Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “What do I care for his torment?” Sapphire lashed back. “That was my father he shot dead! Others only saw the bully, but to me Barada was a wonderful man. How many others would come back for an illegitimate daughter, like a big, sunburned guardian angel? He took me to New York and I left my old self behind like a shed skin. When I was old enough, he took me to England and Europe. I changed. I became a chameleon. I could pass for Brazilian, American, English—but the one thing we could not be, the only thing that mattered to him, was Aetherial.

  “He would take me to Lawrence’s store in New York to see the albinite jewels glittering on black velvet. I was the archetypal child outside a sweet-shop window. He promised me that one day it would be ours; in turn, I promised that if anything happened to him, I’d continue the fight. In time, I took a job there; sales girl, manager, marketing director. I don’t know that I had a plan, until my father disappeared. I simply made myself indispensable to Lawrence. I didn’t lie to him about my father’s identity; Lawrence wasn’t interested enough to ask.”

  Jessica was frowning. “So you married him . . . to take revenge?”

  “More than that. To fulfill my father’s dream. To understand the obsession that had taken him from me. To possess the Elfstone mine that was rightfully his. I know I did wrong to deceive Lawrence, but I acted out of love and passion. Lawrence only ever acts from cold, selfish arrogance.”

  At that, she could sense their sympathy swaying towards her; all except Sam. “So you planned to take Lawrence for everything, yet still consider yourself the injured party?” he said. “Tell me I was wrong to leave him a little photo of you with your daddy.”

  “I couldn’t keep up the pretense forever. But you must understand that when Lawrence destroyed my father, he destroyed my world.”

  Jessica asked, “Did you love him? Lawrence, I mean.”

  She laughed. “I began to, stupidly—until he killed my feelings, as he’d killed my father. He’s more than adequate in bed—as you’d know.” Jessica flushed red, to Sapphire’s satisfaction. “When we first became lovers, he couldn’t get enough of me . . . but I never guessed he’d turn cold so quickly. I didn’t realize he was mad. Some naive part of me thought I might forgive, and save him. He thought I could save him. But no one can.”

  “No,” Jess murmured, bowing her head.

  “He carries such guilt, such nightmares. When he realized that a shiny new wife couldn’t redeem him, it hit him hard. He blamed me. Only what I deserved, but strangely, it still hurt. He has no heart—only a sucking hole in his chest. He wanted a meek human wife who’d mother his sons to stop him feeling guilty. Instead, he got me. I guess we were both disappointed.”

  “What will you do?” Phyllida asked in genuine concern.

  “Survive, as always,” Sapphire answered, with a small thrill of triumph to see that she had won over Phyll and Comyn, at least. “I leave Lawrence as I arrived; with nothing.” She smiled into Sam’s hostile blue eyes. “Do you think your father so honorable? I told him I’d take the mine and everything he had in the divorce settlement. He laughed and replied that he had never divorced Virginia. Think what you like of me; even I couldn’t compete at that level of cynical deception. I should take him to court for bigamy, perhaps? He knew all the time that we were never truly married.”

  Rosie sat on her bed, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, one thumb pressed between her teeth. She couldn’t relax. Their visit to Lucas this afternoon had disturbed her. Outside, torrents of icy rain were eroding the snow.

  Phyllida had taken Sapphire to stay at the farm and Jon had gone with them, despite Sam’s attempts to persuade him otherwise. Then Sam had returned in haste to Stonegate, to talk to Lawrence. Or, Rosie wondered, to avoid talking to me? He had looked so good, all in black with the leather jacket he’d worn the day of her wedding, and she’d caught him glancing at her constantly . . . but he’d left, with hardly a word to her.

  She felt him drifting away. I know we behaved disgracefully, she thought. It’s awkward for everyone if he hangs around. If he goes, we can heal and move on. All of that may be true and so what? I don’t care. I just want his arms around me.

  She checked her watch. It was nearly midnight and everyone else was in bed. Several times this evening she’d selected Sam’s number on her mobile phone, only to stare at it. Now the phone lay like a hand grenade beside her. Her heart began to accelerate and her nerve almost failed. At last she snatched it up, dialed, heard Sam’s soft voice at the other end, “Hi, Rosie.”

