Page 58 of Eternal Devotion

Ensley lay sprawled on his stomach, arms bracketing his head. His hair, free from its elastic, tumbled over the pillow and covered his face. It was a cozy room. A double bed that sat close to the ground, a long dresser, three drawers high and two drawers wide, topped with a vanity mirror.

I hesitated out of instinct, a jolt of discomfort making me want to look away and dodge back down the ladder. The distress was entirely intrapersonal. After four hundred years, the incongruity of an absent reflection remained unsettling. I couldn’t get used to it.

Ignoring the mirror, I focused on my task. On Ensley.

Standing at the foot of the bed, I watched him sleep for several long minutes, knowing subconsciously how creepy my actions were. The gentle rise and fall of his back. The whisper of his breath with each exhale.

“It might have been good,” I said into the silence. “There’s so much more I wish I knew about you. So much more I wish I could explain. Forgive me.”

I circled to the side of the bed and crouched, carefully moving the hair off his face so I could take him in one last time. His lashes fluttered, but I didn’t panic. If he woke, he woke. This was goodbye. What I wouldn’t have given for a different life.

For no explainable reason, words tumbled from my mouth unchecked. “My father’s name was William. I was always told we looked alike. Tall and wiry. Blond as maple wood or pine. Mother said it was more like the golden wheat in the field. We shared eyes like sapphires, father and I, although you wouldn’t know it now.

“He was the village carpenter.” I extended my hands and studied my unblemished palms, once toughened and worn like his. “He was mostly known for his solidly built furniture, but he could do magnificent things with wood and a blade too. He taught me to whittle when I was twelve. I wasn’t very good at it. Abeta, my sister, would laugh at my attempts. Mother would scold her and tell her to fetch water for washing before she earned a swat.

“We farmed a small piece of land in what used to be rural Lambeth, on the south bank of the Thames.”

I envisioned the dock and boardwalk, the restaurants and high rises blocking the horizon. “It’s different now. I was born in 1570 and died twenty-seven years later. A devastating plague swept across England that year. I wasn’t there for it, but it killed those who remained of my family. My maternal grandparents, Mother, and Father. Abeta died a few years earlier. My other siblings didn’t live past childhood.

“I was with my uncle, fighting in France to recapture the city of Amiens from Spanish forces. I don’t remember why I wanted to be a soldier, but I remember father hating it and cursing his brother for putting the idea in my head. I was injured while fighting. Terribly injured. I should have died.”

I huffed a wet, sad laugh. “I did die, only I didn’t know it at the time. There was a lot I didn’t know.”

My eyes burned. Their tear ducts no longer functioned as they should. It was all part of the curse. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, warding off the memories, longing, and regret. It wasn’t like I could have saved my family had I stayed home, but at least I would have joined them in death. We would have remained together.

“Mordecai?”

Ensley’s scratchy voice drew me upright.

He shuffled to his side and rose on an elbow, confusion painting his features. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Lie back.”

He did, seeming reluctant, yet unable to resist the tiny subconscious nudge. I fixed the covers for something to do, but he stopped me and reached out, touching my hand. “You look sad.”

“I am.”

“Mordecai—”

“Ensley.” I needed to stop the momentum and do what I came to do. “Close your eyes and sleep, love. It’s late.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to.”

“Stay. Lie with me.”

The request was almost too much to resist. I could have one more night. Here. Now. But every shared moment would be one more painful memory I could never erase.

“I can’t.”

Before he could conjure more objections, I kissed him. It was sweet and tender and nowhere near long enough, but when I pulled back, his eyelids fluttered closed.

“That’s it. Sleep.” I stroked his slackening cheek. “It will all be right in the morning.”

14

Ensley