by Glenda Diana
WAITNG FOR YOU
By Glenda Diana
Published 2003
ISBN 1-931761-59-0
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright (c) 2003, Glenda Diana. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com
Email:
[email protected]
Cover Art Howard Hopkins
Editor Chera Dunne
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Waiting For You
Angels from Heaven
Witches from sin
A powerful need
Of love within
A cry for freedom
In a world unknown
To have what you want
The love of your own
The years that past
Yet no time flew
And here it is
Still waiting for you
--Genesis D. Martin
Preparation
In a world that has never been perfect there are many societies, races, clans and tribes. Some dwell on mortal ground and some in the higher realm of the universe ... and then there are those that tease and tantalize the knowledge of mortal men.
Ahhh, but mortal men have, from the beginning of time, condemned that which they do not understand. It is said that it is a normal function in humans ... but then it is also said that ignorance is bliss. Mortals have a way of confusing fact and fiction and tend to believe the rules and preaching of Saints and scholars long dead.
Portraits and scribes that have aged and yellowed are held in the utmost reverence, as are relics that some say came from the beginning of time. So what do the teachings of mortal's show us? That not one of them has grasped the full concept of existence, the presence of more than just the black and white and gray areas, and that the world is filled with many fools waiting for their chance to express their simple-mindedness.
Can mortals wipe their minds clean from all that has been mentally rooted inside them? 'Tis so much easier to remain short-sighted than to let your vision grow, than reaching out past the end of one's nose to see the world with eyes of new-eyes free from prejudice, free from ill-formed concepts that fill thousands of scrolls, books, fantasies and nightmares.
Can they enter a world where an order of life exists other than that which their leaders have proclaimed to be true? An order of life that is not colored by the teachings meant to frighten those not wise enough to decipher truth from fiction. A world that differs in emotions and culture. A world where love is cherished by some and shunned by others. A world not so different than their own.
Can they step from the world as they know it and enter a world of the unknown?
A world where mortals have never dared to tread, where time has no meaning, where things are not always as they appear, where war comes and death awaits those unlucky to lose in battle and where two societies exist beyond the fabric of human conceptions.
Here is where the story begins. It is set to the time standards of mortal man. It is a story that takes place on earth, but not the earth you know.
I must forewarn you-this is a story of love and not of who was born of witchcraft and who was the wearer of angel wings.
Chapter One
1801
A world where time has no meaning ...
Firm hands massaged her, awakening her body to tremors of ecstasy. Burning lips traveled down the length of her neck, first nipping at her skin then licking to soothe and tantalize her more. Down and down the hot lips moved, until the scorching heat engulfed one straining nipple. A soft, urgent moan escaped her. She could feel his hard body moving to cover her own. When she reached out to pull him closer, she heard the soft, deep rumble of his laughter.
He teased her, making her burn with desire. She wanted to hold him and to touch his heated skin. Her fingertips barely brushed against him and she thought she would surely die from the simple joy that suddenly filled her.
The scent of him was an elixir that drugged her senses. Clean, masculine and desirable. She wanted, needed to taste him. She licked her dry lips wishing it were him she sampled. The hot wetness of his mouth continued downward. Across her ribs, to the slight rounding of her stomach. Then she felt the soft fanning of his breath against her wetness, causing her to stir restlessly. Her hips raised, trusting upward, seeking what it wanted most ... fulfillment. Tears misted her eyes as he held back. His deep laughter penetrated her aroused state of mind again.
Slowly, she felt him press forward into her heat. Oh yes, this was what she wanted above all else. Her legs opened wider for him as her need to feel him in the very recesses of her body increased.
Still he held back, torturing her with his teasing. She cried out in frustration. Then she felt the moisture of his mouth. Her heart pounded. She held her breath as she silently begged for all that he would give. Never did she want this moment to end. She wanted to ride the wave of rapture for all eternity ... with this one man.
Startled from sleep, Arysa sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her breast. She shivered as cool air brushed against her heated skin. Frantically, she glanced about the room, searching each corner, each shadow to see if 'He' was lurking somewhere in the room.
A nervous laughed escaped her. She was losing her mind. It had been a dream, nothing more. With a trembling hand she wiped the sweat from her brow and shivered again. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood, hesitating for just a moment to see if her shaky legs would hold her. Picking up her thick robe, she pulled it on and tied the belt at her waist. The soft material felt warm and comfortable against her naked skin.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to life. Another shiver threatened to make her legs give out and send her tumbling to the floor. He wasn't there ... but the other one was. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned, letting her eyes move slowly about the darken room.
"Why are you in here?" she asked in a quivering voice.
