He held her face in his hands. “Only you have I loved, my Dougless. No other woman. Only you.”
She felt it then. She felt that his body was no longer solid in her arms. “Nicholas,” she yelled in fear.
He kissed her again, kissed her softly, but with all the yearning and wanting and desire and need he felt for her.
“I’m going with you,” she said. “Take me with you. God!” she screamed. “Let me go with him!”
“Dougless,” Nicholas said, and his voice was far away, “Dougless, my love.”
He was no longer in her arms but standing before his tomb wearing his armor. He was faded, indistinct, like a movie seen in a bright room. “Come to me,” he said, holding out his hand. “Come to me.”
Dougless ran to him, but she couldn’t reach him.
A streak of sunlight came through the windows and flashed off his armor.
And then there was nothing.
> For one hideous moment, Dougless stood and stared at the tomb; then she put her hands to her ears and screamed, a scream such as no human had ever uttered before. The old stone walls vibrated with the sound, the windows quivered, and the tomb . . . The tomb just lay there, silent and cold.
Dougless collapsed to the floor.
EIGHTEEN
Drink this,” someone was saying.
Dougless caught the hand that held the cup to her lips. “Nicholas,” she said, a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. She was stretched out on a pew in the church, just a few feet from the tomb. She swung her legs to the side, placing her feet on the floor, but she felt too dizzy to take a step.
“Are you feeling better?”
She turned to see the vicar, his kindly face full of concern, a cup of water in his hand.
“Where is Nicholas?” she whispered.
“I didn’t see anyone else. Should I call someone for you? I heard you . . . scream,” he said, knowing it wasn’t a scream. Just remembering that sound made the hair on his body stand on end. “When I got here, you were lying on the floor. Could I call someone for you?” he asked again.
On weak legs, Dougless made her way to the tomb. Slowly, memory was coming back to her, yet still she couldn’t believe it. She looked at the vicar. “You didn’t see him leave, did you?” she asked hoarsely. Her throat was raw.
“I saw no one leave. I just saw you praying. Not many people pray with such . . . intensity today.”
She looked back at the tomb. She wanted to touch it, but she knew the marble would be cold, so unlike Nicholas. “You mean you saw us praying,” she corrected.
“Just you,” the vicar said.
Slowly, Dougless turned to look at him. “Nicholas and I were praying together. You came in and saw us. You’ve watched him for days.”
The vicar gave her a sad look. “I’ll take you to a doctor.”
She moved away from his outstretched hand. “Nicholas. The man who prayed here every morning and every afternoon for the last four days. He was the man in the Elizabethan armor. Remember? He nearly walked in front of a bus.”
“More than a week ago I saw you nearly step in front of a coach. Later, you asked me the date.”
“I . . . ?” Dougless asked. “But that was Nicholas. You told me this week you were amazed at how devout he was. I waited for him outside while he prayed. Remember?” Her voice was urgent as she stepped toward him. “Remember? Nicholas! You waved to us as we rode by on bicycles.”
The vicar backed away from her. “I saw you on a bicycle but no man.”
“No . . .” Dougless whispered, then stepped back from him, her eyes wide with horror.
Turning, she ran out of the church, through the churchyard, down three streets, to the left, then the right, and into the hotel. Ignoring the greeting of the woman at the desk, she ran up the stairs.