The Big Finish writing contest - January 2007

[Honeylioness]

Writing Contest
The Big Finish
Writing Contest

Are you an aspiring author? Now is your chance to shine! Read the following scene, then write The Big Finish in 2,500–3,000 words. Let your imagination carry you away. What is the relationship between the characters? What will happen next? Is this a romantic comedy? Historical romance? Romantic suspense? You decide!

Something wasn't right. As the fog of sleep lifted, Elizabeth realized she was not in her own bed—the rough sheets constricting her limbs felt foreign against her skin. A strong scent filled her nostrils, her head ached, and it was a struggle to lift her eyelids. Where was she?

Elizabeth instinctively reached for the ring. It was gone!

With effort, she managed to sit up. Her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness, she could now make out billowing fabric surrounding the bed. Curtains?

Out of the shadows, a figure stumbled towards her.

"Luke, is that you?" she asked, surprised at the weakness of her own voice.

Now beside the bed, a deep male voice demanded, "What have you done?"


Now tell us the rest of the story..............

[Honeylioness]

The Fairy’s Gift

Something wasn't right. As the fog of sleep lifted, Elizabeth realized she was not in her own bed—the rough sheets constricting her limbs felt foreign against her skin. A strong scent filled her nostrils, her head ached, and it was a struggle to lift her eyelids. Where was she?

Elizabeth instinctively reached for the ring. It was gone!

With effort, she managed to sit up. Her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness, she could now make out billowing fabric surrounding the bed. Curtains?

Out of the shadows, a figure stumbled towards her.

"Luke, is that you?" she asked, surprised at the weakness of her own voice.

Now beside the bed, a deep male voice demanded, "What have you done?"

Raking heavy crimson strands off her face Elizabeth’s eyes focused on the ragged and blood-stained tunic of a Knight Templar. The distinctive red cross startling against the black of the warrior who for a time pledged themselves to the Order with the option to return to the secular life. The once crisp fabric now covered in ash and muck, pocked with singe marks. Smothering a groan of awareness, all she wanted in that moment was to hide under the covers and hope to the Goddess this was merely a bad dream. But the astringent smells of smoke, horses, and blood were all too real.

“Elisabeth….me dire maintenant!” the frustration in his voiced emphasized by the lapse into his native tongue, “Qu'avez-vous fait la Sorcière?"

The epitome of outraged manhood loomed over her. Putting aside her dislike of the English version of her name, Eilίs let herself momentarily forget their circumstance as she ran her gaze along his rugged face, meeting his eyes she saw the brief flash of fear and bewilderment beaten back by his impossible self-control.

His words brought her back to their current situation. Too often had she been called “witch” in a variety of languages for it to truly affect her anymore, her face as impassive as the voice which slipped past chapped lips.

Slowly swinging her feet to the floor as she replied, “My name is Eilίs, not Elizabeth…I do wish you would use it….Luke”.

Ignoring the fiery stare that by rights should have scorched her on the spot she began searching the bed linens for the missing ring – although her Spirit knew it had served it purpose and been reclaimed by the Sídhe.

The bed in shambles she sank heavily to sit with elbows on knees and dropped her head to rest into recently calloused palms. Events of the past few weeks washed over her even as Luc paced and ranted and sarcastically vented his preference for the name of his birth. She knew that calling him by the English version of his name would get a reaction and give him cause to tirade. Knowing also that until he had raged and voiced the feelings and thoughts they could not move on and find some kind of resolution.

With the ease born of years spent not listening to angry words, Eilίs shifted into that peculiar place where she was fully aware of all that surrounded her yet – apart – as though watching someone else’s life and fate be displayed upon a stage. Within this divided state her mind was unburdened to wander back.

France in 1308 was a dangerous place to be if you were a Templar Knight, and she had seen the way many in the streets had avoided any contact with them as they moved about the towns and cities. King Phillip was enraged by the Order’s refusal to give him use of their considerable financial assets. It was said that when he has approached their Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, the Knight had laughed in his face and dismissed the King like an overly-zealous street beggar. For that insult the Order’s ruling council and knights had been rounded up, imprisoned, and several were to be burned at the stake.

Closing ranks, the Order did a magnificent job of protecting their remaining leaders. It had taken almost two weeks to learn of Luc’s whereabouts and another to get the details of his intentions, a frustratingly long time for someone like Eilίs who was used to being able to read the hearts and secrets of those around her. Her bartering away of that ability just one of many things she was still learning to contend with.

Luc’s plan to rescue Jacques and the others by taking a corps of his serjens and ride into the square where the executions were to take place both awed and terrified her even as they served to draw her out of her dusky world and into fully into his. Wryly she smiled remembering their “first” meeting.

The tall, arrogant knight towered over the petite, cloaked figure which had somehow managed to enter his private quarters with none seeing. And then further igniting his male indignation, she had audaciously dared to warn him of the pending danger and plead with him to forsake his reckless mission.

Only from knowing him so long had Eilίs seen the momentary look of shock flicker over Luc’s face when he looked up from his repast to see a female appear out of the air to stand resolute in the middle of his chamber. As she took him to task, he blinked twice as though to clear his eyes before rising to fire back with a litany of questions: Who was she?….How had she gotten inside?…How did she know of his name? ….his plans?…and Whom did she plan on taking this information to for the highest price?

“I am Eilίs Ó Caiside, and I have known ye for many a year Luc”, her eyes softening even as her pulse picked up in response to finally being near enough to touch him without disguise , “I dinna mean ye any harm, I ne’er have.”

Entranced as she had always been by his stern good looks and passionate convictions, Eilίs had found her attention drifting to the way firelight shone in his midnight black hair, calling forth deep, almost blue, highlights that danced in the thick waves falling to his shoulders and mirrored the sapphire eyes which fixed her with their singular gaze.

Undaunted by a look that had sent many murmuring their own Last Rites she smiled almost secretly. Yielding to impulse, she stepped close as her right hand lifted gently toward his face. Alabaster fingers sliding softly through the ebony silk of his hair as her eyes deepened from pearlescent grey to a rich smoky hue.

“Muirnín, I beg you…do not do this thing…’twill end in death, and too long have we been apart”, her eyes shimmering with the force of her feelings as she told him of her love using the Ancient language, “Tá mé chomh doirte sin duit”

Swiftly his large hand had swallowed up her delicate wrist, his grip firm but not punishing. The furrow in his brow, the only outward sign of his recent sleepless nights and days, deepened.

“What do you mean…too long? Never have I laid eyes upon you until this hour woman”, a glacial edge moved swiftly into his crystalline eyes, “Or are you a Witch that you know what you know….and dare what you dare?”

“Nay M’Laird”, the sibilant brogue of her homeland arising as it did in times of deep feelings, “But Ye be th’one fer whom I was meant. And if my lot ‘tis to save ye from this folly ….then accept the burden gladly I do”

Even as the words left her lips a tingling rose from deep within her bones. Resonating throughout every fiber and concentrating itself where his rough hand still encircled her soft wrist.

“Sorcière!”, with a quick motion Luc dropped her arm and stepped back, eyes dilated in disbelief as he shook his head from side to side. Eilίs chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughingly pointing out that while the motion made him look like a lion perplexed by a rabbit walking on it’s tail, denials were of no usefulness when dealing with the Sídhe’s plans.

“I am Luc Reynaud de Varney”, his words spitting forth in defiance of the connection that had flashed between us, “And no person in Christiandom, let alone a woman, tells me what to do!”

The Guards had been summoned. And Eilίs meekly allowed them to escort her to a small dark cell in the belly of the garrison. The heavy sounds of a door being barred gave her pause for a moment, wondering how that sound would affect one who had no hope of leaving this foul place. Awakening the next morning in her small, cozy cottage near the sea she almost wished there had been a way to see the Guard’s faces when they discovered the windowless cell was empty.

Rising she washed her face, broke her fast, and began gathering the necessary items. Going to see Luc and trying to persuade him mortal to mortal had been a long shot at best. But she had done it for him, though the Elders had told her it would be to no avail. She had to at least try.

Waiting for the day to pass and the sun to glide behind the horizon, her awareness of the sacrifice she was about to take lay heavy in her Spirit. Everything rested on the outcome of the next two days and she prayed for the strength to continue on this path and the consequences of her choices.

