Return to Me

by Morgan O'Neill

  Naked and wet, her body dappled by sunlight, Gigi lay on pillows on the far side of the pool, her iPod softly playing music unknown to him, the singer crooning a love song.

  He watched as Gigi pretended to play her flute along with the tune, her beautiful breasts glistening in the sunshine.

  Magnus grinned, as a powerful urge pulsed in his groin.

  She saw him and smiled. “Welcome home,” she said in English, stretching languidly. “Michael Bublé. Isn’t he amazing?”

  “I think you are amazing, my sweet.”

  She giggled. “I gave everyone the day off. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I just had to sunbathe, even if Placidia rakes me over the coals for ruining my complexion. Would you like some lunch?” She gestured toward a tray on a nearby table.

  “Not just yet,” he said. “I was looking for the matron of the house.”

  “Mmm, that would be me,” Gigi answered, running a seductive finger over her wet skin. “I’m so glad you’re already naked. You’ve been so busy, I thought I’d have to coax you out of your tunic.”

  Keeping his gaze on her, Magnus went down the steps into the pool, enjoying the gently cooling sensations as the water level crept up his body. He ducked under and pushed off, resurfacing next to his wife.

  He leaned out of the pool and gently kissed her smile. “Would you like to come in for a swim?”

  She kissed him back, mouth open, her tongue exploring his lips, and then lightly probing for his tongue. “No,” she said between kisses. “I’d rather we swam afterward. I need to have you on top of me, Magnus. I don’t want to drift. I want to feel your weight.”

  Her words, so simply expressed, would have brought him to his knees had he not been holding on to the side of the pool. He smiled, knowing he’d be on his knees soon enough.

  He rose out of the water, dripping wet, and sat beside her. Her green eyes dazzled in the sunshine, her gaze filled with love for him alone.

  He traced a finger across her cheek, down her neck, and then circled her breast. So beautiful. He rubbed a thumb over her nipple. She moaned in pleasure.

  Gigi’s arm encircled him and she pulled him down, pressing her hips against his and spreading her legs. “I want you inside me,” she whispered.

  Magnus rose over her, electrified by her desire, but determined to take it slower than her insistence implied. He wanted to draw out the moment, drive her mad with longing, until they could climax together.

  Magnus entered her hard, but kept the rhythm slow. Despite the soft warmth that enveloped him, despite her long legs wrapped around him, he slowed his pace even more, fighting the urge to come. He kissed her neck, lingering in the soft curve where it met her shoulder. Then, rising slightly, he cupped her breast with one hand, and took in the look of longing in her eyes.

  “I love you, Gigiperrin,” he said, pronouncing her name as he did years ago, when first they met, running it all together in what she called his “funny way.”

  “I’ll always remember that day,” she murmured, smiling.

  “As will I,” he whispered back. “I saw you appear from the magical mist, and that moment was the true start of my life.”

  She took his head in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers. The sensations, the wet heat, the flowery scent of her skin. Desire mounted within him, insatiable, demanding release. Magnus drove harder, pleased to see her head go back, mouth open, eyes closed.

  He loved doing that to her, loved seeing her natural restraint fall away. He felt her surge coming, like a beast, unstoppable, and drove against it, harder still.

  Gigi’s body arched beneath him, and she groaned as her passions released on him, pulsing, grabbing. His answering climax tore through him, mind and body, to the very depths of his soul.

  When the thunder of his heart slowed in afterglow, when his breathing grew more relaxed, he heard her whisper, “I love you.”

  He kissed her and said in Latin, “Benigno numine … by the favor of the heavens, I am yours to love. I am yours forever.”

  Lying beside her, holding her close, Magnus watched Gigi fall asleep. As the afternoon wore on, he wished he could share her tranquility. Despite the gifts of this day, despite the soft melodies still playing on the iPod, his thoughts returned to Athaulf. He tried to push aside his troubles, but … would he be able to save his friend?

  His mind was in turmoil. Closing his eyes, he poured over all the possibilities that lay between hope and danger.

