To Hope Anew

Chapter Twelve

"Never knew flowers were so heavy." Mouse came up to his feet andshook the lingering soil from off his hands.

Diana came slowly over to his side, leaning on her crutch. It wasstill difficult for her to move about, even with the walking cast.She reached her free arm up to the young man's shoulder. It, too,still bore its own cast, though she could at least lift it, now."Thank you for your help, Mouse, very much."

"Happy to help. Not happy to see you go. Come back soon?"

The abbreviated request brought a gentle smile to her face. She'dbeen hearing those words all day.

"I'll be back down again as soon as Peter says its okay."

With the broad youngster's grin that was uniquely his, Mouseturned out the guest chamber door.

Taking a few more unsteady steps, Diana managed to pull thestraightbacked chair in the chamber to the position she required.Then she gently swung a light quilt over its back and onto the smalltable behind it, feeling more than a little foolish for her caution,but she would gauge her circumstances before she'd plunge headlonginto this. The sound of a deep voice clearing its throat almoststopped her heart as she turned.

But it was William, out of his kitchen, at this time of day, withthe night's supper requiring all his attention. Diana motioned himinto the room with a relieved smile.

"Ahem, I, ah, I brought you something to tide you over Above." Hehanded her a small cardboard box carefully lined with a cottonkitchen towel. It felt warm.

Diana pulled back the top of the towel and discovered a half dozenof his fresh, fluffy buttermilk biscuits. All for her. They were sucha popular item on the community menu that even Father had beenlimited to two per meal.

"Oh, William. What a treat! Thank you so much." She reached herone arm as far as she could around the kind-hearted cook's greatgirth. He fumbled a moment, then returned her hug carefully, with anendearing shyness. Diana graced him with a warm smile. "I'll findthat recipe for you of my grandmother's soda bread, I promise."

"You do that now. And make certain that you eat right, up there.Have to keep up your strength." With a bit of camouflaging bluster,the large man also left her chamber.

Diana set the box cover back onto the biscuits and placed theparcel beside the small overnight bag she had packed with her returnbelongings.

It was going to be so hard to leave.

Even though only three weeks had passed, she felt as if she wasleaving her beloved home for the great, frightening unknown. It wasso strange. The circumstances that had stranded her Below had beenterrifying, but the fear and pain of the flood she had been caught inwith the children had become a distant memory, a sort of vaguelyrecalled trial by fire, or in this case, water, that had at lastopened up to her a whole new promising world. The only shadow veilingher heart, now, would be leaving that world behind.

And leaving Vincent behind. With very little resolved betweenthem.

She sat heavily on the bed, already tired from spending too muchtime on her feet. But she had busied herself with so manytime-consuming details of the day today, all in the hopes of keepingher mind occupied and her heart sheltered: A single free moment aloneand she would have been powerless to withstand the onslaught of painshe knew awaited her.

Since their excursion down to the riverbank on Friday, Diana hadbeen haunted by an unnamed presence within her hert, originating, sheknew, from deep within Vincent himself. It was at once tender butanxiously restrained, hopeful, but so desperately weighted down.She'd been afraid that her barely concealed emotions towards him hadonly served to send him further into his suffocating grief.

So, she had almost been relieved when Mary had come into herchamber early Saturday morning with little Jacob in her arms, andnotified her that Vincent had gone off by himself to the fartherreaches of the river below where he would often do his soul-searchingin solitude.

Diana wasn't certain she could bear to be near him that day --Jacob's birthday -- the day of Catherine's death -- knowing thatshe'd been unable to offer him anything beyond the faintest sort ofconcrete evidence that life could indeed go on. She understoond hisstruggle with the loss and regret, felt it to the core of her ownsoul, but she knew, too, that his struggle of heart was as much herfault as it was Fate's: He was struggling with the seeminglytreacherous instincts of his heart that would let another's essencefind its way into a soul where only Catherine's bright presence hadbeen sheltered. He could, perhaps, find a way to live in peacewithout his beloved in his life. But he decried the thought that hecould ever live in peace with another's heart touching his own.

Diana would have done anything to share his pain, carry hisburden, but she'd been relieved he'd banished himself to his memoriesalone. For all her courage, she'd found herself a coward in the faceof his turmoil, suddenly uncertain that she had done the right thingin revealing her own heart to him, even unintentionally.

The community had passed a subdued, mundane existence all thatday. Very few words had been exchanged aloud, but cloudedcountenances, shaking heads, and sympathetic glances her way had allproven the fact the so many of those Below shared in the futility ofattempting to make life livable once again for their so belovedprotector.

Diana had passed an hour in Samantha's company, working on lessonplans for the coming week. When the girl's quiet sorrow became toomuch to bear, Diana had excused herself under the pretext of feelingtired and buried her suddenly very weary body beneath the extraquilts on her bed.

Remaining alone, though, did nothing to ease her anxious mind andheart. She had finally broken down and asked Cullen if he could helpher to one or the other of the common workrooms where she might havemade herself at least somewhat useful.

The carpenter had brought her to the community sewing chamberwhere she was able to pass a few more hours with Rebecca, Brook andMary, helping to inventory the precious store of fabric and garmentsbefore the rush of winter preparations.

The women divided many-times mended clothes into sizes andseason-weights, tucked small packets of dried lavender and cedarshavings between the layers of fabrics to keep them fresh, and spokeabout how difficult it was to keep up with the growing children andtheir clothing needs. Simple pleasantries were exchanged, and Dianafelt momentarily comforted and balanced. But the pregnant pauses inconversation and activity became more frequent as time passed,reminders of the fact that all their minds were very far away, deepbelow, following a forgotten river through dark rock chambers.

When evening finally came, Olivia brought Jacob to Diana's roomafter supper, with an apology.

"Diana, I'm sorry, but I can't get Jacob to settle down for thenight. I had him in his crib in Vincent's chamber, waiting for Jamieto stay with him, but he's done nothing but call your name."

The tested young mother gently ran a loving hand over the littleboy's sturdy back, which was, at the moment, shuddering with recentlyshed tears. He was clutching a small quilt and his little bunny, anunsettling, far-away look in his sweet face. Diana reached up to holdhim.

"That's all right, Livy. I'll take him." She carefully wrapped herarms around the child and slipped her fingers over his soft curls.The child settled against her breast, letting go of the blanket heheld for the shawl that was thrown over Diana's shoulders, his smallhand holding to it for dear life, it seemed. When Diana raised hereyes from him back to Olivia, there were tears collecting in both thewomen's eyes.

Olivia seemed reluctant to leave the little boy, even after she'dseen him somewhat comforted. Diana touched her arm. "What is it,Livy?" she asked quietly.

"I think Jacob's bond with Vincent is getting stronger. He'salways seemed to be able to sense his father's emotions and respondto them, but lately I just think he's been feeling them, too -- Imean really feeling the same things."

"We know what's going through Vincent's heart tonight." -- And howit must be affecting the child -- Diana had whispered the words moreto herself than to the woman in the room with her.

"Jamie or I'll come back for him a bit later." Olivia extended agentle mother's touch to the little shoulder and the bunny crushedbetween the boy and his amber-haired guardian. He seemed not even tonotice the contact, nestling only closer to Diana's heart. A lumpcame into the young woman's throat, as she realized the little boywas far removed tonight from the happy, exploring, soon-to-be-toddlerhe'd always been. Instead, he was somehow very withdrawn deep withinhimself, confusion, and even pain, clouding his usually limpideyes.

It would have further crucified Vincent to know how deeply his ownsorrows were actually affecting his little boy, despite his bestefforts to shield him.

Diana read the concern in Olivia's face for the child she'd sooften shared her maternal tenderness with. "Let him stay with metonight, Livy. We'll be okay. You've got your hands full withLuke."

"Thank you, Diana." With a squeeze to her hand, the woman left thechamber, wiping her eyes as she did so.

