Two of A Kind Part 23
By Rosemarie Hauer
The clanging of countless hammers and chisels in the hands of the men working beside him reverberated painfully through Vincent's head. I must try to get more sleep tonight, he thought ruefully, straining to split a particularly cumbersome piece of rock.
"I'm glad William's too busy in his kitchen for helping with the excavation work," Winslow remarked to no one in particular.
"Yeah," Cullen agreed, "I guess he would mutter and complain all the time."
"He simply can't be convinced that we need the new chambers down here," Luther joined in.
"Vincent, could you please come over and give me a hand with this?" Kanin called out from the far end of the tunnel.
The morning dragged on endlessly, and all the while Vincent's head felt like bursting. At lunchtime, the men sat together, eating their meals and talking companionably. Always one to rather listen than talk, Vincent leaned back against the stony wall and closed his eyes. Fragments of last night's dream drifted through his mind, but he found it hard to concentrate on them, to concentrate on anything for that matter. The familiar voices of his friends had a soothing effect on him, and he only listened to their conversation rather detachedly.
"Garreth is too good for her, you know" Cullen said, "but he's so crazy about her that he won't listen to anybody who's trying to open his eyes."
"Garreth loves her," Kanin cut in. "He doesn't care about her past. And what does it matter anyway."
"Yeah, that's entirely his own business," Winslow agreed. "But Garreth is a fine man. He deserves better than that."
Suddenly Vincent found himself listening attentively, his eyes wandering from face to face as the men spoke.
"She's probably good in bed, you know," Cullen said. "She's had enough practice after all."
The men chuckled, and Luther remarked, "There's no answer to that."
The ensuing laughter pounded painfully in Vincent's head, and he could no longer contain the anger that had been building within him while he listened to their idle gossiping.
"Shouldn't you know better than that?" he exploded, pushing himself to his feet. "If you care about Garreth as much as you claim to, you should respect his choice instead of deriding it." With that he turned his back on their perplexed faces and strode toward the exit, determinedly retrieving his tools.
The men spoke very little for the remainder of their working day, and Vincent could literally feel the furtive glances they exchanged behind his back. Now that most of his energy was spent after the long and draining hours of work, he felt more than a little uneasy about his outburst. Starting as he suddenly felt a hand on his arm, he spun around to meet Kanin's kind face. "Enough for today," he said, patting Vincent's shoulder companionably. "Let's clear this up and go home."
*
Passing the nursery on his way to the bathing chambers, Vincent heard voices from within and froze. Catherine! How could it be that he had not sensed her arrival? Had he been so caught up in his anger and frustration that he had missed the signals that should have reached him through the bond? She was talking to Rebecca while the children chattered among themselves, obviously deeply engrossed in some game. How he longed to rush into the chamber and gather her in his arms, but one look at the dirt-caked fur on the backs of his hands told him that he better go and have a bath first. The melody of Catherine's voice followed him down the corridor and echoed through his heart as he bathed hastily, eager to be with her again. While he was toweling his hair, the conversation at the work site came back to him, and he shuddered with the realization why it had gotten to him like that. The thought that anybody might talk this way about Catherine and himself was fit to drive him crazy. Yet he knew it was inevitable that people would talk about it, once the fact became known that they were lovers, that they had joined their lives in every way. Suddenly Vincent felt as though he didn't have one friend in the whole world.
*
When he returned to the nursery, he could hear that the little ones were being prepared for bed. He hesitated outside the chamber, knowing that his entrance would present a welcome opportunity for the children to delay their bedtime just a little longer. Smiling, he shook his head as he listened to Amy's attempt to draw Catherine into some dispute about pajamas and nightshirts, and he wondered once again why children were so reluctant about going to sleep. Deciding that it wouldn't be so bad to give them a few more minutes, he deposited the bundle, which contained his soiled clothes and damp towels, on the floor and ducked into the entryway. When the children caught sight of him, they hurled themselves into his arms, hugging and squeezing as much of him as they could grasp.
Above the children's heads, he met Catherine's gaze, and her joy at seeing him made his heart swell with happiness. He scooped the little ones up and carried his lively burden over to their beds. After all three of them had been tucked in properly, they left Rebecca to her nightly vigil and made their way to Vincent's chamber.
As they walked down the corridor in silence, Father's voice stopped them.
