To Hope Anew

Chapter Twenty-Four

It wasn't long before a small bundle of sleeping sweetness wascomfortably nestled under the quilts of Mary's bed, along with thevery much loved bunny that was the little boy's still-treasuredcompanion. Mary offered her good nights to Vincent and Diana in asoftly reassuring, and urging voice that carried within it theunspoken understanding of her heart, and a mother's silent prayerthat destinies should be set aright at last.

Finally, the new husband and wife found that they were treadingthe familiar corridors to Vincent's chamber alone. Speaking gently ofthe day's happy memories, each was, however, completely aware of theother's presence, as never before.

Then Vincent took Diana's hand in his and directed her through thedoorway of their home.

Diana had spent many hours in that chamber over the past threeyears, time that so often was able to gently mirror a rising promiseof hope amidst the sometimes burdening

reality of her quiet pain. Holding Jacob in the room, rocking himto sleep, speaking easily with Vincent about things that held herheart, tested her soul -- these moments of solace

had fixed themselves into Diana's perception of the room that wasVincent's sanctuary.

Because of those circumstances, she had always thought that itwas an especially comforting place, that chamber, full of unexpectedtouches of imagination and vitality, too, mirroring its extraordinaryoccupants so closely.

Now, Diana found that the room had been changed.

Not greatly, not even enough to make it seem unfamiliar, butenough for it to exude a warm spirit of personal welcome, just forher, with a dozen small details.

For one thing, there were several bunches of fresh flowersscattered about the room,

complementing the warm candlelight shed by a score of lit tapersand pillars on the furnishings and into nooks of the rock wall. Thesoft brightness of the candlelight, and the welcome splash of theflower' colors, lent an easy aire of vibrance to the environment.

The furniture had been changed as well, moved about and even addedto. The circular writing table had been eased to one side of thechamber and the center of the room had been claimed by a larger tableflanked by two chairs. A delicate crochet doily rested snowy white onthe polished surface, and set off one of the flower bunches in asmall ceramic pot.

The parcels of Diana's gifts and belongings rested on one end ofthe table.

Jacob's crib and chest had claimed another corner of the chamber,a little alcove that Diana had never even noticed was niched out ofthe stone wall. The tiny enclosure had been made bright with apatchwork quilt hung up on the wall. The familiar rocking chair thathad soothed the children of the community for over thirty years wascarefully included in the small room, wearing now a pillow set madeup in the same pattern as the hanging quilt.

A folding screen with fabric panels drawn across most of theopening to the alcove actually afforded some separation between thelittle boy's sleeping area and the rest of the room, speaking of ameasure of privacy being left between occupants of the chamber.

Diana walked a few more steps into the room, ahead of Vincent,turning as she did to continue taking in the new features of herhome, and focusing on the breathless state of

expectation that was rising within her as she realized all theeffort that had been made to

make her feel welcomed into her new home.

With a quiet start, she recognized that the bed had been made updifferently as well, the usually comforting, but eclectic collectionof heavy quilts and pillows having given way to an antique chenillebedspread of a gentle ivory color.

That spread had been carefully turned back to reveal beautiful,lace-edged sheets and pillow cases. Where they'd ever come from inthe world of cast-off frugality that was now her home, Diana couldonly wonder with quiet, delightful awe, easily seeing Mary's hand init, surely.

Her linen gown, the special gift that had been presented to her bythe women of her community last night, was laid out on the bed. Asingle red rose rested on the closest pillow, too. Those smalltouches of . . . intimacy . . . seemed suddenly to take hold of herheart.

With an unsteady rhythm to her breathing more and more inevidence, Diana turned momentarily back to Vincent, who had remainedat the entrance of the chamber. She couldn't believe that he'dallowed the so obviously . . . romantic . . . transformation ofhis

room to have taken place. Recognizing Mary's influence on thenight, though, Diana quickly decided that perhaps Vincent had no ideawhat he was coming back to, a gentle transformation that spoke thevery embodiment of her hopes for the moment.

In an unwelcome return to her uncertain state of heart of thatmorning, Diana prayed that her beloved husband would not withdrawinto his familiar anguish at so evident an effort to urge themtowards the hopeful humanity set free between them. She was relievedto read that his state of heart had not stumbled: at the moment, helooked almost as . . .

enchanted . . . as the room, the dancing candlelight playingacross the sculpted contours of his face. There was such a mix ofemotions in that face -- hopeful expectation, hesitation, pride --need -- the very same emotions that she felt coursing with mountingpower within her own spirit.

Requiring dearly to pull her slipping control on her heart back toa somewhat functional level, Diana turned away from her husband,letting her attention rest on one final addition she'd discovered tothe room that spoke to her of nothing but promise.

