Reaching Through Time

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “Always. He was trained on a tether and forgets that he’s no longer on it. He’ll hunt, eat and return to his roost.”

  She watched the bird swoop down, disappear into faraway woods. “Does he ever fly over the fence? You know, to the outside?”

  “No. He has all that he needs here. He’s contented.”

  Sarah read between the lines. She wasn’t contented, and Heath must have sensed it. Like he did with the falcon, Heath gave her all she needed—food, clothing, his company, his undivided attention. So why wasn’t she content? She didn’t know. The voices made her long for something else, but with no memories beyond waking up at Heath’s estate, she had no idea what the “something else” was for her.

  She sent a sidelong look at Heath. The breeze ruffled his hair. He had a noble air. He was handsome and self-assured, and he liked her. She was wary of him, though. Beneath his surface lay a dimension she couldn’t fathom, a mystery she couldn’t touch.

  He turned toward her, catching her off guard. “Are you staring at me?”

  Embarrassed, she averted her gaze. “I’m not staring.”

  “Okay. You were looking hard. Have I grown a wart on my face?”

  “No warts,” she said. Anxious not to be quizzed, she dug her heels into Lethe’s side and yelled, “Just wondering if you can keep up.”

  Lethe bolted away, and in seconds Sarah heard Titan thundering behind her. She laughed, yelled over her shoulder, “Your nag is slow!”

  Wind whipped Sarah’s hair. She leaned low into the horse’s neck and felt the sting of Lethe’s flying mane on her cheek. Sun beat on her back, and she felt the flexing muscles of the horse between her legs. Exhilaration shot through her. In minutes she and the horse had crossed the meadow and reached a part of the estate that didn’t look familiar. When an iron fence loomed up, Sarah reined Lethe hard to avoid crashing into it. Lethe pulled back and stopped short, throwing Sarah forward and almost over the horse’s head. Seconds later, Heath and Titan were by their side.

  “You all right?” Heath asked, his amusement at the chase replaced by alarm.

  “We could have crashed!” she cried, her pulse pounding from the near disaster. The fence had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Only Lethe’s quick action had prevented an accident.

  “Lethe wouldn’t have let you get hurt.”

  Still trembling, Sarah looked around. “Where are we?”

  “I’ll show you.” Heath slid off Titan and grabbed Lethe’s reins. “Here’s a riddle for you, dear Sarah. What brings equality to all men and women, to royalty and beggars, to rich and poor, to old and young, to friends and foes? Can you tell me?”

  Without waiting for him to give her a hand, Sarah dismounted and peered through the solid bars of the low fence. Behind the cold black iron rails lay an ancient cemetery.

  7

  She knew the answer to his riddle but didn’t respond.

  Heath tied their horses to the fence and took Sarah’s hand. “You’re shivering.”

  “I’m okay now.” Her heart had slowed as she settled herself.

  “This is where my ancestors are buried. Let me show you. Nothing here to be frightened of.”

  “I’m not scared,” she said with more bravado than she felt. She didn’t want to wander around burial grounds, yet when they stepped through the gate, her apprehension turned to fascination. She saw great slabs of gray granite, towering monoliths etched with coats of arms, knights brandishing swords, fearsome lions and dreaded gargoyles all frozen in time and guarding the dead. Moss and age had settled on every headstone and monument. Her eyes were drawn to a rearing horse so beautifully chiseled that it looked ready to come to life. “How old is this place?”

  “No need to whisper,” Heath said. “No one here but the dead, and they can’t hear you.”

  Her face went hot. “Was I whispering?”

  He held her hand more tightly. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Yes.”

  She looked and saw that he was grinning. “It doesn’t seem respectful to shout,” she said with a haughty sniff.

  As they walked the area, Sarah caught glimpses of names and dates. Hundreds of years were reflected on the old headstones. “Fourteen hundred and fifty-one,” she read off one. “Seventeen hundred and five,” she read off another. “And all of these people were members of your family?”

  “Everyone buried here has a connection to the de Charon name one way or another.”