As the last fingers of light slipped into the ocean she moved deeper into the copse of woods behind her home. The loden green of her gown swirled gently around petite curves and contrasted well with the rich auburn of her hair. In a small clearing there stood a moss-laden plank set crosswise atop two weathered stumps, on the soft lichen the sacred items rested upon this altar of nature. Lighting the Sacred Candles her melodic voice flowed into the surrounding brush as she began the Calling to connect with the Others:

Manawydan, son of Llyr, brother of Bran and Branwen,
Faithful friend of Pryderi and Husband of Rhiannon,
King of the Sea, Patron of voyagers,
Open the Gates between the Worlds, we pray to you.
Open our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the Gods,
So we may Commune with You and be Blessed.
Manawydan, open the Gates

I bid you:Gadael hi bod! Gadael hi bod!

Hours later as the Sun began it’s lazy ascent back into the heavens, Eilίs wearily made her way back to the comfort of her cottage. Her dealing with the Sídhe and the Ancients had been long and draining, and she had almost faltered in her chosen path when her mother’s Spirit had wept. Leaving the copse and using the last of her strength to open the small door, she spared a thought for how odd it was that all still looked so normal, when she herself had been changed forever. Crawling upon her cot she was asleep before her eyes closed. Fingers of sunlight spilled through the multi-paned windows, dancing around the blood-red gem which appeared on her left index finger. Her final gift from the Others.

“Vous m'avez entendu?”, the raspy sound of Luc’s voice pulled her back from her mental wanderings as he asked again, “Elisa…did you hear me?”

Raising her head from its cradle in her hands she looked at him with eyes that burned, their dove-grey color dulled to slate in her turmoil.

“Aye Luc, I heard you…You don’t believe in Magic or Elves….You want to go back…You don’t understand how you got here,” …rising to her feet she felt every one of her 300 years as she advanced, her voice rising with each word…”Do you think I should have left you to be slaughtered by the King’s troops, or perhaps burned with Jacques?”

Days of stress fear over the life of the one who was the other half of her Soul flooded into Eilίs and sent her straight towards him, tightly clenched fists swinging at his chest and arms as she poured out the litany of her feelings and the facts of their lives. Tears flowed to dampen the bodice of her gown as she gave voice to it all:

“Since ye was born have I been with ye…watchin’ ye…lovin’ ye…remember not the story of the angel who saved ye from the fall out of the largest oak?…or yer cousin being sure a wood sprite had pulled ye from the river when the ice gave way?….”Twas ME!!!…and now, I have surrendered my immortality ta keep ye safe..and all ye can do is rage ….”

Collapsing into wrenching sobs that seemed likely to tear her elfin frame apart, Eilίs was unaware of the warm strength of Luc’s arms as he held her securely to his chest. A myriad of emotions and thoughts crashed into him as each of her words rang true in his heart. Nor did she see the changing of his features as disbelief gave way to memories he had told himself were merely the result of too much mead. Again he felt that resonating tingle of sensation which seemed to come from every point of contact with the woman he held, the feeling binding them in some way.

Scooping her up he moved towards the bed once more, setting down and lifting his soiled boots with no regard to the fine linen of the bedclothes, to lean against the ornately carved headboard. Cradling Eilίs to his breast as his hand gently caressed the thick tresses that flowed down her back.

“Shhh…hush now….do not cry so….Yes, I remember the angel. One moment I was falling off the flimsy branch I had let my brother goad me onto, and then it was if soft cushions enfolded me and lay me gently onto the ground”

Her voice came muffled from the crook of his neck, “Well, I could not let you die so young, ‘twas not meant to be.”

Luc’s mind moved more quickly now through other unexplained incidents, “The time I was lost in the woods and thought I saw a white deer. I followed that hart and come through the woods safe.”

“‘Twas I my Love”

“And the timbers which fell from the Hall’s ceiling after too much rain, barely missing me?”

“Aye my Love, I was there also”

For long minutes the only sounds came from the soft breeze whispering through an open window, carrying with it the sent of sweet grass and clover. Content to finally rest against the heart of her Soul’s Other…Eilίs breathed deeply of his skin.

Luc spoke quietly as though to himself, “I am a man who has lived only by what I can see, or make with my own efforts…So how was I to react when you appeared from the air in the middle of that hellish fight trying to free Jacques and the others? A vision of softness who took my hand and told me we must leave that place…while all around us men were bleeding and dying…?”

His voice fell silent again as they both remembered the carnage and cruelty wrought by a King’s greed and wounded pride.

A firm finger lifted her chin and brought her face up to his where his dark eyes all but demanded she not look away, “What did you mean….gave up your immortality?”, the furrow in his brow darkening like a thundercloud.

Her loving smile conferred to Luc grace and peace with her decision as she gently spoke of her Path. Her Elfin father and Druid mother, growing up knowing she was not like either race, the centuries of learning her gifts and how to use them without interfering too much in the lives of mortals.

She told him of the odd sense of connection she had felt with his mother, seeing him born and unable to help herself she had leaned over his cradle to kiss his forehead, knowing in that moment how she was meant for the small babe. Her arguments that night in the woods with the Sídhe, and the wrenching conditions upon which they would grant her use of the Blood Stone ring to remove him from harm…that they must go to another time and place….and she would become mortal.

Holding up her soft hand to show the raw patches on her palm, “See my Love, my first blisters, perhaps I should not have grabbed for your steed’s reins without gloves.”

Still stroking her silken hair, Luc released a long sighing breath feeling something unwind within his breast. As though he breathed air for the first time.

Kissing the wounded flesh he spoke against the broken skin, ”No, you shall not damage yourself ever again…I command it.”, several moments of silence again descended before Luc asked, “So where does that mean we are mon ange?”

A slow smile curled the sweet bow of her lips as she looked about the chamber and out towards the hills which could be seen from the open window, “They call it…Kentucky”, with a tender look she gazed at him questioningly, waiting for his response before revealing the year, 1756.

“You believe me then?”

Anxiously she waited for his response. Of all the places the Ancients had shown her, this one, where Luc could use his skill in the breeding and training of horses, had seemed best suited to her Knight.

His eyes followed hers and he looked out onto the steep but short hills covered with verdant grasses which undulated in the soft breeze, a feeling of belonging starting to take root in his mind. For a brief moment he saw three children gamboling inside a paddock with a roan colt, but with the blink of an eye the picture was gone, leaving the certainty of it’s truth behind.

“I think I must mon coeur précieux, for there is something in my soul which tells me you must never again be far from my arms.”

[Honeylioness]

Grand Prize Winner:

For her story of two high school rivals reunited at a wedding … Katherine London of Florida

Elizabeth's heart quickened in response to the assault on her senses. Pulling the sheets out from the side of the bed, she bolted upright, brushing her wavy chestnut hair out of her eyes and into a loose knot behind her neck.

Weakness had been replaced by strength, which in her case was a rather odd concoction of fear, anger and, much to her chagrin, intrigue.

She attempted to cover this last emotion with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I'm not grounded, am I?"

Luke Thomas was standing next to the bed, close enough to reach out and touch. She tried to focus through the flimsy material surrounding the four-poster as he bent to pick up her overnight bag, the contents of which had spilled out onto the Mexican tile when he barged in unannounced.

He glanced up as he scooped her belongings off the floor, smirking as he stopped to admire her lavender push-up bra and matching thong, made of material about as transparent as the curtains surrounding her.

Luke's lips curved into a half smile before he continued his cleanup efforts. "I regret not catching up with you sooner, Lizzy."

Her pale skin betrayed a blush that was spreading from the neck up after Luke's impromptu inspection of her unmentionables.

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "My name is Elizabeth."

He had grown another inch or two since high school, standing well over six feet. Time only served to enhance his rugged features. Several days of stubble darkened his olive skin, which was tanned from the many hours he spent outdoors as a fishing guide in the Florida Keys.

Smelling faintly of soap, his hair was still damp from the shower. He was partially clad in button-fly jeans, with a towel draped around his neck. Apparently a well-defined physique was a side effect of his occupation.

Elizabeth flipped on the lamp and briefly wondered whether she was no longer immune to his power over the opposite sex. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of that second mojito cubano she'd consented to at the bachelorette party last night. Or had it been the third?

