AGAIN
Diana Murdock
Chapter 1
Eryn scrubbed intently at the residue baked on the casserole pan, as if doing so would uncover some sort of hint. Her head ached from the tight knit of her brow, and still she was no closer to an explanation.
For the fourth time that week, the date on her computer was off. Way off. Hell, by like 500 years. January 1501 to be exact. It didn’t matter that she kept changing the computer clock to the right date and virus scans kept coming up empty. January 1501 would be there every time she turned on the computer.
It was too big a coincidence that the glitch had started the day before the dream. Unlike her other easily forgotten dreams, this one was different. This dream wouldn’t let her forget. It invaded at will, regardless of what she was doing. It would press against the back door of her mind, pushing until the door gave way.
The mundane task of washing dishes was certainly no match for the dream now. It merely nudged everything out of its way and played center stage again, as if it had a life of its own.
She and Bryce were sitting at a table somewhere. His words were a simple request. “Look at his eyes,” Bryce said. “They look like stars.” Eryn studied the calm face of her husband. Normally so jealous and possessive, it was totally unlike him to ask her to look at another man - and even stranger for him to make such a poetic statement - so she could hardly resist. Eryn turned to face the stranger sitting next to her. But he was no stranger. Well, she didn’t know him in the conventional sense, but he was familiar somehow. She knew him from…where? She couldn’t be sure. A slight shift in the air around them whispered his name…Jonathan. She let the name brush across her lips as her gaze slid over his clothes. His shirt, she thought, was the kind that a pirate would wear. It hung loosely over his broad shoulders and tucked into black pants, and the shirt’s billowing sleeves flowed down his arms and closed snugly around his wrists. The sun-darkened skin of his face, chest, and hands contrasted sharply against the whiteness of the shirt. Thin laces across his chest were lazily tied, granting her a glimpse of the strong muscles underneath. Her nails bit deep into her palms as she fought the urge to trail her fingertips down his chest. Somehow she knew exactly what it would feel like. Smooth and powerful. Her gaze slid upwards. She loved the way his dark brown hair fell freely, a little past his shoulders, brushed back from the smooth skin of his face. His hair had a bit of a wave to it, adding to the thickness of his locks. The curve of his lips was kind, and at the same time, so sensual. His amber eyes, fringed with thick, long lashes, were warm and gentle. And they sparkled. Yes, she thought, definitely like stars. He sat there quietly while she looked into his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything. She could feel he loved her - and she loved him back. She just wanted to stay there forever, looking into those depths. There in those eyes she felt at home, safe and accepted. Those eyes held so much, almost as if they were keeping memories for her, things he wanted her to remember. But he would be patient, she knew, until she was ready.
And one of those memories managed to find a way into her mind. Just one. Like a seed dropped into fertile soil, it grew quickly. A dawning of sorts gave way to realization. She drew in a quick breath as it became clear. He was the one she had given her soul to so many centuries ago and it was in that moment she realized that he still had her heart. His smile grew wide as he saw that she understood. She suddenly felt embarrassed to stare so long. She dropped her gaze for a moment and when she looked up again, he was gone.
Tom Petty’s music rattled her cell phone to life behind her and Eryn’s attention jerked back to the bright-lit kitchen. She stood at the sink, her limp hand now barely hanging onto the soapy dishrag. Outside the bay window, the sun was breaking over the rooftops across the street, throwing long shadows across the grass, the rich blue skies deepening in color with each passing moment.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Eryn dropped the dishrag and dried her hands on the back of her shorts. She yanked on the knot holding her hair from her face and let the long, soft strands cascade down her back in a downpour of bronze before picking up the cell phone. Her brows pressed together into a frown. With her mind still saturated with the dream, it was hard to focus on the incoming phone number. She gave up and flipped the phone open.
“This is Eryn.”
She held her hand out to touch Bryce’s when he walked into the kitchen. A hint of a smile managed to find its way to the corners of his lips, but only after she mouthed good morning to him.
