Duncan's Rose

by Safi, Suzannah

  Mac stood up, walked to the front of his desk, and leaned on it. He touched the mask again. “Come,” he ordered.

  She obeyed with grace, swaggering on her high-heeled sandals.

  “Hi, dDarling,” her soft voice wafted to his ears.

  She stood in front of him, hands on her waist, looking him in the eye. He closed his eyes, taking in the mellow music. When her hand touched his chest, the warmth of it penetrated his shirt. He lowered his head and saw her fondling the first button.

  One shirt button was freed. He dug deep within his soul, waiting for the burning desire to erupt to consume this woman. Her fingers traced a transparent line down to the next button and she leaned forward and breathed in his ear. A second one freed.

  The music was relaxing, but his neck was stiff. He snapped his head left and right to pop the tension out of his system, and was rewarded with a soft, cracking noise.

  A third button was now open. He could feel her warm breath on his face, her ample bosom pressing on his chest.

  His pulse increased, but not in the way he wished for.

  “Stop!” he commanded. He opened his eyes and inhaled deeply. His heartbeat continued to race. He was plagued by the thought of Miranda’s face filled with agony.

  Mac was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t comprehend his desire for the one woman he should stay away from, but he did understand that he didn’t want this sexual business adventure. His muscles ached, tingled with want, screamed with longing for Miranda’s touch on his chest. Her touch had made him wish he had died and never came back.

  “What did I do wrong?” the young woman asked. Her calculating eyes demanded an explanation.

  He held her hand away from his chest with a gentle push.

  “Time for you to leave. I will, of course, pay the Madam for your wasted time.”

  He took another deep breath and raked his hair with shaky fingers. “And tell her I won’t need her to keep next Thursday’s appointment; I’ll call when I need company.”

  Most probably never.

  Why had he brought Miranda here? His uncle was right; it was a mistake.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts just as his guest was about to say something, perhaps to convince him of her skill, of her power to bring him joy.

  “Come in, William, and take the lady home.”

  The soft click of heels on the floor drew his attention. To his dismay, it wasn’t William at the door. It was Miranda.

  Chapter Six

  As Miranda stepped into the office, the elegant woman facing her gave her an analyzing look from head to toe. The woman then turned her gaze to Mac. “I hope I’ll see you soon.” She brushed past Miranda on her way to the door.

  Could this woman be his girlfriend or lover?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had someone in the office.” Miranda winced. Heat rose to her cheeks. Did I interrupt something?

  Mac stroked his hair nervously. “It’s all right.”

  “If you’re busy, I can come later.” Miranda was about to turn back on her heels, but he stopped her with a gesture.

  “No, I’m not busy. Was there anything you wanted?” He tried not to look at her and stayed busy buttoning his shirt

  Miranda walked toward his desk and stood, folding her hands across her chest. “I want to go to the village tomorrow. I was hoping you could help me get there.” Her gaze lingered on the shuffled papers on the desk.

  “I’ll send a driver with you.” He walked toward the cabinet and turned the music off. Miranda shifted her weight to her other leg. She must have ruined the romantic moment he was having with his guest. He looked a little distracted, probably because she had interrupted his intimate plans for the classy brunette. Miranda felt a sting in her chest she couldn’t explain.

  “Thank you.” As she turned her gaze to a full view of the desk, she recognized her name on a paper. She made out details of her last doctor’s visit, dated two months ago. On that day, the doctor told her to visit the mansion she’d seen in her visions. Her heart pounding at the discovery, she grabbed the file in shaky hands and heard Mac curse softly. “Put that down…” The threat was clear in his eyes.

  She stepped away from him as he advanced. Her gaze settled on the pages as she flipped through them.

  “What is this?” Somehow, she knew the answer to her own question, but her mind still didn’t comprehend why he would gather this intimate information about her. A throbbing in the back of her head intensified, announcing a severe headache.

  Unable to tear her eyes from the pages, she read on. Her life, her history was woven clearly in black ink before her. It stretched out as if it were an endless serpent. Impotent rage filled her. Miranda looked up, her eyes fastening on his. “What the hell is this? Why would you gather this information about me? How can you…?” She backed farther away from him.

  “Give me the file, please,” Mac said. The volume of his deep voice was climbing. He stretched his hand out. Furious, Miranda hid the file behind her back. With her other hand palm out, she stopped him from advancing on her.

  “No, I’ve asked you a question.”

  He looked away with a silent curse on his lips and a scowl. “You can’t handle the answer to your question, Miranda. Just give me the file.”

  She turned to leave, but he held her elbow to stop her. Miranda jerked her arm away from his touch. “Leave me alone.”

  “Not before you return my paperwork.” He snatched at the file, but she threw it into the air. Too late, Miranda realized her mistake. She tried to catch the folder, but he was faster. She struggled with him to get it from his hands. Her nails scored thin, red lines across his hand, and blood bubbled up along the angry-looking welts.

  He growled as she grabbed the file from him. She turned and strode toward the door.

  “No! Rose…”

  His words halted her in mid-stride. A heavy chill settled inside her as she turned to face him. His eyes revealed that he realized his slip.