  • • •

  The next day, the rains returned, and Gigi was delighted by Placidia’s invitation to come to the castle and pass the time. The queen had requested she bring her flute, and now Gigi played as many happy tunes as she could remember. She was in the midst of the highly appropriate “Singing in the Rain” when noise broke into her reveries. Verica and Berga tapped on the door and entered with a bow.

  “We are sorry to be so late,” Verica said.

  “Take your ease,” Placidia replied. “We have all afternoon. There is no hurry.”

  Gigi joined the ladies for some sewing. It seemed like the old days, if one could forget the lingering sorrow about Theo. Nevertheless, Gigi felt a deep joy at sitting with Placidia, Verica, and Berga, and chatting about lighthearted things, as they had so often done in the past. Verica told funny stories about their wanderings before coming to Narbonne, and described the pageantry of Placida and Athaulf’s wedding. She told anecdotes about the children, even venturing to describe the beauty and sweet nature of little Theo. This made Placidia smile in a way she hadn’t since his death, and Gigi was glad for Verica’s kind words.

  Gigi couldn’t help glancing again and again at Berga. How she had changed! Nearly ten, the girl had grown slim and tall, her face held in a lovely pout, a study in concentration as she embroidered beside her mother. Gigi hid her smile, remembering Berga as a little five-year-old imp, her hair a blond rat’s nest of curls as she scampered about the Visigoth camp and continually caused trouble.

  Now the curls had been somewhat tamed and Berga’s hair was long and well-brushed, falling just past her shoulder blades.

  “You are already a wonder with a needle, Berga,” Gigi said, and heard a faint, “Thank you” in reply.

  “However — forgive me for saying it — your needlecraft has not much improved.” Verica chuckled as she inspected Gigi’s handiwork. Berga glanced up and grinned.

  Gigi was attempting to stitch a simple border of daisies on a little shift for Marga. “I know. It looks like a cat used my work to sharpen her claws.”

  Berga’s proper demeanor couldn’t stand it any longer, and she burst into giggles, collapsing against her mother.

  Gigi was delighted to see the girl hadn’t completely left her childhood behind, and, smiling warmly at mother and daughter, she gave up and put her work down. “I’m afraid I still haven’t acquired many practical skills.”

  “We would not know you, otherwise,” Verica replied, patting Gigi’s hand. She turned to her daughter and examined her embroidery ring. “You’ve done a wonderful job. You may play with Marga, sweet child.”

  Still grinning, Berga bobbed a curtsey, kissed Placidia on the cheek, and skipped to Marga, her curls merrily bouncing on her back.

  “She is so grown up, so beautiful,” Gigi said. “Like her mother.”

  “Thank you. She is my delight.”

  As Verica resumed her work, it occurred to Gigi that, whether curly or straight, the women all had generally the same length hair — not quite to mid-back. She recalled King Alaric’s funeral, four years earlier, and how the women of his family, even Placidia, had all followed an ancient pagan ritual of shearing their hair to the scalp and tossing the shorn tresses onto the funeral bier. The last time she’d seen any of them was that night, their heads bald and ugly, grief haunting every gaze. Magnus’s kidnapping happened tha
t night, too, as well as her flight to save him … and her last encounter with Randegund.

  More than ever, Gigi was convinced the horrible old crow was dead. Sitting straighter, she tried to keep the tone of her voice neutral. “How is your mother, Verica? I haven’t seen her.”

  Verica put her work aside and looked at Gigi with an expression that spoke equally of sadness, shame, and uncertainty.

  “We lost all three of you the night of Alaric’s funeral,” she said. “Mother had given me a draught for sleeping, so my recollection is hazy. I’m told Athaulf cursed her for what she’d done to Magnus, and sent her from our tent. We never saw her again, never found any trace of her.” Verica shivered. “The wolves were out that night because of the … er, because of the cold, but Athaulf didn’t worry about her, because he never suspected that she would go outside camp.”

