Books by Maggie Shayne (104 page)

He frowned, studying her perfect face, seeing the hint of sadness still lingering in her eyes.
 
"Why?"

She stared at him intensely, as if trying to light the wicks of the candles in his mind.
 
"You'll never have with another, what you could have had with me."

His throat went dry.
 
"I know that."

"Then you're ten times the fool I thought you were."
 
She turned away from him.

He touched her shoulder.
 
"I didn't know about your father's rejection, Rhiannon.
 
I chose my words poorly when I referred to you as my curse.
 
It's little wonder you're so angry with me."
 
She didn't turn to face him.
 
"Rhiannon, I didn't mean it the way it seemed to you.
 
It's that I want--"

She jerked away from his touch and faced him, eyes blazing.
 
"I do not care
what
you want, nor am I interested in your interpretation of your own words."

"Rhiannon, if you would let me explain, you would see that--"

"It no longer matters, so stop hectoring me with it."
 
She looked away once again, and her eyes cooled until they held a chill that reached out to him.
 
"I am leaving, Roland.
 
Just as soon as the boy is safe, and Pandora is well enough to travel.
 
I am leaving, and this time, I will never darken your door again."
 
She smiled very slightly, but it was a smile of bitterness and pain.
 
"You ought to be extremely relieved.
 
Your curse will soon be removed."

Roland rose before the others, flinging the mildew-scented hay away from his face, and brushing it vigorously from his clothes.
 
His sleep had been anything but restful.

He told himself of the many possible reasons for that: Tamara's anger at him, and the rift he seemed to have caused between her and Eric; worry over Jamison's physical well-being, compounded by concern for the boy's state of mind; the question of whether the cat would recover, and if not, what effect that would have on her owner.

But none of those things were truly what had kept his mind twisting and turning all day long.
 
In truth, it was his own careless words and the pain they had caused in Rhiannon that haunted him.
 
God, for the power to travel back in time, armed with the knowledge about her he now had.
 
If he'd known that her own father had rejected her with the same decree, "You are my curse," he'd never have repeated the devastation.
 
True, he needed to remain apart from Rhiannon, but not for his life would he wish to hurt her.

The truth was, he cared for her.
 
A great deal more than he'd ever allowed himself to admit.
 
It had been easily denied when she'd been far away, when her visits had been few and oh, so far between.
 
Denying it had become more difficult with her return, but not impossible.
 
Her reckless ways and boisterous nature enabled him to mask irritation as dislike and disapproval.

But when he'd seen her on the dew-wet forest floor, reduced to uncontrollable sobbing, clutching the limp cat like a babe in her arms, he'd been unable to deny it any longer.
 
Her pain had sliced into his heart.
 
He'd suddenly wanted nothing more than to take that pain away.

He strolled to the side door, his feet sinking in loose hay.
 
Three birds took flight as he passed beneath the rafters on which they nested, their wings flapping noisily and echoing into the high barn.
 
A feather drifted down past his face, and he watched it fall.

Outside, onto the drying, browning autumn grass, he moved.
 
The air held a hint of the winter to come, but the sky was without a cloud.
 
Stiff weeds scraped his shoes as he moved away from the barn, senses attuned for outsiders.
 
He heard only the perfect harmony of the crickets, the occasional whir of a bat swooping and diving overhead, the unearthly whine of the wind whipping across an ancient weather vane high atop the barn.

He didn't want Rhiannon to leave.

The knowledge made itself known to him almost as soon as her decision had left her lips.
 
He would be utterly alone if he knew he'd never see her again.
 
True, she'd never been a steady presence in his life, but he'd always known she was there.
 
He'd always had the absolute certainty that if he summoned her, she would come to him; that when he least expected her, she'd show up unannounced.
 
She'd drag him into a whirlwind, whip it into a hurricane, listen to him tell her how foolish and reckless she was, and then blow away like an errant summer breeze.

He couldn't ask her to stay.
 
