Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  “Are you all right, Arianna?” I asked.

  Blinking away her thoughts, she nodded, and met my eyes. “My mam and my da . . . . They love me again.”

  I almost smiled. Would have, except I thought it might hurt her to realize how her innocence amused me. She pretended such fierceness, such toughness. When in truth she was as tender as a babe. “They never stopped,” I told her.

  “I was certain they had.”

  Tilting my head to one side, curious, I took her arm and led her back to her stately throne–the fallen limb–and sat beside her. “Why?”

  Shrugging, she shook her head.

  “Because of your sister’s death?” I prodded. I found myself wanting to know. Then realized it wasn’t just this matter I was curious about. I wanted to know everything about Arianna Sinclair. Her deepest feelings, her darkest secrets. Everything.

  “‘Twas my fault. She drowned trying to save me. But I’ve told you this.”

  “Yes, and I’ve told you it was no more than an accident. Your family could never have blamed you, Arianna. Likely they were beside themselves with relief that one of you had survived, when for all they knew, the loch could easily have taken you both.”

  She nodded slowly, deep in thought. “But. . .” Then biting her lip, she stopped herself.

  “Go on,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Nay, Nicodimus. I dinna speak of this. Tis my own demon that haunts me, an’ I’ll nay share its curse with you.”

  As she said these words, she turned her gaze away from me, staring instead at the fire. And I felt a shield go up, as if she were protecting herself from me, from the pain of the past, from intrusion.

  Cupping her chin, I turned her to face me again. A more beautiful creature I had never seen. Arianna in firelight was something to behold.

  “There is no demon you cannot share with me, Arianna,” I told her. “I’ll not judge you, nor laugh at anything you say. Perhaps . . . perhaps I can help you to exorcize the beast that haunts your eyes.”

  The eyes of which I spoke narrowed. “And why would you want to do that?”

  Her questions, as usual, cut to the bone. “I . . . it is what a husband does.”

  “Nay, Nicodimus. ‘Tis what a lover does. Not a husband who is but a name. But a tender, caring man, out of concern for the woman he loves.”

  I tried to swallow as my throat went dry. “Arianna, you’ve mistaken my intent completely.”

  “Have I?”

  The wind played in her pale hair as she searched me with her wise eyes. It was more and more difficult to believe the girl had yet to see twenty years of life. “You have,” I said. “I cannot be your husband in the way you would have me be, little cat. But I’ll be more than a name to you. I’ll be your friend.”

  She frowned a little, a tiny pucker appearing between her delicate brows as she considered this. “My friend?”

  I nodded.

  “Because you care about me?” she asked, looking again into the flames, but peering at me from the corner of her eye as she awaited my answer.

  “I always have,” I admitted.

  Her lips curved into a smile. “Tis a start.”

  The words startled me, as did the smile. “It is the whole of it, Arianna. Do not read more into my friendship than what is there.”

  She nodded hard, as if in firm agreement, but I knew better. I knew her too well, in fact.

  “Will you tell me then? Your feelings about your sister?”

  She nodded again. “Aye, I’ll tell you. When you love me, Nicodimus. When you love me.”

  She rose slowly, and pulled her shawl from around her shoulders, to spread it upon the ground. Sitting down upon it she tucked her legs under her, and used her arms upon the log as her pillow. “I will rest now,” she whispered.

  I only nodded, and watched her for a time. She hadn’t slept much the night before. Her grief had been too raw to allow it. I was glad to see her eyes this heavy, her head this relaxed. When her breathing became deep and steady, I knew she truly slept, and knew how badly she needed it. So when she shivered, I sat down close beside her. I did not wish for the cold to interrupt her rest.

  I had not expected her to curl against me, drawn instinctively to the warmth of my body. I had not expected her head to rest upon my lap, nor her arms to curl tight about my waist. And when they did, I had no idea what to do about it.

