Books by Maggie Shayne (39 page)

A hot blade slid silently through his heart, and Ren’s hands trembled a little as he stirred the soup. Not now, he ordered himself, and for once his mind obeyed. He wouldn’t dwell on the future. Instead he’d attempt to make up for some of what he’d missed.

And later he’d worry about the pain that was in all likelihood going to be with him for as long as he lived. Later, in that vast, dark future that loomed ahead of him, when he’d have to live without her. A fiery hell would hold more appeal.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, dressed in a big dorm shirt, her damp hair trailing down over her shoulders and leaving wet spots in the general vicinity of her breasts—not a good area on which to focus, he decided—Ren had a place set for her in front of the fireplace. She started to head past him, straight for the little kitchen, but did a double take and came to a halt. “What’s all this?” “I thought you might be hungry.” She blinked, and her eyes seemed wary, as if she was wondering what he could be up to. But she dismissed whatever she’d been thinking and took the seat he pointed out, a big, friendly rocker with plump, quilted cushions lining it. She eyed the soup, the glass of milk he’d created when he’d found a box of powdered mix in the cupboard, the chocolate pudding, the small bowl of peaches. “I don’t think I can hold all that.”

“Why not? You feeling queasy?”

“No, but—”

“Then eat. Come on, Annie; it’s good for the baby. You know that.”

“I know.” She went for the pudding first, pulling the spoon out of the can to lick it clean, making Ren’s stomach knot with intense longing as he watched her. “Not bad,” she said.

“You shouldn’t worry about your weight right now, Annie. You’ll take it off again in no time, once the baby’s born.”

She washed the pudding down with a sip of the milk and grimaced, setting the glass aside. “Won’t matter then, anyway. You’ll be…” She met his eyes briefly and looked away.

Gone,
he finished in his mind. He’d be gone, and she couldn’t get that out of her thoughts. Maybe that was adding to her impatience with him.

“I’m not worrying about my weight,” she put in, probably just to fill the awkward silence. “I eat plenty. I wouldn’t let anything as petty as vanity interfere with the baby’s health.”

“I know that. And besides, you have your vitamins.”

“Yeah.”

Tension. That’s what it was. Thick and electric, it seemed to hover like an invisible wall between them. He couldn’t think of a single way to break through it.

She finished half the pudding, licked the chocolate from her lips, and reached for the soup. Ren reached for his own, having forgotten it was there. Watching her eat chocolate pudding could, he figured, make a man forget just about anything. And for a while they ate, but Ren sensed it was more for something to do than because either of them actually felt hungry.

“You’re really uncomfortable here with me, aren’t you, Ren?”

She’d finished the soup. The bowl of peaches went untouched. Ren wasn’t certain how to answer her question.

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged and shook her head. “Just a feeling I get.”

“You and your feelings.”

She glanced at him sharply. He realized he’d slipped. He wasn’t supposed to know how often she relied on her gut feelings to guide her. He wasn’t supposed to know a lot of things about her. But more and more was coming back to him now.

“I just meant you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I’m enjoying this time with you, Annie.”

“Are you?”

Her eyes were searching, questioning. “I am. My only regret is that it can’t last longer.“

She lowered her head, and he knew she still hadn’t given up on her crazy notion that he could find a way to stay. It wouldn’t help her at all to know he wanted that as badly as she did.

The fire snapped and hissed, and she focused on the dancing flames. “We should make the most of what little time we do have,” she said, her voice very soft.

“I thought that’s what we
were
doing.”

Closing her eyes slowly, she released a long sigh. “Not even close.”

“Annie…”

Shaking her head, she got out of her chair, belly first, hands braced on the arms for support. “I’m going to bed now. Thanks for the meal. I’ll do breakfast, okay?”

“Sure.”

Then she was gone, and Ren sat alone, the emptiness inside him gnawing right to the bone. He’d never in his life been as lonely as he was at that very moment.

And just how the hell was she supposed to sleep? Now he was saying she was beautiful, plying her with pudding by firelight, acting as if… as if he cared about her, and maybe a little more than that. She’d caught the man undressing her, staring at her body as if he liked what he saw, for crying out loud. And yet he ignored her blatant hints as if she were speaking a foreign language. What the hell was going on with him?

