The first thing Ian heard was the rain. Pattering softly, steadily down, it washed away all color, leaving behind a cold gray backdrop.
Anola sat huddled in the corner, her profile clearly visible to him, long dark curls cloaking her shoulders, reaching well below her waist. She had always been such a beautiful woman.
She turned, not seeing him yet, dabbing the end of her apron at her eyes. Dark, exotic gypsy eyes, exactly like his own.
It stabbed at his heart to realize she was crying. Before Larkin’s death, he’d never seen her cry. Afterward, she had never stopped.
“Mother?”
The voice of a child. His voice, as it had been.
She turned slowly, trying as she always had, to conceal her tears.
“Ian? Is that you, lad? You’ve grown so. Yer a fine strong man to be proud of.”
She reached out her hand to him and he started forward only to be blocked by an invisible wall.
“Mother? Are you really here?” How could it be Anola, dead over six hundred years?
Of course. One of his dreams.
Her hand dropped to her lap and she shrugged, a gesture he remembered well.
“Och, I forgot. You canna come to me. It’s all right, me wee brave bairn. I’ve spoken to yer father. I’ve begged and pleaded, but he’s ever the willful, stubborn Fae.” She smiled, though her tears began to fall again.
“Dinna cry, Ma. What is it? What can I do?”
The rattle of armor was the only warning before a burst of light, brighter than the sun, filled the room. When it abated, Ian looked up to find Larkin standing over him, his face contorted with rage.
For a moment he thought to cringe, but he was a man now. His father’s anger wouldn’t frighten him anymore.
“I warned you. And you swore to me.” Larkin dropped his head into his hands. “Swore to me. And now look what you’ve done.”
“I’ve done nothing but what I promised you, Father. I’ve guarded the Fountain. I’ve protected the Mortals.”
Larkin’s head snapped up. “Nothing?” he shouted. “Nothing, you say? Protected the Mortals, have you? You bedded the woman. I warned you to use caution or you’d have to choose. Now it’s come to that. You’ve tipped the scales of fate with your actions.”
“Sarah? This is about Sarah?” Ian’s stomach lurched, and for the second time in as many days the unfamiliar pain of fear lanced through his system. What did this warning have to do with Sarah?
“Larkin,” Anola cautioned. She stood beside her husband, her hand on his chest. “Be gentle with the lad.”
“It’s not my doing it’s come to this. His own actions have set him on this path. I’m doing everything I can. More than I should.” He trailed his hand down her dark hair before turning back to his son. Calmed by the touch of his beloved wife, sorrow replaced the anger. “You will see for yourself, my son, and you will have to choose. I can say no more.”
“I dinna understand, Father.” Ian reached toward Larkin, but the light faded, gray closing in all around him, wrapping him in an impenetrable blanket of mist.
The rain still fell softly, chilling his exposed skin. He was in the forest now, within sight of the Portal at Thistle Down. His parents had disappeared, but there were others ahead on the path. He couldn’t see who they were, all their faces and words indistinct. All except her.
Sarah’s golden curls shone like a beacon. The others, those whose visage blurred when he tried to identify them, faded away. Only Sarah remained.
His stomach clenched as he recognized her fright. He felt it, and anger, twining together, curling around him like a tangible thing. He needed to protect her, tried to run to her, but it was as if something physically held him back, pushed him to the ground and barred his path to her. He could only watch as a pulsating red sphere formed around her, the glow emanating from within her, surrounding her.
He felt danger growing, yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t call out to warn her.
The crack of a shot rang out and he watched helplessly as the red glow instantly evaporated and she crumpled to the ground, blood flowing freely around her where she lay.
Whatever force held him disappeared as suddenly as it had come and he ran to her side, scooping her into his arms, cradling her to him.
“Sarah, luv, open yer eyes. Speak to me.”
Dark lashes fluttered against pale cheeks.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Ian,” she whispered. “But it’s all right. I couldn’t allow him to harm you. It was my choice to take the risk.”
