To Hope Anew

Chapter Twenty-Five

The angels in heaven themselves must have been shedding tears withthe two shattered souls struggling to make sense of a hopelesslybewildering, horrifically painful maze of circumstances that wouldyet assault their fragile spirits:

Damn you, Catherine! Diana swore silently. Didn't you see what youwere doing to him? There was no sense of justification or fairness tobe found within Diana's heart now, where the murdered woman wasconcerned, as she realized the terror that had been planted withinher beloved's spirit as a youngster had only been reinforced by hisdevastating experiences as Catherine's protector.

Had he not been forced to shed blood, again and again, to keepCatherine safe, Vincent would never have found himself doubting hisvery humanity with Diana now. It was no longer simple, profound griefkeeping them apart, she knew. It was the horror that Vincent hadplunged himself within time and again to prove his love forCatherine.

And this night, when he'd dared touch to the true, total humanityof his spirit, eager to begin a new life, with a new, valid love, inquiet, gifting . . . sanity . . . he'd only seen himself reachingthreat and violence out to his own bride, never once believingcompletely that he was incapable of murdering her with his touch.

Diana threw her head back and closed her tear-drowned eyes againstthe pain, the injustice of it all. She knew what Vincent had seen intheir reflection together -- the peril of darkness consuming her. Butshe'd seen only her husband's love, finally freed to entwine itselfwith her own, in all its wonder: emotional, spiritual, and physical.There had been only the most exquisite exchange of trust and the mostcherishing of acknowledging devotion shared between them.

How in God's name was she ever going to be able to get him tounderstand, to believe?

She'd long been far from a virgin, having had to settle too oftenfor mere shadows of commitment, that evaporated at the slightest hintof truly trusting intimacy in her life. Yet, the tenderness thatVincent had offered her, the sweet, wonderfilled, open sensuality ofan untainted heart, had made her feel like a chaste innocent herself,on the breathless brink of her very soul's completion.

He was every dream she'd ever let her heart conjure, all that wasgood and nurturing and sheltering; truthful, tender, powerful in hisconvictions, capable of loving from the depths of his soul to thevery last breath of his existence. And loving him, being loved byhim, becoming love with him, was the only reality of heaven's mercyin her own bleak and painful life.

It was a long five minutes before Diana could trust herself tostand up away from the vanity. She was trembling violently with arush of emotions that were battling within her -- despair, pain,battered hope, and even now, the still-scorching memory of losingherself to his beautiful, aching tenderness.

She knew full well that Vincent's inner battle, at the moment, wasmore fierce than her own, a battle whose reality he couldn't bringhimself to subject her to, even if she would have somehow, some way,managed to help him find his path safely through it. Diana was merelystruggling with the reality of her heart's desire finally coming true-- or not. He was battling for his very humanity, his own sense ofworth.

What Vincent had feared all along between them had suddenly cometo pass: That they could no more deny each other their physicalexpressions of love than they could deny each other the air theyneeded to breathe. Still, his terror of causing her pain because ofthat reality, the reflection of blood and rage that had so viciouslytaken hold of his perception of himself, would now cost them boththeir hope and fulfillment in every other facet of their livestogether.

But not if she could help it.

Diana wiped the still falling tears from her eyes with tremblinghands. The claddagh on her finger gleamed, seemingly with a light ofits own: Two hands holding one heart. She was completely willing toshoulder her loving burden of carrying that heart once and for allbeyond its fears. She simply needed to somehow convince Vincent hehad the strength to take up his own share of the weight.

Their love had another purpose beyond the union of two kindredsouls in search of peace and fulfillment within each other. Diana wasunshakeably persuaded of it now, even more so than ever before. Thiswas not at all only about sexual love between a husband and wife. Sheknew that embracing the physical expressions of their devotion to oneanother would be the very instrument of Vincent's redemption of hissense of self, his ultimate triumph over the uncertain conviction ofhis humanity.

He needed to believe himself freed of the dark spectors of thepast; he needed to know, to feel, to see, that passion could existapart from instinctive, protective rage. With the conviction of herown heart, she would need to guide him into that belief completely.There could be no acceptance of "otherness", of differences thatmeant nothing to the spirit and soul. There could be nothing less forthem this night than the very consumation of their hopes.

Finally calmed enough to trust her judgment, Diana looked to herside in the candlelit room, to where a sweetly romantic bridal bedawaited them. A creamy linen gown was carefully laid out there.Gently, she lifted the night dress from the sheets.

That single movement, returning her towards the promise that hadbegun the night for them, blessed Diana with the solace shedesperately sought.

She brought the gown up to herself with cherished acceptance. Itwas as modest a wedding night garment as anyone could ever haveimagined -- simple, heavy, long-sleeved, and hopelesslyold-fashioned. So much of this world, Vincent's world, and not theone Above. It was a gown of simple devotion, bright with innocentbeauty and gently shielded promise, mirroring what could be theirstonight -- a love embracing honesty of spirit and tender hope ofheart. A love that called her husband to the ultimate reaches of hishumanity, past the fears and pain.

Carefully, Diana set the gown back down onto the bed, then reachedbehind her to unzip her wedding dress, easing it assuredly from offher shoulders. She placed it onto the bench of the vanity, then drewthe linen gown effortlessly over her slim form. The cool, crispfeeling of the simple fabric against her skin somehow offered comfortamidst the maelstrom of emotions assaulting her. It was like thecaress of a lover's hand.

With growing conviction, Diana decided that Vincent had left herwith the very opportunity she needed to draw him to their need. Eventhough she'd felt the agony blazing in his heart as he'd torn himselffrom her, he hadn't completely banished himself from the promise.There had been no voiced hopelessness, no visible retreat intodespair. He had simply offered her a few moments to herself, eventhough she knew the gentle gift of modest preparation was only anuncharacteristic, distracting ruse attempting to conceal from her histerrors of the moment.

Well, she'd take him up on his offer, and she'd let the promisingreality of the instant be reclaimed by both their hearts.

The Celtic steel within her spirit would not be denied this time.The fates had crossed their paths once too often with their brutalcapriciousness. It was time to let the reality of love work itswonders and find its way to two hearts that were destined to be one.Knowing that she could no longer leave Vincent to his terrors alone,Diana swallowed hard and whispered a prayer for guidance.

At last she knew what was necessary: She simply let herself becomea chaste bride, anticipating her husband's return to her, touching tothe impending completion between them once again..

Once her mind was set to her course of action, she poured somewater into the basin on the vanity. She was startled to realize thatit was warm, and fragrant. Someone had obviously filled the pitcherjust before she and Vincent had arrived, just as someone had lit themany candles, placed the flowers in their containers, and turned downthe bed. All had been done with simple, urging acceptance of whatshould transpire in that chamber this night. Through the last of hertears, she smiled at the thought of her guardian angel, agreying-haired romantic who still believed in the power of love.

Diana splashed the comforting water onto her face, knowing itwould relieve some of the traces of her tears. The color came backinto her cheeks. She reached down to the nearest pillow on the bedand picked up the rose that had been left there. Inhaling deeply ofthe earthy perfume, she let her spirit fill itself again with theaching sweetness that had been offered to her, for an instant,without fear or doubt.

It gave her the momentary courage to softly call out Vincent'sname, though all rationality would have her fully expecting him tohave disappeared into the night, as a phantom of her imagination, anunearthly force of nature from her grandmother's book.

He was neither, though, she knew.

Diana let the truth steady her besieged heart -- what Vincent was,who Vincent was, was the love of her life. The completion of hersoul. The man she loved as her husband.

The soft sound of Diana's voice barely pulled Vincent from thetorment that had materialized before him in that corridor in thoseshort moments away from her. Anguish and doubt had washed over himlike a flood, and every breath of fear and pain he'd experiencedbecause he'd ever dared to love swept over him with a suffocatingblackness:

He was fifteen, and frantic, terrified at the sight of blood onhis hands, Lisa's blood. The look of horror on her face burned intohis heart. The pain and dread reality of that moment, and all it hadmeant, had almost cost him his very self. Its memory had colored evenhis expressions of love for Catherine years later.

Not even that blessed, radiant heart had been spared the effectsof the terror:

He was holding Catherine, grief-stricken at the loss of herfather, aching to comfort her somehow, aching to answer the pleadingneed for his presence, his love, in her eyes. He'd let her cryherself to sleep in his arms, offered her at least that bare instantof comfort, when all he'd longed to do was kiss away her tears, carryher battered spirit away to a sheltering communion of theirsouls.

Yet, such mercy was beyond his ability to offer her withoutleaving the way open for the dark essences buried within him to breakfree. He could only put her at risk, the shadows of uncontrolledpassion and rage looming ever larger with each breath of denialthey'd dared move past in their love. He could never love her as shedeserved.

