by P. L. Parker
On and on she ran, down pathways long remembered, toward the craggy hills jutting sharply from the valley floor. This small part of the world remained unchanged, existing as it had existed for thousands of years, an island of stability in an unstable world. The beaten path veered sharply, circling around a standing rock formation, and then back the way she had just come. Time to head back. Granny Jean and Rose would have breakfast ready, and she didn't want to keep them waiting.
Nerve endings tingled. She was being watched again. Nervously, she searched the landscape, seeing nothing to cause alarm, except the stupid black cat, hunting mice perhaps in the heather. Calling to him, she jogged back to the cottage, keeping an eye out to be sure he followed.
Rose's face brightened as Annalisa stepped into the kitchen.
"You look better this morning,” she commented. Annalisa caught sight of herself in a small mirror; cheeks flushed pink and eyes sparkling in the morning light. The run had been wonderful, easing the ache that had burdened her heart for so long.
"I feel good,” Annalisa admitted. “This place always makes me feel better, no matter what."
Rose nodded. “I've always thought you belonged here. You should never have left."
"I would have stayed if I could have, but I'm here now,” she said brightly, “and I intend to enjoy every minute."
Setting a pot of tea on the table, Rose motioned towards the door. “Go get Jean. She'll be grouchy if she doesn't have her tea soon."
Annalisa quickly apologized. “I didn't mean to stay so long. You should've eaten without me."
Rose laughed. “Doesn't hurt her to wait once in awhile, she's got enough fat stored up to last for a few extra minutes."
"I am so not going to tell her you said that,” Annalisa giggled, zipping her lips shut.
As she neared the parlor, she could hear Granny talking.
"Give her time,” she said, “and stop your tomfoolery. She has to decide for herself."
"Gran,” Annalisa stepped in. “Who are you talking to?"
"Just Alec,” she replied. “I told him you aren't ready yet."
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Chapter Three
Gathering up the dirty dishes, Annalisa cleaned the kitchen, wiping everything down and mopping the floor.
"I think I'll go into town today and check out the shops. Isn't the farmer's market going on today?"
Granny nodded. “Would you pick up some smoked herring from Nora's stall? I seem to have developed a craving, and see if you can find some good black pudding."
"Ick!” Annalisa grimaced in disgust. “How can you gag that stuff down?"
"If you stay here long enough, you'll develop a taste for it,” Rose said. You can't live in England and not like it."
"I'll get you some money,” Granny angled the wheelchair around, starting out the door.
"Don't worry about it,” Annalisa called to her retreating back. “I've got money, for goodness sakes. How much could one yucky sausage cost anyway?"
Running up the stairs, she hurriedly changed, shook out her hair and was back down in several minutes, her face glowing with anticipation. The marketplace would be swarming with strolling tourists looking for the best deals. She always looked forward to these outings. Through the years, she and Granny'd searched the stalls for hidden treasures at every possible chance. Somewhere, there was a box full of cheap trinkets and mementoes which she planned on sorting through, recalling each cherished memory.
"If you wait a few minutes, I can call Donal to come and drive you."
Donal was Rose's son, a big beefy man with a kind heart and gentle ways, though somewhat slow and awkward.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll walk. It'll help to clear my mind. I could use the exercise."
"You just got back from running. How much exercise do you need?” Granny exclaimed.
"I've been sitting on my fat butt for the last six months, and it's beginning to show.” Annalisa turned so they could view her slim behind.
"I can only dream of having your figure,” Rose sighed, running her hands over her ample waist. “I was always fuller figured, more on the fuller than the figure side, though."
"I never had a figure,” Granny grinned, “or if I did, it got lost somewhere along the way."
"You two are crazy,” Annalisa laughed, hugging them both. “I'd better get going, or it'll be late before I get back."
The cat crouched by the door, yellow eyes watching her intently.
Annalisa scowled. “You don't get to go, so stay!” Did cats understand commands?
