Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) (25 page)

Kassidy could feel Raile’s gaze on her, and she stared out at the storm. By now it was raining so hard it was difficult to see as far as the castle.

“I hope you will feel that Ravenworth Castle is your home,” Raile said, searching her face, and wondering why her answer was so important to him.

“Since Arrian arrived, I am content here.” She turned her head away. “Except for ...”

“Except for what?”

“It’s nothing really. I hesitate to mention it.”

“You will find me an attentive listener.”

Feeling foolish, Kassidy avoided his eyes. “It’s just that the nightmares have returned.” She lowered her head. “I wouldn’t mention it, but at night they seem so real and so terrifying. I dread to see the sunset.”

As quickly as it had started, the rain stopped. But for the stomping of a horse in a nearby stall, the stable was strangely silent.

“No one can imagine the horror you have been through, Kassidy. I wish there was some way that I could erase it from your mind. Perhaps if you face that fear, it won’t seem so bad.”

“That’s what Aunt Mary says, Raile. But how can I do that?”

He stood up and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “I don’t yet know. But when next you have one of the nightmares, you are to come to me. Nothing is as fearful if it can be battled by two people.”

Her eyes rounded with wonder. “I would like that.”

“Then that’s what you will do.”

Together they walked upon the wet cobblestone courtyard and Raile’s chest seemed to swell with pride of ownership. For the first time in years, he was at peace.

His life had been in a turmoil when he returned to England and found both his uncle and cousin John dead. There had been times when he had felt like an imposter standing in his uncle’s place—today, with Kassidy beside him, he knew he belonged.

He glanced up at the tall keep where his rain-wet flag flew, and unconsciously his arm slid around Kassidy’s waist. All he needed now was a son. He glanced down at his wife, thinking a golden-haired daughter with green eyes wouldn’t be so bad, either.

Lavinia’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Hugh, are you certain Raile endowed a large settlement on the child?”

“That’s what he said, Mother.”

She tapped her foot in vexation. “We have to find a way to get that child.” She leaned back against the satin pillow, her gaze riveting into her son’s. “Did you tell Raile that you legally married Abigail Maragon?”

“I did make mention of the fact. That’s when Raile ordered me out of his carriage. I don’t think he believed me.”

“If we could somehow get our hands on the money.” Lavinia began to pace. “Let me think.”

“We can’t get the money, Mother, because Raile’s new duchess feels maternal toward my daughter. And from what I understand, Raile will give his new wife anything she desires.”

Lavinia tapped her fingers together. “Legally, we could take the baby. All we have to do is prove that you are the child’s father. It is too cruel of Raile to keep my only grandchild from me.”

“You may not mind raising Raile’s ire, but I assure you I do, Mother. At the moment, I enjoy his limited bounty. But if I make him angry, he’ll cut me off completely. Then where would we be? Besides, what would I do with the child.”

“Fool! Imbecile! There is more here than the meager amount Raile doles out to you. You should be the duke, not Raile.”

Hugh yawned. He had heard this all before and he was beginning to tire of the subject. “You forget my brother has a wife, and perhaps he has her with child by now.”

“I have heard it said that he has not taken her to bed. Can this be true?”

Hugh picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and rubbed it against his sleeve. “If it was true, you can be sure Raile did something about it by now. I happen to know he rid himself of Gabrielle Candeur.”

“Hummm,” Lavinia said with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “I didn’t like that woman anyway.”

“How do you know? You never met her, Mother.”

She silenced him with a glance. “We both know this marriage of Raile’s is not a match of passion. No doubt Raile felt it was his duty to marry the girl. We will just have to see if we can come between them. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Hugh paused with the apple halfway to his mouth. “It was rumored that Lord Justin Callaret was most attentive to Raile’s wife while she was here in London. Perhaps there’s something there.”

“Will he be our ally?”

“Not he. He fancies himself Raile’s friend. I suppose he is one of those men of principle.” Hugh threw his head back and laughed. “Not a malady you and I are hampered with, is it, Mother? Why don’t you forget about Raile, his wife, and my daughter. Your life is comfortable enough—be contented.”