Not even when she had been asleep had he trusted himself to offerher a single instance of shared communion, to touch a kiss to herlips in comforting support.

He'd only taken that chance months later, when he had knelt beforeher lifeless body.

Certain he could do her no more harm, he had allowed himself thesweet agony of kissing Catherine goodbye.

But now, there was Diana's soft voice calling to him.

The angel that had helped him save his soul, that had eased himback from the depths of desperation with patience and truth and love.A stubborn love, that believed, ached, and asked absolutely,remarkably, nothing but love in return, believed in its return. Alove that was deep enough, generous enough, to embrace a child noteven her own. A love that would give up her home, her whole world,for a chance at a new life, with him.

A love profound enough to dare him to love himself . . .Diana.

Her gentle voice carried truth in its quietly hesitant tones,called him to promise and wonder and possibility. They'd touched itthis night, let themselves be swept up into it all. She believed hecould leave the dark past behind.

She deserved to believe.

He'd given Lisa only terror and her own blood.

He'd given Catherine only the blood of those who would threatenher, harm her.

He'd give Diana only her own heart -- treasured, sheltered, withinhis love. Their love. Body and soul. He'd find the courage, somehow,making her hopes his own again.

"God help us," Vincent whispered to himself as he pulled away fromthe stone wall supporting him.

What met his eyes when he came back through the doorway of hischamber, was the blessed answer to his prayer.

Diana stood before him, a vision in white once again, in a finelinen gown that draped softly around her body. When he'd caughtsight, earlier, of that gown resting, expectantly, on the bed, he'dfelt a momentary astonishment draw heat through his form, at thethought of Diana's willowy frame sheltered beneath it. It was soterrifyingly obvious that the fates, and whomever was working astheir herald in the chamber tonight, took it as truth that a weddingnight's sharing was to be the only certainty left to embrace betweenDiana and himself.

Hadn't he taken hold of the very same revelation of truth? Hadn'the gone out of his way to assure that he and Diana would be left freeto accept all the promise of love tonight? When she had faltered thismorning, he had urged her to see what was possible between them andnot what was denied. Why should he be so amazed now that she'd takenup her hope again?

There was the tenderest, most tremulous breath of a smile on herface as she set the rose that had been resting on the pillow onto thevanity beside her. She turned back to him, then, wordlessly beforehim, in complete, total, profound trust. Offering him peace with onlythe truth of her heart, and her desire, as her terms of surrender.The tender passion she radiated was as soft and red-petalled as theflower she'd just held, and as beautiful.

Vincent recognized the vision that she was now -- the amber-hairedangel of Jacob's fable from that Winterfest night so long ago -- mindfull of wonder, soul full of courage, heart full of unquestioninglove.

He knew, suddenly, he could hold fast to his humanity in thatlove, that she would be willing to risk anything, everything for thatlove. And that there was no longer any need to believe there even wasrisk between them. Her courage wrapped itself around his spirit ascompletely as her need, freeing him from the lie that had nearlyconsumed him..

Vincent could not take his eyes off her, could not help but feelhis own need propelling itself, with certainty of conviction, intoher beguiling reality. Dressed as she had been in her wedding gown,with her burnished hair crowned by flowers, she had appeared everybit the fairy spirit of her beloved childhood myths -- a regal forceof nature itself.

Now, in the simple gown flowing about her, her hair loosed uponher shoulders, surrounded by candleflame and her own aura ofpromising comfort, she had totally become that redeeming angel --supportive, affirming, selfless. Yet, she was also, somehow, fragile,and . . . vulnerable . . . offering peace at the same time aching forit herself . . . in his arms.

"You look like heaven's light," Vincent whispered, every particleof his being yearning to touch to hers.

Diana's heart leapt at the gifting words. She knew she didn't needto fear losing him to his pain again. She'd been ready to battle himonce more for his faltering hope, and, again, he'd simply astoundedher with his courage to trust her beliefs.

Taking a step closer to her husband, her husband, for that was whostood before her now, Diana's eyes shimmered with gentle, gratefulradiance. She reached her hand up to his chest, resting it therelightly.

Vincent had to turn his head from her, to catch his breath at herpoignant expectation.

When he found his voice, he said quietly, "I'll put out thecandles."

Yet, when he turned away from her, he felt Diana's hand slip fromhis chest down to his arm, holding it, and him. He turned his gazeback to her, questioningly, his heart racing.

"You don't have to do that for me, Vincent," she replied withquiet conviction.

A sudden lump in his throat caught Vincent's breathing, as he readthe meaning of her words in the deep emerald pools of her eyes. Thatmeaning was nothing short of incredible to him.

"You would gaze on me in the light?"

For a long moment, Diana held his soul-searching eyes, reading thesudden confusion, and shame, even now, in them. He was fearful forher still, she knew, despairing of the fact that she would have tosee him as no other woman he'd loved ever had, perhaps not evenCatherine; see for certain in the truth-revealing light what she haddared given her heart to. The darkness, the shadows he'd always beenforced to embrace, would have spared her from a truth he could stillfind pain within.

But, their love was not a thing of darkness and shadows.

Instinctively, her heart acutely atuned to the rising turmoil inhis, Diana found what she needed to do to help him heal himselffinally. She reached a trembling hand up to the leather laces onVincent's doublet, untying the first. The beating of his heart, itsconfused rhythm, was echoing hers.

She expected what happened next: Her husband's hand quickly caughthers, stopping her continued determination in mid-movement. His wordswere incredulous, unbelieving, but with a strain of startled hopethat nearly broke her heart. "How can you want to look upon me? Howcan you be so willing to give yourself to me?"

Diana knew the next instant would be the moment that would eitherhelp him free himself totally of his pain or drive him completelywithin it beyond survival. As she always found herself doing in thepast, she held out to him the simple truth as her conviction, hope,and defense. In a quiet, pleading gasp, she whispered, "You're myhusband, Vincent. I love you. And I know that you love me."

The tears had come up into Diana's eyes, shimmering, waiting tofall. How could she possibly convince him? His anguish would drownthem both if he surrendered to it again. Their love would surely belost, reduced to a shadow, if they continued to hold it hostage tofear past this night.

Vincent felt her hand trembling in his. His heart cried out toreach her.

What physical pain could he possibly cause her that could be anymore wrenching than the heartache she was already feeling, hadalready been burdened by for months? What threat hovered about themstill, beyond the limits he would yet set up around their love,limits thrown up around their hope, manufactured only by his ownfears?

He had told Catherine once that she deserved a life withoutlimits, a love without limits. But, Catherine had nobly, selflessly,accepted those boundaries, and kept them both safe.

Diana would not.

Because she understood with a comprehension born of anguishingexperience, what those limits were doing to his soul.

Catherine had accepted his protection, their abbreviated hopes,the distant dreams they knew would never come to pass. She had daredto love.

Only Diana had dared him to love.

Having known nothing but pain, confusion, and denial between them,she had dared him to take hold of a yearning of heart that was soencompassing it could only be relieved by a fulfullment beyondlimits, touch to a love that could only exist beyond limits.

Catherine dared to love.

Diana dared to be loved.

The courage and need of such pristine trust could be his onlysource of freedom. In her vulnerability, she would gift him withhope; in her shameless acceptance of the humanity of their need, shewould lift him from the torment of doubt.

Vincent would never have dared reach for any comfort of heart forhimself, wish for anything for himself, before he could be assured ofeasing Diana's pain, before he could find the courage to acknowledgehow blessedly precious she was to him. He reached his hand to herluminesce face, gently pressing it to her cheek, cherishing hercare.

Amazingly, it did not look so frightening to him just then, hishand, up against her skin. It was only a lover's hand, comforting awoman's pain, offering her a breath of solace and promise. Dianaturned her face gratefully into it, brushing his palm softly with asighed kiss. Then she covered his hand with her own, takingpossession of his love.

He could bear the sweet ache no longer.

"Oh, Diana," he whispered, the words evidence of his totalsurrender.

Vincent slowly drew her close to him, then, enveloping her in hisarms. For an instant, she wasn't even certain that it had all come toan end with his quiet exclamation, that it was all over -- thebattle, the fears, the doubts. But the hopeful tenderness was back,sheltering her, cherishing her, through the possessive strength ofhis arms.

Diana looked up into her husband's face, into those azure eyesthat had caught hold of her soul three long years ago. She'd known iteven then, in the midst of desolation and grief and guilt: She wouldlive to see the day that those eyes would hold her own with welcome,willing desire.

