“What do you mean?” Arianna asked. “She’ll stay here, with us, of course. We can care for her. Perhaps in time . . . her mind will heal.”
I turned toward Arianna, searching her face for the villainess I had believed her to be. But found no sign of it in her deep brown eyes. “She attacked you,” I said. “She threatened to kill you. Might have done so, had I not come out in time.”
“She loves you,” Arianna returned, her voice gentle. “And she needs our help.”
I nodded slowly, watching her face. “You . . . did not fight back, when she attacked you.”
“You love her, as well, Nicodimus. I couldn’t take away another person you love. I could never do that.”
She confused me, this woman, who admitted betraying me, admitted costing me my life, and yet seemed to be nothing but goodness to her core. And beauty. Pure beauty such as I could scarcely bear to look upon.
“She should sleep for a while,” she said quietly. “You’re getting stronger. Perhaps you’d like to bathe, and put on something besides that blanket while she rests.”
I glanced down at myself and nodded. “If she wakes . . .”
“I can lock the door in case she bolts. And station Duncan outside in case she needs anything. But truly, I think she’ll sleep for a long time. Look at her. She’s exhausted.”
I nodded my agreement. “I think . . . perhaps the door should be left ajar. If she’s been held captive in the past. . .”
Arianna nodded. “You’re right. We’ll leave it unlocked and open a bit.”
“Good. Then . . . I shall bathe.”
She smiled gently, and took my hand. And at her touch, the familiar jolt rocked through me, but something else accompanied it. Another jolt. A physical awareness so very powerful it left my knees weaker than they had been before. Her skin . . . her scent . . . her touch . . . all were familiar, and tickling to life some distant memories from deep beneath the surface of my mind. A flash, and no more. A sudden recollection of my own feeling of intense arousal, of longing. Her mouth beneath mine as I tasted and probed its recesses. Her breath near my ear, promising things, whispering secrets my mind still struggled to keep from me. You will love me one day, Nicodimus. You will love me just as I love you. You will see.
* * * *
SHE WATCHED HIS expressions as she led him through the house to the stairs. She wanted him to use the upstairs bathroom. There was a bath below, of course, but they’d be less likely to disturb Nidaba with the noise if they used this one.
His gaze danced around each room they passed through, fixing on light fixtures, the refrigerator, the switches and plugs in the walls, the sound dock where her iPod rested, and other things he couldn’t possibly identify. The television set was, thankfully turned off just then.
“What’s up?” Raven asked as they started up the stairs.
Nicodimus leaned heavily on the bannister, so Arianna paused to let him rest a moment. “Nicodimus is ready to be out of bed. So we’re going to try a bath and a shave.”
“Here, you’ll need these.” Duncan quickly snatched up a pair of shopping bags. “Meanwhile, what about our . . . other guest?”
Arianna felt a rush of pain. “Nidaba is a friend . . . or was once. When I last saw her, she was going after Dearborne. And from the state of her now. . .”
“Oh no,” Raven whispered. “Gods, no, tell me you’re not thinking . . . what we read in those journals . . .”
Arianna nodded at her sister. “It’s possible. I can’t be sure, but my senses are telling me it’s true. I thought of Nidaba when I first read Dearborne’s account of the prisoner he called the dark woman.” Sighing, Arianna pushed the gruesome memory from her mind. “She’s resting now. But the bedroom door is unlocked. Just keep an eye on her, will you?”
Raven nodded.
Nicodimus turned to Duncan. “Nidaba is dangerous in this state,” he warned. “Take care.”
“I’ll be careful. Don’t worry,” Duncan said. “Go on, enjoy your pampering. We’ll yell if we need you.”
Nodding, Nicodimus began moving up the stairs again, slowly. At the top, Arianna led him into the small bathroom and eased him onto a chair at the vanity.
“It is,” he murmured, “as if I’ve entered an entirely new world. I see everything, yet recognize . . . almost nothing.”
“It must be very upsetting to you. It will get easier, I promise.”
He nodded, but looked doubtful.
