Books by Maggie Shayne (302 page)

"Um ... that's a toilet. You um ..." She opened the lid. "You sit on it, to uh ... answer nature's call."

He tilted his head, then his brows rose as he understood.
"In the house?"

Smiling, she nodded. "Look." She flushed the thing, and he watched the water swirl and vanish, only to refill again.

"Where does it go?" he asked her.

"A tank buried underground outside." She pointed to the roll of paper. "You use this to ... uh ... clean up afterward. It goes down, too."

He shook his head in wonder. Arianna liked not seeing open hostility and suspicion in his eyes for a change. She went on, showing him the razors and shaving cream, the hair dryer, the soap and shampoo. The toothbrushes and how to use them. When finally the tub was filled, she turned to the door.

"You are leaving me?" he asked. He didn't sound worried, just surprised.

"I... thought you'd want some privacy."

He studied her face. "You have bathed me before, Arianna. Twice now, I believe. Surely you are not embarrassed by this now?''

As he spoke, he dropped his blanket, and stepped into the steaming water. He lowered his glorious body slowly into the tub, and leaned back with a sigh. Arianna tried, but she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"You uh ... you were dead then, Nicodimus. Both times."

"And those were the only times you ever saw me in a state of... undress?" There was speculation in his eyes as he studied her face.

"No," she admitted.

"Then we—"

"We aren't going to talk about that, Nicodimus."

"Why not, Arianna?"

She looked down at his body beneath the rippling water. "For many reasons. The main one being that you'll remember everything on your own, and I think it's better for you if you do."

"And the other reasons?"

She swallowed hard. "It was a painful time for me, Nicodimus."

"Because you wanted me, and I did not return the feeling?"

She met his gaze suddenly. "Because I loved you, and you did not return the feeling. Wanting me was never a question." She turned again, gripped the doorknob.

"I think, Arianna, it still is not a question," he said softly to her back.

Arianna felt her eyes widen. Swallowing hard, she stepped out of the room and into the hall, and closed the door firmly behind her.

So that was why she had resurrected me from the very bowels of death. She had loved me.
Had
loved me.
Once.
A very, very long time ago. How she felt about me now, I did not know. How
could
I know? Certainly all she had done for me thus far, from bringing me back to life, to taking me into her home and caring for me, seemed to indicate that she still cared for me. But caring and loving were quite different matters.

I was getting stronger at a rapid pace now. By the hour, it seemed, I felt the life force moving more powerfully through my body. And she had told me that once I was able to do so, I would be free to leave here.

To leave her.

Never to have to look upon her face again, as she had so eloquently put it.

But I had a new interest in staying. I did not want to leave until I had unlocked all the secrets of Arianna. Of our past together, of what she had been to me, how and why she had betrayed me and cost me my life, and what... if anything ... she felt toward me now.

And Nidaba. What horrors had befallen my beloved companion, Nidaba?

I bathed thoroughly, washed my hair in the water, using the sweet smelling stuff she had called "shampoo." I likely used more than was needed, for the suds the stuff created nearly suffocated me, and I had to turn the water flow on once again and thrust my head beneath it to rinse it all away. Huge white mounds of froth floated upon the water

in which I soaked, rendering it useless for rinsing. But quite fragrant for all that.

Finished, I dried myself with the thick, soft "towels" she had left for me, and performed the shaving ritual with some difficulty. The little razor seemed too small for my large hand, and I longed for the honed edge of my dagger instead.

Briefly I wondered what had become of my dagger. Stolen, no doubt, by the bastard who'd killed me. I would have to acquire another, for as my memory came clearer, battles of the past emerged in rapid succession in my mind. And I knew that for an immortal to go about unarmed was foolish beyond words.