  Gigi remembered something else about that night, something horrible: the slaughter of the slaves. She shivered, and then glanced at Placidia, who kept her eyes on her work. Apparently no one had told her of Athaulf’s order to murder all the innocents who’d helped to bury King Alaric, thus ensuring his grave would never be found and desecrated by his enemies. She wondered about the wolves, but didn’t remember hearing any that night, only Randegund’s evil cackle. The old witch had drugged Magnus and handed him over to Roman soldiers, then ambushed Gigi on order to steal Magnus’s precious ring.

  If the wolves got her, Gigi sure wasn’t going to cry about it.

  “But even wolves leave traces,” Verica continued in a faraway voice, “and yet there was nothing. It snowed that night, but there was no sign of struggle, no blood. It is my belief that she could not bear to leave Alaric, her foster son and the one she loved above all others, so she went back to the river and joined him.”

  And good riddance! Gigi couldn’t help thinking, wanting desperately to change the subject. Instead, she said, “I’m very sorry, Verica. It was a terrible time.”

  Nodding, Verica stood and shook out her skirt. “It was terrible, but things are better now, excepting poor Theo, God rest his soul.” Both she and Placidia crossed themselves, before Verica resumed, “My heart has begun to heal, my children are well, and we have a home for our people, at last.”

  “You do look wonderful,” Gigi offered.

  Verica laughed at this. “Haven’t you noticed? I am getting gray.”

  Gigi had seen silver strands amid the dowager queen’s blond tresses, but to her they looked like gorgeous platinum highlights. “You look even more radiant than before. Is there a secret?”

  Placidia looked up at Verica and smiled.

  Verica laughed again. “There may be a certain someone, if that’s what you’re trying to pry out of me.”

  “Good!” Gigi exclaimed. “Tell me everything.”

  Verica flushed like a schoolgirl. “His name is Frideger. He is a distant cousin to Alaric, but has lived mostly in the region of the Danubius. He came with men to help us fight the wars against Jovinus.”

  “And he stayed … for you?”

  Verica nodded, little crinkles of happiness showing at the corners of her eyes. “He asked Athaulf for my hand, and Athaulf consented. We were to be married after Christmas, but of course it has been delayed.” She glanced at Placidia, who took her hand and nodded to her with a smile.

  “Will you stay here, in Barcino?” Gigi asked.

  “No. Athaulf has asked that we return to Narbonne, to hold the city for the Visigoths,” Verica replied. “It will be our great honor. Narbonne is a beautiful town, and not too far from here. We will marry this summer, I think, and then we will go. I am very happy.”

  Delighted, Gigi hugged Verica. “You deserve to be happy, Verica, for all you’ve done and given for your family and for your people. You deserve this.”

  Placidia joined them, hugging them both. “I am glad for your happiness, Verica,” she said, before tears filled her eyes. “Now … I would ask your forgiveness,” she added, wiping her eyes. “I, I must be alone.”

  Gigi and Verica bowed to the queen, gathered up the girls, and left.

  Placidia’s grief had resurfaced, and Gigi ached for her friend, feeling helpless as she left the palace and headed for home.

  • • •

  Placidia bade her entourage wait outside the Basilica of the Holy Cross and St. Eulalia, for she needed to be alone with her thoughts. She entered the cloister and sat on a stone bench. The rain had stopped, the clouds parting. She turned her face up, toward the blue sky, seeking warmth in a world grown cold and dark. She closed her eyes and thought of Marga, her little angel.

  If not for her, Placidia feared she might yet commit a grave sin.

  No, no, she could not. She must live for Marga.

  Yet, without Theo …

  She heard a voice call out to her and she opened her eyes. A man stood before her, a peasant with a kindly face and snow-white hair. He held a crook. “Geese,” he called out to her, “white ones, pure as snow.”

  Placidia stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Please explain.”

  “Thirteen,” he responded. “One for each year of her life. She is with him, you know. She has joined your mother in this, and together they will watch over him.”

