Moonspun Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  The pain of his words cut more deeply than the pain in her thigh. His shock, his disbelief, and now his silence. Victoria didn’t speak. She was beyond words. She turned her head away from him, tightly closing her eyes. He would do what he would do and there was nothing she could say to change things. She waited.

  Rafael saw the tensing of her shoulders, saw her flinch, and recognized pain in those silent, rippling shudders. Slowly he eased down beside her. She whimpered softly, trying to pull away, but he merely eased her gently onto his legs and supported her against his chest. He held her still with one arm and with the other bared her thigh completely. Her hand raised, a defeated gesture for him to stop, then dropped limply back to her lap. Slowly he began kneading and massaging the convulsed and knotting muscles.

  He heard her suck in her breath, but he didn’t stop. He kept to his rhythm, his strong fingers probing deeply at the protesting muscles. He turned once to see that Damaris was still where he’d left her. The child, bless her heart, hadn’t moved an inch.

  It was many minutes before he felt Victoria begin to relax, felt her pain begin to ease. He paused a moment, studying the jagged red scar against her pale flesh. The muscles were no longer knotting, no longer rippling beneath that scar.

  He continued to knead her thigh, but more gently now, his rhythm slower. “Is that better?”

  The sound of his voice after the endless minutes of silence made her jump. She forced herself to nod against his shoulder. The awful tearing pain was under control now, the spasms had lessened to small wayward ripples beneath her flesh. As the pain had receded, she’d found that she hadn’t known what to think, that, indeed, she was afraid to say anything to him, afraid to hear what he would say back to her.

  “If I help you, can you ride Gadfly?”

  “Yes.” Was that her voice, that thin, thready, weak sound?

  She said more strongly, forcing herself to pull away from him, “Yes, of course.”

  Rafael straightened her torn underthings as best he could and pulled down her riding skirt. Slowly, supporting her with one arm, he managed to stand up, bringing her with him, taking most of her weight himself. He studied her pale face a moment, her downcast eyes, and said, “Now, I’m going to help you climb that fence. When you’re at the top, I’ll go over, then lift you down. You can do it, Victoria. All right?”

  “Yes,” she said again, her eyes on the rocky ground in front of her. “Yes, I can do it.”

  When he’d gotten Victoria to the top rail of the fence, he climbed over and held out his arms to her. Her face was still pale, her lips now a thin line. He knew her leg was hurting more now. But he knew he had to get her back to the Hall.

  “Victoria,” he said, “just one more step up, that’s all.”

  He saw the sudden determination darken her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Just one more step.”

  He didn’t say another word. He watched as she dragged herself up, then closed his hands under her arms, lifting her over the top wooden rail. He brought all her weight against him as he lifted her down. He held her close a moment, feeling the slow, steady thud of her heart. “You did well. We will have to leave Toddy here. Now, I’m going to put you astride Gadfly. Will that make your leg hurt more than if you ride sidesaddle?”

  “No.”

  He lifted her onto Gadfly’s back, then went for Damaris. “Come, child.” She was chastened, that much was obvious, and he wished he could comfort her without lessening the impact of the scold he’d given her. “Damie, I’m going to set you in front of Victoria. I want you to sit very quietly and carefully. I want you to take care of her. All right?”

  “Yes, Uncle. What’s wrong, Torie?”

  “Nothing, love, nothing, I promise.”

  Once he’d placed Damaris in front of a very silent Victoria, Rafael climbed on behind them. Gadfly wasn’t at all pleased with the additional weight and promptly began dancing sideways, snorting as he did so. Rafael cursed him, held tight to Victoria, and finally Gadfly calmed.

  “Don’t worry about Toddy. I’ll send Flash for her.”

  Victoria didn’t say anything. She concentrated on holding Damaris, this time keeping the child safe. Her thigh throbbed and hummed as the muscles rippled and deepened their knotting. She wouldn’t cry, no she wouldn’t.