“I guess we’d better start at the beginning. We use a power called electricity for just about everything now. It’s the same kind of energy that creates lightning. Mankind has learned to generate the power, and it is connected by wires to most homes. With this power, we no longer have to use candles or oil lamps for light.” She moved the light switch on the wall, and the lights came on in the dim bathroom. “See?”
Nicodimus stared up at the lights overhead, and the glowing bulbs lining the top of the mirror. “No,” he said. “I do not see at all.”
“I’ll show you the wires later, and try to explain in more detail how it works. The same electricity powers the pumps, so we can have water pumped in as we want it. It also heats the water, if we like.” She leaned over the tub, closed the plunger, and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature and letting the tub fill.
Nicodimus watched it with awe. “It is amazing. Truly amazing.”
He turned to the sink, seeing the spigots there similar to the ones in the tub, and reached up to turn a knob. Then he jumped backward when water shot out.
“It’s all right,” Arianna soothed. “Go ahead, play around with it a bit. Get a feel for how to work it.”
“I have seen such things before. The bathhouses in Rome. But the water there was heated by the earth. Hot springs fed the baths.” Nodding, he turned the knob further, increasing the flow, then cranked it in the opposite direction to turn it off again. He tried the other knob, getting hot water this time, and nodded in understanding as he shut it off. Then he pointed toward the toilet. “And what is this?”
“Urn . . . that’s a toilet. You urn. . .” She opened the lid. “You sit on it, to uh . . . answer nature’s call.”
He tilted his head, then his brows rose as he understood. “In the house?”
Smiling, she nodded. “Look.” She flushed the thing, and he watched the water swirl and vanish, only to refill again.
“Where does it go?” he asked her.
“A tank buried underground outside.” She pointed to the roll of paper. “You use this to . . . uh . . . clean up afterward. It goes down, too.”
He shook his head in wonder. Arianna liked not seeing open hostility and suspicion in his eyes for a change. She went on, showing him the razors and shaving cream, the hair dryer, the soap and shampoo. The toothbrushes and how to use them. When finally the tub was filled, she turned to the door.
“You are leaving me?” he asked. He didn’t sound worried, just surprised.
“I . . . thought you’d want some privacy.”
He studied her face. “You have bathed me before, Arianna. Twice now, I believe. Surely you are not embarrassed by this now?”
As he spoke, he dropped his blanket, and stepped into the steaming water. He lowered his glorious body slowly into the tub, and leaned back with a sigh. Arianna tried, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“You uh . . . you were dead then, Nicodimus. Both times,”
“And those were the only times you ever saw me in a state of . . . undress?” There was speculation in his eyes as he studied her face.
“No,” she admitted.
Then we–”
“We aren’t going to talk about that, Nicodimus.”
“Why not, Arianna?”
She looked down at his body in the rippling water. “For many reasons. The main one being that you’ll remember everything on your own, and I think it’s better for you if you do.”
“And the other reasons?”
She swallowed hard. “It was a
painful time for me, Nicodimus.”
“Because you wanted me, and I did not return the feeling?”
She met his gaze suddenly. “Because I loved you, and you did not return the feeling. Wanting me was never a question.” She turned again, gripped the doorknob.
“I think, Arianna, it still is not a question,” he said softly to her back.
Arianna felt her eyes widen. Swallowing hard, she stepped out of the room and into the hall, and closed the door firmly behind her.
* * * *
SO THAT WAS why she had resurrected me from the very bowels of death. She had loved me. Had loved me. Once. A very, very long time ago. How she felt about me now, I did not know, How could I know? Certainly all she had done for me thus far, from bringing me back to life, to taking me into her home and caring for me, seemed to indicate that she still cared for me. But caring and loving were quite different matters.
I was getting stronger at a rapid pace now. By the hour, it seemed, I felt the life force moving more powerfully through my body. And she had told me that once I was able to do so, I would be free to leave here.
To leave her.
Never to have to look upon her face again, as she had so eloquently put it.
