Her head came up fast, brown eyes wide, unblinking. Cheeks red with tear tracks, full lips trembling. “Leave me alone, Nicodimus.” Her voice shook with emotion, with fear. Of me.
“I can’t do that. I . . . I need to explain. What you saw, it wasn’t. . .”
Her eyes narrowed on me, seeming to pierce right through my skin. “Wasn’t what? Murder?”
Sighing deeply, I turned and sat beside her on the boulder. My elbows resting on my knees, bent forward at the waist, not looking her, I said, “It was not murder. Kohl was trying his best to kill me, and I had no choice but to defend myself.”
“By cuttin’ out his heart?” Her voice broke on those words, and when I turned my head to look at her, I saw the grimace on her face, the horror of the memory in her eyes.
“It was . . . necessary.”
“What sorts of Gods do you serve, Nicodimus, that would demand such a gruesome sacrifice?”
I closed my eyes slowly. “I’ll tell you, Arianna. If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you my secrets. Things you likely won’t believe. But true, all of them utterly true.”
She said nothing, so I lifted my gaze to hers again, searched her face. And she said, “Goddess help me, for I am a hopeless fool. I want you to explain it all away, Nicodimus. I want to believe in you again. So I’m listenin’.”
I nodded, drew a breath, nodded again. “All right. All right, then. But first . . . first, Arianna, know this. I would never hurt you. Never. Do you believe that?”
Again her eyes met mine, probed, searched. A little less fear, and more of her natural curiosity lighting them. “Tis difficult to believe in the tenderness of a man I just saw holdin’ a bloodied heart in his hands . . . a heart that. . .” She closed her eyes, gave her head a quick shake. “But that’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” I said softly. “Nothing.” It was going to be difficult to explain all of this to her. “What did you see, Arianna, that you believe impossible?”
She tilted her head to one side, remembering, and a little shiver worked through her. “It appeared that the heart was . . . was still beatin’, Nicodimus. But ‘twas only my shocked mind playin’ tricks on me.”
“You’ve no idea how I wish that were the case.”
She blinked. “What are you sayin’?”
Drawing a breath, I said, “Let me begin at the beginning, Arianna. I only ask that you not run from me . . . at least, not until I’ve finished. The things I’m going to tell you will shock and upset you. But they are things you need to know and understand. Things I . . . likely should have told you a long time ago.”
She thought a moment, then nodded once. “All right. I suppose ‘tis little enough to ask. You’ve saved my life on more than one occasion. I owe you as much.”
“You owe me nothing.”
“I differ with you on that point. But let’s nay argue. Just tell me these secrets of which you speak, an’ make me understand why you butchered that man so brutally. For I trusted you, Nicodimus, an’ what I saw frightened that trust away. I only want to understand, an’ find it again.”
“You want me to restore your faith in me,” I said slowly, clarifying it in my own mind. Wondering if she’d be better off if I stopped here and now. But no, she had to know. We shared a fate, she and I.
“I was born into a tiny clan that once made its home here, at the site of this very village. And the year was seven hundred and fifty.”
Smiled then. Smiled broadly, and punched me lightly on my arm. “Be serious now, Nicodimus. An’ stop jesting with me. ‘Twould make you seven hundred years old.”
“Seven hundred and fifty, Arianna.”
She stared at me. Her smile faltered and died.
I said no more, and gave her a moment to digest that bit of information. She clearly didn’t believe me. It was evident in everything from the sudden worry clouding her magnificent brown eyes to the slight stiffening of her muscles. No doubt the question of my sanity was even now occurring to my lovely bride. And I disliked seeing it there.
“You mean,” she began, slowly, cautiously, “You feel that old. But of course, you are not.”
“Do you remember, Arianna, the way I looked when you first set eyes on me?”
She nodded at once. “Every detail,” she whispered, then quickly turned her head away and I saw her cheeks color prettily, despite the darkness.
“And have I changed in all that time?” I asked her. “Aged at all?”
She frowned, pondering. “I . . . have often wondered how you hide your age so well.”