The cat rose up, arching his back and raking sharp claws through the rag rug lying by the front door. Sitting down, he eyed her, waiting for the door to open.
"I told you, you can't go,” Annalisa frowned. “You might get lost or run over or something."
Granny wheeled in. “Don't you worry about that ornery old tom. He does whatever he wants, when he wants. He'll be fine. If he gets tired of following you, he'll come home. He always does."
Annalisa shrugged, piercing eyes narrowed at the recalcitrant kitty. “Okay, but if you get hurt or lost, it's not my fault."
"He won't,” Granny chuckled. “He knows where his food bowl is, don't you, kitty?"
"Why do you always have totally black cats?"
Granny tilted her head quizzically. “He's the only one I've ever had."
"But every time I've been here, there's been a black cat running around, and he can't be that old.” Surely it wasn't the same animal.
"I don't know of any others,” Granny said, perplexed. “He's the only one."
The cat yawned, bored by their conversation.
Annalisa's eyes were drawn to the painting over the fireplace.
"When I get back, you'll have to tell me the story about him again.” Throwing open the door, she started down the brick steps, turning to wave, her eyes bright, color high.
Just the way she was supposed to look, hopeful and full of life, Granny thought. Alec would be pleased! The cat regarded her solemnly and then followed Annalisa out the door, streaking across the yard and jumping the fence. Strange, Granny mused, she had no idea how old the cat was or where he came from, only that he was Alec's. He'd show up and stay for awhile and then disappear again, sometimes for years at a time, but lately, he'd stayed, almost like he was waiting for someone or something.
A soft breeze wafted through the open door, warming Granny's old bones. Alec was near, biding his time and waiting for Annalisa, but Granny wasn't ready to commit, not until she was sure about the girl's hopes and dreams. The wind blew stronger, as if Alec read her mind.
"Don't get excited,” she murmured dryly. “Annalisa belongs to you. I just have to be sure it's the right time."
The wind eased. Alec understood!
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Chapter Four
Hordes of shoppers crowded the marketplace. The vendors would do well. Annalisa pushed her way through crowds lining the walkway, keeping an eye out for Nora's stall. The smell of black pudding permeated the marketplace, overriding any other smell. Maybe there was a good old hotdog stand somewhere close. She just couldn't get past the concept that black pudding was boiled pig's blood in a length of intestine. So totally gross! Her gag reflex went into overdrive.
Although the treasures were commonplace and uninventive, Annalisa enjoyed the bargain-hunting and haggling over prices. At day's end, she headed back laden with silly nothings to add to her somewhat dubious collection of memorable items, along with the smoked herring and dreaded length of blood pudding.
About halfway home, the cat suddenly appeared, rubbing sinuously against her legs and almost causing her to trip, his unblinking eyes fixated on her as if to ask “where have you been?"
"You're lucky I like animals,” she huffed, stumbling again, “or I might just take you someplace and dump you."
The cat hissed.
"Well ... maybe not,” she admitted, “but don't trip me agai
n or I might rethink my good intentions."
As she entered the cottage, Granny Jean and Rose heaved sighs of relief, expressing concern about how long she'd been away.
"I almost came looking for you, but Alec said you were okay,” Granny inexplicably stated.
"Who said I was okay, Granny Jean?” Annalisa turned, half expecting to see another occupant in the room.
Rose interrupted. “She talks to him, this guy Alec, all the time."
Granny waved towards the painting. “Alec, my ancestor several times removed. He was an earl, you see."
"And he talks to you?” Great, Gran was growing senile.
"Don't look at me that way, child,” Granny retorted. “Everyone has a secret friend they talk to. Mine just happens to answer back."
"What does he say?"
"Do you really want to know?” Granny's eyes twinkled impishly.
Annalisa crossed over to the painting, once again awed by the beauty of the man's countenance. “Who or what was he?"
"He was the Earl of Sunderland, and some say he was a sorcerer."
Annalisa whirled around, eyebrows raised. “A sorcerer? You mean like a magician or something?"
