Andrea Kane (35 page)

Braden sent him a withering look. Despite the seeming concern in Cyril’s dark eyes, Braden couldn’t help but remember their earlier argument, when Cyril had suggested that Kassie was mad. “I believe I explained everything to you quite clearly, Cyril.” Braden’s tone was positively frigid. “Grey gained access to Kassie’s bedchamber, intending to do her harm. I got there just in time. I struck him. He went over the balcony. Kassie witnessed the whole struggle and was frighteningly affected by it. At first I thought it was because she believed her father to be dead. Then I realized that it wasn’t her father at all. Because when she finally spoke, the word she said was ‘Mama.’ ”

A look of combined disbelief and shock crossed Cyril’s face. When he spoke his tone was disturbed. “But if it was her father falling, why would Kassandra call for her mother?”

Dr. Howell spoke for the first time. “From Braden’s description of the incident, I don’t believe Kassandra was
calling
for her mother,” he said, his brows knit thoughtfully.

“Nor do I,” Braden agreed quickly. “I believe she was actually
seeing
her mother.” He shuddered, remembering the faraway, horror-stricken look in Kassie’s eyes. At that moment she had been somewhere else, seeing something that existed only in her mind, in her memory. And it wasn’t hard to figure out what that something was. “Kassie’s mother died from a fall,” he continued, determined to make his reasoning understood. “She fell from the cliffs surrounding their house—the same cliffs beside which Kassie cannot bring herself to walk.” He looked from one man to the next. “I believe that Kassie witnessed her mother’s suicide.”

“My God,” Charles breathed, his eyes wide with shock.

Braden went on as if Charles hadn’t spoken. “Somewhere deep inside her, Kassie remembers what she saw that night. And so does her father. Because if my suspicions are correct, Robert Grey is the one who drove Elena to kill herself. And just as Kassie is a constant reminder of his wife, the nightmares are a constant reminder of her death.”

“You believe these nightmares are a result of what Kassandra saw?” Cyril managed, a muscle working in his jaw.

“I do,” Braden answered. “It certainly fits with the endless drop she keeps describing in her dream, as well as her reaction to Grey’s fall today.”

“But she was no more than a baby,” Charles whispered.

“Four years old, Charles.” Braden’s voice shook. “Old enough to absorb the horror of seeing her mother take her own life, and young enough to bury the memory where it could not be reached.” Braden actually felt tears sting his eyes. “Kassie was alone, deserted by the one person who loved her unconditionally, with nothing but a heinous memory and a sense of total isolation.”

“The details do make some sense,” Alfred agreed quietly, his own mind racing rapidly ahead.

Cyril slammed to his feet. “This is preposterous!” he roared, dark eyes blazing. “Have the whole lot of you lost your minds? This young woman is under considerable stress, adapting to a life that is both new and foreign to her. Her father, a drunken animal, breaks into her home and accosts her, then gets into a physical battle with her husband and is tossed off the balcony to the ground below, where he could be injured or dead. Is that not enough to cause her to fall to pieces?”

“Another woman, perhaps. Kassie, no,” Braden answered decisively.

Charles buried his face in his hands with a soft groan. “Oh, God … no,” he whispered, half to himself.

Braden was startled by the fervor of Charles’s words, but he was more furious with Cyril’s total disbelief. “Why are you so adamantly opposed to my theory?” he demanded. “Is it because you’d prefer to think of Kassie as unworthy or insane rather than to view her as tormented?”

Cyril banged his fist on the table until the walls shook. “It’s because your marriage has destroyed our lives!” he shouted. “Nothing has been the same since”—he hesitated, then spat out the words as if they were acid on his tongue—“your
wife
came to Sherburgh … and apparently, nothing ever will!”

“Damn you, Cyril,” Braden exploded, instantly on his feet, “if those are your feelings, I would suggest you get the hell—”

“Enough!” Surprisingly, it was Charles who interrupted the violent exchange, his voice booming like a cannon. “Hasn’t Kassandra been through enough today? Would you like to awaken her with your futile, bitter argument as well?”