Lavinia gave him a scorching look.

“Don’t forget, Mother, that Raile is quick to anger. And he has the power to punish. He is already angry with me. He expects me to settle down. I have little choice but to do what he wants.”

“I will never allow him to tell you what to do. You are my son.”

“You can’t fight him, Mother. Learn to live with him. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“Try to remember how close you stand to the dukedom, my foolish son.”

Hugh stared at the apple and took another bite. “And you try to remember how close you stand to disaster if you meddle in Raile’s life.”

Lavinia looked with disgust at her son. “You are as weak as your father was. I suppose I’ll have to dispose of Raile and his wife with no help from you.”

28

Arrian’s nursery was two doors down from Kassidy’s bedroom, and Kassidy spent much of her day tending to her niece, rather than leaving her care to the nurse.

In the gathering darkness, Kassidy had gone to Arrian, as was her habit each night, to rock her to sleep.

Arrian squealed with delight when she saw her aunt. She held her arms out to Kassidy, while her little face beamed with happiness. Kassidy dismissed the nurse with a nod and lifted the baby in her arms.

“Sweet, sweet, little girl,” she said, placing a kiss on the top of Arrian’s head. “Your mother would have loved you so dearly.” Kassidy sat in the wooden rocker and began to sing an old Scottish lullaby her mother had sung to her as a child.

The baby curled up in Kassidy’s arms and sleepily tugged on a blond curl.

“Little Arrian, Aunt Kassidy loves you most dearly. And I intend to see that your life is full of happiness.”

Kassidy looked into blue eyes that reminded her so much of Abigail that she caught her breath. “Yes, sweet little one, you are very much loved.” Tears brightened her eyes. “You have no last name, but the dishonor is not yours. And I’ll see that you never suffer for the mistakes of others.”

Raile stood in the shadow of the door and watched Kassidy with the baby. The candlelight fell on her face and her eyes glowed with love. For some unknown reason, he felt a dull ache surround his heart.

“Arrian may not have to suffer at all, Kassidy,” he said, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of a trunk.

Kassidy had not known Raile was listening. “What do you mean?”

“I was going to tell you as soon as I could confirm it was true. Hugh told me that he and your sister had actually been married.”

Kassidy stared at him in relief. “I knew in my heart that Abigail would never go away with a man without marriage. But you had almost convinced me otherwise.”

“It will be easy enough to find out. I already have my solicitor looking into the matter. If Hugh was truthful, Arrian will have the DeWinter name.”

Kassidy looked down at the baby who had fallen asleep in her arms. “If only it were true.” Then a disturbing thought came to her. “I will never give Arrian to your brother, Raile. Be warned, that I’ll fight you and your brother if you ever dare suggest such a thing.”

“You should know by now that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Arrian.”

Raile’s eyes were dark and turbulent, and Kassidy was unable to read what he was thinking. “I want to believe you, Raile.”

“Do you know me so little?”

“I don’t know you at all.”

He stood up and moved to the door, leaving her without a word.

Kassidy lay the child in the cradle and tiptoed out of the room. Why did she feel as if she had somehow disappointed Raile?

As she walked along the ancient hallway that had been trod by hundreds of feet before hers, Kassidy’s thoughts were troubled. She was indebted to Raile for all he had done for her. And she must not forget he had rescued Arrian and had her brought back to her. They had struck a bargain. And if God was willing, she would give him the son he so desperately craved.

Raile lay awake, listening to the storm that was building over the valley. Lightning flashed across the sky, giving little illumination to his darkened bedroom.

He’d been on his own for so many years, it was difficult for him to consider a woman’s feelings and needs, he thought. He had been in war and watched men die. He had come home to the treachery of his stepmother. He had married a woman out of duty and compassion. Today, in the stable with Kassidy, he’d felt a oneness with her. Tonight he had not the courage to go to her bed.

He heard a noise in the hall and thought it might be Oliver. Turning toward the door, Raile jerked his head up when he saw it was Kassidy.

