So Alastair hadn’t run straight to him—and why would he? No man would want to admit such humiliation, even to his best friend.
She looked for his car, checked the nearby pub. Finally she went home, shaking with anxiety all the way—and there he was. Waiting for her on the living-room sofa; a solid mass of bewilderment, pain and simmering anger. His face was purple with emotion.
Rosie sidled in, as if making no sound would make her seem more contrite. “Um,” she said softly, and perched on the arm of a chair.
Alastair said nothing at first. The atmosphere hung sour and awkward between them. Finally, as if they’d already had half an argument—which perhaps they had, inside their own heads—he said, “You know, I came to tell you I was sorry.”
“About what?” Rosie said, startled.
“Matthew and me, being rude to Sam. I felt bad about it after. It was childish. I’ve got nothing against Sam, he’s obviously a great fellow”—the word was loaded with sarcasm—“but when I say to Matt, ‘Maybe we went over the top,’ he sneers and starts telling me Sam’s a troublemaker, a psycho and all that, and I start thinking, oh lord, even if Matt’s exaggerating, I let Rosie go off on her own with him. Better make sure she’s all right.”
“You felt you needed to check up on me?”
“No. I thought, I’ll apologize for being a prat, and see if she’s all right. I was concerned about my wife, is that okay?”
Rosie bit her lip. Her throat ached. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, and meant it. She was fond of Alastair, perhaps more than she’d realized. No passion between them, but there had been something; affection, friendship, habit, something too solid to be thrown away lightly.
“No, they never do,” he said darkly. His accent grew more Scottish when he was upset. “ ‘It just happened. It’s not you, it’s me.’ And so on. I’ve heard it all before. So, what was it, a spontaneous shag to get back at Matt and me?”
“No. It was nothing to do with that.”
He pondered. His eyes shone with tears. That brought her close to the edge, too. Truth dawning, he said, “It wasn’t the first time, was it? How long’s it been going on?”
“A while.”
“But we’ve only been married four months!” he shouted. He slapped his palms hard on his thighs, jumped up and paced around the room.
Watching him, Rosie felt a strange sense of resignation. She hadn’t wanted this—but what had she planned instead? To deceive him, find excuses to avoid sex, then sneak off for heated liaisons with Sam? So her plans had been torpedoed. It served her right. She felt sad and wretched, but relieved that he knew.
“We should have stayed friends, Alastair,” she said gently. “I shouldn’t have married you.”
“Then why the hell did you?” His voice was tight with anguish.
“It seemed right at the time. I made a mistake. It’s my fault, not yours.”
“You settled for me. I always knew, but I tried to kid myself it would work out. I thought you wanted that cretin Jon, so why are you screwing his brother?”
Then he started crying. He stood with his shoulders shaking, desolate. Tears ran down Rosie’s face. Neither of them spoke for a time.
Eventually Alastair composed himself and said, to her complete astonishment, “We can put this behind us, Rose. You wanted to go a bit wild, maybe. I suppose that’s in your blood. But you’ve got it out of your system now, right? Can’t we forget it and make a new start?”
It was the hope in his voice that destroyed her. He was offering her a way back. Sam was a wolf in the dark, but Alastair was part of her family.
She realized that this was the moment of heartbreak. Not being discovered, but this.
“No,” she said, quiet and firm. “I’m sorry, Alastair. I shouldn’t have married you. It wouldn’t be fair of me to stay.”
“No, wait. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. I want Sam.”
“But he’s a nutcase!” He began to pace again.
“No, he isn’t. Even if I stayed with you, I’d go on seeing him, and I can’t do that to you.”
“I should never have let you go to that bloody prison!”
“Let me? It wasn’t up to you!”
“You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t you, Rose. You’re sensible, you’re kind.” His hands were shaking, his eyes growing wild. “You wouldn’t do this to me.”
“I would. I have,” she said somberly. “And I’m terribly sorry.”
