Toward Love's Horizon

by Michele du Barry

  If he’d had time to get positioned he would have killed Jules. As it was he hit his target exactly where he had aimed. The dirk quivered in his tutor’s right shoulder, the pistol discharged, and screaming gulls and terns billowed and whirled with the smoke.

  Thunder crashed in Scott’s ears as he closed. The knife, drenched with his blood and Angela’s, swept in low, jerked viciously upward and eviscerated Jules. He sat down on the topaz-hazed grass with an incredulous look in his violet eyes as his entrails spilled and slithered through his clutching fingers. He screamed in chorus with the birds and then Scott was upon him.

  Scott’s arm struck unceasingly like a machine out of control. Again and again and again till the twitching body stilled; until there was nothing left of Jules but blood and bones and ribbons of flesh strewn in a wide circle around him. He would have continued in a murderous frenzy but was hauled to his feet by bruised, gentle hands.

  The knife fell to the blood-puddled grass and Ezra asked: “Where is Angela?” He had made short work of the remaining pirates.

  Then Scott was running and skidding and falling down the cliff path in a shower of sand, tamarisk, rocks, and sea lavender.

  She lay on the beach, on her back with arms outstretched, just inches from the rocks. Robert sat beside her, weeping, with a yellow silk slipper in his hand. Dark hair spread around her head like seaweed and one bare foot peeped beneath her skirt. But it wasn’t loose hair surrounding Angela—it was blood. It flowed and soaked into the greedy sand like darkly spreading tentacles.

  “No one could survive that fall. She is dying. It could take a few days. How can I tell? I’m not God!”

  “If you are not God,” Scott murmured without looking at the doctor, “then you can’t say positively that she will die.” Angela’s hand was limp and unmoving in his and he had refused to leave her side.

  Doctor Jarrold swore. “She had a broken arm, broken ribs, and a fractured skull! I can’t even begin to imagine what the internal injuries are. Don’t delude yourself, Lord Harrington—she is dying.

  “And you should be in bed,” he continued. “You are doing your wife no good by refusing to take care of yourself. If you continue like this, who knows? Maybe you will die first.”

  “I will never leave Angela,” Scott told him adamantly. “Never!”

  “You’re crazy! Damn, I need a drink.” Doctor Jarrold stalked from the room.

  Scott sat stiffly in the chair; he couldn’t lean back. The doctor had dressed and bandaged his wounds but they were deep, viciously placed, and still bleeding. Angela hadn’t moved or uttered a sound since he had found her on the beach. Her breathing was shallow and sometimes stopped completely for a few seconds. There was a blood-soaked bandage around her shorn head and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her pale face that was miraculously unmarked. If it hadn’t been for her masses of thick hair braided into a chignon at the back of her head she would have died instantly.

  “Angel, Angel,” he said. “Open your eyes. Please, don’t go.”

  Scott had brought her back from the dead once before in Scotland. Couldn’t it happen again? He continued talking to her through the night calling her back from the dark place where she resided. At dawn Jane had another bed moved into the room and placed next to Angela’s.

  “You are going to rest,” she told Scott with firm determination. “You will be right beside her and so will I. If Angela stirs or opens her eyes I will wake you immediately. Please, Scott,” she said touching his arm. “I have never seen you look worse. Do this for Angela.”

  When he woke Jane was exactly where he had left her but with Gina sleeping in her arms. “No change,” she uttered tersely.

  It continued like that for days, for two weeks, and the amazed doctor just shook his head and said: “I never thought she would hold on so long. The broken bones are healing but I don’t think she will ever regain consciousness. Lady Harrington will either starve or develop respiratory trouble. There are too many complications that can and will happen as time passes.”

  Scott never left the room and Jane too was in almost continual attendance. Sometimes, when they were exhausted, Ezra or Owen sat with her and the Murrays took care of their every physical need.

  But the mental anguish could not be dealt with until something happened. Optimistic hope was followed a few minutes later by despair and Angela slowly wasted away before their eyes and they were helpless.

  “She did it for me!” Scott flung at Jane with misery etching deep lines into his face. “What a fool I was not to have believed Angela when she said she loved me. I thought she had only grown dependent on me. But now I know and it’s too late. She sacrificed her life so I could live and would have done the same for Robert.”

  “And she would do it again if she had to,” Jane replied gently. “But don’t dwell on it. Just be glad that you finally know how she feels.”

  He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and was silent. The raging fever and infection he had fought had left him gaunt and exhausted, and during the whole time he had battled for Angela’s life too. Jane went to him and stroked the hair out of his face. She felt like crying. She loved them both but could offer no comfort but her presence.

  The rain stopped and yellow pools of sunlight spread thickly across the carpet. Though it was warm the windows were tightly shut for a draft could be disastrous in the sick room. Crisp shadows undulated across the carved paneling as the door opened and closed without a sound.