“I hide my age so well because I do not age. My body hasn’t aged since I was twenty and eight, Arianna, and it never will.” I paused, turned to face her and took both of her hands in mine. Warm, they were. Soft as satin, with nimble, slender fingers that were quick and clever. I loved the way her hands looked–small and strong, yet willing to nestle into the grip of my larger ones. I liked closing mine around them, holding her. And I didn’t give it any more thought than that. Though I recall very clearly the word that whispered insistently and in an unfamiliar tone, a possessive commanding tone, through my mind. The word was Mine.
“Arianna,” I said. “I am . . . I am immortal.”
Her head dipped slightly, eyes seeming to plumb mine even as they narrowed to mere slits. “Immortal?” she whispered. And now her hands turned, her beautiful fingers lacing with mine, and she squeezed. “Nicodimus . . . love, you know that canna be.” Then one hand broke free, and her fingers gently probed and rubbed over my head, through my hair, searching every inch. “You may have been injured in the battle,” she said quickly. “With that man . . . Kohl, you called him. Oh, Nicodimus, I know you didna do murder back there. I was only shocked to see such violence, an’ afraid, an’ still very upset with you for leaving me alone on the night of our wedding, an’ so my emotions got away from me, I suppose, an’ I—”
“Cease.”
She did. Biting her lip, she stopped the stream of nervous words that had been spilling out of her without censure. I think she knew even then that there was some truth to what I said. How much, she could not know. But she needed to speak, and fast, to keep me from saying any more.
“I am not injured. I was, but ‘tis healed now.”
The worry in her brown eyes deepened. “No one heals so quickly,” she said softly. “Where were you hurt, Nicodimus? Show me, and let me tend the wounds.”
I nodded. “Yes. Yes, I must show you. ‘Tis the only way to get past your disbelief. There is much you need to know, my little bride, but we cannot proceed until we rid you of your skepticism.”
“Aye,” she said slowly, humoring me. “Aye, just show me. I am your wife, and tendin’ your wounds is my duty. Let me help you, love.”
I nodded, and turned away from her, so my back blocked her view. Then, moving very quickly, I drew my dagger with its jeweled hilt, and pushing back my sleeve, I drew its blade across my forearm.
“Nicodimus, nay!” Arianna leapt to her feet, seeing what I had done, but not in time to prevent it. Weeping aloud, she reached for the deep gash in my flesh, as if she would grip it tight and try to stop the bleeding. But I drew my arm out of her reach, held up a hand.
“Just wait, Arianna. Just wait.” With one hand I smoothed her hair, my eyes on the gash, watching it. But when I heard her sobs I looked up, saw the distress, the twin rivulets of tears. She was shaking all over. And I was suddenly full of regret. I reached for her. “Arianna. . .”
But her eyes were widening, and focused unblinkingly on the cut. And when I looked down again, I realized the blood flow was slowing visibly. Arianna took a stuttering breath as it stopped entirely, then stepped backward with a soft gasp as the skin ‘round the edges of the wound began slowly, bit by bit, regenerating.
“Please,” I asked her, when she took another halting step backward. “Please, do not be afraid. It is what I am, Arianna. This is what I am.”
She searched my face, stared deeply into my eyes, her
own growing less fearful by slight degrees. Her feet moved, but this time to bring her closer, and she reached out a tentative hand to touch, drew away, and touched again. “Oh . . . oh, my. . .” she whispered, and sank to her knees at my feet, drawing my arm with her, clutching it in hers. She lifted the hem of her robe, and before I knew what she was about to do, wiped the blood away from my arm. Then she watched, trembling on her knees as the cut slowly healed. Her fingers trailed over the new skin, soft, erotic, sending a bolt of awareness straight to my soul, like lightning searing hot and shattering.
“Good Gods, ‘tis true.” She lifted her huge, innocent eyes to mine. “But how? How can this be?”
“For a very long while, I did not know. I still do not know all of it. The why of it, or how it all works. I only know that long ago, in my village, I believed myself to be an ordinary man. I hunted, I fought. I was a warrior, skilled and proud, and would have been chieftain of my clan one day. I had a wife and two strong sons.”