There was a moment of deafening silence. "I heard you," came the deep raspy voice.
"Heard me?" Arysa tipped her head slightly as her eyes bored into the darkness where the voice had come from.
"Your moans and whimpers. I thought perhaps you were ill again."
Moans and whimpers? Arysa's face turned hot with embarrassment. Sweet almighty, she was glad for the darkness now. "I'm fine," she whispered, mortified.
"I know."
There was a mocking tone in his voice, one that she had come to recognize over the last month. She turned away from him and climbed back in bed, pulling the covers up over her. He had been there watching her as she tossed and turned naked upon her bed, lost in the world of the most erotic dreams she had ever experienced ... or were they? She couldn't really say. What memories she had were only a month old. Before that time she couldn't exactly say what she had done, what she had dreamed or for that matter, who she was.
One month ago she had awakened in this very bed with not one clue as to how she got there or where she was. But he, Mr. Zebual Bayne, had proclaimed to know exactly who she was and then went on to say that it was all rather simple. Simple for whom? Certainly not her, Arysa thought. He had declared that this was her hom
e and that it was only reasonable that she should be there seeing as how she was his wife.
That announcement had certainly taken her by surprise. She didn't believe him then and she didn't believe him now. Why? There were so many reasons. If she had been married to this man surely she would remember him, wouldn't she? He didn't look the least bit familiar. She had studied him for the past month looking for some hint of recognition and found none.
Zebual was a man of few words. At times he could frighten her with just one look and at other times she felt a tug at her heart for the pain he was suffering.
He was, in truth, an ill man. He secluded himself away in his room during the day and only came out to visit with her in the evenings. She knew that her stares unnerved him and made him feel self-conscious, but she couldn't help it.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Arysa jumped slightly. "I believe you already are in," she mumbled.
"Ahhh, I see you awoke good natured."
"Mr. Bayne, I find my good nature sorely tested by the thought of you watching me while I sleep. If that irritates you, then I apologize. Am I to have no privacy?"
"You are my wife and for that reason alone I can watch you at any time I like."
Arysa's temper began to heat. "You say that I'm your wife, but until I remember, I say I'm not. Show me proof and I'll believe you." She thought it was a reasonable request, but obviously he didn't for he always grew angry when she brought it forth.
"All the proof you need is before you."
"Which is?" she asked without pause.
"Me, Madame. I'm all the proof you need. And let's not forget about the household staff. They each know you as my wife."
Arysa bit the inside of her cheek. He had her on that one. Of course it wasn't like he had a big staff to run Syra Manor. There was Justin Meadows who was Mr. Bayne's secretary and friend. He was a handsome man that stood well over six feet, with brown eyes and hair of golden blond. He seemed friendly, in a reserved sort of way. He also had a way about him that irritated her. It seemed as if he were waiting for her to do something wrong.
Then there was Mrs. Reed the housekeeper and cook. She was a short round woman with silvery eyes and irony-gray curls that bobbed beneath the old cap she wore. She was a dear old woman that fussed over Mr. Bayne like a mother hen when his illness took a spell.
Next were Hanah and Tairam, the household maids and their husbands Edmond and Reese. Hanah was a buxom maid with hair as red as fire, light green eyes and a face full of freckles. Tairam was slimmer in appearance and had hair of gold and dark blue eyes. Both young women couldn't have been much older than twenty and both were short of stature, barely reaching their husbands' shoulder. And though she had only been around them a few times, both women went out of their way to be friendly toward her.
Hanah's husband Edmond wore his black hair overly long and had dark brown eyes. Reese wore his brownish blond hair just a few inches shorter than Edmond's and had eyes of aqua. Arysa estimated that both men had to be a few years older than their wives and both appeared lean and well muscled.
Mrs. Reed explained that the men worked in the stable and took care of whatever repairs were required. Neither man had spoken more than a dozen words to her. They would smile and then scurry away, as if they were afraid to be caught talking to her. But when asked, they each declared her to be Mrs. Zebual Bayne.
"Who is to say that you didn't pay them to say that they know me?"
His dry laughter echoed through her room. "As clever as always. But on this you are wrong. We have gone over this time and time again." His laughter ended. "I tire of it."
She could see his dark shape move forward and she steeled herself against panic. It wasn't that he frightened her in looks, but more in the air that seemed to crackle between them. "I can't help it," she whispered.
"I know, Arysa," he sighed coming to a stop and turning away so that the moonlight coming through the window wouldn't fall upon him. "I'm a stranger to you."
