“They’ve no idea what’s causing her behavior, so they won’t commit themselves to any diagnosis about the future.” Al sounded bleak.
“Look, I’m sure you’ll see a world of difference once she’s back home.” Second lie. “With you and her mother in charge, instead of doctors and nurses, she’ll start to remember her past.” Third lie. “She’ll have all her friends and familiar places to jog her memory.”
Al attempted a smile. “Yeah, that’s what we’re hoping.”
Zach tried to think of something else encouraging to say, wondering if he sounded as hypocritical as he felt. “We have to remember it’s less than a week since she was shot, and physically she’s doing a fantastic job of recovery.”
“Yeah, physically she’s doing great.” Al looked glum. “Did you notice? They took out the last of the IV drips today.”
“Hey, cheer up! That’s good news.”
“Is it?” Al avoided Zach’s gaze. “Since she didn’t have the drip anymore, they couldn’t give her medication through the tubes. The nurse had to bring Robyn’s antibiotic pills in a plastic foam cup.”
Zach winced. “Let me guess what happened. She threw the pills at the nurse.”
“No. She tried to eat the foam cup along with the pills.” Al rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Honest to God, she stared at those dang antibiotics like she’d never seen a pill in her life. Then when the nurse told her to hurry up and swallow them down, she picked up the cup and started munching.”
Zach would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so damn close to crying. “Dr. Forsyth did explain that post-trauma amnesia can be selective,” he said, trying to find something consoling to say, although it was damned difficult to be reassuring about a woman who ate plastic foam.
“Remember he mentioned those strange cases of accident victims who couldn’t recognize their immediate family, even though they remembered acquaintances? Or the story he told about a woman who came out of surgery remembering every detail of her life after April the twelfth of 1989 and nothing from before.”
“Yeah, I remember. I’m not sure it makes me feel any better to know that my daughter’s crazy just like a lot of other unfortunate people.”
Zach sucked in a gulp of air. “Not crazy, Al. With expert therapy, she’ll get back to normal.” A prayer, not a lie.
“I sure do hope so.” Al’s voice thickened. “She was such a happy, friendly little girl. And so darn cute. Huge green eyes, a mop of curls, and those dang freckles across her nose. Lord, she was cute as a button. Her mother and I couldn’t help spoiling her, but she never took advantage, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. Robyn is a very generous person.” Zach drew in another deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better go and say hi to her, and to Muriel.” He walked across to the bed and murmured greetings. Muriel Delaney gave him one of her brave, anxious smiles. Robyn ignored him.
“Al tells me Robyn can go home next week,” he said to Muriel, voice rich with false cheer. “That’s great.” Behind him, Robyn’s bed whirred and buzzed on its bizarre ride. He swallowed hard. “I’ll book tickets on a flight direct to Washington, D.C., and arrange for a rental car to be waiting at Dulles for the drive to your house. The whole journey shouldn’t take more than twelve hours, hospital door to your door.
“It’s so good of you to take on the burden of making all these travel arrangements,” Muriel said.
“Don’t mention it. I fly to England so often on business I have a long-standing agreement with a travel agency in London. One call will take care of all the details.”
“I’m really looking forward to being home again,” Muriel said. “I’m sure Robyn will get back to her old self again as soon as she’s in familiar surroundings.”
The hope had become her mantra. Since he’d made virtually the same remark to Al, Zach could only nod his agreement, although he couldn’t think of any solid reason why the sight of her childhood home would trigger Robyn’s return to normal when the faces of her own parents hadn’t done the trick.
“Robyn’s looking well, better every day.” That, at least, was the truth. “The color’s back in her cheeks and her face is rounding out again, not looking so thin.”
“Yes, her appetite’s pretty good.” Muriel’s voice tailed away, dispirited. “The truth is, Zach, that she doesn’t seem to be improving mentally, even though she’s doing just fine physically. The nurses had another huge dust-up with her this morning. They had a terrible time persuading her to get into the shower, and when she was finally undressed, she went off into hysterics.” Muriel Delaney’s face crumpled and tears trickled down her cheeks.
Zach handed her a tissue and she dried her eyes determinedly. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “What was upsetting Robyn this morning, did the nurses tell you?”
“Oh, yes, they told me.”
“And?”
“Apparently she accused them of stealing away her body and she demanded that they bring it back. She got hysterical every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. She kept repeating, over and over, ‘Where have you hidden my blond hair?’ “
Zach felt sick to his stomach. Robyn’s delusions certainly didn’t seem to be lessening in severity as time passed. “Maybe they misunderstood,” he said. “Her pronunciation isn’t always easy to understand. Maybe she was talking about her baby. She accused me once of stealing her baby.”
“I guess it’s marginally less crazy if she thinks people are stealing her nonexistent baby rather than her body,” Muriel said, her voice not quite under control.
