Maybe This Time, page 47
“Your lady is of no consequence.”
“No consequence? She’s everything to me. Why did we fail? She loved me. She made her discoveries—all of them. How did we fail?”
The Elder’s left eye sparkled. The right remained flat. “She exceeded the Council’s expectations, I agree. Still, the love you shared lacked perfection.”
“It didn’t,” Kevan argued. “Her last word proves it. She said Prophet, your grace. She recognized me!”
The Elder said nothing, merely looked at Prophet.
“She put me first in her life—before everything. She even protected me from her illness, to spare me while she suffered.”
“A most admirable woman, I would say.”
Kevan’s stance grew defiant. “I demand proof. I want evidence supporting the Council’s decision.”
“Because you forfeit your soul?”
“Because I love my wife. Because loving her is my destiny. Because without her, I have no destiny.”
“There is no proof to give you, Prophet. Do you lack faith in the decision of the Council?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Prophet shut his eyes, regained control, then reopened them. “I lack acceptance, your grace. Not faith.”
“Seek acceptance in your heart. Remember the leaves, Prophet. The season has come. Alyssa changed—in her own time—just as the leaves change. Seek your destiny in the season. It is there you will find your answers. And your acceptance.”
The Elder’s silvery image faded. The sounds of the ticking clock grew more and more loud.
Drained, Prophet sat back and propped his feet on his desk. His memory of Prophet, his quest, his lives and trials with Alyssa, remained.
“Seek your destiny in the season,” the Elder had said. Alyssa had changed. In her own time—like the leaves. She’d learned the value of fear in prehistoric times. To honor his decisions, modesty and humility—that every deed, good or bad, had value—in Scotland. In England, she’d grown more gentle. She’d learned the prejudice of pride—and the value of forfeiting it for what she believed an honorable cause. In this life, Alyssa had proven herself. She’d lived the discoveries she’d made. He knew she had.
Before their travels to her learning levels, she’d been absorbed by her work, incapable of loving. She’d been his mistress, his lover, but not his wife. That, she’d refused. After her discoveries, in her altered history, she’d worked, yes. But he’d come first with her. She’d not excluded him from any facet—any facet—of her life. She’d protected him, and loved him. Above and beyond all else, she’d loved him.
Then how had she failed? Why had she been given the gift of visions, and he’d been denied it?
A tingle started in Kevan’s skull and spread down through him until the tips of his toes felt like they were waking from sleep.
“If you fail, you shall not fail. Seek your destiny—and win.”
The Elder had said that when offering the challenge at the very beginning. And when he’d accepted, he’d been told: “May wisdom realized through your gift lead you now in following your heart.”
The tingling grew stronger. More messages from the Elder came back, replayed themselves from Kevan’s memory. “Your confidence in her awareness, in her ability is false . . . Your love blinds you to the truth . . . the treasures of a foolish man are not everlasting.”
“Oh, God,” Kevan mumbled. “A wise man never tries to change the color of the leaves. He accepts them as they are. Yet according to season, the leaves do change . . . the season will guide you . . . Time waits for no man. Pursue your destiny . . . Seek your message . . . Seek your acceptance . . . Seek your destiny!”
What if it wasn’t her awareness or abilities that required his confidence? What if it was his? What if the wisdom realized through his gift, wasn’t his gift of visions, but his gift of loving Alyssa? Loving her, he would accept her as she was, not attempt to change her. He would have adapted. He would have changed. He would have sought!
When Innes held Alyssa hostage in England, the Elder had said: “If she dies now, your trials will end here. Your mission will have failed.” Not Alyssa’s trials. His trials!
His. And each time the Elder appeared, he’d grown more weak, his eyes more . . . Kevan sat straight up. He grabbed his chair’s arms and squeezed. “Eyes are the mirror of the soul. The Elder’s eyes!”
Groaning, Kevan slumped forward, his forehead resting in his hands. Dear God, he’d been blind. Both eyes flat. The left growing stronger with each of Alyssa’s discoveries, and the right—Oh, God—the right represented his own learnings!
While he’d led Alyssa to love’s light, the Elder—the Council—had been leading him! He’d learned. Yes, he’d learned, too.
But what had he learned? And why hadn’t the Elder’s eyes reflected those learnings?
Kevan sat back, concentrated hard. He’d detoured to prehistoric times to restructure Alyssa’s character, to teach her fear. He’d saddled her with his choices. And he’d learned that she should make her own decisions.
Growing excited, he recalled Scotland and the events occurring there. Then again he asked himself what he’d learned. The answer came easily. To accept Alyssa’s limitations, to applaud her abilities. A woman warrior loved no less, nor any more, than a woman cook. And in England?
In England, he’d grown determined to humble Alyssa because she denied him what he wanted: her acknowledgment that their relationship had altered to what he, not they, desired from it. He’d taken her to London to force her pride from her. And she’d protected, humbled him, by sacrificing all she possessed for him. And in this life?
He’d meant to teach her love. How laughable that sounded now. She’d proven her love by risking her own life to save his in the water. Then again by shielding him from love’s pain, by keeping her illness from him as long as she could. He’d taught her nothing.
But she’d taught him a great deal. In not realizing the true value of her love, he was unworthy to receive it. But Alyssa loved him anyway. He couldn’t teach her love, because love could not be taught. It was a gift. The most precious of all gifts.
