by Glenda Diana
Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he slowly made his way to his room. Day by day he was getting weaker. He hated for her to look at him. She, with long black hair that shone like spun silk, a lush full figure thriving with life, and those dark green eyes that still sparkled with her inner strength. She was alive with beauty, while he was slowly deteriorating.
How could he make her love him when he was withering before her lovely eyes? He couldn't. He was losing her, losing this battle and it seemed the harder he tried the more ground and time he lost. With a heavy sigh, he sank down upon the mattress and closed his eyes.
The image of her sleeping came to mind. The soft sounds she made while dreaming had drawn him like the promise of life. He knew of what she dreamt. The scent of her arousal had greeted him upon entering the room, just as it had made him ache to be there beside her, inside her and to taste the nectar his body craved, but he retained enough of his senses to know not to go to her.
It had been one of the cruelest tortures he had faced. He needed her so desperately, yet he couldn't have her. It had taken so long, so much time had been wasted and now everything was coming to a close when it should be just beginning. They had one chance at this and that one chance was almost up. What would he do if ... Zebual shook that painful thought away, he wouldn't think about that particular question just yet. He would take what time they had left and hope it would be enough. What came afterward he would deal with then, right now he had to make the most of his time.
Although he hated the thought of her seeing him as he was, he would set forth a new plan beginning tomorrow. He would spend time with her. Neither of them would be able to avoid the other. The concern she had shown him by following him to his room had touched his heart and given him a dim ray of hope. From here on out it would be her duty to be his caregiver and companion. If she chose not to believe she was his wife and that they had a life together, then so be it.
Chapter Two
Arysa rose late. As she dressed she looked around the room that was supposedly hers. It was spacious and quite lovely. The velvet drapes that graced the large window and the thick carpet that covered her floor were of the same color, a dark russet red. Near the hearth sat a small settee and matching chair both covered in russet brocade. On the left side of the room was the doorway to her private bathing room. Situated more in the center was the large four-poster bed. Again the coloring was the same except the bedspread and bed curtains were trimmed with gold satin.
She had asked Mrs. Reed if she was positive that the room was hers and for a reply all she received was a huge smile and a nod of the older woman's head. That was when she came to the conclusion that perhaps she had lost her mind and this was the land of madness.
She brushed out her hair and braided the long tresses into a thick rope that hung down her back and brushed against her bottom, then quickly made her way down the hallway toward the stairs that led to the main floor. She paused, her gaze moving up the flight of stairs that came to an end at the locked door. The third floor was off limits to everyone save Mr. Bayne, or so Mrs. Reed had stated the first day Arysa had ventured from her room.
Syra Manor was Mr. Bayne's ancestral home. That first day, Mrs. Reed had given her a sketchy history of the manor as she had showed Arysa about. Apparently, the home had been in Mr. Bayne's family forever. Upon entering any of the large spacious rooms you were greeted with the scent of sweet spices. Beautiful tapestries hung on the stone walls. Small delicate rugs were placed along hallways and in the rooms. She was amazed at how, when she stepped on the rugs, the air was instantly filled with more of the same soft aroma. It gave her a feeling of warmth, as if the room was welcoming her.
To the left of the front door was the dining hall. Several long tables were placed down the length of the room and on each side were long benches. At the end of the room sat another table, this one placed on a raised partition so that it sat higher than the rest. It was made of dark glossy wood. Mrs. Reed called it the "Lord of the Manor's" table. The legs were intricately carved with a spiral design. Behind the table sat a large throne-like chair carved to match the designs of the table. Rich black velvet covered the back and seat of it. On both sides of the throne were two small benches that were also carved to match the Lord's table.
On the wall behind the head table was yet another beautiful tapestry. This one displayed a moonlit night, a silver wolf with white wings spread out behind it. Arysa moved behind the table and stared up at the creature. She could not recall ever seeing anything quite so beautiful.
To the right of the front door was the parlor. It, too, was a long room, with several small delicate settees placed about the room. In front of the hearth sat several chairs fashioned in a more heavy form, apparently to hold the weight of a man. The white walls practically gleamed and again there were several wonderful tapestries upon the walls. It seemed as if the room had opened its arms, welcoming one and all. The ceiling seemed to sparkle with life, as if a million diamonds had been mixed into the white paint before it had been applied. At the end of the room was a large double doorway that led to the enclosed garden. When the doors were open the fragrance of fall flowers and damp earth drifted in on the slightest breeze.
Behind the main staircase was another long hallway lined with several doors. One door was to the library. Here she found bookshelves that lined three walls from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room were several tables and benches made in similar design as those in the dining hall.
The next room she had only glanced in because she had known immediately whose room it was. It was the private office of Mr. Bayne. The room was filled with dark colors and rich heavy wood. Not daring to enter a room she considered his private domain, she had closed the door and moved on to the next room and found yet another library, this one was much smaller. For the life of her she couldn't figure out why a person would need two libraries. Mrs. Reed had explained that the smaller library was Mr. Bayne's private selection of books.
Farther down the hall she had found herself in a circular room. The stone walls were chipped and aged with time. Two doorways led off in opposite directions. One led back to the kitchen area and the other to the servant quarters. But what had held Arysa's attention was the large portrait that hung between the two portals.
