Chapter 22
THE INN WAS a large building, likely once a farmhouse, with brown slabwood siding, and a railed stairway leading up to solid doors, painted red. When we went inside, Raven led Duncan directly up the stairs, leaving Arianna and I alone below.
Arianna seemed nervous. Naturally, she would be, I reminded myself. She’d just lost her house to fire, and likely the sight of the flames had elicited the same memories in her mind as they had in mine.
Licking her lips, she led me to the foot of the stairs, then paused and looked up at me. The nervousness fled however, and her full lips quirked upward into a teasing smile. “You’re still covered in soot,” she said. “And your hair is practically gray with ash.”
I returned the smile, though still sick with worry for Nidaba, and reeling with shock from the night’s revelations. “You can see then what I would look like as an old man.”
“You already are an old man.”
I lifted my brows. “True enough. But you are an old woman, as well. I suppose I can no longer argue that you are too young for me, can I?”
Her smile faded, and she broke her gaze. “You remember that?”
“I have remembered a great deal tonight, Arianna.” I reached out to stroke her hair, then paused, noting the dark smears of soot that coated my hand. “I will bathe first, and then . . . we will talk.”
“All right.” She seemed to lift her chin a bit as she started up the stairs, and not meeting my eyes, she said, “Our room is this way.”
Our room? My mind leapt on those words. Did she mean . . . could she want . . . but. . . .
She was moving quickly away from me, and I hurried to catch up: Turning at the top of the stairs, she moved along a corridor, paused at a door, and inserted a key. Then she opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was a simple one. There was a large bed, a pair of overstuffed chairs, and a television like the wondrous one that had been in Arianna’s house. She was already moving through, opening an adjoining door, calling over her shoulder, “The bathroom is right here.” But I was focused again on the bed: one bed. Only one.
Shaking myself, I went to join her in the bathroom.
“No tub,” she said. “Just a shower stall, but I showed you how to work that at home.”
I nodded mutely.
“Your clothes are here.” She patted the top of a folded stack of garments. “Towel is on the rack.” With that she quickly backed out of the small bathroom, leaving me with a head full of questions, and not a single answer.
Sighing, I reached into the stall to turn on the water and adjust its temperature. I hurried through the process of bathing, though I did a thorough job of it. I was eager to speak with Arianna–with my wife–to find out just what she intended to do about tonight’s sleeping arrangements. Perhaps there had been only the one room available, I thought as I scrubbed the soot from my body, and watched the dark water swirl down the drain. But surely if that were the case, she’d have spent the night with her sister, and sent Duncan to share this room with me. Unless Raven objected to that. Then again, I did not think Raven the kind of woman who would deny her sister anything she asked.
I shampooed my hair, ridding it of the ashy residue, and was rinsing the lather away when there came a tap on the bathroom door.
“Are you almost done?” Arianna called.
“Yes.”
“Can I come in?”
I went still, standing motionless beneath the spray. Soap bubbles trickled down my face, into my eyes, and still I could not move. “Yes,” I finally managed.
The curtain of the shower was pulled closed, but I heard the bathroom door open, heard her small, soft footsteps as she came inside. And then closer. “I . . . got some more soot on me when we were back at the house,” she said, her voice very soft now. Almost timid, which was so unlike her it made a shiver dance over my spine.
Bracing myself for her rejection–for it would certainly come–I spoke softly. My voice seemed incapable of anything louder just then. “I would like nothing better than to wash it away for you, Arianna.”
She did not answer. Reaching up to the curtain, I curled my hand around it, and drew it slowly open.
She stood there before me, not a stitch of clothing covering her beauty. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide and shining. My eyes devoured her, from her blush-stained face to her slender neck, and lower. Her breasts, round and peaked, and perfect. Her waist, narrow and tempting. The shadowy hollow of her navel, and the silken curls between her legs. Beautiful legs, slender and strong, and small bare feet, toes curling and relaxing over and over.
“I see no soot,” I whispered.
She licked her lips. “I lied. There isn’t any.”