Yet, even with the wonder, tenderness, and gratitude he held hergaze, she could read, still, a wordless concern -- for her.

She reassured him even before he could say anything else, knowingnow that it would only take a few of her encouraging words to directhim, help him believe.

"I'm not afraid."

The reassurance was offered him with such total resolution that ittore his soul free at last. Reading his regained hope, Diana thenslipped her hand tenderly over his mouth, the barest light of hersmile radiating over her face. And she gave herself to him completelyin a kiss so sweet he couldn't imagine how he'd denied her hold onhim for so long.

Tasting warm, remarkably urging lips, Vincent could only think ofher. The world was composed solely of her, Diana, closely held in hisarms, strong, hopeful, seeing within him the one truth he'd never hadthe courage to completely believe was part of his spirit -- theindescribable beauty of a loved one, of a heart and soul worthy to becherished, of a body free to be shared -- a husband, companion,soulmate . . . lover. The need to acknowledge her faith, her trust inhim was all that mattered.

Still, he yet hesitated to claim the hope, uncertain.

"I know . . . little . . . of love . . . Diana," Vincent confessedquietly, his eyes lowered in innocent shame.

Diana's heart skipped a beat at the tender poignancy of the words.Of course it was true, but in the turmoil ever present between themof late, the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She lifted his faceup to hers gently, with a soft touch, as he had so often urged her toturn her honesty to him. Searching within the breathtaking, uniquebeauty of his face, she let her awareness move past the beguilingvirility of his compelling presence, to read the untouchedvulnerability beneath. The wonder of its revelation to her held fastto her heart.

Not even Catherine, she knew now for certain, had been able togive him such a gift. Those moments of consumated passion betweenthem had been lost to him. And as much as Diana grieved for Vincent'spain because of it, she blessed heaven for the chance to create theirown tender realities, unhaunted by the past.

The tide of achingly urging emotions rising within her, Dianakissed him again, gently at first, nearly chastely, as they hadalways shared their hesitant need. But ever so softly, she deepenedthe kiss between them, persuading him to follow her into the giftingof shared sensation. She felt him shudder at the intimate caress ofher mouth within his,and his embrace about her tightened, thenmiraculously he eased his defensive hold on her and let his handsslip over her slim form in beguiling freedom.

When she was able to steady her heart again, that was pounding atVincent's accepting wonder, Diana drew herself away from him longenough to actually turn emotion into a few coherent words. "Whatyou've just offered me, Vincent, couldn't have been any more tenderor beautiful. We have the love within us. We need only to listen toit with our hearts. And let our bodies follow."

The doubt in his eyes was no longer in the least shamed. Itbecame, instead, the quiet uncertainty of inexperience, but aninexperience that was willing to learn.

Diana could have been given no greater treasure to hold in herheart. Oh my sweet wonder of a husband! she exclaimed to herself insilent, certain astonishment. What you could teach the world aboutlove . . . !

Her quiet amazement was met only with Vincent's humble gratitude,as he offered himself up to her gentle guidance.

Reaching back up to his chest with still unsteady hands, Dianaresumed unfastening the ties on his doublet with a firm patience shedidn't believe herself capable of. Not at this moment. Vincent's eyeswere fixed on her hands, the long, slender fingers, the marvel ofhaving them eager and close upon himself.

In that wonder, he found the sudden confidence to slip his doubletoff his shoulders when she was done, and set it onto the chair besidethe table. One small miracle.

Yet, he couldn't quite find it within himself to remove his dressshirt in her sight.

Perhaps it was because his own hands were not as steady as heexpected them to be, as he unfastened the buttons, or more so becausehe needed to regain his courage, which had slipped fearfully in thepast two minutes; Vincent kept his back turned to Diana until he wasable to ease the shirt completely off.

He could feel her gaze resting on him, in him, when he finallyremoved the garment from his shoulders. Defensively, he held tightlyto it in his hand, suddenly unable to move towards Diana, frozen inuncertainty. He prayed that she would still have the courage to lovehim, now that he was nearly stripped of his every layer ofdenial.

Diana was praying at that instant too, as she fought hard to blinkback the tears rising in her eyes again. Those tears came to her asshe took in the sight of him, still humbly turned away from her;tears, not of pain or rejection, but of aching wonder. Her prayer wasthat she could will Vincent to see himself at last as she now wasseeing him:

What he had shielded her from, what he had despaired of having hershare in the light, was nothing more threatening, or alien, than atruly beautiful, beautiful, powerful, sensually sculpted man's body.There was no breath of shame in it. She'd never believed there couldbe. How could he have ever presumed otherwise?

Diana let her suddenly shivering heart be flooded with thediscovery of him, knowing full well he had revealed more than justhis body to her. He had opened his very soul to her in trustinghumility. She let its wondrous reality sweep over her in a fulfillingcascade that bordered on ecstacy.

His golden red hair lay long and thick against the smooth power ofhis great, broad back, a fall of silk every bit as mesmerizing to heras she'd realized her own burnished locks had been to him. In theshimmering candlelight, it almost took on a color near to herown.

She reached out and brushed her hand over his hair, through it,with gentle awe, letting her fingers bury themselves within the heavylocks for a too-long denied possession. Vincent gasped, the shirtdropping from his hand. Diana realized that he had actually beenholding his breath at her touch. His surrender to her tenderexploration urged her to draw her attention even more intimately uponhim.

A slender hand swept then beneath the golden hair, and out overthe nape of his neck. She felt him lean into the caress. It gave herthe courage to continue running her gentle touch across hisolive-toned skin, stopping for an instant on a barely visible scarhigh on his left shoulder.

The small wound held her momentarily transfixed. She remembered ithad been caused when Vincent had come after her in the floodedchamber of the cave-in. That had been so long ago, she felt, a dozenlifetimes ago, recalling even now feeling so cold and lost, so verymuch in pain. So willing to let herself die.

But, his blessed touch, the caressing sound of his voice callingout to her, had brought her back, drawn her from the brink. To him.Even if they had not been prepared to accept that undeniable factthen.

Diana never thought of fighting the need within her now: Shekissed the scar tenderly, pained beyond endurance at the thought thathe'd been wounded to keep her safe. The moist warmth of hersearching, soft lips ignited a blaze of sensation at the spot.

Vincent fully believed he could die that instant from thetortuously sweet feelings overtaking him at Diana's devotion,feelings he needed, without question or hesitation, to reach back outto the incredible soul that was now his loving wife. But there wasyet the shadow of doubt within his spirit. She was an angel . . . andhe . . . .

. . . Still, the yearning he felt in her touch called to him, tookhis breath away.

Gathering his courage, Vincent forced himself to face his bride,awaiting her passing judgment with a heart unable to grasp totallythe miracle of the moment.

At that show of poignant trust, Diana felt her own breath catchwithin her again, as she at last saw evidence of what she alwaysbelieved was the truth -- that the beauty of her husband's body wasno less than that of his spirit.

A lifetime of heavy, physical labor among the stone chambers ofthe Underground had molded his form with heartstopping care, thatbegged to be touched, despite, or perhaps because of, its virginalreality. His chest, rising and falling in his unsteady breathing, wasmuscled, taut, and broad, with very much a stoneworker's formidibleproportions. Yet, the rock-hard power was visibly softened by analmost delicate brushing of auburn hair that curled over a majorityof his skin enticingly.

The arms that had so often held her with compassionate tendernessthat only was another face of love, were equally compelling in theirrevelation, with coiled steel strength visible in his slightestmovement. Still, for all their raw power, it was easy to recognizehow willingly they also could offer the promise of gentle support andenveloping comfort.

The only distinctive details revealed to Diana's breathless studyof her love was the fact that his forearms were more abundantlyblanketed by a coarser covering of amber hair -- the obvious reasonhe'd always worn his sleeves long. And his taloned fingertips, thatsomehow hinted only at tantalizing sensations that set her heart toracing with yearning want.

Diana's quiet awe came to its apparent conclusion easily, then,one she'd always known as truth even while it remained fearfullyhidden: Vincent's total, virile, sensuality was not in the leastthreatening or -- inhuman. It was only overwhelmingly -- beautiful --beyond words, in its untouched innocence.

But just as she was ready to hold that astonishing wonder to her,Diana's ingrained police training unexpectedly settled her awarenessonto a reality of her husband's body that she was totally unpreparedto find. That awareness nearly caused her heart to snap, for she hadnoticed more healed over scars across his flesh, and those were notsmall remains of accidental injury.

The scars were bullet wounds, she realized with keen pain of herown, not one wound, but, indeed . . .four. Her startled attentionrevealed one scar just below his left collarbone, and another lowerthan that, into the same shoulder. There was one more wound in hisright shoulder, too.

