Again (2 page)

With her lips pressed together in a tight line, she tried to reel in her thoughts.
 
Don’t do it to yourself.
 
Don’t do it.
 
Eryn closed her eyes tight against the tears that burned.
 
I’ll never get used to this, she thought.
 

She never knew exactly where she stood with him.
 
A long time ago she convinced herself she was willing to wait, but now she finally had to admit defeat.
 
Defeat in a battle that would continue as long as their marriage did.
What went wrong?
 
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
Were we not meant to be together?
 
Where did the love go?
  
She straightened up and turned to the kitchen window.
 
The brightness of the morning was starting to fade.
 
The fog was rolling in like a smoke screen, eating up everything in its path, turning everything of which she was so certain of into gray shades of nothingness.

She now dared to think of the one thought she had been denying for so long.
Maybe the love had never been there in the first place.
 
Maybe this was all a big mistake.

For the second time that morning, Tom Petty yanked her thoughts back to the kitchen.
  
Snatching up the phone and flipping it open, she answered. “This is Eryn.”

“Hello, this is Sonja from Mr. Montgomery’s office calling to confirm today’s photo sitting for Mr. Montgomery.”

Eryn tried to picture the type of person Sonja was.
 
Perfectly composed face, impeccable makeup, long nails that were painted red.
 
Probably a silk blouse smoothed over a nylon-mix fabric skirt.
 
Older, trying to look younger.
 
Eryn rolled her eyes at the image she conjured up in her head.

Corporate.
 
Ugh.

“Yes,” Eryn dug her planner out of her purse and flipped the pages.
 
“Let’s see.
 
Tuesday.
 
Right.
 
I have him down for 1:00 this afternoon at my studio.”

Sonja reconfirmed the address before expressing a perfectly polished goodbye.

Biting her lip and drumming her fingers on the counter, Eryn stared hard at her planner, trying to concentrate on her schedule.
 
She finally gave up
and turned to face the thick gray that was drifting past the bay window.
 
She shivered just thinking about being in the fog.
 
The way it muffled and distorted everything, always gave her the sense of dreariness and gloom.
 
Despite that, though, she loved living at the beach.
 
Something about it just kept her there.

She glanced at her watch.
 
Good, she thought.
 
She’d have time to get in a run.
 
The dishes can wait.
 
She needed to get outside.
 

Her bare feet felt cool on the tile that stretched from the kitchen into the living room.
 
The house, designed by Bryce, reflected his preference for open space and windows.
 
Lots of windows. To Eryn, it lacked intimacy and had a certain coldness about it.
 
The cream-colored furniture that dominated the house was broken up with blotches of bold color in the paintings, lamps, and sculptures scattered throughout the rooms.
 
Bryce spared no expense.
 
She felt guilty for not appreciating how much work he put into the construction and the elaborate furnishings, but sometimes she thought it was just too much.
 
If she had her choice, she would be happy with a little cottage on the beach, something plain and simple.

Running her hand along the smooth mahogany rail as she slowly climbed the stairs, she remembered how often Bryce said he wanted her to have the best in life.
 
The best of the tangible things, she thought, dryly.
 
What about the things you can’t touch?
 
Like unconditional love.
 
Romantic love.
 
The kind of love that makes your insides rage like an inferno only to be quelled by the waves of passion.
 
The kind where you can’t wait to see each other again.
 
When every touch and every glance means something.
 
The same kind of love in my dream.
 
She smiled as it drifted in and swirled around her mind again.
 
She sighed.
 
I could get used to a love like that.

She took the rest of the stairs two at a time to get her blood pumping.
 
Only slightly winded, she breezed to her room and sat in the middle of the floor, stretching her long, toned legs in front of her, reaching well beyond her neatly manicured toenails.

Forming a mental checklist, she planned out her day.
 
After her run she would take the portrait of Montgomery, grab some salmon from the store on the way home, edit the pictures and get them out in time for corporate approval so they could hang it up on the board members’ wall.
 
He would be just one of a handful of board members she would be photographing this week.
 
They were the heavy hitters at World Commerce Bank and her pictures would document their status for the world to see.
 
Well, maybe not the entire world, but their world anyway.
 
New pictures for a new building.
 
The very building that Bryce designed.
 
He worked hard to prove himself, but whether he wrapped himself around his work
for
her or
because
of her, she wasn’t completely sure.

She got up and stripped off her clothes.
 
Brushing past the line of designer clothes she rarely wore, she headed for the back of the closet where her chest of drawers stood in the corner.
 
This was where she placed her stash of favorite clothes - soft, worn, comfortable clothes.
 
She pulled out a pair of black sweat pants, a sports bra, and a bleached-out sweatshirt.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” she said out loud.
 
After she quickly threw on her running clothes, pulled on a baseball cap, and slipped into her old running shoes, she ran down the stairs.

A glitter of light caught her attention as she dashed past the kitchen, compelling her to slow her pace and stop.
 
She knew what it was.
 
She had seen it a hundred times.
 
But since her dream, it had become another reminder.
 
She looked over her shoulder at the crystal hanging in the kitchen window.
 
