Dream Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  He forced himself to step back from the door, then turned and watched her walk away across the lawn. Continued to watch when she changed directions, broke into a run.

  She’d go to the cliffs, he realized. She was angry and hurt, so she would go to the cliffs to finish crying. When she was finished she would think. She would stay angry and hurt for a while, and hate him longer than that, but he knew that eventually she would see it was for the best.

  She wasn’t in love with him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. It already felt raw and battered. Maybe she thought she was, or had talked herself into it, he decided. It was a knee-jerk female reaction, that was all. It fit a woman like Laura—sex and love, need and emotion. She wasn’t seeing the big picture.

  But he could.

  Men who had lived as he had lived didn’t end up happy ever after with women of her class, her breeding. Sooner or later she’d have come to the same conclusion, found herself drawn back to the country club style. Maybe she would never forgive him for seeing it first, but that couldn’t be helped.

  It would kill him to be with her and wait. To know that when the passion had dimmed she would still stay with him. She’d be kind. She couldn’t be otherwise. But he would know when he had become just another obligation.

  He was doing them both a favor by getting out of her life.

  Josh was right. And no one knew him better.

  But he continued to stand, staring out at the cliffs and the lone figure who stood there twisting the knife in his own heart. Finally he turned away and left the room that was as disrupted as his life to go down to his horses.

  She hadn’t known how completely a heart could shatter. She’d thought she knew. When her marriage had ended, Laura had been certain she would never grieve in quite the same way again.

  She’d been right, she thought now and pressed both hands to the ache in her heart. This was different. This was worse.

  Her feelings for Peter had eroded so slowly over the years that there had barely been any left by the time it was over. But this . . . she squeezed her eyes tight, and though the air was still and warm, she shuddered.

  She’d never loved anyone the way she loved Michael. Wildly, outrageously. Brutally. And all those feelings were so fresh. So bright and new. She had treasured them. She’d treasured discovering that she could feel again, realizing she could want and be wanted as a woman. She’d admired what he was, what he’d made himself, and she had fallen as much in love with the rough and dangerous man as the kind and gentle one within.

  Now he wanted it over, and there was nothing she could do. Crying didn’t help, and her tears were already dry. Temper changed nothing, and she was already ashamed of the way she had snapped in front of him. He’d think her pitiful now, but that couldn’t be helped either.

  She stepped closer to the edge to watch the waves beat against rock. She felt that way, she mused. Battered by forces that were beyond her control, trapped in a violent, endless war with no choice but to stand.

  It didn’t help, it simply didn’t help, to tell herself she wasn’t alone. That she had her family, her children, her home, her work. Because she felt alone, completely alone, there on the edge of the world with only the thunder of the sea for company.

  Even the birds were gone. No gulls cried today, none wheeled white toward the hard blue sky or dipped toward the spewing waves. She could see nothing but the rolling of the endless sea.

  How could she accept it that she would never love this way again? Why was she expected to go on, to do everything that needed to be done, alone, always alone, and know that she would never turn in the night and find someone there who loved her?

  Why had she been given this glimpse into what she could have and feel and want if it was only going to be taken away? And why was the one thing she had dreamed of all of her life always, always, just out of her reach?

  She imagined that this was what Seraphina had felt as she stood here so many years before grieving the loss of her lover. Laura looked down, pictured that dizzying, somehow liberating plunge into space and the fierce, furious heart that had taken it.

  Had she screamed as the rocks rushed up, Laura wondered, or had she strained to meet them?

  Trembling, Laura took a step back. Seraphina had found nothing but an end, she thought, a horribly easy end to pain. Her own wouldn’t be easy, because she would have to live with it. Live without Michael. And finally accept that she would live without her dream.

  She barely noticed the rumble, took it at first for the sea’s thrashing. The ground seemed to jitter under her feet. Blank for a moment, she stared down, watched pebbles dance. Then the roar filled her ears, and she knew.

  Panicked, she tried to stumble back, away from the edge. The ground rolled, unbalancing her as she grabbed frantically for a rock. The wave of earth lifted her up and pushed her hard over the rim of the world.

