How long he lay thus, he did not know, but he was aware he could not sleep until the final moments had passed—until he was assured that mortality was once more his. He waited patiently, Thérèse lying still beside him, watching the amazing colors as the sun rose behind the horizon. It would be a new dawn for them both, he hoped. A dawn that represented so much more than just a day—it was the beginning of a new life.
Finally Rowan blinked and shielded his face. The sun had risen and even now was brushing his arms with its rays.
He held his breath and waited—afraid they might be followed by the searing pain of shriveled flesh and burning skin.
There was nothing—just an odd sensation of heat and soft air as the morning breeze touched them both. He looked down, checking to make sure that Thérèse was similarly unaffected.
And as he did so, her eyelids fluttered—and opened. Brilliant green eyes appeared, staring at him in confusion. She blinked then focused on him, turning a little in his arms, her hair tumbling softly over his hands.
“Who art thou?”
Several days later, the residents of St. Chesswell’s had begun settling into what would be their new lives. Katherine and Verity had stopped staring at themselves in the mirror and complimenting their husbands on their handsome eyes.
Adrian and Nick still walked or rode in the sunshine every chance they got, however, and were developing skins that showed signs of darkening a little thanks to their continual exposure. Sidney just smiled. A lot. Even Cheverly cracked a grin now and again, although he seemed unsure of why.
And Marcus? He’d received a gift of his own, one that even now stunned him.
“I can find no sign of it, Marcus. No sign at all. Your blood is as normal as everybody else’s.”
Sidney’s words had made his jaw drop and he’d found himself dizzy as the world spun around his head. “Say that again?” He dropped heavily into the nearest chair.
Sidney grinned. “I took your blood along with the others, as you know. I compared it to the drops you gave me when you arrived. It is definitely different now, Marcus. The disease that had changed it? Quite gone.” He looked thoughtful. “I’m of the opinion that when you took that sword thrust and it went through you into Thérèse there was a sufficient mingling of your bodily fluids that something in hers entered your system and destroyed the illness.” He shook his head. “So much I don’t know. ‘Tis annoying sometimes.”
Marcus was still trying to come to terms with his renewed state of health when Cheverly entered the study a couple of days later and addressed his master. “You have visitors, Sir Sidney.” He had an odd look about him. “Mr. Rowan and his lady request permission to join you.”
Sidney pursed his lips. “About time.” He stood. “Send them in Cheverly. Best have Cook prepare tea, as well.”
Everybody stood and a nervous silence fell. Finally the door opened and Rowan stood there, smiling. Beside him was a woman, a red-haired woman of wondrous beauty—and brilliant green eyes.
“Hello, friends. I’d like you to meet somebody.” Rowan took her hand and led her into the room. She wore little but blankets and Rowan’s jacket and seemed embarrassed by her attire and the looks that came her way.
“This is Thérèse. She remembers nothing at all, not how she came to be here, or what happened to her clothes. She does not remember traveling from her home or the time that has passed since then.” His eyes flashed meaningful looks at his companions. “It has all been erased from her memory. The only thing she remembers…” he looked a little awkward, “is me.”
He held her closely. “I have begun to help her understand where she is now. But there is a long journey ahead of us both in that regard. I’m hoping that my friends can assist me—if they choose. No matter what happens, please know that the first order of business is to make her my wife.”
Nobody moved—Marcus wasn’t sure anybody breathed for a second or two after Rowan’s announcement.
“You will help us, yes? My Rowan tells me thou art good and kindly people. I know nothing of your time…” Red hair moved slightly as she nestled against him. “I have much to learn. There is much I do not understand. I miss my family…” She blinked back tears. “But now I have my Rowan. And he has you. Please help…” Thérèse blushed and hid her face in Rowan’s shoulder.
After that, there was no question in anybody’s mind that Thérèse had attained what they’d all sought—her mortality.
And within days she was laughing beside “my Rowan”, learning new words and new things about the time she’d awoken to. It was as if the seductively evil vampire had never existed.
She had, of course. Marcus knew that as well as everybody else. But this young woman, although resembling her in features, possessed nothing of her sensually voracious hunger. Just a delight in living that made all around her smile.
So it was that Marcus took his leave of St. Chesswell’s, secure in the knowledge that lives had returned to the paths ordained for them by God or by Fate—he wasn’t sure which. He just knew it was time for him to move on and live his own new life.
“What will you do, my friend?” Rowan stood and watched as he fastened his stirrups and reached for the reins outside St. Chesswell’s.