To one side of the bed, in the space formerly occupied by Jacob'scrib, was a dressing table, an exquisite ladies' vanity that heldDiana transfixed. It was a beautiful old piece of furniture, workedin unmistakable care, with delicately turned legs, carveddrawerfronts, and an ornately framed oval mirror. On top of thevanity was a long dresser scarf of intricate cutwork, carefullyironed and starched.

Resting on the pearly length of fabric, to one corner, was a largeporcelain pitcher and basin of a pale blue color. And at the oppositeend of the vanity was a precious treasure:

a ladies' comb and brush set, finished in heavy, detailedsilver.

Diana reached her hand out over the filigreed back of the handmirror, the brush. In an instant, her mind returned her to a momentshe held within her heart with the sweetest care:

It was the time she had awakened in the hospital chamber almost ayear and a half ago, where she had spent a week recuperating from herinjuries in the cave-in. Her first sight of Vincent, after she hadregained consciousness, had been of him standing quietly to onecorner of the chamber, watching, as Mary had kindly brushed her hairfor her.

Every part of her body had been wracked with pain with herslightest movement, and she had laid on the pillow in almost totalhelplessness. Mary had taken up a small, wooden hair brush and hadproceeded to gently smooth her auburn hair, a sweet mother's comfortfor a hurt child.

But Diana's gaze had drifted past the older woman after only amoment -- to Vincent's figure in the shadows of the room. Her hearthad ached with want at the sight of him, for she had finally read inhis face, at that instant, an awestruck need, untinged by guilt: aneed to run that brush through her hair himself. To offer her aloving comfort himself.

"You must have things of your own, but we . . . I . . . thoughtthat perhaps you might accept something special to use . . . for yourhair."

Vincent's voice behind her was soft and innocently apologetic, hisfirst words to her since they had reached their chamber together.Even so, with the evidence of his quiet hesitation drawing his gazefrom her, the words startled Diana back to the present moment.

Was he even capable of reading her thoughts? For she had beenfilled with longing just then, at the memory, longing for thebreathless closeness that a hairbrush and his enveloping love couldnurture.

With a hand almost trembling, Diana picked up the brush and turnedback to her husband. "Oh, it is beautiful, Vincent," she said withtender gratitude, "everything is all so beautiful."

And almost promising.

"I . . . hoped . . . you'd be pleased." Vincent suddenly could nothold her eyes. Looking to the rock floor beneath his feet, hecontinued in a rush of words. "There will be room for any of your ownthings that you've brought with you. You may change anything aroundthat you wish . . . "

"Everything is perfect, so . . . welcoming," was all Diana wascapable of saying, aware,

unsteadily, of the electricity surging through the room betweenthem. There was so much promise reaching out to her, so much hope.But, after three years of battling her desire for a sense of balancein her experiences with the -- tragedy -- that had always beenVincent's heart, she wasn't certain she could trust her own judgmentof the situation rapidly engulfing her, nor did Vincent appear to beable to count on his .

Was she actually perceiving, still, that willingness in herbeloved that had claimed her in a kiss earlier that evening, tocompletely leave his terrors behind him this night? Or was she onlycoloring the moment with her own passions that would stand refused nolonger?

He'd still not come fully into his own chamber, standing insteadonly a few steps within the doorway. A sudden, hope-shatteringthought forced its way into her mind, beyond the

insistent, aching need coursing through her body: For all hiswelcoming gestures, for all his reaching tenderness, perhaps theactual reality of their next choices would still prove too much forhis long-tested heart to handle tonight. Could there be still toomany fears looming darkly over them?

If she didn't do something quickly, Diana knew she would letherself be carried away into those fears herself. She needed to getback her perspective, and her hope.

Mention of her own things gave Diana a place to begin again onneutral ground to reassure Vincent's obviously growing hesitation.She moved over to the chair where she noticed one of her bags hadbeen placed. Unzipping the top of it, she pulled out a book, thickand leather-bound, as well as a small velvet jewelry box, that hadobviously been placed within easy reach in the bag. With a measuredstep, in a sweep of skirts and gently pleading hope, Diana walkedback over to her husband's side and handed him the book, with astruthful a smile as she could muster from her shaky spirit.

"I wanted to give you this book for Jacob."

Vincent took the volume from her hand, running his own over thewell-worn leather cover slowly. "Celtic Myths and Legends," he readwith real interest.

Opening the book, he noted that the front inside cover had beeninscribed, twice.

First, in an elegant, old-fashioned hand, was written, "For DearAnnie, one of the fairy folk herself, from Kevin, your brother --Galway, 1921."

Then, in script he recognized as Diana's unflourished penmanship,"'Long, long, ago, beyond the misty space of time, a thousand years,in Erin old, there dwelt a mighty race, taller than Roman spears.' --For Jacob and Vincent, who opened my soul to wonder."