Silence on the other end of the phone, begging for some kind of response, drew Eryn’s attention back. She had no idea what had been said.
“Can you just fax that to me and I’ll look it over?” Eryn asked.
Their fingertips brushed lightly as Bryce walked past her. She sighed. Their marriage seemed solid enough, but there were definitely things about it that lacked. It was too hard to explain, even to herself. It was nothing tangible, just some underlying current she couldn’t quite grasp.
Eryn absent-mindedly adjusted the strap of her tank top. “I’m sorry, what was that?” She pressed the phone hard against her ear. “Yeah, that’s fine. Hey, when do you have the decorating crew coming out?”
Her attention wandered again as she watched her husband pour his coffee. Where Eryn’s beauty complemented any space she stood, Bryce’s body completely possessed the room. Strong, yes. Silent, yes. Commanding, definitely. And he looked good. Today he wore his jet-black hair slicked back, the ends loose. His black button-down shirt hugged his impossibly strong shoulders and rode the line down his slim waist and disappeared into gray pants. The role of the successful, most sought-after young architect suited him well. He handled everything in his personal life like he did his work - deliberately and calculated. Even the task of pouring his coffee. Always in control.
A big breath escaped her again. Too much control, she thought. “I’m sorry. I was distracted. What was that again?”
Bryce turned his head slightly as he locked onto her conversation.
She grabbed a pencil and paper and turned to the counter before Bryce could see her face. “Ten o’clock. Friday. Great. Okay. Thanks. Bye.” She scribbled a few more notes while things were still fresh in her mind, trying in vain to focus on something other than Bryce. During the entire time they’ve been together, she always felt like he harbored some kind of resentment, maybe some anger towards her, but for what, she hadn’t the slightest idea. She did whatever she could to make him happy, but it never seemed enough.
Two deep breaths later, she turned to face him. She knew he would be standing exactly as he was now, leaning against the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his cup to his lips. He looked at her as if she was a jigsaw puzzle and he was trying figure out where to place the next piece. She hated it when he did that. It made her feel uncomfortable, like maybe she did have a piece missing.
Intent on distracting him, she gestured across the kitchen. “Your breakfast is warming in the oven.”
He made no attempt to move or even look away. “Going to have to pass today. Meeting with some builders this morning.” A perfect mix of blue and gray, his eyes refocused.
An exasperated breath rushed over her lips. “You passed on breakfast yesterday.” She walked back to the sink and resumed scrubbing the casserole pan with a vengeance. “And the day before and the day before,” she mumbled under her breath. She didn’t mean for him to see how annoyed she was, but she couldn’t help it. He never asked for breakfast. She just wanted to make it for him. But this was the third time in a row he refused it. Still, as annoyed as she was with herself, she knew she’d probably do it again.
“I did, didn’t I?” He took a few swallows of his coffee before pushing away from the counter. “I’m sorry.” He reached arou
nd her and placed his cup in the sink.
Her mood sagged a notch to resignation in one heavy breath. “You don’t need to apologize.” She dropped the dishrag into the sink and turned to face him. Her pale blue eyes held no challenge to his gray ones. “Really, you don’t. It’s my fault.”
His hands slid down the length of her arms until he held her hands in his. Stooping a little to level his face with hers, he said, “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you did.” He took her silence as understanding. “I don’t always have time to sit around and eat.”
“You could take some time off,” she suggested, but she knew it was pointless to have said it. He seemed perfectly content to immerse himself in his work. “Sorry. Stupid thing to say,” she mumbled, and turned away.
He cupped her chin in his hand, turning her back, giving her no choice but to look at him.
She hated it when he gave her no choice.
Intense focus darkened his eyes. “I’m doing this for you. For us.” He held her face until she nodded in acknowledgment. “Good.” Releasing her, he grabbed his keys and wallet from the counter and headed towards the garage. “Don’t forget about Montgomery this morning,” he said over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him, sharply cutting off his reality from hers.