Enclosing the troubled child with a tender embrace, Dianaattempted to ease his anxiety

with a forced brightness she could never sustain. "Would you likeme to read you a story, Jacob?" Picking up a small volume onbutterflies that rested on the little table closest to her, Dianabegan to share the book with the child, pointing out the beautifulcolors and bright patterns of the insects and flowers to him.Ordinarily, Jacob would constantly be interrupting her reading withhis own baby observations and words, reaching over the illustrationsto touch and explore.

Diana saw that the little boy was not even looking at thepictures, probably not evern hearing her words. He was only clutchingthe well-loved, very real, bunny, and seemingly holding all of hisattention on some unseen force or figure somewhere beyond theroom.

The book was set aside and Diana instead gathered Jacob closer toher body, settling the little blanket over his lengthening limbs. Shecould only imagine the intensity of what the child was connecting to,in some far-off twilight below them -- an anguish that would not bequelled. Especially not on this night.

Yet, it wasn't only an imagining.

Within her own heart, Diana could feel a deep and profounduncertainty, a vulnerable confusion infused with pain. When shelooked into the little boy's usually bright blue eyes, she saw thetears falling slowly, silently, from them and down onto his cheeks.They were not the sobbing, vocal tears of a child in distress.Instead they seemed to be the desolate, hopelessness bleeding fromthe depths of an embattled heart.

Not certain of what exactly she could do to comfort and strengthenthe child through his unsought burden, Diana's own tears began tofall in overwhelming frustration. Trying to steady herself for thelittle boy's sake, she momentarily entertained the idea of gettingsome help, and bringing Jacob back to his own bed, thinking that themore familiar surroundings could help to soothe him some small bit.The thought of being in Vincent's chamber with the child, however,would have been of little comfort to her, she confessed to herself.And she reasoned that Jacob was very little aware of his environmentat the moment. Another room would make no difference.

He needed the shelter of a human heart . . . and he'd been callingfor hers.

Letting all her reasonable defenses crumble round about her, sheoffered her loving care without reservation to the small boy, drawinghis pain to herself, holding his essense within hers with a fiercelyprotective abandon. "It's all right, Jacob. I know . . . I feel it,too . . . He'll come back soon. I'll wait with you, angel."

With a gentle hand, she brushed over his golden curls. "I'm herewith you. Don't be afraid, Jacob." In the tenderest of mother'scomforts, she softly touched a kiss to his forehead, the agony shewas absorbing within her, setting her own slender form totrembling.

The little boy's attention suddenly locked onto the lovely, painedface close to his own in recognition at last. Despite the tears stillstreaming silently down his own cheeks, he raised his small hand upto her, brushing it across her mouth. Diana caught it and pressed herlips to it. "Rest, angel," she breathed against the soft warmth ofthe little palm. "I won't let you be alone in this."

Pulling his bunny closer to him under the blanket, Jacob at lastclosed his eyes, a gentle wash of peace slowly overtaking the anxietyetched into his face. Diana held his one hand closely in hers androcked softly on the chair, cradling him, letting every breath of herlove wash away his fearful turmoil. She began to hum unconsciously,as any mother rocking a frightened child might. Gaining courage then,she gave voice to the lilting tune with a beautiful resonance shehadn't heard or used in ages: The Gaelic lullaby her grandmotherloved. Diana had asked to hear it, hear all the old songs, time andagain, even when she was too old for bedtime stories and songs. Nowshe willed Jacob to accept the peace and warmth she'd always beensheltered with whenever she'd heard those sweet strains herself.

Finally, the little boy's even breathing told Diana that he was atlast close to falling asleep, gratefully, in her arms. She began onelast song she remembered taking to heart, both the words and melodyso much like her grandmother's cherished tunes, tender, hopeful, sad,and loving, a modern rendition of a troubador's tale:

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Remember me to one who lives there.

She was once a true love of mine."

Vincent was within the dream once again, but this time it was notmerely a dream. The reality of the anguish had battered him with thesame unbearable force he had felt that night, that black, cursednight. He was there, on the top of that wind-swept tower, his kneesbuckling beneath him as the slight weight of her near-lifeless bodyoverwhelmed his strength. She labored to speak to him, expended thelast traces of her sapped courage to cling to him, desperate to holdon to life, to have him understand.

He had agonized with each of her final breaths, aching to offerher his own ragged ones, but she could not accept them. He would havetorn out his own heart to give her, willing her faltering one to drawon his for strength. But, he only felt her drift farther and fartherfrom him. She was aching to remain with him, dream with him, hopewith him, yet he only felt her soul brush past his own, linger thefaintest instant, and slip beyond his reach.

And when he gathered the beloved body to his own, as he had neverhad the courage to before, he realized in agony that it was indeedCatherine . . . gone . . . lost to him . . . forever.

"Oh God, Catherine, forgive me!"

His powerful form crumpled to the cold, hard surface of the rockbeneath his feet. "Forgive me for letting you die . . . forgive mefor letting you dream . . . alone."

There was only a dark and cold emptiness that responded to hisanguish, tearing through his body with a force that engulfed him. Helonged only to give himself up to that force, let it surround him andobliterate any trace of life without her . . . without Catherine.

. . . There could be no life without Catherine.

The tears streaming from his eyes did nothing to wash away thepain. He lay heavily on the rock floor, conscious only of the coldcoming from it and through even his layers of woolen clothing. Therewas no one to cling to for support, nothing to believe in. Onlyblackness, formed of loss, regret, and the terrible aloneness he'dprayed would never overcome his soul again.

Then, it was there, suddenly, reaching out to him -- a touch. Thesoftest touch, barely a breath, resting at his temple an instant,then smoothing gently, lovingly, over the locks of his hair strewnwildly over his face. It pulled hesitantly away from him.

Vincent felt his heart stop.

He came to his knees, searching through the semi-darkness aroundhim. There was only the flame of his torch reflected on the nearbywaters of the river.

Yet, someone was there with him, now, someone's essence softlyenveloping him, just beyond his consciousness. Then, another touch,brushing this time against his forehead, gentle, reassuring, like thetenderest whisper of a -- kiss.

Vincent reached his hand unsteadily before him, trying to contactthe loving presence. He closed his eyes and attempted to see withonly the power of his heart's empathic sight.

A drift of fragrance stole around him, unmistakable in its cleansimplicity -- lavender. Where had it come from? He felt a tracing ofsilken hair slip over his cheek, long, and heavy, not his own. Withmaddening uncertainty he suddenly must know what color it was -- hecouldn't tell in the dim light. But he believed he knew.

The sound of words, unfamiliar at first until he realized theywere in a foreign fairy tongue, tripped gracefully through abeguiling melody that echoed as much off the rock walls surroundinghim as within his own heart. That tune changed to one he didrecognize, the words ringing sweetly, expectantly within his spirit,the ache it raised inside him as compelling as it was sad. He layback onto the cold stone beneath him and let the tenderness draw thedesolation from his soul.

"May we come in?" Vincent had waited a moment before announcinghis presence, with Jacob, at the guest chamber entry. Diana wasseated on the bed, her eyes closed. She seemed far away, deep inthought, or turmoil. He could touch her disquiet spirit within hisown heart. She was wrestling with some anxious imponderables battlingwithin her and he longed to ease her way, as she had done for him.But he couldn't bring himself to it. She would only, in the end, payfor his unguarded emotions with her own peace of mind. It would offernothing to either of them besides more aching confusion of heart, andthe ever-present reality of the dark places within his soul.

Still, she had risked that turmoil to reach out to him, again,despite his efforts to distance himself from her, that night whenhe'd been at the river below in grief-stricken solitude. He wasn'tcertain that she was aware of it.

Catherine had been with him there, he knew. He had felt her soulcaress his own, lovingly; and he had found it slipping away, but,miraculously, not to some unreachable black emptiness that wouldforever keep them apart. He'd felt her soul find a safe refuge, atlast, in a deep place of his heart, a place he could easily reachinto and draw the wonder of their love to him for comfort.