“No,” he roared, clutching her body to him as the soul within drifted away. He couldn’t lose her. Not this way.
“Yes,” a quiet voice responded. His father’s voice.
The forest gone, his arms empty, he was back in the gray room, his father standing before him.
“Now you’ve seen what her choice will be. You, too, must choose. If you love the woman enough, you will make the right choice.”
The rain stopped. The clouds lifted and the gray mist evaporated, burned away in the radiant sunlight that shone off Larkin’s silver armor. The light grew brighter and more intense until the room itself disappeared in a brilliant flash of white light.
“Choose wisely, my son.”
The words echoed in his mind.
“No.” Ian’s own bellow brought him awake, his body damp with perspiration. He lay on the bed breathing heavily, as if he’d just completed a long run.
The dream again. Another warning of danger. But this time, finally, he knew what it meant. Sarah was the one in danger and he was responsible for her predicament. Somehow his being with her would bring about her death. He should have known he couldn’t have her. Now he had a choice to make to save her life.
He sat up on the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face with his hands, praying to the Earth Mother that it wasn’t too late.
Sarah completed him. He needed her more than he needed his next breath, but he would do what he had to do, what he should have done to begin with.
In the final analysis, what did his need for her matter when balanced against her life? He wouldn’t risk that. He wouldn’t risk her. Better he should spend eternity alone, in his own private hell, than risk harm to Sarah.
His choice was made.
* * *
“You’re sure this is what you want to do?”
As he watched Dallyn stand and cross to the opening of the gazebo, Ian briefly considered that Sarah’s ability to read another’s feelings would be useful now. The Fae was a master at hiding his true thoughts and feelings.
“Want?” Ian shook his head. “Hardly. It’s what I must do. My choices are limited.”
“Then you believe this to be the choice you must make?”
Ian nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. He’d related the entire dream to Dallyn, the warning, everything. Well, not everything. He hadn’t told him about last night. There were some things the Fae didn’t need to know.
“And how do you suppose Sarah will respond when she learns? Are you sure this would be her choice as well?”
“This is no her choice to make. It’s mine.”
“We each of us choose turns along the path to our destiny. She must make choices as well as you. Have you thought to discuss it with her?”
Ian shook his head. “I told you what will happen, what I saw happen, if I stay. You know my dreams always come true. If I stay, if I’m here with Sarah, she will make her choice and she will die. I’ll no be responsible for that.”
“Your dreams do indeed give you accurate visions of bits of the future, Ian. But as such they’re open to interpretation. What if it’s your absence that triggers the events you saw?”
“That’s ridiculous. I was there. I held her dying in my arms. It canna happen if I’m no here. My father warned I’d have to make a difficult choice to prevent what I saw. I’ve made that choice. She’s safe here at Thistle Down. They canna cross the waters without being invited over, and they’ll never be invited here. She’s promised she’ll no see them again.”
“So. You’ll give her up. Just like that. Turn your back and walk away.” Dallyn turned to pluck a rose from the vine entwined about the gazebo. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled deeply before turning back to Ian, pinning him with a stare. “Is she the one, do you suppose? Your Soulmate?”
“No,” Ian denied. “That soul was torn from the body it occupied centuries ago, cast into the chaos. Lost to the Fountain forever.”
Dallyn shrugged. “They’re never lost, Ian. Only out of order.” He smiled sadly. “You’ve lived a long time since then. It could have happened, you know, the next cycle.”
Ian glanced down. Spotting Sarah’s sandals on the floor, he stooped to pick one up. He wouldn’t consider it. Couldn’t. It would only make it harder to do what he must. If he stayed, she would die. He had seen it. And those dreams, those visions, were never false.
“It makes no difference. Even if yer right, I canna stay. I’d only lose her again, and this time it would be my own fault. I canna live with that.” Clutching the sandal tightly, he turned and walked away.
He wouldn’t look down the path toward the cottage. He feared catching sight of her. He’d rather hold the memory of her as he’d seen her last, her face soft and distracted from his kiss.
His father’s words rang in his mind. “If you love her enough, you will make the right choice.”
