Books by Maggie Shayne (22 page)

AVON BOOKS NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

AVON BOOKS

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The Hearst Corporation

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New York, New York 10019

Copyright © 1997 by Margaret Benson

Inside cover author photo by Karen Bergamo

Published by arrangement with the author

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Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-93169

ISBN: 0-380-78747-4

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address The Fallon Literary Agency, 15 East 26th Street, #1609, New York, New York 10010.

First Avon Books Printing: October 1997

AVON TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA REGISTRADA, HECHO EN U.S.A.

Printed in the U.S.A.

WCD 10 987654321

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Dedicated to my very own hero, Rick,

and to His fellow Knights of the Highway,

wherever they may be

The Journey Begins

Annie had no idea when she woke that morning that the world as she knew it was about to end. When Richard wrapped his arms around her in bed and kissed her until he elicited a sleepy response, when he whispered in her ear that he loved her, his stubbly face grazing her cheek, she had no idea that these moments together might be their last.

Richard rolled away and started to get up, and that was when Annie felt the first stirrings of nausea. She sat up, slid her hands over his arms, and planted her lips on the birthmark right between his shoulder blades. “You can’t just kiss a girl like that and then go off to work and leave her all alone, you know.”

“Have to.”

He looked at her over his shoulder, and she saw the dark embers flaring in his deep blue eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to the clock on the bedside stand, and his lips thinned. “Have to,” he repeated, but more firmly this time.

“Sorry, Annie. Much as I regret it, we both knew the honeymoon couldn’t last forever.”

“It was great while it did last, though.” She kissed his neck and let him get up. Then she curled her legs under her on the bed and watched him moving, naked and glorious and wonderful, around the bedroom. He took jeans out of the dresser, giving her a perfect view of his tanned backside and reviving pleasant memories of the last two weeks. “I’m glad we spent it at Mystic Lake. Aren’t you?”

“I enjoyed every minute of it.” This he delivered with an over-the-shoulder glance and wiggling eyebrows. Golden blond eyebrows that perfectly matched the hair framing his face. He took the rest of his clothes with him and strolled into the bathroom.

Annie jumped out of bed, snatched her robe off the chair beside it, and followed him. “You sure about that? I know you wanted to travel.”

He twisted the shower knobs and tested the water with his hands. He had terrific hands, her Richard.

“What better place to celebrate our marriage, Annie, than the place where we met? Hmm? You were right about that. I admit it.”

She smiled, and when he stepped into the shower and closed the curtain, she hopped onto the counter beside the sink and waited for him. She wasn’t eager to let him out of her sight just yet.

She
had
been right about Mystic Lake, though. She’d been just a little girl when her parents had learned that the parcel of state land in the hills bordering their own property, including the lake, was going to be put up for auction. They’d been determined to buy it, but couldn’t swing it on their own. When they’d run into Richard’s parents exploring the same property with the same intentions and the same limitations, a partnership had been born. Together they’d bought the lake and the surrounding forests.

No one wanted to see the natural beauty of Mystic Lake spoiled, but practicality had reared its ugly head. In the end, they’d compromised, putting up rental cottages along the easily accessible southern and western shores, and preserving the natural beauty of the harder-to-reach north and east shores of the lake. The only thing on that side was one gloriously rustic log cabin. And the only people to set foot there were Richard’s and Annie’s families.

Annie had met Richard there when they were small children. He’d teased her mercilessly because she’d been insisting she’d spotted a fairy in the woods. She sometimes thought she’d fallen in love with him right then, at the tender age of four.

Her stomach ache got a little worse while she waited for him to finish his shower, and continued as he dressed. She was nearly green when she stood by the door and kissed him good-bye.

He was just straightening away from her when the thunder rumbled in the distance, and she clung to him a little tighter. “It’s going to storm, Richard. Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“Honey, I’ve driven a truck in the rain before. You forget, you’re talking to an expert.” He gave her a wink and bent to kiss her again. “You’re the one who ought to stay home today. You don’t look so good.”