"No, more like a warlock or a wizard."
Annalisa snorted derisively. “There's no such thing."
"Oh, but there is,” Granny said softly. “And he was one of the strongest."
"Strongest? Why?"
Granny plucked aimlessly at the arm of her wheelchair. “He could do things no one else could."
"Like what?"
"He could see into the future, and he had the ability to change things."
Staring at the painting, Annalisa could almost believe. The eyes followed relentlessly, always focused directly on her, no matter where she stood in the room. A chill raced up her spine, the hair on her arms standing on end.
"I'm amazed they didn't burn him at the stake."
"He ruled this part of the country, fairly, but he ruled. No man had the courage to challenge him. He was very adept at managing his estates, controlling everything around here for as far as the eye could see."
"He was evil then?"
"No! Not at all! In fact, he was a very good man.” Granny laughed. “He was a rogue, though, always doing something different and inappropriate, according to the ton. Nevertheless, the ladies loved him."
A gentle breeze fanned the lacy curtains, causing them to dance and sway. Granny's lips curved in a knowing smile.
Chin propped in her hand, Annalisa studied the painting. “I can easily believe that. He was gorgeous.” She turned to Granny, her face alight with interest. “Did he ever marry?"
Granny's eyes clouded as she considered the question. “He did, but not as young as some. He always said he was waiting for the perfect woman, and it wasn't until he was in his early thirties or so that the perfect woman came."
"Who was she?"
"I can't seem to recall,” Granny said, mysteriously hesitant. “She was a commoner, but very beautiful. Alec had to wait for a very long time before he could claim her."
The curtains moved again, brushed by invisible hands.
The twinkle grew stronger in Granny's eyes. “She didn't seem to want him right away. The timing wasn't right."
Annalisa reached to touch the painting.
"Don't touch it yet!" Granny yelped.
Startled, Annalisa dropped her hand. “Why ever not?"
Grumbling to herself, Granny coughed, tersely explaining. “It's very old, and I'm afraid it'll damage easily."
"Oh! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.” Annalisa resumed her perusal of the painting, noting the elegant white cravat and waistcoat, and the stylish cutaway jacket.
"Was he rich?” she asked.
"Oh, very."
"What happened to all the money?” Granny certainly didn't have it stashed someplace.
"The usual. One of my less reputable uncles squandered a good portion of it on gambling and wild women, and before that, in the 20's, another lost a bunch in the stock market. The usual stuff."
"Too bad,” Annalisa commiserated. “You could have been living in a mansion and making people wait on you."
"I wait on her all the time as it is,” Rose interposed dryly. “She just doesn't want to admit it."
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Chapter Five
Alec leaned back, propping his riding boots on the desk. His lips twisted in a grin. Cook would fair fash him in the morning for that. His eyes were drawn to the portrait over the mantle, his heart swelling as he feasted hungrily on the likeness. Huge violet eyes framed by lush tresses the color of old mahogany gazed languidly back. Full sensuous lips, slightly parted, seemed to beg for his caress. The woman in the painting was alluringly beautiful, but a poor substitute for the real woman.
How many hours of every day did he sit here staring at the painting? He couldn't begin to remember.
Alec snapped his riding crop against his boot top, the crack echoing sharply in the dark study, startling Malachi who lay curled on the window ledge.
Hissing, the black cat arched, stretched, and jumped from the shelf, huge yellow eyes glaring ominously.
"Sorry old boy,” he muttered, “wasn't aimed at you."
Since time immemorial, his ancestors had been the jealous guardians of the portal, lightly stepping through time and space without thought to the consequences. He had not used the doorway so frivolously, knowing in some deep well of his being that the power trapped within was fragile and growing weaker.
Wearily, he rubbed a hand across his face. The portal, already tenuous, was growing more unstable, and he feared he wasn't strong enough to hold it open for much longer. He needed to preserve that precarious power for one last transport—bringing Annalisa home. If he failed, Annalisa was lost to him.