  The horses sensed it first. Eyes wheeling white, panicked whinnies. Michael reached up to calm the mare he was grooming. Then he felt it. The ground shuddered under him. He swore as the noise grew and horses plunged. Above his head came the sound of crashing glass, straining wood.

  The freight train roar deafened him as he fought to keep his balance. Tack leapt off the walls and fell jangling on the shuddering brick.

  He yanked stall doors open, focused on getting his horses out. In the wild confusion of the moment, one thought pierced like a lance.

  Laura. My God. Laura.

  He stumbled forward, fighting free when the earth tried to heave him back. He raced into the brilliant sunlight, ignoring the violent undulations of the tidy green lawn. When he was knocked flat, he clawed his way back up, skidded down the slope. No one would have heard him screaming her name as he ran toward the cliffs. He didn’t hear it himself.

  It lasted no more than two minutes, that stretch and shift of the earth. All was still, preternaturally still, when he reached the cliffs.

  She’d gone home, he told himself. She’d gone back to the house, was safe, secure. A little shaken perhaps, but a native Californian didn’t panic at every trembler. He’d go check on things himself as soon as he . . . as soon as he made sure.

  When he looked over the edge and saw her, his legs buckled. On a ledge fifteen feet below, inches away from oblivion, she lay white as death. One of her arms was flung out so that her hand dangled over that narrow bed of rock into space.

  He wouldn’t remember the climb down to her, the sharp bite of rock into his hands, the small, nasty avalanches of dirt and pebbles where his feet slid, the stinging slices as roots and rock tore viciously at his clothes and flesh.

  Blind terror and instinct took him down fast where a single misstep, one incautious grip, would have sent him plunging. Cold sweat dripped into his eyes, skidded along his skin. He thought—was sure—she was dead.

  But when he reached her he fought back the panic and fear and placed a trembling finger on the pulse in her throat. And it beat.

  “Okay, okay.” His hands trembled still as he brushed the hair from her cheeks. “It’s all right, you’re all right.” He wanted to drag her up, hold her, rock her to him until this greasy sickness in his gut passed.

  He knew better than to move her, even with thoughts of aftershocks spinning in his head. He knew he had to check the extent of her injuries before he risked shifting her.

  Concussion, broken bones, internal injuries. Christ, paralysis. He couldn’t get his breath and had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment and force air in and out until he was calm. He made himself move slowly, carefully. Lifting her eyelids to check the pupils, gently moving his hands over her head, gritting his teeth at the blood that smeared on his fingers.

  Her shoulder—she’d dislocated it, he realized as he probed. It would be screamingly painful when she woke. Dear God, he wanted her to open her eyes. His breath came fast and harsh as he continued to check her. No breaks—a lot of bruises and some bad cuts and scrapes, but nothing was broken.

  He agonized o
ver her back and neck, knew he had to leave her to call for an ambulance. And the thought of leaving her alone there on that ledge, knowing that if she woke it would be to terror and pain, ripped him.

  “It’s going to be all right.” He took her hand, squeezed gently. “Trust me. I won’t be long. I’ll be back.”

  When her fingers flexed in his, relief burned through him in cold fire.

  “Laura, can you hear me? Don’t move, baby. Open your eyes if you can hear me, but I don’t want you to move.”

  Her world was white and thick and cold, so cold. Then there were shadows, shifting, receding, voices whispering under a brilliant roar. Then his face, close to hers, dark eyes so blue they burned.

  “Michael?”

  “Yeah.” He had to swallow, couldn’t. Fear had dried up every bit of the saliva in his mouth. “Yeah. You’re going to be all right. You just took a little fall. I want you to—”

  “Michael,” she said again, then her white world flashed red. Pain sliced through her, long, ragged blades of it that had her crying out, rearing against his hands.

  “Stop. I know it hurts, but I don’t know how bad it is. You have to lie still. Lie still.” But the way she’d already twisted terrified him. “Look at me. Look at me. Tell me if you can feel this.”