Next, my chin bleeding from several small wounds, I approached the clothing Arianna had left for me. One by one, I examined the items in the neatly folded stack beside the water basin. A shirt of soft fabric, with little round discs sewn at the sleeves and along the edges up the front, much like the one Duncan wore. It was fairly obvious how to don that, so I did. There were no laces for closure, and after studying the garment more closely I realized that there were tiny openings in the cloth that the little discs could be pushed through to hold the edges of the garment together. Next was a small white scrap of cloth with three openings. Two of which seemed to be for the legs, and one which was hidden by a flap. It must be ...

I nearly laughed aloud as I realized its intended use, and tossed the small garment to the floor. The day had not dawned when I would need to maneuver my rod through a minuscule portal when I required use of it! Ludicrous!

The final item was of the sort Arianna wore. "Jeans," she had called them. Sturdy and well made, with a metal fastener at the front, and a little round metal disc atop it. I stepped into these easily and tugged them up to my waist, drawing them closed and feeling how tightly they hugged me. I was unused to clothing of such close fit, but I assumed this was the mode of the day, and I must adjust. I toyed with the odd fastener, but found no way to make it work. Finally my fingers stumbled over the tiny handle at

its base, and I deduced that I needed to pull this upward. I did so.

Tiny metal teeth bit into the flesh of my manhood and I howled! Hopping in agony, I tried to grasp the minuscule handle again, to tug it downward this time, but I could not seem to find it.

The door burst open, and Arianna stood staring wide-eyed at me. Then she lowered her gaze, and her hands flew to her lips—to hide her amusement, I was certain.

"Get this thing off me, woman, before it cuts clean through my—"

"All right, all right, just stand still." She dropped to her knees at once, and the moment I stilled, her nimble fingers gripped the evil little implement of torture and gave a tug.

Sharp pain screamed through me, but the device let go its teeth. My hands went instantly to cup my groin, my face contorted in residual pain.

Arianna looked up at me. "How bad is it?"

"It damned well feels as if I've been cleaved half through," I muttered, sucking air through my teeth and stomping one foot twice as if that could somehow ease my pain.

She looked at the floor, eyeing the white undergarment I had tossed there. "No wonder. That's what underwear is for, Nicodimus. Well, one of the things it's for, at least."

' 'I might suggest you tell me things of such import a bit sooner, in the future, lady."

Again her full lips pulled into a smile she quickly hid. Still kneeling, she touched my hands. "Move them aside and let me see."

I went still, my jaw dropping.

"Oh, come on. Now don't try to tell me you're shy, Nicodimus. I know better. Let me see if you've been completely emasculated."I grunted in derision, but moved my hands aside. She examined me for a moment. She touched me, and I caught my breath at the surge of energy that sizzled from her hands when she did. But it was brief, all too brief. Then she stood and nodded. "It's just a tiny scratch. You'll be fine." Was she slightly breathless?

"Of course I will. The healing will take place in moments." I disliked that she had seen me howling in pain over such a seemingly minor injury. However, it truly
had
hurt incredibly. Already, though, the pain was easing, and my flesh tingled as the skin began to regenerate itself. Or was that simply the tingling sensation remaining from her touch?

"Take them off," she told me, "put on the underwear, and be careful when you use the zipper. Okay?"

"Zipper. So that's what that vicious contraption is called."

She nodded. "You need any help?"

"I believe I can manage to dress myself, Arianna."

"You could have fooled me," she said, eyeing the shirt. I looked down, and realized it hung crookedly. I had misaligned the little discs. I sighed, and shook my head, feeling doubts as to whether I would be able to adjust to this new world. I hadn't even left her house yet, and already I was floundering.

Her hand came to my cheek, soft, warm. "You're going to be fine," she told me as if she had sensed my misgivings. "You're smart, and you're strong, Nicodimus. More so than any of the other men I've met in this century. You'll put them all to shame, I promise."

That soft-spoken faith in me did wonders for my spirits. I had already recalled the years I had spent grieving my wife and sons. And while it made me sad, it gave me some peace, too. It took the edge of newness from my sorrow, and helped the shock to ease away as well. I had been without them for centuries. I had learned to go on. And I would have to do so again, now.

