Her thoughts were interrupted by Bea, who had returned from the cafeteria.
"What's happening?" Bea asked, hurrying toward her.
"Taylor's heart has stopped!" The moment she uttered the phrase, she lost control of her emotions.
"Oh, dear God!"
Rose fell into Bea's warm embrace and wept, her heart breaking. She had expected Taylor to get better. All along she had thought that she and Taylor would have more time to spend together, had intuitively sensed that their lives were meant to cross and intertwine. But he had been part of her life for less than a week. And now he was gone. Gone forever.
"This is all because of me," Rose sobbed. "If it hadn't been for me, he would be all right."
"Don't say that, Rose," Bea replied, patting her back. "He chose to get involved. He wanted to help you."
"I never should have let him."
"You had no choice, Rose. He was a determined young man. He did what he wanted to do. He cared for you very much."
"But I'm responsible for this. And for Donald's death. And my own father's, as well. Why am I still alive?" She backed away and stared at Bea. "I'm the one who should be dead!"
"No, Rose. Those men died defending you. They had their roles to play, as you had yours."
"And what was my role?"
"To be the first woman ever to escape Seth's ritual—by breaking the chain and freeing yourself and all the others of Seth Bastyr. Without you, there will be no more Bastyrs."
"Have I freed myself, though?"
"You've passed your twenty-first birthday, haven't you?"
Rose brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I guess so. But what about Seth? Where did he go?"
"I don't know. And I don't care. All I'm concerned about is your future. You have a future now, Rose. Do you realize that?"
Rose gazed at the carpet, her vision swimming with tears. "I don't know if I want a future that doesn't include Taylor."
Bea stroked her back. "It might be heartless of me to say this, but Taylor isn't the only man in the world, dear. There will be others, believe me."
"Not for me. Taylor is special." She raised her head and crossed her arms, hugging her chest to hold back her tears. "He's just got to pull through!"
Twenty minutes later the attending physician emerged from Taylor's room. Rose watched his expression go blank as he closed the door and knew in an instant that Taylor was dead. She observed the doctor as he crossed the tile floor toward them, and it seemed to Rose that an hour passed before he stopped in front of them and put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. It seemed as if another hour passed before he opened his mouth and confirmed her fears. His words slurred together, bombarding her senses with snatches of sounds. Cardiac arrest. Blood clot. Electric shock. All they could do.
Rose felt herself go limp at the news. Taylor was dead. It wasn't possible. But Taylor was dead. Rose heard her own voice thanking the doctor for his help, heard Bea informing the doctor of Taylor's next of kin, heard the doctor asking if she would like to say goodbye to Taylor.
She dragged herself across the hall and over the threshold.
Rose closed the door behind her, never taking her gaze off the long, still shape in the bed. All the life-support equipment had been cleared from the room, and the tubes had been taken from his nose and wrists. He lay with his eyes and mouth closed, and looked so peaceful that it appeared as if he were sleeping. They had removed the hospital gown when trying to revive him and had left it off, leaving his naked body exposed from his abdomen upward. The rest of him was covered with a sheet. Even in death his body appeared powerful, with his wide, muscular shoulders and well-developed arms in full view. Rose looked at him through a sheen of tears and wished that he were sleeping and that if she called to him he would awaken and turn at the sound of her voice. But Taylor would never move again. He had given his life to save her.
She put her purse on the table next to his bed and sank down on the mattress beside him.
"Oh, Taylor!" she whispered, wiping away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
The familiar unruly strand of black hair fell over his forehead. With a trembling hand she lifted the strand and smoothed it back over the rest of his glossy hair. His hair and scalp were already cool to the touch. She drew her hand down the side of his face, following the scar that lined his left cheek.
How she longed to look into his eyes once more, to see the smoldering fire of his pirate's gaze, but his eyes were forever closed to her. She caressed the side of his face, unwilling to leave him and unable to say goodbye.
"I love you," she whispered, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Wherever you are now, Taylor, I love you."
Sobbing, she draped herself over his chest, pressing her cheek against the side of his neck, hugging him with ail her strength. How would she live without him? How would she ever forget the way it had felt to melt from the inside out when Taylor held her? She tightened her arms around him, but the embrace gave her no comfort. Taylor's arms didn't surround her in warmth, his heart didn't beat against her skin. Everything that Taylor had been to her had vanished, leaving a shell that looked like him but wasn't him at all. Rose drew back, feeling empty and devastated, and wished she had never hugged him.
She gazed once more at him. She wouldn't say goodbye. She just couldn't say it. She still couldn't believe he was gone.
