‘Was that the …’
Everything is so much. Too much – light and sound. I have the oddest sensation of being wrung out. But then, it all recedes like an exhaled breath. Tingles climb like a vine through my body, leaving little wakes of euphoria. The spell binding me snaps, and I pull back from our kiss. ‘Ryland?’
His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. There’s no doubt he felt that too.
‘Was that the …’
Connection?
My hand slaps to cover my mouth, because even though I didn’t finish my sentence, I’m pretty sure I also did … in his head.
Ryland’s shock breaks like a dam, and then he’s laughing. He pulls me to him and boldly kisses me again. ‘Yes, love. That’s exactly what it is.’
How strange to physically feel someone’s love for you.
My chest is swollen with it. There also seems to be a piece of Ryland taking up residence there now; I don’t know how else to describe it.
This constant tether between us leaves me so aware of him.
His happiness is light and fizzy and tastes sweet on my tongue.
‘Umm … aren’t you guys supposed to walk back down the aisle now?’ asks Little John. ‘Everyone’s waiting.’
Ryland speaks to Brother Thomas. ‘Go ahead and start the party.’ His surprised eyes are consuming and full of anticipation as he turns back to me. ‘We’re going to be a bit distracted. For a while.’ A long while he says in my head.
I gasp. I remember him explaining that if we think something, we can send the memory of that thought to each other. A way to communicate without words. But he’s doing it seemingly without even trying.
‘I now pronounce you husband and wife!’ Brother Thomas calls. Everyone cheers again.
Ryland kisses the back of my knuckles, then raises my hand into the air.
I smile and laugh, all the while overwhelmed and struggling to think. There’s too much feeling going on. New sensations, like the deep headiness of Ryland’s joy. New ways to communicate.
How in the world are we supposed to celebrate with all of this going on inside us?
I realise I did it again – spoke into his head using the memory of my thoughts, and it is as easy as asking the question out loud. ‘Did you get that?’ I ask him.
He nods.
That’s just the beginning of what we can do. Ryland’s voice is clear in my head. His smile turns devilish, and yet I sense his pride at me – at us – for figuring out this part of the connection so quickly. We walk down the aisle of clapping people, and I do my best not to look stunned.
Or eager to escape so we can be alone.
Ryland stops not far from where the musicians are playing a celebratory song and pulls me to him, arms wrapping around my waist.
‘We’re going to dance?’ I ask.
‘It’d be rude to leave right now, wouldn’t it?’ He pulls back to check my face. ‘But just say the word.’
He’s so close to stealing me away. I feel it. ‘No, you’re right. Let’s dance while everyone enjoys the food and music. That should give us a moment to get our bearings.’
He begins to rock us back and forth, and his hand slides up my back, causing goosebumps to race over my skin. I shiver and my forehead falls against his chest.
He groans softly.
‘What?’ I ask, lifting my head. ‘Are you okay?’
He swallows. ‘I can honestly say I’ve never been better. But I’m going to need you to slow down on the … sending-me-sensations thing. For now.’
I laugh. ‘The what?’
‘We can share the good things as well as the bad.’ He blows out a slow breath, then his brows furrow. ‘Speaking of which, your ankle – it still bothers you?’
I tilt my head, considering the ache that I’ve become good at ignoring. He can feel that? ‘It’s hardly worth complaining about.’
His gaze falls to my parted lips, then he kisses me. ‘I’m going to heal your ankle now.’
He might as well be speaking Gergan because his words don’t register at all. I’m nothing but sensations. Emotions.
Ryland’s eyes close. He’s concentrating, and soon I feel a gentle pressure on my mind. He smiles as if he’s found the part of me he was looking for.
Peace floods me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Exploring you like an old-world map.’
That’s an excellent analogy because I feel him.
This link between us is like a road that extends into both of us now, and he’s wandering me.
Learning parts of me. An image of him delicately holding my foot in the tent flashes in my mind.
It feels like something I’ve remembered, but it came from him. ‘What does that mean?’ I ask.
‘May I attend to your foot?’
I’m so curious, I nod.
Instantly, the dull ache in my ankle fades to something barely decipherable. Just like that. ‘Ryland,’ I gasp. ‘But now you have the pain?’
He drags his nose lightly along my jawline, causing my breath to hitch. ‘You tell me.’
I grin at the challenge. Okay. Now it’s me following the mental path between us as we continue to sway back and forth to our own beat.
It takes a second to figure things out, but I quickly catch on.
Every corner, every branching path leads to a new area of him.
I try one, since I don’t know where to go.
These are where his memories are. There’s a banquet of them.
Some closer, some further away. I lean into one
An image of a woman with greying hair appears in my mind. It’s followed by a warmth in my chest. Pride. Love.
‘That’s my mother.’
My heart melts. ‘She looks lovely.’
He hums in agreement and reminisces a little longer, showing me her house. Then his house, where he lived with Samuel. I’m fascinated by what I see, and we go back and forth, sharing parts of ourselves. All our favourite things.
One of my memories is of Agatha. Of how we grew up, sharing a bed most nights, taking turns telling bedtime stories and giggling until we fell asleep – until everything changed between us. A sharp arrow of pain pierces my side.
