Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (7 page)

Although the rose still lurked in the center of her table, a constant reminder to be vigilant.

Now, not only was there nowhere to cage these raging desires, she was losing control of her mind too!

‘Do you have any idea what's going on here?’

His voice was rough with emotion and heat.

Georgina shook her head and concentrated on unsealing the plastic wrap on the bread roll.

‘We've got to talk about it, Gina, and this is probably going to be our best chance of doing so without involving either Fran or Gould.’

He’d called her `Gina’ and the echo of it settled into her soul with a familiarity beyond intimate, a rightness beyond pure. Georgina nodded, still unable to speak.

‘I'll tell you how it is with me. Then I'd like to know what's happening with you. Maybe we can make some sense out of it. Agreed?’ he demanded tersely.

There was no point in refusing. She'd already agreed to come and talk, hadn't she? Georgina nodded again and silently scrunched the plastic wrap back around the bread. Her heart was beating hard in the base of her throat and she doubted she'd be able to swallow anything without choking. She put the roll back on the paper.

Torr fixed his attention on her as he spoke and Georgina found it impossible to look away from that penetrating gaze.

‘I knew you. The moment I saw you at the airport—even before Fran called out to you. I knew that I knew you—in the ancient biblical sense—and my body was instantly ready to renew that knowledge with a fervor I've never before experienced. I love Fran. I thought she was my life mate. We're good in bed—bloody good.’ He stopped for a moment and looked deep, drinking in with an obvious satisfaction, the glitter of reaction in her eyes, then added roughly, ‘Just as I imagine you and Gould are good. But in no way can either relationship compare with how you and I were once. How we will be again.’

‘No!’

The one word was torn from Georgina's throat by main force. She could not have held it in any more than she could have uttered any other words after it.

‘Why do I know we've had this conversation before? Why are we able to converse without even speaking? Where do the bloody words come from? The knowledge? Why do I know you belong to me as surely as does my right arm and why do I know I should trust you less than my worst enemy?’

Georgina's head snapped back at that.

‘Why?’ she demanded.

‘How the hell should I know why?’ he snarled straight back. ‘I didn't make up the rules of this damned game! I didn't decide what I'm to know and what I'm not. When I look at you I know you're mine—and I know if I place my heart in your keeping, you'll tear it out, the first chance you get. You already did. I can
feel
the torn and bleeding flesh here,’ he said, grasping at his chest with a large, tensile hand. ‘Perhaps
you
can tell me why? For instance, what did you mean by a ship and an energy web at my command?’

The bones in her face ached. Her eyes felt so hot they could melt. Slowly she raised her hands to her cheeks. Her fingers were icy cold.

‘I don't know where the thoughts come from. They just are. And I see pictures. I never have. It's always been my mother or Merryn—and sometimes Fran. I've never had the `knowing'—and I don't damn well want it!’

‘What do you see?’ he asked, ignoring her passionate outburst.

Georgina dropped her hands to the level of the second button on her plain white blouse where her restless fingers began picking agitatedly at the tiny dragon carved from clear quartz crystal that she wore there out of sight and next to her skin. Fran had sent it to her from London on her first trip away from home, saying it would be her talisman against all life's `dragons'. She'd not taken it off since, even though Gould didn't like it, and her fingers always betrayed her by straying to it in moments of stress. Torr's eyes fastened on those restless fingers now and she dropped them abruptly to her lap.

‘Yesterday, when you stopped to look at the waterfall—in the foyer—I saw a warrior behind you. He was taller and broader—even than you—and he wore a golden horned helmet on his head and carried a huge iron broadsword in his hand. He—looked like you and yet—not like you.’

Torr's face was a mask, expressionless and harsh.

‘What happened when you were under the pyramid last night? You called my name. It was quite distinct.’

Georgina closed her eyes and the vision was etched clearly in her mind.

‘Taur,’ she whispered. ‘T-A-U-R. That's the warrior's name.’

‘How do you know?’

Georgina shook her head and opened her eyes to glare belligerently at him.

‘I don't know. It leapt into my mind spelt like that when Fran introduced us at the airport.’

‘What did you see when you were under the pyramid?’ he pressed.

‘You—No, the Warrior—on a great white war-horse up among the stars and—I was running to him.’ Georgina stopped, her thoughts turning inwards as the pain of it ripped through her.

‘And?’

Her voice sounded far-away to her own ears.

‘Suddenly I was floating far above him and he—’

‘What?’

‘Was totally engulfed by this—roiling mass of—sea water.’

She closed her eyes tightly and sat perfectly still in an effort to blank out the awful image.

‘Shit!’

Her eyes flew open. Torr's skin had taken on a yellow tinge and his eyes burned like twin flames in their sockets.

‘You didn't know I had a phobia about the sea then.’