  I sat there a moment, looking down at the vision twined around me, debating inwardly. Finally realizing that this woman was to be my wife. I do not think it had hit me fully until that moment, when she rested against me, a warm weight of softness and beauty. I was to be not only her protector, but her husband. It would take every ounce of will I possessed not to make her my wife in every sense of the word. Every ounce of will.

  Yet I was the strong one. I was older, wiser, and far more powerful. She needed my help, not my desire. I could handle my own body and its incessant demands. To prove this to myself, I relaxed there on the ground, and put my arms around her, held her gently against me. Kept her warm.

  And died a thousand deaths before I finally fell asleep.

  * * * *

  WHEN ARIANNA STIRRED awake, she felt his arms pull her closer to him. As Nicodimus came slowly awake, his body went hard and tight, and his eyes when they opened, blazed with something she had never seen in them before.

  For just an instant, its intensity frightened her, and she pulled away with a soft gasp.

  Nicodimus closed his eyes, and when he opened them that look was gone. He said nothing. She wasn’t certain of what to say either. Suddenly arousing this man’s passion took on a frightening new prospect. She hadn’t realized what a powerful force she might be bringing to life. Could she deal with his passion? Could she ever satisfy a man such as he?

  He wanted to know her innermost feelings about her sister. But she could not yet confide in him her certainty that the Gods had made a mistake that black day. That they must have meant to take her, Arianna, the eldest. The troublemaker. The rebel. Never could they have intended to take the most gentle, tender soul ever to draw breath. She knew inside that it should have been her to surrender to the murky depths of the loch. Not Raven. And that perhaps, had she not fought so hard to survive, the greedy loch would not have taken her precious sister in her stead.

  That was the secret she kept, and it was hers alone.

  But even now Nicodimus’s dark gaze searched her face, probing and seeing far too much. And there was more there. There was a heat blazing behind his gaze. One so intense it was frightening. And yet exciting to her.

  “The—the fire has burned out.”

  “Yes,” he said, watching her through narrowed eyes as she rose to brush the dust and twigs from her skirts. Nervous hands fluttered about her hair, smoothing it. She darted quick glances all around. Busying herself by picking up and shaking her shawl, and then arranging it with exaggerated care around her shoulders.

  “Arianna,” Nicodimus said, very softly.

  She went still and looked down at him. He sat, still resting with his back to the log.

  “You needn’t ever be afraid of me.”

  She tried a smile, but it was forced. “I’m nay afraid of anything, Nicodimus. Why on earth would I be afraid of you?”

  “You know why. I promise, you’re safe with me . . . and safe from me. All right?”

  Looking at the ground, she whispered, “An’ that’s supposed to make everything all right, is it? But what if I dinna want to be safe from you, Nicodimus?”

  When he didn’t answer, she brought her head up, met his eyes. “I dinna, you know. Not at all.”

  “Nonetheless, you shall be.” He got to his feet, and it was his turn to busy himself. He checked the smoldering ash which was all that remained of the fire, making sure no spark had spread. It occurred to her that Nicodimus might be as nervous as she had been. As shocked and shaken by the flare of awareness between them, as well.

  But no. Nicodimus would not be s
hocked nor shaken by anything.

  “Walk with me,” she asked softly, deciding to go easier on him, just in case. Perhaps he only needed time to adjust to the idea that he loved her and desired her and would until the end of time. “Tell me of our wedding day. What will it be like?”

  He finished what he’d been doing and came to stand beside her, looking relieved. “It will be everything you wish for, Arianna. You need only tell me what you want. The chapel will be decked in wreaths and buds, and the–”

  “Chapel? But Nicodimus, I canna marry you in a chapel.”

  “But–”

  “I’m not a Christian. I’m a witch, and proud to be one.”

  He took her hand. “You mustn’t speak it aloud that way, Arianna. It is unwise, you know that now.”

  “There is no one to hear me but you, an’ I trust you with my life. Nay, I wish to speak our vows beneath the blazing fiery sun, our bare feet caressing Mother Earth’s soft greenery and the air kissin’ our faces, and the sea as our altar.”