  Ten minutes later Rafael pulled Gadfly to a stop in front of Drago Hall. The last of the guests had left a half-hour before and now no one was about to see them. For that he was grateful. He dismounted with great care, then accepted Damaris from Victoria.

  What to do with the child?

  Bless Ligger. At that moment the great oak doors of Drago Hall opened and he appeared, thick white hair lifting off his forehead in the stiff breeze.

  “Master Rafael? Is there a problem, sir?”

  “Yes,” Rafael called back. “Would you please take Damaris to Nanny Black?” At Ligger’s nod, Rafael kissed the child’s cheek and said softly, “All is well now, my dear. Victoria and I will be up later to see you. All right?”

  “All right, Uncle.”

  He grinned at her and handed her over to Ligger.

  “Now, its your turn, wife.”

  Victoria willingly stretched out her arms, wrapping them about his neck as he lifted her off Gadfly’s back into his arms.

  “I’ll tell you the same thing . . . it’s all right now, Victoria.”

  Certainly it was all right, everything was marvelously all right, she thought with hopeless sarcasm, allowing herself the all-too-brief opportunity to relax in her husband’s arms. He was strong, she thought vaguely, and her leg hurt like the very devil.

  Rafael saw Molly, one of the maids, come around a corner. Of all things, her mobcap was crooked on her head, giving her a demented look. He said crisply, “Fetch me a very hot towel, Molly. Then bring me another one in fifteen minutes.”

  The girl blinked at that, but nodded.

  “Have you ever tried a hot towel on the leg?” he asked as he climbed the staircase.

  “No, but hot baths have helped in the past.”

  “Well, we’ll try it. It can’t hurt. I remember my physician, Blick, using heat on a man who’d severely strained his leg. It helped.”

  Unfortunately, at least in Victoria’s view, they passed Elaine in the second-floor corridor. Elaine stopped cold in her tracks and gave them the most disapproving look she could muster. “Whatever is the matter with you, Victoria? Why is Rafael carrying you like that?” Then her disapproving look lightened a bit and she added, “Did you hurt your leg? I imagine you did. You danced so very much last night, didn’t you? I said to Damien that you danced with every man. Indeed, I—”

  “We’ll see you later, Elaine,” Rafael said mildly, cutting her off as he opened their bedchamber door, then kicked it closed behind him. He carried Victoria to the immense bed and very gently laid her on her back.

  “The hot towel should be arriving soon. Let me help you off with your clothes.”

  Victoria said nothing. He was gentle, she granted him that, but her leg gave a particularly vicious spasm when he tugged off her riding boot, and she heard herself groaning, clutching at the leg, and rolling onto her side. Rafael watched, not knowing what to do. He had to get her wretched clothes off, that was the most important thing. Then the hot towel, then some laudanum.

  “Come, just a few more minutes. You’ll feel better soon, Victoria, I swear.”

  She was pretending to believe him, he thought as he quickly and efficiently stripped her down to her shift. He’d just pulled a blanket over her when there was a tap on the bedchamber door.

  It was Molly, her mobcap at an even more precarious angle now, and she was carrying the hot towel wrapped in between several other towels. He didn’t ask her how she’d managed. He was simply grateful that she had. He thanked her and sent her after another.

  He walked to the bed and stared down at Victoria for a moment. She was rubbing her thigh, her eyes closed.

  “Let’s try this now,” he said. He sa
t beside her and as gently as he could wrapped the very hot towel around her thigh. “Now, we’ll keep the heat in with some blankets.”

  She sucked in her breath, flinching at the heat.

  Rafael eased down beside her, slipping his right arm beneath her shoulders, and began to knead the muscles through the hot towel in the same deep way he’d done before. “I know that must burn, but try to bear it. It will lessen. And you will feel better soon.” His damned litany, he thought.

  To Victoria’s immense thankfulness, by the time the third towel was wrapped about her thigh, she felt only a slight twinge. The pain was gone.

  “I’m all right now.” There was a good deal of wonder in her voice.

  “Excellent. Keep this towel on for a few more minutes.” He didn’t lie beside her this time, merely stood by the bed, looking down at her. “Would you like some laudanum?”

