A Memorable Man

by Joan Hohl

  “But we do know each other,” Sunny protested in agitated exasperation. “We know all the basics about each other. Whereas you have blocked the memories from your consciousness, I remember our being together.”

  “Fantasy,” he snapped, releasing her hands.

  “Adam....no...you don’t believe...”

  Feeling pressured, stressed, not only by her insistence but by his own niggling doubts, Adam silenced her by leaping up to pace the room, raking a hand through his hair. “Yes,” he said, giving her a hard stare. “I believe that what you believe to be memories of previous lives lived are merely the love fantasies created inside a young girl’s fertile imagination.” He drew a quick breath, but went on when she tried to interrupt. “I’m flattered by your having cast me into the role of your heroic fantasy lover, but...”

  “You’re sounding like a jerk,” she finally managed to cut in, decidedly unflatteringly.

  Having his own self-assessment endorsed didn’t exactly thrill Adam. In fact, he felt insulted, and deep down more than a little hurt.

  In a manner he recognized as typically male, he straightened to his full over-six-foot height and leveled a cool, remote and deliberately superior look at her.

  “Well, in that case, I’ll be happy to take you home,” he said, condescendingly. “I certainly wouldn’t expect you to waste your time on a jerk.”

  “Oh, Adam, loosen up and come sit down,” she ordered, not unlike an impatient mother chastising a fractious child. And yet, while her tone held weariness, her gleaming eyes betrayed an inner merriment.

  Damned if the woman didn’t have the temerity to laugh at him, albeit silently, Adam railed, trying to whip himself into an indignant anger.

  He failed. Instead of annoyance, his sense of fair play and amusement rose to the fore. “Okay, so I’m an uptight jerk,” he said, his smile sheepish as he returned to the settee to drop onto it. “It’s just that...this whole situation is beginning to get to me.”

  “I know it’s hard to accept, but...”

  “Hard?” he interjected. “Try impossible.” He raised his hands, then let them fall onto his thighs in a gesture of helplessness. “Sunny, this concept you’re asking me to buy into is straight out of the pages of New Age fiction.”

  “And you’re convinced all of it is fiction.”

  Although she hadn’t posed it as a question, Adam answered it anyway, and with a resounding, “Yes.”

  She smiled, appearing not in the least put off by his adamant tone. “Well, I see I have my work cut out for me.” She shrugged. “But then, I really never expected it to be a walk-through.” Her smile turned wry. “I guess I was kind of hoping that by now you would have had some memory flashes, enough at any rate to give you pause for consideration.”

  The gunsmith’s shop and his reaction to its location immediately sprang to Adam’s mind. He dismissed it as irrelevant, telling himself that he had more than likely overheard someone mention the fact and unconsciously absorbed it, possibly while he was having lunch.

  Yes, he assured himself, that made sense, a whole helluva lot more sense than memory flashes.

  “Memory flashes,” he repeated, shaking his head in despair of her. “Sunny, there are no memory flashes of past lives in the world of reality. I suggest that the stories you’ve related to me are elaborate, detailed fantasies, whole cloth woven from your fertile and vivid imagination.”

  “So there. Take that,” Sunny derided, making a face at him. “Fantasies, huh?” She arched an eyebrow. “Even the dull and bonng ones.”

  “Well...er...” Adam scoured his mind for a sensible explanation. His mind refused to cooperate, frustrating him, but it didn’t matter, she wasn’t waiting for one.

  “And detailed? Who said they were detailed? Not I,” she maintained. “I mentioned flashes, if you recall? And you should—I mentioned them often enough.”

  “Yes, but...” he began, without a clue as to an effective rebuttal. But again, she forged ahead.

  “Your argument is insulting.”

  Her charge jolted him upright. “Insulting? In what way?” he demanded.

  “By your assumption that I am not intelligent enough to differentiate between deliberate romantic fantasizing and spontaneous flashes of insight.”