Annalisa, he breathed, the name was as beautiful as the woman. He relaxed, mind drifting back to the beginnings of love. He'd first seen her in Jean's parlor as a young adult, crying over the loss of her parents. Even then, anguished and distraught, the promise of beauty was indelibly stamped on her features. Curious and baffled by the affinity he felt for the young woman, he looked in from time to time, seeing her as a vivacious, laughing child, changing as the years flew by, sometimes sad, often lonely, but ultimately transforming into the woman she became. He smiled, admitting silently her beauty was merely a casing for the perfection of the woman within. Gifted with a sharp mind and quick wit few men could claim, Annalisa was a force to be reckoned with. Knowing without doubt she was his and only his, he'd used his mental powers to forge a bond between them.
Alec stared at the painting, palms lifted skyward, chanting the ages-old chant, willing himself through time and space, sending his soul into the void, seeking her essence, losing himself in overwhelming need, reaching out for her, if only in dreams.
* * * *
The tinkling sound of music, perhaps a waltz played on a pianoforte or harpsichord, echoed through her disjointed dreams. She found herself standing alone, watching as a scene unfolded. Couples, dressed in antique apparel whirled by, seemingly unaware of her presence, but so close that she could feel the brush of their elaborate attire. Above, a candlelit chandelier bathed the room in a mellow glow, casting shadows on the unreal tabloid.
The crush of dancers parted, forming a pathway across the room, leading to a male figure standing near a dais, his face obscured by the shadows.
"Come to me,” a husky voice whispered demandingly. “Come to me."
Annalisa drifted across space, coming to rest directly in front of the imposing figure.
"Come to me,” the voice whispered again, flooding her with warmth.
"Where?” she asked the mysterious figure.
He stepped forward, out of the shadows, the man who haunted her fevered dreams.
"Through the portal,” he said, though his lips did not move. His eyes gleamed with unbridled passion from a face too handsome by far.
"Where is the portal?” she w
hispered. “How do I find it?"
Strong hands gently cupped her face. “You have the most beautiful eyes, like violets in the spring. A man could drown in your eyes."
Annalisa's lips trembled, desire and need awakened by his merest touch.
Dreamily, she arched against him. “I know you,” she breathed. “I have always known you."
His lips brushed hers, lush with fevered promises. She pressed closer, aching for his touch, her mouth parting for his invasion. The kiss deepened, and she was lost. Her breasts tingled and moisture pooled at the juncture of her thighs, leaving her panting and wanting more. He pulled back, heavy lidded eyes probing deeply, his firm lips curved in a sensuous, knowing smile.
Colors swirled, spiraling away as the dream began to fade. “No,” she cried. “Not now! Tell me! Where is the portal?"
"Jean has the key,” a deep masculine voice reverberated hollowly. “Jean has the key."
Annalisa woke with a start, bathed in perspiration, and filled with longing so intense, she was embarrassed and crestfallen to find herself alone. Her lips curled in disgust. The face of her dream lover was the face of the man in the painting, as it had been so many times before. She swept her sweat-soaked hair back, dismayed to find her face wet with tears. How could a mere dream affect her so? Sighing, she opened a window, allowing the breeze to cool her heated skin. In her mind's eye, she could still see his face, whispering seductively, demanding she come to him. What had he said? Oh, yes! Jean had the key, but the key to what? He'd said the portal. A door? A door that opened where?
The breeze caressed her face with gentle fingers, tantalizingly familiar, enclosing her within a silken cocoon, ghostly hands lifting her hair as if to gain access to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Tilting her head, her senses swimming, Annalisa whispered into the night. “Who are you? What do you want?"
The only answer was the sound of the wind rushing across the moor.
She had to see the painting, had to confirm that he was the one. Stumbling in her haste to reach the parlor, she tripped several times and cursing the narrowness of the stairwell. When she finally reached the landing, she paused, caught by the sound of Granny Jean's voice murmuring from the small parlor. Stepping closer, she strained to hear.
