Unrequited Love

CHAPTER ONE

Ryan raced through the countryside with a desperation that clawed at his common sense. Wind and rain lashed his chiselled features, blinding him to the dangers of the muddy field but he continued his charge through the thunder booming violently overhead, his plight as desperate as any could be. His pace still wasn’t fast enough. He knew it wasn’t. If he could just go that little bit faster, he would be able to reach the church on time. But Fate was working against him. Despite his desperate urging, the horse beneath him began to slow. When Ryan looked down at the ground to find out why he saw that the thick ooze of the mud was enveloping the horse’s feet, restraining it and preventing it from being able to run.

Without hesitation, Ryan dismounted. He too began to slip, slide, and stumble through the freshly ploughed field. His gaze remained locked fiercely on the short, stubby tower of the Norman church up ahead. While only half a mile or so away, it might have been a million miles away, but he had to reach it. He must. Failure was not an option. Ryan knew that if he didn’t manage to get there on time his life would descend into misery the likes of which would ruin him. It would destroy him as certainly as the heavy rain was destroying the freshly ploughed furrows beneath his boots, the dull thud of which matched the wild hammering of his heart. Ryan valiantly tried to run anyway, his breath sawing in and out, clawing at his already sore throat which was made hoarser by the force of his silent scream. Despite his discomfort, Ryan continued to race for his life, his future, his happiness, for the woman who was about to make the worst mistake of both their lives.

He knew now he should have done something sooner. Now, he was being urged to act. To race for what he wanted. Ryan was certain that if he looked back then he would see the hounds from Hell chasing him, waiting to drag him down into the mire. He couldn’t let them catch him. He had to beat them, but he was making no progress. The church was no closer no matter how hard he ran. Frustration fought with a gnawing sense of grief that grew stronger with each passing minute. It clawed in his throat and threatened to choke him as a destructive grief built around his heart. If he was late then he would lose her, it was as simple as that.

“No. Get away,” he cried when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His eyes widened when he saw someone else racing toward the church on the opposite side of the field. Hunched low over the saddle of his mount, the figure didn’t seem to be hindered like he was. The field beneath the figure’s mount was lush with ripe green grass, and unploughed. He knew instantly that the man was going to the church. Ryan knew he had to beat him. The man, the stranger, was his enemy, the man who would seal his fate and render his life worthless. But no matter how much he struggled, Ryan couldn’t narrow the distance between him and the gate standing between him and the church. It felt as if he was going backward, or something was holding him back, but when he looked over his shoulder, he could see nothing.

Fear compelled him to cry out in protest. It suffused every fibre of his being with a numbing cold the likes of which he knew he would never recover from. His mouth opened in a silent scream when he saw the figure in black vault unhindered over the gate and disappear.

Suddenly, the scene shifted, and Ryan found himself standing at the gate to the churchyard he had been so desperately trying to reach. With a sense of helplessness, he watched the stranger race inside. The church bells rang a celebratory peel. Ryan’s chest sawed in and out as he struggled to absorb the realisation that he had been too late. It was difficult to understand why or how. He wanted to go inside and see for himself that he had truly lost, but he was forbidden. By what or who he had no idea. He couldn’t turn around and look behind him either because something stopped him. Some invisible force he couldn’t otherwise control ordered him to remain at the gate. When he tried to lift the latch, the weight in his arms prevented him. He tried again and again but to no avail.

Eventually, the celebrations within the church, the raucous cheers of delight, confirmed that he had lost. Ryan knew what he had lost - something precious. Something he knew he could never get back: the woman he loved. As if taunting him with the certainty of it, the haunting clang of church bells broke the relentless splattering of heavy rain and the fierce thundering of his heart. He knew, in that moment, that he had failed. He hadn’t done what he knew he ought and taken the bold move to make his intentions clear to her. If he had, Sian wouldn’t have just married someone else.