At this point, Arianna’s head snapped up. “Not just a wife then. But a family,” she whispered. Slowly rising until standing, she faced me. “Tell me of them, Nicodimus. Tell me of your family. And of the woman who captured your love.”
Nodding, I lowered my head. “Her name was Anya.”
Arianna’s small hand came to my face, cupping it, fingers tracing my cheeks. “You loved her,” she whispered. “Nay, dinna look as if you regret it, husband. You’ve told me of your love for Anya before, an ‘tis a relief to know you loved once. I’d begun to fear you were incapable of it.”
I shook my head, considered telling her she had the right of it. That I was incapable of loving . . . now. But then decided I had hurt her enough, and my revelations would soon do so even more. Enough of causing her pain.
“How long were you together?” she asked, taking my hand now, leading me back to sit on the boulder as if she were the experienced sage, and I the innocent. She urged me downward, then curled her legs beneath her and sat on the ground at my feet, close to me. Her body leaning against my thighs.
“I was but four and ten when I found her. She was the daughter of an enemy chieftain. Our men took her father’s life in battle, and I found her in her village, being beaten by her two brothers, Marten and Kohl. She’d been mistreated all her life. So I took her.”
“As prisoner?” she asked. No judgment in her tone, just curiosity.
“The choice was hers. I took her, yes, but I may have left her behind, had she asked it of me.” I shrugged. “Or perhaps not. At any rate, she did not object, so I took her. And back in my village, I made her my wife, and gave her my promise that no man would ever raise a hand to harm her again. ‘Twas a promise I kept.”
Arianna’s hand touched my thigh, and she dipped her head, as if she were studying her fingers with great interest. “Was she . . . very beautiful?”
“She was comely. Small and frail. With the temperament of a mouse, Arianna. Wary and afraid, but eventually she came to trust me, and to love me. We had a good life together. She cared for my needs and I for hers. She gave me my sons, the most precious things in the world to me.”
Arianna blinked and lifted her eyes to mine. “She sounds like my opposite. She couldna have been more unlike me.”
“Tis true enough,” I told her.
And she quickly looked away, hiding her eyes from my scrutiny. Tell me of the children.”
“Jaymes was the younger. Timid and tall for his age. Sickly. But bright, beyond measure. He was constantly working figures, numbers and such. He could draw any likeness, and play the pipes like Pan Himself. Will was the elder. Strong, a warrior, a strapping lad with a temper to match. It was all I could do to keep that one in line. Had he lived much longer, he’d have been fully capable of besting his sire in a fair fight.”
Darkening with understanding and sympathy, her eyes turned up toward mine again. “Oh, Nicodimus. You lost them.”
I closed my eyes. “I lost them all. Anya died struggling to give birth to our third child, a wee girl who never lived to draw her first breath. After four and ten years with her, I didn’t think I could live without her, but somehow I did. My lads needed me, then. I had no choice.”
“You are very strong,” Arianna whispered. I’ve always known that about you.” Her arms had somehow twisted ‘round my waist, and her head rested on my thigh. “An’ a fine father you must have been to those lads.”
“I tried. By the Gods, Arianna, I tried. But Jaymes died when the Black Death swept through our village later that same year. And a year later, Will and I were cut down side by side, in battle with the same clan from whence I’d taken his mother.”
“Oh, Nicodimus. . .” she whispered, head rising, hands stroking along my back. “Oh, my love, I am so very sorry. I know this grief that lives in you. I know it well.”
“I know you do,” I told her, studying her eyes seeing the tears pooling there. “You’ve felt it, too.”
“So you and Will were wounded . . . in this battle?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “No, Arianna, we were . . . we were killed.”
She sat up straighter. “No, my love . . .”