Any of the injuries, she knew with a pang of cold-fingered fear,would have easily felled a less powerful man. A fourth jagged scar,just below his ribcage on the right side, she judged with aterrifying jolt, should have killed him.

Diana swallowed hard, wanting so to reach out protectively to thewounds as she had done to the small scratch he'd endured from theflood, but her heart could barely handle the reality of thecircumstances that had probably caused such injury to touch him. Hermind settled itself squarely, once again, on what she'd beenastounded to understand as the source of his continued terror of hisvery nature: His binding to Catherine and his continual immersioninto control-shattering rage that binding called him to.

My God, Cathy! Diana cried out within her startled heart, howcould you have subjected him to so much risk so often? How could youexpect him to hold to his humanity when he had to keep following hisheart to the madness you drew him to?

With every fiber of her being, Diana swore an oath that neveragain would the world's insanity reach down to him on her account.She would die first.

Diana let herself melt into the comfort of Vincent's arms then,without a hesitation, needed acutely to be held, praying that shecould ever be sheltered thus, that she could ever shelter him thus,aching to find herself back within the gifting tenderness of histouch. Vincent softly kissed the top of her lowered head, aware ofher suddenly turbulent and fiercely protective emotions, uncertain oftheir cause.

"What is it, Diana? What are you frightened of, my love?" he askedin quiet concern, running his hand over her hair.

She only held him tighter, her slender arms going around hisformidible body as far as they could. One of the scars was justbeneath her lips, as she rested her head to his chest. She softlytouched a kiss to it now, a tear slipping from her emerald eyeskissing it as well.

"I couldn't live if I were to lose you, " she breathed from thedepths of her soul.

Vincent understood then what had coursed throught her heart, andhis own clamored at her selfless care. He held her as tightly tohimself as she clung to him, both knowing the other as their verysource of safety and solace. But Vincent knew that he was indeed themore gifted one of the two of them. His scars had threatened only hisbody. Diana's scars, the wounds she had borne because of denial andfear, had long threatened her every hope.

"We have only to gain, tonight, Diana. No one will be lost." Hissoft, reassuring words to her, when he'd been the one so much in needof conviction and hope this night, drew Diana from her momentarypain.

In an instant, the total promise reaching out to their spiritseased their souls again.

Vincent let himself drift once more within the heartstoppingreality of having Diana pressed closely to him, the pull of holdingher intimately against him urging their tender comfort to beyondsimple sheltering care. The silken brushing of her hair over hisuntouched, bare skin had become like no other sensation he'd everexperienced, breathtaking in its gentle sensuality. He felt hershuddering heart slip into the feeling again as well.

What he was gaining this night, Vincent knew, with awesomegratitude, was the marvel of their love unburdened at last. It wasthe awakening of his every sense, of every fiber of his being, to thereality of Diana's nearness, and being unafraid to revel in thatawakening. His hope, his wonder, his true, total, joy, could not becontained within his heart alone. He ached to make that treasuredreality hers as well. What courage had it taken for her to bring himto that breathless point between them?

The same courage that she found to hold herself momentarily awayfrom the tender comfort of his arms. With that strength, she couldgive him now the gift she had longed to hold out to him, the gift ofher own self, her own body. She could offer it to him now withoutfear or hesitation, and know that he would welcome it with wonder.That peace, that trust, she could bring to him as no one else everhad. Only love would ever touch his body again . . . her love. Dianaswore it to herself, to her husband in her heart.

She stood before him and slowly reached up to her own gown,unbuttoning the front of the crisp linen with a joy beyonddescription. She would give him everything he deserved, everyexpression of love she could offer. It would be nothing less than aprecious treasure she'd be taking hold of for herself.

Vincent couldn't dare watch her work the tiny antique buttonsfree, see the porcelain skin begin to show where there had only beenbright Irish linen, as Diana revealed the bewitching wonder of hertender body to him. He turned his gaze aside, as much from inbornmodesty as from an overwhelming need to steady his heart, strengthenhis shaking limbs.

She'd been willing to make him the same offering once before, herecalled with cherishing awe, when she had dared him to believe hecould share with her a touch of passionate need without succumbing tohis fears of darkness, without drawing blood. Then, he'd been soready to lose himself in his desperation, believe the sublime gift ofher sweet body beyond his acceptance. Even though he had burned tomake her his.

But Diana didn't question now whose desire igniting within herheart was whose, or when it had actually dared to reveal itself. Inthat instant she had gone lifetimes.

Now, she surely knew that her natural and effortless actions hadleapt from his receptive, errant heart to her fingertips -- theawestruck wonder in his crystal blue eyes was tinged withunmistakeable heat that struck her to the very marrow of herbones.

Yet, she knew his cautious tenderness would never claim herwithout her own acquiescence. Even that hesitation became a gift toher now.

Reaching down to Vincent's hand, she softly laid it onto the crispwhite fabric she'd just unbuttoned, that now only barely shelteredher translucent flesh. She willed him to accept her trust . . . andhis own need.

Vincent took in the sight for a long moment, afraid to breath,afraid even to move: his powerful, deadly hand on her ivory skin, asit had been that night, his taloned fingertips actually reachingbeneath the unfastened front of the gown, near her throat.

For an instant, the cold fear that had haunted him gripped hisheart, taunted his undisguised, growing desire -- A predator wouldseek out that so vulnerable point of her body, too.

He had told her that a touch in the heat of passion would be verydifferent from the careful, controlled environment of limitationthey'd been burdened, yet protected, by. With his heart racing to anunsteady cadence, linking itself to her own powerful, yearning need,how could he dare risk to touch her so intimately now? He could killher in an instant.

"Let your heart trust, my love." Diana's soft words gave him thehope to believe: He was no predator. He was only the man she loved,his touch, the only reality she sought, without terror.

Holding to his courage, opening his spirit to hers within him,Vincent knew what it was he longed to do, what Diana was now pleadingfor him to do -- take possession of her body as her loving husbandwould.

With a beyond human hand trembling with emotion, he answered herplea.

Vincent slipped the bewitchingly demure gown free from her oneshoulder. Then he slowly lowered his head to the soft tenderness ofher skin and kissed her, brushing his cleft lips and unearthly handacross her throat and collarbone, renewing the slow, profounddiscovery of her that his terrors had denied him before.

That obvious return to the tenderness that had mesmerized themboth, literally took Diana's breath away. She melted against him asshe had been so ready to, gasping at the warmth of his breath on herskin, the gently suckling pressure of his unique mouth moist on hershoulder. The soft scraping of his bristled jaw and exquisite grazingof his nails over her skin heated her flesh to its very depths.

And then she felt the unexpected wetness of a tear, mingling withthat devastating kiss.

Diana could hold her heart restrained no longer.

She ran her hands through his flowing silk hair, clasping him toher body for dear life itself, it seemed. Oh God, how cherished shefelt! Yet she knew Vincent was only holding to the wonder of the gifthe saw her as giving him, letting his tears fall at a treasuring thatwas so much more a marvel for her than any small mercy should couldoffer him.

Vincent could feel the pounding of Diana's heart beneath his ear.Her trailing, evocative touch, over flesh that had never known awoman's hand, immediately consumed any shred of restraint orhesitation they might have still clung to, in a mutually blazingfusion of need, wonder, and gifted love.

Reaching far beyond any experience of his own, Vincent parted herlips with his, taking possession of her mouth as he'd only dreamed ofdoing since that fateful, snowy evening when he'd nearly lost her toher work-incited horrors. They kissed instinctively, with a fevered,yet selfless, urgency, each wishing only to fulfill the other, togift the other. Emotion and sensation fused into heat and warmth anddiscovery.

Hands traveled shivering, still not completely familiar, butbeloved, bodies, as though the firestorm of desire building withineach was a long-shared experience of intimate communion between them.Graceful curves fit perfectly against powerful angles. Breaths drawnwere only essences shared. Lavender mixed freely with cedar andcandlesmoke . . . and freedom. The modesty of white linen only moldeditself between sensitized flesh.

Vincent let himself drown in the feeling of her, both of thetender body melting to liquid fire with his touch, and the trusting,aching, radiant spirit filling his own soul with hers. Their everysensation of each other was miraculously magnified back to themthrough their linked hearts, blending an incendiary mix of spiritswith need and tender, selfless, welcome.

Having to read Diana's heart in her eyes, Vincent drew back fromher a moment again, but this time, no haunting image of a dark threatmet his gaze. He was only overwhelmed by the necessity of trulyshowing her how much he loved her, what it was she was actuallygiving him beyond the wonder of her precious body. Those emerald eyesof hers were pleading still, on the verge of tears still, as were hisown. What was she calling him to? What could he possibly offer her inreturn?

