was what she’d planned to ask for when she’d walked into the pub, but now she realized it was not enough. Duncan would do no more than her cousins had done for her, and that wouldn’t do. She’d tried talismans, meditations, exercises. In this case she’d have to face him each and every day, and she didn’t think she could take it. Besides, she did take a perverse pleasure in being the one to walk away. She’d bet no woman had ever told Duncan no.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” This time when she shooed him aside, he moved. She opened the door, started down the long, narrow stairway. Her knees were still shaky, and she had no idea where she’d go from here. Ryder Duncan was not who she’d thought him to be, and she could not, would not, put herself in his hands. One good thing had come out of the encounter. He wouldn’t do it, her cousins wouldn’t do it, but someone could remove her abilities entirely.
She had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when his soft voice stopped her. “It will only get worse.”
She didn’t turn to face him, but she listened.
“The pain, the frequency and intensity of the events. Because you fight it, because you are spoiled and untrained, because you fear your gift rather than embracing it, what’s happening will eventually kill you.”
After a moment of complete silence, Echo turned and looked up. She didn’t know Duncan at all, she didn’t even like him much, but she didn’t doubt the truth of his words. “You can take it away. You said...”
“I said there was a price you and those who care for you would not wish to pay for such a miracle.”
It wasn’t what she wanted, but what choice did she have? She had nowhere else to turn. Besides, when he discovered that she could not master this curse no matter how hard she tried, maybe he’d agree to strip it away. No price would be too high.
“When do we start?”
* * *
Rye sat at a table with the woman on the other side. The old men had left, and so had Doyle. They were alone, though that would not last. In an hour or so the late-afternoon crowd would start to arrive.
He should’ve sent Echo Raintree on her way, should’ve let her go to another part of the world searching for another stray who might be willing to do as she asked. He could’ve and should’ve sat back and allowed her to implode. It wasn’t as if he had any love for the Raintree clan.
But apparently Cassidy had said Echo would be here for a while. Cassidy was never wrong.
Echo rambled. About her problems, about her struggles with her abilities. There was something about a band, and parents who liked to gad about more than care for their only child. She was tired of seeing horrible things and never being able to do anything to stop them or influence them. He listened, but he was also distracted. Beautiful face, feminine figure, bright eyes. Any man might be understandably distracted.
He knew a bit about control, more than he was willing to share with her or anyone else. It was the reason he clung to routine, one of the reasons he remained in this quiet, enchanted village. The question was, could he teach control again? It had been more than four years since he’d taken on a student, and the last time hadn’t ended so well. There had been successes in the past, but were even a hundred successes worth the risk of a catastrophic failure?
Finally he interrupted her. “You’re stalling.”
She looked guilty. Rye had spent so much of his life hiding who and what he was, her easy-to-read expressions were a puzzle to him. The Raintree woman was an open book. How had she survived to this point? He knew she was twenty-nine years old. At one point in her rambling she’d said something about starting a new life at the age of thirty. A life without visions, a life without nightmares.
She was a mere six years younger than he was, but listening to her...it was as if they were not even of the same generation. Their lives to this point had been so very different.
He would help her if he could, but he couldn’t promise her a life without nightmares.
“Sorry,” she said in a lowered voice. “I didn’t mean to go on and on. We need to focus on the future, not the past. How do we begin?” She looked more than a little apprehensive.
“We don’t, not yet.”
“But you said...”
“I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Our first step is to get acquainted.”
Now the open book was suspicious.
“That doesn’t mean I want to get you into bed,” he clarified. “Though I imagine nearly every man you’ve ever met has tried.”
“I didn’t say I thought...”
“You didn’t have to.”
She pursed her lips. “I didn’t know mind reading was one of your abilities.”
He started to say, It’s not, but kept that piece of knowledge to himself. True, some thoughts jumped out at him on occasion, but it was damned hard work to go around reading the minds of others. It was also potentially dangerous.
But perhaps it would be a good idea to let her believe he could peek into her head at will. Did she not know she was an open book? Did she not realize that everything she thought was written on her pretty face for the world to see?
“So, there’s not a file on me back at Raintree headquarters?”
He expected her to laugh at the idea of Raintree headquarters and files on independents, but she didn’t. “Not much of one,” she admitted. “I didn’t have an easy time finding any detailed information on you.”
“Good.” Before she left he’d find out what—where and how—she had discovered about him, and make sure no one else could follow in her footsteps. He couldn’t make it impossible for someone gifted to find him—those with special abilities found their way to Cloughban all the time—but if there was any kind of a paper or electronic trail it would have to be eliminated.
She straightened her spine. “So, how do we get to know each other?”
“Among the many jobs you’ve had, have you ever waited tables?”
“Many times. When my band was playing in Wilmington...”
Not that again. “I don’t need to know the details,” he snapped. “You start tonight, princess.” With that, he slid from his seat and stood. He’d spent too much time looking at her. She was starting to get under his skin, and that was the last thing he needed.
She stood, too, more than a little angry. “I’ve had about enough of that. You can call me Echo or Raintree or pain in the ass, but do not call me princess.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you are, a Raintree princess?”
Echo lifted her chin in obvious defiance. She’d probably deck him if he told her she was cute when she was mad.
“Some might say so, but that’s not who I want to be. I just want... I just want...”
A normal life. A life without pain. Ordinary
