Every Time I Love You (33 page)

CHAPTER
23

Hangman's Noose

The Manor House, Virginia Countryside May 1781

The rope was around his neck. It was spring, and even then, he could hear the birds trilling. He could see the fields ready for planting. He smelled the rich, redolent scent of the earth.

He could feel the rope, harsh around his neck. Scratching, tearing at his flesh. Soon that little pain would not matter, for the life was being throttled from his body.

She was running toward him. Running. He could see her in those seconds, in those last seconds. He saw the anguish in her beautiful blue eyes, as lovely as the day, as eternal as the sky. He could see her, and he knew.

He knew...

She loved him; she had not sent for him in order to betray him. She loved him, and she had been used. Her eyes, her heart, were pure, as innocent as that long-ago day when she had first come to him, and he had taken her in the hay, fallen in love. For a lifetime. For an eternity.

Katrina!

He thought her name, or did he say it? It didn't matter. He was either dying, or he was dead. But then he screamed it louder. If the voice did not find substance, it was a screech within his head.

He saw it. He saw it all. He saw her rushing toward him, running, racing, hysterical, nearly demented. She shoved past Palmer and she had his pistol in her hands and it was loaded and ready.

But Henry Seymour was behind her. He didn't scream out a warning; he didn't say a word. He shot her. He shot his sister in the back, in cold blood.

But he could do nothing. The rope snapped, and he felt himself leaving. He was departing earth; he had no substance; he had no being. He could not hold her or cradle her. He could not go to her; he could not ease her dying. God in heaven, he could not forgive her, for he was dying himself...

Katrina!

Her name reverberated inside his head, and though he saw himself swinging there, swinging from the rope, turning purple and blue and swollen, he also had freedom. He reached for her. He could almost touch her. He started to run. To run and run and run.

Until he fell down beside her. He held her. He turned her into his arms, and he entwined his fingers in hers.
Katrina! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me...Please God, forgive me. Katrina, Katrina, Katrina. Come back to me.

CHAPTER
24

She felt that she hovered upon a brink, a precipice above a deep, dark pit. There was nothing here, except for that endless darkness, and she floated there, lost.

She was dying, and she knew it.

She would go. She would have to go, for there was no substance; there was nothing to hold her back. There was no light, and there was no sun; there was no beauty, and there was no love...

“Come back. Come back to me.”

Suddenly, there was sound. There was the whisper of his voice.

And there was love.

“Come back to me. I love you. Oh my God, forgive me. Come back to me. Love me again...”

And there was a hand reaching out to hers. She had to catch it; she had to reach out in return.

It was life.

She stretched. She could see their fingers. Just their fingertips.

Touching.

And then he had her. He had her hand and he was pulling her against him and light was flooding back to her. Life and warmth, for where he touched her there was beautiful, wonderful warmth.

She opened her eyes. His face was above hers. Beautiful. His dark eyes glistened and tears dampened his cheeks and, despite those tears, he seemed so strong. Stronger than he had ever been. She reached up and her fingers trembled and she touched his cheek and she felt the moisture there.

“Brent?” she whispered.

“Oh, thank God! Oh, thank God!”

He pulled her tightly against him. He held her so tight that it hurt, but she didn't mind because it made her feel alive.

“Oh...goodness!”

They heard a thud, and it distracted them both. “What
—
?” Brent began to ask. Geoff rose from behind the wing chair.

“Don't mind us. That was just Marsha. I guess it was her turn to pass out,” Geoff answered. “Want a drink? I'm going to pick up Marsha, and then I'm going to have a drink. Hell no, I'm going to have about twenty.”

Brent frowned with concern. “Will Marsha be all right? And Geoff, your chin—”

“Marsha will be fine. She's just had a bit too much excitement today. Yeah, my chin. You have one hell of a swing there, McCauley. Don't worry about it.” He leaned down and kissed Gayle and patted Brent on the shoulder. “Jesus! Am I glad to see you both here back with us.” His voice was husky, and he sounded embarrassed, which was logical, Gayle thought. It was all receding from her already. Something had happened, but she could barely remember what. All she really knew was that she had been lost, and then Brent had been there. He had reached out a hand to her, and she was back.

“But,” Geoff warned with a groan, “in my next life, I sure as hell hope I choose my friends differently. I've probably acquired a head full of gray hair in the last damned hour.”

He looked pale. His neat hair was disarrayed and there was a bruise rising on his chin. He smiled weakly. Then he picked up Marsha and stretched her out on the couch that Brent had recently vacated. “Come on, Marsha. It's over. It's all over, and it's all right.”