But I had a new interest in staying. I did not want to leave until I had unlocked all the secrets of Arianna. Of our past together, of what she had been to me, how and why she had betrayed me and cost me my life, and what . . . if anything . . . she felt for me now.
And Nidaba. What horrors had befallen my beloved companion, Nidaba?
I bathed thoroughly, washed my hair in the water, using the sweet smelling stuff she had called “shampoo.” I likely used more than was needed, for the suds the stuff created nearly suffocated me, and I had to turn the water flow on once again and thrust my head beneath it to rinse it all away. Huge white mounds of froth floated upon the water in which I soaked, rendering it useless for rinsing. But quite fragrant for all that.
Finished, I dried myself with the thick, soft “towels” she had left for me, and performed the shaving ritual with some difficulty. The little razor seemed too small for my large hand, and I longed for the honed edge of my dagger instead.
Briefly I wondered what had become of my dagger. Stolen, no doubt, by the bastard who’d killed me. I would have to acquire another, for as my memory came clearer, battles of the past emerged in rapid succession in my mind. And I knew that for an immortal to go about unarmed was foolish beyond words.
Next, my chin bleeding from several small shaving-wounds, I approached the clothing Arianna had left for me. One by one, I examined the items in the neatly folded stack beside the water basin. A shirt of soft fabric, with little round discs sewn at the sleeves and along the edges up the front, much like the one Duncan wore. It was fairly obvious how to don that, so I did. There were no laces for closure, and after studying the garment more closely I realized that there were tiny openings in the cloth that the little discs could be pushed through to hold the edges of the garment together. Next was a small white scrap of cloth with three openings. Two of which seemed to be for the legs, and one which was hidden by a flap. It must be. . .
I nearly laughed aloud as I realized its intended use, and tossed the small garment to the floor. The day had not dawned when I would need to maneuver my rod through a minuscule portal when I required use of it! Ludicrous!
The final item was leggings of the sort Arianna wore. “Jeans,” she had called them. Sturdy and well made, with a metal fastener at the front, and a little round metal disc atop it. I stepped into these easily and tugged them up to my waist, drawing them closed and feeling how tightly they hugged me. I was unused to clothing of such close fit, but I assumed this was the mode of the day, and I must adjust. I toyed with the odd fastener, but found no way to make it work. Finally my fingers stumbled over the tiny handle at its base, and I deduced that I needed to pull this upward. I did so.
Tiny metal teeth bit into the flesh of my manhood and I howled! Hopping in agony, I tried to grasp the minuscule handle again, to tug it downward this time, but I could not seem to find it.
The door burst open, and Arianna stood staring wide-eyed at me. Then she lowered her gaze, and her hands flew to her lips–to hide her amusement, I was certain.
“Get this thing off me, woman, before it cuts clean through my–”
“All right, all right, just stand still.” She dropped to her knees at once, and the moment I stilled, her nimble fingers gripped the evil little implement of torture and gave a tug.
Sharp pain screamed through me, but the device let go its teeth. My hands went instantly to cup my groin, my face contorted in residual pain.
Arianna looked up at me. “How bad is it?”
“It damned well feels as if I’ve been cleaved half through,” I said, sucking air through my teeth and stomping one foot twice as if that could somehow ease my pain.
She looked at the floor, eyeing the white undergarment I had tossed there. “No wonder. That’s what underwear is for, Nicodimus. Well, one of the things it’s for, at least.”
“I might suggest you tell me things of such import a bit sooner, in the future, lady.”
Again her full lips pulled into a smile she quickly hid. Still kneeling, she touched my hands. “Move them aside and let me see.”
I went still, my jaw dropping.
“Oh, come on. Now don’t try to tell me you’re shy, Nicodimus. I know better. Let me see if you’ve been completely emasculated.” I grunted in derision, but moved my hands aside. She examined me for a moment. She touched me, and I caught my breath at the surge of energy that sizzled from her hands when she did. But it was brief, all too brief. Then she stood and nodded. “It’s just a tiny scratch. You’ll be fine.” Was she slightly breathless?