Only what she quietly asked for. "Give me your want, my love."

He wavered a long instant in her arms at the whispered words,watching how her catching breath was setting her whole slender formto trembling. His inexperience may have caused him to question herenigmatic request, but his heart understood it in an instant, thoughhe remained astonished at her honesty.

She was only asking him this: That he should give himself over toher with the same unbounded trust that she had offered herself tohim; that he should free himself to accept her sublime hunger for himas easily as he was offering her an ecstatic, deepening fulfillmentwith just his barest breath of touch, his cautiously tenderkisses.

She was only pleading for this: That he could let her give love,as well as receive it, enable her to gift him with every yearningneed he'd long renounced.

The fear of burdening her with control of his iron-shackled willwas still so large about them. She was only a fragile slip ofhumanity. He would have done anything to gift her alone. Yet, he sawthat releasing his desire completely to her would only become atreasure for her as well. She ached with the need to draw him intothe profound ecstacy of the moment, too.

Her words rang in his heart from when he'd pledged himself to her-- she would never take a kiss, a caress, from him unless she couldreturn it to him in kind. The aching depths of her love called out tohim now to embrace the totality of his humanity. He could love,exquisitely, sublimely. And he could allow himself to be loved.

Diana's need would only be fulfilled if he was willing to let hergift him with his own.

That fearfully enticing possibility suddenly seemed nothing morethan the natural consequences of their love, no longer a forbiddenwant that shamed him.

He'd trusted her this far, Vincent decided in quiet wonder.Perhaps this was the very moment he'd needed to believe he couldtrust himself, too.

Diana's heart within him flooded with joy the instant she realizedhis resolve.

Determined that his liberating physical gifting should become asprofoundly blazing an experience as hers already was, Diana sweptdesire over him, fervant in her urgency to answer his need.Comprehending how innately sensual his nature already was, shelovingly assailed him with sensation, sweeping her hands across hispowerful body with heartstopping tenderness, pressing heated,searching kisses of her own along his throat, over his chest, intohis mouth, lighting a searing gift for him of unburdened desire.

Her hands smoothing down his steel-banded arms trailed breathlessinvitation. When he unexpectedly drew her back hard against him,craving the feeling of her sweet flesh beneath his hands, a soft,wonderfilled smile crossed Diana's face. He understood it perfectlynow, reading the joy in her face -- she knew she had given him whathe'd yearned for, and that set her own spirit alight.

Diana had ached, desperately, for him to believe what a joy it wasfor her to know him so, see him so, to feel the beauty and power ofhis body shuddering beneath her slender hands, free to respond to herheart in her every sweet, ardent touch. They belonged to each other,were a part of each other, drawing to one another with magnetizedneed free of fear, hesitation, and guilt, need that was as revealingof his heart as much as it was of hers. It was only the ultimatetruth of love . . . one is gifted in giving . . . one is trusted intrusting. They had no need of any other reality between them.

Nearly overwhelmed by a flooding sensation of relief as much aswant, Diana laid her head against the warmth of Vincent's chestagain, her whole body trembling against his. The tears could nolonger be held back.

Vincent felt their release, the power of her emotion, and pulledhimself away from her instantly. "You're crying?" he questioned herin immediate, guilt-riddled pain, ready to condemn himself forcausing her some unknown grief somehow, even now, beyond theirwelcomed, growing passion.

Diana read how prepared he was to claim that undeserved blame andbrought a reassuring kiss to his lips without a second thought."They're only tears of joy," she answered, her face radiant withlove.

She was blessed with yet another miracle she'd never believedwould become hers without a battle -- Vincent leaned down to her andwith one sweeping, sheltering movement, caught her up into his arms.His mouth welcomed hers, hungrily

sharing the taste of sweet, heated desire rising between them.

It was true. It was possible. They would be free to gift oneanother with their unburdened love beyond fear and limits. There wasa peace and fulfillment surrounding Vincent's spirit tangible evenwithin the racing pulse of his heart, the soaring, breathtakingsensations of accepting Diana as his bride. Not ever trusting thathis tenuous hold on humanity could withstand an uninhibited releaseof his emotions, he never expected that -- solace -- to be a part ofsuch -- abandon.

But it had become his, only because of the fearless hope anamber-haired angel had held out to him.

Oh, the comfort, the wonder and joy, that came to him with tearsshed from emerald eyes! And the gifts that would be his now, too,offered from the depths of her love . . . She would remain at hisside in his world . . . He would wake every morning to her tendercloseness, the sweet familiar sensation of her body next to his, hersoul within his . . . The darkness would never need to envelope hisspirit again; there would be only candlelight, and love, shimmering,radiating from those eyes to his heart.

Diana's tears of joy were kissed away. She would have shed a floodof them, just to keep feeling the sweet tenderness of his lips acrossher wet cheeks. But those tears soon

evaporated from the heat still passing between them, an urging,enticing, intoxicating need

fueled by the astonishing reality that her husband was actuallyleaning her down onto their bed at that instant. Her heart stoppedbeating, and she found that she was existing only on the exquisitethrill of watching desire deepen in sapphire blue eyes whose profounddepths seemed to go on forever.

Her head was rested gently onto the pillow where the single rosehad been. Vincent followed her down with an innate grace that had herwondering just how much of an innocent he truly was. But the tenderawe in his beautiful face spoke to her the truth -- he was astonishedthat she was actually lying in his bed, their bed, waiting for him tojoin her in her arms. She couldn't help herself then, throwing him abit of a challenge, delighting in the true joy in his belovedfeatures.

"Not at the foot, my love?" came the unexpected teasingadmonishment.

It took Vincent an extra heartbeat before he comprehended what shewas tormenting him about. Then he remembered, and a wealth of easyconviction swept over his spirit.

"Never there, Diana. Beside me only. Always."

His response lit a shiver of want through her that she couldbarely withstand.

Vincent eased his powerful body carefully along her almost fragileone, taking his place in her trust, wondering at how right it allseemed at last, how familiar and overwhelmingly liberating. How couldanyone ever believe that they really understood the true wonder oflove? He'd only found his freedom in his total surrender. The barestbreath of a soul had shown him the courage to live. Completion wouldonly be the sublime reality of hearts willingly shared inconfounding, contradictory, empowering marvel.

Leaning on one arm, Vincent slipped his free hand down throughDiana's hair and slowly smoothed it against the snowy whiteness ofthe pillows with a joyful possession he never hoped could be his own.Diana reached up to his face, softly shielded by his own golden hairfalling forward over his shoulders.

He had never looked more beautiful to her -- mythic, vulnerable,accepting, and now so willing to hand over to her his long-imprisonedhumanity. She traced his jaw, his mouth, with a fingertip no moresubstantial than a breath of air, then let her hand follow his strongarm in an inviting caress down to his hand, knowing he'd moved hissoul past its final uncertainty.

Taking that beyond human hand in hers, Diana set it easily ontoher gown again, but this time at the fullness of her breast, gentleurging in her eyes.

Despite his belief in the moment, his total trust in their love,Vincent's mind fought desperately for instruction, even as floodingneed met her appeal with a purely instinctive, human response. He wasnot that unlearned in love. But his experience had always only beenthe detached knowledge of a scholar, a doctor's son, the gentleimaginings of a poet.

Nothing, nothing, however, had prepared him for the onslaught ofemotions and sensations merely touching Diana so intimately andprovocatively called out from him, an intoxicating melding of herdesire with his, both set aflame.

With the greatest effort, Vincent let go of conscious thought andaction and instead allowed himself to drift with the stunning feelingof her soft, willing body just barely shielded by a wisp of linenfabric. The innocent gown now molded itself around her flesh, fromthe pressure of his hand, no longer shielding her from sight but,indeed, enticing his possession. The torrent of yearning between themthrobbed in breathless expectation. Her trusting love would not bedenied. Nor would his need for her.

The joy in Diana's heart at his tenderly searching touch, theknowledge that he was willing to release his want to her, was sooverwhelming when it came to her that she felt totally consumed,being completely overcome, with her willing consent, by a powergreater than them both. He'd let his devotion evolve beyond hesitantchasteness into the realm of ignited passion with a confidentacceptance that stunned her as surely as the miracle of his

sensual touch.

Held captive as well, by the beguiling feeling of the soft, tenderflesh beneath his hand, Vincent began a slow caressing homage ofgifting sensation that drove Diana to a plane of ecstatic abandonshe'd never reached to before, her spirit as blissful as her body.With amazement she conceded to herself that perhaps she should haveheeded her husband's warnings: The scorching intimacy he was offeringher would surely devour them both.