Ryland’s smile falters. I feel his hesitation about whether he should speak. ‘I had a dream about Agatha after she died,’ he says softly. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t a dream; I don’t know what it was. But I saw her, and it felt real.’
My brows furrow.
‘Do you want to see it?’
My eyes sting as his memory of her appears as if I’m the one remembering it. Agatha’s there as clear as day, sitting beside him, smiling at me.
I’m quiet for a long time, not knowing myself how I feel.
I miss Agatha. Sometimes the ache is so present and overwhelming it feels like a knife is lodged in my throat – like now.
But I’m also so proud of her. Proud of the courage she found to do what she felt was right, even though it cost her everything to save Ryland.
Suddenly, the crushing unbearableness of losing her inexplicably eases.
My gaze flits to Ryland. ‘Are you doing that?’
His lips press into a line. ‘You know, my people argue over the purpose of the connection, but I think I’ve learned … it’s for times like this. To show that you’re not alone.’
Eventually, the music shifts into a driving beat. My head snaps up. ‘That’s my favourite song.’
‘What song?’
‘The red drum song.’ It’s the one where the women spin and kick, moving as a group.
Ryland releases me. ‘Go. Now’s your chance.’
I bite my lip, unsure. I don’t want to leave him.
‘I know,’ he assures me, waving me away. ‘But I can also feel how much you want to try it. I’ll be right here.’
He can feel it. I chuckle, amazed at how the connection has become so seamless between us already. ‘Okay,’ I say, as I step back to join the crowd coming together.
I notice I can’t sense Ryland so easily any more, with some distance between us, so I glance back and find him watching me with a searing look in his eyes.
The drums grow louder, and Clara bumps my shoulder. ‘Hey, haven’t seen you here before.’
‘Yeah. I-I’m trying something new.’
‘Good.’ She smiles and hikes up her skirt to her knees, like the rest of the women. I copy her, laughing self-consciously. I suspect I’m about to make a fool of myself.
The group begins to move as one. Clara and I match them, kicking our legs to the beat.
The drums grow louder. Faster. Our kicks get higher with every instrument that joins in, building the tension in the song.
We add in clapping. A turn and a stomping of our feet, and distantly, I notice there really is no pain in my ankle at all.
That sneaky pretty-boy charmer of mine took it all.
At the chorus, Clara and I hook arms and spin faster and faster until I can no longer contain my giggles. I feel like a child, and there’s something inexplicably joyful about it. Healing.
The song ends, and I wave Ryland over, wanting to share this feeling with him. But he shakes his head, encouraging me to keep dancing.
I purse my lips, unsure, until I spot Dezzy stoically judging me from a table.
I march up to her. She crosses her arms. ‘Come,’ I say, ignoring her protests as I drag her to the middle of the dancing.
The women clap encouragingly, and Dezzy smiles reluctantly.
She starts by bouncing on her toes, then grows more confident.
Soon she’s doing moves that both delight and scare me.
The next time I look up, Ryland is with Tristan and his friends, and I’m pretty sure by their shocked faces, Ryland’s just shared with them that we somehow, miraculously, have been given the connection.
It’s a wonder I still don’t understand, especially when Ryland said he’s never known of anyone to receive it twice.
But now that I feel it – experience it – I know what the connection isn’t: a fluke. I now believe in the impossible. A supernatural kind of magic from the same source that first brought Ryland’s uncle to Kingsland through a dream.
That brought Ryland to me.
Tristan is first to celebrate as he claps Ryland heartily on the back. Samuel grins and says something that makes everyone break out laughing.
I can’t wait to see that memory later.
Eventually, I convince Ryland to try a group dance with me, which he does incredibly well. It only makes me impossibly more attracted to him.
I know the moment he feels it. His eyes snap to me as if I’ve shouted his name. He draws extremely close, pressing into me, lips brushing my ear. ‘Do we need to leave?’
I chuckle, embarrassed that I can’t even glance at him appreciatively without him knowing – until I realise the deep, unrelenting heat coiling in my belly isn’t coming from me.
Well, maybe this isn’t so bad.
We don’t leave quite yet. Instead, we eat and laugh with our friends, then dance some more; all while the connection distracts us with memories and sensations we haven’t learned to control. It’s the most blissful torture.
‘Have I ever told you that in Kingsland, descendant weddings are done backwards?’ Ryland asks into my ear. ‘Party first, ceremony last?’
I chuckle. ‘That would have solved a lot of our problems, wouldn’t it?’
He blinks at me, then scoops me up into his arms and marches me towards the trees.
‘What are you doing?’ Little John yells at our backs.
I smother my laugh into Ryland’s shoulder. ‘If you don’t answer him, he’s going to follow.’
With a sigh, Ryland spins and walks backwards. ‘I’m solving problems,’ he shouts. Then just for me: If the connection demands to be explored, then we have no choice but to become experts at it.
I have no objections to that plan. He helps me on to his horse, then quickly climbs on behind me.
‘You can’t leave!’ Little John says, breathless as he runs up to us. ‘It’s your party.’
Even though I can’t quite see Ryland’s smile, I somehow feel it like a hug around my heart. ‘It’s all good, little man. The party was just the start. Now is when the adventure begins.’