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“I’ll go back to my hotel room,” she said.
“You should stay here.” When she started to object, he said firmly. “We shouldn’t be separated with Kronos out there.”
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “But I take the couch,” she said with equal firmness. She would take no argument from him about this. When she had been here before, he had taken the couch, and she knew he had not slept well.
“All right,” he said, smiling, then asked casually, “Hungry?” At her nod, he said, “Let’s make dinner.”
During the meal they deliberately avoided all talk of Kronos and the Horsemen. They spoke instead of movies and books and things they enjoyed. After dinner she took a shower and changed into leggings and a loose sweatshirt, then sat on the couch and idly picked up a pawn from the chess set on the coffee table.
“A game of chess?” Duncan suggested, coming over to sit in the chair across from her.
“I suspect you’ve gotten quite a lot better than you were when you were thirteen,” she answered with a smile. She had been the one to introduce him to the game, during that night he had spent with her in Donan Woods.
His eyebrows went up in amusement and acknowledgment, just like Connor’s. He was darker than Connor though, with brown eyes and black hair, and a bit taller. “I’ve had some practice,” Duncan admitted. “White or black?”
“I’ll take black. Like old times.”
They set the pieces up and played in silence. Cassandra tried to concentrate, for Duncan had indeed gotten some practice. He had been quick at the game when she had taught it to him, and he was very good now. She hadn’t played much chess at all since Connor had been her student, just before Duncan had been born. She wondered if Connor and Duncan played chess, and, if so, who won. And who won during their sparring matches? They were very different, these MacLeods.
Cassandra started to move her bishop, then looked more closely at the board. Duncan had threatened her rook on the move before, and she had escaped that gambit, but now she saw that she had opened herself up for a trap. It was a simple trap really, but an effective one. His knight was threatening both her king and her queen. She knew she must sacrifice the queen to protect the king. The king was the most important piece on the board, even though the queen was the more powerful.
“Check,” Duncan said cheerfully. Then he smiled at her.
Cassandra gazed at him for a second, flushing under that knowing smile and those mocking eyes. She hooked her fingers under the edge of the chess board and flung the board and the pieces off the table. The board cracked when it landed, and the pieces scattered over the floor. She stared defiantly at Duncan, the rage and frustration still boiling within her. He wasn’t smiling now, was he?
Duncan merely looked at her. Then he leaned over and picked up the pieces that had rolled toward him. As he set them on the table, he asked, “Do you have these temper tantrums often?”
Cassandra wanted to slap him. How dare he? But even though his tone had been humorous, his eyes were not. Duncan was not laughing at her or mocking her; he was concerned. And he was right. It was a temper tantrum—total, uncontrolled rage.
“No,” she whispered painfully, the rage subsiding, but not disappearing. “They used to come every few centuries or so.” She had destroyed a small pine tree with her sword when Duncan had been six. “Would you say that was often?” she asked, trying to make a joke of it.
Duncan shook his head, smiling a little, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, reminding her of Ramirez. “No.”
“No.” It was a still a whisper, a rueful echo. Duncan was very young. “But . they’re coming more often now, ever since. ” Ever since she had tried to take Connor’s head in Edinburgh, but she did not want to tell Duncan about that. She hoped Connor had not told Duncan about that. She tried again. “They come, and I can’t control. ” Her voice was shaking, and she stopped. She could not control even that anymore.
She slipped off the couch to pick up the rest of the pieces, then stayed where she was, kneeling by the table, her head down.
Duncan joined her there, squatting in front of her, waiting.
She did not want to look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a . poor loser.”
Duncan leaned forward and took her hands in his. His hands were very warm, very strong. “Maybe you’d better finish telling me about it,” he said, and when she nodded he pulled her up gently to sit on the couch next to him. “How did you find out about Kronos?” he asked.
“Roland. He left a letter, to be given to me after he died.”
“Roland knew Kronos?” Duncan asked in surprise.
“Oh, yes. Kronos was Roland’s teacher. One of his teachers,” she amended. “Roland rode with the Four Horsemen for a time. They called him ‘Little Brother.'”
“I didn’t realize Roland was that old.”
“Yes.” He was old, but he had never really grown up. “Roland said he sent a letter to Kronos, too.” She shrugged. “I’m not the only one hunting.”
“So you think Kronos is after you?”
“If he wasn’t, he will be now.” There was an old score to settle between them. She yawned suddenly, then smiled apologetically at Duncan. “I’m sor—” She stopped herself and said simply, “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” She lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket over her. “Good night, Duncan.”

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