Kevan let his head loll against the back of his office chair. Resignation filled him. The Elder was right. Their love was not perfect. But it wasn’t Alyssa who had failed. She had become universal, capable of loving. It was he who had failed. His love was the imperfect love. Throughout time, he failed to accept her as she was. He, who boasted at the beginning that she’d yet to learn that love is pure, people are not, had failed.
Something vibrated against his throat. Kevan reached up, cupped something warm in his hand. In the window behind his desk, he saw his reflection. His amulet!
“Have faith in your humble servant.”
Swiveling, Kevan saw the Elder standing straight, looking strong. Relief washed some of his bitterness away. “Your grace, you’ve recovered.”
The Elder’s eyes were both flooded with brilliant light. His body, though aged, appeared healthy, vibrant. His soul had recovered. “It is of no consequence.”
Kevan smiled. “No, your grace. I suppose it’s not.”
Elder treated him to a rare smile. “None master time or destiny, Prophet. We only serve them.”
“I know—now.”
“The Council is pleased with you.”
“Thank you. But my discoveries have come too late. Alyssa . . .”
“If you fail, you shall not fail. Remember? You sought your destiny—and won.”
Their gazes locked and held. The Elder stepped forward and cupped Prophet’s jaw in his hands. Pain seared Prophet’s chest. With Alyssa not there to share it, his victory was as hollow as his heart. He smiled his regret, slumped forward, and died.
THE LONG DARK tunnel gave way to light; bright, compelling, and warm. Kevan floated closer, wanting yet fearing the warm brilliance enshrouding him.
A looming shadow blocked his path. “Move,” he called out. “You must move.”
He drew closer, and the shadow took form, became a woman. Hovering nearby, Kevan studied the vision of naked splendor. She stood on a crystal platform, a crystal amulet at her neck, a silver sword at her side. Her long, silver hair flowed down past her shoulders and her perfect body held him enthralled. Was she a goddess?
Then she opened her eyes.
“Dear God,” Kevan gasped. “Angel . . .”
She smiled at him through her tears and held out her hand. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come.”
He eyed the distance between them and recalled that when Alyssa had come to him in the tunnel and she’d tried to touch him, the distance between them had grown greater.
“Have faith in your humble servant.” Unbidden the words filled his mind.
“Angel, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He stepped forward. Their platforms merged. As they embraced, a cry of relief escaped them both.
“Kevan. Prophet,” she cried, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you.” She raised her lips for his kiss.
He held her for long moments. Letting the pleasure of holding her flow through him, soothe him. He kissed her again, poured out his deepest feelings in a way that only she would understand. And she kissed him back. Lovingly, longingly, laughingly.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, his voice husky.
“You knew you would.”
“I feared.”
She smiled. “Fear has its value, Prophet.”
He returned her smile. “Yes.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Where are we going?” he asked. “Is there another level?”
Her laughter, warm and lusty, filled his ears. “No, darling. We may go where we wish. Our love has ended the need for trials.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Where shall we go?”
Kevan thought for a second. “Prehistory. Back to the barbarians.”
“No,” she disagreed. “I don’t think so.”
“But they treat me so well—”
“For pity’s sake, Prophet. They treat you like a bloody king.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She glared at him. “You’re too authoritative already, is what’s wrong with that.”
“Alyssa.”
“No.”
“Well, flip.” He heaved a sigh that could fell a tree. “What do you suggest then?”
She hid her pleasure that her literal husband had coined her very non-literal phrase, backed out of his arms, and entwined their fingers. “To the future, I think.”
“Come on, Angel. Life’s too complicated in the future. You know what Dr. Samuels said about you and stress.”
“That’s all over now.” She gave him a sly smile. “Besides, when hasn’t life with me been complicated?”
Kevan pressed her fingertips to his lips for a quick kiss. “How about the fifteen hundreds. We skipped that era.”
Alyssa looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Prophet. Wasn’t that crazy Henry’s turf? The man approved divorce, for pity’s sake.” She gave Kevan a thoughtful look. “No, definitely the future.”
“Angel.”
“Yes, Kevan.”
“Prophet, love,” he reminded her.
Alyssa shrugged. “One and the same.” He squeezed her hand, and her heart lurched. God, it felt good to have him to hold onto again. How much she’d missed him, how empty she’d felt.
His eyes warmed with possessive desire. “Let’s decide where to go later.”
“All right. What do you want to do now?”
“I want to love you.” He smiled that smile, and her heart thumped that thump. “Come.”
Alyssa followed him. Where they went was of no consequence. They’d be together.
“I liked Scotland,” Kevan said. “Why don’t we go back there?”
“You were too chauvinistic in Scotland, darling.”
“You loved me there,” he countered.
“I’ve always loved you, Prophet.”
“No, not always,” he said. “Not always.”
And hand in hand, they walked into the light.
(Please continue reading for more information about Vicki Hinze)
About Vicki Hinze
Vicki Hinze is the award-winning author of 30 novels, 4 nonfiction books and hundreds of articles, published in as many as sixty-three countries. She is recognized by Who’s Who in the World as an author and as an educator. For more information, please visit her website at www.vickihinze.com.
Vicki Hinze, Maybe This Time