  “But I never meant...” he began, in a fencemending tone, only to once again be interrupted, and rather rudely.

  “Oh, bag it, Adam, and just listen,” she ordered. “When I said flashes, I meant flashes. The memories came, flashed, always unexpectedly, in brief scenes, not in a linear start-to-finish manner, similar to a film, with a beginning and an end, like a movie produced for theaters or TV. It took me years to make any kind of sense of them, most particularly when they first started. They scared the hell out of me.”

  Sunny paused to take a breath, and a sip of Adam’s wine. Because the remembered fear was stark in her expression, in her eyes, Adam was tempted to offer words of comfort and reassurance, but certain Sunny wasn’t finished, he remained silent, offering the clasp of his hand instead.

  She accepted his offer with a smile and a soft sigh. “As I grew older and began to understand and accept what was happening to me, I learned to assimilate the memories. But they were still just flashes, some quite vivid, others very dim. That’s why I have difficulty with names, pinpointing precise locations.” She stared directly into his eyes. “But they are very real, not fantasy but memories of past lives, of our past lives together, which for some unknown and inexplicable reason I have carried over into this lifetime.”

  Adam watched, as—apparently having finished—Sunny took another sip of his wine, then sank back into the corner of the settee, waiting for whatever he might have to say.

  And what did he have to say? he asked himself. What in hell could he say? If it hadn’t been before, it was now obvious that Sunny’s belief in the nature of her memory flashes was absolute, unshakable.

  Was she deluded, living in a world of her own creation?

  Or was there something to her beliefs?

  Coming out of the left field of his consciousness, the consideration was startling. So startling, in fact, Adam spoke without thinking.

  “How does this reincarnation thing work?”

  “Oh, Adam, I don’t know.” Sunny gave him a helpless look. “I have the insight of brief individual memories, not insight into the mysteries of the spiritual universe.”

  Well, that was a help. Feeling disgruntled, dissatisfied, Adam exclaimed, “Then how in the hell am I suppose to know, to understand?”

  “Perhaps if I told you another one of our stories...” She paused, tentatively arching her eyebrows. “You never know, it might just jog something in your subconscious.”

  Then, again, it just might not, Adam thought. But what the hell, it was raining and—other than carrying Sunny off to bed, which he had no intention of doing this night—he had nothing better to do.

  Wryly musing that Scheherazade strikes again, he nevertheless managed an encouraging smile and a sweep of his hand in invitation. “Story on...but without the cute long ago and far, far away routine, please.”

  She laughed. After the emotional tension of the previous few minutes, the delightful sound had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect.

  He smiled in response, prompting, “Begin.”

  “This incarnation took place in Scotland,” she began, pausing when he winced at the word incarnation.

  Although he knew why she had paused, Adam chose not to address that particular issue and instead challenged the location. “Still in the British isles, hmm?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Most of our sojourns on earth were—untill we discovered America, so to speak.”

  “In effect, you’re saying we choose our destinations, so to speak?” he asked, unable to keep his voice completely free of a note of ridicule.

  “Appears so.” Sunny’s smile was vague. “It’s only a feeling, you understand, a pure guess, but it seems to me that free will plays a deciding role in
the matter. Apparently we choose our destiny.”

  “Uh-huh.” Adam chose not to elaborate, deciding that, rather than curiouser and curiouser, this encounter with Sunny was getting weirder and weirder. “And this time around—” had he actually said that? “—we chose Scotland.”

  She nodded. “The border.”

  Here it comes, he thought.

  “You were what was referred to as a border lord.”

  He was right.

  “And you were...?” he asked, suppressing a sigh.

  “The beloved daughter of a peer of the British realm,” she answered, unsurprisingly.

  What else? Adam reflected, idly wondering what the title might be of the historical bodice ripper she had obviously been reading prior to those memory flashes.

  “You kidnapped me and held me for ransom.”

  Of course. The plot was formulaic, wasn’t it? Scotland. Border lord. A British peer with a daughter—preferably beautiful and fiery. A kidnapping. All the elements necessary for a satisfying read. Save one.