He looked down at her with actual concern. "You look like crap."

"Oops." Now it was her turn to smirk as she remembered the evening with the girls.

She did an inconspicuous once-over of her appearance in the antique mirror on the wall.

d**n it. He was right.

Elizabeth had forgotten to bring her makeup remover and had had to rely on a minute bit of white gardenia shower gel and buckets of water to get the job done. Her success had been limited as she saw blue eyes still smudged with traces of mascara looking back at her.

Stray curls had escaped in an attempted mutiny when she'd tried to calm her wild mane without the requisite styling products.

A run to the drugstore was on the to-do list this morning. Much, much, later this morning.

But the price, both literally and figuratively, was well worth it. Elizabeth had splurged, renting a limousine to bring the women to several hot spots on South Beach to celebrate Holly's last days as a single woman before she married Michael. No wonder Elizabeth's head felt as if it had been hit by a brick.

Then her left hand drifted again to her right forefinger. The ring really was missing.

"Double oops," Elizabeth mumbled, though this was an understatement, and one on which she chose not to elaborate. The maid of honor losing the groom's newly engraved wedding ring was bad, bad, very bad.

She scanned the sheets and came up empty. Heart palpitations began to set in.

Luke brought her silent pity party to an abrupt halt. "The rehearsal is in four hours and we can't find the bride."

Denial was as thick as the fog floating through her head. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, now recognizing the bold aroma of freshly ground coffee brewing in the kitchen.

This couldn't be happening.

Despite the palpitations, a large dose of caffeine was clearly necessary if this conversation were to continue.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed in the direction of her best friend's future brother-in-law.

"This has to be a mistake. The limo dropped Holly and me here at four o'clock this morning, then we each found a room and crashed for the night."

Holly Hardwick, aka best friend and absent bride-to-be, was a real estate agent. One of her affluent clients had graciously offered the wedding party two nights at this Spanish-style rental in Coconut Grove because of its proximity to the church where she was to marry Luke's younger brother tomorrow.

The rehearsal dinner was not until this afternoon at four. Elizabeth fumbled around the floor and found her cell. Detaching it from the charger, she glanced at the time. There was no way…

Luke appeared privy to her thoughts. "Crashed for the night? You mean what little was left of it, along with the entire morning."

That's when she saw the time. "It's one o'clock!" she exclaimed. How had she allowed herself to sleep so long? "Why didn't the cell alarm wake me at 10:00 a.m.?

She checked her messages for word from Holly. It was empty.

"Maybe she just ran an errand." Elizabeth tried Holly's phone. It went straight to voice mail. "Call me!" she said before she disconnected.

Luke shook his head slowly, his tone less demanding, more tense. "What have you done?" he repeated.

"What have I done?" she sputtered. "How is it I'm getting blamed for this?"

He picked up her bag and dropped it rather unceremoniously on the bed. "Get dressed. We need to find her."

And as if it was up for debate, he added, "I'll drive while you try to make some sense of the note."

"What note?" This day had gone from bad to worse.

Elizabeth breezed through her morning routine faster than a hurricane, throwing on the white capris and formfitting pale blue scoop-neck sweater meant for later, then running from room to room in hopes of turning up Holly.

"Her dress is still in the closet, but her purse is gone!" she shouted, hoping Luke could hear her.

She brushed her teeth, splashed some cold water on her face, then stepped into her wedge sandals before grabbing the keys to the villa. It was a beautiful June day.

Luke was waiting in the kitchen, a travel mug next to him on the granite counter. His hair was dry and he had a shirt on. His brown eyes traveled from Elizabeth's neckline and continued south down toward her capris.

Suddenly she felt as if she were breakfast or, being that it was already early afternoon, brunch.

But Elizabeth wasn't on the menu.

It has been almost ten years ago that all the sophomore girls in school fell over themselves to get senior Luke Thomas to notice them.

Superathlete, he had been lucky with the ladies—so much so, there was a new flavor of the week on his arm every Monday.

But not Lizzy Stevens. Nope. She couldn't have cared less. But she'd had to endure his presence on occasion because her best friend dated his brother, Michael.

And thus began their adversarial relationship. Based on what specifically, Elizabeth couldn't remember. She supposed his adolescent male mind just couldn't come to grips with the one girl left at Ft. Lauderdale High School who wasn't smitten.

Luke said black; Lizzie said white. That's just the way it was, is and always would be.

Make no mistake, they cared about each other on some level, just not one that included being nice.

"What are you looking at?" She asked defiantly, waiting for one of his snappy witticisms.
Time hadn't changed much.

He passed her the travel mug. "I plead the fifth."

She grabbed the coffee, intending to sip first and ask questions later, but his kind gesture caught her off guard. "This isn't poisoned, is it?"

Luke laughed, and hustled her out the door, revving up his red extended-cab truck while she finished locking up.

As Elizabeth got in, she noticed a note waiting for her on the passenger seat. The handwriting was unmistakably Holly's.

M,
I need some time to sort things out. I'm going to my happy place for some quiet time. Elizabeth was right. I have to be sure. Please don't worry.
Love,
H.

"When I came up from Isle Mirada this morning, I found the note sitting on Holly's bed," Luke explained.

After high school Luke went away to college on a full baseball scholarship. A rotator-cuff injury brought his chances of playing in the majors to a screeching halt, though he had quickly rebounded with a successful career as a boat captain and fishing guide in the Keys, building a solid reputation with locals and tourists alike.

"How'd you get in to her room?" Elizabeth asked. "The door was locked."

"I'm a guy," he informed her, as if this explained everything.

She shook her head. "Where's Michael?"

"He's still at the town house. He's going to wait for her there in case she comes home."

"Is he okay?"

"He's a wreck. I told him we'd look around the usual hangouts and see if she turns up."

"Which 'usual hangouts' would you be referring to?" She looked at him quizzically.

While she kept in regular contact with Holly by cell, their busy lives often took them in different directions.

Elizabeth had gone to college and earned her degree in fine arts, and had worked as a gallery manager off Las Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale until recently when she decided to go back to school to teach. Holly worked in real estate and needed to be available for her clients at a moment's notice.

"What about Michael? What does he think?" Surely her fiancé knew where to look.

"He thinks the woman he wants to marry no longer wants him. I'm not counting on him to be a ball of fire at present."

"And how are we going to fix this?" She challenged.

"You are going to get into Holly's head and figure out where this 'happy place' of hers might be."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

His tone was one part angry, one part desperate. "It's the least you can do after causing this meltdown in the first place."

She started to argue, then saw the pain in his eyes.

"He's my little brother. I can't stand to see him like this."

"I know what you mean. I feel the same way about Holly." Then she added, "And for the record, I never intended to say anything that would stop this wedding. I love Michael like a brother, too."

Luke rested his muscular arm on the console between them. "Well, I suppose we have something in common after all."

She chuckled softly.

Traffic slowed and he turned his head toward Elizabeth. "You know Holly in a way that no one else does."

He had a point. Time being of the essence, she decided to give it a crack without overthinking things.

"Bakery, dog park, beach!" she blurted, as if vying for a spot on a game show.

He was looking straight ahead at the road as he contemplated her recommendations.

"Would that be in order of importance?" he asked.

She mulled it over. "I don't know about the bakery—she's worried about trying to fit into her wedding dress. Carbs are a double-edged sword. You have to weigh the instant gratification against the long-term consequences. But they have some lower calorie options at the French one—"

"Okay," he said, trying to move the process along. "So how about the other two?"

"Let's try the dog park," she said definitively. "The one in Plantation."

Luke frowned. "Why would she go there without her dog?"

"She'd go just to watch the other people's dogs. She says it relaxes her."

At this point they were doing about thirty miles per hour…over the speed limit.

He stepped on the gas and veered over to the right lane, nearly missing the proper exit. Elizabeth held her breath and looked in the side mirror, fully expecting a Florida patrolman to materialize and pull them over.

The coast was clear.

It was now a quarter to two, their progress halted by the multiple traffic lights on Sunrise Boulevard. The dog park was still fifteen minutes away.

"Our dogs love this place," Elizabeth said, thinking of her little guy, Bandit, who was staying with a neighbor until after the wedding.