His concern was genuine, she knew. No one had ever loved her the way Richard did. Her parents loved her, but not like this. Richard’s love was all-consuming. It exceeded every emotion. It enveloped her and hugged her in its warm embrace, even when he was away. And she loved him just as much. Sometimes it amazed her, the strength of the bond between them. But it was so much a part of her, and had been for so very long—all their lives, really—that she couldn’t imagine
not
feeling this way.

The nausea rose in waves through her belly, and a curious and inexplicable chill rippled up her spine.

“Are you okay?” he asked, bending closer and laying his broad, warm palm across her forehead.

“Fine.” She forced a bright smile for him, closed her hand around his, and pulled it lower to press it to her lips instead of her head. God, how she loved this man.

He nodded but was still frowning at her. “I’ll call and check in on you later. And I should be home early. You take it easy today, okay?” She nodded. “I love you, honey,” he told her.

“I love you back,” she told him. She stood in the doorway until he was out of sight, and then she ran into the bathroom without a moment to spare.

Annie called in sick that day. All queasy and dizzy and weak, she was sure she must be coming down with that bug that had been plaguing her students. It got worse, even as the storm did. Thunder rolled incessantly. Flashes of lightning were the only relief from a murky gray sky. The wind raged and rain came in torrents.

The storm went on all day, but her symptoms disappeared by noon. By then the day was pretty much shot, and Principal Hayes had already called in a sub, so there would have been little sense in going to school.

Besides, she was tired, really wrung out. She decided to pamper herself just a bit this afternoon so that when her energy returned, she’d have time to plan something special for dinner. Buy some wine. Maybe light those vanilla-scented taper candles in the crystal holders. Put some music on, soft and low. She’d greet Richard at the door in something sexy and pay him back for the lingering kiss he’d given her that morning.

Smiling, she imagined the expression on his face when he came home to her planned seduction. She sank onto the sofa with a cup of herbal tea, kicked off her shoes, and tuned in to
Oprah.
She planned to relax for just a few minutes before she got busy. Today’s theme, life after death, had always fascinated Annie, and she was forever interested in hearing a new or different take on the subject.

She sipped her tea and was only mildly irritated when the words “Special Report” flashed across the bottom of the screen, and a newsman replaced her favorite talk-show hostess.

And then he seemed to look her right in the eyes, and everything changed. The strange part was that she felt the blackness creeping over her soul before he even opened his mouth. The tea sloshed over the sides of the cup, and she realized it was because her hand was shaking. She stared at the man on the screen as his lips parted in exaggerated slow motion, and some small voice inside warned her to turn the set off. Now. Hurry. Thumb the remote before he says it.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t move or even blink.

“There was a powerful explosion just off Eighty-One North, when a tractor-trailer, reportedly carrying over eight thousand gallons of gasoline, plunged through the guard rails and down a one-hundred-foot embankment. Details are sketchy, but one eyewitness claims a school bus had skidded out of control and was sliding into the path of the truck. The driver, apparently in a deliberate act to avoid hitting the bus, veered sharply to the right and through the rails. No injuries reported among the forty-five elementary school students on board the bus. The truck driver is assumed dead, though his body has not been recovered, and experts claim it may never be retrieved due to the extreme heat generated by the blast and the burning gasoline. The driver’s name is being withheld pending notification of his family.”

Annie didn’t need the notification. She knew. It was as if some dark moon had eclipsed her heart, blocking out every bit of light. She knew.

She sank slowly to her knees on the floor and waited there in a state of borderline sanity. She couldn’t speak or move or cry. Couldn’t think. She only stared at the telephone, hating it with everything in her. And then the phone rang.

Richard had a split second to make a decision. His brakes were useless. He tried anyway, and his wheels locked up, but the truck with its deadly cargo kept moving, all eighteen tires hydroplaning, riding the water-covered surface of the bridge the way a hockey player rides the ice. The yellow bus skidded sideways and came sliding toward him. He couldn’t stop in time. The bus was out of control and showed no signs of slowing. There was nowhere to go. Beyond the rails on the sides of the bridge was nothing but a hundred feet of rain-slashed sky, ending abruptly with the narrow, shallow river and its rocky banks below.