  “Erm,” she began, trying to sound casual, “are you at Stonegate?”

  “Yes, still here.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “Not as such.” He sounded preoccupied. “He’s gone into shoot-the-messenger mode; shut himself in the library and won’t talk.”

  “Do you regret making Sapphire tell him?”

  “Not for a moment. I’m only sorry it hurt my father and Jon. As for her performance, that deserved a bloody Oscar, that did. Sorry about it happening in your front room. You okay, Foxy?”

  “Fine.” She swallowed. “It’s only that I can’t sleep. I’m concerned about Lucas—he’s doing well physically, but he’s not himself. I think the shock of the accident has hit him. I know he’s safe but I can’t stop worrying. So much has happened . . . I don’t want to be on my own. Can you . . . come round? Only for tonight, then I’ll be fine.”

  There was a silence she couldn’t interpret. When he answered, he sounded impersonal and quite unlike himself. “I don’t—don’t think it would be such a good idea, Rosie. You’ve got people in the house, haven’t you? It’s them you need, not me. It wouldn’t be right. Your parents wouldn’t want me there.” He was letting her down gently but firmly. “Try to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she said faintly. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’ll try. Night.”

  She dropped the phone and sat motionless, deflated. For ten minutes she hardly moved. If she let herself breathe she would start crying and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, give in to self-pity. Then her feet began to tingle and a rush of anger surged through her, almost lifting her off the bed.

  She snatched up the phone and redialed, stabbing the buttons. “Sam, don’t give me any more crap,” she growled. “Get your ass over here now!”

  His voice came back sounding quite different; shaky with exertion and cold. “Well, can you come down and unlock your back door? It’s absolutely bloody freezing out here.”

  ______

  She saw his face pressed white against the glass, and as she opened the door he spilled through the gap in a surge of cold wind and rain. They grabbed each other and held on. Her head was in his shoulder, his cheek on her hair. Then they separated enough to gaze at each other, breathing hard. He held her face between his hands and kissed her.

  “Sam,” she gasped, surfacing. “You ran down the hill . . .”

  “I’ve been trying so hard to keep away from you,” he said. “I can’t. I missed you like hell.”

  “Me too, it’s been killing me. Come up to my room.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Take off your wet boots. There’s a bottle of wine up there, and TV—we can watch a film. I don’t want to be on my own.”

  “If it won’t upset your folks. Whatever you want, love. If you just want company, that’s fine.”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. We need to talk.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. “Come on.”

  Entering her bedroom, Sam looked around, taking in the pale cream and dark oak of the room, the framed Waterhouse prints, all softly gilded by lamplight. “Rosie Fox’s bedroom,” he breathed. “The bedroom of Foxy Rose.”

  She lit a joss stick, found a DVD and switched on the small television that sat on a chest of drawers. “Is it how you imagined?”

  “I thought it would be flame-red satin and crimson roses,” he said, removing his jacket. Underneath he had a burgundy shirt open over a black T-s
hirt. “Can’t think why. I was right about the Pre-Raphaelites, though.”

  “You fantasized about it, did you?” She was amused. “I bet you’ve spent hours fantasizing about my bedroom and what you’d like to do in it. You pervert!”

  “Man’s got to have a hobby.” Sam threw himself headlong on the bed, turned onto his back and stretched out on the creamy satin. “It’s lovely. Warm and welcoming. Perfect place to . . . watch a film.”

  They made a nest of pillows against the headboard and sat with their arms around each other, trying to concentrate on a quirky gothic animation. And it was all right. The horror began to fold away into the past. They were at ease, difficult conversations swept aside and the future suspended, at least for one night. Rosie told herself that the night would be platonic, even though it was all too easy to kiss and touch as they watched the film.

  “So, what’s with Lucas?” he asked after a while.

  “He’s out of bed and walking around,” said Rosie, “but he’s really moody. Doesn’t want to smile or talk. Even mentioning coming home doesn’t cheer him up.”

