by Glenda Diana
She looked at the empty candleholders that graced the hallway and sighed, wishing that they were filled with candles that would lend her some light to the darkness. Shaking her silly thoughts away, she looked into each room she passed, knowing she would find them empty. The closer she drew to the Lady of the Manor's room the more jittery her nerves grew. Whoever was up here would have to pass her in order to get to the stairs ... unless. No, she wasn't even going to think about ghost. Such thoughts were ridiculous.
Peeking around the edge of the doorway, she held her breath. Her gaze moved over the room. Everything seemed to be fine. Quietly, she tiptoed toward the last room. Again, she held her breath hoping it would give her some added courage, before looking into the room.
Her scream shattered the silence.
"Blast it, woman! You're bound to make me deaf and daft with those screams of yours."
Arysa crumpled to her knees, as her breathing rasped from her constricting lungs. Her body began shaking so badly that she wrapped her arms around herself trying to stop it, but it was a useless attempt.
Zebual crossed the room and crouched down in front of her. His ears were still ringing from her scream. She was in pitiful shape, he thought watching as she shivered and shook. He started to reach out and touch her, but then pulled his hand back.
"Arysa, are you all right?"
It took her a moment before she could answer. She shook her head, "No, I'm not. I know how I lost my memory now," she whispered.
Zebual stared at her long and hard as he fought to control his emotions. "You do?"
"Yes ... you scared it out of me, didn't you?"
It took him a minute to realize that she had been jesting. Relief and sorrow combated one another he tried to gather himself. "What a ridiculous thing to say," he muttered.
"I don't think it's ridiculous at all."
At the base of her neck he could see the rapid beat of her pulse and knew she was still trying to calm herself. His gaze moved down to where her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. "Arysa, you need to go back downstairs."
She couldn't believe his nerve. Did he think that if she could honestly get to her feet that she would be sitting on the floor? Arrogant buffoon, she muttered to herself. With eyes narrowed, she raised her head, ready to blast him with one burning glare. The red hazy glitter made her forget all else. He closed his eyes and struggled to his feet. When he swayed, she forgot about her own condition and was instantly on her feet, putting her arm around his waist.
"What we need to do is get you downstairs to your room."
"No," he panted out, trying to move away from her touch. "Just go. I can get to my room on my own."
"You're being unreasonable, Zebual. In the condition you're in right now you wouldn't make it down the length of the hall let alone down the stairway."
"Please, just go."
She bit her lip in indecision. Finally, she removed her arm and stepped back. "All right," she managed to whisper before turning and running down the hall. By the time she closed the door to her room tears were streaming down her cheeks and the lump in her throat felt as though it would clog her breathing. She didn't care, she kept repeating too herself.
It seemed that every time she wanted to offer him help he did his best to keep her away. It wasn't bad enough that she was confused as to who she was, but he confused her even more so with his treatment of her. First he proclaimed her to be his wife, then he told her nothing about herself. He demanded that she spend her evenings with him only to have him treat her as if she were invading his domain.
Arysa wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed loudly a couple of times as she decided what she would do. Complaining and feeling sorry for herself was going to get her nowhere. It was action that she needed. A feeling of rightness came over her as she decided on a plan. It was all the confirmation she needed to know that this was indeed part of her character. She was a person of action not one that wallowed in self-pity. Along with that knowledge came a feeling of pride that she alone found a small fragment of the person she had once been.
Chapter Eight
Darkness surrounded her. Fear filled every recess of her soul. Something was wrong. She knew it as well as she knew the rhythm of her own heart ... a heart that felt shattered and torn as she listened to the sound of her name being called.
No matter which way she turned all she met was darkness ... endless, fathomless darkness. The air inside her lungs felt as though it was being squeezed from her. She was lost, but it was more than that ... it was as if she was ceasing to exist within herself. Thread by thread she was slipping away toward an abyss that dawned somewhere in front of her, but where? She couldn't see ... she didn't know which way was front and which was back? If she moved the wrong way then she would be lost forever.
She shifted her weight and felt the ground begin to crumble beneath her. She was standing on the edge of the abyss. Which way to move? Which way was the ground falling away? She didn't dare move, yet how could she do nothing?
Zebual felt her terror. Usually it was the scent of her passion that brought him from his room, but not tonight. He approached the bed silently, watching as she thrashed and cried out. Wanting to offer her some form of comfort, he sat down on the bed and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
Arysa came instantly awake. The scream died upon her lips when she recognized Zebual's shadowy form. With some effort she sat up, the trembling of her body seemed to increase. Before she realized what she was doing she was clutching at him trying her best to control the fear that still lingered within her.
Zebual wrapped his arms around her. Her warmth perforated his being, making him realize just what kind of jeopardy he was putting himself in. The trembling of her body shook his own weakened frame. He smoothed his hand over the long braid and groaned softly when she clutched him tighter.
"Please, don't let me go," she whispered, burying her face to the base of his neck.