So much went through his mind in that slow-motion instant he was given to make the choice. He thought of his mother, and he thought of Annie.
Annie.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave her.

Then he saw them. The kids. Wide, innocent, terror-filled eyes beyond the rain-spattered side windows of the bus. Beautiful babies sliding toward the nose of his semi. And when they collided and his truck split that bus in two, those who weren’t killed instantly would probably die when the gas he was hauling flared up.

Richard looked at the rails to his right, the misty storm beyond. “Hell, I’m dead either way,” he muttered, and he released the brakes, caught a gear, jerked the wheel, and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

As the truck smashed through the guard rails and sailed out into the sky, Richard thought it hung there for just an instant. Just that brief moment while its momentum altered from forward to downward. He turned his head to glance back and saw the bus sliding, right past where he would have hit it and on to the relative safety of the barren stretch of road beyond.

And then the descent began and he braced himself and whispered, “I’m sorry, Annie. Damn, I hope you know how much I love you.” He closed his eyes when the ground came rushing up toward his windshield.

He felt no impact. No explosion. No pain. Only darkness. Timeless night.

When Richard opened his eyes again, he had no idea how long he’d been in that darkness. He blinked several times to clear his vision because this wasn’t right, what he was seeing. The rain was gone, and he was sitting, not in the air seat of his crumpled rig but on a spongy patch of moss. Around him were trees and plants. Birds were singing. The sun blazed down from an electric-blue sky.

Richard gave his head a shake. He must be dead. Or comatose or hallucinating. He was sitting in a forest. Where was the truck? The bridge? The river? Where was the damned storm? Hell, what about all those little kids on the bus?

“The children are fine, Richard. Oh, a little shaken and perhaps bumped and bruised a bit. But they’ll be all right. Thanks to you.”

Richard swung his head around at a deep, ancient-sounding voice that was like dark water chuckling over stones, and met a pair of eyes that might have belonged to time itself. Instinctively, he rose, though he was amazed that he was able.

The man smiled gently and came forward. He looked like… like some medieval sage come to life. Hose and pointed boots of thin, soft leather. A tunic of red, with a rampant lion on its front in gleaming gold. Delicate-looking chain mail encased his arms beneath the tunic, as if he wore a shirt of the stuff underneath. And a sword was belted around his waist.

Richard released a breath and whispered, “What’s happening to me? Who… who
are
you?”

The old man’s painfully pale cornflower eyes met his. His was the craggy face of a granite mountain. His hair, snowy white, hung over his shoulders. And before Richard’s eyes, his garments changed as if by magic. He now wore a dark-colored suit beneath a long gray coat. The sword, Richard suspected, remained at his side.

“I have many names, Richard. Some call me Sir George, the slayer of dragons. Others knew me as Perseus, destroyer of Medusa. Still others—“

Richard held up a hand; then his eyes fell closed and he lowered his head. “Am I… am I dead?”

“I plucked you from the truck before you could experience physical death.”

Meeting the old man’s eyes again, Richard set his jaw. “So I’m not dead?”

“You’re supposed to be. I was a bit eager to bring you over.”

Richard’s brows rose. “Over?” He looked around, but the forest that surrounded him seemed perfectly normal. Certainly not heavenlike. “I don’t want to be here,” he said, facing the man again, his voice firm. “I want to go back to my wife.”

The old man nodded slowly. “Yes, you love Annie very much, don’t you? I’ll admit, I’ve rarely seen any mortal love as powerful. Never that I can recall, in fact.”

“We belong together,” Richard whispered. “We’ve always known that.” Tears tried to blind him as the thought that he might be dead and that this might be some form of afterlife assailed him. Would he ever see Annie again? His knees threatened to buckle.

The man placed a gnarled hand on Richard’s shoulder, easing him lower until he sat on that mossy stump once more.

“I’ll ask you again,” Richard muttered, “who are you?”

