by Vicky Savage
We reach the main gate to the walled city and are admitted by Nathan, the grizzled old gatekeeper. “Welcome home, Princess Jaden,” he says in his booming baritone. “You’ve been greatly missed.”
“Thanks Nathan. It’s good to be back.”
We steer our horses along the wide cobblestone main street. A few merchants sweep the sidewalks and arrange their wares in outdoor displays, but the little Victorian town is hushed and mostly deserted at this early-morning hour. No one pays much attention to us, just a fleeting look here and there. My heart lurches when we come to the tree-lined lane leading to Father’s manor house. The blood sings in my veins, and every cell in my body is aware that Ryder Blackthorn is nearby. The little sorrel mare I’m riding seems to sense my growing excitement, and pulls anxiously at her rein. Stay calm, Jaden. Stay calm.
A stable boy meets us near the front steps, and collects our horses. Father wraps an arm around my shoulder, as if making sure I’m solid, and together we climb the stairs to the broad veranda. Ralston follows close behind. As we reach the top stair, the massive front door is opened by a middle-aged woman with an enormous smile and eyes brimming with tears.
She throws her arms around me and holds me close. Her embrace is pleasantly squishy, and she smells of cinnamon and hyacinth. “Saints preserve us! I can’t believe my eyes. It’s really you this time.”
I’m momentarily thrown because I don’t recognize this woman, but then Father says, “Mrs. Hornsby, you didn’t have to get up so early to greet us.”
Ah, Mrs. Hornsby, the housekeeper. I’d heard of her, but she was visiting relatives in another dome when I was here last. Her daughter, Erica, had temporarily assumed her duties.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hornsby,” I say. “I’m glad to be home.”
She dabs at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “You must be tired and famished. Come in. Let me make you some breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry,” I say. “We ate before we left the Cleadians. Is Ryder here?”
An odd look passes across her face, and her hand flutters to her throat. “Yes, yes. He is here,” she says tentatively, “but he’s asleep. I believe he was up very late last night.” She takes my hand. “Come and have some tea at least. I have fresh cinnamon muffins.” She leads me toward the dining room.
“Baked in your honor, I’m certain,” Father says, following us. “How about you, Professor?”
“Sounds lovely,” Ralston says.
We sit in the dining room while Mrs. Hornsby bustles about serving us tea and muffins with homemade pommera jam. I sip at my steamy cup, and pick my muffin to crumbs. It’s maddening to be this near Ryder and not be able to be with him.
At last Father says, “Go and wake him, Jade. He would want you to.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, hopefully.
“Absolutely. And Ralston, you should get some rest. I need to check in at the hospital before we journey on to Warrington. I’ve a patient with a particularly frustrating case of pneumonia. It hasn’t responded to any of the usual medications.”
“Really?” Ralston says. “Do you mind if I accompany you? I saw a few such instances during my tenure in Cupola de Vita. Perhaps I can tell you about a poultice their physicians used for the most stubborn cases.”
“A poultice? Yes, that would be wonderful. I welcome any suggestions you may have.” He turns to me. “Jaden, will you be all right without us for an hour or two?”
Excitedly, I push away from the table. “Sure. I’ll be fine. Take as long as you want. Ryder will keep me company.”
Excusing myself, I make for the sweeping marble staircase, taking the steps two at a time. I pop into my room first, to check my hair and change my sweater. Everything is just the way I left it, as if Father had expected me to return.
Heart hammering wildly, I knock on Ryder’s door. The seconds tick by. No answer.
Hand on the door knob, I lean in closer and call his name softly. “Ryder.” Still no answer.
Slowly turning the knob, I crack the door slightly, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s lying on his side, one long, bare leg draped across ivory bed linens. The David in repose. He’s utterly splendid—luminous skin, elegant limbs, muscled back. Early morning light catches the sheen of his obsidian hair carelessly splayed across the pillow.
Stealing to the edge of his bed, I kneel beside him. “Ryder,” I whisper. His eyes remain closed, his breathing unchanged.
I tentatively reach out to stroke his hair. Quick as lightning, his hand darts out and grasps my wrist. A startled cry escapes my lips. He gapes at me for a split second before recognition dawns on him. Swinging his legs around, he gathers me into his lap.
“Is it you? Is it really you?” he says, azure eyes searching mine.
“It’s me.” Gazing at him in wonder, I brush my fingertips along his cheek, and the familiar electricity crackles between us.
He takes my hand gently pressing his lips to my palm. Then crushing me to his chest, he hides his face in my hair and weeps. Warm tears topple onto my skin, as long shuddering sobs rack his body.
I’m broken to see him this way, understanding so richly the utter pain, the raw grief he has suffered. The relief of having him in my arms again is exquisite. I’m at once wounded and made whole.
