by Ward, Tracey
“He took it rather well. I promised him I would try to arrange a meeting with the leader of the Tem Aedha. No one in Kilmarnock seems to know who that is.”
“He’s a mysterious figure,” Roarke said, rising to face me.
“Yes, of course. Any leads on how I could find him?”
“Not a clue.”
“Ro.”
“Yes?”
I stared at him, waiting. He stared back innocently. Silently.
“Ro,” I repeated.
“Yes?”
“Ugh!” I groaned in disgust, turning away.
He sighed. “I don’t want to meet with him, Anna.”
I spun around, pointing my finger in his face. “I knew it! Fisherman and farmers. Liars is more like it.”
He chuckled, taking my hand, lowering my accusing finger. “Among other things.”
“You’re shameless.”
“Yes.”
“Why won’t you meet with him?”
“I said I didn’t want to, I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
“But why? What if he can help?”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Will you see him anyway?”
“If you’re asking, I’ll do it.”
“I’m asking,” I told him, rising up on my toes to kiss him gently. “I’m asking very sweetly.”
I could feel him smile against my lips as his arms wound around me, pulling me closer.
“You are so convincing.” He kissed me briefly then leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “When do I have to see him?”
“Tomorrow. That is if—“
“If we’re not all dead by tomorrow?”
“It’s a big if.”
When he looked down at me again, I was surprised to see the warmth in his eyes. The confidence that I didn’t feel. “We’re going to be together for a long, long time, Anna.”
“How can you know that?” I whispered.
“Because you’re my best friend. Because I love you too much to lose you. And because my psychic mum told me so.”
I pulled back slightly, scowling. “She what? What did she say?”
“Nothing specific, she never does. But she told me a long time ago, when we were first separated and I was miserable missing you, that I didn’t have to worry. That there was a difficult road for us but if we stayed together, we would make it. She promised me we’d share an eternity together. That’s how I know that one way or another, this will work.”
“But she didn’t say where that eternity would be, did she?”
“No,” he admitted darkly.
I sighed, pulling myself away from him. “But we have to try. Alright, where is this tattoo going?”
“I’m putting mine here,” he said, showing me the inside of his left forearm. It was then that I notice there was already a tattoo on the inside of his other arm in the exact same spot. It was a symbol I’d seen before. One carved over the door of his family’s home.
“What does that one mean?” I asked, turning his arm so I could see it better.
“It means I’m important.”
I looked up at him to find him smiling. “And modest. It’s says you’re a leader of the Tem Aedha, doesn’t it?”
“Essentially.”
“Essentially or yes?”
“Essentially. Where do you want yours?”
“Am I getting one like that as well?”
“Not unless you want one.”
I shook my head vigorously. “One will suffice. We’ll need to hide it. If my father ever sees it I’ll be in a world of hurt.”
I’d been examining his tattoo, not looking at his face, but when I said the foolish thing I said, I felt his eyes fall on me hard. His muscles beneath my fingers tensed. I wished I could take it back.
“On my back,” I blurted out, looking up at him with a warm, reassuring smile. “Put it on my back. No one will ever see it there. No one but you.”
“Where on your back? Just beneath your neck?” he asks, running his fingers lightly over the area.
“No, most of my dresses don’t cover that high. You’ll have to put it beneath my shoulder blades at least.”
His eyes, already so bright in color to begin with, looked more electric than usual in this darkened cave.
“You’ll have remove your dress from your back,” he said, his voice low.
“No,” I told him with a smile as my heart hammered in my chest. I turned around, putting my back to him and draping my hair over my shoulder. There were laces there, ones I could undo and do myself, but I didn’t tell him that. What would be the fun in that? “You’ll have to.”
I felt his rough fingers brush over the bare skin just above the back of my dress. They dipped down carefully, pressing between my skin and the fabric, sending a rush of heat through my veins. Then they were gone. When I looked over my shoulder at him, Roarke was several steps away. He ran his hand over his hair, down over his face and coughed roughly.
“I, uh, I think I’ll do mine first.” he told me.
“Why?”
“It’ll be easier.”
“Easier how?” I asked innocently.
“Easier in a lot of ways. Do you want to watch? See how it’s done?”
“Yes.” I eagerly moved to where he’d set up his jars and equipment, sitting down on the hard packed dirt floor.
“No, your dress,” he protested, but I’d already sat. “I have a blanket to sit on. I didn’t want you to ruin your dress.”
“I don’t mind getting a little dirty.”
He chuckled. “Now who’s shameless?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I said with a smile.
Chapter Seventeen
Roarke didn’t flinch as he pushed the needle into his skin again and again. I watched in amazement as the point went in, blood rose out and the ink remained inside. It looked torturously painful but I remained silent, my lip bitten between my teeth the only outward sign of my distress.
“You’ll get used to it,” Roarke murmured, never looking away from his work.
“To the pain?”
“Yes. You’ll feel it, but it won’t bother you as much as it did at first.”