  “And we fell in love,” he said, voicing the last, most important fictional element.

  “On sight of one another,” she concurred, validating his conviction. “But we fought our feelings—and each other—for some time.”

  Certainly. Adam had been expecting the plot twist. Pages had to be filled with something. Didn’t they?

  “Wasn’t that same story on the New York Times’s bestseller list some years back?” he asked drolly.

  Sunny seemed serenely unaffected by his mocking voice. “Could have been. If it was, I missed it.” She shrugged. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.” She returned his mockery with chiding. “There are elements of fact in fiction, and events such as I mentioned have occurred throughout recorded history...and probably before.”

  “I sit corrected,” he drawled.

  “Now who’s being cute?” she retorted.

  “Sorry.” He meant it. “Please continue. I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “It’ll make a change,” she murmured, softening the sting with a smile. “At any rate, we were in Scotland. Or at least you were. I was traveling with my father, who from what I could discern, was making an inspection of his seldom visited properties in northern England. Along the way, we had heard many complaints from the tenants about raids being launched by the barbarians from north of the border. One name in particular was mentioned repeatedly. The name, Magnus Hunter.”

  “I had a name this time?” Adam asked, unable to contain his surprise. “One you remembered?”

  “Oh, yes. That one came through loud and clear.” Her eyes grew bright with an unholy gleam. “But the farmers and townsfolk had their own name for you.”

  He should have been alerted by the devilish light in her eyes; Adam was alerted by the green brilliance, and still he played along.

  “And what name was that?”

  “Magnus the Head Hunter.”

  Nine

  Adam contained a bark of laughter.

  “Magnus the Head Hunter?” he asked sardonically, arching one eyebrow. “Can I assume the reference was literal, not the same as that currently used in the corporate world?”

  “You can.”

  “Sounds formidable,” he said drolly, uncertain whether he felt pleased or shamed by the designation and perplexed as to why it should bother him either way.

  “Very formidable,” she agreed.

  “Also sounds like a Hollywood back-lot plot.”

  “You promised,” she reminded him, and none too gently. “Are you going to listen or ridicule?”

  “May I ask one more question?”

  She gave him a look. “One.”

  “Did you have a name—one you remembered?”

  “Elinor.”

  “Pretty.”

  “Yes.” She raised one eyebrow. “Anything else on your mind, before I continue?”

  “No. I’ll be quiet now.” To prove his assertion he ran the tip of a finger over his lips, as if to seal them.

  “That’s better,” Sunny said, her expression wry. “Anyway, we had reached the most remote of my father’s lands and took up residence in the castle—the smallest of all he possessed—nearby, by a small village.”

  “Castles?” Adam couldn’t keep from remarking. “I am duly impressed.”

  “No, you’re not,” she retorted, pleasantly. “Now, please, shut up.”

  He refrained from further comment.

  She continued. “It was my own fault that I was kidnapped. I should have known better...” A philosophical smile tilted the corners of her lips. “Perhaps I did, subconsciously.”

  This time Adam couldn’t hold his response in check. “I don’t understand. How were you at fault?”

  “Despite all the warnings relayed to my father as we traveled north, I left the castle in secret—unattended and unguarded,” she answered.

  “So what, and why?”

  She scowled at him, then went on to explain. “It was the time of the annual local fair, and although the people of the area had obvious trepidations, they agreed to hold the fair, in spite of the reports they had received from visitors, itinerant wanderers and traveling tinkerers, all with tales of the rash of raiding and ravishing.”

  Ravishings, yet. Though Adam was sorely tempted to repeat the thought, yet mindful of her warning scowl, he kept it inside his head.

  “I was young, willful and defiant.” A reminiscent smile curved her mouth. “I was also adventurous. Against my father’s orders, I outwitted my attendants and guards and stole from the castle, determined to mingle with the peasantry and enjoy the excitement and merriment.”