  “What did you call me?” Her voice was harsh.

  She never used her middle name, never gave it out to anyone, not even during her therapy sessions. How could he possibly know it?

  Her eyes widened as fear and confusion rose like a wave to crash down over her. When he didn’t answer, she screamed, “What do you know about Rose?”

  He studied her coolly for a long moment, but the tension around his hard mouth hinted that he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed.

  “She’s you, and you’re her,” he said in a consummately reasonable tone.

  Every muscle in her body stiffened. She was not going to tolerate this crap any more. “I don’t believe a word you say! I will not let you play with my mind. I’m leaving tonight, going to the village, and don’t you dare stop me.” She marched out of his office and he followed.

  “You are not leaving,” he said in a calm tone.

  She could hear his leisurely stride behind her. He wasn’t concerned.

  She reached her room and slammed the door in his face. “Watch me!” she spat from behind the door.

  Leaning with her back on the closed door, she heaved, her chest rising and falling. She tried to catch her breath and calm her frustration.

  Suddenly, she was aware of the silence around her; there was no sound from the hallway outside her room. Miranda pressed her ear to the door and heard no footsteps. But she was sure he was still out there, trying to outwait her. Then she heard a suspicious sound, a single soft click that shot through her like a bullet from a gun. Miranda turned the doorknob and pulled, but the door wouldn’t open.

  “What…what are you doing? Open the door!” She couldn’t believe this man had locked her in. She winced as heat stroked her cheeks.

  Then she heard him move beyond the door.

  “I’ll open it in the morning, when you’ve calmed down and had enough time to think about this.” He leaned close to the door and whispered, “You will know everything you want to know about your relationship w
ith Rose.”

  The echo of his footsteps faded away before she could comprehend the situation to answer him or object. She slid against the door; her heart pounding in her ears. Her limbs shivered. He knew who Rose was—how could that be possible?

  Mac was related to Duncan; she was sure. The resemblance was devastating. Or was he just playing games because he learned about Rose from somewhere else? She squeezed her head for any memory, but she couldn’t remember any instance in which she would have mentioned Rose by name. Even in her sessions with her doctor, she referred to Rose as the woman. She clutched the golden locket around her neck in a reflexive motion and sobbed. Somehow, the locket made her heart beat faster. In her visions, Rose wore the same locket. That memory pulled her under, cascading her through time and distance to another world.

  There was too much light in the room. That was the first thing she noticed.

  Miranda walked to the closet and took her white, cottony nightgown off the hanger. She changed into it, then switched the lights off. She staggered to the window, parted the lacy white curtains and slumped her body on the wide, cushioned bench. She curled her knees close to her chest and cupped them with her hands in the darkness. She cast a glance toward the back garden. The sparkling lake gleamed brightly and reflected the blue-gray moon, leaving rippled images and impressions on the water. When Miranda lifted her head to look at the watchful moon, she could have sworn Rose’s face was one of the images engraved on the moon’s surface.

  She was losing it. This was not happening to her. She should have followed her instinct and skipped coming to the island. A heavy, dark feeling had hovered over her, but she had ignored it.

  Miranda sighed. She could do nothing tonight, anyway. She slipped her legs off the bench to the ground, but as soon as her toes touched the carpeted floor, a fuzzy feeling overcame her. She knew that feeling well; it always preceded one of her visions. The room swirled and she felt as if she were being sucked into a black hole.

  “Oh God!” she gasped before everything went dark.

  The room transformed to a yellowish-beige color. The bed was empty and cold. How she wished her lover were underneath the covers to warm it. Rose’s eyes drifted to the curtain-naked window; the sun shone through, promising a warm day. She looked down at her body and saw her day-walk peach gown, which was covered with flower designs. Duncan had given it to her on her last birthday. Rose caressed the gown with her hand, as if she could feel him on the fabric. She shifted her gaze to the painting on the easel, the oils still wet, a portrait of Duncan. She had meant to surprise him… Now guilt wrenched her guts and a soft tear slid down her cheek.

  Dear Lord, what have I done?

  Loud noises drifted to her ears from outside. She ran to the open window and saw guards dragging Duncan to the town square amidst the townspeople’s shouts and insults. More people were marching the square to witness Duncan’s burning at the stake. They shouted their eagerness for the burning to take place.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Rose raced to the door and opened it, but her father blocked her way out with his body. He glared at her, his eyes shooting daggers, then grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her back inside her room. When she struggled to push through again, her brother, who was just behind their father, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Rose shuddered as she faced both men and tried to defend her love. “Father, have mercy, Duncan is not a devil worshiper, he is just an innocent man,” she pleaded, shedding anguished tears.

  “Only warlocks see unexplainable things. I will not allow sorcery in my town. How could you fall in love with a farmer’s son, and a devil worshiper at that? You’ve disgraced us!”

  “I trusted you, Papa. I told you your future, as seen by Duncan, to protect you from…” She glanced over at her brother. “From him.”

  Her brother strode toward her and slapped her hard on the cheek. “How dare you believe I would be the death of our father?”