It had been his desperate grief, his anguished longing to cling tothe lost possibilities in their lives that had somehow made itimpossible for him to hold Catherine in that place within him before,for him to open his heart for her and accept the cherished gift ofpeace that memory could offer him. It had been so fearfully difficultto acknowledge, so painful to accept: that need to exchange futurehopes for past remembrances, but somehow he had managed to find thecourage to take those first steps -- to release his love forCatherine from the restraints and expectations of this world and allits loss and confusion.

With that courage steadying his aching spirit, he'd been able tofind that place in his heart where she could always rest, wherenothing could touch her to cause her pain, not even him; where hecould touch again the sweetness of what they had shared and carry itwith him as the fulfillment it truly had been.

He'd been able to take those first steps towards true healing foronly one reason: When he'd been engulfed by pain, overwhelmed by hisloss, despairing of ever knowing peace again, a gentle hand hadreached out to him from the darkness, a generous and loving spirithad touched his soul with the promise of hope.

She was now sitting before him on the bed.

The luminous green eyes opened slowly and clung to his, shiningwith deep emotion. But only for a moment. She forced the light out ofthem, pulled her level of communion with him vehemently to a lessprofound plane. He recognized her struggle immediately. He'd had tobattle the same forces near the end with Catherine's heart. He'd hadto pretend that nothing was happening to his lifelong defenses, thathis heart didn't leap into his throat at her merest touch, that hismind didn't whirl at the realization of all that the longing in hereyes meant, promised.

He'd been able to deny her, deny Catherine for so long.

Yet, he'd been slipping precariously at the end, and the terrorsthat could be unleashed because of it had become too easilyforgotten. Had he not lost her . . .

Now Diana was visibly struggling to reign in her heart in justsuch a desperate fashion, so startling to him after hernear-convincing arguments with him last Friday. She was denying herown heart, not because of any physical nightmares she could havefeared, but because of his own fragile state of spirit. He could readit within her, felt it within her: She was willing her own desiresaway, ruthlessly, because she feared for his state of mind andsoul.

Vincent chastised himself for that reality, in heavy guilt, now,too. He'd succeeded in making her feel her own dreams had been onlyselfish unrealities. He'd reached out to her in his unguardedmoments, knowing instinctively that she could guide him through hispain, yet, he'd still condemned her for own crumbling defenses, withhis hesitancy, his fears. He'd managed to bury his own needs, shroudhis own desires for his questionable humanity for an eternity of alifetime. But, it hadn't kept Catherine alive. And now it would costDiana's own bright hopes.

Still, it would keep her safe, in the end.

A fleeting smile forced across her face said she was capable ofbeing approached now. There would be no dangerous entanglementsluring their hearts.

He welcomed her detachment, because the reality was that he wasaching at the thought of her returning Above.

The pleasant informality of casual friendship was thrown up like ashield between them, protecting them both. "Everyone else in thiscommunity has been through that doorway today. I was beginning towonder if you'd ever show up."

The words were her cool, unemotional demeanor from Above. He triedto let them set the tone for their present encounter, for her sake."It's going to be an adjustment for everyone, not having you herewith us."

The detachment had slipped from its place between them despite hisbest efforts. He couldn't let her leave with another burden of sorrowto carry, the thought that he could so willingly shut her out of hislife.

Her own defenses faltered as she reached over to Jacob. Vincentset the little boy down to the floor and let him take his hand,leading him to her side. When he was within reach, Diana swept thechild up to her lap. "I'm going to miss having time to spend everyday with this little one, that's for sure."

Jacob graced her with an unburdened smile that radiated from hislittle soul. Since the night he had spent sheltered in his fearswithin her loving care, he had seemed to react to her presence withan even greater brightness of heart, so very conscious, despite histender age, of her role in easing his frightening anxiety. The childrecognized her deep love and commitment to him and responded in kind,without fears or restraints.

Vincent sat on the bed beside the amber-haired woman and took inthe sight of his child resting on her lap. She looked so naturally atease with the little boy in her arms. Her eyes shone with tenderacknowledgment of his small presence. Vincent wished with all hisheart that he could in some way offer her that same unburdened love.She deserved it.

"He will miss you, as well. When you are up to it, Samantha canbring him to you once more, if you wish."

Diana merely nodded as she watched the little boy occupy himselfwith a small wooden airplane he was clutching. The softly anxiouscare she felt holding to her heart, drove her to the truth. Shecouldn't put off the inevitable any longer.

Vincent watched her work her courage up for a long moment andcouldn't seem to reason why. It was more than their imminent partingthat was hurting her so, but he only felt her inner turmoil andcaught its reflection in eyes she was not able to completely shieldfrom offering revelation.

"What are you struggling with, Diana?"

The soft caring in that question nearly caused her to lose herconviction again. She almost caught his offer of a reassuring touchthen, before he banished the thought from his mind. It was so painfulto bear: Several times during the course of the past three weeks hehad allowed himself the frightening freedom of reaching out to herphysically, to share with her the tenderest of human attentions whenshe had least expected him to. But now, when she was visibly troubledand it would have been so natural to reach out to her in closeness,he could not seem to find the strength to do so. Diana only kept herattention on Jacob. She couldn't put it off any longer.

"I have something of yours here that I need to return to you."

The mythic figure beside her caught the brightness of tearsbeginning to form in her eyes, but he could not find the reason theywere threatening to be shed. Then Diana raised a shaky hand to pointacross the chamber.

Coming to his feet slowly, Vincent held her face in his gaze along moment before turning to follow the direction of her hand. Whywas she in such turmoil? He ached to relieve her, but she onlydropped her own gaze from his.

With measured steps, Vincent crossed the small room to standbeside the chair near the far wall. A light blanket had been flungover its back and tented across the table that was behind it. Hereached a tentative hand to the blanket, not having a clue as to whatit hid, only aware of the fact that whatever was sheltered there wassomething capable of reducing the fiery spirit of the young woman inthe room with him to tears.

Lifting the blanket away in one sweeping motion, Vincent could notseem to fathom what it was he was actually looking at, what couldcause such pain. But then recognition, for the rosebush in fullbloom, and for what it meant to him, made Diana's anxiety startlinglyclear.

He couldn't speak for the longest instant, suddenly findinghimself propelled to Catherine's balcony and a moment of electricallycharged intimacy he'd truly had no intention of initiating. He'd onlyoffered his beloved a simple, innocent physical contact, a loving,though sweetly archaic gesture meant to convey comfort and care, butit had swept the reality of the forces acting between them deeplyinto his suddenly vulnerable spirit.

Every breath of sensation was with Vincent now from that moment:The welcome feel of her hand sheltered in his, the recognition of herslight injury and the needful and protective urge within him torelieve her of any breath of threat or pain. The terrifyingcomprehension that his kiss of comfort to her hand had taken on asudden, control-shattering sensuality he'd long thought himselfwell-defended against.

And he could see Catherine's face -- startled, but unafraid, adeepening look of wondrous acknowledgment and undisguised longingimmediately overcoming her beautiful features.

"Fada?" Only Jacob's voice managed to call Vincent back from thatevening's crossroads, to the guest chamber and the rest of itsoccupants. He turned towards Diana slowly, attempting to understandwhat her role in his intimate memory could be.

"Catherine's rosebush?" he finally asked in a soft voice thatnearly carried a rebuke.

Diana worked to steady the pounding of her heart. She'd toldherself this was not going to be easy, but she had underestimatedVincent's ability to lock his empathic sensitivities to the deepestportions of her own soul. Her hope to simply assuage her consciencecrumbled with the pain she read in those heart-stopping blue eyes.She was going to have to touch to everything between them again,because she couldn't keep her own fearful uncertainties from him.Forging ahead, she yet lost her conviction of the rightness of heractions.

"I've had it at my loft since I took on . . . the . . .investigation. I asked Mouse to bring it down for me thismorning."

"But that bush had to have been next to dead. It had beenneglected for months when Catherine disappeared." One look back atthe overflowing blossoms in the terra-cotta pot did little to clearup the circumstances of the plant's survival. Still, it had to be thesame one. Red blossoms and white ones, together, sharing one vibrantexistence.