  Her mouth soured with tears as she spoke. Sam kissed and stroked her hair. “Don’t get upset. I think I know what’s wrong with him.”

  “Really?”

  “Apparently he and Jon had an argument. Jon’s really cut up about it.”

  “Oh, great,” Rosie sighed. “Why didn’t he say? It’s not like him at all.”

  “Hey, give him time. It could take him months to recover properly. When Aetherials start thinking they’re superhuman, that’s when problems start.”

  Rosie relaxed against him, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. They drank red wine and talked idly about Luc, Matthew, Ginny. When the film ended, they were still wide awake, her hand resting lightly on Sam’s forearm. As he reached for the remote to find another channel, the sensation of muscle hardening under her fingertips was amazing. She walked her fingers to his upper arm and said, “Tense your arm.”

  Sam obliged. “Like this?”

  “Oh,” she said, running her hand over the contours. The silkiness of skin over taut biceps was sensual beyond belief. She let her palm slide downwards over his chest and abdomen. “Now your legs, please.”

  He tensed, grinning. The strength of his thighs, even through jeans, made her lose control. She took both hands to one leg, moved down to press her cheek to the firmness. Gently she bit him, not to hurt, only to feel the vigor of his thigh through her teeth and tongue. Sam started laughing. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, god, I’d forgotten how nice you feel,” she gasped, pushing hair out of her face. “Well, not forgotten, but not appreciated all this lovely . . . firmness.”

  “Plenty more where that came from.” His voice was unsteady, his interest becoming obvious. It was an impossible temptation. She traced the swelling fabric with her fingertip, heard him catch his breath.

  Caressing her hair, he drew her up and they began to kiss, gentle yet hungry. After a minute, he pulled back and whispered, “Don’t do this if you’re going to feel bad about it in the morning. Let’s stop while we still can.”

  That sobered her and she drew away. “Sam, will you really leave? I don’t want to keep you from your new career, but . . .”

  She felt his breath warm on her scalp as he sighed. “Think what it’s going to be like if I stay, love. ‘There’s that no-hope son of Lawrence Wilder, that convicted killer who broke up Rosie’s marriage, caused all that grief—what’s a nice girl like her doing with him?’ I don’t care about myself, Rosie, but imagine how it’s going to feel, all the bitching and backbiting.”

  “I don’t care what people think,” she said heatedly. “That’s not who you are. You’re a man with a good heart who made a couple of mistakes. You show me one person in this village who hasn’t screwed up in their time! They’ve no business condemning us. Unless . . .” She trailed off. “Sam, are you using this as an excuse to run?”

  “No, it’s the last thing I want!”

  “Because if you are, be honest. If you’re bored and want out, just go. Don’t make a production of it. I’ll get over you.”

  He stared at her, floored. “Rosie, you’re the love of my life. What have I done to make you think otherwise?”

  “Then think what it’s going to be like when we meet again, which we’re bound to do.” She spoke softly, stroking his chest. “We might be with other lovers by then. But we’d still be looking at each other and remembering . . . maybe stealing a touch here, a kiss there . . .” She felt Sam stiffen and draw breath, picturing it. “Next, we’d be sneaking off together. Devouring each other in dark corners. We could hurt other people all over again. And whatever we did, we’d be hurting ourselves.”

  His arms grew tight around her. In a low voice he said, “The bottom line is, I can’t stay with someone who’s ashamed of me.”

  Rosie gasped, pulling back to stare at him. “I’m not ashamed of you, Sam. I love you.”

  The admission startled her as much as it did him.

  “No, you don’t,” he said by reflex. Then, less certainly, “Do you?”

  “Yes, I do. I wouldn’t say it in a million years if I didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh, my god.” He laughed in wonder, held her so tight she couldn’t breathe. His simple, overwhelming joy made her start crying. “For how long?”

  “It started when you were in prison, I think. Despite the X-ray eyes and inappropriate suggestions. Or because of. Much longer than you think, anyway.”

  “Bloody hell, why didn’t you say?”