It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the atmosphere around him could change so fast. Predictably unpredictable.
With her lips pressed together in a tight line, she tried to reel in her thoughts. Don’t do it to yourself. Don’t do it. Eryn closed her eyes tight against the tears that burned. I’ll never get used to this, she thought.
She never knew exactly where she stood with him. A long time ago she convinced herself she was willing to wait, but now she finally had to admit defeat. Defeat in a battle that would continue as long as their marriage did. What went wrong? She pressed her fingers to her temples. Were we not meant to be together? Where did the love go? She straightened up and turned to the kitchen window. The brightness of the morning was starting to fade. The fog was rolling in like a smoke screen, eating up everything in its path, turning everything of which she was so certain of into gray shades of nothingness.
She now dared to think of the one thought she had been denying for so long. Maybe the love had never been there in the first place. Maybe this was all a big mistake.
For the second time that morning, Tom Petty yanked her thoughts back to the kitchen. Snatching up the phone and flipping it open, she answered. “This is Eryn.”
“Hello, this is Sonja from Mr. Montgomery’s office calling to confirm today’s photo sitting for Mr. Montgomery.”
Eryn tried to picture the type of person Sonja was. Perfectly composed face, impeccable makeup, long nails that were painted red. Probably a silk blouse smoothed over a nylon-mix fabric skirt. Older, trying to look younger. Eryn rolled her eyes at the image she conjured up in her head.
Corporate. Ugh.
“Yes,” Eryn dug her planner out of her purse and flipped the pages. “Let’s see. Tuesday. Right. I have him down for 1:00 this afternoon at my studio.”
Sonja reconfirmed the address before expressing a perfectly polished goodbye.
Biting her lip and drumming her fingers on the counter, Eryn stared hard at her planner, trying to concentrate on her schedule. She finally gave up and turned to face the thick gray that was drifting past the bay window. She shivered just thinking about being in the fog. The way it muffled and distorted everything, always gave her the sense of dreariness and gloom. Despite that, though, she loved living at the beach. Something about it just kept her there.
She glanced at her watch. Good, she thought. She’d have time to get in a run. The dishes can wait. She needed to get outside.
Her bare feet felt cool on the tile that stretched from the kitchen into the living room. The house, designed by Bryce, reflected his preference for open space and windows. Lots of windows. To Eryn, it lacked intimacy and had a certain coldness about it. The cream-colored furniture that dominated the house was broken up with blotches of bold color in the paintings, lamps, and sculptures scattered throughout the rooms. Bryce spared no expense. She felt guilty for not appreciating how much work he put into the construction and the elaborate furnishings, but sometimes she thought it was just too much. If she had her choice, she would be happy with a little cottage on the beach, something plain and simple.
Running her hand along the smooth mahogany rail as she slowly climbed the stairs, she remembered how often Bryce said he wanted her to have the best in life. The best of the tangible things, she thought, dryly. What about the things you can’t touch? Like unconditional love. Romantic love. The kind of love that makes your insides rage like an inferno only to be quelled by the waves of passion. The kind where you can’t wait to see each other again. When every touch and every glance means something. The same kind of love in my dream. She smiled as it drifted in and swirled around her mind again. She sighed. I could get used to a love like that.
She took the rest of the stairs two at a time to get her blood pumping. Only slightly winded, she breezed to her room and sat in the middle of the floor, stretching her long, toned legs in front of her, reaching well beyond her neatly manicured toenails.
Forming a mental checklist, she planned out her day. After her run she would take the portrait of Montgomery, grab some salmon from the store on the way home, edit the pictures and get them out in time for corporate approval so they could hang it up on the board members’ wall. He would be just one of a handful of board members she would be photographing this week. They were the heavy hitters at World Commerce Bank and her pictures would document their status for the world to see. Well, maybe not the entire world, but their world anyway. New pictures for a new building. The very building that Bryce designed. He worked hard to prove himself, but whether he wrapped himself around his work for her or because of her, she wasn’t completely sure.