"I felt as though it had life in it still when I found it. Ithought it might offer me some sense of what you and Catherine sharedtogether, so I could understand." Diana could not hold Vincent's gazefor long. It was an overwhelming succession of disbelief, wonder,guilt, pain, and anger. What she'd feared had happened: She'd lostwhatever minute, fragile, communion she had been able to draw fromhis burdened spirit. That was the risk, she knew. To help him believeagain in life she'd placed her own position in his heart injeopardy.

"Why didn't you tell me before now?"

That was the question she really could not find the answer to atthe moment. It had been clear to her once, the need to protect himfrom further memories and pain, keep his

battered soul from falling over the edge into total desolation.But the weeks had slipped into months, and the once mysterious andshadowy avenger of her investigations had become the beloved guardianand embodiment of her most cherish and fragile dreams offulfillment.

Now, the soul-searching azure eyes were accusing, despite hissoftly contained words.

"I don't know why, Vincent. I guess I was just afraid, at first,that seeing it would bring you more pain than comfort."

The need to protect. That was one of the driving forces behind hisown anguish where Catherine had been concerned. How could he chastiseDiana now when he'd been so guilty of the same instinctive actionshimself? His gaze lost its edge and finally returned to a deep andconcerned blue. "What made you feel I could handle its revelationnow?"

"You were desperate for some peace with Catherine's memory. Whatyou told me about that evening, I thought, could bring you somecherished remembrance. I know to you it meant only a breach in yourcontrol, that intimacy. But to Catherine . . . It must have been sucha wondrous and sweet moment, one that brought her great hope. Ithought that perhaps you could touch to that hope yourself and feelsome peace."

Vincent stood before Diana in concentrated observation of her. Howcould she possibly know what Catherine had felt that eveninglight-years ago? How could she even venture to propose that a momentwhich had caused him so much painful soul-searching could havepossibly brought his beloved anything like the promising feelingsDiana was describing?

In truthfulness, though, Vincent knew the real reasons for hisresistance to Diana's conclusions: She was not using her intuitivepowers alone to place herself within that lost instant. She was usingher heart. Her eyes, lifted uncertainly to him now, had been leftunguarded again, open to him, revealing her soul. She may have beenbegging him to understand Catherine's reaction to his unexpected slipof control, but what her eyes said to him was more an unashamedpleading on her own behalf. And his.

Taking in a ragged breath, Vincent tried to clear his thinking,discover her motivations. But he knew, without question now, thefearful truth: Had their places been exchanged, had Diana been therecipient of his unshielded attentions that night as Catherine hadbeen, she would never have let the moment pass beyond them, no matterwhat the intrusions of the outside world upon them. She would haveundeniably seen it as a beautiful, wondrous

gifting hope to share between them.

And he would never have found himself in agony over his fall intothe beguiling temptations of loving her.

But love, spiritual and chaste or physical and human, was not theonly reality they'd have to contend with. His own reality ofuncertain essence was ever near, no matter what twists of Fate any ofthem was willing to accept.

Coming slowly to his knees, Vincent let his indescribable handslip over the petals of one flower in a tender caress. It should havebeen Catherine's hand he was gracing with his loving and freeacknowledgment. Diana swallowed hard, realizing that within his heartit probably was Catherine's hand he'd touched. She'd prayed to beable to bring him back his sweetest memories. She hadn't counted onhow painful it would be for her to realize those memories woreanother beloved's face.

"Red roses and white. Love's passion and purity, flourishing sideby side. For all eternity." The words were so quiet Diana wasn't evencertain they'd been directed at her. then the arresting blue eyeswere turned to capture her heart. "It is a beautiful, impossibledream, Diana."

"Catherine believed in it."

Again the words, offered him with so much conviction. How couldshe possibly know Catherine's dreams? Because they were not sodifferent from her own. He read it in her face.

"It can never be my dream, Diana. It is the sweetest hope of ahuman heart."

The emphasis of his voice was on the word, "human." Diana'sflagging spirit bridled at the thought he could even question his ownhumanity in such a way. She was ready to hurtle the disbelievingreproach she felt rising within her when Jacob suddenly scooted offher lap and down to the floor in a quick movement she could not keepup with.

Afraid the little boy was ready to tumble to the floor, Dianacalled out to him as she attempted to steady him with her hand. Buthe had already stepped beyond her reach on his own, small armsoutstretched before him.

At the sound of Diana's alarmed reaction to his child, Vincentpulled his attention away from the flowers in time to catch sight ofhis son's first steps towards him. Diana had thrown her hands up toher mouth, lest another surprised crying out should startle thechild. Her eyes were full of tears still, but they also shimmeredwith surprise and delight.

Vincent stretched one hand out to the approaching child who wascalling to him over and over again, "Fada, Fada." It took all hisstrength of will not to shorten the distance between him and his son.Instead, he found his voice and steadied the child with gentleencouragement.

"You can do it, Jacob. Come to me now, son. Just a few moresteps."

The look of sheer exuberant accomplishment that radiated from thelittle boy's face when he at last threw himself into his father'sawaiting arms was enough to brighten the chamber's softly litconfines like a shower of sunbeams. Yet, the child quickly wriggledhis way free from even his father's treasured embrace to concentratehis attention to the rose bush in front of him.

"Pretty flowah, Fada, pretty." With the joyous abandon that onlychildren can allow themselves, Jacob then buried his little face intothe mound of blossoms and buds and drank in their fragrance deeplywith a delighted giggle.

Vincent caught the little boy in his arms again before he tumbledinto the bush with his enthusiasm, and kissed the curly head inamazed gratitude. "Yes, Jacob, the flowers are lovely." As lovely asa treasured moment of completeness. He could see that now. But howcould it possibly survive within his shadowy world? Like therosebush, hope seemed out of its element within his existence. Helifted his gaze from the angelic child to the equally unearthly youngwoman before him.

"Jacob needs that dream as much as you or Catherine ever did. Lifecan begin again. Like that rosebush, Vincent."

For an eternal moment Diana felt the powerful blue eyes withinher. She held fast to the aching longing in her soul before it daredto touch him and destroy the precarious hold on promise he hadsomehow found to cling to in the last few moments. Whether that hopewould shelter her heart or not, she no longer cared. All thatmattered was that it could support his spirit.

Vincent read the generous courage that was so integral to Diana'sessence. That had been the key to his tentative attempt to reach outand take hold of a life in which Catherine would be only a sweet andcherished memory. It was such a frightening though, living in thatreality. He could still feel her touch, long to run his hand over hersoft brown hair, draw her petite form close to him and feel as one.Catherine was still so close to him, so overwhelmingly enveloping hisheart, the truth of his life.

But she was . . . dead . . . And he and Jacob were not.

Sweeping Jacob up to his shoulder, Vincent strode back over toDiana's bed where he set the child to playing with his toy. Then hecame directly before the enigmatic young woman and knelt in front ofher, taking both her hands gently into his, the deep pools of hiseyes never leaving hers. She may have given his lost soul directionat last, but he must make her see the true risk she'd opened herselfup to in making his pain her own.

"The only reason that rosebush survived, Diana, is because youbelieved it could, and you worked to make it possible. But it is athing of beauty from the world Above. How could it possibly flourishin a world of shadow?"

Diana knew he was not only referring to Catherine's plant alone.Her entire future, within or without his heart, had suddenly slippedinto the conversation, his entire future, blessed by new beginningsor shadowed only by lost dreams. He was asking for her guidance.

"You could bring it down to the riverbank. The light there isbright and warm." As warm as the tenderness within her own heart.That was the only reality that could possibly

shelter their needs -- a new place within the protective confinesof his world, yet still graced with its own rendering of what wasgood from the world Above. A place with both shadows andsunshine.