She could still recall her first reaction as she stood before the large painting. She had stared up into eyes of light blue ... so light, that they had caused her to shiver with trepidation. It had seemed as though the eyes had stared down at her with a raw intensity. The gentleman in the painting had his right arm braced along the mantel of the hearth where a fire burned brightly. The outfit he wore was black and silver. Black ruffled sleeves fell gracefully about the wrist where his left hand was braced at his hip. The tight fitting black pants encased powerful thighs and black gleaming thigh-high boots covered most of his legs. His hair was as black as the attire he wore, but the artist had painted several strands of silver at the temples.
Everything about him seemed-dark. His features were strong and bold. He had a wide forehead, a long graceful nose, lips that appeared thin and hard, yet she could detect a small softening at the corners.
Arysa didn't understand what drew her to the portrait, she just followed where her feet took her ... right to the circular room and the portrait. She knew she was being silly, but still this was only one of several times she had found herself standing in front of the portrait staring up at the determined face of the man.
"He's quite compelling to look upon, isn't he?"
Arysa jumped at the sound of Justin's voice just behind her. She could feel the heat instantly filling her cheeks. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there staring at the painting. She suddenly felt foolish to be caught gawking up at it.
Declining to look at Justin, she cleared her throat. "Yes, he is," she murmured softly. "Who is he?"
"Connor."
When he didn't say anything further, Arysa finally turned to face him. "That's
it?" she asked.
Justin gave a slight shrug. "I suppose if you want to know more about him, you could ask Zebual. He knows more about his family history than I. I think he would be most pleased to tell you all about Connor."
Glancing at the portrait one more time, Arysa turned her back on it. "I was on my way to the kitchen for a bite to eat." Again she felt foolish.
"Then I won't keep you." Justin gave a stiff nod of his head before walking away.
Arysa stayed rooted to her spot, watching until he was gone from sight. He was rather a strange man, she thought. When he was around she felt as though she had to watch her every move and word. Shaking her head, she turned toward the kitchen.
The smell of breakfast greeted her as she entered the warm kitchen. It was a smell that seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn't exactly say it was from her past. Each morning for the past month she had smelled the aroma of fresh baked butter rolls, frying ham, and fried eggs. The kitchen was almost as large as the dining hall. It had two large stoves and several tables were situated around the room making the food preparation easy.
Mrs. Reed gave her a brilliant smile. "Good morning, lass. I wasn't sure if you were coming down this morning or not."
Arysa smiled as she looked over the room again. "Why are there two stoves?"
Mrs. Reed chuckled. "Ahhh, 'tis easier to get the cooking done upon two than one. There are times I still have to do some cooking over the hearth. I'm a strange one to be sure, lass. I like to cook all my food at one time and that way 'tis all fresh."
"I see," Arysa murmured, taking a seat at the nearest table. "Who am I, Mrs. Reed?" she suddenly asked, her gaze staring unflinchingly into the other woman's.
Sympathy gleamed in Mrs. Reed's eyes. "Why you're Mrs. Zebual Bayne. Born Arysa Brena Campbell, you were."
She knew it would be a useless endeavor to pursue an answer. Either she was in truth Arysa Bayne or they were all out to drive her slowly crazy. If that were the case, they were all doing an excellent job. But then she was forced to ask herself why they would wish to do such a thing to her? Not an easy question to answer, at least not for her. Had she committed some grievous crime and this was her payment? Damn, it didn't matter what questions she might ask herself. Until she actually recalled who she really was, she would continue to live in this world of mystery.
Mrs. Reed's heart ached as she watched Arysa slump forward. It was a sad thing for a person not to know who they were. And it seemed that the more they tried to reassure her of her identity, the more unsure Arysa became. "Give me just a few minutes and I'll have a plate fixed up for you. You're nothing but skin and bones," she said making a soft tsking noise. "We're going to have to fill you up with plenty of good food."
Arysa looked down, letting her gaze move down her own length. "Skin and bones? I'm full of figure. If I were any fuller you'd not be getting me through the doorways."
"Nonsense. You've lost a good twenty pounds, I'd say. No man wants to cuddle up next to a pile of bones. They want curves and softness."
"Well, it makes no difference to me what a man wants." Arysa narrowed her eyes. "I don't plan on doing any cuddling with anyone, so the point of the matter is not important."
"Your grandmother Campbell would be ashamed of hearing such talk come from your lips. She raised you to be smart, loving and good of heart."
"My grandmother?" Arysa's voice cracked. "I didn't know I had a grandmother."
"Aye, your grandmother. She raised you from a babe. She always wanted the best for you. Even had the finest tutors to teach you. She gave you an education that most would envy."
"I don't remember a grandmother," Arysa whispered, softly. "What of my parents?"
Mrs. Reed was silent for a moment. "They died ... can't remember how. That's why your grandmother raised you. But don't you be fretting," she murmured, moving over to Arysa's side. Hesitantly, she laid her hand on Arysa's shoulder. "Soon all your memories will return. If you like, I can see if I can find the journal that belonged to your grandmother. You had it packed away, but I believe with some searching we can find it."