A knock sounded at the door. Then Duncan's voice followed. "Is Nic okay in there?"

"Fine," Arianna called. "Cut himself shaving."

"Shoot, I do that everyday," Duncan returned. "I say we go on strike, grow long beards and never shave again."

I felt myself smile. Arianna had chosen not to embarrass me by revealing the truth; and Duncan, it seemed, thought nothing of the explanation she had given him. So com-

monplace, this shaving accident, that he had made a jest of it.

"I believe I shall join you in that movement," I called to him.

Arianna's palm skimmed over my cheek, and meeting my eyes, she shook her head side to side. "That would be a shame, Nicodimus. Covering up this face ... it would be a crime."

Instinctively, I caught her palm in my hand, and drew it around to my lips. I kissed her there. Her eyes grew dark and smoky before she lowered them and quickly drew her hand away. "I'll leave you to change," she told me, and stepped out of the room again.

I sighed after she'd gone. Truly, there were feelings surfacing within me that I did not understand. If this woman had been my enemy, if she had betrayed me, if she had caused my death—none of which she denied—then why would my body react to hers the way it did? Why would I now feel myself wanting her ever more strongly each time I looked into her eyes? Why would these tender, aching feelings keep welling up inside? It made no sense.

I shook my head. The memories would come. Soon, they would come. Perhaps I would understand my emotions better then. One thing was certain. I would not leave this place until I did.

Marten grew more and more frustrated as he watched the small house at the edge of Stonehaven, awaiting his opportunity.

Nicodimus was alive! There inside that small house. Marten had followed Arianna, and he'd been watching ever since. He had even crept close enough to peer through the cracks between the shuttered windows—and he'd glimpsed his enemy inside.

Alive. Fully, completely, alive.

It seemed impossible, but he could not deny what he'd seen with his own eyes. So he watched, and he waited.

So many people around! Yes, he'd like to wreak his vengeance on Arianna for trying her best to make a fool of

him. But she wasn't his main quarry. Nicodimus was. The thief who'd stolen his sister so long ago, and left his father mortally wounded and dying, and he and his brother without a woman to tend to their needs. It had been Anya's place, her duty to care for them.

Nicodimus was old and his heart was powerful—or had been once. As he peered through the windows, Marten thought it was again, and growing more so all the time. Marten wanted that power, craved it for his own. But the two strangers, immortals both of them he sensed, stacked the odds strongly against his success. And then the Dark One had shown up—insane or nearly so. Nidaba. He'd heard tell of her before. Dearborne had once claimed she was the eldest immortal he'd known of. He'd wanted her for his experiments. Whether he'd ever had her, Marten did not know. But he had no wish to lock daggers with her now.

Too many. Too many for him to take on alone. He would likely be killed himself before he managed to get to Nicodimus, if he stormed the house the way his instincts told him to do. No, he needed a plan. A way to get them outside, to scatter them, leaving his quarry alone and vulnerable.

Nicodimus was still weak. Though healing, his body was still weak. And Marten wanted to spring on the ancient immortal before he grew strong again.

At first, Marten had thought to wait, that the others would leave eventually. But when days had passed and they still hadn't done so, he knew the time had come to make his move.

Every Witch had some innate skill that stood out in him, and that skill grew stronger when the Witch in question was an immortal High Witch.

Marten had such a skill. One he had honed down through the ages, until he'd achieved near perfection. It was that skill, he realized at last, that would bring this standoff to a head. He could drive them from the house most easily.

His skill was the art of telepathic combustion.

Marten could make things burn.

Nicodimus held the remote control in his hands, and thumbed buttons as his eyes remained riveted to the television screen. "Amazing," he kept muttering. "No matter how often you explain this, I still do not understand."

He looked, Arianna thought, like a man out of time. Big, and finely developed, but from work rather than workouts. A balanced, muscular power that emanated from him even when you couldn't see what lay beneath his clothes. But Arianna had seen. And she wished she could again.