"The beginning of your garden." Vincent looked down at theslender-fingered hands enclasped within his own, one still bearing acast from her injuries. It had taken an act of violence to bringCatherine into his life, so very long ago it seemed. Perhaps it hadalso taken an act of God to bring Diana closer to his soul, to theplace where she could nurture her hope within him, creating a newreality that could gift them both. Miracles . . . He had oncebelieved in them . . . Sometimes even miracles needed help toflourish.

"You will have your work cut out for you when you are well enoughto return."

The barely disguised promise in the words made Diana's heart leapinto her throat. "I hope it can be soon." She didn't care if he couldread the hardley sheltered ache she carried within her at thatinstant to rest her head on his powerful chest, close her eyes, anddream. An extra pressure on her hands from his was unmistakable. foran instant she thought he was going to lift them both to his lips,longed for him to do so. that miracle would have to wait,however.

"I hope so, too." The quiet confession, spoken with so muchhesitant shyness, carried Diana's heart away just as breathlessly asany physical communion between them could. She would survive Abovewithout him now for half an eternity, with those words alone to carryher faltering hopes along.

Still she prayed it would not take half an eternity before theyboth could share in the wondrous beauty of a garden born of shadow,rock, and reflected light. For Vincent, the very thought of openinghis heart once again to receive the tender wonder reaching out to himsuddenly seemed a miracle that could some day touch him as well, witha new hope he would be unafraid to hold.

"Don't forget that you have an appointment with Peter at hisoffice on Monday at 10:00. He already has all of your charts."

Father took in the lovely presence of his patient with wise eyesand concluded there was something different about her, somethingdifferent about the way she stood beside his son.

Could it be the miracle he'd prayed for for so long? Up untilyesterday, he'd yet been able to catch sight of the very distinctboundaries there had been in place around each of the young peoplebefore him, whenever they were in the room together. They may havestood side by side, but it had been as if a glass bubble kept each ofthem separate from the other

Not even the frequent close contact that had been forced upon thembecause of her injured state had done anything to change thatinvisible barrier.

More than once, the elder man had watched his beloved child carrythe young woman in his arms, and the fleeting thought that perhaps amoment of promising peace could bind the two of them had hungexpectantly about them. But even though the barrier between them wasas transparent as glass, it proved to be as strong as temperedsteel.

There had been no movement towards a more hopeful experience ofone another.

Despite his own deep affection for Catherine, that realization hadbeen a sad one for Father, for he did not need an empathic bond toread his son's troubled heart. It had been, for months, on the vergeof losing any minute ground it might have gained on the path towardshealing. The child he loved so much because of the so generous hopein his soul had become buried within the overwhelming pain of lossthat now marked his life as a man.

Still, Father had been hopeful.

An act of Providence had sent the fiery-haired andquicksilver-tempered young woman into Vincent's life. Diana was sostrong in her own right, confident of her own soul . . . and so verydeeply in love with his son. It was visible to everyone Below, andyes, even welcomed, despite their own sense of loss at Catherine'sdeath. The community had been wounded as deeply as Vincent, not onlybecause of the tragedy of Catherine's murder, but because of whatthat loss had been doing to Vincent's own soul.

A flicker of hope had suddenly shone -- in the bright andunexpected presence of Diana. Yet, even that promise had seemed tofalter, the victim of an unquenchable grief that would allow Vincentno peace. Diana's love for him, the hope that love could again offerhim, was so evident to everyone. Except Vincent, himself, itseemed.

Father shook his head unconsciously at the thought. How could hisson not see the beauty of the gift the fragile-hearted police womanwas reaching out to him? Knowing his son as he did, though, toldJacob Wells the truth of the situation: Vincent was completely awareof how Diana felt about him. The distance he'd continued to throw upbetween them could only be manufactured from that awareness. He knewshe loved him. Perhaps he also knew that he loved her

And that reality must have proven as terrifying and painful asanything brought about by Catherine's loss to him.

Just when Father had begun to lose his hope for his son, he'd beenblessed by this evening's wondrous sight: Vincent and Diana standingside by side in his chamber, suddenly bereft of their self-imposeddefenses and barriers.

It was almost imperceptible, and most people would have missedit,but Father had been observing hearts and reading dreams for over35 years now, his own son's included. And what he managed to catch atthe moment was an unexpected -- entwining -- of that son's spiritwith that of the indecipherable young woman at his side. It wasthere. He could see it. They were standing apart from one another,but their hearts were reaching out towards each other, their eyeslinking momentarily and offering one another a breath of rest.

"I'll be fine, Father. Don't worry."

"Laura and Jerry will stop by regularly to make certain you haveeverything you need." Mary had joined the conversation with just thesame hope of future promise in her observations of the extraordinaryman she considered her son as well, and the bright-spirited woman whowas very much his kindred soul. The maternal head of the undergroundcommunity may not have had the courage to claim her own opportunityfor fulfillment, but she could still delight in the knowledge thatperhaps Diana would manage to find hers, and through that courageousfulfillment, bring Vincent to the happiness he deserved.

It would still be such a struggle, she knew, for both of them.They were both so compelled to protect each other from their dreams,from their needs. But, at least it appeared at the moment, they wouldbe struggling to find their paths towards one another and notdistancing themselves any longer.

"We had better be on our way."

Vincent bent down to retrieve Diana's small bag of belongings. Sheslowly stepped over to Father and Mary and left them each with atender embrace. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for takingcare of me."

Father felt a sudden lump in his throat as the young womanreleased him from her farewell. "Nonsense, child. You are one of us.Now take good care of yourself Above. See that you don't try tooverdo things."

"I'll remember, Father," came the grateful reply.

"You can't leave without this, Diana." Samantha's suddenbreathless appearance in the room caused everyone to smile. Shehanded Diana a copy of Ivanhoe, well-worn and obviously much-read."Our advanced literature classes will be working on this during thenext weeks. You could read along with us Above and then share yourideas when I come to see you with Jacob."

Diana took the book from the girl's hand with a grateful hug,wondering at the same time how much of the idea was hers, and howmuch had been her teacher's. Vincent, for his part, betrayed nothing,but Diana threw him a grateful glance, for the opportunity to remainwithin the community's activities despite her necessarydeparture.

"I guess we'd better get going. It will take me forever in thisstate." Reluctantly, Diana tucked the book into her bag, then turnedto follow Vincent out of the entryway of Father's chamber, on her wayback to the strange world Above.

Where the passageways were wider and more level, they walkedbeside one another, talking quietly about upcoming activities Below,Jacob's latest accomplishment, and her own rather anxious return tolife in the city. The going was slow and measured because of her leg,even though she'd been walking daily in the tunnels ever since she'dgotten her cast

replaced with a less cumbersome one. She was determined to heal asquickly as possible, the length of her confinement a true trial forher independence.

But, Diana would have been the first to admit she was in no hurryto leave this place of solace and promise. It was going to be weeksbefore she would be healed, even with her total commitment torehabilitation, weeks before she could handle the torturous pathwaysand labyrinths of the tunnel world on her own, weeks without the dayto day loving support of the community she longed to call her ownfamily.

It would be weeks without the everyday blessings of having Vincentand Jacob near.

Maybe it was better, this separation from the compelling figurebeside her, at just this time. She felt that they had already covereda great deal of ground keeping them apart in only the past few hours.They needed to get their bearings.

She sensed that Vincent had been able to come to some tentativereconciliation with his burdened soul that night at the river below,some fragile sort of completion, and she would gladly banish her ownprecarious hold on hope before she would cause him any more anguishof heart. Diana simply prayed that the separation would end in theirrenewed and shared closeness. She needed to understand herexpectations as much as he needed to acknowledge his.

The way up to the secondary tunnels seemed interminable,especially because several routes were now inaccessible because offlood damage still unresolved. Diana grew very tired, leaning heavilyon her one crutch. Still, the longer it took for her to reach accessto Above, the longer she had to spend in Vincent's quiet, beguilingpresence. She wondered to herself accusingly if her insistence onwalking the route on her own had not been decided for just suchulterior motives. Yet, the alternative had been a terrifyingly sweetdanger: Spending the long minutes in Vincent's arms as he carried herAbove.