Alastair paced a bit more. Finally he seemed to accept what she was saying. Then he lost it. “When did I strike you?” he cried. “When did I strike you?”
“What?” She was on her feet, startled by his sudden rage. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve read the folktales. If a man takes a faerie wife, he knows the rules; if he once mistreats her, she’ll vanish back to the land of Faerie. That’s the deal. He can’t control her like he would a human wife. He hits her, she’s gone. One strike and you’re out. I’ve kept my side of the bargain! So tell me, when the hell did I strike you?”
Rosie stood aghast. She wondered what she’d missed by taking him at face value. “What do you mean? Where did that lot come from?”
“Oh, I know what you are. The elder race. The others. You told me yourself, sort of laughing as if you assumed I wouldn’t believe it. But I’ve had chats with Jessica. Words with Faith, who couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. Even Matt, who’s almightily embarrassed by it, more or less sold you to me on the strength of it. Yes, you might be a wee bit wild, but the magic of you more than made up for that.”
“He marketed me?” she said numbly.
“Special. More than human. All glamorous and mysterious, like a goddess.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” she said scathingly. “Oh my god, I never guessed. You really thought you were buying into a fairy tale?”
“Yes, it sounds idiotic, put like that. But I did, because I thought you’d be different.”
“How? As compared to the coke-snorting hell-bitch who broke your heart before me?”
“Aye, different from her. Exactly. But oh, no. Human, Aetherial, you’re all the bloody same! All women have this witch inside them!”
She stood incredulous at the volcanic rage boiling out of him. “And you married me, thinking that?” Outraged, she squared up to him. “Matthew was so desperate for me to marry a human, I never stopped to quiz your motives. You thought you were getting some kind of special offer, one faerie princess, slightly soiled, comes complete with rich father and chastity belt?”
“I never thought that. I loved you.”
“Maybe it’s all the love you’re capable of, but it felt pretty bloody lukewarm to me.”
“Well, I’m only a humble mortal. You’re a princess and I treated you with respect. Now I’m not passionate enough for you? But you knew what you were getting! I thought you were happy. Satisfied. I didn’t realize you secretly wanted some man all over you like a rutting hog. Just not me, eh?”
“I thought we were happy, too, but that’s because I was dead inside. Sam brought me back to life.”
Alastair glared at her, fury seething in his eyes. He took a couple of steps back, nostrils flaring. “Will you get yourself away from me?” he said, an ocean of disgust in his voice. “You stink of sex.”
“Well, I have just had lots of it. I’ll take a shower,” she said icily. She turned away, heartsick. From calm sorrow to cheap, vicious insults—what had made her think they could do this with dignity?
As she went into the hallway she saw Lucas and Jon, hovering at the bottom of the stairs. Great, all she needed was the whole ghastly scene to have been witnessed. Lucas looked wide-eyed and upset. “Are you all right, Ro?” he mouthed.
She didn’t answer. Jon’s expression was closed, contemptuous. Despising me for getting mired in a human mess? she wondered. I bet that’s exactly it. He thinks he’s above all this.<
br />
“Come on, Luc,” Jon said flatly, walking towards the front door. “I need to get out of here.”
“Who’s going to tell Matthew?” Alastair said as the door closed behind them. He stood with his hands on his hips. “You or me?”
“I will,” she said. “He’s going to be furious with me, whoever tells him.”
“Where am I going to live? Because if you think you’re moving Sam in here—”
“You can have the house,” she said quickly. “I’ll go to Oakholme.”
“I don’t want the bloody house!” he cried. “I want you. Rosie, please!”
She looked away. She couldn’t bear his anguish.
“That’s it, is it?” he said shakily. “You’d give up everything to fuck some loser who can’t even get a proper job? It’s really over?”
“I’ll leave,” she said faintly.
“No, don’t stir yourself.” His voice turned flat with anger. “I can’t talk to you any more.” And he was gone. She winced as the front door slammed.