‘No.’

There was a long silence as they sat staring beyond each other, lost in their thoughts and inner images. Then Torr turned to Georgina and said, ‘Reincarnation and past lives are things that Fran writes about—and other people believe in. I've never given it much thought and I don't feel comfortable doing so now. But—we—belong—together.’ He stopped and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘We've—been together before and the chemistry must have been awesome. It still is.—Will you consider leaving Gould and coming away with me? Whatever happens, I'm leaving. Fran doesn't know it yet, but she will.’

He might as well have poked her with an electric cattle prodder. Her whole body jerked and her eyes flew wide as panic ripped through her. For just an instant she saw Gavin Warner, Alan's son, his deep blue eyes dark with concern and understanding, offering to see her home from the hospital.

Lying eyes.

Heard again the coldly accusing words, ‘Now we know just what a whore you are.’

‘No!’ She was gasping for breath as if she'd just run a mile sprint. Then she snapped jerkily, ‘I can't.—You know I can't.—Why won't you ever—take `no' for an answer?’

Green eyes fixed on hazel.

Because you and I were created to be together! Why didn't you stay with me?

I had no choice! People's lives depended on me!

Did your going save their lives? Did it save ours?

Georgina stood abruptly and walked away from the park bench.

Run, then! You'll achieve as much now as you did then.

The bitter thoughts stabbed like daggers in the back of her head and she broke into a run.

‘I had to ask,’ Torr said aloud, more to himself than to the woman hurrying away from him as if he'd just admitted to being a serial rapist. ‘God knows why, but I had to ask. Just one more time. Even though we both know it can't be.’

Pelham would enjoy this, he thought savagely. A fine time to think of his older brother, but not surprising. Brought up in a rambling castle in Cornwall, they'd been reared on tales of the supernatural and unexplained. The headless horseman who rode through the village on All Hallows Eve was well documented and the plain and wealthy Lady Elspeth who was reputed to have been pushed down the stairs by her unfaithful and mercenary husband probably still wafted silently about Penreath Castle sending shivers up the spines of visitors.

But they were silent ghosts. They didn't communicate either verbally or telepathically. They were fleeting, ephemeral manifestations that were gone almost as soon as they'd appeared, making no physical difference to the lives of their beholders. And they'd never seemed to be—inside of him. He'd never had to acknowledge them as anything more than manifestations of an overactive imagination.

He guessed he could be forgiven for wondering if he was suffering from excessive jetlag or if his secretary had a point after all when she'd suggested that he'd need fly's feet to hang on to the earth while he was `down under' in New Zealand. If Hugh Templeton, one of  his partners in the consultancy, hadn't rung by tomorrow with a desperate call for him to be somewhere, anywhere in the world other than New Zealand, he'd have to make up his own excuses. Meantime he needed to start thinking about what he was going to say to Fran.

Chapter 4

Back in the office uselessly wishing she'd brought Katja to work with her, Georgina prowled the tiny space with all the angst of a caged tiger. She knew it was better for the dog to be out on the harbor with Gould than cooped up in the office all day but she needed to bury her hands in the comfort of the thick warm fur, to feel Katja's heart beating steadily against her fingertips to remind her of the realities of her life. She was in danger of believing Torr Montgomery's fantastic claim that she and he had shared another lifetime together—an intensely passionate lifetime.

After several minutes of futile pacing, Georgina snatched up her bag and keys and strode out of the shop. Half an hour later leaning on the rough stone parapet beneath the monument that crowned One Tree Hill, which was now bereft of its historic lone pine due to an act of vandalism, she stared out over the city of Auckland without any memory of driving from the center of its business district to the summit of its most famous landmark.

They'd been lovers. Her body had known that. So had her mind if she were honest. Hell, they made love visually whenever their eyes met!

When had she stopped doubting and simply accepted that it was so? Georgina sucked in a ragged breath and moved round the parapet to where she was entirely alone with the comfort of the stone beneath her hands, the breeze on her face, and the limitless vault of the sky above. She could not bear for anyone to intrude on her consciousness now, least of all some innocent camera-toting tourist wanting identification of distant landmarks.

Where, and when had they been together in the past? Despite the horned helmet she knew he wasn't a Viking and if the appearance of the Warrior was indicative of the times, it was eons ago. Then why was the memory so strong? What was the purpose of it all when it was still wrong for them to be together? It had been wrong then too and people had paid with their lives for her helpless need of him.

How did she know all this stuff? She who'd never known anything beyond the reality of her present life? In the space of twenty-four hours Georgina Hackville had become someone she no longer understood. Georgina, the steady,
grounded
member of the Hackville family had become the craziest of them all. She, who'd never cared to know her spirit ancestors or converse with them; who'd never tried to discern or define the higher purpose of her presence on earth; she who'd thought she had her life mapped out and could accurately predict where she'd be in ten years’ time, was suddenly adrift in an alien cosmos and painfully aware there were forces at work way beyond her control or understanding.