She wasn't certain she could sensibly maintain her hold on herheart if her final moments Below were spent enveloped in hisembrace.

After one last turn down the narrowing rock chambers, Diana wasconfronted with the very real and very intimidating curling expanseof the great Spiral Stairway. Its filigreed wrought-ironwork deservedan honored place in some country manor home, she'd long ago decided.It gave the world Below a magical doorway, she always felt, a sort ofunanchored bridge between the unimaginative reality of the city andthe candlelit promise of an underground Shangri-la.

However, at this moment in time, the stairway was a stark obstaclethree stories tall that she was being forced to climb after a fiftyminute trek on a crutch and a walking cast. Grasping the lowest endof the bannister in her left hand, she failed to pull herself up ontothe first step without stopping to release a burdened sigh.

"Just how many stairways are there here Below, anyway?" she turnedto ask Vincent as the ache in her leg pounded. He swept easily to herside, not the barest indication in his breathing or manner that theyhad probably covered close to two miles of twisting tunnels.

"Knowing the number would bring you little relief," came thereply, spoken in the mildly rebuking tones he had the courage toaddress her in. Vincent had been set to argue her point in walkingthe distance on her own, but if he had learned anything at all aboutthe red-haired woman before him in the past year, it had been that hewould never win a confrontation with her when she was convinced thatshe was right. The best he could hope for was to work around her whenshe was ready to let him.

The exhaustion playing across her beautiful face told Vincent shehad reached that point in their journey. As he knew she would.

"Sit down for a few moments and I'll bring your things up. ThenI'll come back for you."

There was no polite offer in his tone; it was firm instruction.She knew she had to follow it or risk collapsing. That possibilitywas one she wasn't about to encourage. The feeling of his bodyenveloping hers was a treasure she cherished too much to inviteunconsciousness by her stubbornness. If he was going to have to carryher up three stories, she was going to be fully capable of holding tothose beloved sensations, knowing she'd need them to survive thelong, grey hours Above without him.

Diana came slowly to rest on the second stair, slipping her rightleg more completely out before her to see if she could relieve someof the pain. Her limb was throbbing beneath the cast, and she cursedher willful nature, silently. Hopefully the long walk had not set herrecovery back too much. She'd only have herself to blame if itdid.

Vincent reached out and took the crutch she'd removed from underher arm. Retrieving her bag, he swept past her easily, the full,graceful folds of wool and leather of his cloak brushing her shoulderas he climbed. Her heart took an unexpected leap.

Slowing his pace a bit, Vincent negotiated the stairway at asteady climb, taking far more time than he would normally to reachthe upper confines of his world. He wanted to give Diana time to restwithout being too obvious about it. She was clearly exhausted by thewalk, but the thought of having to carry her all the way to theirdestination had been a volatile option he'd not felt capable ofhandling.

Knowing he would be carrying her away from his world, even if itwould be for only a relatively short period of time, would have beenas heartbreaking to him as the sensations of her slim form in hisarms would have been heart-stopping. Climbing, now, he preparedhimself for the risk-charged reality he would have no way ofcircumventing when he would have to at last take up his preciousburden.

Vincent's mind fixed itself onto the experiences they'd shared thepast three weeks, attempting to make some sense of it all that hecould accept. Over that period of time, Diana had done nothing lessthan resurrect his love for Catherine from the black shroud ofanguishing regret he'd nearly smothered it with. She had helped himremember the sweetness, the promise of that love, and bring it closeand safe within the shelter of his heart again.

During that time, there had been very little acknowledgement ofher own place within his existence, despite the fact he had watchedDiana struggle with it desperately in her unguarded moments. Inamazement, he realized she had taken every opportunity she could toremind him of his beloved existence with Catherine and had simplyallowed her own cherished dreams to remain mute and deeply hiddenwithin her own soul.

But, every now and again, she'd been helpless to keep her heartfrom revealing itself to him. And he had been helpless to keep fromreaching to it with an unnerving, ever deepening, physical melding ofhis essence with hers.

That was the fearful wonder of it all.

That he was already bound to Diana emotionally, and spiritually,was a given he was prepared to acknowledge easily. She was a trustedfriend, a soulmate who could share his pain and understand histerrors. He harbored very little turmoil with his entwiningexperience of Diana on those levels.

The frightening part of it all, though, was the fact that theirrelationship had progressed in an entirely tangent direction from theemotional and spiritual into a realm of physical depth he'd nevereven considered possible. Or, more truthfully, had always consideredto be only anguishingly forbidden his uncertain humanity.

It had taken Catherine and him the maturity of three years in oneanother's blessed communion to even dare consider that such a sensualaspect to their relationship could be something they might ever longfor as an expression of the love between them. His bond withCatherine had been on such an elevated plane that it had actuallytranscended such needs between them.

Or so he had thought.

With Diana's deserving soul making its pain-riddled way towardshis own, it was as if their hesitant, guilt-laden paths were fated tocross in the most human of terms, destined to be burdened, andallowed to soar, with the most human of emotions, dreams andexpectations.

Such a path would have been tortuous enough in its own right. Itwas made terrifying because of the reality of his inner self. Dianamay have been reaching out to him with fearfully tender humanity, buthe was cursed with more than mere humanity. And he would gladly turnthat curse upon himself, be swallowed up forever within its darkness,before he would allow the faintest breath of it to touch her. Itdidn't matter what sweetness would be lost to him because of thatvigilance.

Diana watched as the cloud of dark fabric swept around her onceagain from Vincent's graceful movements, returning him back down toher, his cloak sheltering her momentarily. That was all theirexperience of one another had been for most of the past year shethought suddenly, painfully: moments of burden eased too infrequentlyby instances of sheltering promise. Still, the time that she hadspent Below in his so treasured presence these past weeks had morethan adequately evened up the tally, at least for her. His nourishingand nurturing generosity towards her had given her so much to believein, despite his own uncertainties and hers.

As he towered above her on the stair, an elemental embodiment ofnature at its most arresting, Diana felt the sudden need toacknowledge his gifts to her in this quiet place, the childhoodflights of fancy he had helped to put within her grasp asrealities.

She motioned for him to join her on the stair. Despite hisunsteady spirit, he did so without hesitation.

"Vincent, I want to say this to you now while we still have amoment to ourselves."

The green eyes he was gazing deeply into caressed his own. Shemade no effort to conceal it.

"I don't know how to thank you for these past three weeks. I couldhave died back there. You kept me safe. Everyone helped me heal. I'llnever be able to repay you all, repay you, for everything."

"Diana, you've long ago become a cherished member of thiscommunity. We were only caring for someone . . . we . . . loved."

The plural in that last sentence was so typical of him, shethought, not angrily, but with sadness. It spoke of the miles theystill had to travel between them. But they had also covered miles inthe last few seconds: With her intuitive sensitivies acutely attunedto her sense of him, Diana felt no walls thrown up to isolate theirhearts from one another. An unspoken promise seemed to linger in hiseyes, in the vulnerable nearness of his powerful body to hers. Hercourage shaken, she attempted to draw herself back into a safelyneutral experience of him.

"That someone you all loved wasn't exactly the easiest person todeal with, I know," she

observed with self-effacing humor. "I can be abrupt and impatient,and I always push too hard. Certainly not the type of person you areused to." Certainly not the type of person Catherine was, herunflinching honesty with herself pointed out. She needed to remindherself of how far apart their dreams still were, no matter howhopeful of someday reaching them they might be.

Vincent took her hand up into his from her lap. "You left outstubborn and quick-tempered," he responded evenly, looking herdirectly in the eye with a hint of challenge sparkling within hisgaze.

It didn't take more than a second for her head to come up and hereyes to shift from caressing to expressing outraged injury. But, thevery thought that he could even manage to interject a few words ofunburdened humor into their experience of one another, was well worththe outrage. She smiled sheepishly, then, locking her attention onthe improbable sight of their so dissimilar hands entwining on herlap.

