Beloved (47 page)

Richard sat beside her for awhile before kissing her tenderly on the forehead and returning to the hearth. He added more wood to the fire and sat down in the chair, facing the flames. He leaned back and stared up at the flickering shadows on the heavy beams, thinking of Guy.

Had Guy done this to Christina? His letter, though brief, seemed filled with concern. He searched his memory for any bits of the past that might help him understand how his childhood friend could have mistreated her so cruelly. He could recall a few times that Guy had seemed mean and spiteful as a child, but Richard, who had never looked for fault in anyone, had always dismissed the incidents as a natural part of growing up. Then he remembered the night at the brothel when Guy’d had too much to drink and had beaten poor little Geneviève.

And there was also the question of Stefano. Could it be she knew his strange twin?

Richard’s thoughts turned again to Christina and their last night together.

Memories slowly slipped into dreams and once again he felt her wet body against his, exactly as it had been that night in the stable. The drops of water in her hair sparkled in the firelight as he bent to kiss her.

Christina was dreaming, too, but there was no love in Guy’s eyes as he came at her with the straps, and worst of all Stefano was there, standing beside the bed, smiling, making no effort to help her.

She cried out and it woke Richard. He listened for a moment and hearing her moan again, he went to her. When he reached out to take her in his arms, she recoiled from his touch and cried out again.

“Chrissa?”

She pulled away from him, terrified, and lashed out at him with both hands. He leaned over her, confining her while she continued to strike him.

“Chrissa!” This time he spoke louder.

This time she heard him. Her eyes opened and Richard saw the terror.

“Chrissa…it’s all right. It’s Richard. You were dreaming. You’re safe.”

She hesitated, then threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest. He sat holding her while she cried, ever mindful of her injuries as he rocked her slowly back and forth.

“Oh, Richard, why did you leave me? You promised that we’d never be separated and then you left.”

Richard could barely understand her as she sobbed out the words into the coarse brown wool of his robe.

“If only you’d come with me…why didn’t you meet me? I waited…” He had carried the pain of that cold grey morning for seven long years, and he whispered his anguish into her soft hair, his eyes closed as he held her.

Christina pushed herself back to look at him.“Meet you? I didn’t even realize you’d gone until the next morning!”

“But the note…”

“What note?” She grabbed the front of his robe, frantically seeking an explanation. “
What
note?”

“I left some money and a note asking you to meet me so we could leave together.” Richard smiled down at her stricken face and then pulled her close again. “It’s not important…all that matters is that we’re together now.”

At long last Christina stopped crying and he released her. She took his hand and placed hers flat against it, palm to palm. Christina waited.
Does he remember?

Richard smiled. “Thou art beloved of me,” he began, as his first finger folded down beside hers.

She repeated the words and the action.

“And I of thee,” he continued.

Christina followed, echoing his words, their fingers entwining, one by one, as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“And so it will be…”

“For eternity.” They whispered the last words together as their hands were clasped.

Richard kissed her tenderly. There was no hunger, no need, only gentleness as their lips met.

“Rest, Beloved,” he said as he stood up and began to straighten the bedclothes around her.

She reached out to him. “Richard…don’t leave me…stay with me…”

“I’ll be right here.”

“I mean here…now,” she said, slowly turning the covers back.

“Chrissa, you need to rest…we have time…” he said, looking down at her.

“Richard, I need you…please…”

He looked at her, then quickly pulled his robe over his head and tossed it to the far side of the bed. As he sat down next to her, she reached up and fingered the gold chain that hung against his chest. It was her mother’s, the one she’d given him their last Christmas together.

He helped her off with her gown, his eyes never leaving hers as he lay down next to her and pulled the covers over them. He saw the trepidation in her eyes, but when he gently pulled her to him, she didn’t resist.

Christina pressed her cheek against his chest.
Safe.

He was excruciatingly tender with her, touching her slowly and carefully, his lips gently brushing her skin, trying to will both the pain and the memories from the bruises. When at last he moved over her, she suddenly pushed away from him.

