Chapter Eight
Osanne barely refrained from running into Rafe’s arms. He leaned against the stone monument marking her grave, arms folded, stance relaxed, as if he lounged at the back wall of his own home.
A lantern hanging on a nearby tree branch illuminated his handsome features.
His slow, spreading smile filled her with light.
All the world seemed dark and lonesome outside the circle of his lamp and the soft affection in his smile.
How was it possible that he had come for her yet again?
“Rafe,” she whispered.
“Unless I’m mistaken, you are pleased to see me.” A knowing smile and an arrogant tilt to his head accompanied his words.
She made a point of looking unaffected. “Indeed, ‘tisn’t every day someone knows I exist and will converse with me.”
His smug smile spread. “That’s not the only reason, is it?”
How could she refuse him? She looked down and said quietly. “No.” If she had a mortal body, she would have blushed.
“Do you always float upward when you’re surprised?”
“I suppose I do.” She moved downward and positioned her feet to appear as if she stood on solid ground.
He reached out to her, but clenched his fist as if reminding himself she had no corporeal form. Instead, he gestured toward Madding Hollow. “Shall we?”
As they neared the festivities, it seemed eerily calm this eve despite the villager’s usual revelry.
“What is amiss?” Rafe asked.
“The Larkin boys. They’re gone.”
Had they found an eternal rest as the clergyman claimed, or had they been reduced to nothingness?
“That’s a relief,” Rafe said. “Now we have no fears about them setting the inn on fire or hurting someone.”
Still troubled, she nodded slowly. He was right, of course. But for them to have just vanished like that....
“You don’t seem relieved,” Rafe said.
Silently, she shook her head.
“Do you know where they are?”
“That shaft of light of which I spoke—it came again at dawn yesterday, er, that is, last year. The Larkins were both pulled into it and they disappeared.” She hugged herself.
An understanding light came into his eyes. Gently, he said, “Do you believe they might have entirely ceased to exist?”
“I do.” She looked to him for answers but got lost admiring his handsome, strong profile.
“And you fear that could be your fate as well?”
She nodded. “When the light appears, it pulls on me like a river’s current but I perceive nothing beyond that strange light. Nothing.”
He pressed his lips together in sympathy. “I regret that I have no answers for you, but I suppose a part of me has always assumed that there is more after this life.”
Could he be right?
Another refrain began in her head. After so much silence concerning her composition, her music at last sang to her again—entirely due to Rafe’s company, no doubt.
As they wound their way amid the celebration, he stopped and gestured. “Look. It’s Madam Miska.”
So it was. Bejeweled and dressed in silks and scarves, the gypsy who had told Rafe’s fortune sat leaning over a young girl’s palm, speaking as if she were the village sage. Nearby, a group of young girls leaned in to hear, giggling and exclaiming.
Rafe gestured to the Romani woman. “I found her after you...left...and told her about you and how we met.”
She pictured him entering the camp looking for a fortune teller. He must not have received a terribly warm welcome. Why would he go to that much trouble?
“Did she believe you?”
His lips curved into a smile of wonder. “Surprisingly, yes, she did.”
“And?” she prompted. “What did she say?”
“That she sometimes sees spirits and had seen you standing next to me.”
“How extraordinary.” She kept pace with him as he headed for the lane leading up to the luminous Ravenswood Manor. So, she was not as invisible as she had always thought.
“What do you wish to do tonight, my dear? Music?”
She smiled up at him. “We needn’t only engage in activities of my choice. What diversions do you seek?”
He gazed at her in soft affection. “For the most part, I do what I want the rest of the year. This is your day.”
“Today feels like any other. Really, I would be happy doing anything you wish.”
He chuckled. “Very well, then I wish to hear you play the pianoforte. No one else plays like you do. And your composition is truly unforgettable.”
Eagerly, she all but rushed toward Ravenswood Manor to play the new section. Rafe kept up with her.
Along the way, Osanne glanced at him. He had changed subtly, and he wore a new scarf, one with embroidery on the hem—possibly made by a young lady who hoped to turn his head. Casually, she asked, “Did you visit your family this past year?”
“Yes, I went home for Christmas.” He made a slight grimace.
“Is all well?”
“Yes, they’re well. They’re overtly trying to match me with Benjamin’s sister, Kitty.” He shook his head.
She quelled a surge of jealousy that arose at the image of Rafe with another. “You do not favor her?”
“Oh, I like her fine, but she’s his sister. And they have such a strong resemblance that I see Benjamin every time I look at her.” He shook his head. “I fear Kitty has a preference for me that I do not return. And most of all, she isn’t you.” His mouth quirked up on one side.
She jested, “Yes, well, I am rather unique.”
“In more ways than you know.” That affectionate, flirting smile flashed.
Osanne couldn’t blame Kitty for forming an attachment for Rafe. And really, Osanne ought not feel such pleasure that he clearly preferred her over any other.
Seated at the pianoforte in Ravenswood Manor’s music room, Osanne played every note that flooded her mind.
When inspiration dried up, she played it all again, then every piece she knew, and even a few Rafe requested.
With him next to her, music poured through her.
She could almost, almost forget she was a ghost.
After she had played her fill, this time undisturbed by an inquisitive housekeeper, they turned toward the village. Rafe’s footsteps crunched softly on the path. Overhead an owl hooted. The trees whispered. A peaceful, hopeful kind of stillness lay over the wooded lane.
She looked up to find him gazing in the direction of the crumbling Roman structure. She made a gesture. “Have you had a chance to explore the ruins?”
“I did, just yesterday. There wasn’t much left, but Mr. Brown, the vicar, gave me a book he found, about what is known of that particular ruin. There is so much we do not know about these ancient structures, and all those curious stone circles that dot England.”