He touched his hand softly to the signature in place beneath thepassage from Thomas

D'Arcy McGee, "From Diana, on our wedding day."

"It was my grandmother's book," she explained. "It came over withher when she left Ireland. I think it was the most valuable thing sheever owned."

"'One of the fairy folk, herself?'" Vincent questioned Diana withgentle accusation, realizing, with wonder, that his beloved's faespirit was a legacy.

Diana smiled, suddenly relieved at her husband's return toconfidence and even humor, at her expense. She felt the need todefend herself to him. "When I was little, Grandma

Annie would read to my sister and me from that book. She was awonder, herself. I think she was the only person my father ever trulywas afraid of, but he adored her, too."

So that is where your fierce, beautiful spirit comes from, Vincentunderstood silently. A rush of tender gratitude, for Diana's obviousdetermination to keep certain hold of the promise of the momentbetween them, shone in his eyes. She held them with her own for along moment, then pulled her gaze from a face that would have beenvery much at home

among the legends of that book. "She always seemed able to sweepus away into those

fairy lands full of heroes and great deeds and noble hearts."

Vincent took in the shining memories playing across his wife'sface. He'd always known her to be a no-nonsense, down to earthperson, rooted in present reality. But her heart had always beenalight with childlike wonder and hope, he knew, a beguiling gift shewas courageous enough to want to share with him.

He took hold of her hand in his, then. "It would be a great joyfor me to go on such a mythic journey with you and Jacob at my side,Diana. Thank you."

She was at a loss for any other words. A journey at his side:They'd certainly found themselves enmeshed in one that had taken onthe trials and setbacks of those mythic epics of old. Their firststeps on that journey had been so hesitant, fearful, tinged with painand guilt.

Three years had passed and there had still been just as muchhesitancy threatening, clouding the hope between them, even only amoment ago. Would they still need to begin a life together with thatuncertainty hanging over them like a lingering pall?

She had made him a promise -- whatever limits he felt werenecessary.

To be at his side, for the rest of her life, she had conceded himeven that, never dreaming that they'd have to face up to its realitythis night. But, Diana could not keep her heart from hoping. Thetenderness he'd offered her throughout the day, so bravely and openlyoffered her, had been unshadowed by fear, and only brightened withgentle expectation.

Vincent had always been so sure of his way, so secure of hisconvictions of himself, even when they offered him only a bleakreality of loneliness and pain. Now, he seemed anything but certainthat such a reality was meant to be his only fate.

The right decisions made at the right moment . . . The threads ofdestiny woven and interwoven . . .

. . . She handed her husband the small jewelry box as well,praying that she'd made the right decision, one she'd agonized overfor days.

"This is something for you, yourself, Vincent."

Holding her eyes with powerful emotion, Vincent then looked downat the little box and opened it carefully. The gleam of gold met hisgaze.

"A wedding band."

Uncertain as to whether she'd heard his voice catch an instantwith his words, Diana proceeded headlong with her convictions,nevertheless. She had to. For both their sakes.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it, so I didn't considerexchanging it with you at the ceremony." She kept her eyes on thesimple band, catching the light of the candles in the room aroundthem. "But, I would really like you just to have it. It was myfather's."

The hesitant, hopeful green eyes that pleaded gently with himcaught at Vincent's heart. She was trying so fervantly to handle theinsane situation they'd placed themselves in with healing acceptance.How could he fault her her hope? Her trust was unshakeable. He'dprayed earlier that he could find the strength to accept that trust.Perhaps, his heart now told him with perfect conviction, thatstrength was to be found only within that pleading love. All ofit.

"Thank you," came the quiet acknowledgement that he fought to keepfrom faltering.

"It is a lovely gift, Diana. I will treasure it."

Still not quite certain she'd made him aware of her intentionswith her gift, Diana found the words that echoed her heart.

"My father had three pieces of jewelry he was willing to wear: HisSt. Michael's medal, the topaz ring my mother gave him on their firstwedding anniversary, and this wedding band.

"When he died, Mom didn't have the heart to bury them with him.She gave the medal to my sister, and the rings to me."

. . . Give it to the man you love as no other, Di Di, her motherhad said about the wedding band. It had been locked away in herjewelry box ever since. She had never even considered giving it toanyone before last week. No one she'd ever opened her heart to seemedequal to that description. Until she'd found herself looking intoazure eyes that touched her very soul.

Gently picking the ring up, Vincent gazed at Diana directly withthe same indecipherable mix of emotion she had read within him whenthey'd first walked into their chamber together. He took a steadyingbreath.

"A ring is a beautiful symbol of committed love," he saidsoftly.

Diana looked down at her own hand, now graced with the ancientCeltic symbol for love -- two hands holding one heart. How totallylike Vincent to have made even her own wedding band into a specialgift. Her own gift carried symbolism, too: the reality of a life-longlove of deeply earthly humanity, unlike any other. She took heart andcontinued her thought to him.