  Placidia awakened with a start. The rains had begun again, a heavy mist falling from above, like a veil of tears soft against her cheeks. She rose from the bench and looked up. Through the clouds, she spied a wisp of light, a hint of sunshine amidst the storm.

  As her own tears fell and mingled with the rain, she whispered, “St. Eulalia, blessed lady, I understand. Thank you. I will honor you.”

  She walked inside the basilica and knelt before a marble sarcophagus. She bent her head and prayed for herself, her family, and her dearly departed.

  • • •

  The rain had not let up. Despite her heavy wool cloak, Gigi was cold and damp as she entered her villa. She felt so sorry for Placidia, but she didn’t know how to ease her pain over the loss of Theo. Gigi’s only comfort was in knowing she and Magnus would do everything in their power to save Marga and the other children.

  She found her steward in the foyer, waiting for her with a cup of heated wine. Gigi thanked him as he escorted her to the dining hall, the room warmed by several glowing braziers.

  “My lady, I will fetch your husband,” the steward said.

  Gigi sipped the wine, then, still feeling cold, she held her hands before the nearest brazier. Magnus entered the room moments later. He was wearing a new tunic of blue brocade, which perfectly matched the color of his eyes.

  “You are late,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her throat. “I am very hungry, but first … we must eat some food.”

  She laughed, her mood lifting as he led her toward a pair of Roman sofas.

  Reclining, they ate a wonderful meal of grilled lobster drenched in a buttery sauce, which they daubed with big, sinful hunks of fresh rosemary bread.

  When they were finally done, Gigi got up and sat by Magnus’s side. She touched his lips with the tip of her finger and gazed at his beautiful eyes. “I love you.”

  He smiled. “Would you like another glass of wine,” he asked, “or should we just hold each other and make passionate love, then drift off, forcing the world to fend for itself for the rest of the evening?”

  Gigi grinned. “I’d like some more wine, and all of the rest, but I want to share some hopeful news first.”

  “What news?”

  “Verica’s engaged to Frideger. Do you know him? Athaulf wants them to live in Narbonne.”

  “Yes, I have met Frideger. I’m happy for her, and it’s a wise decision by Athaulf.”

  Gigi could sense he hadn’t realized the full impact of the news. “That means her children will be safe.”

  Magnu
s’s eyes widened. “Of course! That is very good news, indeed. Since history recorded that Theodoric would become king of the Visigoths, we knew he had survived. It is a relief to know the other children will be protected by Frideger’s sword and will doubtless survive, too.”

  “Now we’ll just have to convince Athaulf and Placidia to let us take their kids, so that we can protect them, too.”

  “Still a very tall order. Would you allow your children to be taken away, forever?”

  “That’s why I’m convinced the only way is to tell them the truth, the whole truth. We have to find the right time, and soon. We have to convince them it’s the only way.”

  Magnus considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. “We can’t tell them how much we know of the future — certainly not that Athaulf is supposed to die this year. They would think it sorcery, or that we have lost our wits. I have decided I must do whatever it takes to protect Athaulf, the course of history be damned. I will not stand by and let his slayer act, unhindered. But Athaulf and Placidia cannot know of this, not yet. We must think this through and plan accordingly. For now, the children’s best protection, and my first priority, is to save Athaulf.”

  Gigi watched as concern clouded Magnus’s expression. This was a risky plan, and the course of history would be changed, but he was right. They had to keep their secret and fight against the future they knew. If they failed, then and only then could they tell Placidia the truth of where they’d been the past four years, and why they’d come back.

  She shook her head as she thought of Placidia’s current heartache and all the heartache yet to come.

  Magnus gently took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Come, my sweet,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

  “Yes, hold me,” Gigi whispered. “Promise you will hold me forever and never let me go.”

  He folded her in his arms. “I promise I will never let you go.”

  Chapter 10

  Ravenna, Italy

  Dipsas stood in the baptistery, staring at the pulpit. Something strange, well beyond her ken, had happened here.