She cupped her hand over the candle to keep it lit while it cut like a sword blade through the darkness ahead of her. Her long hair hung across her shoulders and rippled as she moved. Raile’s eyes were drawn to her transparent gown that clung to her soft body.

“Raile,” she said, her hand trembling so that she spilled tallow on the floor. “I had the nightmare again. You said I could come to you when I was frightened.”

He saw how pale she was, and her eyes were wide with fright. He took the candle from her and blew it out. Grasping her hand, he eased her down beside him.

“You are trembling and cold,” he said, pulling her against the warmth of his body.

She slid her arms around his neck and buried her head against his bare chest, needing to feel safe.

A sudden protectiveness came over Raile. He wanted to hold the night at bay for her and battle her nightmares.

“It was horrible. And so real. It was just like I was in Newgate again. I was, oh, so hungry and so cold. I was alone and no one knew where to find me. I cried out, but no one heard me, and no one came.”

He brushed her tumbled hair from her face and felt tears on her cheeks. “Sweet Kassidy,” he said, running his hand up and down her back, trying to still her quaking body. “Don’t you know nothing can harm you while you are under my protection?”

“Yes,” she murmured with a sob. “I came to you, knowing you would make the nightmares go away.”

He lay his rough cheek against hers. “Kassidy, Kassidy, what can I do to make up for what you have suffered?”

“Talk to me to keep me from remembering. I want to hear about anything that will take my mind off the nightmares. Tell me about the French Campaign. What was Wellington’s strategy at Waterloo?”

A streak of lightning illuminated the room and Raile looked into frightened green eyes. He tried not to notice the way her lips parted so enticingly. He knew she was clutching at anything to help push her nightmare out of her mind.

“Never ask a man about war unless you are prepared to hear about a subject that is unsuited for delicate ears,” he said, thinking it would do Kassidy little good, in her state of mind, to hear about the horrors of war.

She moved away from him. “In other words, since I’m a woman, I am unfit to meddle in a male world? Does the fact that I wear a petticoat make me a mindless creature that is to be pampered and cannot be thought of past the bedroom?”

Raile was startled for a moment. How could she go from frightened child to Joan of Arc in so short a span of time?

He rolled to his side, shaking with laughter. “You come to me in fear, and you stay to berate me?”

He could not see her smile. “I did do that, didn’t I? You must know that I have a frightful temper—I always have had. I warned you I was like Grandfather Maclvors.”

“But prettier.”

“Decidedly.”

“God help me if I’ve married a Jacobite.”

Again a flash of lightning lit the room, and Kassidy moved closer to Raile, her blond hair streaming down her shoulders, her eyes alive with fire.

“I am a Jacobite, your grace. And one who consumes Englishmen.”

Raile was so captivated by her that he was losing his reasoning. His arms slid around her and he pulled her to him. “This Englishman voluntarily becomes your prisoner, little Jacobite.” Primitive fires burned within Raile. He pushed her gown off her shoulder and buried his face against the softness of her breasts. He closed his eyes, feeling consumed by her.

Kassidy touched his face and trailed her hand down his chin. “It is you who consumes me, Raile.” She could feel the strength of him as he pulled her tighter against him, and she gloried in that strength.

“I will have you,” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” she answered, melting against him.

The storm over the valley was losing its power, but the passion between Raile and Kassidy was intensifying. His hand trembled as he intimately touched her, while she willingly submitted to his burning kiss.

“I will fill you with sons,” he murmured against her lips.

“Yes, Raile,” she answered in a breathless voice.

“Strong sons like their father.”

Their bodies merged, their minds entwined, and there was no one in the world but the two of them.

In the village of Ravenworth, hostile eyes looked up at the towering castle. A malignant mind was set on revenge.

Lavinia’s face was distorted with hatred. She watched the clouds move away and saw that the castle was bathed in pristine moonlight. It looked almost ethereal and unobtainable—but she would have it! Her only regret was that she would not be a duchess—but her son would be the duke, of that she was certain.

