Waiting For You

by Glenda Diana

  "If we can learn to control your arrogance and my temper, right?"

  With a grunt, he managed to sit down on the side of his bed. He jumped slightly when she knelt in front of him. He stared at the dark crown of her head as she removed his shoes. He tipped his head to the side and held his silence. When she started to remove his socks, he tried to pull his foot away. "You don't have to do that."

  Arysa looked up at him. "You can't very well get comfortable this way."

  "I'm still capable of undressing myself. But I thank you for your consideration."

  For a moment she thought about arguing with him, but then changed her mind. "Is there anything else I can do for you before I return to my own room?"

  Zebual grunted and shook his head. "I would like you to report to me if you hear sounds upstairs again. I don't want you going up there at night."

  "I was only thinking ... "

  "Arysa," he interrupted. "It was most likely just the house creaking and settling or perhaps some kind of rodent running about. During the day I care not if you go up there, but please speak with me before you decide to journey up there in the dark of night."

  "All right. I'll come to you should I hear any more sounds."

  Zebual took her hand and tried his best to assist her to her feet. He was weak, yet he felt more alive tonight than he had in a long while. "Get some rest, Arysa and I will see you tomorrow evening."

  "Good night," she murmured.

  Zebual watched as she left his room. He listened as her feet crossed the floor and then he heard the door between their room's close softly. With some effort, he moved back on the bed and stretched out. Closing his eyes, he smiled. He would bet his manor that Arysa hadn't remembered that she was dressed in a nightgown of somewhat sheer material. He could have looked at her throughout the night. She was by far the loveliest creature he had ever seen.

  Sometimes existing could be most unfair, he thought, releasing the mental images of Arysa that had formed in his mind. Time was running out and he was slowly wasting away. Waiting ... it seemed he had been waiting for eternity for the healing balm to his very existence. Now, he was so close and that knowledge made him grow impatient, yet he could do nothing to help himself ... or alter what must come.

  "So, when does the week start?"

  Zebual had been staring out at the darkening sky or at least trying to, but Arysa's reflection kept drawing his attention. He didn't have to ask what she was referring to, he knew. She was worried about the damn journal. He had Mrs. Reed to thank for this particular situation. The woman was more of a hindrance than help in this matter. He had told her to keep her silence, yet she had let her jaws flap on about things that should have waited.

  "Last night," he finally answered. "Other than trying to abuse me with the washcloth, you took very good care of me and I thank you."

  Justin suddenly looked up from the papers he was going through. His eyes moved from where Arysa sat to Zebual's stiff form.

  Arysa raised her head and smiled at Zebual. "I apologize for trying to abuse you."

  Her smiles should have calmed him, but they had the opposite effect. He could feel the beast in him stir to life. Turning away, he studied the dark shapes of the trees that surround Syra. Darkness was falling, filling their branches with its presence. Night seemed so peaceful to some but to others it was a curse that couldn't be shaken ... then again, the same could be said for daylight.

  Again, his gaze caught on her reflection. The long black braid hung over her shoulder as she absently played with the ends of it. Memories tried to forge their way through, but he held them back. Yesterday was gone. Today, tomorrow and the days that followed were the days that mattered. But they were also days that were numbered.

  "I'm through for the night." Justin gathered his papers and stood. "I'll give you a report tomorrow on the funds and such."

  Zebual nodded. "Excellent. Good night, Justin."

  "Yes, good night, Justin. It was a pleasure to share your company tonight." Arysa smiled when his brown gaze narrowed on her.

  "And yours, Arysa." With a stiff nod, Justin left the room.

  "You should not tease him."

  Arysa laughed. "Tease him? Are you sure that's possible? The man is overly serious and besides, I do believe he dislikes me."

  "He doesn't dislike you. He's just not sure how to interact with you now."

  "Because of my loss of memory? Well, that's silly. Its not like I can torture him or put some vile curse on him."

  Zebual turned his gaze away from her.

  "Come sit down with me. You'll tax your strength standing there."