"Never," he promised.
"I was going to leave here tomorrow, don't let me."
Zebual's brows lowered in frown. "Why were you going to leave?"
"I'm so tired of being pushed and pulled. Promise me that you won't let me leave."
She sounded almost frantic in her plea. "Arysa, I would never let you leave. You and I are joined with a vow ... you belong here with me." No sooner had the words left his mouth than her trembling slowed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
His body did some trembling of its own at the feel of her warm breath against his skin. "Explain your meaning of being pushed and pulled."
"That's what you do to me," she murmured, tightening her embrace.
"Easy or you'll break me in half." When Arysa started to release him, he shook his head. "No," he murmured. "Just be gentle. How do I push and pull you?"
"You pull me toward you and then you push me away."
"I don't mean to."
"I know," she sighed.
For several minutes, they held each other in silence. "If you're all right now, I'll go back to my room." Zebual hated saying those words, but the longer he held her the harder it was to keep his inner being contained.
"Of course, I'm sorry I woke you again."
"I'm here whenever you need me."
Arysa looked up at the dusky outline of his face. "Could I ask a favor?"
Zebual didn't dare attempt to speak, so he nodded his head.
"Could I by chance have a small drink of your brandy? Maybe it would calm me enough to go back to sleep."
It was a horrid idea. He was in danger of losing his control and yet how could he deny her request? He knew exactly what she meant by push and pull. He wanted her with him, to feast his eyes upon her, to smell her fragrance and to hear her voice. Yet, it was agony for him to endure each of these treasures he so wanted.
"I'll pour you a glass and bring it to you."
Before Arysa could say anything, he was up and moving toward the doorway. Actually, what she wanted ha
d nothing to do with a drink or going back to sleep. The thought of going through that dream again sent a shiver through her. What she wanted was to be held and comforted and not to be alone. With a shake of her head, she tried to reason with herself. She was putting emotions where there should only be logic. Her need for affection was clouding her thoughts.
Zebual returned with a large glass almost filled to the rim. Arysa smiled and took the glass. "I only wanted a small drink," she said, taking a small sip. The contents were warm and strong and made her wince at the taste of it.
"I thought it might be helpful," he murmured. "After the first few sips the taste gets better."
"I should hope so." She took another small sip and then another. "I have often wondered what this stuff tasted like. I've seen you drink glass after glass and imagined that it must be quite good ... I was wrong."
With a smile, Zebual sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping out of her reach.
"If I ask you something will you tell me?"
"Yes," he replied, somewhat hesitantly.
"What was our marriage like?"
His brows raised slightly. "You believe me now?"
Arysa shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "But if so, would you please tell me what it was like before I lost my memory."
"Here again, I think it would be best for you to remember on your own. I can tell you what it was like for me, but only you can speak for yourself and you can't do that until you have regained your memory."
"Don't confuse me more than I already am," she sighed. "Then tell me what our marriage was like for you."
Zebual stood, his hands began shaking. What could or should he tell her?
"You're getting sick again." Arysa placed her glass on the table beside the bed and threw back the blankets. His back was to her but even in the dim light of the hearth she could see the shivers that shook his frame. "We'll talk later," she murmured, coming up behind him. "Go on to bed and thank you, Zebual for coming to me when I needed you."
With a jerking nod of his head he left closing and locking the door between them.
"How are you feeling today?"
Arysa looked up from her plate, her gaze connecting with Mrs. Reed's. "Fine. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious, lass." Mrs. Reed beamed a smile. "I hardly see you anymore. You get up in time for a late midday meal and then you spend the rest of the evening with Zebual. I was just making sure that everything is all right."
"Things would be better if I could remember something of my past, but I think I'll have to face the fact that I may never regain my memory."
"Then you build new ones."
"Build what?"
Mrs. Reed smiled. "You build new memories, lass."
Arysa thought over Mrs. Reed's words carefully. Not only was the older woman very wise, she was also right. She could live the rest of her life trying to find some thread of her past and never accomplishing that feat. Or she could just go on and create new memories along with a new future. It all seemed so simple. She had wasted weeks trying to discover who she was, but the only thing she had achieved was more confusion.
"Are you positive that I'm Zebual's wife? I mean, with no doubts, no reservation and no hesitation?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Just asking," Arysa murmured. "Thank you for breakfast."
"You're welcome, lass. Where are you going? You haven't finished eating," she asked, when Arysa stood and headed for the door.
"I've had plenty for now. This evening I'll eat more, I promise."
Without conscious thought, Arysa went where her feet led her ... right to the painting of Connor. As often as she looked upon the portrait, she should know ever line and stroke the artist made, but each time she looked at the portrait it seemed to appear more vivid and defined.
A heavy sigh hissed from her as she turned away and headed back down the hallway. The sounds of mumbled voices could be heard as she started past Zebual's private library. Thinking it was Hanah and Tairam, she entered the room and found Justin, Reese and Edmond glaring at one another.