_________
Two hours later Rosie sat in the kitchen, numb. She was alone in the cold-hearted house with winter darkness falling outside. She wanted to call Sam, but didn’t. She needed to distance herself from him before she could even straighten her thoughts, let alone speak.
In the shower, she’d cried until she couldn’t anymore. The water had washed away the essence of Sam and her tears together.
Now she was cradling a mug of tea. Thought of adding brandy, decided it wouldn’t help. When she heard the front door opening, she went on red alert, steeling herself for another bout. Lucas’s face appeared in the doorway, porcelain-pale and worried. She slumped in relief, asking, “Where’s Jon?”
“We had an argument.” Lucas came in, removing his coat and throwing it on a chair. He sat opposite her. “We met this mate of his, and Jon wanted to go off with him and get stoned. I was mad at him for thinking about himself when you’re having a crisis, but getting mad at Jon only makes him more obstinate. So I left him to it.”
“Great,” Rosie sighed. “And Alastair’s walked out.”
“So it’s just you and me.” Luc sat looking anxiously at her. “That was a bombshell, you and Alastair. You want to tell me about it?”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve been seeing Sam. Alastair caught us in bed at the show house I was working on.” She gave a sour laugh. “If I’d told him we’d taken our clothes off to have a rest after a tough morning’s gardening, I don’t think he would have bought it.”
“Good grief, Ro, you’re a dark horse. I thought you were the last person . . . d’you remember, the morning of your wedding? I knew your heart wasn’t in it. I knew.”
“Yes, you did.” She gripped his hand across the table. “I’ve screwed up royally.”
“Come on, you’re not the first person ever to . . . uh,” he trailed off as they caught each other’s eye.
“Must run in the family, eh?” Rosie gave a sour grin.
“I’m confused. You don’t even like Sam.”
“I thought I didn’t. Actually I was like a cat on a hot plate every time I saw him, and I never knew how to react, except to fend him off. He grew on me. I like him. A lot.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s the problem, I’m scared I’ve wrecked our lives for nothing. What if it’s only lust in the end? Demon lovers promise the world then leave you high and dry. I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, Ro. Don’t rush into anything. It’ll work out.”
She smiled at Lucas, feeling an intense wave of love for him. He was pure-hearted, loyal, the light of his soul shining clearly in his eyes. A being of light, no less. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve got each other, whatever else happens.”
“I seriously need to talk to you,” he said, eyes darkening. “Sorry I’ve picked a bad time.”
“Oh, I’m tired of my own problems. What’s up?”
His shoulders hunched. Skeins of black hair fell forward. “Don’t know where to start. I daren’t tell anyone. I—I—I think I opened the Gates.”
“You’ve done what?”
“Oh—not wide open. Is there a word for not even ajar?” He held up his hands in prayer position, a few inches apart. “Just a sliver.”
She sat speechless, listening intently as he explained. “I didn’t intend to do it. I don’t know how it happened. It was months ago, just after that bad trip with Jon—I sort of felt the Lychgate crack open, but I told myself I’d imagined it. Then today I plucked up courage just to go and check . . . and it had really happened. I’m certain Lawrence doesn’t know, otherwise he would have gone completely insane about it, and reclosed it long ago . . . but he didn’t. I don’t know what I’ve done. I’m so scared.”
Rosie knew her brother well enough to believe him. “So he was angry just because you were messing around at the Gates—not because he realized you’d unlocked something? Hold on, are you absolutely certain this crack hasn’t been there forever?”
He paused, considering. “No. When it first happened, I felt it—inside.” He touched his chest. “Today I felt it again. I saw these beautiful, ghostly Aelyr calling to me. I didn’t sense danger, only this bitter cold. Perhaps it’s all right.”
“Perhaps you should talk to Lawrence again,” she said quietly.
“I can’t. God knows what he’d do.” He looked imploringly at her. “I’m sorry to lay this on you. I feel like the world’s falling apart. Then you and Alastair . . .”