  “And was it merry?”

  She leveled a sparkling look at him. “You and your men struck just as I was about to return to the castle, creating mayhem where frivolity had prevailed. Like the others, I ran, seeking shelter, a sanctuary.”

  Adam was struck by a sense of urgency; nothing could have kept him from asking, “Did you find it?”

  Sunny pondered the question for a moment before responding. “Well...yes and no.”

  “Huh?” He frowned.

  “The no part is that I was swept off my feet by a hard-muscled arm and cruelly slammed facedown across a saddle in front of a rider, who turned out to be you.”

  Adam squirmed inside, but not because of her accusation. Her words had drawn a picture so vivid he felt he was actually witnessing the chaotic scene; he could smell the swirling dust mingled with the scent of food and sweating horses and men. He could hear the screams of fear from the scattering people, the battle cries from the throats of the raiders. He could see the colors of the clothing worn by the populace, the gold-streaked mane of the lone woman, fleeing in the direction of the castle in the distance.

  Magnus knew who she was and that he had to have her.

  The certainty of the inner knowledge startled Adam into the awareness of Sunny’s voice, going on with her story.

  “And just as I was beginning to fear the awful jouncing, bone-bruising ride would never end, the horse clattered into a courtyard and came to a sudden, jarring stop.”

  She paused to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue; without a second thought, Adam picked up his glass and held it out to her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured before taking a deep swallow. “I am rather dry.”

  “You’re welcome. Can I get you a glass of white wine?” he asked, knowing she preferred it over the red.

  “Hmm...no.” She shook her head. “But I could drink something cold. Are there any soft drinks?”

  “Sure.” Adam was up and moving as he answered. Opening the door of the small cabinet, he peered inside. “There’s club soda and cola, diet and regular.”

  “Cola, regular, please,” she said, quickly adding, “in a glass with ice, if there is any.”

  “Of course.” Making swift work of the minor chore, Adam dropped several cubes into one of the stemmed glasses, then poured the cola over them. Carrying the
glass and still half-full can back to her, he handed them to her, then resettled on the settee. Feeling oddly anxious to hear the rest of her story, he waited with enforced patience.

  Offering him a smile in thanks, Sunny raised the glass to her lips and took a deep swallow.

  Adam was forced to swallow in reaction to the sudden dryness in his throat. The sight of her, greedily gulping the liquid had caused a twist of arousal in the most vulnerable part of his body. Bizarre in the extreme, he chided himself.

  “Oh, I needed that,” Sunny said, laughing a little self-consciously.

  Adam clamped a lid on the urge to tell her what he needed. Pitching his voice to a low, languid drawl, to conceal his avid interest in her story, he encouraged her to continue. “You left off with the horse coming to a halt in a courtyard.”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing up from the glass she had busied herself refilling. “My relief at the cessation of motion was short-lived, however, as my captor immediately dismounted, grabbed me and tossed me over his shoulder.”

  “The cad,” he drawled, secretly appalled by a sensation of weight pressing down on his right shoulder. The power of suggestion, he assured himself. Still, he felt grateful when the sound of her voice once again distracted him from his unpalatable introspection.

  “I put up a good fight, though,” she said, her eyes dancing with an impish light.

  “Did you?” Adam had no choice, he had to laugh at the sound of satisfaction in her voice.

  “Damned straight. I fought like a blasted wildcat.” She smirked. “That’s what you...he, Magnus the Head Hunter, himself, called me. A blasted wildcat.”

  “And what did you call me...” Adam shook his head, swore to himself. “Him.”

  A slow, taunting smile curved her lips. Her green eyes gleamed with mockery. “A bloody bastard.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” He frowned. “And you a proper lady.”

  She shrugged. “Turned out, I quickly learned I wasn’t much of a lady...and the last thing from proper.”

  “Really? How did you gain this self-knowledge?” He asked, arching his brows, even though he knew, somehow, the method of her supposed downfall.