“Beloved? What is it?” Richard was afraid that somehow he’d hurt her.

Christina looked into his eyes, seeing the love and the pain, and longed to lose herself there. She realized there was nothing in this man that could ever hurt her.

“Just love me,” she whispered as she opened herself to him.

Mon Amour se blesse. Comment puis-je, de sa poitrine, retirer la flêche?

—Jousset

My love is wounded. How can I pull the arrow from her breast?

Septembre 1759

Montmajour

It was late the next morning when Christina awoke to find herself alone in the big, curtained bed. Realizing Richard was not beside her, she sat up, pulling the bedcovers close around her and blinking in confusion as her hand went to her head. Had it been a dream? Tears filled her eyes as she began to doubt her own recollections of the last twenty-four hours.

“Richard?” she said tentatively, her voice little more than a whisper.

He immediately appeared beside the bed, dressed once again in the brown monk’s robe and carefully slicing an apple. Smiling, he offered a piece to Christina.

“Good morning,” he said gently. Richard saw her confusion and sat down beside her, then leaned over to kiss her gently on the cheek.

“Chrissa, are you all right?”

Her heart pounded as she looked at him. What would happen now? She tried a tentative smile.

“That’s better.”

He stood up but she caught the rough fabric of his robe.

“I have to meet with Robert. I won’t be long.”

Richard pulled up his hood, put his hands into the sleeves of his robe, and made his way silently down the stairs and through the scriptorium to Robert’s office. In the outer room, which smelled of dusty parchment and candle wax, a thin monk was busily copying from a pile of papers on the desk in front of him. The sour expression on his face made Richard wonder if those papers might be covering a considerable quantity of ripe cheese. Such an observation would normally have made him smile, but he had much more serious matters on his mind and it took a great deal of effort to hide his mental turmoil behind a bland expression befitting his new role as a Benedictine monk. Finally, the man noticed Richard standing before him.

“Ah, good morning. You must be Dom Genelli. I am Dom Louis, the Abbot’s secretary.” He stood up and bowed slightly as he introduced himself, his eyes quickly assessing the mysterious new addition to their community. “I hope you’ll soon be feeling well enough to join us at devotions,” he said with a smug note of disapproval.

Richard inclined his head, saying nothing, but noting the fact that Dom Louis did not seem particularly pleased to make his acquaintance.

“The Abbot is expecting you,” he said briskly, then knocked twice and opened the tall oak doors.

Robert stood behind his desk at the far end of the room, staring out the window. The heavy shutters had been opened to take advantage of the warmth of the morning sun. Even with the help of the sizeable fire that had been kindled before dawn, the room remained chilly.

Richard followed Dom Louis, moving past him to stop in front of Robert’s desk as the man announced him. Robert turned to look at Richard, smiled slightly, then thanked Dom Louis. He said nothing more and the monk, after a brief hesitation, left them alone, closing the doors behind him.

For a moment, the two men just stared at each other. Robert saw the anger in his brother’s eyes as his placid expression faded away, and when Richard pushed back his hood, Robert noted his brother’s teeth were tightly clenched beneath the hard line of his jaw. Saying nothing, he turned back to the window, looking down on the garden below, determined to give Richard a chance to say whatever it was that he had come to say.

Richard attempted to suppress his anger, but there was a harsh note to his voice when he spoke.“Would you
please
…”

Robert immediately motioned for him to keep his voice down. Richard took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. His brother was right. It was hardly appropriate for a monk under a vow of silence to be shouting at his abbot.

“Would you please,” he began again, this time his voice just above a whisper, “Tell me why, in the name of God, you waited so long to write to me? Do you have any idea what she’s been through? Have you seen her body?”

The last question rated only a withering glance from Robert.