“I am a servant of the Light,” the old man said. “I’m older than you could comprehend, my friend. The eldest White Knight in the army. First Knight of Goodness, in fact.” The hand on Richard’s shoulder tightened. “And I need you to join us.”

Richard gave his head a shake, barely reacting to the man’s odd words. He felt dazed, as if none of this were real. “I don’t want to be in anyone’s army,” he said. “I just want to go home to Annie.”

“Yes, well, that can be easily resolved.”

He did react this time, sending the man a steady gaze. “Nothing could change how I feel for her. Nothing.”

The ancient eyes narrowed a bit. The old man drew a breath. “I’ve watched you all your life, Richard. I know when a mortal man has the makings of a Hero. A White Knight. And from the time you were very young, I’ve sensed you could be one of my finest. Perhaps the best knight ever to wield the golden sword.”

Richard shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

“You gave your life to save those children just now.”

Shrugging, Richard looked up at him, emptiness filling his heart. “I can’t go back to her, can I?”

“How much do you truly love your Annie, Richard?”

He lifted his chin. “I’d die for her.”

The old man nodded, expelling his breath in a knowing sigh. “That, my friend, is precisely what you have done.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She’s going to need help, Richard. She’ll need defending against a power so evil that even my army is challenged by the prospect of defeating it. And I’ve seen enough of men and of knights and of valor to know that no knight in my service can help her. In fact, I know of only one man with enough love, courage, and strength of will to save your Annie. And that man, Richard, is you.“

Richard frowned, shaking his head slowly. “Then you have to send me back.”

“No, Richard. I have to keep you here. For only from this realm, only as a White Knight, can you save Annie. Not as her mortal husband. Richard, if you love her as you say you do—”

“I do,” Richard said. “I don’t understand any of this, but I’d do anything for her. I swear it.”

“Even give her up?”

Richard, feeling the slow crushing sensation in his chest, lowered his head, battling the tears that choked him, and whispered, “if… there’s no other way.”

The man placed his gnarled hand on top of Richard’s head this time. “Kneel, then, valiant one.”

Richard knelt, head still bowed.

“The sorrow will go now. It will go along with every remnant of the life before. Only your soul will remain. The memories, the mortal life—all of those things are going now. Drifting away from your mind like sand before a strong wind. You begin again, here, like a slate that has been wiped clean. Prepared to learn the ways of the White Knights.”

There was a black mist swirling in his mind.

He felt light-headed, and then suddenly empty. Just empty. He felt tears on his cheeks, and the heartache, the emptiness inside him, remained, but he couldn’t remember what put it there. Why he’d been crying. Why he
still
felt like crying.

“Arise, Ren, White Knight of the Light.”

Ren. Yes. He was Ren, a White Knight. He knew that. Odd—for a moment he hadn’t been able to remember his own name. But it was there now, firmly implanted in his mind where it belonged.

He rose slowly, felt an odd weight pulling at him, and blinked down to see the gleaming white-gold hilt protruding from a sheath at his side. His hand trembling, he touched the cool metal guard, closed his fingers around the handle, and drew the weapon slowly. It fit his hand as if made for him, and seemed to warm to his touch as he turned the blade, watching it gleam. And for a moment he struggled to remember the old man’s name, because he felt strongly that he should, and yet it had fled his mind like everything else.

“Are you ready, Ren, to swear your vows to me? And to do so knowing that to break those vows would mean facing the second death?” the ancient one asked.

A trill of foreboding tiptoed through Ren’s heart, and a feeling that he should be mourning some terrible loss. But another sense raced through him, too. One telling him that he had to do as this man asked. That it was vital somehow. That something more important than life itself depended upon it. “I’m ready,” he whispered.

He still held the sword. Initially its weight had seemed alien, its hilt strange to him. But now it felt as if he’d held this gleaming weapon all his life, and he knew he could wield it as if it were an extension of his own arm. Lowering his head, Ren laid the sword across his heart and repeated his vows of service in a voice that shook every once in a while with a sorrow that he could not name.