Grief clawed at him; and joined a deep-rooted sense of anger that compelled him to shout out in furious protest. Suddenly, Ryan realised that he was being drawn back, away from the church, the gate, and the newlywed couple within. That invisible force turned into hands, clawing at his shirt, tugging at his shoulders, making his fight for freedom harder and more desperate.

“Get off me.”

His face contorted. When he looked over his shoulder to see the owner of those clawed fingers, Ryan saw a sea of faces that were all too familiar. He knew then that the odds were stacked far higher than he had ever realised because those hands didn’t belong to one person, they belonged to everyone he knew. Family, friends, brief acquaintances, close confidants, locals, and people from his past, all gathered together, their faces twisted by malevolence, their voices now desperate cries of the tormented. As if to prove it, several people held their clawed hands up at him in a sinister warning that they had claimed his future happiness with as much certainty as they were in the field with him.

“No,” Ryan moaned. “Go away. Stay away. You shall not do this.”

But when he tried to run, those clawed hands tugged him back again, and pulled on his shirt and cloak once more. Despite his desperate attempts to get free, the might of the masses was too strong, and Ryan was compelled further and further away from the woman he loved. Those church bells rang tauntingly, rhythmically now, more of a sinister, grief-laden peel, warning him that the happiness now belonged to someone else; that the marriage that had just taken place would never be his; that the woman who had just married her groom was now someone else’s wife.

Fury overtook Ryan unlike any other he had ever experienced. Ryan shouted and bellowed but

the more he struggled the more he was sucked into the mire in the ploughed field once more, which gradually crept up his legs to the point that movement was impossible. He sucked in a breath to shout his anger at those responsible for his doom only for the cruel wind whipping around him to snatch the words out of his throat, leaving him with a silent scream nobody heard.

“No!” Ryan’s eyes popped open. He stared blankly at the canopy above the bed and tried to remember where he was. It took him a few moments to realise that there was something holding him down. When he lifted his head, he looked down at his feet only to sigh in disgust. With a baleful glare, Ryan shoved at the dog half-lying over him.

“Get off, Randolph,” he growled.

When Randolph merely wagged his tail but made no attempt to move, Ryan wrestled his way to the side of the bed where he sat for a moment. Dropping his head into his hands, he tried to block out what had just happened, but was painfully aware of the violent shaking in his fingers, which he studied for a moment before he balled one hand into a tight fist.

“And what a nightmare it was,” he whispered.

Unfortunately, Ryan’s rebellious mind was determined to replay the latest nightmare in fine detail. It was the most realistic dream he had ever had. His chest still heaved from the exertion of his futile race through the mire. His forehead was still bathed in a fine sheen of sweat from pulling and tugging furiously against the hands that threatened to destroy his future. Ryan instinctively looked at his feet and wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been covered in mud. Thankfully, they weren’t, but that wasn’t any comfort.

With a heavy sigh, Ryan dragged on a shirt and breeches, and made his way downstairs. Still shaking, he took a seat behind his desk in the study and helped himself to a liberal dose of brandy. The warmth of the amber liquid bathed him from within but did little to soothe him. He was more shaken than he cared to admit but wasn’t at all sure if it was because of the realism of his dream or the horrible realisation that he would have no idea what he would do if Sian did get married to someone else.

Ryan lifted the goblet up so he could study the fine tremors in his hand. Shaking his head, he uttered a vile epithet and turned his dark glare to the fire beside him. Aware that his study wasn’t much warmer than his bed chamber, he lazily leaned forward and began to poke at the logs and took a few moments to bask in the resultant flames. Tossing the rest of his brandy back, Ryan then refilled the goblet and contemplated the paperwork on his desk, but he was far too distracted to be able to concentrate on it. His mind still refused to think about anything other than the dream.

“I take it you have had another one then.”

Ryan jerked so violently he spilled brandy down his shirt. He cursed and glared into the corner of the large study where he suspected his friend, Norman, was hidden so well.

“What are you doing up?”

“The storm wouldn’t let me sleep,” Norman replied with a shrug before relocating to a seat closer to the desk.