She clamped her mouth together in a severe line, knowing she had already set in motion a scheme to separate forever Raile and his little bride.

Lavinia smiled maliciously. Soon her troubles would be over. Before long she would be situated in that castle with Hugh at her side.

Happy days passed for Kassidy. Each night she would go to Raile’s bedroom and he would take her in his arms. There was no more fear and no more nightmares.

Last night Oliver had approached Kassidy with a message from Raile that he would be late and that she was to sleep in her room. She had been puzzled, but had thought little of it.

This morning she looked into the breakfast room to find it empty. When she inquired of Mrs. Fitzwilliams if Raile had come down, the housekeeper shook her head.

“Oliver informed me it is one of his grace’s bad days. He was ill last night and will be laid up all day and maybe even tomorrow.”

Kassidy wondered why Raile had not told her he was ill. “What’s the matter with my husband?”

“It’s the head wound he got at Waterloo. Sometimes the headaches are so severe, the smallest light will make him cry out in pain. He just lies in a darkened room until it passes.”

“I never knew. He never told me.”

“His grace is a right proud man, your grace. And like most men, he doesn’t like anyone to know he has bouts of sickness.”

“I might be capable of helping him, Mrs. Fitzwilliams. Send Elspeth for my herb basket. I may also need herbs from the garden to make my brew.”

“Your brew, your grace?” the housekeeper asked with curiosity.

“My mother was well versed in the ways of healing herbs, and she passed much of her knowledge on to me.”

In no time at all there was a bubbling pot smelling strongly of camphor and wintergreen oil. Lastly, Kassidy added cider vinegar and poured the whole mixture into a bottle and packed it in ice.

“This should help,” Kassidy said, moving out of the kitchen and leaving the housekeeper and Elspeth staring after her.

“His grace never sees anyone when he’s like this. Oliver has orders to keep everyone away,” Mrs. Fitzwilliams said.

“Oliver has never come up against her grace,” Elspeth answered.

“True,” Mrs. Fitzwilliams agreed. “Very true.”

Kassidy didn’t bother knocking on the door of her husband’s room, but opened it as quietly as she could. It was dark inside, but she could make out the outline of Oliver standing by the window.

The valet came to her quickly and whispered in her ear.

“His grace is having one of his headaches today, your grace. He does not like anyone to see him this way.”

“I’m here to help him, Oliver. Light a candle and put it at the foot of his bed so it won’t give off too much light.”

“Who is there?” Raile asked.

Kassidy approached him. “It’s only me, Raile. I’ve come to help you.”

“Go away,” he moaned. “No one can help me.”

“We’ll never know until I try.”

“Are you a witch?” he asked, clutching his head and turning away from the light of the candle Oliver had obediently lit.

“Some said my mother was, and perhaps they were right,” Kassidy said lightly. “Show me where your head hurts.”

“I could more easily tell you where it doesn’t hurt,” he groaned. “Just leave me in peace.”

Kassidy saw she was going to get no help from Raile, so she turned to the valet. “Where was he wounded?”

Oliver stepped forward, unafraid of the angry look Raile cast at him. “Just here, your grace. You can see the scar if you part his hair.”

“Yes, I see it. Was he wounded by shrapnel or a sword?”

“Shrapnel, your grace. The doctor who attended him said there was still a fragment left, but he dared not operate since it was close to the brain. That’s what causes his headaches.”

Raile sighed, knowing he would get no peace until Kassidy was satisfied. She touched his wound and motioned for Oliver to bring the light closer. “Dear God,” she gasped. “I can feel a sharp point with my finger. I believe the fragment is working its way out.”

“Nonsense,” Raile growled. “Just go away.”

Kassidy ignored him. “Oliver, bring me my sewing kit, and a kettle of boiling water. Also, I will want more light and Elspeth to assist me.”

Raile raised up in bed. “Kassidy, this is none of your affair. If a medical man who treated hundreds of head wounds said I would have headaches for the rest of my life, I trust his judgment.”