Reaching the car he’d already packed, he got in and closed the door. He laid the sandal he carried on the seat next to him. Pulling out of the drive, he didn’t look back.
He was making the right choice, the only choice he could.
* * *
Sarah’s stomach growled, drawing her attention from the glowing laptop screen and the world growing there at her fingertips. She glanced out the window and was surprised to find it was dark. How long had she been sitting here? She glanced at the clock, shocked to see the whole day gone by.
She stood and stretched, her back stiff and sore from leaning over the desk all day. The rest of her sore from last night. She smiled at the memory.
Rolling her neck, she shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the water. She hadn’t even changed today, was still dressed in Ian’s shirt. She pulled it off and, from the doorway, tossed it onto her bed before returning to the bathroom and her shower.
The warm water poured over her head and down her body, washing away the haze that cocooned her when she wrote. She moved farther from the world of her own creation and firmly back into the real world.
All those months without having written a single word worth keeping and now, suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch or unlocked a door, it was back.
She felt good; for the first time she could remember, everything in her world was right. And everything, she quickly acknowledged, included much more than her writing. It included Ian.
Ian. Where was he?
Rinsing her hair, she wondered if he’d come to the cottage and she’d been so involved in her writing she’d simply not heard him. Surely he would have come inside. It didn’t matter. She was certain he’d be here shortly. He’d told her he was coming back this evening.
She climbed from the shower, wrapped herself in a warm, fuzzy robe, and considered for the first time that exhaustion might be a stronger force on her body at the moment than even hunger. Padding barefoot to the kitchen, she poured a glass of milk. The sofa beckoned her, but before settling in, she opened the front door, straining to see if Ian approached in the darkness. Satisfied he wasn’t on the path, she gave in to the lure of the comfortable sofa and curled up to wait for his arrival.
She took a couple of sips from the glass before setting it on the end table. Her eyes burned from long hours at the computer and lack of sleep. If she closed her eyes for a bit while she waited, it would help.
Any minute now.
He would be there soon, flooding her with the warmth of his emotions. She reached out with her feelings, concentrating on Ian.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the soft cushions of the sofa.
* * *
Sarah awoke with a start, her heart beating out a rapid tattoo in her chest.
Had it been a dream that woke her? No, more like the opposite of a dream, as if in her sleep she’d experienced a complete absence of everything.
A total void.
The last thing she remembered from the night before was trying to reach out and connect with Ian. Obviously the higher powers that controlled her feelings—Faeries, if she were silly enough to believe Ian and Will—didn’t intend for her to do that. As she thought on it now, she hadn’t felt him earlier when he’d kissed her good-bye. So lost in the wonder of her own feelings, she hadn’t realized at the time that she’d felt none of his.
She shivered and sat up stiffly from where she’d been slumped in the corner of the sofa. Sunlight danced in the windows and through the open door. She glanced to the clock. Noon. She’d slept for hours.
As she rose and walked through the cottage, checking for signs of Ian’s presence, a tiny seed of doubt took root in the back of her mind.
No indication of his having been there through the night.
She stopped at the door of the bedroom, her eyes and thoughts settling on the bed, still rumpled and unmade from the last time she’d slept there. With him.
A small nervous giggle bubbled to her lips as the seed of doubt sent up fresh shoots. What if he wasn’t coming back?
Shake it off. Save that imagination for the book.
“Damn!”
Two steps from the bed, she stubbed her toe on something hard. Ian’s shoes, the one she’d just found and the other peeking out from under the edge of the bed. She remembered he’d left barefoot. Of course he’d come back for those.
She picked up the shoes and placed them on the dresser, avoiding the eyes of the woman reflected in the mirror. The woman in the mirror looked frightened and unhappy. Sarah didn’t want to deal with those emotions right now. No, better to avoid that woman. Normalcy, routine—that would soothe her.
She straightened the bed and carefully folded the shirt she had tossed there last evening. Ian’s shirt. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply before tucking it under her pillow and walking to her closet.