Marsha groaned. She was coming around. Gayle stared up at Brent and touched his cheek. She smiled tentatively and then he pulled her close and then he started to laugh, happily swirling her around and around in circles.

“Don't mind me,” Geoff called after them. “Marsha and I will just make ourselves at home here!”

Brent let her fall against him, and she looked past him to where Geoff stood over Marsha, who was now blinking.

“Thank you!” she whispered.

He nodded and she took Brent's hand and he led her out through the passage. “Wait!” she called to him, and he paused. She threw open the door to the ballroom and she ran into the center of it and stood there.

“Brent! It's okay now. It's okay!”

He leaned against the door, and he nodded. He still looked a little pale to her, but he smiled again and reached out his hand. She hurried back to him, taking it, and he led her through the passage to the veranda.

The sun was still shining. Just barely. Darkness would fall soon, but in those moments, there was warmth and light.

“God!” he muttered and he lowered his head. And she felt that he was really offering up a prayer. Then he let out a yell that sounded like a rebel war cry, and he swept her into his arms again and they ran down the steps. He swung her around in circles, before lifting her high above and then letting her slide slowly to the ground against the length of his body.

Catching his shoulders, she smiled with the same ecstasy, and then she frowned. “Oh, Brent! What really happened? I thought that I had caught onto something for a moment, but it faded and it was gone. I was so afraid. It was so cold, and then you were there. You were there with me, and it was like walking back into the sunlight again. What happened? I think I know something, but it can't be, can it? It must be a dream.”

He shook his head. “I don't know,” he whispered, never taking his eyes from her face. “I don't know. I only know that, somehow, it's right again.”

“It's right!” she repeated before she pressed her lips against his, sweetly and hungrily. In turn he kissed her forehead and her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her chin, and finally her lips again. She fell against his chest. “Brent...”

Her head fell back and her eyes, as blue as the sky, and as pure, met his. Nor did shadows haunt the darkness of his. Rakish, languorous, lazy, with the devil's own glitter, but empty of all torment.

“I feel that I have to hold you,” he told her.

“Now? Here? We've guests.”

“We've a hayloft. And I'm sure our guests will understand and will see themselves out.”

She lifted her hands to him happily. He let out a peal of deep, gleeful laughter and swung her into his arms again.

Anyone seeing them together would surely smile: love, young love; it was such a beautiful thing. Honeymooners looked at one another like that, lovers newly met.

Moments later, he had laid a blanket on the hay. Twilight was falling, and the light that filtered in was pink and sweet and fragrant, and it fell gently over their naked bodies when they had shed their clothing.

She walked toward him.

She was glorious, the sleek, rounded curves of her flesh caught in that light. She moved with sensual grace, and yet when she touched him, with sexual pleasure came a curious sense of purity. With her, the most intimate, evocative act would somehow still be innocent.

It was the emotion, of course. So deep, so shattering, it entered into everything. Into the very core of their love-making, as if each touch were new...

As if it were the very first time...

Perhaps, in a way, it was. It was the cleansing, brought by the violence of the storm. It was the spring, come again.

It was a second chance, and if he never understood it in his life, he would still thank God daily for it.

Later he murmured. “Have we been dreaming?”

She smiled beneath him, glistening and damp, and lazily touched his brows, and then his cheeks. “Dreaming. Yes. Surely, we are dreamers. But I love you. I love you so very much. I will love you all of my life.”

He touched her lip and grinned. “No, sweetheart. I will love you for far more than a lifetime. I swear, I will love you into all eternity.”

“Into all eternity,” she agreed, and she kissed him again.

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Heather Graham majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began to write, working on short horror stories and romances. After some trial and error, she sold her first book, WHEN NEXT WE LOVE, in 1982 and since then, she has written over two hundred novels and novellas including category, romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas holiday fare. She wrote the launch books for the Dell's Ecstasy Supreme line, Silhouette's Shadows, and for Harlequin's mainstream fiction imprint, Mira Books.

Heather was a founding member of the Florida Romance Writers chapter of RWA and, since 1999, has hosted the Romantic Times Vampire Ball, with all revenues going directly to children's charity.  She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty languages, and to have been honored with awards from Waldenbooks. B. Dalton, Georgia Romance Writers, Affaire de Coeur, Romantic Times, and more. She has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such publications as The Nation, Redbook, People, and USA Today and appeared on many newscasts including local television and Entertainment Tonight.

Heather loves travel and anything having to do with the water, and is a certified scuba diver. Married since high school graduation, and the mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she also believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for a living.