"I miss my girl." Luke said.

"Why didn't you bring her with you?" Elizabeth asked, feeling a strange stab of jealousy.

"Because I didn't think Holly and Michael wanted a dog at their wedding." He laughed.

"You have a dog?"
Elizabeth blushed, embarrassed she didn't realize he was referring to his pet and not a girlfriend.

"Her name's Bonita. And before you laugh at the name, the shelter named her before I adopted her. I didn't want to traumatize her by changing it." Luke defended.

Elizabeth was speechless.

"We do everything together," he went on, when she didn't stop him. "She even loves the boat."

So they talked about their pets, and before Elizabeth realized what was happening, the conversation morphed into other things they had in common. They both loved sushi, running on the beach and exploring the Everglades.

Okay, so time changes some things.

The Plantation Bark Park came into view. Luke parked the truck and Elizabeth led the way in. Despite a thorough search of the premises, there was no sign of Holly.

Both silent, they got back in the truck and headed east towards the beach.

Finally, Luke spoke. "So why did you hate me so much in high school?" he asked.

"Why did you always taunt me?" she countered. "You gave me such a hard time."

"Because I liked you." He laughed.

"Y-You what?" she stammered. "How is that possible? I didn't chase after you, we always argued…"

His deep brown eyes sparkled with the memories. "That's exactly why I liked you," he explained. "You were different. I had to work to get your attention."

Now it was her turn to laugh as they continued towards the ocean in search of Holly.

"Let the women of Isle Mirada be warned."

"Actually Bonita is the only female in my home these days." He paused. "How about you?"

"I'm flying solo myself," she said.

They could see the beach looming on the horizon. There was an hour and a half left until the rehearsal dinner.

"I'm assuming when you said beach, you meant the jetties." It was more a statement than a question.

She nodded.

The jetties were a series of boulders on the beach that led into the ocean. People always seemed to come here to contemplate life at one time or another.

Luke parked at a metered spot, and turned to Elizabeth. "Whatever happens today, I'm sorry I blamed it on you."

"And I'm sorry I was such a witch in high school."

He raised his eyebrows. "You make that label sound as if it's past tense, Lizzy."

Elizabeth glared back, then they both burst into laughter. And then, with the exception of the waves crashing behind them, there was quiet.

They stared at each other, one, perhaps two seconds too long.

A loud rap at the passenger window disrupted the moment.

It was Holly. "Looking for me?"

"Holly!" They both cried in unison.

Luke popped the locks, and she got in the back seat. Then the questions came one after another.

"What…? How…? Why…?"

"I was going to wake you, but I knew how tired you must be, so I just shut off your alarm, and—"

"So you shut it off!"

"I'm sorry. I was just going to take a little drive, and before I knew it, I was here."

"But Michael…" Luke began, clearly wanting to know where his brother stood.

"Michael is good. I just called him." Holly put her head down. "I'm so lucky to have him."

"I'm just glad you're okay." Elizabeth patted her hand.

"You told me that when it's right, you feel it deep inside your bones." Holly smiled. "With all these wedding preparations, I didn't know what I was feeling."

Elizabeth looked on sympathetically as her friend continued.

"I just needed to come back to my happy place and realize what's important."

Luke had clearly reached capacity on processing emotions. "So are we having a wedding or what?"

Holly nodded, then looked at Elizabeth. "Do you mind driving me back? I could use a nap before the rehearsal dinner."

And as her best friend got back out and waved goodbye to her soon-to-be brother-in-law, Elizabeth screamed.

"What?" Holly and Luke both looked startled.

"You have the ring!" Elizabeth exclaimed, staring at Holly's hand. "I thought I'd lost it. Thank God!"

Luke raised an eyebrow. "You left that part out."

"I slipped it off your finger while you were sleeping," Holly admitted, holding up her thumb. "I had intended to give it to Luke for safekeeping, but I left before he arrived."

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

"My car is a couple blocks from here." Holly said. "I'll swing by and pick you up."

"Okay," Elizabeth called out. She turned to Luke, whose gaze she had felt all along.

"It's been some day," she started.

But he was done with conversation.

Instead, Luke reached out and touched her face tentatively. He ran his strong, calloused hand gently through her hair, slowly stroking Elizabeth as if she might vanish like the mist on the sea.

She met him halfway, his lips brushing against hers, cautiously at first, then with more urgency. Elizabeth felt emotions explode in her like fireworks one after the other: happiness, desire and something so right it went deep down to her bones.

She swallowed hard.

Time changes everything.

The End

[Honeylioness]

First Prize Winners (in alphabetical order):

For her magical story of a love that traveled across centuries… Diane Greenlee of Wisconsin

Startled by the strangeness of the voice, Elizabeth pushed herself back into the pillows.

“Insolent wench. I’ll have you whipped for practicing magic in my bed.”

The bed curtains were jerked aside. A dark-haired man with eyes the deepest, darkest blue Elizabeth had ever seen glared down at her. Then his eyes widened.

“Who the devil are you?” he growled.

Elizabeth could only stare at him. He was dressed like someone who worked at a renaissance faire, and judging from the pungent stench of horse and sweat, he had just gotten off work.

“Speak. Who are you?”

Elizabeth untangled her legs from the sheets as she struggled to get her bearings. All the mourners had gone home and, exhausted from her flight from Florida to Wisconsin, she had taken off the black suit she had worn to the funeral, changed into jeans and tank top and dragged herself to her old bedroom in her grandmother’s house. Clutching the ring Nana had left her, Elizabeth had cried herself to sleep, painfully aware that with her grandmother’s death she truly was alone in the world.

The ring.

Elizabeth frantically searched about the bed. She had fallen asleep with the ring in her hand. She looked over at the stranger and, despite her fear at finding him in her bedroom, anger rose within her.

“Where’s Nana’s ring? Did you steal it?”

The man’s fiercely handsome face hardened. “You dare call me a thief? It is you who are the trespasser, witch.”

“Witch?” Elizabeth blinked, her mind whirling. “I’m not a witch.”

The man’s dark blue gaze moved slowly down her body. “Then a succubus mayhap. You’re certainly comely enough. And your attire—fashioned so, I warrant, to entice a man to sin.”

Elizabeth looked down at her blue jeans and tank top. “What? These?”

“They display your limbs and flesh in a most…” he paused and his eyes flared "…unseemly manner. Mayhap you hope I’ll ravish you and thereby d**n my soul to hell.”

He was insane. A crazed lunatic from a mental institution, dressed like an extra for a King Arthur movie, had broken into her grandmother’s house.

“Where’s Luke?” she asked.

The man frowned. “Luke? Who is Luke?”

“Nana’s handyman.”

“I know not of whom you speak. Is this Luke perhaps your familiar?” He glanced suspiciously about the room.

Elizabeth followed his gaze. Her heart lurched within her chest. This was not her bedroom. She rose quickly from the bed.

The crazy man moved in front of her. “Where are you going, witch?”

“Get out of my way or I’ll scream.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“You've no right to—to do whatever it is you did in bringing me here. I demand you return me to my grandmother’s farm.”

“If a spell was cast it was you who did it. I felt the magic when I came into the room.” He frowned. “It made me ill and nearly unmanned me.”

“Magic? I don’t know anything about magic.”

“You deny your use of it?”

“Of course I deny it. I’m not a witch. My name is Elizabeth Barnes. My Nana—my grandmother, she…”

Grief knotted Elizabeth’s chest and tears burned her eyes. “She passed away. I came home for the funeral.”

She quickly ran through the last thing she remembered before waking up. “After everyone had gone home, I fell asleep.”

She looked at her empty hand. “I was holding Nana’s ring. She left it to me. I’d never seen that ring off her finger.” Elizabeth clenched her hand. “Holding it made everything so unbearably real. She was gone and I would never see her again.”

Elizabeth stopped. The crazy man was staring at her but his eyes were gentle. “You loved her.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “She raised me after my parents died.” Then she remembered her current situation. “Who are you? Where have you taken me? And why?”

“I am Valerian Corbet, and this is my castle. But I did not bring you here.”

“Castle?” Elizabeth looked around the room. It certainly looked as if it belonged in a castle. “But…?” Her eyes widened. “The year? What is the year?”