"Ah, Catherine," the old man said. "How good to see that you are back again." There was a question in his eyes, and Vincent marveled at Catherine's ability to say so much with just one smile. Reassured, the tunnel patriarch patted her shoulder. "I expect you two have a lot to tell each other," he remarked and turned to make his way back to his chamber.
Stunned by Father's tactful disappearance, Vincent didn't notice Catherine's amused smile until she tugged at his sleeve. Following her through the narrow entryway, he tried to make sense of his parent's behavior.
"What is it, Vincent?" Catherine asked, looking up at him with concern.He shook his head, giving her a reassuring smile. "Nothing," he answered. "I was just a little surprised that Father should be able to rein in his curiosity."
"What about you?" she said. "Aren't you curious?"
"I'm happy," he responded huskily, "that you are back."
She came into his arms, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. "I dreamed that she said she didn't know me," he began without preamble, and Catherine's eyes gleamed with suppressed emotions as she nodded eagerly.
"That's right, Vincent. Her husband is the father of the child, and she has no idea how her baby came to be so unusual."
"Then Paracelsus lied," Vincent said slowly. "That leaves the question...why? What could he possibly gain from telling such a lie?"
Catherine shrugged, her expression suddenly pensive. "Please tell me more about your dream," she demanded, pulling him over to the bed and taking a seat. He eased down beside her, relaying the details of his dream as best he could. When he described the proffered fruit in the palm of the woman's hand, Catherine gasped.
"Mrs. Foster has a birthmark on the palm of her right hand," she told him, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Vincent, do you know what that means?"
"That, somehow, I was there," he said incredulously.
"Yes, and that what you dreamed about Paracelsus is probably just as true."
He pushed himself to his feet and started a restless pacing.
"That is not necessarily so," he said. "I may have received my knowledge about Mrs. Foster through our bond. You knew all the things I dreamed of, and that is probably how I came to know them as well. There is nothing, though, which could have transferred Paracelsus' plans and intentions, or the lack of them, to me."
She pondered his words in silence, and he stopped his restless motions to look at her expectantly."Amy," she exclaimed suddenly. "If there were a connection between the two of you, you may have received what she learned while she was down there with him. She may be too young to comprehend any of it consciously, but the knowledge could be there in her mind. Vincent, I do believe that what you dreamed about Paracelsus is true. I'd better keep on top of that problem, just to make sure."
His head was beginning to ache again, and he raised his hands, pressing them against his temples. His mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and beliefs, and he found it increasingly difficult to sort through them. He reached out for Catherine's steadying presence and found the room spinning about him. Instantly she was at his side, putting her arms around his waist and drawing him gently towards the bed. He lay down obediently, covering his burning eyes with his hands.
As if from a distance, Catherine's voice reached him. "I'll go get Father. I'll be back in a minute."
Seemingly of its own volition, his hand snaked around her wrist, holding her in place. "Please don't," he implored her. "Not yet.""Vincent, what's the matter with you?" she asked worriedly, and he could almost taste her fear as it radiated into him. Fear for him, was his last conscious thought before blackness consumed him.
*
He awoke confused, surprised to find himself in his chamber, in his own bed. Starting at a slight stirring next to him, he stared at the sleeping form at his side. She looked so peaceful, almost childlike, curled up beneath the heavy quilt, and he reached out to touch her smooth cheek, but stopped himself, watching his alien hand suspended above her head. Slowly withdrawing it, he sat up, and his gaze swept the chamber as he tried to recall what had happened.
He remembered his headache, but it seemed to be gone for now, as was the dizziness that had assaulted him before Catherine had made him lay down on his bed. But, try as he might, he could remember nothing beyond that. With a pleading look toward the rocky ceiling, he prayed silently, Not again!
"Vincent?" Catherine's voice came from beside him. "How are you feeling this morning?"
She pushed herself up on one elbow, and he noted with relief that she was wearing her clothes.
"Better, I think," he managed hoarsely, trying in vain to clear his parched throat.
"Are you surprised to see me?" she asked, raising her brows. "It's Saturday, and I have every intention of spending this weekend Below with Amy and you."
Nodding, he swallowed hard. As much as he dreaded what he was probably going to hear, he had to ask. "Catherine, what happened last night?"