  The slap must have left a reddened mark; it stung so badly she was on the verge of crying tears of pain, but she was already crying tears of sorrow from her broken heart. She deserved that slap; it was nothing compared to the pain her beloved Duncan would feel if she didn’t save him.

  She faced her father. “Please, Papa. Spare him, and I’ll marry whomever you want.”

  Duncan had made her promise not to tell anyone about his gift, because he knew no one would believe him and he would be accused of sorcery. But when he had the vision of her father’s death, she had revealed the vision—and her love for Duncan—hoping to save her father.

  Now her father would die and she had led the love of her life to his death. But as long as he drew breath, she would try to save him. There was time, because he was still alive.

  She broke free of her father’s grip and dashed to the door, but her brother clutched her shoulders and threw her to the floor. Rose gasped as her head hit the table; she felt blood slide down her face.

  “You can watch his execution from the window, as a lesson for you. He is a blackguard and a devil worshiper!”

  They left her sobbing in agony, the twist of the door lock clicked. She gathered her strength and flung herself against the door, hoping she could rattle it open, but the damn thing was as strong as steel.

  “Papa, please spare his life, he is no devil worshiper,” she whispered between her sobs, “He is just a man, a wonderful man who trusted me with his secret and his love.”

  Duncan knew things. He saw things no one would believe. Duncan’s extraordinary gift allowed him to predict events, and each and every one of them came true. Whatever he had, it was not devil worship. People were not ready to comprehend his gift; she had known that, but she’d still told her father about Duncan’s vision. And because he was poor, her father took his revenge on him.

  “Ahhh, beloved Duncan, what have I done to us?”

  She struggled to the window and saw him in the middle of the cheering crowd, tied to the stake as fire ignited around him. She was numb now. Her eyes stung with tears, her gaze frozen. She wished time would freeze, too. Guilt feasted on her heart, killing her with every lick of flame that touched her beloved Duncan.

  Her lost love.

  She wailed in agony as he screamed his last word: “Rose!”

  * * * *

  Startled from his sleep, Mac sat straight up on the sofa in his office. His neck pained him from the awkward position he’d dozed off in. Was it a cry that awakened him? He tilted his head and concentrated on the sounds of the night, but heard only crickets chirping mingled with the soft rustle of the curtains against the open window.

  Silence.

  Had he dreamt of someone shouting?

  He sighed and smoothed his hair with shivering fingers, his heart still pounding from the sudden wakening.

  “Noooo!” The scream filled the hallway; it was coming from Miranda’s room. He shot to his feet and dashed to her room. He heard her murmur and cry. But when he tried to push the door open, it wouldn’t budge.

  The keys! He’d forgotten the keys.

  Mac darted back to the office, snatched the keys from his desk, and turned on his heels to get back to Miranda as fast as he could. Oh, sweet heavens, if she were hurt, he would never forgive himself. He twisted the key in the keyhole and opened the door.

  He switched the light on and searched for Miranda. Her bed was empty. His gaze skimmed the room and found her curled beside the window, holding the curtains in her hands and shivering. Her eyes were wide open and weeping.

  He rushed to her and held her shoulders.

  “Miranda, what’s the matter? Talk to me!”

  She sobbed and mumbled, her tears streaming on her reddened and inflamed cheeks, but didn’t reply.

  “Wake up, wake up.” He shook her gently.

  He knew she was having one of her visions. Her eyes were rolled back, her body shivering, and she was mumbling gibberish words. Her skin was hot and sweaty. Mac couldn’t bear to see
her in this condition and do nothing. He’d had visions that disturbed him during his life and he was grateful they stopped when he found her a few years ago. They could be terrifying.

  Mac carried Miranda to the bathroom. He had to wake her up from her vision.

  He stepped into the bathtub with her and stood her up, still holding her with one hand around her waist. With the other hand he turned the faucet. Cold water rushed from the shower, spraying both of them.

  “Huh…?” she gasped.

  Miranda opened her eyes and clung tightly to his body. She had a dazed look in her eyes, as if she were unsure: was she in the vision or reality?

  She looked at him with drowsy eyes. “Duncan…” Her muscles weakened under his hands, her body collapsed, and he caught her in his arms as she fell.

  Mac shivered from the cold as he carried her weak, soaked frame to the bedroom, grabbing a towel on his way. He eased her onto the bed. At least she was out of her vision and he could relax a bit. Some visions mentally affect the person in a negative way. And as delicate as she was, she might not be able to handle that experience. Miranda was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

  He reached for the first button on her nightgown with shaky hands, unsure of the wisdom in what he intended to do. But he had to take her wet clothes off or she would catch a cold. As he unbuttoned her nightgown, her pink nipples pointed at him, her plump breasts transparent through the thin cotton. He drew a deep breath at the sight of her. The ache grew within him.

  Deep. Primal. Touching his soul, the longing filled him, a yearning to take her nipple between his lips—kissing, licking, and suckling upon it. He wanted to awaken her with an imperative throbbing between her thighs, to bury himself deep within her moist softness.

  With shaky fingers, he opened all four buttons of her gown and pulled it over her head. Mac covered her naked body with the quilt, taking extra care not to catch a glimpse of her lower body. He pulled the quilt around her all the way to her neck and sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with a towel.