“The year?” Valerian stared at her. “It is the year of our Lord one thousand three hundred and sixty-seven.”

Elizabeth gasped. “And I’m not in Wisconsin anymore, am I?”

“Wis-count-son?” Valerian shrugged. “I know not that place. These are my lands, bequeathed to me by His Majesty Edward III.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “But…that’s not possible. This has to be a joke. Or a dream or…”

She suddenly felt faint and would have fallen to the floor if Valerian had not grabbed her arm.

“Are you unwell?” he asked

“I…don’t know. I feel…”

Elizabeth sagged against Valerian’s broad chest as the darkness rose up and claimed her.

* * *

Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes. She groaned and quickly closed them. Then, realizing she had no choice but to face this bizarre situation, she opened them again. The stone walls and tapestries of the bedchamber of the man who called himself Valerian Corbet surrounded her. And, once again, she lay in his bed, still clothed in her jeans and tank top.

The chamber door opened. Elizabeth quickly sat up. A young woman with butter yellow hair and bright blue eyes entered, closing the door behind her.

“Who are you?” Elizabeth asked.

The woman stopped at the side of the bed and titled her head. “Are you a witch?”

Elizabeth sighed. “No, I’m not.”

Disappointment shadowed the woman’s eyes. “Oh, I was hoping you really was a witch because I wanted you to teach me a love spell.”

“A love spell?”

She nodded. “To cast on Lord Corbet.” A wistful look fell over her face. “Is he not the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”

Fortunately, Elizabeth did not have to answer that because the door to the chamber opened and Valerian walked in. He stopped, his handsome face darkening. But his stern gaze was directed at the yellow-haired woman.

“What are you doing here, Alys?”

“Nothing, m’lord. I only wanted to see if she—” she cast a keen-eyed look at Elizabeth “—was hungry.”

Valerian shook his head. “Liar.”

Alys’s blue eyes widened. “No, m’lord.”

“You’re up to your usual mischief. I warned you that if I caught you—”

“No, m’lord. Before all the saints I swear I have not—”

Valerian grabbed Alys’s arm and led her out of the chamber. “Disobey me again and I’ll have you whipped. Now, back to the kitchen with you.”

Elizabeth heard Alys’s hurried footsteps receding away. Valerian came back into the room./p>

She rose from the bed and stood next to it. “You don’t mean that?”

He moved toward her. He must have bathed for he certainly smelled better.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ll have her whipped.”

“I will if I catch her practicing magic again. She thinks to enthrall me with one of her childish spells. It was she I thought was in my bed for I felt the magic upon entering the room.”

He thingyed a dark brow at Elizabeth. “Instead, I found you. And you still claim not to be a witch?”

“Yes.”

“Or a succubus?”

“What is that?”

“A female demon of unnatural beauty. She lewdly couples with men, thus condemning their souls to eternal d**nation.”

Elizabeth eyes widened. “I most certainly am not.”

“Then what are you? How came you to be here?”

“I told you. My name is Elizabeth Barnes. And I don’t know how I came to be here.” She pressed her fingers to her cheeks as a feeling of panic rose within her. “None of this makes any sense.”

Apparently sensing her distress, Valerian took her gently by the arms. “Pray, do not trouble yourself. I believe you.”

She looked up into his dark blue eyes. “You do?”

“I did not imagine the magic I felt. As I told you it nearly unmanned me.”

“You know about magic?”

He nodded.

“How?”

He told her that he was a student of alchemy and had, as a result, read many texts on magic. Elizabeth didn’t know much about the fourteenth century, but she seemed to recall that the Church had considered such practices witchcraft. She mentioned that to Valerian.

A sardonic smile curled his firm lips. “There are those in the Church who consider alchemy to be the work of the unholy one. But let someone discover how to transform base metal into gold and see how quickly they will declare such practices godly.”

“But what does any of that have to do with me? How did I get here?”

“I do not know.” He smiled down at her. “But I promise you I will do all that I can to find out.”

Elizabeth returned his smile. “Thank you.”

* * *

Valerian kept his promise. When he wasn’t attending to his duties as lord of the castle and the surrounding lands, he tirelessly sought a way whereby Elizabeth could be sent back or, in this case, forward to her own time. She tried to help him, but she was unable to understand, much less read, the obscure texts he consulted.

As for her sudden appearance in the castle, and to counter the rumors Alys had already spread that Elizabeth was a witch, Valerian told his servants he was holding Elizabeth for ransom, that she was, in fact, the daughter of a French duke, whom he had captured while she traveled to court.

Fortunately, just before her appearance, Valerian had returned from a long journey and, since none of the servants dared question him as to how he had managed to spirit Elizabeth into the castle unseen, the story was, at least on the surface, accepted.

So as the days turned into weeks and then into months, Elizabeth gradually became used to drafty rooms, woolen kirtles and mulled wine. She also tired to find ways to make herself useful about the castle for she hated being idle.

She soon discovered she had a flair for weaving and spent most of her days doing that with the other women of the castle, including Alys. They gradually warmed to her, especially when Alys finally shifted her amorous obsession away from Valerian to one of his new men-at-arms.

Elizabeth also discovered that although Valerian threatened to have servants who disobeyed him whipped, he never followed through with the threat. The harshest punishment any servant received from him was a fiery tongue-lashing, which was enough to keep the castle running smoothly.

In the evenings Valerian would dine with Elizabeth in the great hall. He would report on his progress of finding the means to send her home and she, at his bidding, would tell him what she had done that day. She noted that he seemed particularly interested in hearing how she was getting along in the castle.

Now, nearly seven months since her still-unexplained appearance in his bedchamber, Valerian joined Elizabeth for their evening meal. A wide smile lit his face and it transformed his normally fierce features in such a way that it never failed to make her heart race.

Sitting down next to her, he placed his hand over hers. Elizabeth’s heart hammered, but she did not know if the anticipation she felt sprang from hope or fear.

“I have found a way to send you back to where you belong.”

Now Elizabeth was absolutely certain what it was she felt. It was sadness. But she carefully hid it and returned his smile.

“Really?”

He nodded and told her how he would accomplish it. It was, as usual, beyond her understanding. When he was done he waited for her response, his hand still over hers.

She gently moved her hand away. “And you are certain this will work?”

He looked at her hand, which now lay in her lap, then shrugged his broad shoulders. “I can’t be entirely certain, but there’s a good chance it will.” He gave her a keen look. “That is what you want, is it not?”

“I don’t belong here,” Elizabeth replied, but the words sounded hollow to her ears.

Valerian stared at her for a long moment. “Very well. If that is what you want, to return to where you belong, I will do all within my power to see it done.”

Elizabeth looked down at her clasped hands. “Thank you.”

“Elizabeth?”

She raised her head and looked at him.

“Has it…” He cleared his throat. “Has it been so unpleasant here?”

She smiled. “Different, yes.” She looked deep into his eyes. “But unpleasant? No, not at all.”

“I can not even begin to imagine the time where you come from, though you have tried to describe it to me. However, I had hoped you had found something in my time that—” He stopped and shook his head.

Elizabeth placed her hand over his. “I have no idea what forces brought me here or why, but I have no regrets. And I will never forget you.”

He smiled and clasped her hand, his calloused palm warm on her skin. “On the morrow, then, we will try.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “On the morrow.”

* * *

Elizabeth shivered and rubbed her bare arms. She once again wore her tank top and jeans, but it wasn’t the chamber that was cold. A huge fire roared in the fireplace and the air was as warm as a summer’s day. No, the chill she felt sprang from within her for it was the iciness of anxiety.

Valerian walked around her, the light from the fire and the dozens of candles scattered about the room flickering on his coal black hair and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes were focused on the parchment scroll in his hand. He stopped, squatted and sketched some arcane figures on the floor around her.

“Is this going to work?” Elizabeth asked.

He looked up at her. “It should.” He showed the parchment to her. “This is a very old spell. The Spanish alchemist Ramon de Villanova translated it from the original Arabic into Spanish, and it was later translated into Latin. Not only was de Villanova a great scholar, he was a gifted alchemist. If any spell can send you back to where you belong, it is this one.”

Elizabeth nodded. Valerian finished drawing the rest of the magical symbols. He went back to the table, laid the parchment down and picked up a basin. Smoke rose from the incense within it and its sweetly pungent order tickled her nose. He spoke softly in what sounded like Latin.