  “Pretty big family,” she said, looking out over the haphazard collection of grave markers that stretched as far as she could see.

  “We cover the earth,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  She wondered about her history, her family. Somewhere people wanted her to come to them. They told her so every night. She was deep in thought when Heath stopped in front of a large rectangular building. “What’s this?” She inspected the smooth, windowless granite surface, its entrance marked by a massive wooden door.

  “It’s a mausoleum. I’ll show you inside.” Heath produced a key, opened the door and walked into a dark hallway. In minutes, he’d lit a row of candles hanging on the walls.

  Sarah peeked through the open doorway, unsure she wanted to follow him. The place was spooky and gave her the shivers. Smeared by candle smoke, the air smelled musty and was eerily quiet.

  “Come on,” he urged. “No one here but the dead.”

  She wasn’t comforted, but she hesitantly stepped onto the narrow marble floor, between two high walls with small brass nameplates running their length in straight lines. Some of the plates had names on them; others were blank.

  “For future de Charons,” Heath said, coming alongside her and running his fingers over a smooth piece of brass.

  “You too?”

  “Me too,” he said. “And those who come after me.”

  His breath brushed her cheek. A chill shot up her back. In the flickering candlelight, Heath looked otherworldly, ethereal, capable of melting away like icy mist. His skin was the color of the stone, his eyes, translucent. It was as if he’d stepped off the side of the carved fireplace at his estate. How had she ended up in a graveyard with the person who had become her caretaker?

  “What are you thinking, pretty Sarah? Tell me.”

  “You’ll laugh at me.”

  “I won’t laugh. Promise.”

  “Are you a vampire?”

  In spite of his promise, Heath laughed. “There is no such things as vampires. They’re myths. Made-up stories.”

  She felt foolish now that she’d asked such a question, so she tried to make light of it. “So you aren’t going to turn me into a creature of the night? Suck my blood and make me sleep in a coffin? Because I’m telling you, this girl won’t be sleeping in a dirty coffin.”

  Heath rocked with laughter. “You have some imagination.”

  “A girl needs to ask these things,” she said with a toss of her head. “Accommodations matter.”

  “Would a vampire wear this?” Heath sobered, reached inside his shirt, pulled out a gold chain and dangled a thick gold cross in front of her eyes. “It’s Byzantine,” he said. “One of my ancestors wore it fighting in the Crusades.”

  She somehow knew that vampires were warded off by crosses—a vexing thought, because she could recall such trivial information but remembered nothing about her own life. She crossed her arms. “Okay, nix the vampire. Are you a werewolf? A goblin? Maybe a troll? Maybe you’re a sorcerer? I know—a dragon slayer!”

  Still laughing, he grabbed her hand and guided her out of the mausoleum.

  Leaving the airless tombs and hearing his laughter buoyed her spirits and vanquished her dark mood.

  “All of the above,” Heath said when they reached the horses, where he pulled her close against his body. “I’m just someone who adores you, Sarah. Now mount your horse. I’ve got a special surprise waiting for you in the woods.”

  Heath’s surprise was a picnic by a stream deep in the forest. A blanket was laid out by the
stream’s banks, along with a large basket and a magnificent feast. Sarah saw salads, meats, cheeses, thick slices of dark bread, bowls of luscious fruit, delicately frosted cupcakes and a plate of delectable chocolates. Pewter goblets held cold cider. She stared at the bounty of food. “Who else is coming?” she asked.

  “It’s for us. Just us.”

  “We’ll never eat all this food.”

  “We can try.”

  “Well … if you insist.” She sat on the blanket, tucking her legs under herself.

  Heath sat beside her, reached for a strawberry and teased her lips with it.

  She grabbed it out of his hand and popped it into her mouth, making him laugh. “When did you do this?” she asked, after swallowing the delectable berry. “We’ve been together all day.”

  “I have my ways,” he said, his clear eyes sparkling.

  She glanced around. Except for the horses grazing on brush, they were alone. “You tell me there are others here, but I never see them. Why don’t I ever see anyone else?”