  Nicodimus lowered his head. The marriage needs to be recognized by the clan, and by the Church, Arianna. Such a one as that would not be.”

  “Then . . . canna we have both? One for the benefit of the Church and the clan, and another just for the two of us?”

  He stared down at her. “We only need the one. The legal one, Arianna. For that’s all there will be, that and friendship. No binding of two souls together as one, as you no doubt have in mind.”

  Closing her eyes to the disappointment, she sighed deeply. Then ‘twill nay feel like a marriage at all.”

  “Nor is it meant to. Only to look like one.”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest, very briefly. She fisted it and lowered it to her side again, an act of will. “Perhaps we should speak of something else.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  Nodding, she lifted her chin, staring straight ahead as they moved, side by side, along the path. Tell me about Nidaba.”

  Nicodimus seemed surprised by the question, for it took him a moment to answer. “What do you wish to know?”

  “How long have you known her?” She looked at him.

  “I . . . it seems like forever. Surely for most of my life.”

  A vague answer. She wondered why. “Where did you meet?”

  Searching her face, he tilted his head. “You’re a curious little cat, aren’t you?”

  “Do I not have a right to be curious about the other woman in my husband’s life?”

  He shrugged, perhaps conceding the point. “‘Tis a tale you may well enjoy, little one. The first time I met Nidaba . . . no. I will tell you about the second time. It was–”

  “Why?”

  He broke off, glancing down at her. “like you, Arianna, I have some things in my past that are . . . too painful to talk about. Do you understand?”

  She searched his eyes, saw the old wounds there, and nodded. “Aye. I ken it all too well. Go on, then, an’ tell me the tale.”

  “I was traveling alone through the arid lands far to the east, when I was set upon by a group of desert bandits. Twenty of them, mounted on camels, surrounded me, swords drawn, demanding my horse, my gold, and my food and water. It was a three day journey to help, and that on horseback. On foot I’d have had no chance.”

  Arianna had stopped walking and stood staring at him, her eyes wide as she listened. “What did you do?”

  “Drew my sword and prepared to fight. Actually, they began coming at me, long curving blades of their swords flashing with such skill I could barely follow them with my eyes, much less dodge the blows. And then there was this . . . this sound.”

  “Sound?”

  “Yes. A cry, high-pitched and keening, rather like the shriek of an hawk before it swoops down upon its prey. The attackers whirled, and I turned to look as well. Pounding down upon us was a figure swathed in white robes to the point where only the eyes were visible. Each hand wielded a deadly blade, and they swung like windmills overhead as the white stallion thundered with guidance from neither hand nor rein. The bandits scattered. She didn’t even have to kill any of them. They vanished like a distant mirage, and she sheathed her swords by crossing them in front of her and driving the left into the right sheath, and the right into the left. She was amazing to behold.”

  “She?” Arianna whispered. “Nidaba?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know it right away, of course. I blurted my thanks, but she only nodded and motioned for me to follow her. Only when we were safely inside her desert home, a veritable fortress, really, did she remove the headdress and reveal herself to me.”

  Arianna blinked. “She’s . . . she’s a very beautiful woman, I think.”

  “I have always thought so, too.”

  “Did you . . . did you and she . . . ?”

  He touched Arianna’s hair. “Nidaba and I are friends, Arianna. Only friends.”

  Her heart soared . . . but then began to sink a bit. Because she thought that if Nicodimus had been able to resist the allure of an exotic beauty such as Nidaba, she was in for more of a challenge than she realized. That Nidaba hadn’t wanted him never occurred to her. No woman could fail to desire Nicodimus. Not ever. He was perfect in every way.

  “You’re very deep in thought about something,” he observed. She started, unaware he’d been scrutinizing her face for several moments.

  “Aye, I suppose I am.” She shrugged. “It’s occurred to me how very little I know about you, Nicodimus. You know every detail of my life, no doubt. But of your past, of your history, I know nothing.”