It would be the most blessed fate she could ever have imagined forherself.

Desperate to be drowned within that maddeningly innocent desire,Diana set her guiding hand over a tenderly beyond human one andwhispered in a voice tinged with liberated, enkindled need, "Love can. . . taste . . . as well as touch."

Vincent pulled his gaze to her glowing face with some effort,reading the dusky urging in her green eyes. Was she capable ofplacing herself within his own thoughts and desires now as well?Desires he would have buried in shame and guilt only half an hourago? He felt his breath catch, his heart pound in uncertainty, butthe hunger of his body fused itself to hers in response, withoutpain.

"It will . . . please . . . you," he answered in a hoarse whisper,not a question or a doubt, only an acknowledgement of the simmering,crystal clarity of her eyes.

"It will please us both," she replied in a quiet certainty.

Drawing his gaze from the bewitching entreaty of her face, Vincentclosed his eyes a moment, knowing without a doubt he'd need take holdof all his courage to accept her reply. Its honesty struck him to thedepths of his soul, ringing with the truth of their need, hisneed.

Breathing the gentlest of kisses, then, onto Diana's throat, helet himself draw it slowly ever lower down the porcelain skin showingwith such tantalizing invitation along her unbuttoned gown. Even inthe languid tenderness he was offering her at that instant, herheated body trembled from the unfamiliar, but so welcome, electricityof his unburdened desire taking hold of her own, the warmth of hismouth moving with such sweet intimacy upon her. She quivered inanticipated ecstacy, the kiss alone near to overpowering her hold onthe moment.

Hesitating for an eternity to control the shaking of his ownheart, Vincent at last carefully drew back the gently shieldingfabric of her gown with a confidence that should have stunned him. Hewas only gifted with the beautiful sight of her full, sweet breaststraining for its fulfillment.

Sighing at the vision, drawn inexorably onward towards theiryearning expectation, Vincent carefully brought his hand to slowlycup around the tender flesh, setting his long, elegant fingers overits rounded contours with gentle wonder.

He'd never imagined the feeling, never dared form the thought inhis mind, that his far from human hand could ever rest on sovulnerable a treasure to claim its sweetness without fear. Diana'sbody responded instantly, the nipple hardening under his touch,pleading for an even more intimate claim upon her. It leapt moltenfire through him.

Giving himself the blessed freedom to accept her offering, Vincentlowered his head slowly to her. Parting his lips in sighed welcome,he softly drew the beseeching fullness into his mouth, tasting bothtenderly aroused flesh and the depth of his wife's trust.

The reality of his courageous conviction sent strokes of sparkingdesire surging through them both. At that, some unacknowledgedunderstanding of the searing force drawing them to one anothercompelled Vincent to pull the softly cautious exploration he wasallowing himself totally into the domain of sheer, ignited passion:He stroked the nipple of her breast with a searching, insistanttongue, kneaded the soft fullness with an instinctively assured touchso that waves of flame swept through her.

Diana arched against the heat of his loving assault, feelingdesire pour from her womb into every cell of her body. Astounded ather response to him, reading the forceful release of her passionwithin his own soul, Vincent pulled her hard and close to him, hishands traveling the stunning length of her in intimate explorationand discovery, searching for, and yet almost knowing already, whatcould most thrill her so totally receptive senses.

With every partical of her being resonating now to his genuinelytender, but so powerfully sensous loving, Diana lost her tenuous gripon the moment. As her husband's devotion moved from her breast, toher lips, to her soul, she found herself clinging instead to theselfless, rapidly consuming physical fusing of his body with hers,his spirit with hers.

And he'd only been gifting her with his touch, with his kissesthat still bore within them both the awe and wonder of newness anddiscovery. The magnified effect of the aching devotion he was showingher, gifting her exquisitely yearning body, was beyond any climacticrelease she'd ever experienced, indeed, ever dreamed of -- for he wasloving her with his heart and soul as much as with his body. God, howcould she have known? How could he have ever doubted what he couldgive?

There was an undebated relinquishing of her own control over tohim at that moment, as though the sweep of blissful passionencircling them both had been a long-standing extension of theircombined hearts. Diana knew it for certain now -- there was no longerany need for her guidance. She was the one that stood ready to learn,blessing heaven to find herself at such a point in her existence. Herhusband may have been an innocent of sexuality, but she was the onewho truly had known so little of love. She welcomed Vincent's giftinginstruction.

Incredibly, Vincent felt her give herself over to him completelyas she wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be pulled upto his heart in a powerful, sheltering embrace. With the sweetest ofabandon, she realized it was time to leave herself clothed only intrust within her husband's sight. Miraculously, he followed herconviction the instant the thought formed itself within her mind,stripping her linen gown from her with wonderfilled expectation. Shehelped him draw it off her shoulders, to circle around her waist,hips, and past, to be left like a puddle of whispering moonlight onthe stone floor.

He could barely steady his heart, then, when she was mercifully,completely revealed to him, lying in his arms, the heavenly angelguised in a woman's fragile beauty.

Her body was an astonishing delight, as he willingly drank in thereality of her without shame. It suddenly struck him that the scopeof her loveliness was as enigmatic as her spirit. She was slender andsoftly curved, her beguiling form more that of a blossoming innocentherself than that of a woman ripe with sexuality; her long, stronglegs like a colt's, alabaster skin touched with a heated blush, herlight and russet coloring condemning her to more than her fair shareof freckles. And that enchantingly approachable beauty was crownedwith her freed, burnished, bewitching hair.

Diana had always only considered herself mildly attractive, morelines and angles than any vuluptuous femininity, but the light oftenderly gifted awe in Vincent's eyes, seeing her elevated to theloveliness of Aphrodite herself, set her heart to breathlessclamoring. She knew for certain she would grow old beside him and hewould still look upon her with the ability to make her feel capableof bewitching god and mortal alike.

Vincent easily recognized the rare power of her wondrous presence,the beauty of her body that was no less captivating and elusive thanthat of her spirit. She was all flame and porcelain, fragile andbeguiling, the ethereal bewitchment of her form eclipsed only by thedeep, honest, emerald eyes he would hold in his soul until his dyingday.

With a possessive elation, he let his hands roam as freely as hisgaze over her body, reaching a breathless plateau of shared wonder ineach other's arms that erased any other awareness. And then,incredulously, Diana watched as an almost -- mischievous -- sparklelit within his eyes, suddenly so different from the awestruck wonderof an instant before. She was compelled to find her voice and askhim, " What on earth are you smiling at?"

Slipping a finger along her side with a confident ease thatreturned her to speechlessness, Vincent let his touch rest at last atthe soft curve of her left hip, where a small burgundy birthmark inthe shape of a leaf, colored her fair skin.

"Diana," he spoke quietly, seriously, caressing the spot as hersenses melted into one another. He was not in the least hesitantabout exacting his revenge for her own earlier, heartstoppingexploration of the small intimacies of his body. "I understand atlast how you could have been capable of bewitching me so. You are achangeling. There is your mark."

It took Diana a long moment before she could clear her thinkingenough to understand what he was accusing her of being . . . a fairychild . . . the birthmark his proof. Amazed at the freedom of hisheart at the moment, that he could draw his experience of theirtender sharing from the brink of enflamed passion to the brightsweetness of easy, affectionate challenge, Diana managed to somehowrespond to his incongruous observation in kind.

"Then help me to complete my spell, my dearest mortal love," shewhispered.

When Vincent lowered his golden-haired head without hesitation toplace a lingering kiss to her betraying mark, the red-haired fairywasn't at all certain she was the only creature in the room capableof bewitching tenderness.

That shared, confident, accepted sweetness drew them both to thewonder that they had become together. Heart to heart, flesh to flesh,soul to soul, they'd at last touched to every aching hope that hadever manifested itself within their hesitant hearts.

They only needed to extend that touch of hope into the reality oflong-sought completion.

It took only a moment more before warmly teasing wonder deepenedagain into compelling, urgent need. In a heartbeat, Diana found herslim form completely molded to Vincent's, encompassed by hisstrength. It took her breath away. Powerful, muscled legs stretchedwarm and easily alongside her own slender ones, as somewhere in theunremembered moments, the last of his own burdening garments wereshed, and their bodies were free and unencumbered by even the softbrightness of Irish linen or the warmth of homespun wool.

Their hands and lips continued to fall insistently over oneanother, in a heightened, needful discovery that bound them togetherin fusing want. Neither could tell now where one sense, one body, onesoul, ended, and the other began, as they lost themselves to anuninhibited freedom of trusting passion.