  “No, I don’t like to use it, only when I’ve been very foolish and really hurt myself.”

  He was silent once again. Victoria closed her eyes. He was behaving very well. She could see no distaste, no revulsion in his expression.

  She jerked when he said suddenly, his voice harsh, “Why didn’t you tell me? It appears that everyone else knows of your problem except me. I find that peculiar, since I’m your husband.”

  She struggled with herself.

  “Why, Victoria? I assume this is your ugliness? Is this also your confession? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Angry, she thought, he was very angry. She opened her eyes and turned her head on the pillow to face him. No, she thought, he was beyond anger, she could see that. He was furious, coldly and calmly furious, his hands hard fists at his sides.

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “it is my ugliness and you can’t deny that it is dreadful. And yes, it was my confession.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? On our wedding night? Hell, before we were married?”

  “I wanted to tell you on our wedding night, but when I tried, you assumed that my confession was that I’d already lost my virginity to your brother. You didn’t deserve the truth then.”

  He said nothing to that. Finally he said, his voice meditative, “So many things have become miraculously clear to me in the past hour. I remember the night I rescued you from those smugglers. You were running from me and you tripped. You obviously hurt your leg, but you refused to admit anything to me. There were several other times as well, as I recall. You were terrified I would discover that you were, ah, not whole.”

  She flinched.

  “So you decided to punish me with silence. Did you ever intend to tell me? Was I never to be allowed to see my wife’s body?”

  “I was going to tell you,” she said dully.

  He said something very crude.

  “It’s the truth.” She felt her own anger spark at his words. She came up on her elbows. “How dare you, Rafael. How dare you assume that I had been with your brother when I told you I had a confession to make? You were horrible to me, why should I have told you the truth? You deserved nothing from me. Nothing, damn you.”

  He said very calmly, “The last time we made love, if I recall aright, you were lying on your left side. You were very responsive to me, no, more than that, you were wild for me. But you were protected, were you not, Victoria? I never demanded that you turn onto your back or your stomach. I never demanded to touch all of you, to kiss all of you.”

  “I was afraid,” she said, “I was afraid you would be repelled if you knew, if you saw me.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  She sucked in her breath on a cry of pain. Not pain from her leg, but pain from deep inside her. “Go away,” she said, knowing that she was beyond her tether. “Just go away.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “I believe I shall. But before I do, I’ll finish what I started.” He sat down beside her, pulled off the blankets and the towel. He looked down at her thigh, reddened now from the hot towels, then gently probed along the long jagged scar. “No more muscle spasms,” he said.

  She held herself silent.

  He merely nodded, and covered her again. He stood, looking down at her for a brief moment, his expression distant. “You should sleep now,” he said. He turned on his heel and left the bedchamber.

  She stared at the closed door. Slowly, out of long-ingrained habit, she began to massage her left thigh.

  She didn’t sleep, nor had she any intention of sleeping. After a few more minutes she raised herself and swung her legs over the side of the bed. No pain in her thigh. She put her weight on her leg. Still no pain. It was over, this time.

  Within ten minutes she was dressed again. She imagined that Toddy wasn’t yet back at the stables. It didn’t matter. She would walk to Fletcher’s Pond.

  She fell quickly asleep against the trunk of a maple tree, Clarence’s irritated squawking sounding in her ears. She hadn’t thought to bring bread, and now she was to be punished. His cousins joined in the din, and there was a smile on her lips as she dozed off.

  She awoke suddenly, clearheaded. She shivered slightly, for the sun wasn’t shining on her anymore. In that instant before she opened her eyes, she knew that Rafael was standing over her, blocking the sun. She opened her eyes. His legs were spread, his hands on his hips. The buckskin breeches became him, she thought, her eyes traveling down the length of him. He was hard and muscular and lean, and no matter how furious she ever was at him, she was at the same time fully aware of his male beauty. His Hessians glistened as black as his hair, with the sun haloing his head, and his eyes were a rich and vivid gray.