Braden froze where he was, then walked behind his chair, gripping the back until his knuckles turned white. “No. You’re right, Charles.” With an effort he brought himself under control. The look he gave his uncle was venomous. “Now is not the time for an altercation. Kassie needs our help.”

“And she shall have it,” Alfred put in. His speculative gaze swept over all three men, and he made the instant decision to reserve the remainder of his thoughts for Braden’s ears alone. For if his theory was correct, there was a great deal more to the situation than had already been discussed. And a great deal more danger as well. He frowned, thinking of Robert Grey and the events of the afternoon. Much had been disclosed this day, yet much still remained buried, and only Kassandra could cast a revealing light upon the truth.

Braden headed for the door.

“Where are you going, Braden?” Charles called out, his eyes still suspiciously moist.

Braden turned. “I don’t see the point in continuing this conversation any longer. I am going to my room to get some rest.”
And to be close by, should Kassie need me,
he added to himself.

Charles read Braden’s thoughts and nodded. “I will walk along. I would like a few words with you. Alone.”

Braden shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Ignoring Cyril completely, he turned to Dr. Howell. “We’ll speak tomorrow?”

Alfred nodded. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonight he hoped Braden would get some sleep. Like Kassandra, Braden would need his strength for the days to come.

Charles followed Braden to the foot of the stairs. When he was assured they were alone he took his friend’s arm. “You really believe what you just said about Kassandra witnessing”—he swallowed—“her mother’s suicide?”

Braden fixed Charles with a level gaze. “I wouldn’t have said it unless I did.”

“Braden, do you intend to discuss this with Kassandra?” Charles looked positively green as he continued hastily. “Because I think it would be a big mistake. That poor child … if she did see her mother fall to her death, what can be accomplished by reminding her of it? It can only succeed in hurting her more, bringing back a memory that is best forgotten.”

Braden was shaking his head. “I don’t agree. The whole problem is that it has
not
been forgotten. Why else would Kassie keep having nightmares after all these years?”

“Couldn’t it be something else? Something her father did?”

“No.” Braden disregarded Charles’s pleading look. “Oh, I’m sure Grey fits into the puzzle somehow, but not in some unrelated event. No, Charles, I am convinced that what I suspect is indeed what took place. And”—his voice softened—“even though I dread the thought of causing Kassie further pain, I must speak of it with her.”

“But it will destroy her!” Charles burst out.

“I won’t let it. I’ll be there for her, Charles,” Braden assured his agitated friend, “to absorb her pain, to hold her, to make her well. I will not
allow
this to destroy her.
That
I promise you.” He turned to go upstairs. “My mind is made up,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow I will take Kassie to the beach, the place where she feels the safest. And there, amid everything she most loves, we will talk.” He glanced back at Charles’s ashen face. “Don’t worry, my friend. All will be as it should.”

Charles watched Braden disappear onto the second floor landing.
All will be as it should.
Charles closed his eyes, reliving the pain and anguish he thought had long since been laid to rest. But it had returned to haunt him. All would
never
be as it should. And now his hand was being forced. Nausea welled up inside him. He knew what he had to do.

“Summer is truly at an end.” Kassie stared out at the turbulent waters of the North Sea, feeling the chill that was in the air.

“Yes, love, it is.” Braden stood behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist and resting his chin atop her silky head. “Autumn is announcing its arrival.”

Kassie sighed, leaning back against her husband. “I wish we could stop time and keep moments like these forever.”

Braden smiled. “I cannot promise you that we can stop time. But I can promise you that there will always be moments like these for us.”

Kassie closed her eyes, willing it to be so, wanting to freeze this moment when the world and all its anguish seemed so far away; when there were only the two of them and nothing more. “I pray that you are right,” she whispered.

“Do you doubt me?”

She sighed. “Braden, even
you
cannot control what fate has in store for us. Some vows are simply too difficult to keep.”

“And of the vows I’ve made to you,” he murmured in a husky voice, “have any been left unfulfilled?”

“No.” Kassie’s throat tightened.

