Healing Across Time

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Ygraine
Ygraine
60 Followers

Claire nodded, "You seem to know a great deal about him." She kept comparing his voice with the one she'd heard in her own journey. This man was younger than her priest. His voice seemed lighter, but that might just be anxiety she heard

"But you," his voice broke through her thoughts. "What about you? You said you knew what they were trying to do in the cave. How did you know that?"

Claire let a smile cross her face. "I was there," she said simply.

"Why didn't you tell me last night?" His voice sounded hurt, as if somehow she were responsible for his distress since their last meeting.

"I wanted to, I was going to, but when I came back in here to tell you, you'd gone."

He slumped into his seat, the pain visible on his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I've been an idiot."

"No!" Claire got up and sat beside him on the sofa. She took his hand and stroked the long fingers, her index finger retracing the pattern of swirls she painted there before. "It's not your fault what happened. I was scared to believe someone shared my journey as well. I was afraid you might think I was trying to "muscle in" on your story, but I couldn't sit there and say nothing."

"Please," he closed his other hand over hers, stilling her fingers; forcing her to look into his eyes once more. "Please tell me what happened to you."

"I was a Medicine Woman for my tribe. She was climbing up a mountain to find a cave to perform some kind of ritual. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do."

Claire stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. "Half way up the track, she was joined by a man with long grey hair. He'd been gored by a bull buffalo and she offered him healing." As she mentioned the words, her hands began to tingle as they usually did when the healing force was flowing through her. "I think the Medicine Woman knew she was there to help the man complete his journey. She painted his body with an ointment she carried in her bag and she held him in her arms while his spirit ...."

"Flew with the eagles." He finished the sentenced for her, his voiced hushed and reverend. "You were there!"

"Yes and last night I saw other bits of her life when she returned to her tribe. She was still their Medicine Woman, but she was apart from them. The priest gave her the name she wore for the rest of her days. She was called Wahosi, but she mourned the loss of the man she had held in her arms; the man whose story you were given."

Now he was stroking the back of her hand, soothing her, reminding her of his presence as she saw the old woman sitting alone by her fire watching the flames.

They sat in silence while candles sizzled softly around them. Eventually, she moved her hand and tucked it inside his jacket, almost against his ribs.

"Can you feel anything?"

Patrick smiled at her. "You've no idea how hot your hand is!"

"Good." She placed some pillows on the edge of the sofa and helped him to lie flat so she could balance his body energies more comfortably. He made no objection as she took off his shoes, but lay with closed eyes, his deep, slow breathing telling her either he slept or was deeply under the soothing influence of the healing energy.

When she finished, she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and leant forward to brush his forehead with her lips. His eyelids flickered open and his hands caught her shoulders, guiding her gently towards his waiting mouth. It was the soft kiss of two lovers meeting after a brief absence, rather than the separation of centuries.

"Thank you." He murmured as he sat up and drew her to him. She let herself sink into his embrace, filling her nostrils with his scent; feeling the softness of his clothing. They sat for several minutes without speaking, his long fingers stroking her face, wanting to discover every tiny portion of it with his fingertips; sealing the knowledge in his memory forever.

"I'm not Wahosi," Claire said at last, waiting for his fingers to stop and his body to reject her.

"I know." Patrick kissed her again, more slowly this time, lingering over her lips before moving down to her chin and the most sensitive part of her exposed neck. "I know you're not his Medicine Woman, but I want you to be mine, more than I've ever wanted any other woman."

Claire held her breath. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. This was something she dreamed about in the small romantic part of her soul she kept hidden from the world. There had never been a man in her life since Philip's death fifteen years ago. They were teenage sweethearts looking forward to a life together when the car hit him on his way to school one morning. No-one could understand why Claire didn't put his memory behind her and make relationships with other men; no matter how hard she tried, it was never right. She'd lived by herself for the past eight years since she moved from her parents' home when her job took her to a different part of the country.

"Don't you have a wife? A partner?"

He laughed, "You mean I'm too old be to be on my own?"

