"Who knows?" James spread his hands wide. "If you truly wish to wake her, Ananias, you will simply have to deal with all three."
“And how do you propose that I, a mere earl with no medical or psychological training, mind you, bring about this miracle?”
James dropped down into a chair across from Ananias and leaned forward to peer at him with something akin to fascination in his gaze. “Listen to me, Ananias. For two years I have studied this case with almost passionate zeal, and I believe the key to waking the Sleeping Heiress – that is what they call her, you know, the Sleeping Heiress – is knowledge. Knowledge. An understanding of that which sent her into such a bizarre slumber to begin with. It is the one thing all the specialists Sir de Clercy has paid to wake his daughter seem to have overlooked.”
For the first time since he had closed the door behind his father's solicitor, Ananias felt a surge of hope, the thrill of possibility rise up within him to push aside his feelings of certain doom. He nodded. “Alright, James, I am listening. Give me your knowledge. Tell me what you know.”
James gave him every pertinent detail from the many interviews, papers, and treatises of his colleagues along with the theories and suppositions he himself had concluded from them or come to on his own. He even assured him that, though Ebrielle appeared to be sleeping, she was likely fully aware of everything around her; she could hear him if he spoke, feel his presence when he drew near or walked away, or his physical self if he touched her though she would be unable to react physically.
Her sense of smell would certainly take note of the odd spiced mint with which he bathed, James had also pointed out, his nose wrinkling with distaste, and yes, he also confirmed, did feeding her not pose a danger that she might swallow more than was intended and choke, she should also be able to taste.
Scores of questions sprang up in Ananias's mind but quickly he silenced them all. His answers could wait. For now, it was vastly more important to his future to remember James's advice and follow it to the letter.
Chapter Four
Ebrielle de Clercy had had two long, punishing years in which to come to terms with the fact that, from night to the following morning, she had become an invalid but, unfortunately, she had not managed to do so.
Her inability to accomplish anything other than think plagued her throughout every minute of every day in which she woke still unable to do the simplest of things – such as lift her eyelids. The frustration of it was both spectacular and unending.
How horrible it truly had been to have her mind wake only to realize her entire body seemed to have shut down. Indeed, it seemed her mind was the only bit of herself which she continued to possess because, try as she might and often did, Ebrielle could no longer find an awareness of a body attached to her thoughts at all.
It was as if her mind had somehow become separated from her physical self because her body had no awareness of her thoughts just as her thoughts could not recognize an attachment to her body, though she knew it must continue to exist. Though her mind functioned perfectly, her body had simply ceased to do anything other than those things, such as breathing, which somehow occurred without her conscious thought on the matter, no matter how hard or often she willed it otherwise.
Scared and hurt and completely incapable of acting in her own defense, she had wanted to cry, to scream, to rage in horrible fury against the injustice of it all. Silently, she had cursed her father, and she cursed the strange sleeping sickness which laid claim to her body for so long.
Today, she wondered yet again, as she had done countless times before, why her thoughts could not have been stricken along with her body. At least then she could lie here comfortably, wallowing in the bliss of ignorance while others continued to determine her fate as they were wont to do. Instead, she had been left in full charge of her mental faculties while every method of making her thoughts and feelings known had been cruelly denied her. She was utterly, completely helpless, and she hated it, oh, so very much.
How frightening it had been to have her mind wake and then realize the whole of her entire body refused to move. Those first weeks and months after she had been stricken by whatever strange ailment had taken hold of her body were terrifying...far more so in comparison than her mewling fear of being taken from home and family by a man who was practically a stranger to her and then being forced to live in a country so very foreign to her own and to all she had ever known.
Even worse, however, had been her realization that, sad though it might have been to have pondered such an end, she had not even been left with the ability to remove herself from her suffering by taking her own life.
Over time, long after the endless rounds of physician's visits when the people stopped coming and her life was allowed to settle as much as possible considering her situation, Ebrielle believed she had come to terms with her condition. Yes, there were bits of her life and a body over which she had no control, but it was better for her sanity, she had concluded, that she focus only upon those areas over which she did have control – her thoughts – and she had truly believed her mind had begun to accept, to adapt, and to settle...until today.
Today, the exotic tangle of a once-familiar scent drew her notice, dredging up painful memories of days gone by which caused a terrible sadness to envelop her. She tried to force the thoughts away, and yet, her conscious was continuously assailed by the unusual but captivating scents of warm spice and mint.
The aroma reached out, growing ever warmer as it permeated her chamber like a friendly, aromatic cloak to cover the uneasy silence. Mentally, she explored the feel of it, reaching out toward the presence beneath, trying to decipher the mettle of the person from which it emanated.
As her senses twined with and became effortlessly cradled by the calming warmth of the scent she explored, Ebrielle felt her anxieties begin to melt away.
Ananias?
* * *
Three quick steps brought him to the richly upholstered chair beside her bed, and then, his heart kicked furiously against his ribs in response because, lying there in the center of her thickly stuffed mattress, propped comfortably against a mound of fluffy down pillows, Ebrielle de Clercy lay unmoving in silent but restful repose - and she was nothing short of exquisite.