“And I’ve been too busy to notice what a horrible time you’re having. I’m sorry. God, I’ve done nothing but apologize today.” She blushed suddenly, remembering that it was far from all she’d done.
Luc squeezed her hand, to tell her it didn’t matter. “Part of me is drawn to the Gates. Part of me wants to run like hell. I daren’t tell anyone, not even Dad.”
“What about Jon?” she asked. “I thought he’d be the first to know.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not with the state of his head at the moment. I dread to think what he’d do. I know he’s infuriating, but I still care about him.”
“I know,” said Rosie. “He’s obviously in denial about what a mess he’s in. Er, when Lawrence threw him out—are you sure that was all about the Gates, and nothing to do with Sapphire?”
Lucas flinched. “Gates, definitely. Lawrence doesn’t know.”
“About the French-kissing of the stepmother?”
“You’re not still sore about that, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Merely puzzled. All the girls or boys he could have had . . .”
“You don’t understand. It was all Sapphire.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“He told me the truth. She got hold of him when he was sixteen and he didn’t know how to stop her. If she was a man, no one would think twice about calling it abuse.”
“Sixteen?” Rosie was silent, shocked. Pieces fell into place. She felt sick. “Of course. That’s why Sapphire’s all over him. And it’s why he’s refusing to see her.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Oh,” she gasped, heart accelerating. “Sam doesn’t know, does he? I went into denial and told myself it was just a kiss, and I never mentioned it because, truly, it’s none of my business. If he’d known, he’d have been raging on the warpath about it long before now.”
Lucas’s eyes shone with alarm. “You mustn’t tell him! I was supposed to keep quiet, but stuff like this—it’s too much.”
“Great,” she groaned. “Another bloody secret.” She imagined lying in Sam’s arms, knowing and not saying . . . “I can’t not tell him, Luc! Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. But if Sam finds out I knew, and didn’t say anything—I’ll just go and live in a monastery, shall I?”
Lucas gave a sweet, tired grin. “We could slip away through the Gates together. No one would ever know where we’d gone.”
“Tempting.”
Hi
s smile faded to a frown. “Seriously, what are we going to do?”
“Sleep,” said Rosie. “Nothing will seem as bad tomorrow. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
Alastair did not come home that night. Next morning, there was still no sign of him. It was Saturday, so Rosie had two days’ grace; two days to smooth things over so they could all—Sam included—turn up at work on Monday and behave in a civilized fashion and so avoid her father’s wrath because his key staff were missing, and all because—she closed her eyes, mortified at the prospect of everyone finding out—she and Sam couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Not a hope in hell.
Rosie fastened her crystal heart around her neck; it helped her to feel safe, because it reminded her of her father. Then she switched on her mobile phone and found a dozen messages from Sam, each increasingly urgent.
RUOK?
Please call me.
Switch your bloody phone on!
Rosie what’s happening?
Just let me know ur OK . . .
She dialed his number. He answered within one ring. “Rosie?”
“I’ve spoken to Alastair.”
“How was it?”
“Horrible.” She pressed her knuckles to her forehead. “As bad as it could be.”
“Oh, Christ. Are you all right, love?”
“Yep.” Her throat was in a knot. She tried to swallow past it. “He wants to forgive and forget. Thinks we can get over it, like it never happened.”
Sam went quiet. She sensed his fear, like a cold wave across the ether. “And what did you say?”
“I said no. I told him it wouldn’t work and I made a mistake marrying him. Should’ve listened to you, shouldn’t I? I ended it, Sam. He walked out.”
“Oh.” He sounded shocked. A pause, then cautious hope. “Does that mean you and me can . . .”
“No, not yet. It’s too soon. I don’t know.” She choked on tears, couldn’t help it.
“Rosie, don’t. Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have upset you like this for anything. We were meant to take it slow, let him down gently.”
“If not now, it would’ve been next week, or next year,” she said. “It would never have been gentle.”
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