AN ETERNAL LOVE

CHAPTER: 29

Alex Davies offered Aunt Helen his arm. She took it, and he offered the other to Adira.

Adira was reluctant to accept. But people were watching. And more than ever, she was cautious. She

sensed something... something that made the fine hairs on her nape bristle. But she could not name

what that something might be. She took his beefy arm and tried to hide her distaste.

"I vow," Aunt Helen said, "nothing so exciting has happened in Sanctuary... since my dear niece arrived

and restored me to health."

"It was the Lord that restored you to health, Aunt Helen," Adira said quickly and glanced at Alex Davies

from the corner of her eye. "I only took away your loneliness." To Alex Davies, she said, "I do believe it

was the loneliness making her feel so poorly all along."

"Indeed," he said. Lifting his brows he asked, "And are you a physician, Ms. Thompson?"

Adira's blood ran cold, and for a moment it was as though she was back in England, shivering outside

the magistrate's door while cruel hands held her fast, and a demanding voice asked a similar question

to her mother.

Adira blinked away the rush of fear that shot through her and reminded herself she was no longer in

England. That nightmare was behind her. And then she prayed it was true.

Fixing a smile to her lips, Adira said, "A woman physician? Oh. Mr. Davies, surely you are joking. I

would not know where to begin!"

His eyes when they met hers, were filled with suspicions and open lust. And as they approached the

steps leading up into the church, he pretended to stumble and leaned toward her, brushing his forearm

against her breast. Adira knew beyond a doubt it was deliberate.

Startled, Adira turned and backed away, only to collide with a solid chest. Two warm hands closed on

her shoulders, and suddenly she felt light-headed and breathless. His scent touched her, embraced

her, and she knew before she even looked upon him who he was.

"Pardon," a painfully familiar voice with a sweet Scottish lilt said from behind her. "Are you all right,

girl?"

Adira stiffened, closed her eyes, opened them slowly. And then she turned, unable to do otherwise, and

looked up into the face of the man who, more than two years ago, had seen her die. The man who had

embraced her to the point of madness, made her want him as she had wanted no other. The man who

had told her he had given up his priestly studies because of her. Damien Walter, looking just as she

had seen him that first time, on the gallows. Once again dressed in the black robes of a clergyman.

"So sorry, Ms. Thompson," Alex Davies boasted. He straightened away from her, but she barely felt his

presence anymore. "A damn pebble caught in my... Oh, I see. You have met our pastor."

"Ms. Thompson?" Damien whispered, wide-eyed and suddenly pale.

Adira was worried. If he revealed what he had seen on those English gallows if he let on...

Damien suddenly gripped both her hands in his. His gaze never left her face but kept roaming it as if he

could not believe what he was seeing. Panic caused her heart to pound loudly. Panic... and his touch.

His thumbs moved in gentle circles on the back of her hands. She squeezed his fingers to remind him,

and stared into his brown eyes, willing him to keep her secret. And then, reluctantly, she tugged her

hands from his, though it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She remembered this man. He had changed. He was no longer a handsome young priest, but a grown

man now. And though it had been only two years, she knew that two years in this rugged new land

were more than enough to bring about such changes. He was larger, broad across the shoulders and

chest, and solid with strength. His hair was longer than before, but the same dark, and pulled back and

tied with a cord. And his face was harsher now. He looked weathered as if he had been through trying

times.

All of this Adira took in, realizing that to his probing brown eyes, she was the same. She had not

changed. She never would. That he remembered her, too, was obvious.

"Do you know one another?" Alex Davies asked, stepping closer, eyeing Damien, and then her. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

"No," she said softly. "We have never met." And she looked into Damien's brown eyes, silently begging

him to say the same.

Damien licked his lips once, then looked past her to Alex Davies. "Yeah. The girl speaks the truth. Had

we met, I would have surely recalled it," he said, his eyes laden with meaning. "Besides, I only arrived

yesterday." And then, smiling, he turned to her aunt, who shouldered her aside to take his hand in

welcome.

"I am so pleased to meet you, young man," she said. "I am Helen James, Adira's aunt."

"Adira," he said softly, glancing at her way once more. When his gaze touched her skin, it was as if he

touched her himself. Adira could feel the warmth of his eyes. "So that is your name. You cannot know

how I have wondered..." Blinking, Damien shook his head and turned back to Aunt Helen. "I only hope I

live up to your expectations, dear lady," he told her.

"Oh, I am confident you will, Reverend." And taking Adira's arm, her aunt urged her up the stairs and

into the church, leaving Damien to greet other worshipers as they filed past. But she could still feel his

eyes on her.

When the sermon ended, Adira realized she had not heard a word. She had been too caught up in the

comforting sound of Damien's voice to pay heed to the words he used. It did not matter what he said,

so long as he said it in those rich, deep tones, with the lilt of Scotland in every word. She could not stop

glaring at him, watching the graceful, powerful strides with which he would pace before the

congregation as he spoke. His eyes met hers often. Those were the only times she would shake out of

her state of blatant admiration of him enough to hear the words he spoke. Double meanings shot like

arrows at her heart as his dark eyes razed her in mingled anger and wonder and... something else.

Scriptures about lies and deceit. And about desires of the flesh. The way they could burn a man,

destroy him.

Was he bitter? Angry with her for leading him such a merry chase? It did not matter. If anything, the

harshness she saw in his eyes now only served to make him more beautiful to her. She wanted him.

She knew it with a sudden, urgent pang that left her breathless. But she knew it was impossible. For he

was a church minister, and she was a witch. She had to put him out of her mind. She must. But she

was unable to do that.