Claire extracted herself from his arms and sat up. "Your ring," she said, pointing to his left hand, "You're wearing his ring on your little finger."

"You're right," he turned the ring so the stone twinkled in the candlelight. "My grandmother gave me that ring on her death-bed. She was a strange woman, full of dreams and wild notions - at least I thought they were strange when I was growing up, but now I suppose she must have known what she was doing. She said her grandfather had given it to her when she was a girl and told her to pass it on to the man whose finger fitted the ring. That man was me. I thought at the time it could have been any of us - I have five brothers, but when I tried it on, it wouldn't come off again, so that was that."

"But you must have married!"

"Do I look married?"

Claire blushed. "You've got a Range Rover. I thought you must have a wife and children to fill it."

Patrick laughed again, "Oh Gods, Claire, I work at the Range Rover plant. I'm managing the new production line for the company. My car went in for service two days ago, so they lent me one of the firm's runarounds. I'm not married. I've never had the time or the inclination before. I'm a social hermit...that's why the guys in the office keep pulling my leg, trying to get me to go out more. Goodness knows why they chose to send me to a Regression Evening of all things! I went and now I'm here and I don't want to leave. Please tell me you don't want me to leave.

"I don't want you to leave."

"Thank you." He cupped the side of her face with his hand as if she were the most precious thing he had ever cherished. Her whole body tingled with a fire she'd never felt before. She could hear her heart thumping in her chest.

"It will be alright," he murmured, enfolding her with his arms, then laying her gently on the soft carpet with a cushion at her head. He knelt beside her.

"I want to look at you," he said, "I feel I know you, but in my mind's eye I see her and I want to be able to see you." He pushed stray hairs away from her face and she gazed up into his eyes. They were like no colour she'd ever seen before. In the candlelight they appeared as pools of darkness, but the more she studied them, the lighter they became. They were like the golden/hazel eyes of a lion.

He removed his jacket and laid it over the arm of a chair. She could see his throat and the beginnings of his chest through his unbuttoned shirt top. Without thinking, she raised her hand to trace the outline of his adam's apple, but he captured it with his own and brought her fingers to his lips in another sensuous kiss.

"I want to touch you!" she cried

"You will, my love," He drew his shirt over his head and placed her hand over his heart. "There, now what do you feel?"

"You." His skin was covered with fine, dark hairs that rippled smoothly over a well-proportioned chest wall. Her fingers traced the line of each muscle, feeling them move beneath her, marvelling at their softness; yet aware of their underlying strength.

"May I?" His hands drew her up so that he could remove her t-shirt. She shivered suddenly as the cooling air hit her skin. He pulled down a rug from the sofa and draped it over her.

"Shall I light the fire?"

Claire nodded. Patrick went over to the gas fire and lit it so the flames burnt brightly in the candlelight.

"Are you warmer now?" Claire nodded, her heartbeat racing again as he slowly drew the rug from her and eased her skirt from her hips. She'd never been naked before anyone before and whilst part of her mind was wanting to squirm with embarrassment, another part of her was revelling in his study. His hand stroked her arm, then lightly brushed over her skin, down past her shoulders, over her breasts and down the flat plain of her stomach.

"If I had some salve, I would paint you now so you could fly as he did."

Claire smiled, "I'm not sure I approve of drug induced trips," she teased. Patrick laughed.

"You're probably right, so I'm going to have to find another way to take you there." He licked his right index finger and drew great spirals across her stomach and ribs. Her skin felt momentarily cold and then burned at his touch. She felt her nipples straining against the thin cotton of her bra and she arched her back towards him. He leaned over and followed his finger with a trail of feather light kisses which drove her senses wilder. She didn't notice the last two items of her clothing disappear; only the touch of his hands and lips all over her, making her pulses race and her breathing ragged.

Gently, so gently his left hand moved slowly up her inner thigh , weaving its way into her darkness until a single finger poised to enter her. He was cradling her in his right arm covering her face in soft kisses as she lay with her eyes closed, basking in his caress.