Again she felt her chest tighten and ache at the sound of his voice. In the last month his health had grown worse. She remembered her first sight of him. She had thought him to be quite handsome in a strange sort of way. He had seemed so tall and broad of shoulder and yet much too thin. Thinking back on it now, it seemed that at first his hair had been white yet it had a great deal of black mixed within it. He had slashing black eyebrows over light blue eyes ... eyes that seemed to burn through her with each glance. His nose was long and elegant and his mouth at times seemed hard and unrelenting even when he attempted to smile, which wasn't often.
But over the weeks she had noticed his decline in health. Though his eyebrows were still black, the hair upon his head had turned almost completely white. His skin had taken on a translucent look and seemed to shrink upon his skeleton frame. His clothing hung from him. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes, making them appear as if they were shrinking inside his skull. His lips looked parched and dry. In all honesty, he looked as if he had just climbed from his grave.
He went out of his way to stay hidden from her, choosing to stay in the darkness and shadows. He thought that his appearance would frighten her more. He was wrong. It wasn't his looks that made her turn from him, it was his determination that she should remember.
To her knowledge, there were only two things she truly feared. The first were all the unknowns she faced each time she awakened or looked at her own reflection in the mirror. But even more than that, she feared pushing him too far. He could grow weary of her and decide to toss her out of his home. Then what would she do? She knew no one outside the stone walls of this home. She wasn't even sure exactly where Syra Manor was located. From the windows of the Manor all she could see was grass, trees and open space. It didn't appear as if there was another home within miles. Besides, if she did leave and was asked who she was, the only name she knew herself by was the name he called her.
Her thoughts halted as she watched him move back toward the door that connected their rooms. She could barely see him through the darkness. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and his steps seemed overly heavy.
"Are you all right, Mr. Bayne?"
He didn't answer. Instead he entered his room and closed the door between them. For several seconds she stared at the closed portal. She hated the thought of chasing after him, but liked the thought of him being ill and unattended even less. Though she didn't believe she was in fact his wife or that she truly belonged here, she couldn't ignore the fact that he had been kind to her.
Tossing back the blankets, she climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the closed door. Pressing her ear to the panel, she held her breath and listened. Nothing. A chill came over her and almost sent her scurrying back to her bed. If he were to die, what would she do? Where would she go? Another chill shivered down her spine.
Taking a deep breath, she put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. His room was dark and she could barely see the outline of the furniture in the small seating room. To her right was a small bar area lined with an array of decanters. Before her sat one long settee and two matching chairs arranged in front of the stone hearth. She could see the door to his bedroom was open. Taking a step forward, she paused.
"Go back to your room, Arysa."
Her heart slammed inside her chest when she realized he was standing near the hearth. The darkness concealed him from sight. "I will, once I know you're all right."
"Surely that can't be concern I hear in your voice?"
"Don't be an ass, Mr. Bayne. Of course I'm concerned about you."
"Why? No, never mind. Go back to your room and leave me."
She was tempted to do just that. "I will in a moment." Arysa took another step toward him.
"Nay, now. I don't want you in here."
Arysa didn't listen to his growling demand, instead she kept moving forward until she was standing in front of him. Even though he was leaning heavily against the mantle of the hearth he still stood much taller than he
r own height. "Let me touch your brow."
"I don't want you touching me!"
She was taken back by the force of his words. A foolish desire to kick him came over her, but she controlled it. If he wasn't ill she would take action on her foolishness, but he was. Without further words, she stood on tiptoes and reached out to touch his brow. Her hand was caught, his long fingers curling around her wrist in a tight hold.
"We can stand here all night if you wish, but I'm going to check you," Arysa stated in what she hoped was a no-nonsense voice. His fingers felt like bands of ice against her skin and she fought down the shiver that was threatening to take her.
"You're as stubborn as always," he mumbled, before moving her hand to his brow.
The skin on his face felt rough and dry and cold. "You need to get beneath a pile of blankets. You're much too cold."
"That's not at all what I need, Arysa. Now, go back to your room."
"Fine!" she snapped out, jerking her hand from his. "I show some concern and you act as if I did you some wrong. I'll go back to my room and you, sir, should do as I suggested before you catch your death."
With that, Arysa turned on heel and stomped back to her room, slamming the door between them close. Jerking off her robe, she climbed back in bed and pulled the blankets up around her. It wasn't like she could force her care on him. If he liked being ill, then who was she to offer him help? Only his wife or so he said. Huh! She fumed and closed her eyes.
Zebual stared at the closed door. She was right. He was acting like an ass. None of this was truly her fault. It was his. There were so many things he should have done differently, both in their past and now. He should have never told her that she was his wife. He should have given her time to adjust. She didn't know him, hell, she didn't even know who she was. But he was running out of time. Time was a luxury to some, but for them it was a matter of life and death.