"When?" Reese muttered.
"It won't be much longer."
Edmond started to say something and then paused. All three men turned their gaze on Arysa. "Is there a problem?" she asked, suddenly nervous beneath their stares.
"No," Justin stated. "I'll talk to the two of you later."
Reese and Edmond both tipped their heads to her as they made a hasty departure.
Justin started to follow the men, but Arysa stopped him. "How is Nightstar today?"
"You should have asked Reese or Edmond that question. They're the ones that take care of the stables. Or better yet, if you're so interested in the animal why don't you go out and see how he is."
"My, aren't we good natured, as always."
Justin sighed loudly. "To my knowledge, Nightstar is just fine. Edmond took him out earlier for a ride."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Arysa. Not only is it not required, but I don't want it. If you're feeling generous, why don't you ride Nightstar tomorrow and save the men a little extra work."
Arysa gave him a smile she hoped chilled him to his toes, as she spun around and left him with his own bad company. The man was as infuriating as Zebual was. She would bet her ... what? She had nothing to wager with. Still, the two men were so much alike that she wondered if they were related in some way.
As she made her way toward the stairs she felt a soft breeze blow against her. The garden, she thought, changing direction. The afternoon sun shone against the late blossoms. The trees surrounding the garden were filled with orange, brown and gold leaves that seemed to cast the entire garden in a soft yellow light. The breeze had just a touch of coldness to it attesting to the time of year that would soon be upon them.
Following the path, she made her way around to the back of the garden and toward the last bench that graced the horseshoe pathway. Here there was evidence of the winter that was to come. Already the flowers had died and withered on their drying stems. The shrubbery was turning golden and brown in areas. Soon the whole garden would be drenched in this decomposed state.
She started to sit down, but paused. The white stone bench appeared more gray in tone than white, as if the decay of the garden was spreading through its texture as well. With a sigh, she moved on around the garden until she reached the entrance to the dining hall.
Hanah and Tairam were busy cleaning and didn't hear her enter. She was quite pleased with their work. Though Zebual didn't often use the dining hall it was always in gleaming condition. Even the scarred tables seemed to shine with their tender care.
"The two of you do wonderful work," she commented softly, as she continued to look around.
"Watch your step, ma'am. The floor is still slightly damp from the mopping," Tairam said, with a smile.
Arysa glanced down at the stone floor and then returned her smile. "I will. Do you need any help?"
"Oh, no," Hanah said in a rush. "We're almost finished in here."
Arysa nodded, but gave an inward sigh. She liked these two young women, but it was obvious that they felt ill at ease around her. They also acted as if it were beneath her to offer her help to them. On the other occasion when she had helped them, she hadn't bothered to ask. That was the only time that they had seemed relaxed around her.
"We thank you for your offer, though," Tairam said, again smiling.
"What exactly is there to do around here if one isn't busy cleaning?"
Tairam glanced at Hanah. Arysa followed her gaze. The expression on their faces told her that they couldn't decide how best to answer that question. "Let me rephrase that. What do the two of you do when not keeping Syra clean?"
"We spend time with our husbands."
Tairam glanced at Hanah as her face turned red with embarrassment.
"I would imagine that you do." Arysa laughed. "I meant, besides that. Is there anything to do around here?"
"Not really," Hanah answered, her
laughter joining that of Arysa's. "Every so often we manage to talk Reese into playing his lute and we dance."
"How nice. Did Zebual and I ever dance while Reese played?"
The smiles on Hanah and Tairam faces faded quickly. She knew without a doubt what they were going to say to her. That she should ask Zebual. No one, not even Zebual gave her straight answers. "When Zebual is better we will have to see if Reese will grace us with some of his music. Now, if you'll excuse me." Arysa hurried from the room. What she and Zebual did in the past would most likely remain in the past unless she regained her memory. What she had to decide now was what to do about the future.
As she reached the second landing, she found her gaze moving up the stairs to the third floor. What had Zebual been doing up there last night? Had he, too, heard the noises and had investigated them? And just how had he managed to get past her room without her hearing him? The answer to that was easy, she scolded herself. When she had retired to her room she had been angry and too busy muttering to notice anything else.
As she entered her room, she paused in front of the door that connected their rooms. Her hand touched the doorknob and found it locked. Did he really sleep the day away? Was he hiding from the light? Or was he just simply hiding so that none could look upon him? If she were to pick one of the options she would choose the latter. Even in the dusk of evening, in the dim light of darkness, he hid himself.
She recalled holding on to him the night before and finding comfort within his arms. The scent of him had lingered in her mind long after he had returned to his room and locked the door. Deep in the recess of her mind, she could recall that scent or so it seemed. She wasn't sure anymore what she recalled and what was new to her. Mrs. Reed definitely had the right of things. Her past was only that ... a past. But it was now and the future that mattered. She could live the rest of her days in limbo waiting for something that might never come or she could go on and live her life to the fullest and that was exactly what she was going to do.