When he was done, he looked over at her, his eyes gazing deeply into hers.

“Are you ready?”

She stared at him. Was she? Heaven help her, she didn’t know. It all seemed so unreal: Wearing her old clothes. Standing in the center of a supposedly magic circle. Waiting for this man, whom she now knew she loved, to send her back to a world where, with her grandmother gone, she was very much alone.

And it was that world that now seemed like the dream, for when Elizabeth tried to recall that day at Nana’s house before she woke up here, all that stood out in her mind was her grandmother’s ring. The ring she had left forward in time.

“Elizabeth.”

She looked over at Valerian. He had placed the basin on the table. The smoke from the incense swirled about his face.

“If this works,” he said, “and I believe it will, you will return to the time from whence you came. We will never see each other again. Is that what you want? Truly?”

Was it her imagination or was there a timbre of pleading in his voice?

“I don’t know…” She stopped and shook her head. “I must go back. I don’t belong here.”

Valerian moved from around the table. He stopped just outside the circle of magical symbols he had drawn around her.

“Then I have something for you to remember me by.”

She looked up at him, her heart constricting. “I won’t need anything to remember you by, Valerian. I’ll never forget you.”

“Nor I you. But, pray, accept this ring.”

He opened his hand and on his palm was a ring.

Elizabeth gasped. “That's Nana’s ring. Where did you find it?”

Puzzlement creased his brow. “Find it? I had it made. Several weeks ago.”

“But it’s my grandmother’s ring. It’s been passed down through my family for…” Elizabeth stopped and suddenly everything became as clear as glass to her.

She looked over at Valerian, and he at her. And the moment stretched between them like the passing of years upon years, and centuries upon centuries, and Elizabeth knew now, with all her heart, what it was she was meant to do and where it was she was meant to be.

She stepped outside the magic circle and into Valerian’s arms.

The End

[Honeylioness]

For cleverly envisioning our opening paragraph as part of a movie script…Amo "Ariana" Skrib'masino of British Columbia

"Cut! Ross, baby! The line is, 'What are you doing?' You're killin’ me here!"

A clamor of groans, shuffling and activity overcame the set. From the darkness an army of people appeared to primp, adjust, change and test every actor, prop, light and marker. The rich stage voice of the film's classically handsome star Ross had a petulant edge as he complained about whatever it was he was complaining about. Lainey had long ago stopped listening. With an exasperated and theatrical huff, she threw herself back onto the pillows while His Royal Prissiness and the director hashed things out…again. She heard Gary approach the bed.

"Still stumbling from the semidarkness, ‘Luke’?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Still waking up in strange beds?"

"And looking for a ring that ain’t there!" Lainey laughed heartily. "Story of my life!"

Gary sat beside her on the bed. God, she was happy he was here. Her agent was probably right about this being a good career move, but she would've walked off the set by now if it wasn't for Gary. Okay, maybe not walked off. Honestly, she wasn't the type. She would've seen it to the bitter end, but been miserable without Gary. She glanced at the still complaining Ross and moaned. It would have been a very, very bitter end, indeed.

The director swooped upon them from nowhere. "Lainey! Are ya feelin’ the rough sheets?"

“Feelin’ ‘em!"

"Smellin’ the strange…what is it? Script! What? Right! The ‘strong scent’?"

"Smellin’ it, Boss!"

"Great! Ya look great, gorgeous! With the curtains billowin’ an’ everything. Great! You!"

"Gary," Lainey offered.

"Right! Gary! Move your ass, Gary."

She exchanged grins with Gary and made a shooing motion. At the last moment he turned and looked right into her eyes, just for a second. God, he had engaging eyes. She shook off the grin his look always brought to her face. They were just friends. They were still friends. She sighed to herself as two people arranged her dark hair on the pillows. As she closed her eyes, she imagined it was Gary running his fingers through her hair. A delightful warmth rose up inside her, which she quickly tried to brush aside. She was lucky Gary didn't hate her. Seeing his face blossom into that warm smile when he saw her at the airport had been the highest point in her life.

After three years, he'd had every right to be angry.

Another take. This time it was a lighting problem. Lainey managed to look at him again and marveled at his laid-back manner. This was not the old Gary. This was not the angry dark-horse Brit she'd made friends with her first week in London. Gary was always a daring, by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of man. His answer to everything was to get half smashed at the pub and pick a fight. He was always good to her when she was down, and would find a way to make her smile, but he was too unreliable, too mercurial. She was a methodical, disciplined person. She phoned before showing up at someone's house. At cafés she always neatly folded the paper sachets after she emptied the sugar into her coffee.

They were contrary in every way. Gary liked to pick up women after shows or at the pub. A one-night stand would turn into three nights and suddenly the woman was a "life-sucking pregnant dog." He would pace restlessly around Lainey's flat while she made pancakes and eggs. She would feed him and would insert the appropriate agreeable noises as his tirade wore itself out. He didn't want to hear about his fear of commitment any more than she wanted to listen to a lecture on self-destructive relationship behavior whenever she went to him in tears after a breakup.

They yearned for each other's company when they were in pain, because they gave each other solace when everyone else was dishing up blame and pop psychology. Such became their pattern. He bedded anything in a skirt and then ended up at Lainey's, railing against the petty and shallow nature of women. She would fall in with charming men who told her she was beautiful, and when their duplicitous natures were revealed, she would end up at Gary's. Each regarded the other as the sole example of the redeemable nature of the opposite sex.

Had she ever thought of exploring the chemistry between them? Had she ever wondered what being with him would be like? Sure he was sexy and strong, masculine and tender, but they were good friends and she wasn't going to undermine that. Besides, they were too different. It would never work.

They argued about small, stupid things, getting on each other's nerves constantly—though it didn't drive them apart, which she'd always thought was rather odd. They'd bicker, then she'd say something condescending, then he'd say something mean. She'd go quiet, and he'd yell and kick something over and tear off in his car, tires squealing. He'd always show up later, though, to pick her up from work or take her somewhere. They'd act as if nothing had happened. That was their way of saying they were sorry, and all was forgiven. Lainey smiled to herself.

That was how it had been when she’d picked him up at the airport last week, seeing him again, as if nothing had happened. All was forgiven.

But it wasn't the same, was it? She had changed and so, obviously, had he. There was…an electricity between them. There had always been a closeness, from the first time they'd met…

"Okay! Places everybody! Can we do this thing?"

"The Big Finish, scene twenty-three, take seven!" The crack of the clapperboard filled the set. The wind machine started the bed curtains billowing. Lainey struggled to sit up and peered across the set to where Gary was stumbling toward her.

"Luke, is that you?" she whispered hoarsely. One of the fluttering red curtains gracefully slipped off its hook and half dangled off the bedpost.

"Cut! Jesus! Whoever hung that d**n thing, you're fired!"

Ross got up from his spot by the bed and stalked off to rail at someone who would no doubt be less than thrilled to see him. Lainey lay back on the bed and allowed the makeup and hair people to attend to her yet again. She smiled at Gary who was getting the same treatment.

She shook her corseted bosom at him playfully and laughed. He fixed her with his dark eyes, made a face of exaggerated arousal and ran his fingers through his dark curls like a cartoon bullfighter. They were playing, but they were not. The new energy between them was exhilarating. Erotic. They were still feeling it out, exploring its boundaries.

She'd first met Gary at the playhouse down the street from her small London flat. It had been her fourth or fifth sitting through The Lion in Winter, and as an aspiring actress, hungry to learn, she’d been taking notes. She'd noticed those eyes first: dark but shot through with copper like chocolate and cinnamon. He had soot black curls and a mischievous smile. He wasn't big and muscled but wasn't skinny, either—he was strong and lithe. He'd been sitting with his feet up on the headrest of the seat in front of him, a notebook on his lap, scribbling quick, short notes at intervals. They'd noticed each other and waved pencils.

After the play was over, they'd gone to the pub and talked for hours. He'd assumed she was doing an article for a local paper as he was, but when she confessed to being a "struggling" actor, he’d confessed to the same. The attraction between them had been one of warmth and comfort. They'd chatted like old friends. From then on, they'd been virtually inseparable. They always had a pint in the evening at the pub where she worked to pay the rent, then he'd walk her home. They went to plays together as well as acting class, and when he got a plum assignment, such as interviewing a successful actor or going backstage at a production, he invited her along.