Her face was wet with tears, and a drop hung from the tip of her nose. She would have to pull herself together before she left the room. Rose fumbled in her purse for a tissue, and it was then that she saw the edge of the scarf protruding from the side pocket.
Seth had said the scarf would bind her to him for all eternity. Was it a magic scarf, as magic as the emeralds had been? Would the scarf bind any two people together, or just Seth and his bride? Could the scarf bind her to Taylor? It was worth trying. In fact, the scarf was her only hope. Sniffing, she reached out and pulled the scarf from her purse. It slipped out, falling in a shimmering indigo-and- silver cascade over her knees.
Rose looked at Taylor's body. Wherever he was, she wanted to be with him. If she couldn't be with him in life, she would follow him into death, since living would be meaningless without him. Without Taylor, all she could see ahead of her was a bleak existence filled with sorrow and numbness. Bea was wrong—no man would measure up to Taylor, and she would never be satisfied with anyone else.
All along she had been destined to be Taylor's bride, and she would follow that destiny, though it meant giving up her life on Earth. Slowly, Rose got to her feet. She would wrap herself and Taylor with the silk and give herself over to the magic of the scarf, be it good or bad. She would live with Taylor or die with him—but either way she would be together with him forever. The scarf draped nearly to the floor as she held it up with both hands.
Rose closed her eyes in concentration, trying to come up with a prayer powerful enough to invoke the magic of the scarf. She decided to keep her prayer simple and sincere—for what could be more potent than the truth in her heart?
"May this scarf bind us together—Taylor Wolfe and Rose Bastyr—through all time and eternity."
She waited until the words died out and then lay down beside Taylor, carefully pulling the shimmering silk over them. A strange tingle passed through her. She closed the spaces between her body and Taylor's by draping her arm across his chest and snuggling into the small of his shoulder. It felt right to be with him like this. She slid her leg over his.
Rose closed her eyes as a strange lassitude swept over her. She felt as if she had been drugged. Was this the way death came—creeping up on silent velvet feet? She lay beside Taylor and languished in the sensation of utter peace and love. The scent of the sea and wind wafted through her consciousness. She felt her fears lifting, her memory of Seth and Brierwood fading, as if blown away in a breeze. Slowly, like the first rose of spring opening to the sunshine, joy blossomed inside her, and she smiled.
EPILOGUE
Off the coast of C
alifornia
Rose stood near the rail of the Jamaican Lady and pulled the silk scarf from the pocket of her skirt. The wind picked up a corner and unfurled it, snapping it nearly out of her hands. She held it aloft, watching as the warm California sun glimmered off the silver swirls. For a long moment she gazed at her handiwork, never more beautiful than when illuminated by the rays of sunset. Then, knowing she would never see the greatest work of her career again, she released her hold. The scarf billowed upward, caught on an air current just above the waves. The silk sailed through the air like a magic carpet, never touching the water, glinting in the dying sun, until it disappeared from view.
Rose sighed and felt Taylor's warm arms come around her. She leaned back against his chest, still marveling that he was here with her. After covering him with the scarf in the hospital, he had miraculously revived. The doctors had labeled it a misdiagnosis. But Rose was convinced that it had been a miracle, brought on by the enchanted silk scarf and her love for a very special man.
Even more miraculous, he had emerged from death without a wound on his leg or the scars on his face, as if he had been released from a curse brought about by his mysterious connection to the Bastyrs. She wondered if he had been part of the cycle of the ritual in another lifetime, perhaps a lifetime during which she had loved him. It would explain the sensation of deja vu and his strange familiarity. It would explain the strange dream in which he had called her Constance and she had called him Nathaniel.
She still couldn't get over the way he appeared without his scars and limp. Now she was seeing him as the Taylor Wolfe he had always been—confident, capable and strong—and she didn't stand a chance against his physical beauty, even if she had wanted to fight her attraction to him.
She remembered her mother's letter and the explanation of the scarf, in which Deborah had claimed that Rose would forget everything once Seth draped her in the silk and made her his bride. Yet the scarf had not taken away her memory at all, perhaps because she had been the one to call upon the magic.
Slowly Taylor turned her around to face him. For a wonderfully long time he kissed her, languishing in the first privacy they had enjoyed since leaving the hospital. The days since his release had been spent traveling with Bea and his mother, and then in a short stint at the Wolfe mansion in San Francisco as the ship was readied for a trip to the Sea of Cortez, where he and Rose would spend their honeymoon. They had been married only a few hours ago, standing before a judge in a quiet ceremony, with only Bea and Ruth in attendance. The quick, quiet wedding disappointed Ruth, but Taylor was adamantly against turning their nuptials into a social event. Besides, neither he nor Rose had wanted to put up with the time it would have taken for elaborate preparations to be made.