  His eyes darkened. “Aren’t I enough for you?”

  She drew back, not wanting to spoil his good humor. “I just want to say thanks to the people who take care of me. My room’s always cleaned, my sheets are fresh, my clothes are washed and put away. I have to see the good guys in order to thank them.”

  “I’ll pass along your good wishes.” He leaned back on his elbows.

  Sarah plucked a grape from the bowl of fruit and fed it to him. “Well, I like everything on the menu. Can I make you a sandwich?”

  “Make yours first.”

  She bypassed the bread and meat and grabbed a cupcake.

  “You can’t have dessert before lunch.”

  “Watch me,” she said, popping the petite cupcake into her mouth after licking off the sugary frosting.

  “You’re so bad.”

  The food tasted delicious. Sarah savored every bite, aware that she ate more than Heath did. She usually did; he wasn’t a big eater. She’d tried to hold herself back in the beginning, but she’d stopped doing that. She was hungry at every meal, so she ate as much as she liked. As for Heath, on this afternoon, he merely propped himself up on an elbow and watched Sarah eat.

  When she was sated, she rolled up her jeans and kicked off her riding boots.

  “What now?” Heath wanted to know.

  “I’m going wading. The water’s calling my name—hear it?” She mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “Sarah … come cool your tootsies.”

  “The water’s bound to be cold. It comes from the mountains. Your feet will freeze.”

  “I’m not a wimp. I can take it.”

  He grinned, lay flat on the blanket and closed his eyes. “Watch your step. The rocks are slippery.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She jogged down the slight embankment and waded into the water tumbling across rocks and tree roots. The stream was liquid ice, and she would have retreated but didn’t want to give Heath the satisfaction of being right. In minutes, her feet were numb. Still she walked defiantly downstream.

  She hadn’t gone too far when she came to a small whirlpool in the middle of the stream where the water swirled clockwise. She bent down, intrigued by the cone-shaped motion. She couldn’t see the bottom of the creek bed. What she did see was a boy’s face smiling up at her. She almost screamed and jumped back, but the face looked so familiar that she stared and held her breath.

  His image was clear as a picture—smiling brown eyes, spiky brown hair, full lips and round dimpled cheeks. Her heart leapt with joy. She reached down to touch the achingly familiar face but only touched cold water. For an instant her blank memory cleared. “Justin!” she whispered. “Justin. Don’t leave me!”

  8

  Sarah heard Heath call her name, turned to see him wading down the stream toward her. She didn’t want him to know what she had seen in the whirlpool, didn’t want to confess that she remembered the name belonging to the face. She spun, made a production of falling and sat down in the water, forcing a laugh as she landed. “You were right,” she yelled to Heath. “I slipped.”

  He reached down to help her up. “You’re soaking wet.”

  “Just my bottom half.” Her teeth chattered as the cold water soaked into her jeans and then her skin.

  “Let me help,” he said. He scooped her up in his arms.

  His strength surprised her. He moved effortlessly, as if she’d been a leaf in the water.

  “I—I can walk,” she told him.

  He ignored her, carried her back over the rocks and up the embankment to the blanket. He rummaged in the picnic basket and dragged out a smaller blanket and wrapped it around her. He pulled her down beside him and rubbed her legs and feet with the rough wool. “It’s one of the horses’ blankets. I’m sorry, it’s all I have.”

  “I deserve it,” she said. “You warned me. My feet went right out from under me.”

  Heath studied her face, and Sarah was terrified that he might see through her lie. He smoothed her hair, damp from the stream’s splash. “Maybe a cupcake will help,” she said.

  He grinned, leaned over and grabbed a cupcake and held it tantalizingly close to her mouth. When she reached for it, he drew it back.

  “Are you going to tease me, a near drowning victim?”

  His eyebrow arched. “Put out your tongue.”

  She did and he swiped the sweet frosting onto it. “Yum,” she said, unable to pull her gaze away from his.

  “Yes, yum,” he repeated, setting the cupcake down and gathering her into his arms. He cradled her there, stroking her hair.

