by Glenda Diana
But her problem came in the form of how she felt toward him. At times she did her best not to analyze her feelings toward him, but then there were the times that she seemed to over-analyze them. She was, she realized, falling in love with him and that frightened her. At those times she would recall the promise she had made to herself ... to build a new future and yet she desperately clung to the mystic man of her dreams because of her fear.
"I see it's time for me to go to my room," she said impishly.
"If I promise to behave, will you play a game of chess with me?"
"You need rest."
"You can bring the chess board in here."
Arysa thought about refusing his suggestion for he did need to rest, but the expression on his face changed her mind. The loneliness practically glowed within his blue eyes and it stirred her emotions. "All right, one game. It's nearly three in the morning and you need rest."
"I promise, just one game." Zebual released her hand.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," she muttered, climbing down from his large bed. "One of these days, those soft looks of yours won't work."
Zebual watched as she left the room. Carefully, he pulled himself to a sitting position. She had done wonders for him already, though she didn't see the changes in him, he felt them and he felt alive with its glory. Over the last few weeks she had become attentive to him, making sure that she was there for him. Her compassion and care of him had in truth surprised him. It was as if she didn't see the shell of the man, but instead saw the man within the shell.
"Here we go," she said, carrying in the chessboard. "And remember, only one game."
Zebual held his hand to his heart as if swearing an oath.
Arysa gave him a skeptical look, as she settled on the opposite side of the bed. "Tell me, what did you do before the sickness?"
"I wandered."
Her green eyes searched his face. "Wandered?" she asked. "Was this before our joining or after?"
"Before and then again later."
"And where did you wander to?"
"Too far and for too long." Zebual answered softly.
"Another riddle?"
"No riddle, the truth." Zebual made the first move. "I've lived a long life that has been filled with searching, or so it seems."
"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking."
He watched her take her turn, as he contemplated his answer. "I don't mind you asking, if you don't mind telling me how old you think I am."
A soft smile slowly eased across her face. "I see. You're a very clever man," she said with a laugh.
Zebual shrugged. "Not so clever, but I would be interested in your answer."
"Sounds more like a trap to me."
"No trap, my dear. Just look closely at me and tell me what you think. Unless ... "
Arysa touched his hand. "Don't," she whispered. Knowing what it was he was going to say. His request was not out of vanity or any other such petty reason. He wanted her to see the man he saw himself to be.
Turning his hand, Zebual held her fingers. "It's your move," he murmured.
She squeezed his hand lightly. "What I see, is a man that has fought against a vile illness and a man who is winning. I see a man who is strong, a man that wants to live, a man that's determined and stubborn and good of heart."
"And as ancient as time?"
Arysa laughed. "I think you are younger than you appear."
"Why do you say that?"
She could tell her answer surprised him. "If you were so ancient then you wouldn't be thinking some of the thoughts that you do."
Zebual smiled. "And what thoughts would those be?"
"Definitely a trap." She laughed. "And you know exactly what thoughts I'm referring to."
"My dear, a man can be ready to die at any moment and still have those thoughts and desires. I believe I mentioned something along that line once before to you. It's the way us men were made. Shameful of me to admit, but none the less honest."
"Ahhh, so then I shouldn't take it personally," she teased.
His fingers entwined with hers briefly before he laid her hand aside. "If I answer that, you'll run off to your room and not finish this game with me."
It took Arysa a moment to understand and then her cheeks blossomed with color. "Perhaps, we should concentrate on the game."
"Excellent idea," he murmured.
It was over an hour later that Arysa lay in her bed thinking over their conversation. She was indeed falling in love, she thought with a sigh. Zebual reminded her of a lost little boy trying to find his way home, but the roads kept changing on him. His life was filled with fighting for another day. Nights saturated with darkness. A sickness that tried to beat him down. Loneliness that he wore like an article of clothing. At times he was abrupt, stubborn, ill natured and hot-tempered. At those times, he reminded her of a man who hated the world and the life that he led ... a man that didn't want to be seen or touched and especially didn't want pity.
At the beginning she had felt pity for him, but that had quickly changed into admiration. How could she not admire him for the strength of character that he had and for his will to fight? He was a man who deserved to be admired and appreciated. At first, he shied away from her kindness toward him, but within a few days he had settled into the tone she had set for their relationship. She still wasn't sure whether she was his wife, but that fact didn't seem to matter any more.
She never hesitated in telling him when he was acting like a spoiled child and in return he let her know that he thought her to be quite daft. Their relationship seemed to take the other members of the household by surprise, which to Arysa meant that they were not acting as they had toward each other before her memory loss. Often she wished she had some clue as to how they had dealt with each other, but then feared what she might find if she did remember her past.
Mrs. Reed harped and grumbled at Zebual as much as Arysa did. She would go out of her way to make the most tempting meals and then she would scold him when he only nibbled at it. One time Zebual told Arysa that as part of her duties she was to protect him from Mrs. Reed's wagging tongue. Arysa had laughed and told him that was his particular chore and that he could handle the older woman himself.