I clasped her waist in my hands and pulled her into the shower with me, turning her so that she stood directly beneath the spray. The water coursed over her, drenching her hair and running down her face. Her arms curled around my neck, and every part of my body seemed to tingle with new life, as she stood on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to mine. Her mouth tasted sweet, her tongue, warm and moist as I stroked it with mine. Wet flesh pressed to the front of me, her breasts warm, nipples taut against my chest.
I slid my mouth from hers to drink the moisture from her jaw, and her neck. “My beautiful Arianna,”’ I muttered. “My beautiful wife.”
I heard her soft gasp, felt her body stiffen. “Then you remember that, as well.”
“I remember that. How I ever forgot it, I will never know.” I bent over her, capturing a breast in my mouth, tasting it, teasing its hard crest with my tongue while I held her tight to me. Her taste . . . yes, I remembered this as well. And more. I fell to my knees before her, and as the water rained down upon us, I kissed the droplets away from her skin. Licked it away from her belly, her hips, her thighs. Then I pressed my mouth to her center, darting my tongue inside to sample the salty moisture there.
Moaning softly, she clenched her hands in my hair, and parted her thighs, opening to my gentle invasion. Inviting me to take more of her. I swelled and ached for her, wanted to devour every bit of her, and I drove my tongue deeper. The taste of her was maddening to me as I stroked her, used my lips and even my teeth to make her tremble and shake. She whispered my name, then cried it out loud when her pleasure reached its peak, and when she would have backed away I caught her buttocks in my hands and held her still, pressing my face tight to her and licking deep until she was shaking so hard her knees buckled beneath her, and she would have collapsed had I not been holding her so tightly.
Gathering my shuddering lady into my arms, I carried her from the shower, reaching back to shut off the water. I took her to the bed, and lowered her to the mattress. Then I eased myself atop her, parting her thighs with my hands, pressing them wide for me. I slid inside her. She was warm, and wet, yes, but tight. Very tight, and still convulsing with the echoes of her climax. Slowly, I began to move deeper, and when I had filled her, I pulled back again. Very slowly. In a moment, she was moving, too, her hips arching up as I thrust into her, pulling away as I drew back. Her legs wrapped themselves around me. Her arms imprisoned me. I bent to feed again at her mouth as I moved faster, drove harder. She reached the pinnacle again even as I felt my seed spilling into her, drawn from the depths of my soul, it seemed, draining me dry.
I lay there inside her for several long moments, during which neither of us spoke. The very blood in my veins seemed to sing with joy, and my soul itself sighed in sweet release. Sweet union.
I moved to lie down beside her, and she curled into my arms, her head nestled upon my shoulder.
“Arianna,” I whispered. “Sweet little cat, does this mean that you–”
Her fingertips came then to press softly to my lips. “No talk now, Nicodimus. Not now. I want to fall asleep in your arms. Let’s save the talking for tomorrow.”
I frowned, but agreed. There was nothing, nothing, I would not do for her. So if she wished to sleep in my arms, that was what she would do.
And in the morning, I would convince her somehow that my love for her was true, and abiding, and too strong for any ghosts of the past to threaten.
* * * *
ARIANNA SLIPPED AWAY before dawn. Doing so was far easier than she had expected it to be. She stood for a long moment beside the bed, in the darkness, just looking at him. Nicodimus lying there with his eyes gently closed, his magnificent chest rising and falling in the rhythm of slumber. That was the way she left him, and the image she would carry with her of him, in her mind. She found she didn’t want to face Nicodimus when he woke, didn’t want to see what might be in his eyes when he opened them. Not the misguided notion he had that he had ever cared for her . . . loved her. And not the memory that might very well have returned by then, and the hatred that would come with it. To see either of those things would hurt too much to bear. Both would tear at her heart and leave it bleeding. So when she slipped away it was with a sense of relief.
And longing. Bittersweet longing for something that could never be. Something that had never been. She’d been foolish enough to hope for it once. But she was harder now, and wiser, and she knew the difference between fantasy and reality. And yes, it hurt, but the pain would be far worse if she let herself fall into that bottomless pit of hoping again. Her feet were firmly on the ground. She knew exactly where she stood with Nicodimus.