Was this why she'd so fiercely shut her mind to any hint of the 'knowing' the others accepted as if it were a natural part of their make-up? Did she have some deep, instinctive awareness that what she would 'know' would be beyond painful and change the pattern of her life out of all recognition? It probably had nothing to do with the fact she'd been unable to face up to other kids in the street of her childhood home in Oxford calling her mother a `witch', as she'd often thought.

Two hours slipped by while Georgina stared across the city and let the thoughts, feelings, and ancient knowledge course through her being. At the end of it she was no nearer knowing why or how she knew what she did. Only that it had been wrong to love the Warrior once and still was, no matter what guise he now wore. There was no way she could ever plunge her family into the kind of trauma a liaison with Torr Montgomery would cause, any more than she could ever create a rift between Fran and herself. She couldn't live with that on her conscience.

Wrapping that self-knowledge round her, a shield against all temptation, Georgina drove home. Breathing in the silence as she let herself into the foyer, she savored the sense of communion with the house that always came at the moment of opening the door to the rainbow brilliance of the waterfall in the afternoon sunlight. Once again she realized what balm to her soul her home really was.

‘Hey, George. It’s not going to happen, you know,’ Case murmured by her ear. They were several storeys up in a slowly revolving restaurant that would, during the course of the evening, give them a panoramic view of the lights from all quarters of the city. Georgina was glad Fran and Gould were finding so much to talk about but was unable to match her sister's enthusiasm for the fact the science of cloning was becoming a reality. The thought that one group in society had the power to create untold numbers of beings in whatever likeness they desired could only lead to a human disaster of megalithic proportions. Georgina didn't think she was a particularly imaginative person but even her pragmatic mind had no difficulty conjuring up scenarios of graphic horror that could result from the power to clone falling into the wrong hands.

But debate and speculation were Gould's forte, not hers. Thoughts that were crystal clear in her mind became as murky as trampled reeds in a marsh when she tried to articulate them. She'd long since decided she knew how she felt about the major social issues and there was no point in debating them with anyone unless that debate actually had a chance of making a difference.

She was very glad Merryn and Case had hired a baby-sitter and brought her mother to swell the numbers so it was less likely to be noticed that neither she nor Torr offered more than monosyllables to the conversation. Though not for one moment did she think Torr Montgomery had a problem with articulation. Trouble was, she'd forgotten just how perceptive Casey Valois could actually be.

‘What?’ Georgina asked, turning puzzled eyes on her brother-in-law.

‘Whatever it is that's making you frown like the Roly dog from the toilet paper ad.’

Georgina smiled in spite of herself. Trust Case to come up with an original analogy. It was disturbing to consider there were times when he was more sensitive to what went on inside her head than was Gould. Since that was a thought she didn't care to pursue, and since she didn't dare let her eyes rest on the man sitting directly across the table from her, she turned thankfully to Case and attempted to grumble intelligently about the vagaries of shipping companies and the impossibility of holding a book signing when she had no books in the shop because they were all held up in a warehouse on the wharf somewhere.

Georgina gave thanks for the presence of her mother too. No party could be dull with Ellen's vivacious presence and lively conversation. Just so long as she didn't take it into her head to lift the large dark hand that silently but ceaselessly thrummed against the tabletop to her left and start reading Torr Montgomery's character in his palm. Thinking about it made her wonder whether she should retract her gratitude for her mother's presence. Damn, but she'd give herself a headache if she kept this up.

She leaned across Case and deliberately started a conversation with Merryn about wee Jordie but if anyone had asked afterwards she'd not have been able to recount even one word of it.

Then disaster teased. Ellen decided it was time to know more about the background of the man who would become her son-in-law.

‘Fran tells me you grew up in a castle in Cornwall. Is that where you'll live?’

‘My brother owns the castle. My portion is the Dower House, a Georgian gem of a mere eighteen rooms,’ he said with a hint of a smile.

Ellen sighed, then swore in a delicate, ladylike fashion.

‘I never thought I'd be homesick for England but I rather think I'll be impatient for an invitation to visit. Have you got a date in mind for the wedding?’

What she really wants to know is whether your intentions towards her daughter are honorable!

For just a second Georgina thought she'd spoken the vaguely intimate taunt aloud. A speedy and surreptitious scan of the table set her mind at rest. Almost. One pair of eyes, deep and luminous green, seared into her psyche.

And which daughter would that be?

Damn you! Stay out of my head!

And you out of mine!