“Then what makes you think I cannot make all your dreams come true?” he asked, pressing gentle kisses into her hair.

Kassie turned abruptly in to his arms, pressing her face against his broad chest. “I’m so afraid,” she said in a tiny voice.

He stroked her back, rocking her gently against him. “I know you are, sweetheart.” He took a deep breath, aware of how important his next words were. “I knew from the moment we met that you were one of the strongest people I’d ever known. I still think so. And one of the bravest as well. I know you are frightened. But I also know that you will not run from your fear. You’ll face it …
we’ll
face it … together.”

She nodded, her face still pressed against him, her hands small, tight fists against his arms. It broke his heart.

“Kassie,” he went on, praying for the strength to help her and the wisdom to know how, “you need to talk about what happened yesterday. I wanted to be the one you spoke to first, before Dr. Howell.”

Again she nodded, saying nothing.

“How much do you remember about what happened?”

She lifted her head just enough to speak but remained within the security of Braden’s embrace.

“I remember everything,” she said in a weary voice. “My father’s appearance in my room, the things he said, your fight, his fall. Everything.”

Her words gave him pause. “The things he said?” he repeated slowly. “What things?”

Kassie shuddered. “He spoke of my dreams. He accused me of telling you about them just to torture him. I asked him
how
I was torturing him, but he didn’t seem to hear me. He kept speaking of my mother … of why she had to leave him.” She broke away from Braden with a soft sob. “It’s the same thing over and over again. He blames himself for my mother’s death. He always has. And it tortures him. I don’t know why. …” she added.

“Yes, you do,” Braden said tenderly, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“Think, Kassie. Try to remember. I know it hurts. What else did he say?”

Kassie was shaking violently now. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

“Kassie!” He shook her gently.

“What do you want me to say?” she cried.

“I want you to tell me what he did to her,” Braden pressed, refusing to back off. “What happened between your parents on the night your mother died?”

“He loved her!” Kassie sobbed, trying to free herself from Braden’s grasp.

“In his twisted way, yes, he loved her. But something happened the night Elena fell. Something that made her run away. Something that only your father knows … your father and
you
.” He pulled her against him. “Yesterday, when your father fell from the balcony, you screamed ‘Mama!’ What is it about your father that reminds you of the night your mother died?
Think,
Kassie,
think!
”

Through the overwhelming terror in her eyes there came a flash of something else. Was it remembrance? Braden plunged on, desperate to reach the goal that he sensed was just within reach. “What is it?” He gave her no quarter. “I see it in your eyes, Kassie. Those beautiful eyes that never lie to me. What is it you are remembering?”

“They were arguing.” The words were so quiet, they were almost inaudible.

“Who was arguing? Your parents?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They argued so much. I didn’t understand most of it, and I didn’t want to. But something my father said yesterday …”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me if I heard everything they said. The moment he said that a picture flashed through my mind. I had forgotten. …” She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control her sobs. “The night my mother died they had a dreadful fight. I was supposed to be asleep, but their loud voices awakened me. I remember sitting huddled on the stairway, listening to their angry words. When it was over my mother ran from the house, crying as if her heart would break.”

“Did your father strike her?”

Kassie wrenched her arms away and wrapped them about herself. “Yes.”

“Kassie, sweetheart, please … try to remember. What were they arguing about?”

“I was so young … so scared,” she whispered.

“I know,
ma petite,
I know. But try. For me. Had your father been drinking?”

Kassie shook her head. “No. Father was sober. He was just so devastated that she would leave him—”

“Leave him?” Braden latched onto her words. “But she hadn’t left him; she was still alive. Why would he think …” A sudden thought exploded into Braden’s mind—one he should have thought of before. “Was your mother seeing another man? Is
that
what your father meant? Was he afraid she would leave him for someone else?”

Kassie gazed up at him with shocked, wet eyes, her face drenched with tears.
Damn you, Elena
…
damn you for leaving me! You’re nothing but a slut
…
a slut, do you hear me? And I’ll see you dead before I let another man have you
…
dead!
Kassie gasped, the words resounding in her head, replaying as if she were hearing them for the first time.