seeing much of each other?”
As expected, she did not object to the liberty of dropping her title. Meriel it would be. He reached for the cider jug without noticing that she was doing the same. Their fingers collided. He felt an instant of shock, and she jerked her hand back as if scalded. He felt a perverse satisfaction. For a moment, at least, she had recognized his existence.
That recognition came at a cost. Smoothly she rose to her feet and crossed the glade to the ladder. He jumped up. “Wait, Meriel! Perhaps we could go for a walk. You could show me more of the gardens.”
He might as well not have spoken. Swiftly she ascended the ladder, her full skirt rippling around her ankles. She disappeared into the square access hole, pulled up the ladder, then dropped a wooden hatch cover in place with solid finality.
His jaw clenched as he fought the impulse to climb the damned tree and go in a window after her. He was here to persuade, not coerce.
Mouth tight, he packed up the remains of the picnic. He supposed he’d made progress—but not enough.
Chapter 5
That night she dreamed of fire. Flames that scorched the sky, shouts of terror, screaming horses and humans. She awoke covered in perspiration, her body shaking. The nightmare came less often in recent years, but the terror never diminished.
Shivering, she threw off her blanket and fumbled her way across the tree house. It was late, after moonset, and very dark. She removed the hatch cover by touch and lowered the ladder. Roxana wakened below and whimpered a welcome.
Cautiously Meriel descended the swaying ladder. Earlier it had rained, and the night was cool and damp. She reached the ground, then wrapped herself around the dog’s shaggy body. Roxana licked her face before settling down again contentedly.
In the dark and silence, the pulse of life around her was very clear. The oak was deep and strong and slow, this night only an instant in an existence measured in centuries. A lethal whir of wings, a sharp hunger, marked the passage of an owl seeking prey. Even the grass had a signature tone, light and swift and heedless in its uncounted numbers.
All her life, she had sensed the life forces around her. With humans, vital force often showed as a colored haze around the body, especially in dim rooms or when seen from the corner of an eye. Of the two ladies, Mrs. Rector was a soft, warm pink, Mrs. Marks a clear yellow except when she was irritated. Then her light darkened and faint orange streaks would show around her. Kamal radiated a pure blue that deepened when he spoke of spiritual matters, and the challenges of living well in an imperfect world. His light had guided her as truly as his words.
With Renbourne, she could see the glow of his energy even in sunlight. His essence danced in a way that was at odds with his stern expression. Gold and scarlet shimmered about him, the clearest colors she’d ever seen. Sometimes she wondered what her own colors were, but it was impossible to tell, even by looking in a mirror.
Ashamed of having impulsively fled from Renbourne in the herb garden, she’d decided to accept his proffered food. Roxana liked him, and besides, she’d been hungry. She hadn’t expected the impact of his nearness, and his touch. Her fingers curled involuntarily when she remembered that sparking energy. He was unlike anyone else who had ever come to Warfield. She told herself that it was only because he was a young male, but that didn’t explain tonight’s restlessness, an empty feeling for which she had no name.
Mist was rising, and even with Roxana’s warmth the ground was too cold and damp for rest. She stood and snapped her fingers. Obediently the dog rose and they made their way to the house. The night was alive with the stirring of nocturnal creatures busy about their business. Though it wasn’t the shortest route, she crossed the woodland for the pleasure of hearing the badgers at play, then wound through the moon garden. As a
As expected, she did not object to the liberty of dropping her title. Meriel it would be. He reached for the cider jug without noticing that she was doing the same. Their fingers collided. He felt an instant of shock, and she jerked her hand back as if scalded. He felt a perverse satisfaction. For a moment, at least, she had recognized his existence.
That recognition came at a cost. Smoothly she rose to her feet and crossed the glade to the ladder. He jumped up. “Wait, Meriel! Perhaps we could go for a walk. You could show me more of the gardens.”
He might as well not have spoken. Swiftly she ascended the ladder, her full skirt rippling around her ankles. She disappeared into the square access hole, pulled up the ladder, then dropped a wooden hatch cover in place with solid finality.
His jaw clenched as he fought the impulse to climb the damned tree and go in a window after her. He was here to persuade, not coerce.
Mouth tight, he packed up the remains of the picnic. He supposed he’d made progress—but not enough.
Chapter 5
That night she dreamed of fire. Flames that scorched the sky, shouts of terror, screaming horses and humans. She awoke covered in perspiration, her body shaking. The nightmare came less often in recent years, but the terror never diminished.
Shivering, she threw off her blanket and fumbled her way across the tree house. It was late, after moonset, and very dark. She removed the hatch cover by touch and lowered the ladder. Roxana wakened below and whimpered a welcome.
Cautiously Meriel descended the swaying ladder. Earlier it had rained, and the night was cool and damp. She reached the ground, then wrapped herself around the dog’s shaggy body. Roxana licked her face before settling down again contentedly.
In the dark and silence, the pulse of life around her was very clear. The oak was deep and strong and slow, this night only an instant in an existence measured in centuries. A lethal whir of wings, a sharp hunger, marked the passage of an owl seeking prey. Even the grass had a signature tone, light and swift and heedless in its uncounted numbers.
All her life, she had sensed the life forces around her. With humans, vital force often showed as a colored haze around the body, especially in dim rooms or when seen from the corner of an eye. Of the two ladies, Mrs. Rector was a soft, warm pink, Mrs. Marks a clear yellow except when she was irritated. Then her light darkened and faint orange streaks would show around her. Kamal radiated a pure blue that deepened when he spoke of spiritual matters, and the challenges of living well in an imperfect world. His light had guided her as truly as his words.
With Renbourne, she could see the glow of his energy even in sunlight. His essence danced in a way that was at odds with his stern expression. Gold and scarlet shimmered about him, the clearest colors she’d ever seen. Sometimes she wondered what her own colors were, but it was impossible to tell, even by looking in a mirror.
Ashamed of having impulsively fled from Renbourne in the herb garden, she’d decided to accept his proffered food. Roxana liked him, and besides, she’d been hungry. She hadn’t expected the impact of his nearness, and his touch. Her fingers curled involuntarily when she remembered that sparking energy. He was unlike anyone else who had ever come to Warfield. She told herself that it was only because he was a young male, but that didn’t explain tonight’s restlessness, an empty feeling for which she had no name.
Mist was rising, and even with Roxana’s warmth the ground was too cold and damp for rest. She stood and snapped her fingers. Obediently the dog rose and they made their way to the house. The night was alive with the stirring of nocturnal creatures busy about their business. Though it wasn’t the shortest route, she crossed the woodland for the pleasure of hearing the badgers at play, then wound through the moon garden. As a
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