stared with disbelief at the attic loft, and its great
height. "You could have been killed."
"Oh, I didn't think about that. I was five at the time, and very needing of a friend, even my imaginary one. Your mother had run away and left me lonely. Jillian was crying and calling Tony long distance all the time, begging him to come home, and when he
did, they fought day after day."
Breathless now that he was remembering a little
about my mother, I turned toward him. "Why did my
mother run away?"
Instead of replying, he sat up, took a
handkerchief from his pocket, dipped it in a nearby
puddle of rainwater, then began to wipe smeared mud
from my face. "I don't know," he said, leaning to
touch the tip of my nose with his lips. "I was too
young to realize what was going on." He kissed my
right cheek, then my left one, his breath warm and
exciting on my face and neck as he kissed and talked.
"I only knew that when your mother left, she
promised to write me. She said she'd come back one
day when I was grown up."
"She told you that?"
His soft kiss found my lips. A number of times
Logan had kissed me, and not once had I felt as
aroused by his clumsy, boyish approaches as I did by
a man who obviously knew exactly what to do to
make my skin tingle. When I should have known better, I responded much too quickly, then jerked away. "You don't have to take pity on me and make
up lies."
"I would never lie to you about something so
important." Both his hands cupped my head so he
could tip it at an angle that suited him, and his next
kiss on my lips was more intense. I could hardly
breathe. "The more I think back, the more I remember
how much I loved your mother."
Gently he eased me back on the hill of hay,
holding me close to his chest, as my arms rose
automatically to encircle him. "Go on. Tell me more." "Not now, Heaven, not now. Just let me hold
you until the storm is over. Let me think more about
what's happening between us. I have held back from
loving you. I don't want to be just another man who
hurts you."
"I'm not afraid."
"You're only eighteen. I'm twenty-three." I couldn't believe what I said next. "Jessie
Shackle-ton was seventy-five when he married Lettie
Joyner who lived ten miles outside the Willies, and
she gave him three sons and two daughters before he
died at age ninety."
He groaned and buried his face in my wet hair. "Don't tell me anything more. We both need to think
before it's too late to stop what's already begun." Wonder filled me. He did love me! It was in his
voice, in the way he held me and tried to warn me. With the pounding of the rain overhead, with
streams of water slipping through the holes in the
roof, while the thunder crashed and the lightning
crackled, we lay wrapped in each other's arms without
speaking, our hands caressing, our lips meeting from
time to time, and it was sweeter than anything I'd
known before.
He could have claimed me then and there, and I
wouldn't have resisted, but he held back, making my
love for him grow even more.
The rain lasted for an hour. Then he put me on
his horse, and slowly we rode toward that huge house
whose chimneys and towers we could see over the
treetops. On the steps before the side door, he drew
me into his arms again. "Isn't it odd, Heavenly, how
you came into my life when I didn't need or want you,
and now I can't imagine life without you."
"Then don't. I love you, Troy. Don't try to put
me out of your life just because you think I'm too
young. I'm not too young. Nobody my age in the hills
is considered young."
"Those hills of yours are awe-inspiring, but I
can't marry, not you, not anyone."
What he said made my heart hurt.
"Then you don't love me?"
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to marry me if you don't want
to. Just love me long enough to make me feel good
about myself." Quickly I rose on my toes to press my
lips on his, as my fingers curled into his damp hair. His arms tightened about me while I thought of
all the women who must have filled his arms before.
Rich, wild, beautiful, sophisticated women! Women
of charm, brains, culture. Bejeweled, fashionable,
witty, self-assured--what chance did a hillbilly Casteel have of capturing such a man as Troy, when they
had failed?
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, breaking away,
and backing off down the steps. "That is, if Jillian and
Tony don't return. I don't know what's keeping them
away for so long."
I didn't know either, but it was good not to have
to be so furtive about meeting Troy. And the more I
thought about that, after I was in bed, the more
restless I became. I wanted to be with Troy now. I
didn't want to wait any longer. Silently I willed him to
come to me, come to me now.
For endless hours I dwelled fitfully on the rim
of sleep, never finding the peaceful oblivion I
desperately sought. From one side to another I
flipped, trying my back, my stomach. Then, suddenly
I heard my name called. I bolted wide awake to stare
at the electric clock on my nightstand. Two o'clock--
that's all the time that had passed? I got up to pull on a
frail, green peignoir that matched my nightgown, then
went down the upstairs hall to the stairs, and without
design, I found myself in the maze, barefooted. The
grass was damp and cool. What I was doing here I
didn't want to analyze.