She also knew where to find Marten and Nidaba. The keep where Marten had taken her all those years ago–the place it had taken days to reach on horseback. Now it was only a couple of hours away by car. She could locate Kenwick again, she was certain of that, although she had never tried to do so in the years since.
She exited the inn by a rear door, and stepped out into the dead silent, still streets of the sleeping village. A soft purple hue colored the sky, and the only sounds were the occasional cry of a night bird, and the fluttering wings of insects swooping by. Morning was still a couple of hours off. It would give her all the time she needed.
She walked briskly back to the remains of her house, and thanked her stars that she never worried about such things as taking the keys from her car in this peaceful little place. Within a short while, she was heading south, along a road that hadn’t even existed the last time she’d traveled this way. But the direction was right. Easy enough to keep the coast in view. Easy enough to recall the odd shape of the hills that surrounded that place.
And easy enough to wile away the time the journey took, reliving every moment of the night she had spent in Nicodimus’s arms. It had been so good. So beautiful. She had no regrets, not one. It had been right to make love to him. Right, and perfect, and wonderful.
By the time she reached her destination, the sun was up, brilliant and orange and fiery in the sky. It spilled like liquid fire over the rugged hilltops, and painted the lush grasses in shades of crimson and gold.
Arianna stopped the Jeep along the roadside and got out. Shielding her eyes, she stared at the spot amid those craggy hills where centuries before, the dark, hulking form of Kenwick had risen like a brooding giant pointing at the sky. Now there was nothing.
“Gods, what if I was wrong?” she whispered, squinting, straining to see. “What if this isn’t what Marten meant at all? It doesn’t look as if the keep is even standing after all this time.”
Doubts crept in. If she had been wrong, it could cost Nidaba’s life, and as much as the woman seemed to hate her, Arianna couldn’t return the feelings. She remembered too well the woman Nidaba had been. The strength of her, tempered by wisdom–strength a young rebel had admired to no end. Nidaba . . . she’d been unaware of it, but Arianna had idolized her for a time. She’d tried to emulate her, wanted to be like her.
Nidaba was a broken woman now. Wounded so deeply she’d curled up inside herself and seemed unable to find her way out again. But she would. In time, and with Nicodimus’s help, she would. Arianna would at least make sure she had the chance to do just that.
She couldn’t turn back now. Not until she made sure nothing remained of Kenwick.
Stiffening her spine, she struck out on foot across the land, plotting her course mentally as she went and aiming for the spot dead center of the surrounding hills, where that keep had once stood.
The terrain was rough and rocky as she climbed higher and the grass thinned. The chill morning breeze battled with the fiery sun, so she was alternately hot and cold as she pushed on. It took no real effort for Arianna though. In fact, she took it with ease, enjoying the stretch and flex of her muscles, and the increased flow of her blood. She had been cooped up too long in that cottage in Stonehaven. She had been inactive, playing nursemaid and housemother to her guests, and reining in her natural tendency to run wild.
She guessed she had been reining in a bit more than that, too. Her emotions had been imprisoned inside her since Nicodimus’s return from the grave. Even now, they beat at their prison bars in protest, straining to break free. But she knew better than to let them out. Not now. She needed all her focus now, all her attention for the battle ahead.
If she let her feelings reach the surface, she feared she would be useless in a fight. She would be kneeling on the stony ground, aching for a man she could never have, moon-eyed with a love she had sentenced to death long ago. She’d been so blind. Her feelings for Nicodimus were just as alive as he was. They had been all along. Merely dormant, waiting.
She had resurrected her own weakness, her only vulnerability, when she’d resurrected Nicodimus.
Arianna topped a rise, and peered downward into the basin-like clearing. Crumbling stone walls staggered below, some towering to a height of fifty feet, while others barely held themselves upright. Stone masonry littered the ground. What remained of the place seemed almost ready to crumble. Yet she spied the arching entryway, its wooden doors long gone. Dust by now. Beyond that opening, a yawning darkness seemed to beckon.
