Page 58 of The Burning Passion of a Fiery Lady
She lifted his hand to her cheek, rubbing it against her skin, remembering how powerful it had once been. How his hands had caressed her, in the wildest, unexpected of ways, seeking to discover her, to give her pleasure. He had been utterly selfless in that pursuit. And in doing so, he had freed her, finally, from the yoke of her past.
He had given her a gift. A precious gift that could never be taken away.
“My love,” she said, staring at his face. “It has been two days now. Two days since we carried you into this room.”
She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears.
“I have not stepped out of the house,” she continued, in a low voice. “But others have told me about what is happening. David is working with the horses, exactly as you have taught him. He tells me that Thor is coming along nicely, and that Blitzen is much improved. He says that he thinks it is thanks to you that the horse has lost his skittishness. That he misses you …”
She choked back a sob, staring hard at his face.
“The last of the snow on the mountains has melted,” she went on, trying to steady her voice. “I can see from my chamber window that it is gone. The days are getting longer and warmer. And the fields are full of buttercups. They are spreading. Do you remember how we lay in that field full of them, and you crowned me, saying that I belonged in nature?”
She gazed at his face, longing for him to respond, searching for signs that he was hearing her. But his eyelids remained firmly closed.
“Come back to me, my love,” she entreated, the tears finally spilling over, running down her face with abandon. “There is so much more for us to do together. So many more fields to lie in, so many more rides through woodlands … so much of everything. Please, do not leave me alone here. Icannotlive without you …”
She gripped his hand, tighter, pressing her face against it, kissing it passionately.
Suddenly, she felt his hand twitch, ever so slightly, in hers.
Stunned, she gripped it harder, staring into his face. His eyelids were flickering; she could see the eyelashes fluttering, like a butterfly trying to spread its wings.
“Jasper,” she cried. “Jasper! Come to me, my love. Come to me.”
***
He was on a boat, being tossed over endless waves, clinging its side.
It was dark, in this world; almost like a void. There was no sky or sun. There was no moon to light his way back. It was just endless blackness, the water swaying beneath him, as he journeyed.
He had no idea when or where the journey had started. He had no idea of the destination. He only knew that it felt like he had been on this boat forever, that the journey had no beginning or end. It was almost a perfect circle, going around and around, a perpetual cycle.
But something was different now. Something was happening. He clung to the side, searching desperately, staring into the void. Trying to ascertain what it exactly was.
Honeysuckle, he thought.I can smell honeysuckle …
He stilled, not quite believing it was true. But the sweet scent wafted over him, refreshing him, enlivening him. It reminded him of days that he had walked through woods as a boy, watching robins in their nests, the sun burning his face. It reminded him of days picnicking with his mother and father, by the banks of a river, laughing as they threw stones into the river, watching them skim the surface before finally sinking into the depths.
And now, something else was reaching him, along with the familiar scent. A voice drifting towards him, along that endless water. A sweet voice, high pitched and melodic. A voice that was precious to him.
Hemustget back to that voice.
He gripped the sides of the boat desperately, straining to hear it. It was dipping in and out; sometimes, he could hear it clearly, but at other times it faded. He wanted to be with that voice. It was imperative that he be with that voice.
He knew what he had to do to reach it, but he was scared. He had to throw himself into the water. He had to toss himself into that endless void, leave the safety of the boat behind. Could he do it?
It was safe on the boat. He didn’t know where he was going or where he had left from, but it was safe. Out there was only blackness. If he fell into it, what would become of him? He might get closer to the voice, but equally he might lose himself entirely.
Heknewthat voice. The voice of a woman. A woman who was precious to him. She talked of buttercups and riding through woods as if she were telling a story. A story that meant something to her. Did it also mean something to him?
Her voice suddenly came through, sharp as crystal, with the crispness of a bell.
Jasper. Come to me, my love. Come to me …
He strained against the side of the boat, avidly searching the void. Where was she? He could not see her.
Come to me …