The electrical storm had washed the atmosphere
to such clarity moonlight lit up the darkness. The tall
hedges with their millions of leaves snagged tiny bits
of starlight so they sparkled. Then I was there,
hesitating before his closed blue door, wishing I had
the nerve to knock, or to open the door and go in. Or
the will to turn around and go back where I belonged.
I bowed my head until my forehead pressed against
the wood, then closed my eyes, beginning to softly cry
as all the strength went out of my body and I sagged
limply. At that moment the door opened, causing me
to fall forward. Directly into Troy's arms.
He didn't say a word as he caught me, then
swung me up into his arms and carried me into his
bedroom.
Light from the moon fell across his face as he
lowered his head to mine, and this time his lips were
more demanding. His kisses, his hands put me on fire,
so it happened between us so naturally and beautifully, I didn't feel any of the guilt and shame that Cal
Dennison's lovemaking had caused. We came together
as if we had to, or die, and when it was over, I lay in
the circle of his arms quivering with the fading
spasms of the first orgasm of my life.
When we wakened it was dawn, and through
his open windows the morning wind blew damp and
cold.
The sweet morning chirpings of the sleepy birds
brought tears to my eyes, before I sat up to reach for
the blanket folded on the foot of the bed. Quickly
Troy's arms pulled me back. Tenderly he plied small
kisses over my face as his free hand stroked my hair
before he cradled me against him. "Last night I lay
here on my bed thinking about you."
"I had a hard time falling asleep . . ."
"So did 1."
"Just when I was about to sleep, I bolted wide
awake and I thought I heard you calling me." He made a noise deep in his throat, holding me
tighter against his warm body. "I was on my way to
you when you fell through the door, just like a prayer
answered, and yet, I shouldn't have allowed this to
happen. I'm so afraid you're going to be sorry. I never
want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me, not ever! I have
never met a man so gentle and kind."
His chuckle was low. "How many men have
you known at the tender age of eighteen?"
"Only the one I told you about," I whispered,
hiding my face when he wanted to gaze into my eyes.
"Will you tell me more about him?"
He listened without asking questions, his
slender hands caressing me all the while, and when
my words died, he kissed my lips, each one of my
fingertips. "Have you heard from this Cal Dennison
since you came to live in Farthy?"
"I never want to hear from him, not ever!" How
vehemently I cried that!
We were silly during our first meal of the day,
acting like two adolescent kids just finding each other.
I had never eaten a fried egg and bacon sandwich
before, or known that strawberry jam enhanced the
flavor of both egg and bacon. "It was pure serendipity how I discovered this gourmet treat," he went on to explain. "I was about seven years old and recovering from another of those childhood diseases that used to plague me, and Jillian was scolding me for being messy at the table, when I dropped my toast with strawberry jam face down into my plate. 'You eat it anyway!' she yelled, and when I did, I found out for
the first time that I liked eggs and bacon . . ." "Jillian used to yell at you?" Astonishment
filled me. I had believed a great deal of her
grouchiness with me was because she was resentful of
having a younger female around.
"Jillian has never liked me . . listen . . . its thundering again. The weatherman predicted a week of
storms, remember?"
I heard the faint pitter-patter of rain on the roof.
Soon Troy was building a fire to chase away the
morning chill and damp, and I was sprawled on the
floor watching him. It amused me the way he even
stacked kindling with such precision. However, it
delighted me to watch him when he was relaxed. How
wonderful that the weather would enclose us in his
cottage.
The fire burned hot, bright. The stretch of
silence between us began to palpitate with sensuality. The play of the orange firelight on the hard planes of his face sent tingles through my body. I saw him watching me as I watched him, studying my face when I was staring at his hands . . and then he moved to prop himself up on his elbow, and his face was very close. He was going to make love to me again. My
pulse quickened.
Instead of kisses he gave me words.
Instead of his arms wrapping about me, he fell
back to tuck his hands behind his head again, his
favorite position. "Do you know what I think about
when it's summer? I think soon it will be autumn, and
all the brightest, prettiest summer birds will fly away,
leaving the darkest and drabbest ones to stay. I hate
the days when they grow short. I don't sleep well
during the long winter nights; somehow the cold
seems to creep through the walls and into my bones
and I toss and turn and flit in and out of bad dreams. I
dream too much in the winter. Summer is the time for
sweet dreams. Even with you here beside me, I feel
you are a dream."
"Troy . . ." I protested, turning toward him. "No, please allow me to talk. I seldom have
anyone who listens as attentively as you do, and I
want you to know more about me. Will you listen?" I nodded, somehow scared by his serious tone
of voice.