When she thought he might desire her in spite of his claim that he was unable to, he turned away. When she treated him like a casual stranger, he seemed hurt. She’d seen an undeniable flash of regret in his eyes when she’d left him alone in the living room. Had he wanted her to stay? To invite him to come with her? Or was she imagining the things she kept seeing in his eyes? What in God’s name did the man want?

Annie tossed uncomfortably on the bed for hours and never came a bit closer to knowing the answer. She knew what she wanted. But that was little help. She wanted him. She wanted to make love to him. No, she wanted him to make love to her. The way he used to, so that it was more man just sex, more than passion. She wanted to feel his love surrounding her and cradling her and warming her the way she used to feel it.

God, she missed that. The sense his love-making had always conveyed—that there was no one in the world for him but her. That nothing could ever come between them. That she meant everything to him. The feeling of being cherished, treasured. The certainty that he loved her above everything else in the universe that used to envelope her entire being as she fell asleep in his arms.

She wanted him back: that’s what she wanted. She wanted him to remember, to be her husband again, to be Richard.

Maybe it simply wasn’t going to happen. And maybe, she decided after hours of hopeless analysis, she wasn’t going to sleep. She flung the covers aside and tiptoed to the door, peering through it.

The fire’s lonely glow spilled into the rustic room, painting the dark wood with an orange wash. Wasted with no one there to enjoy it. The dishes had been cleared away. Ren was nowhere in sight. Up in the loft, she imagined. Probably figured she was too round and awkward to manage the ladder. Probably figured he was safe from her up there. And he was probably sleeping quite soundly without her.

It wasn’t fair, she thought. She hadn’t slept soundly without him in eight long months. His memory kept her awake and haunted her dreams. And now he was here, in the flesh, and still managing to haunt her.

But not for long. He’d leave her alone again sometime soon. And she didn’t think she could bear it.

She needed air, space. She had to think this through, find a way to come to grips with it.

God, she didn’t want her baby raised by a woman in constant mourning. What kind of life would that be? How would her child manage to grow into this great world leader if all Annie ever showed it was grief and sorrow?

She padded barefoot through the living room and slipped out the front door. The night air sighed its fresh breath into her lungs. It tasted of earth and pure water and pine needles. It was good. Somewhere a night bird crooned a lullaby that went on and on, the same three notes over and over. Continuity. She clung to the bird’s song, loving the predictable pattern of it, wishing she could find more predictable patterns in her life. She breathed deeply and stepped off the porch, slowly making her way around back, toward the water. Stars glittered like diamonds on the lake, and a streak of silvery moonlight magically bisected the calm surface.

Annie sat on the edge of the dock and let her bare feet dangle in the pure water. Maria used to tell stories about this lake. She used to claim it was somehow special. Pure, she called it. One of the few lakes left in the modern world that was still exactly as it had been on the day it was formed. Unsullied by man and his toxins.

Annie sighed. Ren would be gone soon, unless she found a way to make him stay. Of course, before that would work, she had to make him
want
to stay.

“I just don’t know how to deal with him,” she muttered to herself and to the lake. “I don’t know how to… how to relate to him. As a friend or a stranger or a…” She broke off, but the words whispered through her mind anyway.
Or as a lover.

She waved her feet back and forth, feeling the brisk, chilly water rushing over them, invigorating her. She’d never had trouble relating to Richard before. But now everything was so different.

Or was it? Maybe she’d been looking at this all wrong. Richard had been away. She’d missed him terribly, and now he was back. Why did that mean anything had to be different? Annie sighed. “Because he’s changed, that’s why.”

Closing her eyes, Annie envisioned Ren… Richard in her mind.
But there’s so much about him that’s the same. Everything, really. His personality hasn’t altered. He likes the same foods and uses the same expressions. He’s just as kind, just as wonderful. He’s the same.

Except for the armor and the magic, and of course, his memory and the fact that he no longer wanted her. He was a warrior now… but maybe the same man inside.

And what about her? Had she changed as well? Maybe she had. God knew she was no longer the carefree, happy woman she’d been before. Now she was wary, a little bit unsure of herself, and hurting. Always hurting.