  Owen went and stood beside Angela and smiled at the pair opposite him. They were both asleep, Scott with his head on Jane’s shoulder and she with her blond head against his brown hair. Her face had the beauty and purity of an angel from a Renaissance fresco and he felt no jealousy at their closeness. Now they were only friends and all Jane’s love was his.

  Unfocused green-blue eyes opened for a moment, Angela’s lips moved and then her lashes fluttered shut. Owen bent over her in astonishment and whispered her name. He touched her hand and her fingers curled weakly against his and then were still. Scott sat bolt upright, shot forward toward the bed and touched her cheek.

  “She opened her eyes,” Owen choked out. “She moved!”

  Jane, in her drowsy, half-awakened state, finally started crying but she was laughing too. She repeated Owen’s words joyously over and over. “Angela’s going to live!” she cried as her husband caught her in a bear hug. “Oh, thank God!”

  For the next few days Angela became increasingly active but was totally unaware of her surroundings. When she finally spoke she called Robert’s name continually in a frantic undertone. They sent for him and he stood by her bed for hours at a time but Angela didn’t know he was there.

  “The last thing she remembers is her son being in danger,” Doctor Jarrold said. “It’s only natural for her anxiety to continue until she becomes aware he is safe. This is truly a miracle! I never would have believed it possible. But we must watch her carefully for signs of complications.”

  A pounding headache made Angela clutch tightly at the hand in hers. But when she opened her eyes and the blurred brightness began to spin crazily, she closed them tightly again overcome with nausea.

  “Scott!”

  “I’m right here, Angel,” he said putting the back of her hand against his cheek. “Shh, everything will be all right now. Robert is safe and so are you. No one will harm you again.”

  “I’m so sick,” she whispered. “My head hurts.”

  “I know. But you are alive and are getting better every day. Just lie still and—”

  “Stay—please!”

  “Oh, yes! Yes, my love, always!” Scott told her. He brushed a whisper of a kiss against her cheek and she smiled.

  As the weeks passed Angela had longer periods of awareness but the headache never ceased and she had difficulty keeping anything in her stomach. Everyone coaxed her to eat but it was an ordeal and she only did it to please Scott. Her vision was blurred and when she opened her eyes all she saw was whirling colors tha
t made her so dizzy she thought she would spin right off the bed.

  But there was always Scott: encouraging her, cajoling; taking care of her; rocking her in his arms in the long nights when the pain was so intense that she couldn’t stop sobbing and even one candle hurt her closed eyes.

  He snuffed out the candle with his fingers and cuddled Angela against his chest. She had been like this for three nights, like a helpless baby, and he caressed the back of her neck and continued rocking in the chair. The front of his robe was wet through already and her short black curls brushed softly against his cheek. Her face was flushed and hot with a fever.

  But she was alive and even if this went on for months or years he would take care of her and never, never complain. She was so fragile and with her long hair cut off looked like a child, younger even than when they had first met.

  It was long after dawn when she at last fell asleep and Scott was so afraid of waking her that he didn’t dare put her to bed but let her stay on his lap. Then he too drifted off with his head against the back of the rocking chair.

  The headache was gone. Angela stayed very still with her eyes shut just letting herself get used to feeling again without the overwhelming distraction of pain. She was warm, birds chirped outside, and Scott’s arms were around her. Absolute contentment flowed through her.

  And then, because the pain had finally vanished, she became aware of a subtle difference in herself. Memories, like fragile silken filaments, spun out, reaching and searching back into darkness. They sought, touched and joined with other thoughts and experiences, stringing them together like gleaming pearls. Shining, precious dreams glistened in the shadows of her mind and she remembered it all—the good and the bad, the anger and the passion.

  When she opened her eyes she could at last see clearly and Scott’s sleeping face filled her vision. Oh, how she loved him, more than ever before! They would be together again and it would be good between them, because nothing mattered but the present—now that she had her past back. And Scott was her future.

  Angela touched his face tracing his parted lips, strong chin and lean brown cheeks. His dark lashes stirred as she ran her fingers through his tousled bronze hair. Even with the frosting of silver at his temples, that hadn’t been there before her accident, Scott still looked boyish in repose.

  Then his eyes opened. Those wonderful, devilish, tender brown eyes, glowing with golden sparks of love, that could incinerate her with a glance in a fire of desire that only Scott could ignite—and put out.

  “My love, you’re better!” he said smiling down at her.

  Angela pressed a scalding kiss on his mouth hearing his gasp of surprise. Joy flooded her and she felt a resurgence of strength and vigor as she strained closer in his embrace. The pressure of his lips was so gentle and she opened hers kissing Scott back deeply and tenderly. His tongue moved against hers, exploring and rediscovering her mouth with the most delicious sensation. Little flickers of desire raced through her veins, so familiar, so long suppressed. She was reborn.

  Wonder and a strange realization dawned in Scott. This woman that had once frozen him was now a flame, recalescing him, melting in his arms, trembling. But not with fear. The crippled Angela of the past year had never kissed him like this, never responded like now.