  "I haven't much strength to tax, my dear."

  Arysa laid her book aside as she stood. "Even more reason, don't you think?"

  Zebual pulled the drapes closed and turned to face her. "When I say that it's best not to know what I think, believe me, it is."

  "I believe you," she replied, as she took his arm and coaxed him over to the settee. "I've enough problems trying to figure out my own mind and thoughts. I don't care to delve into the mystery of the male gender and how their thoughts are constructed or devised."

  "You're not by chance making another reference to me being arrogant are you?"

  "Goodness, no." She laughed with a wide-eyed look of innocence. "That would be like you referring to a temper that I don't have."

  With a grunt, Zebual looked away from her and her smile. Such beauty ... he gazed at his hands and shuddered. Her beauty and his decay. How could she stand to look at him and smile? "Turn the lights down!"

  Arysa's smile faded at the sound of his command. Reaching over, she turned the light down low. She took her seat at the opposite end of the settee. Silence fell between them as Zebual closed his eyes. She knew he hated for her to look at him, knew that was the reason why he shut himself away during the daylight hours. Questions filled her mind, but she didn't voice them.

  "You can go on to bed."

  "I ... see," Arysa murmured. "Done ogling me for the night?"

  Zebual raised his head. "Ogling, my dear?"

  "Yes, ogling!" she snapped. "Do you think I can't feel your eyes watching me all the time I'm in here? Is that what you were referring to when you asked for one week of tenderness from me? To watch me, study me and analyze me? What is it you want from me, Zebual?"

  Zebual chose his words carefully, not wanting to say anything that might lead her into other thoughts and accusations. "If I watch, study and appear to be analyzing you, then it's for only one reason. I can't seem to help myself. Does that satisfy your rising temper?"

  "I think there's more to it than that. I think you have some ulterior motive."

  "Like you?" he asked, softly. "I believe it's the journal you're after, isn't it?"

  "Go to hell," Arysa muttered, coming to her feet.

  "Ahhh, but you see ... I'm already there."

  "What you are is infuriating! If my so-called temper has cooled off by tomorrow evening, I will see you then. But if not, then you still have your darkness to hide in and your self-pity to keep you company!"

  His head pounded with the slamming of the door. The night had not ended as he had hoped, but nothing was turning out as he had hoped. He should be slowly gaining his strength and yet he felt weaker tonight, as if he were just surviving on the fumes of life.

  It was his fault. He had wanted to hide in the darkness, but who could blame him? It was his own self-preservation that made him act the way he did. The thought of her lovely emerald eyes gazing upon him turned his stomach. In his mind's eyes he could see her gentle and youthful hands touching his arm as she guided him to the settee, knowing that beneath her hand lay nothing but bone, weakening muscles and a thin, dry layer of skin ... all of it made him hungry and yet sickened.

  Arysa slung her discarded dress across the room before jerking on a satiny pink nightgown. All right, so she did have a fraction of a temper. But it was Zebual's behavior and rudeness that created it. She was actually having a nice e
vening in his company until he decided to play the brute. She had been amazed at how quickly her nerves had settled upon entering his room. She had even grown accustomed to the feel of him watching her every move. But she was not some object that he could display and then send away when he grew tired of looking at her. The man had a lot to learn, she fumed, as she climbed into bed. If he were in truth her husband then it was no wonder she was trying to forget her past.

  Chapter Five

  She moaned softly when his lips followed the same path as his hands. A hot shiver shot through her when his tongue licked down her spine. Fire spread through her, as his teeth gently scraped against her quivering flesh. The small little bites acted like wind to the flames he had begun in her.

  Down he moved. She thought she would surely go mad as he continued to lick and bite the globes of her bottom. "Please," she panted as she felt his tongue slide into the dark crevice.

  "What is it you want?"

  "To touch you," she whimpered.

  "Soon."

  A tear slipped from her eye.

  "Lift yourself," came his soft command.

  She was helpless when it came to him, she thought rising to her knees.

  "Are you ready to fly with me?"