Her eyes, closed in sleep, were rimmed with dark, sooty lashes which feathered against the soft curve of high cheekbones, drawing his attention along the perfectly straight line of her nose to the dusky rose of her gently curved lips, barely parted, and his breath hitched.
Unable to take his eyes off the utterly stunning young woman lying so still and quiet before him in the center of the tall, four-posted and curtained bed, Ananias drew quietly closer to look down at the still, listless form of the woman who had haunted his every thought and memory for the past two years.
The burnished tresses crowning her head were streaked intermittently with bright, golden strands. Two thin braids had been woven into those lustrous chocolate curls and the entire silken mass had had been fanned out across her pillows, tempting him to twine his fingers in its luxurious depths. A single snowy white bloom tucked into one of her braids served to highlight the soft peach blush gracing her cheeks and her skin, like smooth cream, glowed with surprising vitality despite her condition and its longevity.
Despite the longevity of the strange malady which possessed her, Ebrielle still looked every bit as beautiful and radiant as the day he had last seen her, only this time, her eyes did not open. Her hand did not lift toward his, reaching out in silent supplication, and her breath did not hitch as she fought to hold back the sobs which threatened to escape, and finally did so despite her valiant struggle to keep them inside, wracking her body while tears coursed down her cheeks.
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath which he forced himself to exhale slowly while he tried to reign in feelings of temporary madness, inexplicable feelings which possessed him at the thought of how much time they had lost.
Stepping closer to the bed, Ananias took her han
d in his.
In comparison to his own, it felt so very small. It was tiny. Delicate. Fragile, even. With his thumb, he traced the hills and gentle valleys of her knuckles until, finally, he lifted her hand and bent low to place a kiss where his thumb had roamed but a moment before.
"Hello, Ebrielle," he breathed in a low whisper across her skin, as if he were merely beginning a normal conversation rather than what might well prove to be the most difficult courtship ever.
* * *
Ananias had returned!
Her thoughts thrummed excitedly at the knowledge while the husky timbre of his words flowed over her, warming her much the same as his presence had since the moment she first had realized he was near. His words were casual - a pleasant greeting, like one exchanged between old friends never parted, and yet...
It began in her fingertips, the return of her awareness of physical sensation, the moment his hand touched hers.
The feel of his thumb sliding across the crenelations of her knuckles was like the soothing flow of warm water over tired limbs and the gentling effect spread from her hand to her wrist, to her elbow and above. By the time his velvety lips touched her skin, Ebrielle could feel again the entirety of her upper body and with his softly whispered words, the lower, and for the first time in two long years, she was able to experience an actual awareness of her physical being.
Elated, she tried to open her eyes.
She wanted to see him.
To speak to him...with him.
She wanted to ask why he had come here, why he had returned. But, more than anything, she wanted to know how he had been able to provoke her body to wakefulness with naught more than a touch, a kiss, a whisper when so many before him had not.
Her thoughts became...chaotic.
Delirious.
Suddenly frantic and unrestrained.
Questions spun through her mind, each a new spoke in the wheel of her conscious, locked in a perpetual spin until the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat vibrated through her awareness.
And then, he moved away.
She felt his presence recede as acutely as one might the dearth of clothing while exposed to the elements and frigid temperatures of winter. The cozy warmth his presence had seemed to emanate rapidly began to dissipate until Ebrielle found herself once more alone, with naught but the brooding silence of darkness for companionship, and for the first time since a time unremembered, she felt a troubling need for more.
Feeling bereft, Ebrielle tried to reach out to him, to keep him close, but much to her continued frustration, although her mind was finally able to register an awareness of them once more, her limbs stubbornly refused to obey.
Chapter Five
The following afternoon, Ananias waited by the door of Ebrielle's day chamber while a stream of servants placed a small table and chair near enough to her bed that he could speak to her without shouting and yet far enough away she would not feel threatened by his nearness. A sumptuous dinner was then laid out for him there, and finally, his quiet but assertive nod bade the servants retreat, leaving him alone at last with the woman who was to be his future countess.
Given Ebrielle's current condition and Charles and Lady Gwendolyn's desperation to see their daughter awake, the normal proprieties of courtship had been overlooked. Closeted here with her in the privacy of her day chamber – a scandal in itself, he realized – Ananias closed the door and then propped his shoulder against the frame, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts for the evening ahead.
His goal being to tempt his future bride from sleep and given the fact that he was a most devout supporter of stimulating the senses whenever the fairer sex was involved, Ananias had asked Sir Charles to have his daughter's favorite meal prepared and sent to her room, where he would join her for their first "outing."
Now all that remained was to tempt her with it.
Her participation in this strange and rather awkward courtship was necessary and his first step toward ensuring her participation was to attempt to gain her interest through simple conversation over dinner.