Her presence played havoc with his control, made him careless.
 
He would only hurt her, over and over, as he'd already proven.

He closed his eyes, and her face hovered in his mind.
 
That he could ever harm her deliberately seemed absolutely impossible.
 
For a moment, he considered the possibility that Eric had been right.
 
That his brutish behavior with Rhiannon had been a side effect of the drug.

Then he shook his head roughly.
 
What difference did it make?
 
It couldn't change what he knew about himself, what he truly was.
 
How could he ask Rhiannon to stay, knowing her presence would drive him beyond hope of recovering?

If only she would change her reckless ways, alter her wild nature, calm her impulsive mind.
 
He could help her.
 
She could help him.
 
If he could convince her of it, then perhaps...

No.
 
Rhiannon would never change.
 
He was sorely afraid he'd hear of her death one day.
 
And he had no doubt it would be dramatic and horrible.

"Roland?"

He turned at the feminine voice, knowing by its lack of depth and timber that it belonged to Tamara, not Rhiannon.

She came forward, head bowed, not meeting his eyes.
 
She stopped when her toes nearly touched his, slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.
 
"I'm sorry I said those things to you.
 
I know how much you love Jamey."

He returned her embrace, taking comfort in the physical closeness of another living being.
 
"It's all right, Tamara.
 
You're on edge.
 
We all are."

She lowered her arms and took a step backward, her gaze meeting his at last.
 
"I'm so afraid for him."

"We won't let any harm come to him, fledgling."

She nodded fast, squeezing her eyes tight for a moment.
 
When she opened them again, she searched his face.
 
"What about you?
 
I know you're hurting.
 
I can see it in your face."

He averted his own gaze, shaking his head in the negative.

"Don't lie to me, Roland.
 
You're in pain.
 
But so is Rhiannon."

He looked at her once more.
 
"Has she spoken to you about this?"

"Of course not.
 
She can't even admit to herself that she's hurting.
 
But she is.
 
When this is over--"

"When this is over, Rhiannon will go her own way, and I will go mine.
 
To do anything else has... has risks far too great to consider."

Tamara smiled very slightly.
 
Her palm came up to cover his cheek.
 
"Oh, Roland.
 
How can someone as wise as you be so blind?
 
There are no risks too great, when it comes to love."

"Love?"
 
He shook his head as her hand fell away.
 
"There is no love involved here.
 
Your romantic leanings are clouding your vision."

"Your stubbornness is clouding yours."

"Everyone ready?"
 
Eric's words accompanied the squeaky protest of the large barn door as he forced it open.

Roland looked beyond him to where Rhiannon stood, brushing bits of hay from her hair.
 
She moved forward, yanking the car door open.
 
Roland couldn't stop himself going to her before she got in.
 
He reached up, as she stiffened, and took a piece of hay from the back of her head.
 
He held it up between them.
 
"You missed one."

Her eyes, as they fixed on his, were wide and fathomless.
 
He scanned their ebony depths in search of some hint she would allow him to become her friend again.

Instead, he saw a glimmering tongue of flame beyond the jet, and felt an answering fire leap to life in his soul.
 
She still wanted him.
 
And God help him, he wanted her, too.
 
She licked her lips, swallowed hard and finally tore her gaze away.
 
As she tucked herself into the car, Roland closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

"You'll work it out, old friend."
 
Eric's hand clapped to Roland's shoulder, his deep voice, with a hint of amusement, was low and near his ear.
 
"If you don't go stark raving mad first."

Roland shot him a scowl and rounded the car's nose to slide into the front passenger seat.
 
He wouldn't attempt to sit beside Rhiannon in the back, though his body was demanding he do that, and anything else necessary to be close to her.
 
He needed to focus on Jamey.
 
All of this anguished soul-searching would wait until the boy was safe and sound once more.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Rhiannon hated herself for still feeling such potent desire for a man who'd rejected her time and time again.
 