Diana let herself be swept into the sensations of Vincent's breathon her skin, his heart pounding in her ears, as she touched to theunburdened, erotic power and desire flooding over her from hisemancipated need. She let her hands trace hungrily over the coiledstrength of his shoulders and back, the sculpted contours of hischest, lighting a firestorm of sensual abandon in a body so fiercelycontrolled for too long.

Barely tempered strength responded to her call, pulling her close,needing her close, immersing her into the powerful emotional meldingof their yielding humanity. Diana was staggered by his giftingpassion, conscious only of being carried off into the depths of hislove for her. She only knew the sudden, welcome weight of his body onhers possessively, the beloved, familiar scent of him, of earth andcandleflame and night air, the sweet taste and feeling of searchinglips trailing their heartstopping exploration over her ownmaddeningly receptive flesh, the sight of azure eyes as deep as theMirror Pool, reflecting within them a startling clarity of heart thatwas both his and hers.

Too long burdened by the pain and diminishing guilt of the past,they at last let themselves be lost to the flood of their every hope,joining the very essence of their souls intimately and completely togive love, receive love, become love. It could have been no differentfor them, their acknowledgement of one another and what they meant toeach other. Even the passage of time was reduced only to sharedheartbeats and langorous breaths as bodies and souls labored tobecome one.

It was an astounding reality for Vincent to take possession of: Hewho had despaired of ever knowing the simple, gifting joy of holdinga beloved close and unafraid, now found himself hardly shocked at theamazing truth of that loved one's quiet urgings, her body'sbewitching pleading for his continued belief in the moment, cravingall that he could possibly bring himself to take from her as her onlyfulfilling release.

The words in Diana's heart leapt to his consciousness at the sameinstant he was able to define the insatiable hunger alight in his ownspirit. They echoed one another in remarkable, uninhibited freedom:"Take all of me, my love . . . make me yours."

For a long moment they lay only locked in a caressing gaze thatresounded the imploring request back to them. An instant of terrorpierced Vincent's heart in that moment of decision. He prayed to keepit from Diana, never wanting to shadow her fulfillment with the fearhe still knew. As she lay beneath him, she seemed so unbearablyfragile.

That taunting voice within him still assaulted him with the truth:A simple shifting of his total weight against her could shatter bone,smother the life from her. A caress from still deadly hands couldkill her.

Vincent sought direction desperately to battle the tormentingimages that fought to take hold of his consciousness. That ingrained,diminishing, vigilance that had stifled his passion for a lifetime,held out an equally compelling truth to threaten his hope: What theyhad already shared between them was beyond his wildest imagineddesires. How could he dare risk her so for more? How could he daretrust the enflamed want that had nearly consumed his every shred ofcontrol, and hers?

But Diana was prepared to deal with the suddenly wavering hope sheread in his hesitation. She turned her unspoken pleadings intounmistakably audible direction with one single word. "Trust."

"Diana, if I should . . . " He was never allowed to put the fearto words as his breath was stolen from him by lushly moist lips thatdrew fire from his trembling body.

"Vincent, you have to trust." The breathless whisper was hisundoing.

He was helpless, suddenly, against the slip of humanity holdinghim captive with merely her words and eyes . . . and the reality ofhis desire burning to answer her plea. To reinforce her directive tohim, Diana drew him down to her, held him intimately imprisonedwithin the heartstopping trust of her need as well. How could hepossibly deny her now, deny them? The urging eloquence of her bodythreatened to send his last shred of sanity into oblivion. With itshe convinced him he no longer needed to care.

In tenderly cautious surrender, he let his body find its longedfor resting place, again, enveloping hers. His every sense becamefilled with her, the scent of her heated skin, the feeling of herfirm curves pressed intimately to his own flesh, the taste of desiresweet within her mouth, upon the satiny fullness of her breasts, thesound of her soft gasping as she sought to draw in his very essencewith her every breath.

The yearning to hold themselves as one became the only sensationleft for them to accept, a gift, a treasured acknowledgement of love,that drew them only to the brilliance of fulfillment and not to anyphantom threat of pain.

Aching to reach that gift out to the woman he cherished, knowinghow she yearned to offer it to him herself, Vincent fixed his eyes onDiana's then, with tender care. He would catch the barest evidence ofanxiety or pain he might find revealing itself across her beautiful,expectant features, ready to extinguish any breath of threat shouldit make itself known within their incendiary want.

But there was no need for his protective care. When he at lasttook her to himself, slowly, exquisitely, in stunning certainty, hefelt the intimate caress of her body for his own within her. He sawonly a sublime, gifted fullness come into those eyes, an astonished,relieved welcome that brought tears to his own.

Diana lost herself, finally, gratefully, in the totality of hisresponse to her, even despite his tenderly anxious doubts. She couldbarely keep hold of the instant, her body poised for the radiantecstacy she knew, she knew with her every trembling breath, wouldcome to overtake them now, holding them as one embodiment of twosouls joined in love.

Vincent let the shivery expectation overcome him as well, nolonger expecting it to hurtle him into darkness. It was yet anothertruth Diana had fearlessly offered him, one he'd so long deniedhimself, shrouded in soul-shattering fear and pain. That shiverheated into a wonderfilled reality he was so eager now to hold -- areality of need, want, promise, and trust. He would treasure thosehonest emotions without dread, believe them only the most beautifulfacets of gifting passion that would always bring radiant light tothe lodestone of his devotion to her.

She deserved nothing less. He would love Diana beyond fear, savorher uplifting trust beyond limits. He would love her like that, in anextraordinary, perfected love. He would let her hold his own humanityin that love, as readily as he would let her hold his soul.

With intimate, instinctive confidence, two desires melded intoone. Hands clung hungrily to heat-moistened skin, the rhythm ofshared heartbeats keeping time with the rhythm of lovingly entwinedbodies seeking completion at last. There was no confusion now, only asublime ache of devastating longing reaching towards an incindiaryflashpoint that beckoned like water to a thirst-maddened soul.

Diana felt herself swept into that engulfing, intense tide, whichwas emotion, sensation, thought and belief overwhelmingly intermixed.There was the trembling edge of ecstacy as well as a turmoil-burdenedfear that still sought to cling to their hearts and theirconvictions. But now, that fear was no longer able to find a restingplace.

The powerful, melded force entered Diana's mind suddenly, blazingits way apart from any of their shared physical experiences of themoment, needful and compelling in its own right. It was an ache, a .. . yearning. . . that she felt as a distinct presence within her ownspirit ...beautiful . . . as well as . . . incomprehensible . . .holding itself just beyond the joy and wonder and sheer sensuousabandon of their loving. A need to actually . . . touch a soul . . .hold a heart . . . breathe a name . . . that could lend direction toa spirit awash in the sublimely terrifying unknown of passionatelyintimate consumation.

Where had it come from with such urgent insistence? She couldn'tbegin to understand.

Then she found herself reading the same emotions in the sapphireeyes that held her own with so much breathless, aching hope; andcomprehension, stunning awareness gave her her answer: The ache, thesearching need, was Vincent's, the state of his heart at that verymoment of time, the reality of his spirit at their most profoundlyintertwining instance of completion.

Diana was astonished at its revelation to her, at the depth ofwhat was being shared with her in that empowering force. Until thatvery moment, she had only always felt that her sensitive connectionwith Vincent's heart had been due only to her own intuitiveobservation. Never in her wildest dreams did she consider that hemight have formed a so trusting, empathic bonding with her spiritthat truly held them as one, a bonding that he had described withsuch poignant tenderness to her before . . .only when he had spokento her of his love . . . for Catherine.

But somehow, now, in their own sharing, blazing communion, he haddrawn her very essence into his being and had allowed her to touchhis thoughts and feelings as they existed within him at that veryinstant, in a bond of complete, trusting oneness, revealing to herboth the pleasure and the doubt at war within his heart, the truecourage it had taken him to embrace their sensual fulfillment.

To be loved like that . . . beyond the fear. To be trusted likethat. . . She could only have imagined loving someone like that,being loved like that . . .

. . . And he could only have remembered . . .

Suddenly, Vincent's uncertain hesitation became clear to her aswell -- so clear. Diana knew she would drown in the shatteringclarity of the insight that came to her, overcoming her radiant joywith terrifying understanding: In the deepest part of his heart, hewas aching for perfected love, a bonded oneness that defieddescription . . . a oneness that would always defy . . . equal.

Everything else within his experience would ever be rendered topale comparisons.

The soul . . . the heart . . . the name . . . She felt Vincentreach out for them in fervant, pleading, acknowledgement, seekingsolace and reassurance from them as the iron control of his bodywrenched itself free of his will. Left in utterly vulnerable needwithout that control, she saw just how much fear could still shadehis love at that instant.

