Page 35 of Beloved Beast

A storm surge or rogue wave? It made no difference, as it would be on them in seconds. He motioned to the boathouse and Glenna, still holding his hand, stumbled along with him in her semiconscious state. Luke had barely reached the corner of the wooden structure when the wave crested, hit the beach, and rolled over them like a huge gaping maw.

With all his enhanced strength, he managed to seize hold of the vertical corner boards of the building. Trying to gather her in his free arm he yelled above the crashing wave, “Hold on to me!” He gripped her hand as tight as he could. They were instantly submerged and he could hear wood snapping and boulders grinding like gnashing teeth as the water rushed past, pelting them with gravel and splintered dory wood. Then, as suddenly as the wave tried to take them inland, it receded and pulled at them with unholy force toward the sea. The water hissed as it rushed back. As tight as he held Glenna, her grip on him softened.

He tried to cry “Hold on” but could only cough up sea water from his lungs. She met his gaze through the tumbling, flotsam-filled surf, a mournful look on her face. As strong as he was, he could not fight and defeat a wall of water. She mouthed “I love you” as the retreating wave pulled her from his grasp.

The last of the wave rolled out to sea and she was gone, the suction so great the leather glove had been torn from his hand. The one that held his beloved wife. His clothes were in shredded tatters and he coughed and sputtered up sea water. The rain lashed against his skin as he held the corner boards of the wrecked boathouse in a death grip. “Glenna!”

The only response was the howling winds, stinging surf spray, and crashing waves. As he stood shakily to his feet, he let go of the boathouse corner and staggered to the edge of the water. He scanned the sea searching, hoping, looking for any sign of her.

Glenna was gone.

Luke sank to his knees as the leather glove washed up next to him on the next wave. He let out a desolate wail.

Glenna was gone…

Bolting upright, his eyes snapped opened and he cried, “Glenna. My love, Noooo…”

* * * *

Jolted awake by Luke’s terrified screams, it took a moment for Gillian to focus on what was happening. Glancing at him sitting upright in bed, his face was frozen in horror, beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead and temples. Before she could respond, he started to thrash about, obviously still in the grip of his waking nightmare. She grabbed his arm, shaking it to get his attention. “Luke…”

With an agonized moan, he swatted her aside as if she were no more than an annoying fly. She would not be deterred; she scrambled to kneel in front of him, straddling his hips as her hands framed his face. “Look at me. It’s only a nightmare,” she soothed. “Wake up, Luke.”

She grabbed a fistful of the top sheet and slowly blotted the cold sweat from his face. Her heart tumbled as she observed his tears were mixed with the perspiration. “Yes. It’s all right. You’re here with me.”

Still lost in his night terror, he didn’t look at her or respond. Instead, he groaned and buried his face in her neck. She embraced him, stroking his hair and whispering soft words to calm him. He trembled in her arms, and it touched her deeply.

After several minutes, he blew out a ragged breath, then pulled away and stared at her, as if trying to ascertain if she was actually there. Finally his misty, multi-colored eyes focused on her, his rapid breathing slowed incrementally. “Gillian?”

“Yes. It’s Gillian. You’re here with me in the Parker house in Charlwood.”

“Oh, God.” He sank to the pillows.

She followed him, curled up at his side, and laid a comforting hand on his chest. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Damn it all, it seemed real. It was the portrait, you see. Brought it all back,” Luke rasped.

Goodness, his heart still banged at a furious pace. “Brought what back?”

“The past. You see, I painted the portrait.” He still shuddered and she pulled him closer, bringing the blankets up to cover them both.

“You can paint? How wonderful. It’s beautiful, and obviously done with love.” She kissed his cheek and smoothed his damp hair lying across his forehead.

“My wife and I lived in Cornwall. I was a lighthouse keeper if you can imagine,” Luke murmured.

Ah, the isolated life he spoke briefly of. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Surprisingly, yes. But our idyllic life ended with the arrival of a hurricane.” He clenched his gloved left hand. “This injured…monstrosity could not hold on to her,” he growled through gritted teeth. “A storm surge snatched her from me. Glenna was swept out to sea, her body never found. And it is all my fault.”

Wait a moment. Glenna. He said the name as well when he awoke. Glenna was his…wife? Gillian thought of the tombstone in Charlwood’s small cemetery. Glenna Parker Beloved wife 1869-1932 “I am the sun’s reflection on the sea.” No, it could not be possible. Did she remember the dates correctly? But her memory was sharp and accurate; the dates were right. 1869? How could it be feasible? Didn’t he say his wife died seven years ago?

Her head tumbled in confusion. As it is, the Glenna Parker in the graveyard was sixty-three when she died…eleven years ago. If she had lived, she’d be seventy-four. While Luke, for his gray skin and scars, hadn’t aged. No small lines as such around the eyes, no lines about the mouth or wrinkles of any kind. No physical signs of aging at all.

They could not be the same woman. The math did not add up. Perhaps the woman buried in the cemetery was his Glenna’s mother or grandmother. Many questions rippled through her mind. What was the true story of the Beast of Charlwood? Was Luke related to this Viscount Ravenswood? He certainly resembled Mr. Madden, the half brother she’d met by the viscount’s graveside. Or was she reaching? Who was the Glenna buried in the cemetery?

About to open her mouth and inform him what happened earlier at the shop and at the cemetery, she caught the look of despair on his face and closed her mouth again. Now was not the time to cross-examine him, since he was obviously distraught as she had been a couple of days ago. Gillian understood the guilt and grief all too well. She hugged him closer, and Luke sighed as he gently stroked her arm.

“Do you miss the sea?” she asked.