"Mom told me once that one of the most beautiful things she'd everseen was the sight of my father's hand, wearing that ring, andresting on her the day they got married. She said it always gave hera quiet, constant, powerful reminder of his love."

"Your mother was very wise."

A lump began forming in Diana's throat. She wasn't certain if itwas from tears ready to fall, or hopes ready to soar.

"You, you don't have to . . . wear it . . . Vincent. I only wantedto give it to you to have, to share . . . its meaning . . . withyou."

Vincent felt his earlier turmoil melt away at Diana's unsteadywords. She was attempting so plainly to offer him all of her heart,to share with him her convictions, but she was stumbling up againstthe doubts that had haunted him for most of his life, doubts thateven now were making themselves known, taunting his hopes with thestark reality of truth: A wedding band was meant for a -- human --hand.

But, he would not give in to the fear or shame. Not this time.Diana deserved more. They deserved more.

"I would be honored to wear it." The words were his embracing hopefor the promise of this night, and he prayed heaven again to see themthrough it.

Diana couldn't really believe she'd heard him say what she had,stunned that her instincts had proven so right about her decision.Yet, she was still so willing to temper her needs, diminish herexpectations, for his sake.

He could read it in her lovely face, flushed with color, thatradiated grateful, loving relief at the same time she would stillallow him his limits with a generous spirit.

"There's a chain, there, under the batting, so you can just put iton, around your neck, "

she continued in breathless explanation, wondering at what sort ofpresence of mind had urged her to include such an option with hergift. "It can go under your shirt . . . so it doesn't have to show."

Her eyes, though, were not following in the instructions she wasoffering him. They were calling out to him, willing him to see whatshe saw between them -- a husband's loving hand resting upon her,blessed by the encircling brilliance of a golden band.

He would answer that unvoiced plea.

Vincent simply reached over to her hand, and gently dropped thering into her palm. Then he held his own hand out to her steadily,that indescribable, deadly, tender hand, and awaited her interventionso that it might feel totally human for the barest instant of hislife.

"I would be honored to wear your father's wedding band as my own,Diana, as it should be worn, on my hand, so that you may see it, soall may know my commitment to you."

A tear pulled free from her luminesce eyes before she could stopit, slipping down her cheek still blushing from her agitated spirit.Then, Diana gently took her husband's hand in hers, and slipped thegolden ring past talons, over soft auburn fur, to rest on hisfinger.

Without even having to think about the words, she repeated thevows Vincent had earlier pledged to her. "Accept this circle of goldas a tangible symbol of my unending devotion, from this dayforth."

He kissed her, then, affirming the gift of acceptance she had solovingly offered him. The tenderness became a wellspring that floodedtheir beings, urging their searching hearts into the night's promiseand uncertainty with equal courage.

That searching was instantly an act of undeniable, intertwiningneed, the gentle kiss deepening between them into waves oflong-imprisoned emotion that took on a will of their own, a will thatwould not be deterred. It was strong, and sweet, and heated with apassion that was both bewitchingly hesitant and scorchingly real.

Despite his best efforts to believe otherwise, Vincent confessedto himself, with a startling honesty, the compelling need that burnedto the depths of his soul, unshackled with that kiss, the need tocarry Diana into the deepest recesses of his love for her, offer herthe same willing, affirming, completing acceptance of her treasureddevotion to him.

He knew it as certainly as he knew his own state of spirit at thatinstant: They could not subject their hearts to any further arbitrarylimits agreed to in turmoil and fear. Their bodies had known thetruth, all along, understood the flashpoint of reality they'd touchedto in the simple exchange of sweetly heated lips: Those experienceswere from a former life, an existence that seemed light years away tohim now, an existence that would deny his humanity and shroud him indarkness all his days, beyond the reach of her tender mercy.

The trusting want being offered him silently, from the depths ofgreen eyes shining, a revelation of all a heart's love, could indeedbe his. Diana believed it. She'd pledged herself, body and soul, toit, before the entire community that afternoon.

They were married, joined as husband and wife, committingthemselves to each other's desires as well as dreams. The specters ofpain, blood, and inhumanity were not to be a phantom curse darkeningtheir lives ever again. He needed only to trust in their love, trust,and believe.

Yet, there was still so much simple, stifling fear to get past,fear, doubt, and shame, that had been unwanted companions to hisperception of himself for far too long. Fear that an amber-hairedfairy could lead him beyond, if he let her.

He gave that bright spirit permission to work her wonder.

