Tears of Leyden (14 page)

Chapter 21

I wait until sunset to begin to feel frightened. I’ve held it back all day, but now that it is night I feel too weak to defend myself alone if they came.

I eat alone, and after feeling too exposed in the kitchen I migrate to my room, holding one of the few poetry books Nadeje had on his shelf, hidden behind maps. I close the door and then step quickly to dress into my nightgown.
His sister’s
nightgown he is
lending
me. I feel cold prickle my skin as I slip the fabric over my kirtle and bodice, not bothering to take it off in the middle of the lonely hut.

I decided to stay. It took at least all afternoon to determine this and decide upon it. I thought of how I would be sold into unknown hands for service, and not even knowing the man who wrote it, of how I feel insecure with no promise of any harm coming to me…and then there was Nadeje.

I thought deeply over his tender and lenient touches, his warmth and truthful purpose, and his gentle handling of me. I thought over it all, the honesty being shown in his every contact with me. I tremble and try not to think of it. Admitting it is difficult and hazardous, but this was my main reason for not leaving, it was that behind every feeling, sensation, or emotion he caused, there was always that one pull inside me that made me feel connected. It was security, the trust and equality which he treated me with since the very beginning.

I get into bed and prop myself up against the pillows as I light my bedside candle. I curl up and pull the covers to my chest and open to the page in the book where I’d left off; distracting myself from waiting.
Harm may come to you and your Spaniard.
I feel tingles run up my arms and try to concentrate on the page. Images flash out in my brain of men, armed men, and harm coming to…I look away from the book, regaining my composure.

What if they come?
I turn back to the page and read on.
What if they know I am not coming and they enter while I am alone?
I curl up further, feeling surrounded by invisible dangers. I listen acutely, causing me to have to read some sentences over and over again, some at least three times.
Where is he?

Suddenly I hear it, a sound outside. It is the footfalls of someone stepping over the road. I stop, staring at one word on the page. I listen as the feet shuffle slightly over the dirt then discontinue. I don’t breathe. I listen harder.
Why had they stopped?

There is the click of someone working with a lock.

I am paralyzed, I cannot move or think. There is the sound of the front door opening. For some reason this jolts me. I drop my book and move to blow out my candle. In a small breath the room is flushed into darkness. I can hardly see as I feel myself moving. I don’t know how it happens, but I find myself on the ground beside my bed, my back to the wall as I hug my knees to my chest. I wait as my eyes grow accustomed to the pale silvery moonlight outside my room. The door handle turns.

The door opens and my heart falls two feet in my chest. Shadows move in the light, and then I feel my breath release. It is only one, which means the barely lit figure in the doorway is Nadeje. I relax inside, but still remain curled up and tense. I don’t know how he sees me, but after at most 10 seconds of watching him, he quietly starts in my direction.

I watch his steps not sure of how to think or act.
Should I stand? Should I remain and just speak? Should I run?
I remain.

When he is a foot or two away from me he stops and crouches before me. In only a glimpse of his shadowy silver face, I feel a flush of hot relief as he swiftly inclines and I am enveloped by his embrace. He pulls me close, my face buried in his chest. I feel his head press against my neck and my heart wavers as he burrows his face in my skin. I sink into it, breathing in the cold air on his clothes and little by little blossoming into his warmth. I slacken and exhaustedly rest against his solid figure. I absorb every bit of soothing warmth I can as he wraps me in. Release spreads as he cloaks me with his body, protecting me from the darkness in the room and shielding me from the invisible dangers.

“Lyra,” he breathes.

I feel myself weaken to his relief and care. He breathes something else, but I cannot make it out for he speaks in a Spanish murmur into my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says it softly. “Ms. Thimlet, I’m so sorry.”

I move my hands up his chest to find a place to put them and pause at the unexpected warmth of his neck.

He feels it and seems to grow more protective than before. “You are cold.” He says it half to himself. “What are you doing on the floor?”

I am not sure if it is a question I am supposed to answer, for he half speaks to me, and half to himself, but little does it matter for soon he is gathering me with his arms, cradling me and lifting my cold feet from the floor and into his lap. I am grateful, but I also need him to remember the risks of this place.

“Nadeje,” I say faintly.

He nuzzles me and pleasurably snuggles into my neck.

“Mr. Gilch…” I try to say it, but I lack words. “What would you do…if…what if they come?”

He draws back a little to observe my face. “I know some routes,” he assures gently. “They run through the city…most guards don’t bother taking patrol there…we will be fine if you let me…” He watches me a moment. “Let me protect you.”

I search his eyes. “I’m scared.”

He observes me calmly. “No matter what happens you will be taken care of. Destiny isn’t just immediate future, it is the interminable.”

I find it hard to breathe as his eyes remain on my face. “Our futures won’t meet again…will they?”

He watches me. “You confuse me with your inconsistency in manner of subject.”

I blush but do not look away, and manage not to shy. “I mean that you’ll go back to Spain after…” He waits, his eyes shining in the silvery light. “It isn’t right…allowed…for us to…” I feel the presence of his arms around me and resentment to my own words. “To interact in certain manners of…”

“Lyra Thimlet,” his voice is soft, gentle.

It rests my mouth. I am thankful.

He watches me. “Do you mean companionship?”

I feel my heart race and my face pale. “Nadeje…” I can feel his pulse through his neck, it is calm. “You…we couldn’t…you’re Spanish, I’m Dutch…we never could…” I feel my chest tighten.

He watches me with a painful face. “Lyra.”