“Indeed. Have you also seen our henge?”
“Not yet.”
“It’s smaller than the famous Stonehenge, of course, but appears to be far older. We are rather proud of it.”
“I must see it, then. Perhaps I will tarry here a few more days before I resume my, as you call it, ‘quest’ to visit my men.”
“Do you feel that is going well?”
His face clouded. “I wish I could be sure I’m truly helping them—beyond what financial aid I give to those who need it, and who will accept it.”
Something else in his tone, or perhaps his expression revealed another need. Gently, she asked, “What is it that you truly seek?”
His steps faltered briefly. “Beyond helping them?”
Osanne nodded. “I’m sure you are, in part, but is it possible that you also seek some form of redemption?”
“Redemption?” His head jerked back but his gaze turned inward.
“You carry the burden of your command decisions. Though I’m quite certain you made the best possible choices you could, you clearly blame yourself for those who were harmed.”
He went quiet for a moment. Had she overstepped her bounds? After all, they’d really only known each other for three days, though, in truth, it seemed they had shared weeks together. With every passing hour, her esteem for him deepened.
Was this love?
A bat flew in front of the moon in jerky chaotic flight and a gust of wind moaned in the lifeless tree limbs.
Rafe broke the silence. “You may be right. If I can ease their suffering in some small way, perhaps I can ease my own.”
Aching to offer him comfort, she reached out to him, but her hand passed through.
He noticed. His attention fixed on her hand, intercepted by his arm. He lifted a tortured gaze to hers. “I’m also finding it difficult not to be able to touch you.” He heaved a harsh breath. “I’ve come to care very much for you. But to be unable even to take your hand....”
If she could weep, tears would have filled her eyes at that moment.
He shook his head and pushed a hand through his hair, dislodging his hat. With jerky motions, he righted the hat on his dark head.
In her happiness over seeing him each time, she had given little thought to what this relationship might cost him. She was being unfair to him.
“Rafe, I adore seeing you every sunset when I wake—or come into consciousness. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you come for me. But is it wise for us to continue to be together, like this, one day a year with no hope of a true relationship?”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “I have had that same conversation with myself. But I can’t stay away. No matter how far I travel, I always return. I need to be here. With you.” Some intense and earnest expression gave his eyes a new depth.
Osanne put both hands over her heart. For a person without a physical body, it sure seemed as if her heart expanded.
He looked away. “I know we can never be together in this life. Perhaps my true purpose is to learn how I can help you escape this state into which you have been consigned.”
She stared out into the darkness. With no moon tonight, nothing existed outside the small circle of light from his lantern.
“Until I met you, I was in a rather endless day, caught between states of existence. Not living. Trapped here, seeing my fellow villagers grow up and grow old, no longer a part of them. It was agonizing. But I could not bear to risk nothingness.” She studied his face.
“And now, I also cannot bear the thought of leaving you.”
“Nor can I.” His dark gaze met hers and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
How she adored him!
He broke eye contact first and resumed his stride toward Madding Hollow. As they reached the celebration, they passed the gypsies. Madam Miska, for a change not surrounded by those seeking their fortunes, smiled knowingly at them. Rafe sauntered up to her, Osanne at his side.
“Madam.” Rafe, ever the gentleman, inclined his head.
“Ah, the star-crossed lovers.” She nodded at Rafe, and then looked directly at Osanne. “Have you considered that true love’s first kiss would break the spell?”
Osanne stared at her while Rafe laughed bitterly. “Madam, believe me when I say if there were a way to kiss her, I would have done that long ago.”
He wanted to kiss her long ago? Osanne focused on the curve of his lips, trying to imagine the beauty of his kiss.
The gypsy folded her arms and studied them with glittering eyes. “In my experience, there is almost always a way.”
“What way could there be?” Rafe asked.
“That has not been revealed to me. You must discover that on your own.”
A village girl shyly approached the gypsy, and Madam Miska turned her focus on her young customer.
Osanne spoke her mind to Rafe with uncharacteristic boldness. “You would have kissed me long ago if you could have?”
Rafe’s mouth turned up in a rueful smile. He led her out of earshot of the villagers. “Mere hours after we first met.”
“Are you normally so forward with young ladies of your acquaintance?”
“No, not at all. Normally I can’t think of anything to say around them.
With you, however, everything is different.
” He tapped his chest and absently played with the edges of his scarf.
“I feel a greater connection, and deeper affection, for you than I have ever had with anyone else. I want to spend every moment I can with you. I want to make you happy.”
Was that a declaration?
He made a helpless gesture. “But we have such limited time.”
Gently, she said, “Is it possible that the reason you feel this way for me is because we often want what we cannot have?”
He shook his head. “No, that can’t be all it is. I have never pined after another woman like I do when you are gone.”
He pined after her? Pleasure mixed with an equal measure of remorse. She wanted to add to his happiness, not cause more misery. But oh, to be so adored and desired!
He walked a few paces away and came back to her, shaking his head. “It’s fitting to live most of my life in the hell of a battlefield, and then find that the one woman for whom I care more than I ever have, is one who died over fifty years ago.”
She stared at him. “I’ve been dead for fifty years?”
He paused. “You didn’t know?”
She shook her head. “No, a year is only one night to me—and not even a full night—and with each one so much like all the others, I had quite lost track.”
Fifty years!
“Fifty-two, to be exact,” he said quietly.
She caught herself floating upward and quickly returned to his side. She could continue like this indefinitely, never connected to others, unable to have a real relationship. No friendship. No human contact. No love—except what they could wring out of a single night a year.
Eventually, Rafe would stop coming and find a mortal girl to love—perhaps Kitty. Their families clearly welcomed a union between them.
Osanne was doomed to continue on as she was before she met him. Unconnected. Unwanted.
Alone.