Arysa's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she heard the noise coming from Zebual's room. Climbing out of bed, she tiptoed to the door and quietly opened it. A blur of white had her stumbling backwards. In the darkness it looked like a white wolf, but common sense told her that she was as daft as Zebual thought her to be. Whatever it was, she had to go in and warn Zebual. Taking a deep breath she moved forward and then stopped at the sound of a low growl. The hairs on the back of her neck stirred to life.
She didn't dare to call out to Zebual fearing that he would startle the animal and it would attack. He would never stand a chance against a beast like that. Slowly, she backed up and then ran to her hearth, grabbing up the poker iron. It would be a puny weapon to use against some wild creature, but it was the only thing that was handy.
Again she entered Zebual's room. Passing the bar, the settee, until she was only inches from the doorway to his bedchamber. Her hands shook as sweat coated her palms making them slide on the poker. Quietly, she took a step forward and listened ... nothing. She took another and another, stopping each time to listen. She peered around the doorframe ... nothing moved. As quietly as she could, she moved toward the door leading to the bathing chamber, only to find it equally empty. The tension in her eased. Had she been dreaming? She didn't think so. Swinging around, her gaze narrowed on the bed and the darkness beneath it.
"You're not planning on braining me in my sleep, are you?"
For an answer, Arysa jumped and screamed.
"After you make me deaf first, right?"
"Damn, don't do that!" she shouted, pressing her back against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. " I swear, you're going to scare me to death one of these days."
Zebual ignored her remark. "What do you thin
k you're doing with that poker?"
"I saw something moving about in your room ... I thought ... well, I thought it was some wild creature come to gnaw upon your bones."
"And you were going to protect me. That was very thoughtful of you."
"Don't you dare laugh at me," she gritted out, as she stomped over to the bed where he lay. "I thought to save the beast from a case of indigestion."
Zebual gave a groaning laugh that didn't last long.
"Are you all right?"
"No."
Lying the poker iron aside, she moved over where she could just barely see his outline. Her hand found his brow and she felt the sweat that drenched his skin and the shiver that racked his body. Without saying a word she went to the bathroom and wet a cloth. Climbing up beside him, she began wiping his brow.
"Why are you here?" he whispered.
"To take care of you."
He grunted, as he turned on his side to face her. Pressing his face against her leg, he wrapped his arm around her as if to keep her near.
The cloth in Arysa's hand paused and she stiffened for only a second. He was pressed so close that she could feel his breath as it passed through the material of her gown. The intimate way he had his arm flung over her leg made her heart flutter within her chest. Then she noticed how he was shivering. He was cold and ill and he needed comfort. Reaching down, she managed to grab the heavy coverlet and pull it over him.
Another shiver made his body tremble uncontrollably. Arysa continued to wipe his brow. Then her fingers began threading through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. Over and over he shivered and the more he shivered the more comfort she offered.
"Zebual, are you sure you're all right?"
He could hear the worry and panic in her voice. "Yes," he whispered. "I feel ... I feel as though I'm going to tremble into a thousand pieces."
"Do you want me to get help?"
When she started to move away, he tried to tighten his hold on her. "No, I just fear falling apart," he mumbled against her leg as another series of shivers coursed through him. He knew he wasn't making any sense, but he couldn't help it.
"I won't let you," she whispered, placing her arm around his back and holding him close to her. "I'll make sure that you stay in one piece." Her heart felt heavy for him and his fear.
"I'm so c-cold."
"Here," she whispered. Moving down, she turned onto her side so that she faced him and then she put her arm around him. That was all the encouragement he needed. He buried his face against the base of her throat, as his frail arms moved around her, clinging to her as if she were his lifeline. "See, I'll hold on to you."
Zebual heard her words, but he didn't respond. He held her as tight as his arms would let him. He breathed in her scent, letting it fill his lungs. One of her hands caressed his back in small strokes as the other hand continued to smooth over his hair.
"Everything is going to be all right," she murmured to him again and again. Hoping that her words reassured him more than they did her. She was frightened for him. In the weeks that they had spent together she had never seen him like this before.
Eventually his shivers slowed and his breathing took on a soft raspy sound. His grip on her didn't lessen, so she knew that he wasn't asleep. Knowing that he still needed soothing, she didn't lessen her grip on him nor did she stop caressing his fragile back.
"Thank you,"
Arysa gave his back a gentle pat. "You're welcome," she whispered.
"For your kindness this night I will ... " he stopped when her fingers moved to cover his lips.
"Don't you even think to say something crude," she warned. "I'm here to help you and if you so much as offer me anything I'll likely use that iron on you."
Zebual kept his silence, fearing that she would get up and leave. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't take a reward of any kind for her care of him, but still he felt he should offer her something. He wasn't foolish enough to think that she was there for any other reason than what she gave. She was there to help ... that was the deal they had made. For whatever reason, she was here and she was holding him and that was enough for him ... for now.