Diana blessed heaven as she let herself drift, at last, within thepower of their liberated emotions. Suddenly, where they had onlyalways disguised physical tenderness in guilt and uncertainty, theyfound themselves freely together now, embracing, touching, kissing,in an intimacy of bonded spirits not even her most fevered,ruthlessly dispatched dreams had been able to hint at. His strongarms around her felt so right, so welcoming; the heady sweetness ofhis innocent, just beyond chaste passion, the swirl of emotionencompassing them, magnifying itself with every shared breath, everyhesitant, hungry, not to be denied touch . . . She would do anythingto keep him believing in his humanity as he was in that instant,gifting them both with the astonishing truth of what they couldshare.

The fabric of their married love would be woven tonight, thread bybreathtaking thread.

Such an intricate pattern of destinies embraced would requirecontinued patience, she knew, even as her senses melted into oneanother at his mere touch, but she trusted that they could findwithin their spirits, an eye capable of envisioning all the beautypossible, all the exquisite detail each single thread of theirphysical love would contribute to the whole of their livesentwined.

Yet, even within the growing flood of their desire, even amidstthe heartstopping, yearning that finally dared reveal itself to herwithin a spirit long ravaged by terror, Diana could detect still,with her powerful intuition, the hesitation capable of manifestingitself in her husband's soul: He would never allow his newlyunburdened passion for her complete freedom because he still fearedthe harm he could touch to her in a moment rife with desire.

So, instead of feeding the reality of their combustible need witha volatile mix of reckless abandon, Diana chose to gently tend theflames with a carefully patient hand, knowing that a fire's embers,though less threatening, could still comfort and warm.

It would be the only way Vincent could accept the complete promiseof the night, she knew, without mistrusting his own so beautiful, andaching, sensuality.

Withdrawing herself shakily from her husband's unexpectedlypossessive embrace, she held his eyes lovingly for a long moment,reading the uncertain turmoil at her sudden restraint mixing with thedusky intimacy of searing need he fought visibly to keep fromher.

Before he could retreat within the undeserved shame she knew wouldassail him in an instant, she sought to gentle the heat passingbetween them, praying that her pounding heart could find somesemblance of rhythm. She let herself delicately trace the belovedfeatures of his face with a cool, tender hand -- the upswept brows,the sculpted cheekbones, the cleft lips at once foreign and sobeguiling, attempting to still her own need as much as reassuringhis. The evidence she was in no way rejecting his unfamiliar passionlit a grateful wonder across his face, astonished that he'd notreduced them both to bloody hell with his touch.

With a gentle confidence she didn't believe she could possess atthat instant, Diana walked over to the dressing table halfway acrossthe room from where they now stood, offering him the freedom tofollow, urging him to keep hold of his hope. She believed she knewexactly what it was she could offer Vincent at the moment, anintimate gift of herself that he would be capable of acceptingwithout turmoil.

Leaning momentarily against the venerable old vanity to gather hercourage, when all she wished to do was to dissolve within hisembrace, her hand moved over the antique brush. She picked it up.Turning, then, to the man she ached to be loved by with every fiberof her being, she quietly asked, "Would you, help me, with myhair?"

The words were a shade less controlled than she expected them tobe, her heart still pounding, the taste of his lips on hers, cravingto be renewed. She seated herself, rather unsurely, on the smallbench before the dressing table, without awaiting Vincent's reply,watching his reflection in the mirror, the rush of her pulse in herears.

Her husband battled his doubts still, visibly, for a long minute,and then miraculously approached her. But his manner was so guarded,slow, and almost in . . . fear. So different from the quietconfidence of only a moment ago.

Suddenly, a thread of truth wrapped itself around Diana's thoughtsbeyond even the insistant need of her own aching humanity. Shecontinued to watch Vincent make his hesitatant way to her, over whatseemed like an interminable distance instead of a few feet.

It was then that Diana understood, with anguish, what force ofdoubt he was so reluctant to confront: Their two figures reflectedtogether in the mirror of the old vanity.

There had never been a mirror in that chamber before that night,she realized with a pang of regretful comprehension.

Swallowing hard, she breathed a silent prayer for direction. Wouldthere be no end to the chaos between them? Here she had hoped toguide their love gently and carefully to the consumation andcompletion that both she and Vincent longed for, and instead, she wasnow unexpectedly guilty of inflaming those very fears still hoveringbetween them, with ready, suffocating pain.

For an instant, Vincent stood behind her without moving, holdingthe picture of the two of them, so near each other, with athundering, disquiet heart. Diana could read the agony in his face soclearly, understand with a startling focus the reason why she'd neverseen a mirror in that chamber before.

It wasn't that Vincent was ashamed to see himself reflected withinthat room. His depth of spirit had always given him the strength andcourage to accept who he was. That was not the source of hisanguish.

The pain was in the reflected differences between them, that cameto him in that mirror, the physical realities that set him apart fromthe rest of humanity, from his community, set him sorely,everlastingly, apart from . . . her.