The doubt was still there, eating away at her. No amount of mundane house chores was going to end it. What she needed was to end the wondering, silly as it was. There was a perfectly good reason he hadn’t come to her last night as he’d said he would. She’d get dressed and walk up to the manor house to return his shoes. In the process, she would see what was keeping him. He’d simply been busy, no doubt.
With a plan and a purpose, she set about getting ready.
* * *
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
Sarah sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, clutching the heavy shoes to her chest. She had known something was wrong, felt it the minute Martha answered the door and insisted she come into the library for tea with Mr. McCullough.
Especially when it was Henry, not Ian, who joined her there. The little seed of doubt had blossomed into a full-grown tree, branches arcing all through her stomach, leaves blowing about, making her feel ill.
“Gone where?”
“To…um…to London.” Henry fidgeted with the handle of his teacup, not quite making eye contact. “Some business he needed to deal with right away, I believe. Quite important. Verra important.” His voice trailed off.
“When will he be back?”
She tried to keep her voice light, detached. But when she glanced up and caught Henry watching her, she didn’t need to touch the older gentleman to pick up his emotions. His discomfort and pity flowed freely through the air washing over her in waves.
“Well, you see…that is, I’m…um…not quite sure of that exactly. It depends on how long the…uh…important business takes him to…”
She rose to her feet, interrupting his stammering attempt at an explanation. She wouldn’t put either one of them through this.
“Thank you, Henry.”
She headed for the door, but stopped and walked back to her host, holding out the shoes. “When—if—Ian returns, you should give these to him. They’re his.”
She didn’t look at the man, couldn’t bear to see the pity she knew would be reflected in his gaze. She simply turned and started for the door. The few sips of tea she’d managed to swallow before she’d heard the news soured in her stomach, threatening to reappear. She had to get out of here.
“Sarah,” Henry called after her. “Wait.” Then a muffled “Where is that bloody cane? Martha, hurry!”
By then she was out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
She needed to get to the cottage. To be alone. She had to get away. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone seeing her raw emotion on display, yet she knew she had no way to control it right now. Her swift strides quickly accelerated until she was running.
She should have expected this.
After all, hadn’t she been the one who said it wouldn’t work?
* * *
Sarah curled up on the bed in the little cottage she’d come to think of as home in the short time she’d been here. It was late evening; she had no tears left. Clutching Ian’s shirt to her like a substitute teddy bear, she sought some sort of comfort. There was none to be found in either the shirt or the cottage. Or her thoughts.
Her grandmother always told her not to take herself too seriously—that there was nothing special about her. If men were after her, it was either for her money or a quick roll in the sack. And once she gave them whichever they wanted, they’d be gone. Grandmother may have been right after all. She should have known better. Did know better. But, given the chance, would she change what had happened?
No, she wouldn’t regret what she’d done. Couldn’t regret Ian. Everyone deserved one great love in their lives, even if they didn’t get to keep it. At least she’d known him and what real love was. That was enough.
Or so she would tell herself every time it started to hurt. Once it quit hurting all the time. If it ever quit hurting all the time.
“It will stop. Eventually.”
She crawled from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, turning the faucet on full blast. She splashed the warm water over her face and dried off on a soft yellow towel while she breathed in the mist steaming up from the basin.
She’d survived and gone on before.
Glancing up, she wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at the puffy face that returned her gaze. She acknowledged the loss and sorrow she saw reflected there. She had freely chosen to allow Ian into her heart, in spite of the risk. Even though she had known he was perhaps the one person in the world who would have the power to do this to her, she’d still chosen to hand over her heart to him.
“Never again,” she promised as fresh tears rolled down the cheeks of the woman she watched. The face in the mirror disappeared behind the curtain of steam gathering again on the mirror until the droplets of water forming there began to roll down, making it look as if the mirror itself joined her in shedding tears, trying to wash the pain away.
Yes, she would survive this. She would go on. But she would never again choose to open herself up to the kind of pain that accompanied love.
She promised herself that she had taken her one and only risk on love.