“Does it have to be so big?” I asked, looking at the design that spanned almost his entire forearm.
“It doesn’t have to be. But the more ink, the more blood, the more earth and the stronger the bond.” He looked up at me briefly, his brow still pinched in concentration. “Do you want me to make yours smaller?”
I shook my head minutely, beginning to feel afraid. “No.”
“Anna.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. When do you need my blood?”
“Now would be good since I’ve stopped.”
“Are you going to cut me?”
Now he showed pain, flinching slightly. This hurt him. “Yes.”
I nodded more firmly this time, hiding my shudder of fear in the movement. Even as an adult, I hated the sight of blood. “Where? My hand?”
“Your hand is fine, though on your arm would probably heal faster and be less painful.”
I pushed up the ¾ sleeve of my dress past my elbow and thrust my arm at him. He only looked at it for a moment, his eyes downcast as though something about my thin, pale arm terrified him. Then he produced the knife.
I winced as he pulled it from his boot, the candlelight reflecting off it to shine in my eyes. It wasn’t large but it looked sharp. He placed a cloth beneath my arm to cover my dress, then opened an empty bottle. His breathing was shallow when he poised the knife above my skin. I could feel the warmth, his warmth, stored within the blade seeping into me. In my anxiety, it felt as though it were burning me.
Roarke took a deep breath, then another. But when he looked at me, his shoulders sagged.
“I can’t. Once I heard about your father I swore I’d never hu—“
I grabbed his hand holding the knife and sliced it across my skin. I gasped at the pain, at the shock of seeing my whi
te flesh parted by a thin river of red. It was so dark in this light it looked almost black. I wondered if I wasn’t doomed already.
Roarke cursed loudly, bringing the bottle up under my arm. Blood ran over my skin and dripped freely into the small opening. I’d fill it in no time.
“Too deep, Anna,” he growled, examining the wound.
“I’ll do better next time,” I replied through gritted teeth.
When the bottle was filled, Roarke lifted the rag and pressed it tightly to my arm. Two small drops escaped, landing on my dress. I watched with fascination while the dark liquid turned brilliantly red as it absorbed into the white linen, just as the white stones took in my blood all those years ago.
“I might have to stitch this,” Roarke said, his voice low and troubled. “Which means more needles.”
“Can’t you work your magic on it?”
He chuckled as he shook his head. “We’re not magic.”
“You are though. You’re pure magic. All wonder and brilliance, like stars and moonlight.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I thought all of this,” he gestured to the cave, the candles, the blood, the needle, “would make you afraid of me.”
“I’ve been afraid of a lot of things in my life, Ro, but you have absolutely never been one of them. I trust you to the ends of the earth and back. If you told me that to escape this curse I had to swallow sea water and eat a live fish, tail first, I’d be choking down fins right now.”
His laugh coupled with the relief on his face were dazzling. He leaned forward to kiss me gently.
“I love you, Annabel Lee.”
I smiled, surprised to hear him use my whole name. “I love you too, Roarke.”
He finished his tattoo after that. I stared at it in amazement when it was done. Gently, I ran my fingers over the raised surface of the design, marveling at how precise the lines are. How clean the design.
“Have you drawn this symbol before?” I asked him, my voice hushed with awe.
“I traced it once out of the book.”
“What book?”
“The book my family has. It’s one of the few relics that survived the shipwreck. It’s how I was taught the old ways and my parents were taught before me.”
“Your island before? What was it like?”
He shrugged, looking away to clean his tools. “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”
“I know that, but… Never mind. Is it my turn now?”
He nodded, still not looking at me. His island, the life his people had before this; I knew it was all a very sore subject for him. It was not the time to push it. Not with everything else we were facing.
I stood up, turning my back to him, pulling my hair over my shoulder again. I quickly pulled the tie at the top of my back near my neck, making the entire dress sigh away from my skin. My arms were crossed over my chest to hold the material to me but I shrugged it off my shoulders so my entire back and most of my sides were bare. Only my mother and the moonlight had ever seen me this undressed before. I was worried I’d be terrified or that I’d feel ashamed, but I didn’t. Roarke seeing me this way felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I heard him stand behind me. The light faded as his shadow fell around me, ensconced me and my nakedness from the air. I was in him now, encased in his darkness and I felt more adored and cherished by that simple, silly thought than I ever had before. There was so much gentleness just in the way he stood near me that I nearly choked on a sob in my throat.
I shivered when I felt his fingertips trace my spine, starting at my waist where the dress held together and reaching up to the back of my neck. They trailed down again, then stopped just below my shoulder blades.
“Here,” he whispered hoarsely. “This is where I’ll put it. You’re least sensitive here.”
I nodded, unable to speak. His hand disappeared. I was about to look back at him, to see what he was doing, when I felt his breath warm against my shoulder. He placed a swift, dry kiss against the skin, then retreated. I listened to the sound of his tools being moved, to the clink of the bottles. One was uncorked, then another. I looked back to see two held in his hand. One empty, one full.