Lying beneath him as he moved on top of her, around her, inside her, had been like riding the untamed fury of the elements. He was the physical perfection and strength of earth. He was the life and breath of air. The sizzling heat of fire, and the depth and silken caress of water. Gods, no wonder she'd loved him from the moment she'd laid eyes on him.

He stood now, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, which had become his uniform, though he admitted to missing his kilt. She'd promised to get him one. Frankly, she couldn't wait to see Nicodimus in a kilt again.

Nidaba rested in a large beanbag chair in the rearmost

corner of the room. She had refused to don modern clothes. Arianna had tried to convince Nidaba to bathe and wash her hair, but the woman had only finally given in when Nicodimus had begun telling her about the wonders to be found in the bathroom.

If she were familiar with indoor plumbing, she didn't say so. In fact, she refused to say anything at all about where she had been, how she'd managed to get by for all the centuries since Arianna had last seen her. When asked, she retreated behind a wall of silence, and her eyes went blank.

Sensing it might be too much for her to bear talking about, Arianna stopped asking.

Arianna had found a black dress of similar cut to the one Nidaba had been wearing, and she'd replaced the tattered one with it while Nidaba had been in the bath. Nidaba wore that now. Her own had been so old it had fallen to bits when Arianna had tried to wash it. Nidaba gave no indication whether she had noticed the change or not.

She brooded, Nidaba did. Her gaze was always hostile. Her reactions were nervous and startled all the time. She simply sat, watching. Silent and watching.

Arianna went to her with a plate of food now, holding on tight to the sides of the dish in case Nidaba tried to knock it to the floor with a swipe of her hand, as she had done no less than three times in the past week. "Are you hungry, Nidaba? Would you like to eat?"

Nidaba gave the plate a thorough looking over. Fried chicken tonight, with french fries. Nicodimus had fallen in love with greasy modern cooking.

"I detest it," she said, "all of it!" but she took the plate out of Arianna's hands and ripped into a chicken leg like a lion ripping into a rabbit. "Why do you not roast your meat as is proper?" she mumbled around the food. "Why must you try to kill us with this horrible fare? It is unfit to eat!" Within seconds she'd stripped the meat to the bone, and was yanking up the second piece. She paused, and glared up at Arianna. "Do not think I am fooled by your make-believe kindness, wench. You may have taken Nicodimus in with your wiles, but not me! I'll not let you

destroy him again. Not again!" Then she went stiff and her eyes widened.

"What is it, Nidaba?"

At Arianna's question, Nicodimus turned from the television set to look at Nidaba's frightened face.

"The window! Someone is watching from the window!" she shrieked. The food flew from her lap as she leapt to her feet. The plate shattered, French fries and chicken bones scattering over the floor, and Nidaba ran into the bedroom. The door slammed hard behind her.

Arianna sighed. Duncan and Raven had hurried in from the kitchen at the noise. "She throw another tantrum?" Raven asked softly.

Nodding at the mess on the floor, Arianna bent to begin picking it up.

"Let me," Duncan said. "You'll cut yourself." He moved her aside and tended to the mess himself.

Nicodimus met Arianna's gaze as she sighed and sank into a chair. "I just wish I knew how to get through to her," she whispered.

"I mentioned Dearborne's name to her," Nicodimus said softly, glancing at the door as if afraid Nidaba might overhear. "Just as you suggested I should. But she became like stone. As if she could neither hear nor see me. Just went still, barely breathing, it seemed." As he spoke, he moved to the window to stare through the glass, looking around in wonder at the town outside. "I see no one."

"I doubt anyone was there," Arianna replied, but she too, looked when Nicodimus moved away. "She's so frightened. I feel sorry for her."

"Oh, Arianna, for goodness sake, how can you?"

Raven's exclamation drew all three sets of eyes. But she only rushed on. "She's mean, and she hates you, and she threatens you at least ten times a day. It's obvious she wants Nicodimus all to herself and sees you as her only obstacle. My Goddess, Arianna, I can barely sleep nights for fear that creature is going to sneak into your room and murder you to get you out of her way."

