Shana Abe (34 page)

He picked up the locket again, dangled it from his fingers, watched it swing.

“Instead of Eleanor, Marla found Justin.”

Do as I say and they won’t have to die.…

“It seems that at sixteen he had inherited the captain’s position among the pirates, since the other two captains had died in the wrecks. He won this position through his cunning and his brutality. Even at sixteen the other men held him in fear, recognizing the evil in him that my sister had never seen.”

Roland dropped the locket from his fingers into the box. It landed amid the satin with a thud that seemed heavy in the quiet room.

“Marla refused to tell them where the others were. She thought Eleanor had escaped and joined everyone behind the walls. But they brought her out when Marla wouldn’t yield. She was in her eighth month of pregnancy then.”

Kyla closed her eyes. She wanted to shut out his words, she didn’t want to hear about this. She knew what happened next.

“But then, they never really cared what Marla had to say. They had what they wanted, after all, their booty and the Earl of Lorlreau. They made my father watch as they took turns raping both women, and then they killed him when he fought too much. They left Marla and Eleanor for dead. Eleanor almost was.”

Roland closed the lid to the box very carefully, as if the slightest wrong move would break it. His voice had no emotion at all. “I was told that Justin took particular delight with Eleanor. That he insisted on having her despite her condition.”

Her cheeks were wet. Kyla had no memory of when the
tears started, she didn’t feel them except for the coldness against her face.

“Marla delivered the baby right then. She knew there was no hope for Eleanor, but she was determined to save the babe. Eleanor found the strength to hold Elysia in her arms for a moment before she died.

“Two days later I returned to Lorlreau. We had intercepted Marla’s messenger before he reached London.”

He smiled at her now. “Two days. It doesn’t seem so very long, does it? Two days earlier, and perhaps my sister would still be alive. Perhaps my father would still be the earl.”

Her voice caught in her throat—she had nothing good enough to say to him, she had nothing to take away the horror of his tale. She could only shake her head.

“Did you know that just behind you, over your shoulder,” said Roland in a faraway voice, “I see a great emptiness. But in there, beyond the empty, is something like fire, and screams. Bodies. Blood. A great deal of blood. Women are screaming at me. Men are pleading. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. I can’t quite …”

His voice faded off, almost bewildered.

“You can’t what?” she asked, hushed.

“I can’t remember,” he said, looking to her. “I can’t remember what I did to them.”

“To the pirates.” She made it a statement but it sounded like a judgment, falling hard into the silence.

“I found them. All of them. It wasn’t hard. It was almost … easy. I found them within a week. Some were in taverns. Some were in homes.” He took a ragged breath. “And I just can’t remember what I did to them.”

“But they are dead?”

“Oh, yes,” he said softly. “They are quite dead.” He exhaled, a sharp sound. “You asked me once how I became the Hound of Hell. Now you know.”

Roland’s gaze slid off of hers, he seemed pained by her again. “And now, someone is stalking you. Someone means to kill my wife, against all reason, against all sanity. And I am
afraid that I will join that insanity should anything happen to you.”

Her head was swimming, it took her a while to sift through to the meaning of his words. Roland sat back, looked weary again.

“Now you will leave, my countess. Go back to your rooms.”

“No.” She stood up. “Now you will listen.”

He didn’t stop her, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He scowled down at the box.

“I don’t care what you did.” She took a step closer. “Do you hear me? I don’t care. And I don’t care if you never remember.”

He looked up, beyond her.

“I don’t care about that at all,” she said fiercely. “I won’t let it ruin you. I won’t allow it to ruin us.”

The air trembled in her lungs, she dragged it in, willing him to believe. “Nothing about the past can be changed, and I have seen enough of death and dying to hold me over forever. We cannot go back and fix what was done. Those days are over for you, and they are over for me. I will not have them hiding behind us in the darkness, or in the light. I will not let you live in those moments, and I refuse to dwell there any longer. I refuse!”

Her voice rose, became almost a shout.

“And I will not have you lingering in the shadows, Roland Strathmore! Do you hear me? Whatever you did before right now, right this moment, doesn’t matter at all! You will come out of this room and you will be my husband, and I don’t want to hear any excuses. Because the past is a dead thing, too. And I am sick of death!”

She paused, pushed her hair back, searching for the right words to convince him. “I want
life
,” she ended, softer now. “I want life, and I want you.”

He was shaking, covering his eyes, and for a moment she truly feared for him, that she had said something he would not recover from. She went around the desk until she reached his side and then he pulled her down onto him, holding her
so tight she almost couldn’t breathe, and he was pressing his lips into her hair, laughing into her temple.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she cried, enraged. “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh my God,” Roland gasped, still squeezing her. “I love you so much.”

He shocked her, took the temper out of her and left in its place something numb, something that made her speechless.

He wasn’t laughing now, perhaps he hadn’t been before, because the wetness she felt on her face was not from her own tears, not just hers. And when he looked at her she saw the tropical spark again, but no trace of mirth, only bright sobriety, compelling warmth.

“I’ve never spoken of those days before,” he said, wondering. “I never could.”

“They have no power over you,” she replied, “unless you allow them to.”

He pressed his face into her neck, holding her tight again, a long, sustained moment that left his arms faintly trembling. She reached up, ran her fingers through his hair, caught the gold there and let it slide over her palm.

“My fearless wife,” he said finally. “Mayhap I’m not as strong as you think.”