"Claire?" he breathed her name and her eyelids fluttered open in response. "Do you want this?" In answer, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

"Yes." She felt his finger slide down the slick folds of her hidden petals and enter her. She moaned into his chest as her muscles clutched him and sought to hold him fast. It felt so wonderful; so alive; so right. She felt his finger move inside her then suddenly stop. Then he was holding her tightly, rocking her in both arms.

"I never thought," he murmured into her hair. "Why have you waited so long?"

"It never seemed right before. It scared me."

"Do I scare you?" He brushed his hand down her shoulder and cupped her breast.

"No." She shook her head. "I've never felt like this before. I've never wanted anyone to make love to me as much as I want you."

He leant over and started circling her areola with his tongue, finally drawing the nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. She let out the breath she was holding with a long sigh and thrust herself towards him.

Immediately she was aware of his fingers rubbing the inside of her secret places. The pleasure was so intense, she opened her legs and moaned; her hips writhing in harmony with the motions of his fingers. When his thumb began to push against her tiny nub, it seemed as if the sky had suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks. Claire could hardly breath, yet she heard a voice crying out in mixture of agony and ecstasy. As her body bucked and throbbed under Patrick's hands, she felt tears slide down the sides of her cheeks until he kissed them away and held her safe within his arms once again.

She hardly noticed when he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Tenderly, he pulled back the duvet and laid her on the crisp, white sheets. Sleepily she opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her. His smile was tender.

"Are you coming to bed?" she murmered.

"Not this time, love. You need your sleep and we both have work in the morning." He tucked the covers carefully around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Will I see you again?"

"You can be sure of that. I lost you once, my Wahosi, I'm not going to lose you again. When we next meet, we shall join together and nothing will be able to tear us apart."

It was several months before she saw Patrick again. His firm sent him on a business trip to Chicago and they had to make do with emails and long telephone calls at weekends.

They used the time to talk about little things- the food they liked, the books they read, their different hobbies and pastimes, sometimes even their work. He knew what time she caught the train, how long it took her to walk to and from the station, her love of oranges and how much cat food Smudge needed each week. She discovered his love of the outdoors, his knowledge of trees and the intricacies of the petrol engine compared with the might of steam. She also heard about his brothers, his widowed father living alone in the wilds of Staffordshire where he spent most of his time fishing.

As his trip came to an end, he started to ask her different questions. He wanted to know the length of her cycle, did she suffer any particular problems, could she swim, was she claustrophobic. In some ways they seemed strange questions, yet Claire answered as truthfully as she could, the intimacy somehow drawing them closer together over the miles.

"Can you book some time off?" he asked during one of his final phonecalls. He was due to fly back into Birmingham International the following day.

"When were you thinking?"

"I need a couple of days to debrief my team on what's happened over here and to recover from the trip. Jetlag always kills me for the first few days and I don't want you to see me in that state if I can help it."

"I don't mind seeing you in any state," Clare teased.

"I know, love, but I want our first time to be special. I've got an idea."

"What kind of idea?" Claire was curious now. She was very conscious how much Patrick had changed over the months she'd known him. She knew he'd been immersing himself in Native American ritual lore during his spare time in Chicago and had even travelled several hundred of miles to meet a Lahota medicine man one weekend. He wouldn't tell her what they'd discussed, saying he would explain everything once he was back in England.

"I can arrange to have next Monday and Tuesday free, would that be enough?" There was a short silence on the other end of the phone as Patrick considered her offer.

"That should be enough time. I'll pick you up at 7 p.m. on Friday. Can you bring some warm clothes and rugs and your velvet skirt?"

"But it's August!" Claire protested, "Where are you taking me – Iceland?"

Patrick laughed, "No, Wahosi, nowhere so far away, but we are going on a journey."

It niggled Claire he wouldn't let her meet him at the airport. She wondered if there was someone else he didn't want her to see. She even asked him if he had a secret wife and family he kept someone where else, but he only laughed and told her to trust him. He wasn't about to let her down now, not when they were so close.