It had taken hold of a few shards of determined sunlight and threw out flashes of white across the room.
 
Like bursting stars.
 
Like his eyes.
 
Eryn let the delicious warmth of her dream run over her for only a moment before she stopped herself.
 

Run,
she thought.
 
Get out and run.
 
But she knew that miles of running would never let her escape the memory of Jonathan’s eyes.

Chapter 2

The Year of Our Lord 1501

Emelie stopped short, catching her breath.

Lady Catherine turned and stared down at her maid. “What is it?” she demanded.
 
The afternoon sun was too warm, putting Catherine in a slightly foul mood.

Not put off by her mistress’ tone, Emelie stood with fists clenched to her stomach, her whisper strained with excitement.
 
“It is him, milady.
 
The merchant Elizabeth and I spoke of.”

Catherine rolled her eyes at Emelie’s melodramatic air.

At fourteen, Emelie was perched on the edge of womanhood, and she took notice of any and all males.
 
Compared to Catherine, one would consider Emelie plain.
 
Where Catherine’s thick auburn tresses fell heavily over her shoulders down to her waist, Emelie’s fine, pale blond hair was braided and wound tightly about her head.
 
Emerald green eyes adorned Catherine’s beautifully delicate face, while her maid looked at life through eyes of muted brown.
 
Emelie’s still developing shape was flat in places where Catherine, at 17, had developed curved hips, rounded breasts, and long, shapely legs.

To humor the girl, Catherine turned her attention to the groups of village folk milling busily around the port where merchants regularly came and went to sell their wares, restock goods, or to wait out foul weather.
 
Catherine often came here for the diversion it held as well as the variety of goods the many merchants brought with them from lands Catherine had never dreamed existed outside her world.
 
It was here that her hunger for the finer things in life was often sated.

Lady Catherine and Emelie now stood on the fringes of a circle of village women crowded around one merchant in particular.
 
Catherine followed her maid’s gaze to the man who stood alone before the titillated throng.
 
Without effort, he lifted bulky rolls of fabric and displayed them for the women who stood shoulder to shoulder, two or three deep, constantly shifting themselves for a better view.

He reminded Catherine of the traveling performers who visited the castle from time to time - animated, carefree, playing to the crowd.  The air about him was charged with energy.
 
Standing a full head above everyone, but without a hint of superiority about him, his mere presence commanded attention.

Twittering laughter assaulted her ears.
 
Catherine’s lip curled in annoyance as she looked upon the women before her.
 
None of them seemed the least bit interested in this merchant’s goods.  Young or old, it made no difference.
 
All of them openly ogled this man and giggled like nervous girls.  Some clung to each other as they swooned.
 
Others blatantly adjusted their dresses in hopes of enticing him.  It all seems incredibly
carnal,
Catherine thought contemptuously.

The merchant’s deep laugh drew Catherine’s eyes back to him as he leaned closer to one of the women, a large-breasted blonde.
 
The woman looked at him from under lowered lashes, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.  As he leaned closer to her, his dark, rich brown hair flowed easily across his broad shoulders while his unlaced white shirt with its billowing sleeves, revealed a well-muscled, smooth chest, with skin darkened by the sun.
 
Catherine strained to hear his words, but they were smothered by the chatter.
 

One voice suddenly rang out above the others, “What of payment with a kiss?”
 
Shouts of approval welled up from the crowd.

His smile broadened as he raised his voice to be heard, “A fine payment, indeed.” His eyes now focused on the one who stood on her toes in order to be seen.  “But as tempting as that is, my good woman, these lips are for another.”
 
A mix of laughter and groans of disappointment rippled through the air.

Catherine’s eyebrows arched.
 
A merchant with scruples?
 
She might not be well versed in what happened between men and women in the bedchamber, but she was not so naïve as to be unaware of what occurred when the merchants came into port.
 
She had heard stories of late night gatherings and most questionable behavior.
 
Could this man be different than the rest?
 
Could he possibly be loyal to only one woman?  

Mirroring her thoughts, the villager beside Catherine leaned toward her and said, “Whoever his mistress is, she must be awfully good for a toss in the hay!”

Catherine turned sharply to face her, her eyes narrowed.
 
“You dare speak to me in that manner?” 

The crowd fell silent as Catherine’s words cut through the gaiety.

The woman’s face drained of all color and her eyes widened, her hand flying up to stifle her quick inward breath.  Stumbling backwards, she dropped into a deep curtsey.

“Forgive me, milady!” Her voice quivered. “I meant no disrespect!”

Like a ripple through water, the other women curtsied and quickly stepped back, distancing themselves from Catherine, some managing to slip away.
 
Catherine’s scathing look raked those who remained.
 
No one dared look at her - save one.
 
And now Catherine met his gaze, her chin set, challenging him.

His eyes held hers briefly before his gaze traveled down the length of her, clearly enchanted by what he beheld.

“Milady,” he said, bowing deeply. “You grace me with your beauty.”
 
When he looked at her again, his eyes sparkled with a light that shone like the brightest stars in the night.
 
Their depths were as intense as their color rich, amber with flecks of gold adorning the borders.
 
They beckoned her to come closer.