  She couldn’t break the spell of his eyes. “I must look awful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he countered, running long fingers down her cheek.

  She shivered, but not because of the cold water. His touch muddied her mind, making the image of the boy—what was his name?—fade into a fog. Heath’s touch also sent a slow sensuous warmth over her skin. She lay against his chest, her heart picking up speed as his fingers slowly worked magic on her body. She closed her eyes, took deep breaths and tried to remember why she’d fallen into the stream. She felt his hand cup her chin, felt his lips brush her temple.

  “I love you, Sarah,” he said.

  Her eyes flew open. Familiar words. Where had she heard them before? Heath’s eyes were as clear as rainwater. “You hardly know me,” she managed to say, fighting hard to not fall into the consuming desire he had created inside her.

  His lips moved down her throat, into the hollow where her pulse throbbed and her breaths grew shallow. She felt languid, unable to pull away. “I know you well enough to know I love you. To know I want you to stay with me.” His words quivered against the pulse in her neck.

  “Stay with you? Here?”

  “Is it such a bad place? Haven’t I made you happy?”

  “Yes, but—” Her body was on fire for him, yet she realized that pieces of her were still missing. She remembered the stream. When she’d walked into the water … Something had happened to her in the water.…

  “My family can be your family. Stay with me and my history becomes yours.”

  She felt like she was melting, merging into Heath. “I—I don’t know.…”

  “Tell me you’ll stay. Say the words.”

  Her head lolled back and Heath’s mouth searched the hollow of her throat, traveled slowly, ever slowly upward, tasting and licking her skin as he moved toward her lips.

  “Kiss me,” he said. “Let me taste your breath.”

  If she let him kiss her, she would be lost. If she fell into him, there would be no climbing out. She could deny him nothing. The trees overhead swayed with a breeze. Blue sky fluttered through layers of lacy leaves. And the face reappeared. The face from the water, Justin’s face, ever smiling, his expression ever loving.

  With a superhuman effort Sarah gasped and rolled out of Heath’s arms and onto the blanket, trembling.

  Heath cried, “What happened?”


  “I—I can’t make promises to you,” she said, catching her breath. “Please don’t make me.”

  His eyes went dark, then, as he visibly controlled his anger, faded to a lighter shade of gray. “I didn’t mean to force you.”

  “No, no, it’s me.” She stood, threw off the blanket, shook her head to clear out the cobwebs and plant Justin’s image in her mind. “I’m freezing. Can we go back to the house now? I need to change clothes.”

  Heath’s eyes darkened once more to the color of charcoal. He stared down at his hands. She’d wounded him. “I thought you cared for me,” he said.

  She couldn’t bear to hear the hurt in his voice. “Please, can we talk about this later? I need some time.”

  “Of course.”

  She started throwing leftover food into the basket.

  “Don’t,” Heath said. “I’ll send someone to clean up.”

  What mysterious someone would that be? she wondered. Ghost people? She mounted Lethe, glanced skyward. It was growing dark and she could no longer see Justin in the sky above.

  Sarah paced in her room like a caged cat, her mind going over the day with Heath. Something was going on that was beyond her ability to understand or control. She felt a powerful attraction to Heath. A visceral, primitive attraction that scared her. He was mysterious, inscrutable, and he made her forget coherent thought when he took her in his arms, or when he touched her with his cool slender hands.

  And yet she couldn’t forget the face in the water. Her heart had reacted wildly to the face. Her soul had sung out to him, this Justin, this face she recognized but couldn’t place. He was locked inside her memory and she had no key, no way in.

  The ride back to the stables had been silent, the air between her and Heath strained. At the stable, when she’d dismounted and began to unsaddle Lethe, Heath had said, “Leave it,” in a crisp terse voice that sounded sharp.

  She left him, hurried to the house and up the stairs to her room, where she lay on the bed and wept. She felt muddled and drained, confused by roiling emotions. She was being torn apart. She hoped Heath wouldn’t want to see her again this night.