Thirteen
Isha's feet barely touched the steps as she flew down the back door toward the stable. The fat rain fell fast, darkening the last of the daylight. She was oblivious to the cold rainwater seeping into her black leather boots and dampening her violet-colored dress.
She ran as fast as her legs could carry her past the stables and into the meadow. Drops slid continuously across the glass of her spectacles, rendering them useless. She slipped them from her face and into her pocket, relying on what poor vision she had. Across the emerald grass, not another soul could be found…except for a few scattered sheep.
"Malak!" she cried, her voice drowned out in the growling thunder. "Malak, where are you?"
Rain pelted her face as she whirled around looking for him. Could it be true? Had she been in the company of an angel all this time? The supernatural powers and the unearthly knowledge would have been a giveaway, but his behavior and his looks were anything but angelic.
"Malak, please. Appear to me!" What a switch. Ever since she'd met him, she'd ordered him to disappear from her life for good. What if he chose this precise moment to obey her?
"Malak!" she shouted with a stomp of her foot in slushy earth. A few sheep lifted their heads, watching her with almost tongue-clucking disapproval. Her ears were filled with the rush of the rain and the distant thunder—but no Malak.
In frustration, she fell to her knees. She had it coming. She was stubborn and rude and she hadn't believed him, even when he spoke the truth. Her value wasn't measured by a wedding ring on her finger, and her beauty wasn't measured in the number of suitors clamoring for her. It was inside her, emanating from her, and it didn't matter if others noticed it. It was part of her, because she was already beloved. Malak had said she wore a veil, but the veil wasn't keeping others from seeing her beauty. It was keeping her from seeing her own.
A voice came from above her. "Here I am."
She looked up.
And beheld an angel.
As if by magic, her vision came into perfect focus when she gazed upon him. His skin was luminous, like a living candle flame, dispelling the encroaching darkness and giving him the most beautiful aspect. The rain had no effect on his clothes, his red cravat perfectly dry. The sheen on his hair had brightened to a shimmer, sparkling like diamonds on black velvet. And his eyes…
He extended his hand, lifting her from her kneeling position. "Hope you didn't land in a cowpat."
In spite of her bewilderment and awe, she chuckled. "Who are you?"
"You're a clever girl," he said. "Ask me something you don't know."
There was one question she simply had to know the answer to. It was a question that certainly anyone who had lost a loved one had wondered. But now that she had the opportunity to ask it aloud, the words formed a painful knot in her throat.
"My father," she began, unsure how to ask what she wanted to know. "Is he…" Her heart turned to water. What if she got the answer she was deathly afraid of? "Where my father is now…is he…is he happy?"
Malak smiled with his whole face. "Oh, yes."
Isha dissolved into tears, her sobs weakening her at the knees.
Malak bore her up in his strong arms. She curled her head into his chest.
"Go on and cry," he said. "Happy tears are heaven's best rain."
Two long years of anguish poured out of her in a long torrent of tears. "I miss him so much."
Malak tightened his embrace on her, his silence offering sympathy.
"I was a fool," she said, clinging to his lapels.
"So you are."
She chuckled wetly, and pulled away. Her tears stained his otherwise dry waistcoat. It was the only blemish upon his pristine clothes. "Oh, dear. Sorry for that."
"I don't mind. Looks better now."
She scraped a sopping wet sleeve against her cheek. "I thought angels wore flowing robes."
He cocked his head. "When robes were in fashion, we did. Quite frankly, I much prefer these garments. They really accentuate my beauty."
His mock vanity always drew out her laughter. "You are the wickedest angel I've ever met."
"Met many of us, have you?"
"Not really." She wiped the water from her face. "But if they're all as naughty as you, I'll recognize them immediately from now on."
He shrugged. "There is only One who is perfect. The rest of us must learn to see our imperfections and correct them."
"Is that why you've been hounding me? To show me my imperfections?"
He shook his head. "I think you are all too aware of your imperfections. I came to show you that they didn't have to blind you to the glorious creation that you are. The one that your father could see. The one that Alex Hastings can see too."
His voice became hushed, and still she heard it through the roaring rain. "So often people think that things are falling apart…when actually they are falling into place. Andrew Harkness is a man of weak and compromising character. If your sister had married him, he would have made her life a misery. I was sent to protect your sister from him. But it was in answer to Alex Hastings's prayers that I was sent to you."
His words threaded around her heart like a fruit-bearing vine. "He prayed…for me?"
"He's a good man, Isha. He cares very much about you. Apart from those living under your roof, he's the only other person who wept when he heard of your father's passing. He would make you a fine husband…if you'll give him the chance."
"I never thought about him. He seemed so painfully shy. I just couldn't understand why women should make him feel so ill-at-ease."
"Women don't make him ill-at-ease. Just you."
"Me? But why? Who am I that I should make him feel so uncomfortable?"
He sighed profoundly. "Because, Eveline Isha Elmwood, he sees in you what you have refused to see in yourself. That you are a bright and beautiful woman. If he wants so desperately to appeal to you, why can you not appeal to yourself?"
Water dripped from her spiked eyelashes. Alex Hastings. He could have his pick of any woman, and he chooses her?
She was indeed blind. Except her blindness went far deeper. By refusing to see her own worth, she wasn't just hurting herself. She was hurting Alex, too.
She was ever so grateful to him. What she saw as the least of women, he saw as a princess, above all the rest.
"Why me?" she muttered, and immediately she understood Malak's enigmatic words in the library. The answer really was more illuminating when asked out of humility than out of discouragement.
Malak pushed the wet strands away from her face. "I hope you spend the rest of your life contemplating the wonderful answer to that question."
He bent his head low and placed a warm kiss on her wet lips.
Malak smiled, his mischievous dimples creasing his incandescent skin. "Mmm. I'll never understand how you're able to do that. You make me feel…so good. I expect that as you become the woman you're created to be, you'll make others this happy too.
She smiled as a blush pinked her cheeks. And when her eyes opened once more, Malak had vanished.
Though darkness had fallen upon the meadow, there was oh, so much brightness in her heart. Coursing through her body was a new blood, an innate awakening. It showed her the power in her tenderness and the tenderness of her power. She turned back toward the house, seeing the candlelight flickering in the window. Though the night had grown chill, she felt gloriously warm, more alive than ever. Every step she took became the tip of the spear, the point of the wake. Nothing would make her take steps backward again. She was charging ahead with her new life, and she felt the limitless breadth of herself.
And for the first time, she was ready to share that with someone else.
Lucky him.
~~~~~~~
About the Author
Michelle Marcos is the award-winning author of several historical romance novels for St. Martin's Press.
She lives in Miami, Florida, and loves to hear from readers. You can connect with Michelle on:
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Discover other titles by Michelle Marcos at
https://www.michellemarcos.com
Unmasked, ISBN 9781301801442, E-book
Lessons in Loving a Laird, ISBN 9780312381790, St. Martin's Press
Secrets to Seducing a Scot, ISBN 9780312381783, St. Martin's Press
Wickedly Ever After, ISBN 9781429925150, St. Martin's Press
Gentlemen Behaving Badly, ISBN 9781429926485, St. Martin's Press
When a Lady Misbehaves, ISBN 9781429959346, St. Martin's Press
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