“Shhh.” I stroke his smooth back to comfort him. Silent tears spill from my cheeks, mingling with his, uniting joy and sorrow.
I hold him in a soggy embrace while he collects himself. Pulling away from me, he smiles and wipes tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. “How?” he says, shaking his head. “Where have you been?”
Returning his smile, I relate an abridged version of the story Ralston and Melor concocted.
“It’s remarkable,” he says. “We searched for you for days. I was nearly mad with grief, and consumed with guilt because you’d gone missing while trying to help me. I should’ve known you would never stay behind as I asked.” Wonder glints from his eyes. “But you’ve come back to me now, and that’s all that matters.”
He cradles my face in his hands and softly kisses each eyelid. Cocking his head, he says, “You’ve cut your hair.”
“Yes.” I nervously comb my fingers through the shorter, but still lengthy strands.
“I like it; you’re more beautiful than ever.”
I feel an odd shyness at the compliment.
He nuzzles my neck. “I’d almost forgotten your wonderful scent.” Brushing his lips across my jaw toward my lips, the moment I’ve waited for, prayed for comes at last—Ryder’s sweet mouth is on mine once again. All that’s inside me flows up to meet his kiss, gentle and trembling at first. Then as emotion overcomes reason, he kisses me deeply, hungrily. His warm body shelters my own. Hot blood burns inside my veins, my pulse races wildly, swept up in the sheer rapture of our reunion.
After a moment, he pulls his mouth away, but I wrap my hand around his neck and draw him to me again. I require more of him, I want all of him. I’ve been with Ryder a million times in my dreams, but we’ve never actually shared more than a handful of passionate kisses. All that is about to change.
Tentative and restrained, he pulls away again. “Jade, I’m naked under this coverlet. Allow me to dress so we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” I grasp the hem of my sweater, pull it off over my head, and toss it onto the bedside chair. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now I want to be naked and next to you.”
“Jade, don’t,” he says, holding my arm to prevent me from removing any more clothing.
“Why? Are you worried about Father? He and Ralston are at the hospital. They’ll be gone for hours.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”
“What then? You’re not still concerned about appearances are you? We’re engaged. Nobody will care. And if they do, to hell with them.”
His face is tense, eyes unreadable.
“Ryder, what is it?” A small knot of fear gathers in my belly. “
You still want to marry me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” he says fiercely. “But we must talk. Please allow me to put on my pants at least.”
“Fine. Put on your pants.” I stand with my back to him arms folded, while he steps into his doeskin trousers. Grasping my shoulders, he turns me to him. My arms automatically wind around his waist.
“What is it, love?” I say. “If you still want to marry me, what’s so wrong with us being intimate together?”
He bows his head and lowers his eyes. “You may no longer wish to marry me.”
I laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I still want to marry you. Why—” But before the words cross my lips, the door flies open, banging loudly against the dresser. Framed in the entry is a flushed and breathless Erica Hornsby, ravishing in her anxious vulnerability.
She stares at me, wide-eyed. “So it’s true,” she says. Glancing at Ryder, her stunning face dissolves into an anguished portrait of pain, telling me all I need to know. She turns and flees, navy cape and long dark hair flying out behind her.
My heart, my breath, my entire world freezes in suspended animation. “Erica?” I whisper. “You and Erica?”
“Yes.”
The air whooshes from the room. My heart and lungs wither in my chest. Clutching for the arm of the chair I sit down, hard.
“How long?” I ask, eyes straight ahead.
“Seven or eight weeks,” he says softly.
“Do you love her?”
“No, of course not.” He kneels beside my chair. I can’t bring myself to look at him. “There is only one woman I have ever loved or will ever love. Erica knows that.”
I hide my face in my hands. “But she obviously loves you.”
“No!” he says. I lower my hands, piercing him with my eyes. “Perhaps,” he admits.
“God, what an idiot. I never even considered that you’d found someone else.”
“I haven’t found someone else. Jaden, please let me explain.” He gets off his knees and perches on the edge of the bed facing me. He reaches for my hand, but I jerk it away.
“Erica cared for my father in the hospital during his last days. She’s training to be a nurse.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” I mumble, recalling with bitter irony that it was my brilliant idea for Erica to train at the hospital.
“Thank you. He was in much pain at the end, and Erica was very good to him. A few days after his death she brought food to our house. Catherine was not at home, so we shared the meal she had prepared. Our conversation was innocent. We spoke of her work, the unpredictability of life, the pain of loss. But near the end of the evening, she asked if it was true that when you were declared dead, I vowed never to marry. I confirmed what she had heard. She related that she had made a similar vow but for different reasons.” He lowers his eyes.
“She suggested that the two of us could find companionship with each other without a permanent commitment. I said I would think about it and give her my answer later.” His eyes find mine again. “I did not make the decision lightly, Jaden. I still felt a bond with you, even though I believed you to be dead.”