“Of course I will. The healing will take place in moments.” I disliked that she had seen me howling in pain over such a seemingly minor injury. However, it truly had hurt incredibly. Already, though, the pain was easing, and my flesh tingled as the skin began to regenerate itself. Or was that simply the tingling sensation remaining from her touch?
“Take them off,” she told me, “put on the underwear, and be careful when you use the zipper. Okay?”
“Zipper. So that’s what that vicious contraption is called.”
She nodded. “You need any help?”
“I believe I can manage to dress myself, Arianna.”
“You could have fooled me,” she said, eyeing the shirt. I looked down, and realized it hung crookedly. I had misaligned the little discs. I sighed, and shook my head, feeling doubts as to whether I would be able to adjust to this new world. I hadn’t even left her house yet, and already I was floundering.
Her hand came to my cheek, soft, warm. “You’re going to be fine,” she told me as if she had sensed my misgivings. “You’re smart, and you’re strong, Nicodimus. More so than any of the other men I’ve met in this century. You’ll put them all to shame, I promise.”
That soft-spoken faith in me did wonders for my spirits. I had already recalled the years I had spent grieving my wife and sons. And while it made me sad, it gave me some peace, too. It took the edge of newness from my sorrow, and helped the shock to ease away as well. I had been without them for centuries. I had learned to go on. And I would have to do so again, now.
A knock sounded at the door. Then Duncan’s voice followed. “Is Nic okay in there?”
“Fine,” Arianna called. “Cut himself shaving.”
“Shoot, I do that everyday,” Duncan returned. “I say we go on strike, grow long beards and never shave again.”
I felt myself smile. Arianna had chosen not to embarrass me by revealing the truth; and Duncan, it seemed, thought nothing of the explanation she had given him. So commonplace, this shaving accident, that he had made a jest of it.
“I believe I shall join you in that movement,” I called to him.
Arianna’s palm skimmed over my cheek, and meeting my eyes, she shook her head side to
side. “That would be a shame, Nicodimus. Covering up this face . . . it would be a crime.”
Instinctively, I caught her palm in my hand, and drew it around to my lips. I kissed her there. Her eyes grew dark and smoky before she lowered them and quickly drew her hand away. “I’ll leave you to change,” she told me, and stepped out of the room again.
I sighed after she’d gone. Truly, there were feelings surfacing within me that I did not understand. If this woman had been my enemy, if she had betrayed me, if she had caused my death–none of which she denied–then why would my body react to hers the way it did? Why would I now feel myself wanting her ever more strongly each time I looked into her eyes? Why would these tender, aching feelings keep welling up inside? It made no sense.
I shook my head. The memories would come. Soon, they would come. Perhaps I would understand my emotions better then. One thing was certain. I would not leave this place until I did.
* * * *
MARTEN GREW MORE and more frustrated as he watched the small house at the edge of Stonehaven, awaiting his opportunity.
Nicodimus was alive! There inside that house. Marten had followed Arianna, and he’d been watching ever since. He had even crept close enough to peer through the cracks between the shuttered windows–and he’d glimpsed his enemy inside.
Alive. Fully, completely, alive.
It seemed impossible, but he could not deny what he’d seen with his own eyes. So he watched, and he waited.
So many people around! Yes, he’d like to wreak his vengeance on Arianna for trying her best to make a fool of him. But she wasn’t his main quarry. Nicodimus was. The thief who’d stolen his sister so long ago, and left his father mortally wounded and dying, and he and his brother without a woman to tend to their needs. It had been Anya’s place, her duty to care for them.
Nicodimus was old and his heart was powerful–or had been once. As he peered through the windows, Marten thought it was again, and growing more so all the time. Marten wanted that power, craved it for his own. But the two strangers, immortals both of them, stacked the odds strongly against his success. And then the Dark One had shown up–insane or nearly so. Nidaba. He’d heard tell of her before. Dearborne had once claimed she was the eldest immortal he’d known of. He’d wanted her for his experiments. Whether he’d ever had her, Marten did not know. But he had no wish to lock daggers with her now.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 61
