Waiting For You

by Glenda Diana

  Arysa nodded and pushed her plate away. "If you'll excuse me."

  Zebual watched as she left the room. With a sigh he gathered their plates and placed them on the cart. It took some effort, but he managed to push the cart out into the hallway. She was still a mystery to him. He should know all there was to know of her, but instead she confused and confounded him at every turn. Kindness, he hated that word. He had given her the bloody damn journal, so why was she still putting on a performance of enjoying his company? It was enough to anger him and worse yet, it sickened him.

  It wasn't that he objected to her kindness, not if it had been given freely, but she had wanted the journal and therefore thought that she had to continue with her pretense. It was a cruel twist of the knife, he thought, staggering into his bedroom. He couldn't rightfully blame her for the condition he found himself in. She truly didn't understand.

  Arysa bathed and then dressed for bed. Curling up beneath the blankets, she opened the book and began reading. Grandma Campbell was a complex woman, she thought going over the pages that she had already read. It seemed that her main goal had been to protect her granddaughter from all those that lived outside their home. Grandmother and granddaughter loved each other very much ... they were in fact companions and friends.

  The description of the small cabin had Arysa trying to imagine how wonderful it all must have been. Grandmother Campbell had written how much she loved flowers and how she and her granddaughter had planted wild flowers beneath each window and how that each gentle breeze filled their home with the flower's sweet aroma.

  She also wrote about how the floorboards squeaked and how the wind whistled through the chimney on cold bitter days and how the bees hummed merrily outside her window as she watched the leaves fall.

  Every line was like poetry and yet Arysa had a feeling that each had a specific reason for being written. As if the older woman had knowledge that one day her words and recollection would be needed. Closing her eyes, Arysa desperately tried to picture the little house that sat deep in a forest of tall trees. The old dirt path the wound its way to the creak of bubbling water. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing came to mind ... only the words.

  Tears filled in her eyes, as she continued her efforts toward bringing a memory forward ... any memory. Grandmother Campbell wrote that her granddaughter had a fiery temper and a wonderful, if not, cutting sense of humor. Zebual's words came back to her. Was she the granddaughter of Grandmother Campbell? If only she knew.

  The grandmother also wrote about her fears. Stating that she knew she didn't have much time left and she feared leaving her granddaughter alone. Arysa lowered the book. Alone ... she knew exactly how that felt and it wasn't something she would wish on another soul. Oh, she had Zebual and the rest of the staff here at Syra, but she was still alone ... so alone that she didn't even know who she was.

  Arysa picked up the book and began reading again. It seemed that Grandmother's fears were not meant to be. Her granddaughter fell in love. The young girl liked to walk out among the trees late at night. Grandmother wrote that her young charge had fallen in love with a man that visited the woods ... a man that would steal her heart and seal her fate.

  Arysa noticed how the words broke and how the lines slanted oddly and she had also noticed several smudge marks in the ink. Smudges that looked strangely enough like small splash marks. Tears, Arysa thought, as she dipped her finger into the dry splotch. Had they been tears of happiness or tears of sadness? She read the last entry and then reread it again.

  "It breaks my heart. Happiness and love could be within reach and yet doom waits on the threshold."

  Laying the book aside, she turned the light off and pulled the blankets up around her. She had read the entire book and she was no closer to finding any clue as to who she really was. The hope of it uncovering her locked away past was in vain. No wonder Zebual didn't have any apprehension about her reading it. The journal was simply a book written in love and to serve as a memory to the love of a grandmother to her grandchild.

  Zebual moved farther into the dark room. Light from the moon shed only a dim glow to the outlines. His stomach clenched as he fought down the urge that was threatening to consume him. Soon, he had to end this soon or he would die. What good would he be to her if he should die some meager unassuming death?

  Nay! He shook his head back and forth as he grabbed hold of the nearest object. The heavy dresser swayed with the force of his hold. He had to continue fighting. He had come too far to give up. If it took his last breath then he would gladly give it, if the cause were she.

  He would not give in. He would not lose this battle. There was only one thing that could save him and he had not even attempted to claim his life force as of yet. But it was inevitable that he would have to or die as a leaf dies upon a tree.

  The enemy had not found them ... but he knew it was just a matter of time before that occurred. He hated to admit that he wasn't prepared and that frightened him. How could he prepare when he was so weak he could hardly move from one room to the next?

  Closing his eyes, he concentrated on holding back the craving within himself. Soon, it would break loose from his hold and have its rein firmly in hand. But he would fight as long as he could, hoping that his patience would in the end be worth everything he had sacrificed.

  *~*

  "Is there something that you need?"

  Arysa had been steadily watching the large black beast in the last stall. The animal was obviously wild, she thought before turning to face Justin. "I was looking for you."

  "You're not going to start insulting me again, are you?"

  "I don't care overly much for your humor," she mumbled. "Zebual said that we had been ... friends before my loss of memory. I find that hard to believe."

  "Why?"

  Arysa's gaze moved around the stable and again ended upon the giant horse. Even from where she stood at the front of the stable she could see puffs of air shoot from his nostrils with each wild snort and whine he gave. "How could I be friends with someone I dislike?"