They'd go out for an evening of dinner and dancing and talk about what they were going to do when they shot to success and glory. His performances were mesmerizing to her. His troublesome and impassioned nature gave his characters a life and vitality that captured her heart. Her acting style was more workmanlike. She studied and researched and knew she was doing a good job, but her portrayals never had the energy his did.

That same nature spoiled more than one gig for him, though. Perennially late, often hungover and easily bored, the old Gary was difficult to deal with. Difficult for her to deal with. She tried to reconcile that man with the man of quiet intensity who was softly conversing with a gaffer across the set. The man she remembered had screamed at her, smashing his glass of lager against the sitting room wall, and demanded to know why she was going back to Canada. The man she remembered had told her to go. Go to Canada, go to hell. The man she remembered had gripped her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers and quietly whispered, "Leave me. Go ahead. Get out."

This man before her now was not angry anymore, and she didn't know why.

The curtains were fixed, the set restaged and they started again from her line.

"Luke, is that you?" she asked weakly.

Ross's deep voice demanded, "What are you doing?"

Gary's voice cut through the darkness with steely determination.

"I've come to take Elizabeth home. Home with me." He staggered to the bed and grabbed a bedpost for support. His breath was ragged and his shirt torn, though not enough to reveal his muscular chest—a concession to Ross's insecurities.

"Elizabeth belongs with me," Gary continued, and took her left hand. His touch caused a quiver within her that caught Lainey off guard, but it must have worked for the scene because no cut was called.

Gary moved nearer, and his face flashed with concern at seeing no ring on her finger.

"She isn't your wife, Luke. She never was. She has more here than you were ever able to give her."

That was Lainey's cue, but Gary had drawn himself onto the bed and put two fingers on her lips while he slipped his arm around her. What was he doing? The warmth of his body was dizzying. It was a body she had hugged and touched and coyly punched a hundred times, but this had never happened before outside her dreams. Fantasies were a…they were statistically common among women… They… We have dreams about men we know… Her mind was racing as he brushed his cheek against hers and spoke quietly.

"You're right. I couldn't give her what she needed, but I'm back. I'm a new man, and I'm taking her home." Gary locked eyes with her. "If she'll have me."

Someone yelled cut. People were milling around again. Lainey was only half registering it. Gary was ignoring it all. He had guided her back and they were both lying on the bed. He looked down at her, their faces thrillingly near.

"You hated me," she said almost timidly.

"Never. I just didn't want you to leave, luv."

"I didn't want to go." Her eyes welled with tears. "But things were getting too crazy. I needed a change of…"

"I was getting too crazy," he said calmly. She tried to shake her head in denial, but he smiled and contradicted her with a nod. "I was getting out of control and you needed to pursue your dream without a half-drunk bloke hammering on your door every second night."

"I would never turn you away."

"That was part of the problem, luv. Part of it," he said as he stroked her hair. The director was at the bedside now, ranting about something, but neither of them heard. "I always thought I had something or other to be worked up about, and then you left and I had…I had a real reason to be angry." He sighed and let his head fall on her bare shoulder. He lifted his head again and looked directly at her. "Not angry—sad. Heartbroken. Devastated."

She broke eye contact, shifting and moving restlessly beneath his weight. She was trying to dissipate the intensity but she only succeeded in kneading their bodies together deliciously. Oh, God. "Gary. It wasn't all you. I was…"

"We were what we were," he smiled playfully. He rubbed noses with her, then let his bottom lip gently brush against hers. It was electrifying. Lainey suddenly felt every inch of her skin acutely.

"We didn't know what we had, but now we do," he said. She nodded silently in agreement as he kissed her deeply.

"Cut, cut, cut, cut! I am the star here! Ross yelled. “Isn't anybody listening to me? Is any of this in the script? I am supposed to kiss the girl at the end of this scene! I am still the star here, aren't I? This is not how this is supposed to end!"

The End

[Honeylioness]

For her poignant story of a widow letting go of the past to embrace new love…Sirena Van Schaik of Ontario

The words echoed in Elizabeth’s ears and panic seized her, bringing a sting of tears to her eyes. What have I done? Elizabeth wondered as she grasped the sheets tightly. What haven’t I done?

The figure came closer, parting the fabric that surrounded the bed as if they were gossamer wings. Elizabeth’s breath caught at the sight of the shadowy shape hinting at an athletic man. A whisper formed on her lips, passing between the space between them with a sigh. ” Luke.”

Tension filled the air as the man reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Tears slid unwelcome down her face as she realized her mistake. This wasn’t Luke; it could never be Luke. He had died over two years before, and no amount of wishing could change that. The pain in her heart was mirrored in the eyes of the man sitting on the edge of the bed.

”I’m not Luke, Elizabeth. I can never be him.” Anger filled his deep voice and eyes, but Elizabeth could hear something else, something that sounded like regret.

“I’m sorry, Jessie. I—I wasn’t thinking,” Elizabeth stammered, shame causing her to look down at her clenched hand, the hand that was bare of the wedding ring she had worn these past ten years. The white line on her skin was the only reminder of what had been resting on her finger, what had been resting on her heart.

Jessie followed her gaze and when she glanced up at him, she saw so many questions on his lean face.

He was beautiful; she could finally admit that. Could finally admit that she moved toward him like waves toward the shore, but it scared her more than a lifetime of being without Luke.

Jessie’s dark brown hair glinted with the slightest shade of honey, matching the warm, golden depths of his eyes. Staring into them, Elizabeth found herself drifting in their gentle sweetness, feeling both dizzy and steady.

No. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the flow of emotions that flashed in her own green eyes. They’re not clear blue, Elizabeth silently berated herself. They aren’t Luke’s eyes. They don’t fill with light when I enter the room.

* * *

Jessie watched Elizabeth, her short brown hair tousled and smelling like the crisp, clean scent of newly fallen snow. The same snow that he had dried away from those errant locks only a few hours before. Snow that had left both her full carmine-coloured lips and sun-kissed skin cold and blue. Fear had crushed his heart as he had raced her back to the cabin and wrapped her in warm clothes and blankets. Only the lightest of breaths had proven that she was still alive in his arms. Why had she done it? Did she miss Luke that much that she was willing to give up her life to be with him?

Anger swept through him. “Why did you do it?”

Elizabeth’s glorious eyes shot open and confusion filled the emerald depths like mud clouding an inviting lagoon. Her lips parted around the question but she shook her head, clearing it of doubt. “How did I get here?” she countered, not ready to answer the question, not knowing how to.

“I found you in the meadow, under the tree. I carried you back here,” his voice was steady, but Elizabeth could feel his anger wash over her. He hadn’t needed to say which meadow or which tree; he knew that she understood him. It wasn’t Jessie’s meadow; it was theirs, hers and Luke’s.

Oh God, Luke, pain squeezed her heart and for a moment the room that she was resting in disappeared and all she could see was the hospital room where they had spent so many hours. Luke’s smile never waned even though his body did, the once strong body that the cancer had eaten away at until he was too weak to live any longer. She had tried to keep him here, had thought that her love would be enough to overcome the illness, but it hadn’t; she hadn’t been enough.

Jessie had been there with her, Luke’s oldest friend. They had both made their own promises to Luke, promises of life after him, promises of taking care of each other, helping each other through their pain but Jessie had been the only one who had kept his promises. Elizabeth hadn’t moved on, she had merely floated in the sea of memories that her and Luke had created. She hadn’t wanted to live, had only wanted to be struck down so that she could find herself in Luke’s arms again. God hadn’t answered her prayers, not when Luke was alive and certainly not after Luke had died; she would never hold Luke again.

Jessie had been there at Luke’s bedside alternating times when Elizabeth herself couldn’t be there. He had known Luke since they were kids and Elizabeth knew that Luke was not only Jessie’s best friend but also the only person he thought of as family. As Luke’s wife, Jessie had extended that family to include her and she knew he felt an obligation to her because of that.