"Will you hold that against me? They are my two strongestcharacter traits, I've always been told."

"I believe I can learn to live with such characteristics, if itever becomes necessary."

His eyes still a shimmering blue, Diana would have given her lifejust then to help them remain so bright and full of life, sodifferent from the agonized, accepting desolation he'd long carriedwithin him. For once he seemed freed of pain as well, open to readingthe possibilities in her heart. Then his features became serious andearnestly focused on her.

"You left out some other traits, too: Your generosity of spirit,your caring, sensitive heart, your courage to dream."

Diana wasn't certain she could trust herself to speak. There wouldbe so much time placed between them when she returned Above, timethat could erode her hopes, time that could sweeten his memoriesbeyond any tiny fraction of possibility she might be able to offerhim at some undetermined moment in the capricious future. She achedto leave him something of herself, take something of him, while shecould still touch to the possibilities.

"If I've pushed too much, if I've forced my beliefs too often,Vincent, it is because I can't stand by and watch someone I . . .care . . . about struggle in pain without attempting to do somethingabout it."

She'd been so cautious in her choice of words to him just then,not wanting to voice the truth of her heart aloud for fear of causinghim more confusion and pain. Vincent held her eyes until she could nolonger trust herself with their tenderness. He ached at the thoughtshe would still be forced to bury her hopes because of him.

"You've done more than you ever will know," he whispered softly."You've drawn my heart back into the light."

And beyond my reach.

The thought formed in her mind like a blow striking her. But, themoment she accepted that conclusion was the moment it disappeared --at the touch of his hand lifting her chin, bringing her face at alevel plane to his own.

Vincent let his profoundly arresting eyes linger over her featuresa long, breathless moment, as though he were committing every inch ofher face to memory: the vivid green eyes, the pearlescent skinblushed with the faintest hint of color, the few stray, curling,tendrils of deep auburn hair that always slipped free from herbraid.

Her entire heart was in her face, undisguised, open, waiting.

"What do you see in the light?" she whispered in a shaken voice,afraid of hearing her response.

He didn't look away from her. "A future I couldn't bring myself toacknowledge. A long, and anxious journey towards it . . . Theuncertainty of being able to . . . accept . . . what I find there."He released his gentle hold on her face and looked deeply into theflame of the wall torch on the rock across from them.

"You could find the courage to dream." Where had her own couragecome from just then, to voice such an observation? She wouldn't lethim slip back into heart-numbing misery again. "The future could bepromising."

"Finding the ability to move away from the past will not be aneasy thing." Vincent's words were spoken more to himself than to her,Diana realized. For all his powerful strength and depth of spirit,his heart was still so fragile. She needed to help him find hisdreams once more, in whatever direction they might lead him.

"Vincent, all you can do is take one step, and then another, dayby day."

"Yes, I suppose that is the answer, isn't it?"

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Vincent came to his feet in onegraceful motion and extended his hand down to Diana again. Theparting could be put off no longer.

That, too, would be a step in his journey: Seeing if his heartcould survive the distance it would now be banished to with herdeparture.

"We had better begin climbing. Laura and Jerry will meet usshortly."

Nodding her head, Diana let herself be pulled to her feet by hisstrong arm. She stood unsteadily without her crutch for a moment,before he bent down to her. Then she felt his powerful arm easeacross her back, and the other slip behind her knees. A second latershe was swept up into his arms, and the breathtaking sensuality thatwas the truth of their longing hearts would not be denied.

Drawing her left arm around his neck, the sleeve of hermiddleweight sweater pulled up to the elbow with her movements, andher bare skin was left to endure the caress of the silken drape thatwas his hair. Diana fought fervantly to keep her hand out of it andflat against the massive, cloaked expanse of his back, willingherself to accept the gift of his nearness without losing hold of herheart.

Not burdened in the least by the weight of her slight frame, evenwith the leg and arm casts, Vincent turned and began to slowly climbthe stairway with careful, surefooted steps. He kept his eyes on thewrought iron above him, but he was totally aware of every inch of thelovely body resting now with such ease against his own. He wasencompassed, as always, by layers of wool and leather and cotton, asshe was also sheltered by the sweater and a pair of her khaki pantsadapted to fit over her leg cast by Mary. Yet, Vincent confessed,with startling honesty to himself, that the fabrics did little todampen the sensations of body welcomed against body.

For three weeks he'd helped to carry her about as a result of herinjuries, and he'd been able to surround himself with his usual calmdetatchment at the intimacy thrust upon them because of it. Yet, atthis particular moment, achingly aware that she would no longer gracethe candlelit chambers of his world as a regular inhabitant, Vincentlet his own guard slip, despite the fact he could sense Diana'sstruggle to contain her tender need.

The risk blessed them both with the sweetest communion they hadshared yet, momentarily freed of fear and analysis.

As they climbed the stairway, Diana felt her hold on the realitiesof the moment faltering with frightening abandon, choosing only tohold to the present promise linking them body and soul as they hadnever allowed themselves to be. She simply let herself restgratefully against him, needing to know the compelling power thatdrew them to one another despite their frantic efforts to deny itsforce. Loosening her restraint enough to gather in the wonder of themoment in courage, she set her head down onto his shoulder.

The wool and leather of his cloak beneath her cheek weresurprisingly warm, and soft. It almost felt like the palm of hishand, when he had risked drawing it against her face that afternoondown by the river, their movements now up the stairway causing asimilar caress against her skin from the garment. The tender shelterof that sensation soothed her careening emotions.

With even more courage than she'd believed herself possessing atthe moment, Diana raised her right hand and settled it hesitantlyover the fabric, too, on his chest. She felt the rhythmic beating ofhis heart beneath her fingertips showing out from the cast on herarm. The perception reassured her that he was indeed real, the momentbetween them was indeed real.

She had done that once before -- rested her head, her hand, on hischest, to listen for his heart -- the night she had brought himhalf-dead to her loft. When she had been relieved to hear itsthrobbing, she had seriously questioned whether her own pulse wasfunctioning, itself.

In the weeks of her investigation, she had felt his powerful,compelling presence ever closer. When she finally set eyes on himthat night, she knew he was beyond imagining. She knew the love hecarried for the murdered woman she had come to know in bits andpieces was beyond imagining. Still, faced with such truths, she hadnot even been amazed that her own turbulent heart had reached out tohis with immediate recognition and need.

Now, a year later, she was surrounded by his overwhelming essence,and still fighting a losing battle against her heart. But, at thismoment in time, she risked surrender in that fight with no regret,risked relinquishing control of the instant to the terrifying,beautiful wonder of her body aching to follow her heart, into thetender promise she'd hold out to his soul.

Her hand on his heart became more a lifeline, then, for her, thana simple means to probe the reality of his presence.

Vincent could feel his pulse quicken at her poignant touch, evenif it rested above layers of wool and sheer force of will. He knewshe felt the change of rhythm, his own surrender to the moment, whenhe saw her gentle eyes close slowly, holding only to the visionplaying across her heart. Her head rested lightly just below his jaw,the smooth softness of her burnished hair mixing with his own,rubbing softly against his neck.

Without a conscious decision or thought, Vincent gave his heartthe permission to dream, finally, to surround itself only with theoverwhelming wonder of he (ýss, in a moment of insanetruthfulness. He let his face hover a breath above her resting head,and then brought his lips to the soft brightness of her hair.

The fragrance of lavender was suddenly so fresh and sweetly withinhis senses, as it had been that night below at the river. It was inher hair.

How strange . . . Along with cedar, earth, and candlewax, thefragrance was one that was deeply rooted to his sensations of home inthe Underground. The women used lavender and cedar to keep the linensand stored clothing smelling fresh in the cool, sometimes dampconfines of their world. The smells had surrounded him since he was achild. Even their homemade soaps were often scented with lavender,from bunches that were grown in the rooftop garden of an elderlyHelper.