She had to lead him past those hardly important details of naturewhich he always considered so -- bestial -- and devoid of worth, tothe reality of his own true beauty, to what she saw in him, loved inhim, as in no other, both body, and soul.

He ached with the need to be so lead.

With a visible effort to quell the turmoil mounting within him --an explosive melding of need, desire, shame, and guilt-riddled pain,Vincent struggled to reach out to her offered hopes.

How could she ever even think of gifting him with herself, as hewas? How could she look at him, and see only the love? Yet, his heartyearned to believe. And somehow, through some unknown mercy of heavenitself, he let himself find the courage to believe.

Reaching down, shakily, to Diana seated before him, he gently,tenderly set his hands onto a relatively benign sanctity: the halo offlowers still crowning her beautiful hair.

Roses and rosemary . . . love and remembrance. Could tonightpossibly be a night of love they'd both remember for its healingpromise? Or for its murderous pain?

With a careful, suddenly confident touch, he gracefully lifted thewreath from off the braided hair and laid it down on the dresserbefore them. A small silver comb came next, one he was gentlystartled to find he recognized as Mary's. Then he slowly untied thesatin ribbon holding the end of her braid and blessedly began tounplait her hair, as if it were the most familiar thing for him to dofor her.

Diana managed to take in one audibly gasping breath, before herheart stopped completely at his courage.

The tendrils of amber locks wrapped themselves beguilingly aroundhis hands as he quietly worked to free them from their intricatebraiding, having to actually rake his fingertips through her hairbecause it was closely knotted to her head.

It felt like silk across his work-roughened palms, soothing,sensual. The play of candlelight through the golden highlights of therusset hair held him transfixed. There were so many different shadesof brightness that colored the locks, burnishing them. Slipping hisfingers through that treasured cascade, he set it, and his heart,free. When the hair lay completely liberated across her shoulders, itlooked like a brilliant flow of candleflame itself, echoing his ownstate of heart.

Reflected in the mirror, Vincent caught sight of the visibleheaving of Diana's breast, as she struggled to steady her breathing.The collision of her emotions within him was startling. Yet, she satbefore him silently, her eyes closed lightly, only a brushing ofbetraying color tinging her normally pale complexion and attesting toher clamoring heart. When she had been able to ease the cadence ofher spirit, she opened her eyes and held his reflected ones withenticing clarity.

He reached over her shoulder to the brush she still held withinher hand in response. Another mercy.

Their fingers touched, lingered, entwined, the innocent contactnow a sudden surge of magnetism between them. Mirrored back to him,the tenderness those linked hands portrayed couldn't possibly bereal. His figure welcomed behind her couldn't possibly be real. Thesweet closeness she was calling him to, wordlessly, couldn't possiblybe real.

Yet, there it was, reflected back to him, and within her heart inhis. The truth of their love.

Holding fast to some unknown source of emotional and spiritualstrength, Vincent set the heavy brush onto Diana's hair and ran itdown through the amber locks in a smooth, slow motion. The movement,caught in the mirror, took his own breath away, sent a weaknessthrough his limbs he'd never experienced before.

Diana seemed not even to be breathing at all, existing in thatinstant, only upon her own hope in the moment. A transcendent glow ofsheer, uninhibited bliss gently swept over her face.

Vincent could hardly accept that the simple, gentle, gifting beingshared between them could be the source of such rapidly deepeningfulfillment. Yet, he knew it would always be so, because such tendercloseness, just brushing her loosened hair, had been an intimatepleasure he'd only reached out for in his unaccepted dreams, one thatcould never be allowed his questionable humanity, one he neverimagined could offer Diana such breathless completion of heart. But,it was there before his own eyes -- a tenderness he could offer herdevoid of fear and guilt and pain.

He brushed her hair slowly another stroke. Then another. Eachmovement became a growing, familiar enticement, a tiny triumph of hisspirit entwining itself more profoundly with hers. Could it bepossible? Was she there, before him in reality, unafraid? Yes, andshe was lovingly his. His bride. Waiting with exquisite anticipationfor him to embrace all that he was, all of his humanity. Withher.

The thought was overwhelming, suddenly terrifying. But, so right.She believed in it with all her heart -- they were nothing more thanman and woman, husband and wife, this night. And they were nothingless.

Taking in a ragged breath to steady his soul, Vincent reached overDiana's shoulder again to set the brush back down onto the dresser.He was startled to feel her unconsciously leaning into him, her headcoming back against his ribs, as the movement brought their bodiesgently together It spoke to him of how long she'd yearned forsuch

. . . fulfillment.

Standing over her as he was, he suddenly felt the compelling ache,a real, physical ache, to hold her to him as she wished, hold hercloser to him than their present positions afforded. He didn'tquestion whether such an embrace was ever destined to be his or not.He simply came down on his knees behind her in a graceful movement,the fragrance of lavender from her hair sending a shiver ofrecognition through his powerful body.