Still, there had been something in his eyes, something new.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.
 
She was imagining things, that was all.
 
The thought of leaving him, of never seeing him again filled her with such utter desolation she wondered how she would bear it.
 
Already, the idea burrowed a fresh wound into her heart.
 
It dug in right beside the pain she felt for Pandora, and the worry of losing her, as well.
 
Was there to be nothing left to her?

When the car ran low on petrol, Eric pulled into a service station.
 
He and Tamara got out to stretch their legs.
 
Roland leapt out, as well, and she saw him head for a pay phone.
 
He'd barely said a word to her throughout the journey, but she'd felt his eyes upon her often, and looked up to see his head turned, his gaze caressing her.
 
And he didn't look away when she met it.
 
He faced her and allowed her to search his eyes, to try to see what drove him now.
 
Unfortunately, all she detected was misery, regret and confusion.
 
No help at all.

In a moment, he returned to the car, got in and twisted around in the seat, propping an elbow along the back of it.
 
"I phoned that vet.
 
He says Pandora is going to pull through."

Rhiannon was stunned, and the relief that rinsed her soul with his announcement overwhelmed her.
 
"She's all right?
 
She's really going to be all right?"

Roland nodded.
 
"She might have a permanent limp, but she's recovering nicely and he was able to save the leg."

 
Rhiannon closed her eyes and released all of her breath at once.
 
When she opened them again, she saw that self satisfied expression on his face.
 
"I suppose I owe you my thanks."

He shook his head quickly.
 
"You owe me nothing.
 
I only wanted to see some of the worry leave your eyes."

She felt a lump form in her throat.
 
"Why?"

"Why?
 
What do you mean, why?
 
I care about you, Rhiannon.
 
To see you in pain causes me pain, as well."

The hot moisture that sprung to her eyes was rapidly battered back by her fluttering lids.
 
She bit her lip and forced her breaths to come calmly, not in broken gasps.
 
Was he saying he cared for her?
 
She refused to ask.
 
She wouldn't give him yet another opportunity to reject her.

Yet, an insane and childish hope alighted in her heart, despite her best efforts to squelch it.

Tamara returned to the car with Eric and they were off yet again, headlights bounding into the night.
 
It was nearly dawn when they entered a tiny village in the shadows of the French Alps, and Tamara clutched Rhiannon's hand and whispered urgently, "This is it.
 
This is what I saw."

Eric stiffened behind the wheel.
 
"You're certain, Tamara?"

"Yes."

Rhiannon licked her lips, her pain forgotten as she began feeling the anticipation of the showdown she sensed was to come.
 
A little shiver of unease danced over her nape, making her shudder.

"We should park the car," Roland said, his voice sure and calm.
 
"We'll strike out on foot, and search for Lucien's automobile.
 
We can question any villagers we meet about the black car, and describe both Jamey and Lucien to them, in case they've been seen."

"Or we might try simply asking Lucien where he is.
 
He wants us to find him.
 
I'm certain of it."

Roland turned to stare at Rhiannon.
 
"But then he would be forewarned."

"He already is, Roland.
 
He knows we're coming," she said slowly.

"But not exactly when we'll arrive."

"Not the precise moment, no.
 
But he knows it will be by night.
 
And he must know that tonight is the most likely possibility, simply by the distance traveled.
 
We do not have the element of surprise in our arsenal, Roland."
 
She licked her lips, thinking again of Pandora's twisted leg.
 
"Nor do we need it."

"She's right," Eric said.
 
"I think we should get this thing underway, right now, tonight.
 
If we begin searching, we may not find them before dawn.
 
Then we'll be forced to leave Jamey in his hands for another day."

Roland inhaled, pursed his lips and finally sighed.
 
"All right.
 
Since time is of the essence, go ahead, Rhiannon.
 
Make contact if you can."

Her brows rose at his "if you can," but she settled onto the back seat and closed her eyes.
 
The time has come, Lucien
.
 
Where are you?