  He said very quietly, “However can you sleep with all this racket?”

  “I’m used to Clarence. He’s angry at me for forgetting his bread.”

  “Clarence?”

  “As in the Duke of Clarence. That very substantial fellow over there, howling the loudest.”

  Rafael chuckled. “As in fat and waddles. Our royal duke wouldn’t be pleased.”

  “He’s amiable when fed sufficient bread.”

  “Yes,” Rafael said. Silence fell between them. Clarence waddled back to the bank of the pond, then slid into the water, not making a sound. Rafael said at last, “Tell me about it.”

  She merely stared up at him.

  “Tell me about how and when it happened.”

  He sat beside her, leaning back against the trunk of the maple tree. He said nothing more, merely looked straight ahead at Clarence and his family members.

  “I was nearly eight years old. I was riding, always riding, and I was quite good. I had no groom, indeed, I considered myself quite grown-up at eight. I was also unlucky that day. My pony was stung by a bee, so ridiculous really, and he threw me against a fence. Unfortunately there was a nail sticking out from the fence and it slashed down my leg.” She paused for a moment, remembering and feeling again that awful pain, the shock that followed, making her white and dizzy.

  “And then?”

  “I rode back to Abermarle Manor. Just as I arrived, I was told that my parents were dead.” Her voice was calm, detached, and Rafael wondered at it. “I didn’t know what to do. So I did nothing. It was the next morning that my older cousin found me and saw the blood on my gown from my leg. His name was Michael and he must have been all of twenty years old at the time. He took care of me, but it was a bit late. At least I didn’t have to have my leg cut off.” He flinched at that, but said nothing. Victoria continued in that same calm detached voice, “It was soon after that that I was sent to my Uncle Montgomery and his family. Elaine was their youngest and the only child at home. She was only five years older than I. Her father, though, wasn’t my guardian, something I’ve never really understood. Well, my leg healed eventually, but when I overexert or do something stupid, it cramps and knots up.”

  “You make it sound very inconsequential,” he said. He could see the young girl in his mind’s eye, riding home on her pony, in terrible pain, only to be greeted with a pain that seared the soul. No, not inconsequen
tial, she’d made him see her pain, but she’d been careful not to let herself hurt him. He drew in a deep breath in response to his thoughts. “How did your parents die?”

  “In a carriage accident. A wheel came off, and the carriage, the driver, and the horses all went over a cliff.”

  “My parents were killed by the French. But I guess you already know that.”

  “Yes, I know that they were on board an English ship bound for Spain to visit your mother’s parents in Seville.” She paused a moment, but didn’t turn to face him. “I know you haven’t just been a simple sea captain, Rafael. I think you’ve worked for the government, against Napoleon, because of your parents, to avenge them perhaps.”

  He said finally, “At the beginning it was my primary motive—revenge, that is. Then, as the years passed and I saw that I was indeed making a difference, that what I did actually saved British lives, and in some cases changed the outcome of a battle or the fate of a town, well, my revenge motive lessened its hold on me. I believe it was Francis Bacon who said that revenge is a kind of wild justice. I eventually just let it go. I was finally able to admit to myself that I enjoyed the danger, the matching of wits between me and the enemy, the challenge. But back to you, Victoria. If I hadn’t been such a bloody fool on our wedding night, would you truly have told me about your leg?”

  “Yes, of course. I was about to. It’s true that I was afraid, terribly afraid that you wouldn’t want me after you saw me. As for telling you before we wed, I knew I should, but I also knew that I wouldn’t. Much too much a coward. I was too convinced that if I did, you would refuse to marry me.”

  “You’re a fool, my girl. You aren’t exactly hag-ridden, you know. Haven’t you ever really looked in a mirror?”

  “Certainly. But that hasn’t much to do with anything. One is born with looks or one is not. It has nothing to do with what’s really important—one’s character or one’s morals or how one deals with others. I thought that you had grown to like me, but I was nearly certain that you didn’t like me quite enough for such a revelation.”

  “I did like you and I still do, for that matter.”