"You felt ill, but didn't want me to get Father. Then you fell asleep, and since you slept quite peacefully, I complied with your wish and didn't get him." After a pause she added, "Disappointed?" and he realized that he must have gaped at her rather oddly.
Casting down his eyes, he smiled self-consciously. "No, Catherine. It's just that if we had made love last night, I couldn't bear the thought of not remembering it yet again."
She leaned over to him and tenderly kissed his cheek. "From now on you will always remember," she promised in a low voice that did strange things to his emotional balance. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. With growing uneasiness he noted that it was late morning already, and that someone might drop by anytime.
"I should get dressed," he mumbled, sitting down again and fumbling with the fastenings of his disheveled clothes.
Catherine knelt up behind him and leaned against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder. "What is it, Vincent?" she asked. "What's troubling you so?"
He hesitated, suddenly shy to share his thoughts and apprehensions with her. "I don't want them to talk about us," he finally got out, feeling a blush rise along his neck.
"You mean because I spent the night in your bed?" she replied slowly, and he sensed her dawning comprehension. "Vincent, are you telling me you are ashamed of our love?"
He spun around, seeking her eyes to quickly reassure her. "No, of course not. Nothing could fill me with more pride than being loved by you."
She put her arms around his neck, leaning her forehead against his. "Then, what are you worrying about?"
Closing his eyes, he wondered why he found it so hard to simply speak his mind. "It is you that I am concerned about," came his whispered confession.
Relinquishing her hold around his neck, she sat back on her heels. "You are concerned about what people may think about us," she stated, and he shifted his weight to draw her back in his arms.
"Catherine, know that I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love someone. I love you more than my life. You deserve the best. It kills me to think that you may suffer because of my love." He wanted to hide his face against her neck, but she gently shoved him back, making him meet her eyes.
"Vincent, people will always gossip, no matter what we do. Maybe down here it's not so bad as in the world above, but..."
"It is just as bad," he interrupted her, telling her about the incident at the work site, the day before. Listening attentively, she pulled his head against her chest, pressing tender kisses in his hair.
"I understand your feelings," she said at last. "I really do, but do you think we could stop them from talking about us by denying our love? And if we could, would you really want us to?"
He looked up, and her eyes were alight with love for him as he bathed his gaze in hers. "I could never live without your love again," he said huskily. "Never."
"Then, would you want for us to have a secret affair?" she said jokingly, but when she saw his look before he swiftly averted it, she grew serious again. "You want us to hide our love from the others?" she asked unbelievingly.
"Only for a while," he hastened to assure her. "Catherine, I am deeply touched, and honored, that you are not concerned about everybody knowing that you not only have my heart, but share my bed as well. But I need time to come to terms with the step we have taken. It is all so new. I must find my place in this community anew. Through all these years, I haven't given the people I care about a real chance to come to know me. They only know the protector, friend, teacher, or whatever I am to the various people I live with. None of them know the real me, because I didn't really have a life of my own -- until now."
"Oh, Vincent," she sighed, hugging him to her and rocking him softly. "Take all the time that you need, as long as we don't have to stop making love to each other."
Expelling a low groan, he tightened his arms around her. Tenderly, he nuzzled her throat and dipped his tongue in the sensitive hollow at its base. The softness of her body drew him, and he eased her back on his bed, taking her mouth in a desperately passionate kiss.
"Don't you think they will suspect it all too soon, anyway?" she whispered when they came up for air.
He rolled himself off her and sat up straight, resting his forearms on his knees. "I don't know," he answered.
"I am not certain whether most of them think me man enough to even consider the possibility."
"What about Father?" she inquired, slowly sitting up beside him.
Studying his clasped hands between his knees, he replied, "Not only did he think it possible for me to have a...physical relationship with a woman, he even went so far as to dread it. He is the one who knows my body best. He knew that it was possible, and it scared him so much that it began to scare me as well."
"Is that what he told you?" she asked, struggling to suppress her rising anger.
"He didn't have to tell me with words," Vincent answered. "It showed in everything he taught me."
"Oh my God," Catherine gasped, and he put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to wallow in self-pity. He did what he thought best for me. How could I blame him for that?"
A rapid staccato reverberated along the pipe that ran along the wall outside his chamber, and Vincent cocked his head to listen intently. "We better be going," he said. "It is almost lunchtime, and I don't care to have anyone wondering why you and I do not attend the meal."