  He put a hand on her thigh, pressed. When she nodded, he pressed her other leg. “Move your feet for me, Laura. Okay, good.” Part of his throat opened again when he saw her feet move and flex. “You’re a little banged up, that’s all.” And in shock, he noted, studying her pupils. And in pain. “I’m going to get you up.”

  “My shoulder.” She tried to reach for it, fought off a wave of nausea. Black and boiling nausea. The pain was unspeakable, and even breathing threatened to make her retch. “Did I break it?”

  “No, just knocked it out of joint.” His hands were clammy when he closed them over hers. Blood oozed from a dozen gashes he didn’t even feel. “Done it myself a couple times. Hurts like hell. I’m going to be right back, okay? Just a couple minutes.”

  “No, don’t—” The wrenching pain slammed into her. She tried to move away, escape it. Sweat pearled on her face and her eyes went glassy.

  “Okay, hold on.” He couldn’t leave her like this, in shock and pain. Simply couldn’t leave her here, suffering. He could fix it—though the thought of what it would take out of both of them churned like acid in his stomach. “I can pop it back in. I’ll hurt you, but it’ll give you relief. You’re better off with a doctor, though. Just hanging on until I can get—”

  “Please.” She closed her eyes. Agony was an icy white knife digging into muscle and bone. “I can’t think. I can’t think over it.”

  He shifted, braced himself beside her. He wiped a hand over his mouth, smearing blood. “Don’t think. I want you to scream. Let out one long, loud scream.”

  “What?”

  “Scream, goddamn it.” He held her down with one hand, took a firm grip on her arm, hissing when her eyes opened wide and stared into his. “Now.”

  She felt the jerk, the sick roll of it echoing in her stomach. And white again, white-hot. Then nothing.

  His hands were slick with sweat and blood, slippery enough that he nearly lost hold. His stomach churned as he watched her eyes roll back, felt her go limp under him. Gritting his teeth, he snapped the joint into place. Then his breath whooshed out and he lowered his brow to hers.

  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He did lift her now, cradling her in his arms, rocking them both. He lost track—ten seconds, ten minutes, he had no sense of time passing until she stirred again.

  “It’s all done, don’t worry.” He pressed his lips to her hair, buried his face there until he managed a greasy grip on control. “It’s better now.”

  “Yes.” She was floating. Pain was everywhere, but it was dull now, throbbing almost gently in her limbs. “It’s better. I can’t remember—what happened? An earthquake?”

  “It knocked you off, onto the ledge.” Gently, he checked her head. The bleeding had stopped, but he worried over the lump and the broken skin. “You’re going to have some champion bruises.”

  “Knocked me off—my God.” She turned her face into his chest, shivered. Off the cliff, nearly into the sea, she thought. Onto the rocks below. Like Seraphina. “How bad? The house—the horses? Oh, Michael, the girls.”

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It wasn’t a big one. I don’t want you to worry.” He’d do that for both of them.

  Now that he was calmer, he was taking stock. The quake had shifted rock and earth. There was nothing left of the rough path leading back up. He’d have to leave her, climb back up and get ropes.

  “Let me look at you.” He studied her face. Too pale, he thought, and her pupils were still dilated. “How’s your vision? Blurry?”

  “No, it’s fine. I have to see if the girls are all right.”

  “They’re fine. They’re with your parents, remember? In Carmel.” She was lucid, he told himself. Her pulse was rapid but strong. “How many fingers?”

  “Two,” she said and gripped the hand he’d held up. “Annie, the house—”

  “I said everything’s fine. Trust me.”

  “All right.” She closed her eyes again and let herself float. “I fell off the cliff.”

  “That’s about it.” He pressed her hand to his lips, held it there until he could speak again. “Now, listen—I’m going to have to leave you here for a couple minutes. Then I’m coming back and I’ll get you up.”

  “You have to leave me.”

  “You can’t make the climb. I want you to lie right here, stay still. Promise me. Laura, open your eyes and look at me. Promise me you won’t move until I come back.”

  She looked at him. “I won’t move until you get back. It’s cold.”