  Justin leaned against the nearest stall and smiled. "You might not like me now, but before you did."

  "Before I lost my memory? Yes, of course, no wonder my mind had chosen to forget the life I lived."

  "You weren't unhappy here."

  Arysa turned to look at him. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, no twitching of humor playing at the corners of his mouth and no anger or rancor in his voice. "What made me happy here?"

  "You loved and were loved in return."

  "Such a simple answer."

  "But one that's true." Again he smiled. "Did you ask Zebual about your memory loss?"

  "Yes, I did. He offered to tell me soon if I don't remember on my own." She moved toward the first stall and then on to the next. Each held a beautiful horse within its confines. "Which horse is Zebual's?"

  "The one on the far end."

  Arysa's gaze immediately went to the black horse that was now in the process of kicking the stall doors and making them shudder with the impact. "That horse is wild. How could he have ridden such a creature?"

  "He's not wild," Justin replied. "He is just excited to see you. He could smell your scent the moment you entered the stable."

  Arysa looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. "You're not by chance telling me that I stink, are you?"

  "I didn't say I could smell you. I said he could. He remembers your scent."

  "Obviously, you've made a mistake. I don't think he likes me at all."

  "He wants you to come to him. Let him sniff your hand before he breaks the stall door down."

  Arysa looked from Justin to the massive horse. He was waiting for her to balk at the idea of getting next to the beast. She would've loved to accommodate him, but she was too stubborn. She moved forward an inch and then another, hoping to gain a little courage, yet it seemed the closer she got the more it eluded her.

  Tentatively, she started to reach out so the beast could sn
iff her. So help her, if the snorting brute took a bite of her, she was going to do bodily harm to Justin. She knew that she couldn't go against him fairly, but there were other ways.

  "I should warn you, he is quite fond of giving little nips," Justin stated, moving closer.

  Jerking her hand back, Arysa scowled at him.

  "Just a little nip."

  Turning her attention back to the beast, she took a deep breath. Slowly wasn't the way to go about this, she decided, looking into the large black eyes. To go slowly would not only take too bloody damn long it would also be hell on her nerves. Taking another deep breath, she thrust her hand out and closed her eyes. She could feel the warm steamy breath as it fanned out over her palm before he nuzzled it and then quite abruptly nipping her. Arysa jumped back, cradling her hand.

  "He's telling you that he missed you."

  "I believe he needs to learn a different method of showing his displeasure," she muttered. He was a beautiful steed, she thought. Stepping back up, she reached out her hand again and then smiled when he hung his head over the stall door so that he could nuzzle the side of her face. For a moment she feared that he might try to nip her face, but he didn't.

  "What's his name?"

  Justin smiled. "Nightstar. Would you like to take him out for a ride?"

  Arysa shook her head. "No, I don't know how to ride."

  "Yes, you do," he laughed.

  "I don't remember," she whispered, nuzzling her own face against the black velvet feel of Nightstar's neck.

  Justin was silent as he watched the pair. It was obvious that she was frightened to ride, but he didn't know how to ease her fear. "I could teach you."

  Dropping her arms to her side, Arysa stepped back away from the stall. "Maybe later," she murmured.

  He watched as she quickly left. She was the same and yet there was something different about her. Perhaps once she gained her memory she would return to the same vivacious woman she had once been. She was still the spirited sort only now there was an uncertainty and shyness that hadn't been there before.

  "What did you think of the stables?"

  "You have some beautiful horses." Arysa wasn't surprised by Zebual's question. It seemed that her every move and every word from her mouth was reported to him. She didn't like the feeling that came along with that knowledge. "If you want to know everything that I do within the hours I'm away from you, all you have to do is ask. I don't appreciate the household handing in daily reports on me."

  Zebual stared at her reflection in the window. This was his preferred way of gazing at her ... he could watch her and yet she wouldn't have to look at him. It was so much easier this way.

  "Stop gawking, Zebual," Arysa said, as she shuffled the cards she was holding. "Come sit down here next to me."

  "I'm fine."

  Arysa lowered the cards as she raised her head. His back was to her, but she knew he was watching her reflection. "Either come sit down with me or I'll come stand at the window with you."

  He saw her place the cards to the side and start to rise. She was going to carry out her threat. Dear Heaven, he wanted her to, yet he didn't. Pulling the curtains closed, he moved away from the window. A drink was what he needed. He could only hope that it would ease his pain, the gnawing hunger and dull his senses. He wanted to laugh; it would take a decanter or two to achieve such a goal.

  Arysa noticed how his hand trembled as he poured himself a drink. A sharp pain pierced her chest at the sight of him gulping the liquid down, as if it would give him strength. If only it could, she thought. Though, his body was weak, his spirit was strong. She had seen it at work each night. Just eating the few bites of his food took a great deal of strength, but it was the hours they spent together before and after each meal that it showed the most. He would try his best to find things to occupy their time together, like having her read to him or playing a game of chess or cards ... all of which consisted of her not having to look at him.

  As he refilled his glass, Arysa moved up to stand at his side. Instead of facing the same direction as he as she usually did, she faced him. "I heard someone upstairs again last night."