She searched herself for the woman she used to be, the girl she’d been before that. When she looked around this place, her haven, she realized she’d still enjoy climbing the trees and exploring the forests and skinny-dipping in the chill water. That part of her, the happy part, was still there, inside her. It was only being stifled by the pain of losing him. Maybe she could find a way to bring it out again.

Most important of all, her heart hadn’t changed. She still loved him as much as she ever had. Maybe even more, now that she’d seen how empty her life could be without him.

She tilted her head, considering this. If neither of them had truly changed inside, where it counted, why not treat him exactly the way she would if he’d never left?

The wind picked up. It hummed in harmony through the highest branches of the nearby trees, sighed down to the lower ones, and whispered in the needles. Annie looked up at the starry sky. She smelled the pine sap, pungent and good.

“This place,” she whispered, “is magic. Anything is possible here.”

Annie didn’t look down. She kept her gaze skyward, let the peaceful night filter into her, relaxing everything it touched. It reached deep, this place, and shook the woman she’d been before, rousing her from a long slumber. Annie felt her old self waking, a bit groggy and a little unsure, but awake, at long last. And as she woke, she wondered why she’d wasted so very much time grieving. The old Annie wouldn’t have. She’d have been relishing every minute she had with the man she loved. So what if he rejected her? At least she had to try. God, if she could only show him a fraction of what they’d had together, he’d never want to leave her.

She got to her feet, turning toward the cabin, but hesitated, a bit of her newfound courage deserting her. What she needed was a plan. And to formulate a plan, she needed a clear, sharp mind and just a little bit more time. Her gaze was drawn to the lake again. It lay as still as a dark mirror, its serenity beckoning her. And the girl Annie had once been smiled.

“Annie…”

She wasn’t there. Her bed lay empty, rumpled. Her shoes and her jacket were right where she’d left them. Where the hell was she?

Ren couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep! Not now, not when Blackheart stalked his wife and his child like a madman. Besides, Ren thought as he frantically searched the entire cabin, he’d been wide awake for hours, chasing sleep until he’d given up ever catching it. He’d been unable to close his eyes, knowing she was lying alone in a big bed just below him. Three times he’d got up and gone to the ladder with every intention of slipping into her room. He’d slide into her bed and pull her into his arms and hold her. Tell her how much he wanted her. Oh, he couldn’t make love to her, not the way he’d like to. He had no idea whether intercourse would be safe at this late stage of pregnancy. But there was more than one way to make love to a woman, and Ren had all but writhed in his lonely bed as the alternatives had twisted through his mind. A mind that was supposed to be incapable of stirring up such fantasies.

But each time he’d started to go to her, he’d stopped himself. He no longer cared that he’d be sentencing himself to death for breaking his final vow to Sir George. He no longer cared that his existence as a White Knight would end with the completion of his current mission. He wanted her. And he cursed whatever powers had decided it could be wrong for a man to want his own wife.

What stopped him from going to her, though, wasn’t the consequence he’d face. It was the one she’d face. She’d be devastated when he left her, even though he’d be truly dying this time instead of returning to his service as a White Knight. It would hurt her just the same, maybe more, this way. He couldn’t do that to her.

Ren put those thoughts from his mind now as he failed to find Annie in the cabin. She’d gone outside. God, why? Didn’t she know that Blackheart could be lurking there, waiting? Didn’t she realize the danger?

Shoeless, wearing only his jeans, and those unfastened, Ren raced out onto the porch, around the cabin, and down the grassy incline to the lake.

And then he stopped and caught his breath.

She was in the water, the wedge-shaped portion that had been transformed into quicksilver by the moonlight. She swam, her slender arms beaded with droplets as they moved. Then she stopped and floated, and her hair spread into the illuminated water around her, and Ren thought of mermaids and sirens.

She saw him, but she didn’t smile. She only held his gaze steadily and paddled toward the dock where he stood. At the end of it, she stopped. She clasped the dock to keep herself afloat, her chin just level with the wood. And he could see the slim column of her throat, and the water beading on her shoulders, and the mounds of her breasts just above the water line.

He lost the power of speech.

“I wanted to swim,” she said softly, as if that explained everything.