Page 94 of A Figure of Love

He hesitated, and then nodded. “I understand.”

“But you do not agree?” She could hear the reservation in his voice, but not outright condemnation.

“No, I do not agree. But then I look at the matter from a different perspective. I never knew either my father or mother and would give all the wealth and possessions I have for just a few moments to confront them.” He looked and sounded as calm as ever, but the words made her soul ache for him. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But that does not mean I think what you are doing is wrong.”

The distinction he made was rather fine, but she could accept it. “Perhaps one day I will tell him. When he is older.” She gave him a look from beneath her lashes. “When he has brothers and sisters of his own to call family.”

That got his attention.

He took the hand he was holding and led it beneath the covers, until it rested on his hot, hard length.

She giggled. “Are we done talking now?”

“I am.”

∞∞∞

At first the sounds of distress were part of her dream, a low, desperate keening sound—somebody in distress, in pain. Serena ran through woods that became a house, the agonized sound getting louder, but no closer. She came to the edge, her arms flailing, launching her body upright in bed.

Her breathing was coming in short harsh gasps as the room materialized around her. It was Gareth’s room—the bed with his sheets, a bed that was empty except for her. One candle guttered low on a table by the connecting door.

And then that sound—the one from her dream. She pushed herself from her bed, not bothering to find her robe, and ran to the source of the sound—the connecting door.

On the other side the room blazed and Gareth writhed in the bed. His rigid body was bent in half, almost in a ball. Sweat poured off him in rivulets and the horrible, gasping cry escaped from between his clenched jaws, his teeth chattering hard enough that she could hear them across the room.

She rushed to the bed but then hesitated, her hand inches from his shoulder. How to wake him without startling him? While she dithered, the moans came faster. She laid a hand as light as a feather on his shoulder.

His reaction was explosive, the word, “No!” tearing out of his throat so loudly the windowpanes rattled. His arm swung out and caught her in the shoulder, the glancing blow enough to throw her off the bed.

Serena scrambled back up to find him cowering on the far corner, his eyes darting like those of a trapped, terrified animal. He looked nothing like the man she knew, his handsome features distorted by sheer terror.

“Gareth, love. It is Serena. You are having a bad dream. It is only a dream,” she soothed. “Gareth.” She reached up and touched his foot. He jumped but did not pull away. Instead, his eyes settled on her, the irises bouncing wildly before settling, his pupils mere pinpricks.

“Serena.” His voice was rough and hoarse, as if from prolonged yelling. “You shouldn’t be here.” He coughed after forcing the last word out, doubling over. She climbed up beside him and slid her arm around his torso, rubbing his back in firm circles, leaning close to kiss his head, which was soaked as if he’d been immersed in water.

“Of course I should be here,” she whispered, holding his shuddering body tightly.

She held him like that while his breathing slowed and his shivering stopped, until he freed himself without looking at her and left the bed.

“Gareth?”

He stopped in front of the door to the other room, his back to her while he leaned forward and gripped both sides of the door frame, almost as if he were propping himself up. His head sagged and he shook it back and forth.

“I did not want you to see this. I do not want you to see me like this.”

She shook her head. “See what? A nightmare? It is a normal part of life. We all have them now and then—”

“No, Serena, this is not normal, and it does not happen now and then.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I don’t want you to. That is why I sleep alone.”

“But I want to understand. I want to—”

He wheeled on her, his expression almost as horrifying as the one he’d worn during his nightmare, wild and frantic and half-mad. “I cannot speakabout this. You must understand what I am saying. I do not wish to grant it that power—to give words and sound to it. It is bad enough when I am trapped inside—it is—it is—” He rammed a hand through his hair and wrenched it so hard Serena winced. “It has destroyed the night, but I will not allow it into my days.” He stared at her, his eyes wide and entreating. “I cannot. I cannot.”

She nodded shakily, brushing tears from her cheeks. He crossed the room and grabbed her, his arms crushing her until she could not breathe.