  “Here.” He stripped off his denim jacket, laid it over her. “That’ll help a little. Just relax now. Relax and wait for me.”

  “I’ll wait for you,” she murmured.

  The world seemed to revolve in slow motion. She watched him rise, turn. Confused, she saw him scale the cliff, his hands and feet finding purchase, showering down little cascades of dirt. She smiled dreamily, thinking he looked like a hero scaling castle walls.

  Was he saving her from the tower? Climbing up, so high, to kiss her awake? No, no, he was leaving her, she remembered. He was leaving her, she thought dully, and watched, too buffered by shock to feel alarm as he slid five full feet down the cliff face. She watched as he swung a hand up, dug in with bare fingers, and fought his way up the rough, unforgiving wall.

  He was going away, she thought, but he would come back for her. He’d come back, then he would leave again.

  When he reached the top, he stared down at her. His eyes seemed oddly close again, as if she could reach up and touch his face. Then he was gone, and she was alone.

  He’d left her. He didn’t want to be part of her life any longer. Or to allow her to be part of his. He would come back, she didn’t doubt that he would come back and do as he’d promised. But she would still be alone.

  And she would survive, Laura thought. Because there really was no other choice. She hadn’t leapt from the cliff. She hadn’t tossed her life aside. Fate had pushed her, but she would survive that as well. And go on.

  Poor Seraphina. Drifting a little, Laura turned her head. She hadn’t fought for life, hadn’t survived. And had lost all of her dreams.

  A tear trickled down her cheek, in sympathy, in sorrow, and as she turned to brush it away, her gaze fell on the small, dark hole in the wall of the cliff.

  A cave? she thought hazily. There was no cave on this ledge. The rocks had moved, she realized, and sighed a little. Everything had moved. She inched her way toward the opening. A secret place, she thought. A hiding place. A lovers’ place. She was smiling as she pushed herself up, sat, smelled—surely she smelled the faint scent of a young girl’s perfume.

  “Seraphina,” she murmured even as she reached her hand i
nside the opening and laid it on the polished wood of a chest. “I’ve found you. Poor Seraphina, lost for so long.”

  She continued to speak, and if the words were incoherent, there was no one to hear. She knelt, waited for her head to stop spinning, and tried to drag the chest into the light.

  “Laura, goddamn it.”

  Her smile soft, her eyes vague, she lifted her face and saw him atop the cliff. “Seraphina. We’ve found her. Michael, come and see.”

  “Stay put. Stay just where you are.”

  It was the hit on the head, he thought, and worked rapidly to secure the rope to the horn of Max’s saddle. She was disoriented, confused. His heart drummed in his throat at the idea that she might try to stand. She might fall before he could get back to her.

  “Hold steady,” he ordered Max, then played out the rope. He went over the edge with more speed than caution, the rope burning his wounded hands and the cliff striking out to punish him.

  His ankles sang when he landed, and his breath came fast. But he had her again, hard against him. Safe.

  “You promised not to move.”

  “Seraphina. In the cave. I can’t get it by myself. It’s too heavy. I need Margo and Kate.”

  “In a minute. Let’s get this on you.” Working fast, he looped the rope around her. “You’re not going to have to do anything but hold on to me. Max and I will get you up.”

  “All right.” She didn’t question it. It was all so simple, after all. “Could you get it out for me? Just out here in the light. It’s been in the dark so long.”

  “Sure. Now I’m going to lift you up. You look at me, nothing but me.”

  “I will—but the chest.”

  “What chest?”

  “In the cave.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll—” But he glanced over at the gesture of her hand. And saw the dull gleam of brass against wood, the shadow of shape. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Seraphina’s dowry. Would you pull it out into the light?”

  It was small, no more than two feet long, a domed box of cedar fitted with brass hinges. And no more than twenty pounds, he judged as he hefted it out. A simple box, un-carved, yet he could have sworn he felt something as his hands closed over it. Heat where there should have been none, a faint vibration that tickled his fingertips. It lasted only a moment, no more than two heartbeats, then it was just a small chest fashioned out of smooth wood and brass.