"That is not going to happen," Nicodimus said quietly.

Arianna tore her gaze from her sister's to stare at him. But he said no more. So she turned back to Raven again. "It's not like you to be so cruel. The woman is ill, Raven."

"The woman is insane, Arianna. And if I had my way, she'd be out of this house before she starts acting on these delusions she has that you are to blame for what happened to Nic almost five hundred years ago. She wants you dead. I can see it in her eyes."

Arianna lowered her head. "Maybe she does. But they are not delusions, Raven. As much as you love me, you cannot admit that I am less than perfect. But I am, and my mistakes did cost Nieodimus his life."

"And you haven't punished yourself enough for that all these years? Is that it? Do you feel you have to let her punish you now, too, just so you can feel you've suffered thoroughly enough?"

Arianna sighed heavily, but said nothing.

Nieodimus moved closer to her, and took her arm gently in his big hand. "Is that true, Arianna? Is that why you allow Nidaba to stay? Due to some sense that you must pay for whatever you did to me in the past?"

She looked up slowly and met his gaze. "No, Nieodimus. It's nothing to do with that, I just—"

Nieodimus held up a hand for silence, and without taking his eyes from Arianna, he said, "Duncan, Raven, if you would not mind..."

"We'll give you some privacy," Duncan said quickly, and taking Raven's arm, he led her up the stairs to the bedroom they shared.

"Come," Nieodimus said when they had gone. "Sit with me for a time."

With a sigh, Arianna did as he asked. She sat down on the small sofa. Nieodimus took a seat beside her, his body turned toward her, and gathered her hands in both of his. "It is long past time we had this talk, do you not agree?"

Not meeting his eyes, she nodded. "I suppose so."

"I have not told you this, Arianna, but I have had... memories. Of you. Of us."

She looked up quickly, drew in a short breath.

"I remember only small glimpses into the past. Riding together, this one is clear. You had long, golden hair. It flew behind you in the wind and captured the sunlight. I could barely keep my attention focused on guiding my mount because it was so beautiful."

She blinked in surprise, a lump coming into her throat so suddenly she nearly choked.

"And there are other things, too. I remember how I loved listening to you talk. I remember your voice, and the song of the highlands in your speech. And your quick temper, and your impulsive nature and how often I feared it would get you into trouble."

She smiled a bit, nodding at him. ' 'It often
did
get me into trouble. But you were usually nearby to get me out again."

"I remember holding you as you cried at your sister's grave. I remember when some lad cut you to see if you would bleed, and the fear and horror I felt as I tended the wound." He shook the remembered fear away. "You were furious at him."

"You
punched him in the nose," she said softly.

He smiled. "I should have done more." He met her eyes, and his smile died slowly. "I remember making love to you, in a sacred place surrounded by stones, Arianna. In the midst of the falling snow. And I remember what I felt for you then—"

"Don't." She got to her feet quickly, putting her back to him. "Stop now, Nicodimus. Your thoughts are confused. You didn't feel anything for me then."

"But I did." He got up, and came behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders as he turned her gently. "I still do."

She closed her eyes as tears threatened. "You will change your mind when you remember the rest."

"It will come soon enough," he said. "But it will not change my mind. I was suspicious of you at first—"

"With good reason! You came to hate me before you died, Nicodimus."

"But you've shown nothing but kindness to me, and to

Nidaba as well. No, Arianna, I could never have hated you. If anyone has cause to hate, it is you who have cause to hate me. For you loved me, freely and generously, you loved me. This I remember very well. Yet I, in my stubbornness, continued to deny feeling anything for you in return, even when I-—"

"Please don't," she whispered. "If you say it now only to take it back later... Nicodimus, I don't mink I'll ever get past it."

"Perhaps I don't want you to 'get past it'. But I will not say the words if they frighten you so. I will hope instead that my heart can speak for itself."