  She nodded her head, as another whimper escaped her lips.

  "Come with me ... stay with me ... forever."

  Arysa found herself standing in front of Connor's portrait the next afternoon. She stared up at the face, studying each stroke the artist had made in constructing the hardened face. Was he the man that entered her dreams? She felt rather foolish to even ask that question to herself, but it had been a nagging thought for the past few weeks. The man that haunted her dreams was vigorous, strong and exciting ... or at least that's the way he seemed to her. The desire to touch and know him did not end upon awakening; instead it lingered in her throughout the day.

  She continued to study the portrait, her gaze moving down the length of the man. Again she wondered what he had been like. Most likely, he had caught the heart of every woman came into contact with, she thought with a smile. Zebual, she decided, got his arrogance from this particular ancestor. The artist had captured it and displayed it like some cloak of honor. Without a doubt, she wouldn't have gotten along any better with the Lord of the Manor than she did with Zebual.

  Turning away, she walked down the corridor that led back to the main entrance. Zebual was a complex man. He wanted her to care for him, yet he wanted to stay hidden from her sight. Obviously, his arrogance and conceit was larger than she had first thought. His reference to the journal had stung with its truth. She did want the book, but yet that wasn't her main purpose in showing him concern. Other than a few misunderstandings, raised voices and anger at certain times, he had in the most part been very kind toward her.

  Pity was not a motive either, though if asked Zebual would probably state that was exactly what it was. Instead it was a strong feeling of something else ... something she couldn't quite define with a word. All she knew was that she wanted him well, wanted to see him as he must have been once, before the sickness had ravished him. And she wanted to be the one that brought a real smile and laughter to his life.

  "There you are," Mrs. Reed called out from the entrance to the dining hall. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away."

  "I thought about it," Arysa teased back. "I was up late with Zebual."

  "How's he doing?"

  Arysa could hear the worry in the older woman's voice. "Your guess is as good as mine," she murmured. "Just when I think that we can actually get through a night without arguing, he proves me wrong."

  Mrs. Reed shook her head. "'Tis a shame, is what it is. Used to be so different here."

  "As in?" Arysa asked truly curious.

  "The Manor use to be filled with laughter ... and love."

  Arysa noticed how Mrs. Reed's cheeks turned pink and how her hands suddenly began fidgeting with her apron. "And what happened to end it?"

  "Can't rightly say, lass," she murmured. "I have your meal prepared for you. I was just coming up to get you so that it wouldn't go to waste."

  It was a hint and not a very subtle one, that if she wanted to know more about the Manor then she would have to speak to Zebual. "Good. For some reason I feel extra hungry this morning," Arysa smiled and breezed by the older woman.

  "Glad to hear it. I made you an omelet, fried potatoes, fresh rolls and I sat out a container of my gooseberry jam."

  "Keep this up and you'll have me spoiled, Mrs. Reed."

  "Everyone needs a little spoiling from time to time."

  "Tell me, has Zebual always stayed to the darkness ... hiding from everyone's view?" Arysa asked, as she entered the kitchen.

  Mrs. Reed's steps slowed. "I don't know what you mean."

  "I think you do." Arysa took a seat and turned her full attention on the cook. "From what you have told me, Zebual has a magnificent stable, stocked with the best horseflesh there is."

  "And that's the truth," Mrs. Reed replied, with a lift of her chin.

  "Then it only stands to reason that at one time he liked to ride those magnificent creatures, right?"

  "Of course, he did. He's a fine horseman ... or was until the sickness."

  "There's no need in getting defensive. I was just asking." Arysa waited until Mrs. Reed placed a filled plate in front of her before making any further deductions. "Sit down and let's talk."

  Mrs. Reed again took her apron in hand and looked at Arysa suspiciously. "If you have questions, lass, I would suggest you talk to Zebual about them."

  "I was just trying to see if I remember the man Zebual used to be," she murmured. "He claims I'm his wife, yet I don't remember him. I thought perhaps if you told me something about how he was before, I might recall."