He remembered gazing at her before the ceremony and shifting his vision to check her aura once again. The black spot that had branded her aura had disappeared, just as Seth had vanished. Yet he still worried about her and knew he would keep on checking her aura each day in the years to come.
Finally he drew away and reached into the pocket of his shorts.
"It's my turn," he said.
Taylor held up the strange smoky jewel, which glinted in the light of the sunset.
"Time to get rid of Seth."
Rose linked her arms around Taylor's trim waist. She knew now that his embrace was a precious gift and one she would never take lightly. "So you think Seth is trapped inside the emerald?"
"Yeah. That was the power of the emerald all along. It could imprison Seth Bastyr's aura. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to trap him."
"You mean to tell me there's a man inside that rock?"
"Man? No." Taylor shook his head. "Seth Bastyr was no man."
"What was he, then?"
Taylor gazed down at her. He tilted her chin upward and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Let's just say that Seth was a bad dream, Rose. Just a bad dream."
Then he released her and flung the emerald as hard as he could. It sailed through the air, flashing in the dying sun, and finally dropped into the waves, disappearing from sight. Taylor watched it without speaking.
Rose glanced up at him, honoring his grim silence with a silence of her own. She remained standing at the rail with her arms around Taylor and her head resting on his chest. She would never tire of his vibrant warmth.
"Well, that's the end of the Bastyrs," he murmured, stroking her hair.
"Not quite. There's still one left. Me."
"Not anymore." He smiled. "You're a Wolfe now." He urged her toward the hatch leading to the cabin below. "And if it's all right with you, Rose, I don't really want to hyphenate our last name."
"You don't?"
"No. I think Rose Wolfe sounds just fine."
"Rose Wolfe." She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled at the newness of the name, glowing at the mere concept of being his wife. "Yes. That sounds absolutely wonderful to me.
She let Taylor guide her to the cabin, which smelled pleasantly of teak and wood oil. As she flowed into the room, Edgar hopped onto her shoulder. Taylor took exception to the raven's company.
"Uh-uh," he said, shooing Edgar away. "Three's a crowd."
"Taylor—"
"I'm not sharing you with anyone tonight," Taylor retorted, running his hand over her rear. "Not even Edgar."
Cawing in protest, Edgar flapped down the hallway. Taylor shut the door and raised his black eyebrows. Rose felt a thrill course through her. She and Taylor had not made love since that first time, more from circumstance than choice. And now that the time had come to join together as man and wife, she felt a thrill of anticipation laced with apprehension. Rose backed up until her legs bumped into the bunk behind her.
Taylor grinned and took off his shirt.
"It's warm down here," he said.
"Oh?"
"I could use a cool drink. How about you?"
"Yes." She nodded, anxious to prolong the time until she had to face the moment of truth. "A cool drink sounds great."
Taylor strode to the side of the bed and pulled a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice. She hadn't even seen it sitting there.
"Nervous?" he asked, handing her a tulip glass full of bubbling champagne.
"No." She sipped the drink and quickly broke eye contact.
"Liar."
She glanced up at his handsome face. He was smiling at her, and his black eyes sparkled with warmth.
"I never thought we'd make it, Rose," he said, sobering. "I never thought we'd live to see this day."
"You almost didn't."
"So I've heard."
"And I've never thanked you, Taylor, for saving my life."
"It was my pleasure." He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked so deeply into her eyes that she melted all the way to her toes. "I'd go to hell and back for you."
"You already have." She touched his lips with her fingertip. "What can I do to ever repay you?"
"As to that—" Taylor tilted his head and smiled down at her, his black eyes smoldering with love as he drew her against him "—I've got a few ideas, Brier Rose."
THE HAUNTING OF BRIER ROSE Copyright 1993 by Patricia Simpson
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9840412-0-6
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Other Books by Patricia Simpson
Whisper of Midnight
The Legacy
Raven in Amber
Lord of Forever
The Haunting of Brier Rose
The Night Orchid
Lord of the Nile (Purrfect Love Anthology)
The Lost Goddess
Mystic Moon
Just Before Midnight
Jade
The Dark Lord
The Dark Horse
The Last Oracle
Spellbound
The Risk
The Haunting of Brier Rose Page 25