Diana could feel it, touch it, beyond his burning desire, thatanxious disquiet. She felt him tightening his hold onto his hope,cling to an unwhispered promise she suddenly wasn't certain the shehad ever shared with him: A perfected love, beyond all others,capable of holding him to hope.

Was she, at that instant, the only embodiment of that perfectionwithin his heart, the only reality capable of leading him past theunknown? Diana comprehended he was loving her, taking her to himselfwith aching tenderness. Yet, his heart was still burdened by adoubting uncertainty, sought to cling to a truth she wasn't at allsure she had managed to offer him.

It took Diana only a heartbeat to decide what to do with thedevastating knowledge that had revealed itself from his bonded spiritto hers -- She would become for him whatever, whomever, he sought,vanishing into the miracle of the instant so that she could give himany reality he required to heal his still besieged heart at last.That was all that mattered to her now.

She would love him like that . . .

. . . Despite even her own hopes turning from flame to ash.

Tears stung her eyes. She ruthlessly fought them back. She barelyfelt the weight of his powerful body shifting needfully now uponhers, though he was twice her size. But she would lose herself in histender hunger once again, focus her reeling emotions only to thethrill of his mouth lingering over her traitorously receptive flesh,his body accepted with intimate, sublime welcome within hers.

Even if she knew, suddenly, that they were no longer alonetogether in their fevered embraces.

Vincent caught sight of her struggle, though, the moment that itsurfaced within her heart and mind, even amidst their searingresponses to one another's desire. Stepping back a bare sigh fromtheir enflamed union, he ached to understand what his still uncertainhope had caused to surface within Diana's spirit, and comprehensiononly brought to light more of her own selfless, tenderly giftingdevotion.

Sweet heavens, how could he ever imagine that he truly deservedthe wonder that was the scope of her love! The selfless depth of herprofound devotion to him, the true generosity of her heart, stoodcompletely revealed to him, and Vincent marveled that she'd everbelieved him capable of holding it with the treasured understandingit deserved.

For, just as he had needed to pass beyond his own dark terrorswith her sweet guidance,

Vincent recognized that she had needed to leave behind . . . hers. . . also . . . her terrors... the quiet, aching uncertainties thatshe had hidden from him until that instant.

Oh, Diana! he breathed with such wonderfilled, aching compassionas he caressed her heart with his own in silent astonishment. You'vehidden them so well from me for so long, my love, carried theirburden in silent anguish. You've held your own sweet hopes hostage tofears as encompassing as my own doubts. But, you are so wrong, mywondrous, confoundingly tender angel! So wrong.

Desperate to reassure the unexpectedly, profoundly needful soul inhis arms, fervantly seeking to bring the bright fire of her spiritback to him in honest acknowledgement, Vincent brought his lips warmto her mouth, her throat, letting the eloquence of his body onceagain draw her back to the trembling edge of her need, and his,beyond the doubts. He would make it possible for her to believe --she would never need to give up her own soul to restore his.

Taking each ragged breath with hers, then, matching his poundingheartbeat with hers, Vincent whispered close to her ear, in thatvoice at once vulnerable, and, to her, unexpectedly, assured. It wasindeed a name that she heard him breathe, caress, on the brink ofcompletion, the swirl of desire engulfing them both -- her own name,"Diana,"

a whispered prayer of love . . . the soul he ached to hold incompleteness to his, trust his own to with certain, blessed,conviction . . . the heart he would cherish in everlasting devotionbeyond any limits or boundaries . . . beyond any memories, treasured,or destined ever to remain lost.

Brushing his hands through her hair gently, he kissed her on theforehead with as much heartstopping tenderness as he'd gifted herwith unburdened need. "Diana," he breathed to her again in sweetcompassion, "look at me, my angel. Open your eyes."

She did so reluctantly, afraid to lose her hold on the tearsthreatening to flood her gaze.

Afraid to read what she most feared in the arresting depths of hisown blue eyes. But the tender sound of his urging voice compelled herto do as he had asked.

When she at last found the strength to settled her attention uponhim, she was startled to find that the profound reaches of herhusband's love were still caressing her with breathtaking sweetness.She could read in the honesty of his unique face at that moment astill searing want, and the gentlest hint of reproach, echoed by hissoftly reassuring, blessedly reassuring, voice.

"Yours is the only love I am touching to at this instant, Diana.There is no one else here in my arms but you. I ache for no one else.Can't you read that in my heart now?"

A flood of emotions, more overwhelming than even the wonder oftheir physical communion, swept through Diana at the miraculouswords. To be loved like that . . . To love like that . . . It wastheir hope-sustaining gift to each other -- theirs alone. How couldshe have ever let herself believe otherwise?

She couldn't respond to him with her own words, shamed beyondendurance that she could believe him capable of confusing theirpresent, wonderfilled, completion with any past shadow of finallyremembered tenderness. But he would not let her berate herselfunjustly, knowing she was only responding to what she had perceivedto be his true state of heart with selfless, totally selfless,love.

For, in all her determination and single-minded resolve to freeVincent completely from his fearfully denied humanity, Diana hadnever truly acknowledged her own quiet anguish. Even in this, theirmost longed-for and profound moment of consumated love, she had lether own fears intrude, distorting their circumstances into untruth:Within her heart of hearts, she could never bring herself completelyto believe that he was holding her, loving her, taking her to himselfas his bride, and not . . . Catherine . . . in her place.

The truth, however, would not be denied -- his truth, this time.It was her love that Vincent was accepting, her trust he wascherishing now. And it was her body he was delighting in possessing,gifting her with his compelling, unburdened humanity as he had no oneelse. No one.

Diana felt the shame drain from her with the quiet reality thatheld her with such sweetness and love it took her breath away. " Oh,God, Vincent, I'm sorry . . ."

She would have found the words to offer him, somehow, but herbreath was drawn from her by insistently urging lips that swept wantinto every fiber of her body.

"Hush, my angel. Don't cry. It's all right."

"But, what I thought you were feeling -- what I thought you needed. . . "

A beyond human hand lifted itself to her lips and pressed a softlyadmonishing fingertip against her mouth. The utter, complete radianceof love that warmed her to her shaken soul held her speechless as histouch had urged.

"All I am feeling, Diana, is -- blessed -- by a gift only youcould have had the courage to bring me. It is a wonder, my love, ajoy I couldn't begin to deserve.

"All I need is to offer it back to you again, in all its beauty --our love. I love you, Diana, my sweet, fearless, angel."

"And I love you, Vincent. With all my heart, with everything Iam."

There was no shame or confusion or doubt left to linger within thespirit of that amber-haired seraph, as the wealth of tenderacknowledgement reaching out to her from a mythic protector enfoldedher totally within a renewed hope and promise. She felt herselfdrowning within the feeling, binding herself to it, to him,completely, in love. She would be loved like that, never needing toimagine its wonder again. And she knew, without question,reservation, or fear, that Vincent's memories would be fashioned ofher own sweet devotion now, cherished and accepted.

The past had cost them so much pain, so much uncertainty of heart.Yet, the sweet fulfillment of all they were at that instant had beenworth any pain and anguish. They would be totally one in all things,from that moment onwards, no longer shadowed by the unfulfilleddreams of long-denied hearts.

The angel had completed her task of redemption, by being redeemedherself.

Vincent's renewed, unburdened soul was free, and it would neverneed rest anywhere but alongside her own. She believed it now, thewonder of that truth burning strong and freely within them, asbrightly and with as much searing, melding passion as two heartsentwined could ever dare to touch. A poetry of hearts and spirits,hopes and hands and desires overtook, then, every other reality ofthe moment. Now there was only the need for quickened breaths to beshared, heated flesh to be cherished, profoundly true eyes to be heldwith sure comprehension.

In unbounded certainty, Diana gave herself over once again to theengulfing tide of sweet, hungering, miraculously free emotionsenveloping them -- hers, his, theirs. Only an instant, a breath,passed between them before Vincent drew her back to him withguiltless, fearless, possession. He would make of them one miracle oflove, one beautiful tapestry of humanity, with a trembling, searing,honesty of heart neither of them could ever mistake for anything lessthan the truth. They would love each other like that.

"Indeed, this very love which is my boast,

And which, when rising up from breast to brow,

Doth crown me with a ruby large enow

To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost, --

 

"This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,

I should not love withal, unless that thou

Hadst set me an example, shown me how,

When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,

And love called love.

 

"And thus, I cannot speak

Of love even, as a good thing of my own:

Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,

And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--

 

"And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)

Is by thee only, whom I love alone."

---Sonnets from the Portuguese XII by Elizabeth BarrettBrowning