Arysa held him until she knew he was asleep. Carefully, she eased from the bed and placed one of his large pillows next to him to take her place. After making sure he was covered, she tiptoed back to her room. More than anything she would have liked to stay at his side, but neither of them was ready for such a step ... not yet.
*~*
The battle cry rent the air. For a brief second silence fell and then the clamor of activities came together in a clash. Shouts echoed around her as thunder rolled across the sky and blue/white lightening flashed. The sound of metal striking metal sent shivers down her spine.
Urgency tasted like bile in her throat. She had to hurry. The sounds were coming from the Lord of the Manor's room. But the more she tried to quicken her steps the slower they seemed to become. Dark mist rolled from the room, as if waiting and welcoming her.
It was dusk the following evening and Arysa sat in the garden. The air was cool with just a hint of winter to it and yet the fall flowers still bloomed, filling each soft breeze with its floral fragrance. The stone steps were cold beneath her bottom making her think that perhaps there was a bit more than just a hint of winter to the air. It felt like she was sitting on slabs of ice. Finally, she got up and followed the stone path that led to the back of the garden. Her soft shoes made hardly a sound as she took each step leisurely.
She always felt so at peace when she was here with nothing but the flowers and the breeze as her company. The view of the gardens and the manor were breathtaking to look upon whether it was daylight or evening. Turning she looked back at the manor. It looked like an impregnable fortress no matter which angle one might see it. The smile on her face froze and her eyes widened. In the window high up on the third floor she saw the white face of a wolf staring down at her ... then it was gone ... as if eye contact with it had somehow dispelled it from existence. Hardly daring to breathe she waited to see if it would reappear, but it didn't.
Shaking the image from her head she turned away and continued walking. Other thoughts filled her mind. Thoughts of Zebual and the way he had held her as the shivers of sickness had tormented his body. She wasn't sure how long she had lain there at his side soothing him, but it seemed to have lasted for hours and yet not long at all. Just as the sky had began to lighten, his grip on her eased allowing her to get up and go into her own room.
She had dreamed again, only this time it was different. He wasn't in it. Instead the dream had been filled with darkness, screams and swords. It had not been a pleasant dream. It wasn't exactly what she needed, today of all days. The dream lingered in her mind as she cleaned the third floor, making her wonder if it had been the wisest thing to do. But in the end she considered how ridiculous she was being and managed to clean the entire floor in record time, leaving it to it's mystery and its ghost.
She couldn't very well say that she believed in ghosts, but neither could she say that she didn't, not any longer. The white blur of the wolf, the dress, the footsteps in the middle of the night, the dreams ... whether they were of Him or of some fierce battle ... all of it spoke of something strange and eerie going on. At times she feared that perhaps she was losing her mind.
The sound of footsteps warned her that someone was coming.
"Are you hiding, Arysa?"
She smiled at the sound of Zebual's voice and hurried to meet him on the path. "And what would I be hiding from? You've no coat on. It's too cold for you to be out here," she scolded. "And what are you doing out here anyway?"
Zebual let her take his arm and lead him back toward the house. Actually the night air felt good against his dry thirsty skin, but he didn't speak his thoughts to her. "Do not be angry with me. I thought perhaps you were hiding from me ... because of last night?"
Arysa glanced up at him. "I see no reason why I should hide from you or anyone."
"About what?"
"Are we going to play word games the rest of the night?" he asked, a smile twitching at his lips. "If so, it could be a very long night indeed."
"I'm not embarrassed, Zebual. Does that make you feel better?"
"Yes. I worried that you would be."
Arysa gave his arm a gentle pat. "I see no reason to be embarrassed and I see no reason for you to worry over it."
"Sensible as always," he murmured.
"Ha! That's not what I was thinking about myself just moments ago."
"And what unkind thoughts were you thinking?"
"That I was losing this sensible mind of mine."
He quirked a black brow at her and asked, "And why would you think such a thing?"
"Well, last night should be enough of a reason."
Zebual stopped and looked at her. "Because you held me through my tremors?"
The expression of hurt he wore was like a knife in her own heart. "No, Zebual, that's not the reason. I was referring to the large white wolf I thought I saw prowling around in your room last night. Remember, that's what brought me to your room to begin with?"
He gave a jerking nod of his head and swallowed the hurt that his thoughts had caused. "You saw a wolf in my room?" he rasped out and then cleared his throat.
"I've seen the phantom wolf twice now, but I've come to the conclusion that it's either the ghost or I'm coming dangerously close to losing my mind. You can take your pick."
It was her impish smile that made his tense muscles relax. "I pick the phantom. Your mind is too keen for you to be losing it."
"Well said, Sir Knight," she said with a laugh and then had to catch him when he stumbled. "Come, you've over taxed yourself by coming in search for me yet again. We'll get you settled in your room and then I'll come down and get our food."
Zebual nodded in agreement. His heart was beating so fiercely that he wondered if he would be able to make it back up the stairs to his room and all because of her words. "Why don't we eat in the sitting room?" he managed to get out.