“What’s in that one?” I asked quietly.
He glanced at it, then looked up at me with a wry grin. “Dirt.”
I chuckled, watching with interest as he poured half of the contents into the empty bottle. He corked it, then reached for his knife. I winced, knowing what was coming. He rolled up the sleeve of his dark gray shirt and folded it above his elbow.
“You don’t have to watch this part,” he told me.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re in this together.”
He nodded. Then he swiftly sliced the blade across his arm. He was right, I did it too deeply. The knife was sharp. He barely sunk it into his skin before blood began to bead on the surface and roll down his arm. He held his hand in the air, pointing his elbow toward the ground then placing the bottle beneath it. Gravity pulled the blood down smoothly, dripping it neatly off the tip of his elbow. He didn’t spill a single drop.
“You’ve done this before.”
He shrugged.
I didn’t ask when he’d been called on to draw a person’s blood before. What are the odds I’d enjoy the answer?
“Are you ready?” he asked, tying a cloth around his arm.
“As I can be,” I replied with a wan smile.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Don’t be quick. Be thorough.”
And for all the poking and painful prodding, he better have been thorough. He was true to his word, he was quick, but he lied about getting used to the pain. I never became accustomed to it. It never retreated to the back of my mind where I could ignore it or think of other things. I felt every puncture, every ounce of ink and blood and earth that entered my body and I wondered if any of it would work.
“You’re done,” Roarke told me, running a clean cloth over my abused skin.
I didn’t shed a tear and of that I was proud. I’d endured a lot of pain in my life and it had always been a point of pride and pure survival for me to never cry because of it. It was important to never let them know they have you. That they’ve hurt you. And even though that sort of dominance was the farthest thing from Roarke’s mind, it’s still engrained in me and will be for all of time. It’s who I am. It’s who they’ve made me.
“I don’t feel any different,” I told him, turning to try and catch a glimpse of the drawing. My skin pulled painfully. I gritted my teeth hard. “Except for sore, that is.”
“It’s going to hurt for awhile. I’m putting a balm on it to help it heal. Hold still.”
He rubbed a cold, thick substance over my back. I felt a bit of the angry tension in the area dissipate almost immediately, reminding me of my cut.
“You aren’t going to rub it with dirt and spit on it?” I asked with a smile.
“You cannot let anything go, can you? Did you or did you not heal quickly from that cut?”
“I did, but it still left a scar.”
“Did it? Let me see.”
I lifted my hand to show it to him over my shoulder. He examined it in the light, finding the thin white line that ran across my palm. He traced it with his finger.
“Huh,” he muttered. “I didn’t think it’d scar. It’s probably because you’re wicked.”
I laughed, pushing him away as I turned to face him. He was smiling. It was the kind of smile that could light the entire cave without any help from the candles.
“What now?” I asked. “Do we say our vows or drink from the same cup? How do we become married?”
“Anna,” he said, sounding confused. He turned his arm toward me, the one carrying the symbol I now had on my back. “We already are.”
“That’s it? That’s how we become married? With the tattoos?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?!”
“No! I thought this was all part of the binding with Ila. I didn’t realize this was the wedding.”
“It wasn’t exactly traditional.”
“Really?” I replied sarcastically.
“Do you want me to do it again so you can pay attention this time?” he asked grinning.
“Oh, that’s very funny.”
“Are you honestly angry?”
“No. A little. I don’t know. It wasn’t very romantic, was it?”
“I don’t know about that. I found the part where you took off your dress to be very moving.”
I hit him hard in the shoulder. “Say something lovely.”
“What?”
“This whole ceremony or ritual or wedding, whatever it is, it’s been very macabre. Say something lovely, please, so I’ll have something sweet to remember about this.”
Roarke grinned again as he stepped toward me. I was reminded by his proximity that I was still holding my dress to my body. That I was standing there with a man while only halfway dressed.
“Anna,” he said solemnly, wrapping his arms around my waist. His hands touched the bare skin of my lower back, spanning out, feeling huge and hot. “Neither the angels in Heaven above or the demons down under the sea will ever dissever my soul from your soul. We belong together, to each other, in this world and the next.”
I smiled, reaching up and wrapping my arms around his neck. Letting my dress fall to the ground and not caring a bit. I pressed myself against Roarke. Against my husband.
“Ever faithful,” I whispered.
“Ever thine.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Annabel Lee,” my mother said.
I sat up with a start, my heart in my throat. It couldn’t be. But it was. There at the entrance of the cave, cast in long shadows by the evening light, stood my mother. She looked radiant and whole. Beautiful as she was before the sickness shrunk her nearly to nothing. My entire body ached with the desire to run to her, to collapse into her arms one last time. But something was off. It was wrong. It couldn’t be real.
“Mother?” I whispered, hoping despite reason.
“No,” she said softly.
“Wha—what?”