She crept closer, glancing at the ground, seeing a rusted iron hinge lying there. Then drawing herself up, she stepped through, and ventured into the cave-like depths of the keep’s ruin.
Her eyes adjusted quickly, as always. She stepped over broken stones and a broad beam that lay across her path. Her very breaths seemed to echo here. The sound of every step she took seemed magnified a thousand times. Deeper she trod, and deeper, following the only path possible, a twisting, writhing, ever-narrowing path that seemed to have been cleared deliberately. For no structure could crumble in just this way. And as she moved forward, she realized she was also moving downward. The angle sharpened, leading her into the bowels of the very earth.
“The dungeons,” she whispered, startled at the loudness of even that slight sound here. This silence must be like death itself. But she soon saw that her prediction was an accurate one. The tunnel opened out wider, and the dirt floor leveled off.
She paused at the edge of this wider place, sensing danger. A man stepped out of the shadows to stand in front of her.
Marten.
“Well, now,” he said. “This is pleasant, but not what I expected. Where is Nicodimus?”
Arianna drew her dagger. “He is not coming. You’ll have to face me, Marten.”
“Will I?” He stepped away, vanishing, it seemed. But she knew he’d only ducked into the shadowy recesses of the crumbling dungeon.
Arianna followed slowly, stepping with care, scanning the darkness, then blinking in the sudden light as she rounded a corner. Torches flickered from where they’d been thrust into chinks in the stone walls. Before her, Arianna saw a nightmare.
Nidaba lay still, strapped down to an ancient table. The pendulum high above her was drawn back and seemingly suspended in the blackness. But its blade hung low. And though it was rusted and pocked with corrosion, its edge gleamed in the dancing torchlight, as if recently honed. Yes, honed by the hand of Nidaba’s heartless captor, no doubt.
Nidaba’s eyes met Arianna’s and held them. “Kill him,” she said, and her voice was level, and for once, seemed perfectly sane.
“That would b
e a very bad idea.”
Arianna’s gaze shifted to where Marten stood beside the table, his hand wrapped around a tall lever.
“One tug,” he said, unnecessarily, for it was already obvious. “One tug, and the blade will swing. I’ve adjusted it carefully, Arianna. It will slice her tender belly on the first pass. On the second, it will sever the organs, and by the third pass it will neatly cut her in half.” He shrugged, a slight smile toying with his thin lips. “Well, maybe not so neatly I suppose. In any case, it would be difficult even for an immortal to revive after being cleaved in two.” He lifted an eyebrow. Then again, it might be rather amusing if she did. I might enjoy seeing that before I finally take her heart.”
Arianna’s grip tightened on the dagger she held. “Are you so afraid to face a woman that you’d resort to this? Release her, Marten, and fight me, if you dare.”
He simply shook his head. “It is not you I want,” he said. “It is my dear brother-in-law. Nicodimus. I’ve waited centuries to kill him.”
“You’ll have to wait longer, because he’s not coming. I told you–”
“Oh, he’ll come. He’ll come when he realizes I now have both his women in my . . . tender care. Put the dagger down, Arianna. Now.”
Nidaba shook her head. “Don’t listen to him! Kill him, Arianna, or he will kill Nicodimus! Do it!”
“I’ll pull the lever. Take one step toward me, and Nidaba suffers unbearable pain while you watch. Drop the weapon, Arianna.” His hand twitched on the lever.
“Marten, listen to me,” Arianna said, trying to keep her voice calm, but shivering at the way it echoed in this place. It was as if a dozen ghosts mocked her, repeating her every word in deathly whispers. “Nicodimus won’t come. He can’t. He doesn’t remember this place. He doesn’t even know I’ve come here. The centuries of death did something to his mind, and his memory is not–”
“You are an accomplished liar, Arianna. Do you really think I would believe you again? No, you fooled me once. Pretending to want me. Throwing yourself into my arms the way you did, all just so that you could win my trust and try to escape. I had truly begun to care for you, did you realize that?”
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 65