"Winter nights for me are too long. Giving time
for too many dreams to be born. I try and hold back
sleep until just before dawn, sometimes I succeed. If I
don't, I grow so restless I have to get up and dress.
Then I walk outside and let the fresh cold air wash my
dreary thoughts away. I walk the trails between the
pines, and when my brain is cleared, only then do I
come back here. And in work I can forget the coming
night and the nightmares that haunt me."
I could only stare at him. "No wonder you kept
shadows beneath your eyes last winter," I said, distressed that he could now be so melancholy. He had
me now. "I used to think you were a workaholic." Troy rolled on his side, facing the fire, reaching
a long arm for a bottle of champagne he'd put in a
silver bucket to chill. He poured the bubbling vintage
into two crystal goblets. "The last bottle of the best of
the wine," he said, turning again toward me, and
lifting his glass so it brushed lightly against mine. I had grown used to champagne during the past
winter, since it appeared so often on Jillian's party
tables, but I was still child enough to feel giddy after
one glass. Uneasily I sipped my champagne, wondering why his eyes kept avoiding mine, "What do you
mean, the last of the wine? You've got a wine cellar
beneath this house with enough champagne for the
next half-century."
"So literal," he said. "I spoke poetically. Trying
to tell you that winter and cold bring out the morbid
side I try to hide most of the time. I care too much
about you to let you become too entangled in our
relationship, without understanding just who and what
I am."
"I know who and what you are!"
"No you don't. You know only what I've
permitted you to see." His dark eyes swung my way,
commanding me not to question. "Listen, Heaven, I'm
trying to warn you while you can still pull away." My lips parted to speak and object, but he
reached to hush me with his fingers put over my lips. "Why do you think Tony ordered you to stay
away from me. I find it very difficult to hang on to the
cheerful, optimistic side of me that blossoms only
when the days grow long, and the warmth returns." "We can always move south!" I cried, hating
his seriousness, the shadowed look in his eyes. "I've tried that. I've spent winters in Florida, in
Naples, Italy, all over the world I've traveled trying to find what others find so easily, but I take my winter thoughts with me." He smiled, but I wasn't comforted. He wasn't joking, though his tone tried to be light. There was a darkness deep as a bottomless pit behind
each of his pupils.
"But the spring always returns, followed by the
summer," I said quickly, "that's what I used to keep
telling myself when we were cold and hungry and the
snow was six feet high and it was seven miles to
His soft, dark eyes caressed me and flooded
warmth into my face. He poured more champagne
into my glass. "I wish I could have known you then,
and Tom, and the others. You could have given me so
much of the kind of strength you have."
"Troy! Stop talking like that!" I flared,
frightened because I didn't understand his mood and
angry because he should be kissing me now, taking
off my clothes, not talking. "What are you trying to
tell me? That you don't love me? That you're
regretting you've made me love you? Well, I'm not
sorry about anything. I'll never be sorry you gave me
at least one night with you! And if you think you can
scare me off, you are quite wrong. I'm in your life,
Troy, deep into your life. And if the winter makes you sad and morbid, then together we'll follow the sun, and all during those nights my arms will hold you fast
you'll never have another nightmare!"
But even as I passionately reached for him, my
heart teetered on the edge of a precipice, ready to
plunge and die if he rejected me!
"I don't want to hear anymore!" I cried before
my lips pressed down on his. "Not now, please not
now!"
PART TWO Thirteen January in July
. SEVERAL TIMES TROY TRIED TO TELL ME HIS cheerless tale of winter and weakness and death. But I was protective of our joy and passion and I kissed him into silence, again and again. For three nights and two days we were ardent lovers who could not bear to be parted for more than a few minutes at a time. We didn't go beyond the gardens that
surrounded Farthy, didn't even risk riding through the woods anymore. We chose the safe paths for our horses, never going too far, eager to return to the cottage and the security of each other's arms. And then one early evening when the rain had moved off to sea and the sun finally showed again on the horizon, Troy again held me on the floor in front of his fire. This time he was very insistent.
"You have to listen. Don't try to put me off again. I don't want to ruin your life just because there's a shadow over mine."
"Will your story ruin what we have now?" "I don't know. That will be your decision." "And you are willing to risk losing me?" "No, I hope never to lose you, but if I have to, I will."
"No!" I cried, jumping up and racing for his doorway. "Let me have all of this summer without thought of winter!"
Out of his cottage, and into the maze I walked, through the chill evening mists that were gathering in the tight lanes of the hedges. To my great consternation, I almost dashed headlong and heedless into the small group that was before the front steps of Farthinggale Manor, unloading Tony's long black limousine.
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