He'd felt his senses reeling once before from the clean, lightessence of the perfume in her hair, when he'd carried her away fromhis world after the flood. The same question that had formed in hismind then, manifesting itself only in guilty shame, came to him againnow . . . Where else on her slender form did the innocent fragrancerest? But unlike the first time he'd asked himself, there was nodisgrace or guilt in his heart at the thought. Only the need to findhis answer.

Vincent slipped his fingers through her hair again, the languidplay of it against his hand bewitching. As was the delicate expanseof skin across her shoulders visible here and there beneath the fallof amber he had loosed. Unbelievable, he knew where to find theanswer to his question.

Following the gentle urging in Diana's reflected features, Vincentsoftly swept the hair back to one side, over her one shoulder, baringthe other. The opalescent skin that came back fully into his sightwas what he could bring himself to accept, what he ached to acceptfrom her so willing, so precious body now. It was the source, too, ofthe enchanting fragrance that gently seeped into his intimateawareness of her.

Diana wasn't ready to believe she hadn't slipped into one of hertormentingly sweet dreams of past nights. The talons of his hands hadinadvertantly skimmed over her shoulder as he'd swept her hair overit. The unexpected surge of heat that sensation coursed through herwas instantaneous.

As were the tears threatening to fall at a further, heart-giftingsight: Her beloved gently brushing his hands, and those talons,deliberately, over her bare skin, in a beguiling exploration. It wasalmost too sweet to hold, that sight that came to her, the weddingband on his finger glinting from the soft light in the room as hefearlessly offered her his tender, cherishing touch. Her mother hadbeen right, she thought: It was the most beautiful sight she couldhave ever hoped for in that instant.

Diana closed her eyes and melted into the mesmerizing sensation ofher body coming alive beneath her husband's heartstopping devotion.His breath was suddenly warm and deep over her astonishinglycompliant flesh, his lips moist and caressing, taking possession ofher again at last.

Vincent would have never dreamed of reaching for such an intimategift on his own, dismissing his own unfamiliar want as shameless andeven threatening. But, from where he knelt behind Diana, the brocadewedding gown scooped across her back slightly, revealing her slimshoulders and an ivory expanse of skin that was incongruously teasedwith a few scattered freckles. It was a childlike detail of naturethat lit a less than chaste response within his own flesh.

He couldn't will himself to ignore the sudden, insistent need he'dhad to touch her there, kiss her there, across her back, hershoulders, so he did, with a sensitized possession that should haveterrified him in the past at its physical power. But there was noterror, now, only the feeling of her tender flesh beneath his hands,a feeling that was beguiling, hypnotic, and miraculously manifestingitself from nowhere more fearful than Diana's desire melting into hisown.

That fusion of desire became part of his essence now, as well, tohold, to touch, if he dared.

It didn't take more than a moment for the wonder-filledexploration he'd willingly forced himself into to ignite the flameswithin both their hearts like an unknown flashpoint. Vincent feltDiana's want wrap itself enticingly around his heart, felt his ownpassion catch fire, feeding off hers.

With exquisite awareness, he let his hand reach from her shoulderto her throat, trailing sensitized desire along it until he felt thepounding pulse at the hollow of her neck beneath his fingers. His ownlong hair skimmed over her shoulder. Drawing his hand back up hergraceful neck, he stretched his thumb delicately behind her ear.Without hesitation, she turned her head a bit, inviting his lips towhere his hand had braved, a soft gasping whimper drawn from herthroat when he answered her plea, confirming the melting heat theintimacy had coursed into her heart.

The sound of her gifted desire echoed within his own, pullingVincent's attention to seek out her eyes, so that he might read herneed, convince himself that he was truly offering her what sheyearned for.

The movement that drew him back to her reflected want, though,forced him to catch sight of more than only her trusting, urging,emerald eyes. Their entire posture came back to him in that mirror .. . and his heart snapped in two at what he saw, what he suddenlyrealized she'd been watching being played out before her eyes.

Stopping dead still instantly in his tenderness, Vincent felt thecruel reality of their positions pour over him with the power todrown him: While he had been only blessed by the sight, thesensation, of porcelain skin delicately, remarkably blushing withneed at his touch, with his kisses, she'd been compelled to carry adifferent image from the moment --

that of an unearthly hand running deadly talons over her sovulnerable flesh, a hardly-human mouth desecrating the angelic beautyof her body.

He had sought to love her, ached to love her, and all she'd beengiven was a picture of tainted, forbidding threat.

As they stood now, he took in with a shuddering spirit, theirembracing pose of what should have been finally liberatedconsumation, would have been judged -- blasphemous, hellishly ominouseven -- by souls unwilling to see only through the eyes of love. He'dbeen experiencing only gifting acceptance while she'd been enduringonly profaning inhumanity.