  His eyes became shuttered, and when her gaze searched them, he looked away. “You will,” he said. “In time, I’ll tell you all about myself.”

  “Would you care to begin now?”

  He sent her a quick glance, then looked away. “Here, your mother is already awaiting us. Worried for your well-being, no doubt.” He waved toward the distant figure, and Arianna saw her mother standing outside the cottage, waving back.

  “She knows I’m perfectly safe with you,” Arianna said with a sigh. “As your secrets seem to be, as well.”

  “You needn’t be worrying about my secrets. ‘Tis our wedding you ought be thinking of, planning for.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said softly. “Believe me, Nicodimus, I am planning all the while.”

  His smile was warm, genuine, but there was a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Good.”

  Oh, but he wouldn’t think it so good when she finished. Or perhaps he would, but not right away. She would fashion the most beautiful gown any woman had ever worn. She’d bathe herself in flower petals and smell like heaven to him. Her hair would gleam like the sun. When Nicodimus bent to her lips, as he must—aye, he must—she would kiss him as he’d never been kissed before.

  How she would manage that, she wasn’t certain. She had never been kissed by a man before. But perhaps . . . someone could tell her how to best go about it.

  If only The Crones . . . .

  Lowering her head, she sighed her regrets. Her teachers were gone. She would have to fumble through this as best she could. But come her wedding night, she intended to lie with her husband. In his bed, in his arms, whether he liked it or not. And she would, or her name was not Arianna Sinclair.

  Chapter 8

  I WATCHED ARIANNA change during the next few days, and the change at once relieved and troubled me. The pain that had for so long shadowed her eyes began to fade. The ghosts that haunted her, seemed to have been chased into a dark corner–for the moment, at least. She no longer spent hours each day sitting alone in the cemetery, and even the agony of The Crones’ final fate seemed to be easing.

  I actually heard her laugh one day, as she and her mother walked arm in arm along the heather-covered moor beyond the keep. Such a rare sound, and so beautiful, that it startled me into stillness. I found myself edging nearer, straining to hear it again, curious as to what had caused it. “They have repaired the rift between them, have they not?” I turned abr
uptly, unaware of Nidaba’s silent approach. She moved like a shadow and stood beside me now, observing the mother and daughter as I did.

  “I believe,” I replied, “that they are even closer than before the death of Arianna’s sister.”

  “Good. The girl will not cling quite so tightly to you then.” I frowned, drawing my gaze away from Arianna to focus on Nidaba. Her gaze held no contempt as she watched Arianna and her mother talking and laughing below. It was only narrow and watchful.

  “Why do you dislike her so much?” I asked.

  Nidaba looked at me sharply. “Does it seem to you that I dislike her? I do not. The girl has spirit.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  “It is the two of you together I do not like, Nic. You’re not going to be good for her. Nor she for you. You’ll destroy each other before you finish this ruse.”

  I shook my head at her. “I only want to protect her–”

  “By keeping the truth from her? The truth of what you are, Nicodimus? Of what she is?” Nidaba’s eyes again narrowed, falling on my young bride once more. “She ought to know, to have time to prepare.”

  “There is a long time before she will need to prepare for such as that,” I told her.

  “Only the Gods could know for sure. And you are not a God, my friend.”

  Her words troubled me. For I had seldom known Nidaba to be wrong about anything.

  “Look at her,” she went on. “You know full well that her laughter is not entirely due to her newfound closeness with her family. That kind of joy comes from only one place in a woman’s heart. The girl is in love with you, and dreaming of things you have told her will never be. You cannot both come out of this unscathed.”

  “I do not wish to hurt her.”

  Perhaps, I thought, I should tell Arianna again how it was to be with us. But two things kept me from doing that. First, the knowledge that Arianna Sinclair would believe exactly what she wanted to believe no matter what I might say to the contrary. And second, the simple fact that she was so incredibly beautiful when she was happy. Her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the spring in her step, the confident tilt of her head. I loved seeing her this way. I did not want to be the one to put the shadows back into my lady’s eyes.