He drew her closer then, and bent to press his lips to hers. For the life of her, Arianna could not pull away. He kissed her so tenderly, so gently. And when she parted her lips on a shuddering sigh, and wound her arms around his neck, he kissed her harder. Deeper. He pulled her hips tight to his own, and drove his tongue into her mouth, tasting all within his reach, plundering her until her head was spinning and her heart, pounding.

And then he lifted his head away, and his eyes sparkled down into hers. "I would like very much to hold you in my arms tonight, Arianna. I want to take you to my bed. Will you let me?"

She couldn't speak. So she only nodded, then panicked and the words spilled out before she could stop them. "I will never love you again, Nicodimus. I won't let you break me that way. Not again."

He stared at her, and finally sighed and shook his head, "I hurt you very badly, then, didn't I?"

She nodded in jerky motions. "I gave you all of me, all I had to give. But it was never enough for you. And you only threw it back in my face."

' "Then I was a fool. And whatever you did to me in the end, was likely well deserved, Arianna."

Lowering her head, she shook it slowly. "No. You warned me after all. You told me you could never feel anything for me. I just couldn't accept it."

"Nor should I have asked you to." He searched her eyes,

saw the way she trembled, she was certain of it. "I want you very badly, Arianna."

"I... I..." She stared up at him, incapable of refusing him. She was his, tonight and every night, if he wanted her. She hated feeling powerless, craving him this much when she ought to know better than to fall into the same old trap. Loving a man who could not love her back. It was self-destructive. And painful. And she deserved better, dammit.

"No, Arianna," he said softly, his eyes roaming her face. "Not tonight. Not now, with this unsettled between us. You'd give still more of yourself if I asked you now, wouldn't you? No, don't answer. I will not ask any more of you. Not now, not like this."

"Nicodimus?"

He shook his head. "Go on, little cat. Go up to your bed. And do not worry about Nidaba. I will hear her if she moves from her rooms. I will keep you safe, I vow it."

Little cat.
He did remember. Arianna drew a deep breath, hating the weakness only he could bring to life in her. Damn him. She was strong. She didn't need him to love her, didn't even need him to forgive her. Much less to protect her.

She didn't!

And she didn't love him, either.

Only a fool would love a man who'd rejected her as many times as Nicodimus had rejected Arianna.

Only a totally hopeless fool. And Arianna was nobody's fool.

Marten focused his intent on the small house. His eyes bored into it as he drew the heat up from the core of him, holding it and letting it build. Hotter. Stronger. Sweat broke out on his face and arms. His breaths came short and fast, and his body shuddered with the effort of containing the energy. And yet he held it inside him as it grew. His body heated, and he knew his skin was turning bloodred. A white-hot haze filled his vision, brighter, blinding, but still he did not blink, did not close his eyes.

Finally, with a shout, he released the energy. It shot

forth, a ball of spectral flame that penetrated the house at its base, near the back. As it flooded out of him, Marten went weak. Nothing remained inside him, no strength, no energy, and his body sank limply to the ground. He lay there, still, waiting. His strength would return in a few moments. It always did.

While he waited, he watched the house as his vision slowly cleared and returned to normal. He saw the soft glow from within. Saw it build. Watched it spread.

Marten smiled.

Arianna lay awake in her bed, restless and troubled. So Nicodimus wanted her again. It was no surprise, or at least, it shouldn't be. He'd wanted her before. He just hadn't loved her. And although he might think that had changed, she knew better. She had spent too much time convincing herself he could never love her to believe so easily now. Once he remembered, it would all change.

And why would he bother with her anyway, when it was obvious his feelings for Nidaba ran far deeper, and were far older than anything he could ever feel for Arianna? He spent countless hours with Nidaba. Whenever she ventured out of the room she'd claimed as her own, he would be at her side, talking to her about the amazing things he'd seen or learned about in this new world. Or reminiscing about the past, recounting various adventures they'd shared together. Asking gently if she remembered.