Vincent turned away from the haunting image, pulled his hands offher flesh with a condemning shudder, turning his taloned fingers intofists so tightly clenched that he came close to drawing his ownblood. Through some mercy he did not deserve, it had not beenDiana's.

She felt a knot of aching disbelief, instead of a welcome blaze ofpassion, choking away her breath, as it had that night in herapartment when she'd almost lost herself in the nightmares of herwork. Vincent had reached out physically to her too, that night, lether see for the first time, the depth of his longing need to make herone with him. They'd touched to a tender moment of completion thathad quickly taken on the sweeping heat of a wildfire, but it wasn'tto be then, either. Vincent had withdrawn his humanity from her inheartbreaking terror, always the terror, of causing her pain.

She'd believed this night that they could gently walk past thefears, somehow, encouraged by the truth of their love, sustained bythe knowledge that they could reach each other's spirits for supportno matter what the burden. Their love would create, not devastate,the reality of their joined souls.

But, this was a burden Diana suddenly realized she would not beable to lift from him alone. It was too heavy, he'd carried it fortoo long, its constant, grinding weight crushing his strength of hopeto dust.

Her fearless honesty turned its judgment now to her own part inthe pain that was rapidly threatening to drown them: She'd beenselfish, wrong, determined to seeing only through the eyes of her ownneeds and beliefs. And this time, she could have very well cost themtheir love completely because of it.

They'd stepped beyond their self-imposed limits of hope, and hellhad loomed so large because of it.

Vincent's inner truth was berating him as well. How could he havelet her believe they could touch to such communion and remainunthreatened by the darknesses he'd been cursed by? Such tendermercies could never be his, and not even a public vow and a goldenband could change that damning reality.

His soul ached at the pain he would yet now subject her fragileheart to, for the hellish realities that would always keep themapart. How could he have hoped, let her hope? The tender need in hereyes was for a husband's love. That blessed welcome, that hopeful,aching desire would change to terror in a matter of moments, he knew,when she was forced to face the reality of the lie he was.

Distance . . . boundaries . . . limits . . . he had to wrap hisheart, their hearts, in them again. For Diana's sake. She had givenhim a promise -- whatever limits necessary.

How could he have believed such an impossible agreement couldtruly have protected them? How could they have possibly shared in oneanother's hearts, souls and minds, and yet denied each other's needfor the physical expression of that love? For, that was what they'dbelieved possible.

He'd offered her a lie he didn't believe in himself, and he'dbroken her heart with the truth she could hardly accept.

Suddenly in desperate need of time -- and distance -- to regaincontrol of his heart, Vincent finally found his voice, the courage toset her back into a safe instant of, nevertheless, tormenting,denial. Yet, he still could not bring himself to shatter her soulwith the truth.

In a faltering whisper, his conviction deserting him, he merelyasked, "Do you . . .

would you . . .like a few moments . . . alone?"

She turned to him slowly, to face him, and all he could see wasthe shattering grief in her eyes, the gaping wound in her spirit hiswords had inflicted upon her. But he would even break her heart if itwould keep her safe.

Diana fought the cold that gripped her. She understood what hecould not say in his seemingly courteous inquiry of her needs. Herindescipherable ability to place herself within another soul'sexperiences made it possible for her to realize Vincent's renewedstruggle against the demons that had forever darkened his existence.And she realized her own quickly faltering struggle to hold on to herhopes.

She would give him his limits.

If that was what her heart would need condemn itself to, even onthis night, she would accept the sentence, if only to remain close.But her determination to keep her yearning heart in check couldn'teven keep her voice at a reasonably audible level. A shudderedwhisper, so close to revealing tears, simply responded. "Yes. . .thank you."

Vincent would have reached his hand to her face at that instant,to wipe the first of those tears from her cheek. God, why did shehave to be so accepting! he raged within himself, realizing that theshackles he'd need place on their love would bind her spirit as well,turning it into a hollow shell of itself. He would have gathered herin strong arms to shelter her in her pain, find the words, thesanity, that would walk them through yet one more incidence ofdenial.

Yet, he didn't dare even reach such a comfort out to her now,because he had read the true state of her heart in those green eyesthat would haunt him with her desolation: One more bare instant withhim near her in detached refusal would have ripped her soul toshreds.

Without uttering another word, Vincent came unsteadily to hisfeet, towering over Diana's bent form. Heaven help him, but all hewished to do at that moment was to sweep her into his arms, hold herhard against him, and drown in the reality of her love. But before hecould damn them both to hell with his faltering control, he swept outthe chamber doorway. In the corridor beyond, he fell against thewall, his own spirit in confused anguish, tears of searing painflowing freely down his cheeks, Diana's agony filling his heart.

Concluded in Chapter 25