She got up and stripped off her clothes. Brushing past the line of designer clothes she rarely wore, she headed for the back of the closet where her chest of drawers stood in the corner. This was where she placed her stash of favorite clothes - soft, worn, comfortable clothes. She pulled out a pair of black sweat pants, a sports bra, and a bleached-out sweatshirt.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” she said out loud. After she quickly threw on her running clothes, pulled on a baseball cap, and slipped into her old running shoes, she ran down the stairs.
A glitter of light caught her attention as she dashed past the kitchen, compelling her to slow her pace and stop. She knew what it was. She had seen it a hundred times. But since her dream, it had become another reminder. She looked over her shoulder at the crystal hanging in the kitchen window. It had taken hold of a few shards of determined sunlight and threw out flashes of white across the room. Like bursting stars. Like his eyes. Eryn let the delicious warmth of her dream run over her for only a moment before she stopped herself.
Run, she thought. Get out and run. But she knew that miles of running would never let her escape the memory of Jonathan’s eyes.
Chapter 2
The Year of Our Lord 1501
Emelie stopped short, catching her breath.
Lady Catherine turned and stared down at her maid. “What is it?” she demanded. The afternoon sun was too warm, putting Catherine in a slightly foul mood.
Not put off by her mistress’ tone, Emelie stood with fists clenched to her stomach, her whisper strained with excitement. “It is him, milady. The merchant Elizabeth and I spoke of.”
Catherine rolled her eyes at Emelie’s melodramatic air.
At fourteen, Emelie was perched on the edge of womanhood, and she took notice of any and all males. Compared to Catherine, one would consider Emelie plain. Where Catherine’s thick auburn tresses fell heavily over her shoulders down to her waist, Emelie’s fine, pale blond hair was braided and wound tightly about her head. Emerald green eyes adorned Catherine’s beautifully delicate face, while her maid looked at life throu
gh eyes of muted brown. Emelie’s still developing shape was flat in places where Catherine, at 17, had developed curved hips, rounded breasts, and long, shapely legs.
To humor the girl, Catherine turned her attention to the groups of village folk milling busily around the port where merchants regularly came and went to sell their wares, restock goods, or to wait out foul weather. Catherine often came here for the diversion it held as well as the variety of goods the many merchants brought with them from lands Catherine had never dreamed existed outside her world. It was here that her hunger for the finer things in life was often sated.
Lady Catherine and Emelie now stood on the fringes of a circle of village women crowded around one merchant in particular. Catherine followed her maid’s gaze to the man who stood alone before the titillated throng. Without effort, he lifted bulky rolls of fabric and displayed them for the women who stood shoulder to shoulder, two or three deep, constantly shifting themselves for a better view.
He reminded Catherine of the traveling performers who visited the castle from time to time - animated, carefree, playing to the crowd. The air about him was charged with energy. Standing a full head above everyone, but without a hint of superiority about him, his mere presence commanded attention.
Twittering laughter assaulted her ears. Catherine’s lip curled in annoyance as she looked upon the women before her. None of them seemed the least bit interested in this merchant’s goods. Young or old, it made no difference. All of them openly ogled this man and giggled like nervous girls. Some clung to each other as they swooned. Others blatantly adjusted their dresses in hopes of enticing him. It all seems incredibly carnal, Catherine thought contemptuously.
The merchant’s deep laugh drew Catherine’s eyes back to him as he leaned closer to one of the women, a large-breasted blonde. The woman looked at him from under lowered lashes, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. As he leaned closer to her, his dark, rich brown hair flowed easily across his broad shoulders while his unlaced white shirt with its billowing sleeves, revealed a well-muscled, smooth chest, with skin darkened by the sun. Catherine strained to hear his words, but they were smothered by the chatter.
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