Marcus grinned down at him as he swung himself up into the saddle. “Well, my first inclination is to go off and fuck anything that stands still long enough. Just to reassure myself I’m really alive.”
Rowan laughed. “Well, that’s a plan of sorts, I suppose.”
“But actually…” Marcus gathered the reins in one gloved hand. “I’m going to head along the coast for a bit. I find I like being near the sea. And—don’t laugh—but I think it’s time I started seriously looking for a wife of my own.”
Rowan, ever loyal to his friend, didn’t crack even a smile.
“May she be worthy of you, dear friend.” He stepped back to let the horse move beneath Marcus’ boots. “And may she be a damn good fuck too.” He called out after Marcus’ retreating form. The answering shout came back on the breeze.
“I’ll drink to that…”
*~*~*~*
And the sword?
The sword that hangs above Grandmother Chesswell’s mantel appeared back in Sir Sidney’s study one dark night, apparently of its own volition. Nobody saw it materialize, there were no unlocked doors or windows and the servants swore it was not present when they damped down the fire for the night.
The residents were unable to explain it, since they now had taken to sleeping away the night hours like ordinary mortals. They all wondered if perhaps the hand of Saint Chesswell himself had played a role, since his efforts to right a terrible wrong had been completed by the current crop of Chesswells and their friends.
Nobody really knew. But it is worth noting that Sidney asked his staff to never touch the sword, never to clean it or attempt to lift it from its mountings. They might dust it, but nothing more.
Whether it was the power within the sword or simply the superstitious beliefs that came with it, no one knows. They simply obeyed his whim and the sword passed through generations of Chesswells untouched until it came to rest in a small Hampshire home, where it rests to this very day.
Such weapons are not uncommon, but in this instance the stain on the blade carries with it a story that both chills and warms the soul of the listener. It also carries a reminder that love can demand more than we think we can give.
But it can also yield wonders beyond our imaginings, for love—when all is said and done—is indeed the ultimate immortality.
The End
About The Author
Sahara Kelly is always happy to explain that her spelling errors aren’t really errors, since she was born and raised in England, where an extra “u” is quite in order. She likes to think it adds colour to her writing. Sadly, it’s not a widely held belief in the United States, so she’d like you to know she still retains a lot from her English childhood even though you won’t see much of it in her spelling.
Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings. (She still cherishes that extra ”u” though.)
After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding independent publishing scene. Being freed of restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time...” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)
To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by and visit her website .
This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life, but will present you with a list of books she'd like you to buy so that she can go do research on a beach in Aruba and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.
When not dreaming of lazing on tropical beaches, Sahara has a relatively active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:
Follow Sahara on Twitter
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Sahara on Goodreads:
You can check her backlist of Amazon releases by visiting :
Sahara Kelly’s Amazon Page
And if all that isn’t enough, you can stay on top of what’s on the way from Sahara’s fertile imagination by subscribing to her newsletter and keeping up to date with everything going on by clicking here. She doesn’t send them out too often, so you won’t be swamped with unwanted mail. Sahara loathes that and refuses to inflict it on anyone else so you can go ahead and subscribe without worrying about it.
Also by Sahara Kelly: (*- co-written with S.L. Carpenter)
The Viscount and the Witch
Discreet Madness
Madam Charlie
The Gypsy Lovers
Letting Off Steam
Winding Her Up
Stripping Her Gears
My Renaissance Romance
Hired Help*
Princesses Gone Wild*
Open House
Whispers In the Dark*
Suite 69*
An Unkindness of Ravens
A Watch of Nightingales
A Siege of Herons
My Wish
My Prize
My Hero
Faerieland Needs YOU
Sally Ann
Suliana
Thanael
So Into You*
And many more…
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Several of the above titles were co-written with friend and writing partner S.L. Carpenter. Together, they have a dozen or so books available, each featuring their trademark touches of humor and heat. Their most recent release is a brand new stand-alone story titled So Into You.
This, and a whole bunch of Sahara Kelly’s other books, can be found online for your eReader at your favorite vendor. Quite a few are also in print. No excuses, people. You can add her stories to your bookshelves physically or digitally. Go get ‘em.
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Sahara would like to mention that she’s recently initiated a new collaboration with her writing partner, S.L. Carpenter. They have blended another of their shared passions — art — and formed an online graphics business focusing on the complicated world of writers. If you’re interested in seeing what they get up to when they’re not writing something twistedly hot and sexy, they’d like to invite you to come visit their business at the link below and check out some of the amazing cover art currently being created by S.L. Carpenter. They’re certainly never bored…
P and N Graphics, LLC
Happy Reading…
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