I shake my head. “We are being disobedient now…”

“Lyra…”

I feel my heart sink and look to his throat. “Nadeje…”

Suddenly, he traps me against him. I breathe, feeling each breath enter sharply with difficulty, yet the more I breathe the more the pain eases. His head presses mildly against the place behind my ear. My mind closes the door to undesirable thoughts. Then, there is a gentle pressure against my neck. I realize Nadeje is kissing me. I feel my world tip and the darkness around us envelopes me. His breath is soft and beats gently against my skin. I feel like I am choking. I can’t breathe ‘til the moment when he carefully lifts his lips from my skin. He remains hovering but slowly nuzzles his head back against me and puts his lips right above my ear. It is warm across my neck.

Then, his voice is soft, almost a whisper. “The definition of love…”

I freeze in his arms.

“Is never the same.”

I feel heat flood in through my ears and to my pulsing heart with a little relief.

He curls his head closer to my shoulder. “There are many types of love,” his breaths gust out against my neck and chill my skin. He turns so that his nose brushes my ear. “Most try to classify it as but one,” he exhales lightly through his nose. “I say opposite,” he skims his nose against my neck. “One could speculate it as the opposite of hate…care or infatuation…” He hovers leaving me paralyzed with his absence of movement. “Amor…” I suppose it to be Spanish. “Amor is nothing of one meaning.

“There is the love, unconditional love…between usually a moeder and a child, or a brother and a sister…” His voice is vibrating gently. “There are loves of attraction…fascination by another being’s looks or ways…” He nuzzles his face into my neck and I have to make myself not flinch from the influence of his words. “Love which lies between distance and visits but does not remain long is without promise…” He pauses. “There are others…of dedication, faith, religious strength…and none but of course love for something you feel for no particular reason.” It is quiet again before he continues. “Unfortunately, there is a love which begins with hate, disregard, or fear…I call it transformational love,” he lifts his face a little, hovering above my neck. “I once thought perhaps…it was hopeful you were acquainted with it.”

I understand.

I feel him turn his head closer to mine, waiting patiently for something to happen.

“Ms. Thimlet, let me not demonstrate love, it being of great diversity,” he pauses. “Permit me instead to express my sentiments and inclinations for you.”

My heart gallops off without my leave of it. I remain burrowed against him, in no mentality to meet him in any way with a response or answers to his hidden questions. I brace myself as his words register and I squeeze my eyes closed.

I feel him nuzzle me lightly. My neck flushes at the presence of his lips against my skin. I lose whatever sturdiness I had left and tremble as my body weakens. I rely on him to stable me, and support me if I lose all consciousness. Then, he ventures further. I feel his lips begin to gently move over the surface of my neck. I almost lose it completely, but I manage to keep from squeaking out in surprise. He starts to move up my neck. I lose it here. I whimper a little into his shoulder and grow warm all over. It grows cold where his lips leave behind, and at least twice I feel shivery from it. He slowly tips his head and wanders up to the place just below my ear and gives a gentle pressure. I let myself shift a little at this, curling closer and letting out a small breath.

He soothingly begins to make his way back down, brushing his lips across some places and remaining, transfixing me, in others. I hesitantly move my hands up to the base of his neck and feel my occasional movement dawn on him. I bury my face further into his warmth and feel the heat of his skin through my fingers.

He kisses me deeply, without movement, then he slowly peels his lips away from my skin. He is silent, but soon nuzzles close and rests his head against mine. I feel his breaths softly blow over my skin and force back a want to snuggle closer and avoid the queasiness which comes from this feeling. I don’t let go, but I also don’t cling to him. I can’t, in fear of becoming too attached. I remain comforted by his hold. After a while like this, he lifts it off and turns his face to the side of my neck. I feel him skim his nose against my ear as he turns.

“Have I strayed too far?” He voice is humming right up against my ear.

I cannot ignore it. I cannot though, find words to answer his question.

“Lyra?” He tries. He waits. “Have I hurt you?”

I hesitantly shake my head.

He sounds softer. “You are avoiding me.”

I am silent, but press closer.

I feel the warmth of his face linger along my neck and ear. “You are frightened,” he guesses. “I have been too fast…” He apologizes. “Please…I know I am too soft…” He lays his head against mine.

I want to tell him no…or yes…but I have been stolen of speech by his expressions.

“My softness is how I lost my sister…” He speaks this close to my ear. “I am too ignorant of reality…”

I peek up and find the arch of his neck. “You’re protective,” I protest gently.

He nuzzles me. “
Leifde,”
it is a soft sigh, lightly spoken to me.

I freeze against him for a moment at the word of my moeder tongue. The translation…
love…
it is fluid from his lips, and I can’t help but wonder if he had practiced saying it so many times.

He swallows. “I am preventive,” there is a pause. “I mean to resolve and defend, not fight.”

I close my eyes and snuggle back in, feeling further attached to him then before he’d spoken those words. I feel his hands loosen a little and slip my hands to his neck. It is warm and soft.

He stills. “You are too cold.” He is quieter, gathering me close.

I snuggle into his throat a little, and he relaxes further. There is a thoughtful silence, which ends abruptly when he decidedly scoops me up and against him. He does this without strain, making me feel light. After the sounds of someone stepping past outside the window fade, he gently releases me. I feel my knees wobble and don’t move. He remains close a few moments longer, but then slowly he lifts his head away and parts our figures. He draws back, and I feel colder than ever.

The absence of his body’s warmth alters my consciousness and I seem to grow aware of the draft between us, unintendedly ignoring the weight of his hand on my waist. I am lost. I want to request him to stay, but he might think me heartless, or to have lack of self-control or to be untaught in common sense if I request him to be with me. I search his shadowy face for anything harmful, but nothing strikes me to be tentative about.

“Do you wish me to leave?” He inquires softly.