  "You are his wife, lass. I'm sorry that you don't remember, but the truth is the truth and nothing can change that. Tell me, what do you think of Zebual?"

  "As in?" Arysa asked, quirking her brows.

  "His looks."

  Arysa took a bite of her food, as she thought over the question. She remembered her first sight of him upon wakening to this unknown world and then she thought of how he had looked last night. "I think, he can be a nice man when he wants to be. But as to his appearance, his illness is taking its toll on him."

  "Would you believe me if I told you that once he was the most handsomest of men?" Mrs. Reed asked, filling their cups with hot tea.

  "Like the portrait of Connor?" Arysa asked innocently, for Mrs. Reed had caught her several times standing in front of the portrait.

  Mrs. Reed nearly choked on the scalding liquid. "If I agreed with you, you'd only laugh at me," she murmured.

  "Actually, you can see Zebual's good looks, if you look close enough. He just needs to get well. Perhaps then he will be the handsomest of men again."

  Mrs. Reed fidgeted with her cup for a moment before raising her eyes to Arysa. "I don't know, lass," she murmured. "Even Hanah and Tairam seemed frightened of him. At times I think they'll swoon just being in the same room as him. He's all bones, thin skin, sunken cheeks and haunting eyes. I fear he'll never be the same again."

  Taking a bite of the honey-butter roll, Arysa studied the older woman. Mrs. Reed was correct in her description of Zebual, but it angered her to think that anyone would show fear in front of him. The only thing that would serve would to be to push him further into the darkness where he lived now. "How else would he look with this sickness he has?" Her words came out soft, but even she could hear the undertone of irritation. "What he needs is to be cared for and that's exactly what this household should be doing ... caring for him."

  "You've taken up his cause, I see. 'Tis what he needs most ... you."

  Arysa put down the roll she had been buttering. "Wrong, Mrs. Reed, what Zebual needs is all of us. Together we'll make him well. Tell Hanah and Tairam that if they don't like the sight of Zebual then to stay clear of him. I don't see where there should be a problem with that. They
do their cleaning in the daytime, while Zebual doesn't start moving about until dusk. I don't want his feelings hurt because of them. I can't understand their reaction to him, they have been here longer than me."

  "But you don't remember what he looked like before, they do."

  Arysa waved away that bit of nonsense. "Just be sure to tell them."

  "I will." Mrs. Reed nodded. "You've always had a tender heart and you've always been protective over those you care about."

  Arysa bit her tongue to stop her heated words. Instead she asked, "Do you know who else has a key to the third floor?"

  "Just you and Zebual."

  "I think there must be someone else as well. I heard someone walking around up there last night."

  Mrs. Reed had been in the process of taking a sip of her tea, but she slowly lowered the cup. "You heard someone on the third floor ... last night? Are you sure?"

  "I'm positive. Zebual hadn't heard the noise so he wouldn't let me go and investigate it."

  "You woke Zebual to tell him?"

  Arysa watched as Mrs. Reed clasped her hands together, as if to stop them from shaking. "No. The noise woke me and I was going to see who was up there, but Zebual stopped me. He told me that it was likely the wind or perhaps a rodent making the noise. I still say someone was up there."

  Mrs. Reed got up from the table and started busying herself around the kitchen. Arysa took a small bite of potatoes and chewed slowly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

  "Nothing," Mrs. Reed murmured, stirring the contents cooking on the stove.

  "Fine," Arysa sighed. "After I'm done eating I'll be going to the third floor to make sure everything is in order."

  "Maybe you should wait." Mrs. Reed looked over her shoulder, her eyes making contact with Arysa's briefly before she turned away.

  "I don't see why I should."

  Laying the spoon aside, Mrs. Reed's head dropped forward for a moment and then she looked up, her eyes focusing on the wall in front of her. "Did you ever think that maybe the noises you heard were caused by a ghost?"

  "Ghost? And what ghost would that be?" Arysa could tell by the expression on Mrs. Reed's face that she wasn't going to answer. "Let me guess ... Connor?"