"Why did I have it packed away?"
Mrs. Reed stared at the tear-glazed eyes and shook her head. "Said something about keeping it safe. Made no sense to me, but it did to you and that's all the mattered."
"Do you know where I might have packed it?" Arysa felt a bud of hope coming to life inside her. Would this journal bring her the missing memories that she longed for?
"Nay, I don't. But don't look so disheartened. One thing is for certain, it has to be here in the Manor."
Fresh tears filled Arysa's eyes at the thought of finding the journal. She wasn't positive that it would answer all the questions and unknowns that plagued her, but it just might be something that could bring at least a small fragment of hope to her.
"When can we begin looking?"
"As soon as you eat. We'll search all the favorite places you used to spend time in. Just don't expect to find it a day's time. It could take us awhile. You wanted to make sure that only you knew where the journal was, so it only stands to reason that it won't be lying about."
Arysa nodded and slowly began eating. She didn't care how long it took for them to find it. The food, though good, had no taste to her. All her concentration was centered on where they would look first.
"Where were my favorite places?"
Mrs. Reed smiled. "You spent a great deal of time with your husband, so it could be in his rooms. You also loved to spend time in the garden and in Zebual's private library."
"Do you think my husb ... that Zebual would know where I put this journal?"
"I don't know, lass. You'd have to ask him."
Arysa nodded her head. "I guess we could search either the garden or Zebual's private library and this evening I can ask him about the book. What did it look like?"
Mrs. Reed tapped a finger against the side of her cheek. "I'm trying to recall ... I believe it was just a simple black leather book."
Arysa closed her eyes and tried to imagine a black leather book, but it was useless to try to envision something she had no memory of. With a heavy sigh, she gave up and opened her eyes to stare at the food in front of her.
Mrs. Reed noted the defeated expression on the young woman's face. "Eat up, lass and we'll see what we can find. Between the two of us it should take us too long to find it."
One by one they began searching the books in Zebual's private library. Two hours into the search Mrs. Reed left to prepare supper, while Arysa continued the search. There were dozens of black leather books, she realized, by the time she finished going through the first hundred or so. She would, if need be, search the entire Manor. This was the closest she had come in over a month to having any hope of finding out who she truly was.
Lifting another black leather book, she flipped through the pages and then placed it back on the shelf. Why hadn't anyone mentioned this so-called journal before now? Perhaps they had been waiting to see if she could remember her past without its help. Or maybe they had forgotten about it. Whatever the reason she knew about it now and she would find it.
The darkness of the room alerted Arysa to the lateness of the day. She knew that Mrs. Reed would be coming to announce supper soon. With that thought in mind she began replacing the books back on the shelf. It also meant it was time to face Mr. Bayne for another evening of silence, tension and, more than likely, anger.
She tried to hold on to her temper, but she found that it was nearly impossible when the man insisted on her remembering something she had no memory of. Did he not realize that the more he pressed her to believe, the more she disbelieved. The theory sounded lame even to her own ears, but she came to the conclusion that she was, no matter who she might be, a stubborn woman.
Looking down, she found her clothing was a mess and quickly headed upstairs to bathe and change. It wasn't that she cared what she looked like, but she did want to look at least somewhat presentable when she asked Mr. Bayne about the journal.
Turning she found Justin standing in the doorway. She waited for him to say something ... anything, she felt like a child caught doing some wrong. She became acutely aware of just how untidy she looked, causing her cheeks to heat with embarrassment. At times, Justin could be as infuriating as Zebual, she thought with a lift of her chin.
Within an hour she was clean and dressed in a loose gown of pink. She liked it because it seemed to float around her instead of clinging to her frame and emphasizing her curves. Well, that wasn't necessarily the truth, she thought, as she tried to pull the low neckline higher. Finally she gave up and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks heated at the sight of the dark cleavage the gown presented.
Her gaze moved over to the closet. She had plenty of time to change, but she shook her head. It wouldn't do her any good. Most of the clothing in the closet was like this or worse. Each item seemed to accentuate a certain part of her anatomy in a blatant display.
She wasn't sure where the clothing in her closet came from and she didn't want to analyze that question too closely. If she did, she would have to admit that though the beautiful garments were designed to be suggestive and risqué on the wearer, each did in fact fit her perfectly.
A soft knock on the door had Arysa turning. Hanah opened the door and smiled. "Mrs. Reed wanted me to tell you that dinner would be served in Mr. Bayne's room this evening."
Arysa's brows dipped downward. "And did she say why?" she asked.
Hanah shook her head. "No. You look very lovely tonight, ma'am."
"And have I worn this dress before?"
"Oh yes, ma'am. Dozens of times and each time you look lovelier than before."
Turning away, Arysa again looked at the closet. She should change. And wear what, she asked herself?
"Mr. Bayne is waiting for you," Hanah said and then with another smile, she quickly backed out of the room and shut the door.
Arysa was tempted to pick up something and toss it at the closed portal but just then she heard the lock on the connecting door to Mr. Bayne's room turn. Before she could move out of view he was standing in the doorway. Her cheeks heated as his eyes moved over her.