He'd never really taken much note of the essence . . . till now. .. with it drifting sweetly from Diana's hair.

. . . He would never be able to experience the fragrance againwithout thinking of her, and wanting to hold her in his arms.

Then the heartstopping thought formed in his mind with dangerousinvitation -- where else did the innocent fragrance cling to herbody?

He never dreamed he could form such a control-shattering thought,let alone allow himself to be drawn into the beguiling mystery sowillingly. Sanity took hold of him again,

with that thought, the sanity that reminded him he could kill herwith a touch.

Mercifully, the long expanse of the stairway was coming to an endbefore them. A few more steps and they would be back on level ground,in more ways than one, he prayed. Finally, they set foot in a largepipe tunnel of the upper reaches of his world.

The reality of parting had become unbearable to them both.

Diana locked her gaze on his incredibly exotic features, tryingdesperately to hold to the sweet ache washing over her, wanting tomake certain she could carry every breath of his presence with herAbove. Not willing to trust her confounded insticts at the moment,she couldn't believe what she thought she'd caught sight of in hiseyes, suddenly so deeply blue they seemed to go on forever: Thelonging he had silently revealed to her in her first consciousmoments in the hospital chamber three weeks ago. That tenderness,that struggle to reach out to her, in . . . love . . . was so unsureand pleading, so burdened, but so breathlessly real.

She never believed it could be there for her, that depth offeeling bared and vulnerable

in its honesty. Knowing he carried it within his heart would maketheir separation even more anguishing.

The truth of their need hanging by a tenuous breath between them,Vincent forced reality back between them, compelling them to choosethe path of safety and rationality.

Close enough to the tunnel wall for her to reach for support,Vincent bent down to let Diana's feet touch the ground, releasing hishold of her legs with a careful concentration he didn't believe hecould manage at the moment.

But, as he straightened to his full height, the movement broughtboth their bodies into even more intimate contact despite hisvigilance. The fall of his thick, golden hair swept around her face,smelling of earth and fire. Her lips were so enticingly near to histhroat, to the pulse that raced visibly there. His arm held her stillso miraculously close.

Reluctantly aware of the depths of his struggle, Diana pulled herarm from around his neck, realizing that his superior height wouldhave lifted her off the ground again had she clung to him. Yet, theprofound azure eyes still holding fast to hers, the sudden awarenessthat she could almost hear his heart pounding in time to hers, drewher without mercy towards the tenderness she'd ached for from him forso long.

She let her arm draw free from his neck, then, in a lingering, andpulse-stopping caress, long and slow, her slender fingers reveling inthe blessing of heavy silk hair and gently stubbled skin. Panictightened his face at the touch, but then gave way to grateful wonderand acknowledgement, in spite of himself. He'd been aching for hersweet touch, as well; there was no denying it; a breath of tendernessthat was cool and possessive and intimately promising.

At the curve of his strong jaw, Diana lifted her hand lightly,barely brushing it past his lips to rest on his cheek, her thumbstroking hesitantly, following the upsweep of his cheekbone.

If she was never to share in a passionate moment of physicalcommunion with him, she would steal a heart-wrenchingly tender one,at least, all caution and sanity thrown to the winds.

Diana was astounded that she did not have to resort tothievery.

Holding fast his incredible eyes to hers, Vincent reached anunsteady hand over her smaller one, enveloping it totally. At first,her heart lurched in pain, suddenly aware that he could very wellmean to break her sensual hold on him in sensible rejection. She wasalmost certain that would be the case when she felt his fingers curlround hers to ease her hand away from his face.

But there was no rejection.

Instead, Vincent softly cradled her slender hand in both of hisown unearthly ones. Leaning slowly down to it, he breathed anunburdened kiss onto the palm, holding it, pressing it, to hismouth.

Her legs going weak beneath her, she had to tell him then. Thewords were in her throat of their own volition, materializing fromher heart in an instant. Even though he knew the truth, she had nevergiven him the words for that truth, never believed herself worthy ofthem, never believed him capable of accepting them. But, he must hearit now.

She thought herself only capable of forming the words in awhisper, yet they came out strong and sure: "Vincent . . . I . . .love . . . "

. . . The last word was never spoken. One of his hands pulledswiftly free from hers and came to her lips to gently, butunmistakably, silence her.

Diana tried to read what was in his heart, through his tremblingtouch, through the wonder . . . and pain . . . in his face, but shewas suddenly fearful that she had overwhelmed the fragile nature oftheir relationship in a moment of uninhibited honesty.

She was reassured that had not occurred in the next instant.

Vincent bowed his head down to hers, resting his forehead againsther own, his attention totally focused on her small hand which hestill held, trying to find the strength to deal with the yearning hefelt washing over his soul from hers.

They were words he could not hear yet, even though the truth oftheir revelation was something he already well knew. Yet, to know howshe longed to speak them to him, to feel the hope and sweet achingreach out to him; she could have given him no more profoundlyhoped-for promise. Perhaps, someday, that promise would actually be agift he could hold with acceptance, as he now held her hand. For now,the blessing of her care must remain only a beautiful dream.

"I will . . . miss . . . you . . . Diana." His own words werehesitant, because they were so new, his courage and belief was sonew. He let his head rest against hers for an eternity of a moment,torturously aware of the mere inches her mouth was away from his,never once fighting the sweep of tenderness rushing through him, yetstill holding to his protective caution and denial. He felt Dianasteady her own heart after a mighty struggle as well, acknowledginghis words silently with an acceptance that made his soul stumble. Heprayed God that they'd both survive the terrible wonder of needholding them fast to one another that instant.

When he finally pulled himself away from the sweet shelter of herbody, it was very much a physical act tearing them apart. They couldhave quit each other's breathless communion in no other gentlefashion.

The sound of footsteps was becoming discernible from down thetunnel, coming closer and closer. Vincent handed Diana her crutchfrom where he had set it and then visibly backed away from herseveral steps, compelling the detachment necessary between them

before he lost his hold completely on the moment. Diana somehowwas able to settle herself onto her crutch despite the trembling thatnow overtook her body.

"We didn't think you'd be coming this far." Jerry's easy, casualvoice echoed in the tunnel as he and his young wife appeared around aturn in the pipe. When Laura was close enough to her beloved teacher,she swept a hug around him as was her usual fashion, but was startledto find Vincent barely controlling tears in his arresting eyes whenshe smiled up to him. Turning to Diana, she understood at once hermentor's turmoil. The young police woman was holding fast to her owntears, her face a confusion of tenderness and pain.

Jerry's helpful courtesy, directed at Diana, cut through thetension in the air in innocent

ignorance. "You must be tired. Let me give you some help."

Before the young man even laid a hand on her, Diana responded withprofuse denial.

"No thanks. I'll be fine. Need to get used to walking again,anyway." She reached her bag over to him instead, relieved that hedidn't press her further. The very thought of anyone other thanVincent touching her just then, churning as blasphemy within herunsteady spirit.

Knowing acutely that she needed to diffuse the electricitythrobbing between them, Diana turned casually to the man she loved,but must leave behind. "Thank you again, Vincent, for everything.I'll let Father know how I'm getting along." Then she set out aheadof her escorting friends, on her way down the tunnels.

While she still had the courage to leave.

Laura and Jerry called their farewells to Vincent, obviously a bittaken aback at the abrupt departure they'd been forced into. But theyoung deaf woman turned impulsively around as she walked away fromher teacher, and caught sight of the powerful figure standingforelornly behind them, his golden head hung down. Had the girl notbeen hearing impaired, she would have heard Vincent whisper softly,"Be well, Diana." She read it on his lips, though, and in his eyes,when he lifted his head back up again, forcing himself to watch thethree figures retreating further and further away from him.

When he was certain they had all taken the turn in the tunnelahead, Vincent returned to the topmost step of the Spiral Staircase.Beginning his descent, he gripped the railing with a force that wasnot ordinarily required to negotiate the steps. It was the only thingthat was keeping him on his feet.