The Isis Knot by Hanna Martine Page B

it—”
    “Did you bolt?” she pressed, because she didn’t want to answer questions about her origins. “There was a man with a gun in your wagon. You’re his, aren’t you?”
    William lowered himself from the crouch, sitting on one hip, leg out to the side, the other knee propped up. He looked far too at ease, like he’d done this before. Like he’d been expecting it.
    “Not any longer.”
    The way he said “longer”— lon-gah —rolled through her ears and pricked at the strange something that burned in her heart.
    “The old man who drove your wagon,” William said, “who was he?”
    “A shepherd. An emancipist. His name is Viv.”
    William frowned. “Does he scare you? Does he hurt you?”
    “No. Not at all.”
    He cocked his head. “Then what are you doing here, hiding?”
    Suddenly her throat was awfully dry. “He asked me to come to town. I didn’t want to walk back in the storm.”
    “Hmm.” He drew a long, slow breath through his nose. “Or maybe you were looking for me.”
    She gasped, air freezing in her chest. That was when she knew there was something else inside her. A presence. Something otherworldly and completely feminine. Because at William’s words, it purred with joy. With desire.
    “But I wasn’t,” she lied. “I don’t know you.”
    Amusement ticked up one corner of his mouth. “You knew my name. I think you know me, too.” His feathery voice draped over her, heightened by the deep of the shadows. He seemed to be everywhere. Around her. Inside her.
    A frightening longing took to root in her heart. In the warm place between her legs.
    She closed her eyes and tried to gather herself. Tried to parse out what she knew to be absolutely true from the mysterious things that couldn’t possibly be fact.
    “You know me,” he rumbled, “because I know you. Sera, with the black hair and deep brown eyes.”
    “You can’t see my eyes.”
    “Yes, I can. They’re still in my mind.”
    Her eyelids flipped open. Though he hadn’t moved an inch closer, it felt like he had.
    This was too much for her already overloaded brain to process and accept. She pressed her hands to the floorboards and tried to scoot back, to give herself some air.
    “No, wait. Don’t go.” A look of panic crossed his face and he reached out. His cool, damp fingers folded over her knee. The gentlest touch.
    Images assaulted her vision.
    The braided and robed woman, cradling the boy baby.
    The hunter and his dog.
    The knot.
    And then a new one. The braided woman, naked and glistening, her face twisted in passion. A handsome, dark-haired, dusky-skinned man lay beneath her, and she was slowly riding him, his fingertips digging into her hips.
    Sera sucked in a breath. William snatched back his hand, his eyes bulging, and she wondered what he’d seen inside his mind.
    Her chest felt funny, like it had expanded to twice its usual size and she was now filled with twice a woman’s emotion. Twice her desire.
    He edged back and raised both hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He licked his lips. “I’m not one of those men. I’ll not hurt you. Please believe me.”
    It would’ve been easier to believe that this criminal was one of those kind of men, except that she didn’t. William wouldn’t hurt her. Not ever.
    The image of the braided woman returned without touch or prompt. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl and they crinkled as she smiled in joy at Sera. It was this woman who lived inside her now. It was this woman who was somehow connected to the gold cuff. It was this woman who was so clearly rapturous over finding William.
    Sera covered her face with her hands, trying to scrub the braided woman’s image from her mind in order to think clearly.
    “Sera.”
    It was the tone of William’s voice—deep and resonant, somewhere between awe and realization—that drew her hands away. She hadn’t pulled her sleeve back down and the gold cuff was plainly visible. He was staring at it.
    She scrambled,