Abruptly Georgina rose, and mumbling an excuse headed for the `Ladies' room. Looking neither right nor left, she could only pray no one followed her. She wasn't surprised when the mirror showed her eyes unnaturally bright and a hectic flush on her cheeks. With a family as perceptive as hers she didn't dare go back out there until she'd done something about her appearance. Turning on the cold tap, she splashed liberal amounts of water over her wrists and face until her color returned to something resembling normal, patted herself dry with paper towels, brightened her lipstick and taking several deep, steadying breaths, walked back into the restaurant and took her place at the table again.

‘You all right?’ Gould asked with a slight frown as she sat down.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, as if surprised he'd felt the need to ask and was almost able to relax as he returned to his intense discussion of publishing contracts with Fran.

The rest of the evening was a blur of discomfort laced with incipient panic that brought with it bitter memories of sitting by Alan watching him die while waiting for the moment when his son would tell him she'd betrayed him.

But she did remember Merryn leaning forward and suddenly asking conspiratorially, ‘What do you think of him then? Will he do for our Frannie?’

What was she supposed to answer to a question like that? What the hell
had
she answered? Something totally inane but it must have sufficed for Merryn had reverted to her favorite topic, the latest words in the vocabulary of her wee Jordie.

Lord knows why she hadn't been prepared for Ellen slipping in the same question as they trooped in a higgledy fashion back along the street to where the cars were parked.

Her snappy answer, ‘He's great, Mum!’ was guaranteed to put the far too canny Ellen on notice something was not as it should be.

The cold horror feathering along her spine when her mother asked the question was nothing to what she felt when Ellen rejoined, ‘I'm not so easily convinced. Something tells me there's more to Torr Montgomery than meets the eye and if he doesn't measure up, he can take his paws off my daughter.’

The firm words reminded Georgina of her father's frequent assertion that Ellen was descended from the warlike Queen, Boadicea, as well as the seer-priestess of Arthurian times, Morgan Le Fey. The idea had appealed to his delight in things ancient. Georgina was simply intensely edgy. Why had God given her a psychic mother?

Thankfully no one wanted to linger out of bed once they entered the house. As Georgina let her body sink gratefully into the mattress and felt Gould stretch his length beside her, she thought it just as well she was usually rather quiet and hoped he wouldn't have noticed she'd had more difficulty than usual in keeping up her end of the conversation over dinner. Perhaps she could just snuggle into the crook of his arm and sink into the blissful nothingness of sleep without having to open her mouth one more time.

Gould moved his arm to accommodate her, then before she could wriggle down to find the exact hollow in his shoulder for her head, he raised himself slightly, closed his mouth over hers and began deep-throat kissing as if they'd already shared a half hour of escalating foreplay.

No! Her body stiffened involuntarily in denial. But in the next breath Georgina knew she had no choice. She never rejected Gould's advances, always welcomed them with a fervor he declared was one of the things he loved about her. There was no way she could face the explanations he'd demand if she cried off. Desperately she forced her mind to go blank, her body to relax, and hoped her natural passionate responsiveness wouldn't let her down.

Almost before she'd begun to return his kisses he reared above her and joined their bodies without any thought for whether she was ready for him or not. Georgina's brain went into overdrive. It was as if she had a stranger in her bed. One thing she could never have accused Gould of being was inconsiderate as a lover. Something was dreadfully wrong.

In seconds he was groaning hoarsely against her throat, and shuddering in climax as he jetted his seed into her log-like body. But none of that shocked her as much as that he then rolled off her, turned his back and settled into the mattress as if dropping off to sleep was the next natural step. Fury followed hard on the heels of shock but before Georgina could articulate any of the heated thoughts rushing round in her head, they were doused by a healthy dose of guilt.

Had he noticed? Did he know? Oh God!

‘What brought that on?’ she asked in a small, tight voice.

Gould stopped breathing for a second, as if her question surprised him, then he slowly turned to lie on his back. Georgina sensed his eyes were fixed on the dim shadows on the ceiling above them.

‘I didn't think you'd notice.’ His voice sounded odd, strained. ‘You seemed to be on another planet all evening.’

I—’ Say something, you dolt! ‘I've been—a bit distracted about these book-signings. Ray Vincent's books still haven't turned up.’

‘Have you got Fran's books?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, relax. You've got a couple of weeks for the others, haven't you?’ he asked, as if her workload was what they'd been discussing all along.

‘Yes.’

‘Right then. Go to sleep.’

He tucked her into the crook of his arm and said no more.

Not even `sorry'.

Sleep was long in coming and she lay very still arguing with herself she'd no right to feel resentment. Gould had probably picked up on the atmosphere around her and Torr. It was as thick and nauseous as mid-winter city smog. She'd almost succeeded in calming her mind, feeling sleep could be a possibility somewhere in the next hour or so when they were both jolted upright by the ringing of the bedside phone.