  Zebual had the glass halfway raised to his mouth, he paused, not because of her words but because she was staring at him. The trembling in his hand increased, forcing him to lower the glass. "I didn't hear anything," he mumbled, turning slightly.

  Arysa moved around him so that she was facing him again. "I did."

  Zebual gritted his teeth and turned yet again. "Don't look at me!"

  "Why?"

  "I told you before that all you are hearing is the wind or some creature roaming around up there."

  "I meant to go up earlier and check it out, perhaps I should now." Turning away, she headed for the door that connected their rooms.

  "I told you that I don't want you up there after dark."

  "I'll only be a minute," she said just before disappearing into her room.

  "Blast it!"

  The sound of glass breaking had its expected results. Arysa ran back into the room to make sure he was all right. He was still standing at the bar. The hearth was filled with spitting flames and the sound of sizzling. Moving farther into the room she could see where he had thrown the glass against the side of the hearth. The sprinkles of liquor were causing the flames to rise higher and shards of glass covered the floor.

  "There was no need to throw a tantrum," she murmured, as she picked up a small pail behind the bar.

  "Leave it!"

  Arysa ignored him. He was upset simply because she was going to defy him. Arrogant, obnoxious and dominant, Zebual Bayne had all these nasty traits. "I don't like being yelled at. We would get along much better if you tried using a reasonable tone." She knelt down and began picking up the chunks and slivers of glass.

  Zebual approached her somewhat unsteadily. "I said leave it," he muttered, trying not to raise his voice, but it was taking extreme effort on his part. "You'll end up cutting yourself."

  When his hand touched her shoulder, Arysa jumped and did indeed cut herself. She glared up at him. "I wasn't in danger of hurting myself until you came over here."

  "Let me see how deeply it's cut."

  "I can take care of it myself."

  When she started to move away, he caught her hand in his. He knew if she wanted she could easily pull away from his weak hold and there was nothing he could do about it. But thankfully, she didn't. Blood was dripping down her hand. Touching the sides of the wound, he noticed that it didn't seem to be overly deep.

  "Go clean it and put something on it to stop the flow of blood," he rasped out, as he released her hand and turned away.

  Arysa shook her head at him. "I was planning on doing that when you interfered. If you knew you were squeamish at the sight of blood then why did you have to look at it?" Not waiting for him to reply, she headed back to her room.

  Zebual had the urge to shake his head over her ridiculous conclusion. Looking down he saw the blood on his fingers. Him? Squeamish over the sight of blood? Where did she get her ideas? Hesitating for just a moment, he raised his hand to look at her blood, then he licked it from his fingers. Bending down, he wiped the small blotches of blood from the glass and again licked it free from his finger. The bitter, iron taste lingered on his tongue.

  He could hear her moving about in her room. Glancing up, he let his red glazed eyes linger on the doorway, before closing them. On staggering legs, he moved back over to the bar and poured himself another drink.

  Arysa entered his room and paused when she saw the filled glass in his hand. "You don't plan on throwing anymore glasses, do you?"

  "I might. Why?" he rasped out.

  "If so then I'll wait on cleaning this up. There's no sense in having to do it twice."

  "Humor is not exactly what I need at this moment, Arysa. And if you plan on cleaning up the glass then please use the small broom and dustpan beside the hearth. I don't want you hurt further."

  "What you need, Zebual, is a swi
ft kick in the seat of your pants and if you weren't a sick man I would be more than happy to give it to you."

  "And what does that mean?"

  Arysa picked up the dustpan and broom and began sweeping up the glass. "It means that I'm sick of you turning away from me every time we're in the same room. You're the one that practically ordered me to spend my evenings with you and then you constantly avoid having me look upon you when I get here."

  "If you don't want to spend time in here with me ... "

  "Don't interrupt me!" Arysa tossed the glass into the hearth and turned around to face him. "I didn't say that I didn't want to spend time with you. What I am saying is I'm tired of you avoiding me, turning away, and shouting at me not to look at you." She took a deep breath. "I look at what I want and I'll do what I want. Do you understand me, Zebual?"

  "I think you're overwrought," he muttered. "Good night."

  Tossing the broom and dustpan aside, Arysa stomped past him. She'd be damned if she'd tell him good night. He didn't care to be civil any other time so why should she? There was a strong urge to tell him just what he could do with his words, but she was too much a lady ... or least she thought she was. "Hell," she muttered beneath her breath. She wasn't sure what she had been.

  "I said, good night."

  For a reply, she slammed the door closed with a resounding bang. Stripping off her clothing she tossed them over a nearby chair and slid the nightgown over her head letting it settle against her skin. She had just climbed into bed when she heard the sound of footsteps in the room above hers.

  Slipping from the bed, she picked up the key and tiptoed over to her door. She opened it just enough so that she could squeeze through it. The last time she had done this Zebual had caught her because she had been trying to be quiet and go slowly, this time she wouldn't make that same mistake. Taking a deep breath she ran down the hallway, not stopping until she reached the stairway that led to the third floor. When she reached the door at the top of the stairs she found it locked. Taking the key, she inserted it and then winced at the grating sound that it made. If there was anyone up here they now knew someone was coming.