"Evening, love," he offered in greeting before seating himself at the table and unfolding his napkin in his lap. He busied himself with lifting first one cover and then another from the steaming dishes before him, inhaling deeply of each savory aroma before continuing to the next. “Since you are currently indisposed and unable to join myself and your family for dinner, I have taken it upon myself to bring dinner here. I hope you don't mind.”
“Ahhh, poached salmon." He inhaled deeply, and then sighed his pleasure with the dish before promptly filling the void of silence with the beginnings of a story. "I remember the very first time I tasted a dish such as this. Egberth, our regular cook, had fallen ill and with Father otherwise occupied, Mother took it upon herself to bring in someone new.”
“Father took exception, of course,” Ananias told her while he used his knife and fork to separate several bites into readiness. “He was quite happy with Egberth, Father was, and had no palate for those fancy dishes mum was always fussing over after some house party or another, but she stood her ground.”
Casting a glance toward the bed to see if the succulent scents wafting about the room had caused any noticeable effect upon Ebrielle and seeing none, he dipped a finger into a pool of warm sauce and promptly popped it into his mouth. “Mmm. Divine!”
Ananias scooped up a hefty forkful of the tender fish and chewed, making sure the noises he made while doing so resembled those of one caught in the throes of great joy. When there was still no reaction from the bed, he continued with his tale. “It was pointing out the fact we would all starve if forced to wait out Egberth's illness which ultimately won the matter for her, I believe, but I certainly recall Ferdinand's first meal at Aventry. It was a poached salmon dish much like this one, with a very similar sauce.”
Keeping his gaze upon her face so that he would not miss any reaction she might have at his next words, he asked, “Would you like a taste?”
* * *
Ebrielle's surprise at Ananias's request waned as quickly as it had risen, for surely he had spoken in jest, she thought.
He had to know that, not only was she was unable to answer him, she was also incapable of eating the delicious fare whose aroma even now tempted her senses, though he offered it to her. He must also be aware of the fact that her diet these days consisted of little more than clear broth.
Anything more was simply too dangerous.
The facts, however, did not stop her taste buds from clamoring while the sumptuous scents rising into the air and wafting throughout the room tempted her nigh beyond bearing with their succulence.
How cruel of him to make her want, she thought, when...
The sudden sound of a chair being scraped harshly across the bare wood floor of her chamber had barely receded before the shock of a warm, fleshy finger being pressing against her lips drew every bit of her attention. He pressed again, pushing against her bottom lip before sliding the digit inside, where he let it glide slowly along the center of her tongue, the movement leaving behind a thin trail of heavenly savor, one she had not tasted for far too long.
“There. Delicious, is it not?” he asked, as if capable of reading her very thoughts.
With the thrill of the savory broth tinged with a variety of seasonings mixed with the tang of warm human flesh mingling on her tongue after years of literally tasting nothing at all, Ebrielle thought she should have quite forgotten his presence in her pleasure, lost in raptures of culinary delight as she was, but she could not. Instead, her awareness of him had increased tenfold, if the reactions of her body were aught by which to judge.
Yesterday, his touch had quite literally reawakened her physical self.
Today, it seemed to pay him homage for being instrumental in its rousing by flooding with heat from the point where his finger made contact with her tongue down to her very core.
The intimacy of the moment was not lost on Ebrielle, but there was na
ught she could say or do either for or against it. Instead, she lay silent, eagerly waiting for his single-sided conversation to resume.
That she enjoyed hearing him speak surprised her. She generally preferred for those who came into her chambers to hold their silence. Of course, the only people who visited her of late were either her parents or those paid to assist her mother with seeing to her care and all of them were wont to chatter on among themselves so much Ebrielle would rather they said nothing at all.
The lulling warmth of Ananias's voice, however, seemed to spill over her in gentle waves, his mellow tones soothing where others did little more than irritate.
“In any case, Father never spoke of mum's indulgence again,” Ananias continued, seemingly unconcerned over the sheer intimacy of having fed her from his own hand or her lack of participation in the conversation. He chuckled. “Not even after Egberth recovered. He found himself unofficially relegated from head cook to kitchen help and was never promoted again.”
He left her side, going back to the table to resume his meal.
“Perhaps I could persuade the fellow in your father's kitchen to visit us at Aventry,” he said, finally. “We are neighbors, after all, and I daresay there is much he could teach old Egberth, and even Ferdi, I'll vow.”
His dinner finished, the earl lapsed into silence for several long moments, though Ebrielle could sense that he was staring at her. When he spoke again, it was to chastise her for sleeping through his visit.
“You should be ashamed, you realize, for depriving me of this opportunity,” he accused unexpectedly, and Ebrielle was momentarily taken aback by the seriousness of his tone.
“I am, of course, perfectly content to carry out our courtship here in the privacy of your chambers,” Ananias continued, his voice low – sultry, even – making the very idea of their togetherness at the moment seem suggestive and her newly reacquainted skin tingled in embarrassed, flustered response. “However, were you awake, we could at this very moment be out there enjoying what could well be the grandest time of our lives.”
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 21