So close to what, Claire wondered? But she held her peace and began to pack enough clothes for four days, together with rugs and thick, Mexican blankets she took to festivals.

Eventually, as the Grandfather clock struck seven, Claire heard a car pull in front of her house and the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, expecting to fly into Patrick's arms, she was taken aback by the sight of the tall stranger standing in her doorway. Long, dark hair streaked with silver hung to his shoulders and a ginger beard covered his face. Only his amber eyes and the silver ring on his little finger gave him away.

"Remember me?" said a familiar voice, tinged with a hint of American drawl.

"Patrick!" she gasped, "I didn't recognise you!"

"Now you know why I didn't want you to meet me at the airport," he chuckled. "I wanted to be in a fit state to explain everything to you before we began."

"Explain what? Begin what?" Claire felt she was stumbling through unchartered territory. Patrick opened his arms and drew her to him, enveloping her in the strongest bearhug she'd ever had, leaving her breathless, her head whirling.

"Gods, you don't know how often I've thought about doing that," Patrick exclaimed, then bent his head, grazing her lips with his own, "or this."

Claire felt her head being cradled by his arm as she began to drown in the depth of his kiss. At some point, she knew she opened her mouth to allow his searching tongue access to her own, but mostly she felt he was exploring her deepest places, familiarising himself with dimly remembered territory. She had almost forgotten what it was to breath for herself when he gently released her into the evening sun, leaving her blinking and gasping like a newly caught fish.

"Did you miss me?" he grinned. Claire was gratified to see his chest was heaving too.

"A little," she admitted, but the look she gave him spoke more the truth of his absence. It was a bittersweet separation. Bitter, because every part of her body ached when she thought about his touch, but sweet in the growing knowledge and surety of his love for her.

He pushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Can you cope with having me talk while we drive? We've got a long way to go tonight and although I want you to know everything before we get there, I'd rather not delay us any longer, if you're ready to leave."

Claire picked up her holdall and backpack. "Lead on MacDuff," she said as she closed the door on her previous life.

Over the next five hours as they drove south, Patrick told her about his visit to the Lahota medicine man.

"They don't believe in past lives. They don't believe spirits come back and learn more during each period of life they live. They honour the ancestors and their wisdom, but once someone is dead, that's it. They stay the age they were when they died."

"So what happened to us?" Claire asked. "How did we manage to dream the same dream, see the same people? What about your ring?"

"Oh yes, the ring." Patrick grinned at her. "Look in the glove compartment would you and bring out what you find?"

Claire searched amongst the maps and CD covers and eventually spied a small red velvet jewellery box.

"Do you mean this?" She showed it to him.

"Open it."

Carefully she opened the box, than gasped as she saw the beautiful gold ring enscribed with a twining serpent and two tiny diamonds in its eyes. "It's beautiful!" she breathed.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh yes!"

"Enough to wear it as your betrothal ring?"

Claire looked at him in amazement. Patrick took his left hand off the steering wheel for a moment and squeezed her hand. "I know I should be presenting you with this in some romantic setting whilst down on one knee, not half way along the M5, but could you try to imagine the setting and give me an answer? Claire, will you marry me?"

Claire looked at him, his eyes glued to the carriageway, then down at the serpent ring in her hand. She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it.

"Yes, Patrick. I would like to marry you very much."

Claire pulled the ring out of its holder and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. In fact, as she moved her hand so the diamond eyes caught the last of the setting sun, it felt as if she had always worn it, as if her hand was now complete.

"It's perfect," she breathed. "Thank you so much."

Patrick said nothing, as he negotiated the heavy holiday traffic leaving the motorway at Exeter and taking the Okehampton Road, but his face was a wreath of contented smiles.

"We're spending the night at Newquay," he told her an hour or so later when she woke from a short doze. "Then tomorrow, we'll be heading for Holywell Bay."

"Why there?"

"Caves," he said, switching on the windscreen wipers against the falling rain. "Tomorrow we're setting up camp in one of the caves at the far end of Holywell Bay."

Ygraine
Ygraine
60 Followers