“Yeah well, it didn’t hurt that she’s drop-dead gorgeous, did it?” I sneer.
“I cannot deny that she is physically attractive.”
His words burn as if he scored me with a hot poker. Leaping to my feet, I snatch up the crushed sweater I’ve been sitting on, and pull it over my head. “Thanks a lot.”
He scrambles to his feet. “What I meant is that for me it was only a physical relationship.”
“That’s a sweet little story, Ryder. But how could you? Seriously, how could you fall into bed with the first woman who bats her eyes at you?”
“It had been nearly a year, Jade. I thought you were dead.”
“I don’t care!” The shrillness of my voice startles me. “I could never have done that to you. I can’t even imagine being with another man. I thought we felt the same. Now I know better.”
“Jade, please.” He rakes a hand through his hair.
I slowly shake my head. “I’ve heard enough. You’d better go and find Erica. She’s probably as destroyed as I am.”
“I want to stay here with you.”
“No. I’m leaving in the morning to be with my mother.” I futilely try to smooth my rumpled sweater. “Please go.”
He pulls a shirt from the closet and slips it on, then tugs on his boots. Standing in the doorframe, his hair brushing up against the lintel, he asks, “What does this mean for us, Jaden? Do you wish to dissolve our engagement?”
I compose my face into a hard emotionless mask. “I don’t know yet. I need some time to think.”
He swallows audibly. “Please remember that in spite of my poor judgment, I love only you. Regardless of your decision, I shall always love only you.”
“We’ll speak in a few days, Ryder. I’ll send for you when I’m ready.” I turn away toward the window. The door clicks softly shut, and I fall back into the chair too stunned to even cry.
SEVEN
I want to wail like a banshee. I want to jump out of my skin, climb the wall, tear out my hair, something, anything, so I don’t have to feel this way. Ryder and Erica. The image of the two of them together flashes in hi-def through my mind. She’s so exotically beautiful. Smart too, and experienced when it comes to guys. Ryder claims he loves me, but can he ever forget how hot she is? Will he see her whenever he’s with me? Dream of being with her? I mean, she’s Angelina Jolie and I’m … not.
Grasping the hand mirror on Ryder’s nightstand, I hold it up and stare at my decidedly un-glamorous reflection. What a pathetic, hopeless fool. I fling the mirror against the wall, and, like my dreams, it shatters into dozens of glittering shards and crashes to the floor.
Bolting out the door, I make for the staircase, not knowing where I’m going. I’ll die of embarrassment if I run into Mrs. Hornsby. She probably knows everything. But I’ll go insane if I don’t get out of this house. Saddling-up and setting out to see my mother by myself is what I want to do, but I quickly rule it out. Highwaymen notoriously haunt the road to Warrington, and I’ve been attacked there before. I’ve just got to get away from here.
Stables. Horses. A quiet place to think. A meadow to gallop through, allowing the wind to blow away these dark destructive thoughts. That’s what I need.
Peter, the head stableman, is intently mucking out a stall when I arrive. He raises his head and beams at me.
“I heard you were back, Princess. It’s a true pleasure to see you again.”
“Thanks Peter. May I borrow a horse until Father gets back from the hospital? That sorrel mare I rode in on this morning will be just fine.”
“Of course. May I take you somewhere? I’ll be happy to hitch-up the carriage and drive you.”
“No. I just feel like a ride.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you all right, Jaden?”
I must look like a madwoman because that’s how I feel inside. “I just need some fresh air and a silent companion,” I say, doing my best to hold it together.
He smiles. “I’ll have Lochlyn ready for you in two shakes.”
The beauty of the day is a sharp contrast to my mood. Dome temperature is constantly controlled to be a perfect seventy-two degrees. The silvery filtered sunlight lends a radiant luminescence to the landscape. The Enclave is charming and unspoiled. Lush gardens of spring flowers in scarlet and lavender border the quaint city streets. Victorian houses, freshly painted in pastel hues, overlook well-tended yards, most of which are surrounded by white picket fences.
My sweet little mare is frisky and enjoying the exercise. Steering away from Main Street, which is now bustling with mid-morning trade, I search for a peaceful spot where I can sort through my thoughts and figure out how I’m supposed to feel about this. Skirting around the inside wall of the city, we eventually stumble into a quiet residential area. A large park unfolds at the end of small cul-de-sac. It appears desert
ed, so I steer Lochlyn onto the cobblestone road and make for the inviting refuge.
A small, ginger-haired girl romps with a spotted puppy on the lawn of a pretty cottage. She waves when she sees me. Smiling, I wave back. Her eyes and mouth instantly form themselves into perfect Os. “Princess Jaden!” she shouts.
I dip my head as if I haven’t heard her and nudge my horse into a trot. The child spins on her heel and dashes into the house calling, “Mommy, mommy. Princess Jaden is back!”