“Yes. I’d a blade thrust straight through my heart. There was no question. I died beside my son on the field of battle. But moments later, I lived again. Consciousness returned, and with it a blinding flash of pain and light. My body arched until I thought my spine would snap, and I dragged in a desperate gasp that failed to satisfy my starving lungs. I opened my eyes and stared, first at the blade which skewered me still, and then at my beloved son, lying lifeless at my side. And a rage filled me such as none I had ever known. I gripped the hilt of the sword, and pulled it from my chest. I howled in rage that Will should be dead, and I alive, with no one left, no one at all. Even before my grief abated, I felt a tingling sensation, saw the bleeding stop, and watched in awe as the mortal wound in my chest healed itself.
“Someone saw me then, and shouted that I’d been dead, my body already cooling, only moments before. I was confused and maddened with grief, and so I ran. I ran away.”
Soft, cooling palms skimmed my face, and big brown eyes, brimming with tears, traced my features with healing tenderness. “Aye, Nicodimus. An’ you’ve been runnin’ ever since. From love. From carin’ of any kind. Because it hurts to love and lose, you’ve decided nay to love at all.”
I nodded, amazed, and not for the first time, by her insight. “You are very wise for one so young.”
“‘Tis nay my age which makes me know your heart, Nicodimus. ‘Tis my own grief. I, too, wished never to suffer loss again. I believe ‘tis why I drew away from those closest to me. Even my own dear mother.” As she spoke, she lay her head down once again.
I looked down at her, pale blond hair spread over my legs as her head rested gently there. “Then perhaps you do understand.”
“To have lost my sister nearly destroyed me,” she went on, lifting her head now, and stroking my cheek with one hand. “I canna imagine the pain of losing a child . . . much less two of them, an’ your wee babe . . . an’ your wife.”
I closed my hand over hers on my face, and gently moved it away, for her touch was eliciting more emotion from within me than I had realized was hidden inside. “Tis the way of things, for me . . . for my kind.”
Her hand stilled in midair, eyes widening. “You mean you’re nay the only one? There . . . there are others?”
I felt my lips pull into a smile at her innocence and wonder. “Hundreds,” I told her. “And all of us cursed to outlive all of those we love.”
Blinking rapidly, she finally averted her face. “I could never exist that way,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “Never!”
And my throat went dry, because I knew she must. But I couldn’t tell her that. Not yet.
Eventually, she looked back at me. “I ken now why you canna love me, Nicodimus. I’ll never ask it of you again.”
I looked into her eyes, as dark and fathomless as the night it
self, and I felt an odd tug in the center of my chest. It felt like . . . regret. But that made no sense, whatsoever.
But she gave me no time to examine the feeling.
“Where did you go?”
I only looked at her blankly, still pondering my own heart. “Where did–”
“When you ran away,” she clarified, staring up at me, wide-eyed and rapt with attention.
“Of course.” I focused my mind back on my tale. “I wandered for a time, stopping at crofts and working for a meal and a place to lay my head before moving on again. Eventually, I decided to make my way back to my village, my people. I’d been searching for answers, but I’d found none. I’d been traveling aimlessly over the whole of Scotland for well over two years. And I was still no closer to understanding why I lived. But I had noticed things, changes in me. Though these things only served to puzzle me more.”
“What sorts of changes?” she asked, nearly breathless now with anticipation.
“They were gradual,” I explained. “There was a certain sharpening of my senses. My eyesight grew keener, and I began to see in darkness as well as I did in bright light. My hearing became . . . acute. My sense of smell became as honed as that of the wolf, and I seemed able to taste things more thoroughly, even things on the air. Physical feeling intensified, and with it, physical strength and stamina beyond that of any ordinary man. And then there was the healing . . . any wound I had would heal within a short while, just as I have shown you here this night. And while I suspected I could not easily die, I had no idea that I was immortal.”
“How could you?” she asked. “Who would ever imagine such a thing?” She shook her head slowly, her gaze turning inward. “Even though you’ve shown me this miraculous healing power, I still canna quite grasp the fact that you canna die.”
“I can die, Arianna. Just not easily, nor in the usual way.”
She perused my features, her brown eyes narrow. “Go on, tell me what happened, how you found the answers you sought.”
I rose from the stone to pace away from her. Apparently in thought, but truly because her embrace affected me far more than it should. Far more than I could bear.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 48