  He kissed her dimples and deeply searched her beautiful eyes. “Angel, is it you? Is it really you?”

  She didn’t need to speak. Her radiant face told him more than words ever could. Love flowed in an invisible torrent between them.

  “I adore you!” Scott whispered huskily in her ear. “Welcome home, my sweet Angel.”

  EPILOGUE

  * * *

  Forevermore

  Even so we met; and after long pursuit

  Even so we joined; we both became entire;

  No need for either to renew a suit,

  For I was flax and he was flames of fire:

  Our firm united souls did more than twine,

  So I my Best-Beloved’s am, so he is mine.

  —Francis Quarles

  The summer passed.

  The flame of autumn was on the land. Birds, geese, ducks, and swans winged south, their incessant calls filling the days and their spread wings shadowing the skies. The weather turned crisp; leaves changed and dropped; berries and nuts appeared; animals scurried to the harvest. Heather was blooming in the Highlands.

  And love bloomed too.

  Angela was herself again, renascent and happier than ever before. Her recovery had been slow and she still suffered periodic migraines that could incapacitate her for days. But those spells were becoming less frequent and more time elapsed between each bout.

  Scott cherished her like a fragile china doll that might break at any moment. Her delicacy was a barrier between them barring total oneness, but it was as insubstantial as a gossamer curtain. If only he would rip it aside!

  But he delayed, afraid of losing her again, and Angela chafed against the restraints he enforced on their passion. She never realized how strong Scott was when it came to that and how much he cared for her alone until they had their first fight. How he laughed at what he called her “temper tantrum” but inadvertently he revealed a secret. That the women he had been seen with in London in order to get the divorce had never shared his bed. “I didn’t want them,” he explained simply, “only you.”

  Jane too shed light on an event that had troubled Angela, her tete-à-tete in the woods with Owen the day Scott had left her.

  “Owen told me about it as soon as I recovered from Gina’s birth,” Jane explained, laughing at the perplexed look on Angela’s face. “Why not? It was perfectly innocent on his part. Owen is always a gentleman—well almost always—and he preferred to shock you to your senses with a few kisses rather than a slap. He was too appalled at the injury he had already done you to risk another. It worked, didn’t it?”

  So Angela had her friends back that had been driven from her by Jules’s machinations. And she had her husband back and her memory. Perfection only awaited the time when Scott would make her completely his in body as well as spirit.

  “I won’t wait another day!” she said aloud and turned as Scott entered their room.

  “What won’t you wait for?” he asked.

  Scott had been riding and was windblown and glowing with vitality. She couldn’t resist him. Angela flew straight to him and threw her arms around his neck. “You,” she said going up on tiptoe and covering his face with kisses. “Oh, darling—please? I’m not afraid. Love me! Oh, love me!”

  Her dimples deepened, full lips curving into a seductive smile. Scott knew the power she held over him when she was like this. He couldn’t refuse her now when she was so wildly passionate and meltingly sweet, when her eyes were sparkling with urgent desire and her delicate nostrils flared as they always did just before he did something to pleasure her.

  “Temptress—you are incorrigible!” he murmured pulling her closer and running his fingers slowly through her silky ebony curls. Tilting Angela’s head back he kissed her long and hard till they were both quivering with their need.

  Then the floor tilted beneath her feet as Scott swept her up with a triumphant laugh and kicked the door shut. The barrier between them ripped as easily as the bodice of her dress and pearl buttons cascaded across the bed and carpet.

  “Oh, love, I’m sorry—I just can’t wait!” Scott uttered as he frantically tore at the rest of her clothes. Angela helped him, laughing, impatient, and then they were naked in each other’s arms.

  His lithe body against Angela’s was a fevered delight. An unquenchable thrill coursed through her turning her into the savage wanton that only he could subdue. She writhed under his expert fingers and exploring tongue, kissing him back with hunger so fierce, so demanding, it drove him wild.

  “Sweetheart,” Scott moaned burying his face against the soft curve of her breasts, losing himself in the sweet oblivion that only Angela could bring him to.

  Time melted away, memorie
s dissolved in the inferno of their rediscovered love. He alone had the power to make her remember—the power to make her forget.

  “I love you, darling. Only you!” Angela cried out, gasping for breath in the melee that made them one.

  They were two halves of a whole coming together in a perfect union, consubstantial, each essential to the other’s existence.

  The exquisite flow of ecstasy built and surged, towering, carrying them to the ultimate crest of feeling. Their hearts and souls merged, renewing the final bond that would bind them forever.

  “Angel, love,” Scott said, kissing away her tears of joy. “My heart is yours for the rest of eternity.”

  Scott had renewed her and brought her back to life and made her entire. Without him she was nothing. Beyond speaking, Angela wearily laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes as he caressed her dark hair. The thunder of his heart against her cheek lulled her to total contentment and she sighed softly, filled with a peace she had never known before.

  She smiled as Scott whispered, “ ‘Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?’ ”