  “I couldn’t get the words out. I thought they might be the incantation that makes it all vanish in a puff of smoke.” He wiped tears from her cheek with his thumb as she spoke. “I was in denial. I wasn’t supposed to be having feelings for you, so I pretended I wasn’t. Then I didn’t know if I could trust you. Still less, trust myself. I’ve screwed up so much by following the wrong instincts. Then it was never the right moment. I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me, and hey—you didn’t.”

  “No—I do—it takes a while to sink through my dense skull, that’s all.”

  “Do you still love me?”

  “Always. That never changes.” He kissed her mouth. “I love you, Rosie.”

  “So if we haven’t officially split up, we must be officially together.”

  “I like your logic.”

  “You can’t lavish me with all this pleasure, then leave,” she said. “That’s got to be illegal.”

  “So it should be,” he agreed. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you, Sam,” she said, laughing and crying. “You must have noticed.”

  “There were clues. I daren’t believe it. I don’t deserve it.”

  “It’s not about deserving it, but still, I am proud of you. Coming to the Abyss with me . . . Until then, I always suspected you were only chasing me for the excitement.”

  “Oh, that was desperation, love. Even with the risk that I was always going to be second-best to Jon, I had to give it my best shot.”

  She fixed him with a firm look. “You can put that idea out of your head. What I thought I could have with Jon—it was my own fantasy. It wasn’t real.”

  “Yeah, well, you’d’ve made a beautiful couple but he was too stupid to realize it. His loss is my gain.”

  “I’m over him, Sam. I promise. I hated him for a while, but not anymore. Take a guy who stares into the distance when you talk to him and makes you feel about as sexy as cardboard, and then take a man who treats you like the center of the universe, can’t take his eyes off you, makes you dissolve into a molten puddle every time he touches you—oh, which one am I going to fall for? Mm, that takes some working out.”

  He grinned, lifting her so that she lay along the length of his body. “Ha, my evil plan worked.”

  “You play a long game, Sam.” She licked and bit his neck.

  “And what isn’t sexy about a cardboard Rosie? You haven’t seen the life-size cutout in m
y bedroom.”

  “Shut up, for heaven’s sake. Shh.”

  Slowly and gently their clothes came off. Then there was silken flesh to be worshipped, all the more ravishing for being familiar now. An infinity of kisses to bestow with lips and delicate tongues.

  Time ran slow, like syrup. Rosie had to taste and kiss him all over, exploring every inch of his body. Sam let her have her way, lying with arms flung back and eyes closed in rapture like a naked god. No need to rush. Dreamlike, they flowed together and she found herself sitting across his thighs with her head thrown back while his lips feathered all over her neck and rose-tipped breasts. She pressed herself to his hard warmth, which was hot with the joy of life, demanding yet infinitely giving. All for her. The earthy musk of pleasure enfolded them like incense.

  Time ceased, holding them in a sphere of honey light. Now they stretched along the bed together, Rosie falling back, Sam rising over her. She gripped the wonderful lean strength of his arms. She felt him filling her and cried out with bliss. It was raw and animal, transcendent. They would be here forever, in this altered state, a flow of perfect, tender ecstasy . . .

  Until they collapsed in a hot tangled mess, gasping. They lay unable to speak. Only staring astonished into each other’s eyes.

  Finally, they lay back on the pillows, arms around each other. The television still babbled meaninglessly in the background. Rosie found the remote and flicked it off. Sam kissed her again, his lips and tongue warm between hers, as if they hadn’t kissed enough. She felt ineffable fires dancing all through her and knew that they were both transformed. They’d entered a different realm, somewhere golden and soul-changing, and there was no coming back.

  They slept at last.

  She woke once near dawn, slipped to the bathroom, came back and smiled in wonder to see Sam there, so beautiful and serene, like an angel asleep in her bed. She sat and watched him for a while.

  It wasn’t that my instincts were ever wrong, she thought. The trouble was that I went against them. Always knew Jon didn’t want me, marriage would be a disaster, but I didn’t listen. This time . . . I have to trust my heart. Take a risk. Jump.