Rebel Heart by Christine Young Page B

apart. If the knowledge he was seeking wasn't here, where was it?

 
    "Aisling?"

 
    The old lady closed her eyes and the breezes wafting through the trees overhead grew very still. She chanted softly. Despite himself, Cameron listened, astonished at what the woman could do with her voice, and completely enchanted by the rhythm of it.

 
    "The flower is a lady, small, fragile, delicate, coaxed to grow by tender hands. Petals as white as virgin snow will bring health and life to the one who cultivates its beauty. Maturity will bring sweet laughter and the cadence of life to this woman as well as the planet. Together, minds set as one..."

 
    Aisling stopped. Her eyes were opened now and were as wild as the wind-swept mountains. She was staring at Cameron.

 
    "What on earth? Fine, Aisling, come on spit it out," Cameron demanded. But her words had shaken him. They reminded him of a time and a place he'd tried hard to forget. Reminded him of a girl, no, a woman now, but someone he'd learned long ago to avoid.

 
    "I see pain," Aisling murmured.

 
    "So do I," Cameron muttered. "Get on with it. Finish your story."

 
    Aisling moaned. "I see agony, a horrible suffering anguish. Only the slightest fraction of hope is there. An opponent, offering help. It is not what she wants to do. She is innocent, but...but betraying you."

 
    "Hell!" Cameron ground out irritably. "You're talking nonsense. One minute you speak of a fragile white flower and the next it sounds like a lover's betrayal. Pain and hope. That's all there is any more. Aisling, it has been a long day..." But deep inside he knew her words could easily be true. After all, if he wasn't mistaken, she was speaking of Victoria DeMontville.

 
    "She is the one that holds the flower, fragile, like a delicate porcelain doll, strong as her ancestors before her. He has located her, after all these years of banishment, for there is discord surrounding her; she creates it even as she breathes and her heart beats against her breast. She works passionately for the good of others. They'll come for her, again and again, seeking more than her knowledge, more than her beauty, seeking fortune and name, and all material things."

 
    "A rebel without purpose," Cameron muttered, tiring of her mad ravings, yet knowing full well whom she spoke of.

 
    "But a rebel who could be nurtured into a blossoming flower with the proper care," Aisling prompted.

 
    "Water and fertilizer?"

 
    "You purposely jest."

 
    "Aisling, I know that I must see Drake, and I do not intend to keep him waiting longer."

 
    Aisling's eyes were closed again. "Dove-gray eyes and whiskey-colored hair. A scent of summer sunshine and a cool mountain lake, skin like velvet. She is swimming amidst the waves, breakers toppling over her. Now I see her rising from the foam, sunlight beating against the sand, see the curve of her breast, the tender sweetness of her soul, the length of her legs, the innocent gentle nature of her heart..."

 
    "Aisling, unless you can wave your magic wand and conjure her this instant, be quiet," Cameron said with a hint of annoyance. Yet he was disturbed by everything the old lady had said. Aisling was annoying. Truly annoying. He had easily formed an image of the woman as Aisling spoke and he wanted more than anything to disprove her statements.

 
    A pain-filled shuddering swept through him. He discovered himself angered once more with Victoria DeMontville, with this woman who was destined to betray him. And he had no intention of joining with her, mind or body, on this quest of discovery.

 
    Yet still, when Aisling had described the woman...

 
    He had felt the most puzzling sensations, as if their destiny was truly intertwined.

 
    He tensed his muscles, fighting the illusions hovering in his mind, battling the nightmare that threatened the cities and the ghosts haunting his soul.

 
    "There is a foe to conquer. Move with caution and speed. Watch behind you and guard the girl