Even though both men had never said anything, Elizabeth knew that Jessie’s last promise to Luke before he died had been to take care of her, to make sure that no harm befell the only woman Luke had ever loved. Jessie had done the only thing he could do, he had been there for her; at the funeral when he had held her hand in silence, and through the weeks that followed when he would call her unexpectedly or drop by to check on her. He had been there, seeing her through the hardest times of her life. Even when life had separated them for a time, she would find him, months later, on her doorstep and they would fall back into the pattern of companionship that they had grown to enjoy.

Elizabeth didn’t know when she had started falling in love with Jessie. Perhaps it was in the first few weeks after Luke had died, when Jessie had been her compass. Maybe it had only been the last few months, when she would find herself thinking of him while she worked, wondering when his next visit would be and how long he would stay with her. Regardless of when it started she knew that the realization had come only that night, when they had driven up to the cabin that all three of them had rented years before.

The evening was spent like any other, laughing about their times with Luke, remembering his love for both of him. Then the laughter quieted, bittersweet tension filled the air and they were pulled towards each other like two stars colliding. When the kiss ended, Elizabeth had felt like the world she had created for herself was collapsing and she ran blinded by tears into the snow-shrouded night.

Elizabeth shook herself from her reverie,” I’m sorry,” the words soft and filled with things left unsaid. I’m sorry for falling in love with you. I’m sorry that you can’t love me back. I’m sorry that Luke made you promise to take care of me.

Tears shimmered in her eyes but Jessie found himself angrier with her for everything she hadn’t said. He reached out and cupped her delicate cheek, softly rubbing his calloused thumb over the cleft of her chin. He felt her stiffen and his hands dropped to her shoulders, resting limply against her. He could feel her bones through the flannel nightshirt he had dressed her in. She felt so frail and delicate, like a china doll that would break in his large hands. Where had the radiant and lithe woman gone? Had she mourned Luke that much that she had allowed herself to drift away to nothing? His eyes beseeched hers and when Elizabeth turned away to stare at the snow drifting down on a tapestry of black velvet beyond the window, he whispered, “Elizabeth, speak to me.”

She continued to ignore him, her thoughts turned inwards, not seeing the world around her but some other world. For the first time in his life Jessie felt jealous of Luke, jealous of his warm and vibrant friend who was the opposite of his dark, six foot six frame. Luke had been the small guy, athletic and sunny with his blond hair and blue eyes. He had drawn women with his natural charm and his winning smile but Jessie had never envied him. He had quietly gone through life, a darker, more serious companion who had seen the way the world could hurt you. Even when Luke had caught the eye of the pretty brunette sophomore that he later married, Jessie hadn’t been jealous, even though he had loved Elizabeth from the very moment she had walked into their college class.

Now though, as he watched Elizabeth, he was jealous of Luke, jealous that he still held her heart two years after he had left her. He had spent months praying to God that he could take Luke’s place but in the end, Jessie was left hating Luke for leaving her alone and destroyed. What am I doing, he asked himself, his one hand slipping from her shoulder to push the thick hair off his forehead, she’s still in love with Luke; she could never love me.

The need to hear the words from Elizabeth overwhelmed him and he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. He could feel his anger drain and his desperation grow. He needed to get this over with, move on and know that he had fulfilled his promise to Luke to watch over her for as long as he could. If his own promise went unfinished, that was the price he was willing to pay just to continue on.

Elizabeth’s head jerked back and fell against the white pillow making her hair seem more like ebony then the chestnut hue it usually was. Her green eyes shimmered in the dim light and she gazed at him with confusion, her body shaking in…fright. She’s scared of me, he thought.

“Why did you go out there, Elizabeth? You could have died, don’t you know that,” Jessie’s eyes filled with unshed tears as his hands squeezed her shoulders trying to will her to say something. When his words were met by silence, he continued to fill the space,” Is that what you wanted? Do you want to die so you can go to him? Did you race out to the meadow to die?”

Elizabeth’s head swam from all the questions but she couldn’t find her voice to answer. Jessie was so angry with her. The meadow had been such a special place for her and Luke. It was in that meadow, under that tree where Jessie had found her tonight, where she and Luke had made love for the first time. It had been the place where Luke had proposed.

“No, no,” Elizabeth’s voice gained strength and conviction as she talked,” I wasn’t trying to die. I just wanted to be closer to Luke. I just needed time to think.”

“In the middle of a blizzard. Without your coat? What were you thinking?” Jessie pulled away from her and began to pace the room.

The gossamer fabric fluttered in the breeze of his passing and Elizabeth suddenly felt cold without him close to her. Sinking deeper into the blankets Elizabeth watched him pace like a caged tiger, ready to spring on her and tear her to shreds, “I wasn’t thinking. I was just reacting. I needed to be where I felt close to Luke. I needed to talk to him,” raising her hand, she silenced the words that were forming on Jessie’s lips, “not tomorrow. I needed to talk to him now. I needed to say…”

The words died in the air between them. Jessie stopped pacing and turned to look out the same window she had been staring out only moments before. His shoulders slumping as he silently finished the words for her, you needed to tell him that you would always love him, that our kiss was a mistake.

Elizabeth bit her lip, terrified at what she had almost said, deciding finally to avoid the disappointment of Jessie not loving her. “I know that Luke asked you to take care of me Jessie. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do it anymore.”

She could see tension fill his wide shoulders from her perch on the bed and she ached to reach out and ease the pain from them. Her hands gripped the sheet again and she found herself counting to still the flutter in her heart as she continued,” It’s been two years and I’ve learned to live without him. I have my bad days,” a sorrowful smile crossed her lips as she remember herself tonight, kneeling in the cold snow, tears streaming down her face and the wind pulling at her clothes as she explained to the empty meadow how she had fallen in love with Jessie.

“But they are getting farther apart. You don’t need to make sure that I get on with my life, you need to start worrying about you getting on with yours.” The thought of Jessie falling in love with someone else hurt more then she could believe. She felt the tears slipping from her eyes at the bitterness of the irony. Finally, after two long years, she had kept her promise to Luke and found love again. She was finally getting on with her life only to grieve for a man she could never have, a man who would never love her.

Jessie turned slowly from the window, his eyes shone in the darkness with years of pain and guilt that he had never released. His strides carried him swiftly to the bed and he hesitated before opening the curtains. His voice was even deeper then it had been earlier, despair lacing his sombre tone as he murmured,” I don’t want to get on with my life, Elizabeth, not if it means living without you.”

Elizabeth started, her eyes searched his as he fell to his knees beside her, his hands clutching the covers as he stared at her with naked emotion playing across his face,” I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I have fought it for so many years but I can’t anymore. I love you, I have loved you forever and I will love you for eternity. I don’t want to lose you and if that means that I can’t measure up to the love you had for Luke, at least let me be with you as a friend. I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

Jessie hated the vulnerability he could hear in his voice but the thought of walking away from her, or worse of her walking away from him, had brought all his fears out into the open. He could never compete with the memories she had of Luke but he was willing to be second best.

Elizabeth leaned toward him, her long slender fingers slid along the backs of his hands, her tears splashed against his fingertips as she leaned towards him. “I will always love Luke. He was my first love, and I will cherish the memories I have of him.” Defeated, Jessie tried to pull his hands away but Elizabeth held them tight.” I went out in the storm tonight, not because I wanted to die. I went out because I needed to tell Luke that I had fallen in love again.”

Hope shone in Jessie’s eyes as Elizabeth crawled closer to him, “I love you, Jessie. I have loved you for a long time and I finally realized it tonight.”

Jessie reached out and pulled her to him. His face tilted up to her as Elizabeth bent down towards him. Their lips touched and Jessie moved towards her, rising so he could crush her against his chest. Warmth sparked from Elizabeth’s lips and spiralled down her body in dizzying waves leaving her with a feeling of elation. Jessie tasted like the sweetest of honey and his warm breath infused her as he broke the kiss. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispered on the air between them.

Elizabeth felt a humming spread through her body as she looked into his golden eyes, “and I love you, Jessie,” she answered.

Curling her into his body, they fell back on the bed, her head resting on his shoulder, his hand rubbing her back, their lips touching over and over again as she reached up to taste him.

The snow through the window continued to fall in the black velvety night, like a million stars shooting across the sky, while Jessie and Elizabeth lay in each other’s arms whispering of the future before them.

The End