grabbed one of the cold steel bars, worried despite her best intentions about the man’s unconscious state.
“And maybe they’re right to call you a witch.” Grace put a hot-water bottle at the man’s feet, then turned around to face Melissa. “He woke up long enough to tell Adam he didn’t want to go to no hospital. I tried to make him see the light, but he’s just as stubborn as you are.” She shook her head. “You two deserve each other.” She jerked her chin toward Tyler. “He needs to be watched till he comes to, and I’m too old to do it.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll come get you if he wakes up.”
“You do that. Wake him every hour and make sure he ain’t seeing double.”
Grace departed with a huff that left no doubt how she felt about Melissa’s actions. A twinge of guilt niggled at Melissa’s conscience. Then the anger stirred again. He’s a reporter! a voice in her mind exploded. He wants to hurt you like the others.
She heard the abandoned child’s sobs echo somewhere in the past. They wrenched her heart and nearly dropped her in a pool of self-pity. Turning from the pull of memories took everything she had. The pain, the loneliness—both hurt so much.
She forced her attention back to Tyler Blackwell. He looked beautiful. So innocent and peaceful. But Melissa knew she couldn’t trust the appearance of innocence or beauty. No one ever came to Thornwylde Castle without a reason.
She moved into the cell and checked on the reporter. His breathing was even and his skin felt warm. Suddenly his brows knit together and his face contorted itself into a mask of pain. She snapped back her hand. What did I do? What should I do? I don’t know what to do with a sick man. He’s not sick. He’s just bruised. This is what you get for letting your anger get the best of you. Before she could run to call Grace, his face returned to its calm state.
He’s a reporter, she reminded herself. He wants to hurt you. With her heart pounding, Melissa stood and moved away from Tyler. She wouldn’t let him. Not this time. He wanted the witch, she’d give him the witch. Then she’d show him she wasn’t a gorgon—just a simple woman.
The scene set, Melissa returned to Tyler Blackwell’s bedside. She tucked the blanket around his shoulders. Then she sat beside him, watching and waiting. Every hour she woke him. Each time he called her Lindsey. Every cry to the unknown