“I am not fearless. Only a fool has no fear.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head against his shoulder, comfortable, sturdy. “But I think you are stronger than you know. I imagine you might even survive a whole winter on your own in the wild Highlands, if you had to. Of course, I could give you a few tips first.”

He laughed now, really laughed, and relief swept through her. She felt the warmth of his lips seeking her cheek, the curve of her jaw, and turned her face to his, letting him capture her lips.

“I love you,” he said, tasting her, shifting until she was alone in the chair, and he was on his knees in front her, leaning into her, so intense. “I love you. I would never survive anywhere without you, I don’t know how I managed for so long. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” The words came from her heart, perfect truth, perfect clarity, at last. “Roland, I love you.”

He pulled her deeper into his embrace, his hands sliding down her arms, then up again, to the soft curve of her breasts. He breathed in her scent—flowers and flame and woman—let it surround him, let it saturate his soul. Her hands were light on him, she pressed her fingers into his shoulders and pulled him closer still, cradling him between her legs.

Her gown was loose, loose enough, he thought, and proved it by finding the creaminess of her skin beneath the silk, the linen, tracing the long lines of her legs until he found the center of her, and she was gasping now, shocked and excited together, a whimper caught in her throat.

He leaned into her, used his other hand to cup her buttocks, urging her forward, closer to him as he kissed her, ruthless and hard. She was panting against him, using her hands to find his arousal, to torment him with her touch until he thought he would go mad with it.

He pushed her hands out of the way and freed himself, not bothering with the rest of their clothing, his tunic, her bliaut. Her skirts became a sea of froth at her waist, and then he was pushing at her, he was inside her.

He moved in a sharp thrust and she met him there, holding onto his arms, head thrown back, baring her neck to his mouth. He was guiding her with his hands around her hips, rocking forward, slow, which was all he could bear. He thought he might die from the exquisiteness of her, God, so hot and wet and tight around him, and then she began to move and the sun exploded behind his eyes, he gave himself up to it at once, helpless to stop, and she cried out and bit her lip and collapsed around him in magnificent little shudders.

Her forehead rested on his shoulder, he felt her lips brush his skin around the collar of his tunic. On his knees still he bowed his own head to hers, breathing hard, and then he picked her up and moved them both down to the thickness of the Persian rug beneath them, rolling on his back so that she would be on top.

She lay pliant and warm across his chest; he smoothed her skirts to cover them both, then relaxed, exhausted and feeling a peace he had not known before.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he mumbled, half-asleep in a patch of yellow sunshine.

Her reply came fair and lucid, clear as summer skies.

“I won’t.”

Chapter Fifteen

M
orning came with the welcome awareness of being cradled in her husband’s arms, something Kyla had missed more than she could say over the past few nightmarish days.

The nightmare was over, she was sure of it. The worst was past them now, and the proof was that Roland slept beside her, peaceful and calm, strong and close throughout the fantasy spell of last night. He had come out of the study with her yesterday, come out with the surety back in his step, no more silent wrath.

He seemed a changed man to everyone but her, escorting her to dinner last night with a smile on his face once more, laughing at some sally made by Elysia, conversing easily throughout the meal as he used to do. Only Kyla, and perhaps Marla, could see the pale shadow of the sadness that lingered in him still. Kyla was not surprised at this. That he could come this far after what he had put himself through was miracle enough for her. She would help him one day at a time, until even that shadow was banished.

And a part of him would always be, she supposed, the Hound of Hell. He would never be able to relinquish the warrior in him, nor would she want him to.

He had smiled and laughed all right, but still he scanned the hall for their enemy, still he held a lengthy conversation with Duncan, who kept nodding gravely and glancing around.

Kyla liked that part of him, she decided, the protective man. She understood it, since it matched her own spirit. She would become his protector, as well.

People were shocked by the change, Kyla could see, but pleasantly so. Dinner had marked a new beginning as far as she was concerned, and her smile had echoed her husband’s, the man she loved.

She had heard the amazed whispers, people wondering what had gone on behind the closed door to their lord’s study, with him enclosed with the countess. Roland had only chuckled, inscrutable, and proposed another toast to his lady.

She had gotten light-headed with all the wine she drank for his toasts to her.

They had made love late into the night, exploring each other with a newfound tenderness, an endless wonder and delight that lasted until she had been unable to keep her eyes open any longer. And then he had rocked her to his chest, held her safe under the covers of the bed and whispered his love to her once more as she drifted off.

It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her.

So that this morning, as he slept still, she looked down at him—sweetly chiseled lips, long brown lashes, straight brows, elegant nose—and Kyla felt her heart fill up again with gratitude, that she could be given such a splendid gift as Roland Strathmore. That she could love him, and he her.

He opened his eyes, caught her looking, and grinned.

“I love you. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

Breakfast was even merrier than last night, news of the change in the earl having spread to just about everyone by then. Kyla had thought it important that they join the rest of the people of the castle for the meal, to prove the change that had been wrought the night before was not just myth or wishful thinking.

Roland had not protested. Well, not very much. Not after he was done kissing her, at least.

When both Kyla and Roland emerged from the master chamber, Thomas and Berthold had accepted his presence
with their usual impassivity, but Kyla caught the look of surprise that passed between them when they thought she was not watching. However, when Roland dismissed them outside their door, saying pleasantly that they looked as if they could use some sleep, neither man argued, only bowed and walked away.

Roland draped an arm over her shoulder and kept it there until they were seated in the great hall.