Richard sighed. “Forgive me…but for the love of Christ, Robert, she’s covered with welts and bruises…she’s plagued with nightmares…”

Robert cleared his throat, then spoke softly without turning. “I can assure you that the bruises are the least of what she’s been through.”

Richard was nonplussed. “
Why
didn’t you let me know? I could have come back for her or you could have sent her to me, for that matter.” He leaned across the desk, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “You never—never once—gave the slightest hint that anything was amiss. I’ve assumed all these years that she’s been safe and happy. I asked about her when you were in Bonifacio and you said nothing!” When Robert didn’t answer, Richard, caught up in his own confusion, began to pace.

“When she didn’t meet me that morning, I thought
she
had made the choice. Now I know she never got my note.” He stopped behind Robert, the pain in his voice evident, even as he accused. “But
you
knew…and you never said a word…not to me, and not to Christina. For heaven’s sake, Robert, you didn’t even tell her I was still alive.”

Robert waited a moment before answering, but when he did, his voice was strained. “To begin with, you forget that you never told me or Grégoire what was in that note. I gave it to her maid with instructions she should have it when she woke. We both expected you to take her with you and were quite surprised when she stayed behind and agreed to marry Guy. We could only assume you’d decided she should be kept free of any association with the man accused of killing her brother. It was fairly obvious that unless Marco’s murderer was found, you might never be able to come back and claim your title.” His voice changed to a more gentle tone. “Were we really so wrong to believe you loved her enough to wish her to have the kind of security you would no longer be able to provide for her?”

Robert’s gentle expression had little effect on Richard’s impatience.

“Security? You know that my income hasn’t been curtailed.” Richard leaned across the massive table that served Robert as a desk. “And I’d have a very hard time believing that not being able to spend her life as the Baroness of Beauvu would have affected the way Christina felt about me!”

Robert lifted his hand to silence his brother. “We were talking about how Grégoire and I endeavored to understand you leaving her behind. As for Christina’s feelings, I asked Grégoire to meet with her before the wedding because I was reluctant to see her rush into a marriage when she had so recently lost both you and Marco.”

“And?”

“And, Grégoire said she seemed resigned to it. He could not persuade her to discuss it with him.”

Richard was still not satisfied. Someone should have done something! He was looking for someone—anyone—to blame for Christina’s misfortune. The weight of the blame he laid on his own shoulders was unbearable.

Robert recognized his brother’s anguished expression for what it was. Richard’s feelings for Christina hadn’t changed, even after so many years…
even after Arabella
.

“As for not telling you about Christina’s circumstances,” Robert continued, “you must remember she only came to us this past year. Even though she spent some time here, she has never spoken a word against Guy or his treatment of her. After she lost the baby, I became quite concerned for her emotional well-being. It wasn’t too long after that I wrote to you.”

Richard slumped down into the chair facing Robert’s desk. He bowed his head, trying to collect himself.

“Couldn’t you at least have told her I was still alive?”

Robert ran his hand over his face. It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times.

“I had no idea that she thought you dead until after she lost the baby. At the time, I wasn’t at all sure how she would take the news that you were still alive. Shortly after that, she seemed to escape into the past and believe you were coming home to take her to some grand party at Cybelle’s. When Guy came to see her, she recognized him only as an old friend and not as her husband.

“You mustn’t take all the blame.” Robert walked around the desk and laid a consoling hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I admit Guy was very convincing when he told me Christina had been having emotional problems. And it was easy to believe him, considering the state she was in. The bruises she had then were, according to Guy, caused by a fall, which in turn caused her to miscarry. I had no reason to think anything else because Christina never said anything.”

“Believe me, the marks on her back are not the result of any accident,” Richard said bitterly.

“Did she tell you anything?”

“She didn’t have to, dammit! Someone did that to her.”

“Do you suspect Guy?”

“I don’t know. I remember something that proves he’s capable of it. But when Christina first saw me, she thought I was someone else, and she was terrified. Someone named Stefano.” Richard looked up at Robert. “Does that name mean anything to you?”