Al gave his wife’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “She’ll be right as rain when we get her home, sugar.”
Muriel looked at her daughter, eyes sad. “I sure hope so,” she said. “I sure do hope so.”
* * *
Robyn sat hunched in her wheelchair, staring straight ahead, her mouth drawn into a tight, obstinate line. Zach and the nurses kept up a stream of would-be jaunty chatter. Al and Muriel Delaney followed behind their daughter’s wheelchair in grim, despairing silence. Zach couldn’t blame them if they had exhausted their supply of false optimism.
The weather, at least, was proving unusually kind for England in early December. A pale sun broke from behind the clouds as Robyn was wheeled out into the hospital driveway, and the icy blasts of wind died down to sharp puffs of breeze carrying a tang of salty ocean. “Nice day for a journey,” the nurse said.
“Yes,” Zach agreed. “We should make good time to Heathrow.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to America,” the nurse said. “I’m saving up for a trip to Disney World next winter.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Zach said. The limo he had ordered was waiting outside the concrete canopy and he waved to the driver, indicating that he should pull up to the main hospital entrance. The driver, a happy-go-lucky young man who clearly thought his fancy chauffeur’s uniform was a bit of a lark, clicked his heels before giving a mock salute and jumping into the limo. His chirpy whistle was audible across the hundred yards or so separating him from the hospital entrance.
At least somebody was feeling cheerful, Zach thought. He glanced toward Robyn, his gloom increasing when he saw that she was hunched deeper than ever into the wheelchair, her eyes darting in furtive, nervous sweeps over the parking lot. When the limo engine hummed into life, she recoiled visibly, and her gaze fixed with almost hypnotic intensity on the approaching car.
Then she started to scream.
* * *
William’s horse, a bay gelding, was tethered close to the tree stump where Robyn had sat and nursed baby Zach.
“Hold tight to the child,” William said curtly, then lifted her into the saddle in a single, swift movement. He swung himself up behind her without any need to use the tree stump as a mounting block and set off toward the Manor at a slow canter.
The manhandling by Captain Bretton’s soldiers had left the front of her dress sopping wet, and Robyn was too cold and too tir
ed to think or even to feel much during the brief ride back to the Manor. Fortunately, the rocking motion seemed to lull the baby into a doze, and he felt warm and comfy snuggled inside her cape.
At first she held herself rigidly upright, maintaining a careful distance between her spine and William’s body, but gradually fatigue overcame resolution and she allowed herself to lean back against his chest. She thought she heard him draw in a sharp, hard breath, but he said nothing, and she decided she must have been mistaken. He felt strong and muscled behind her, his body an oddly comforting bulwark against the lashing rain. Ever since she woke up and found herself in the midst of this nightmare, William had been simultaneously the person she trusted least—and the person she most wanted to confide in. Why did he inspire such strangely mixed reactions? When he confronted Captain Bretton, she had felt as if she could entrust him with her life. And yet, two seconds later she had recognized him as a major threat to her security. Her nerve endings jangled with subliminal warning every time he came near. Even now, when she was hovering on the edge of total exhaustion, a tiny part of her body was quivering with tension, and she was aware of every movement he made.
A groom—she thought she recognized the stable lad she had overheard earlier in the evening—was waiting in the shelter of the portal covering the front entrance to the Manor. He ran out into the courtyard as soon as he spotted his master approaching, and held the horse’s head while William dismounted. Robyn was so stiff and sore that she was secretly glad that William gave her no chance to get off the horse under her own steam. He simply lifted her out of the saddle and carried her across the muddy cobblestones into Starke.
It spoke volumes for her fatigued state that she scarcely noticed the bowing and curtsying servants who clustered in the hallway and lined the staircase. William, of course, paid them no heed at all and simply marched up the stairs, Robyn and baby Zach still held in his arms.
“I can walk,” she muttered, not liking the confused emotions rioting inside her. “William, for heaven’s sake, put me down. I’m not Scarlett, you’re not Rhett, and I’m tired of playing low-budget reruns of Gone With the Wind.”
He ignored her—what else had she expected?—and strode up the stairs at a spanking pace considering he was carrying a hundred and twenty pounds of Robyn, plus fifteen pounds or so of sodden cape, as well as seven or eight pounds of baby Zach. Mary was hovering in the hallway outside Arabella’s bedroom and she hurried to open the door for them. William acknowledged her action with a curt nod of the head.
“You may leave us,” he said. “I will tend to the Lady Arabella.”
“Yes, m’lord. Shall I send Annie to take the little un’, m’ lord?”
“No,” Robyn said. “I will take care of Zach.”
As always, Mary looked to William for confirmation. Robyn felt him hesitate for an instant before he nodded. “Very well, Mary. Her ladyship will send for the nurse later.” He walked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with the heel of his riding boot.
He set Robyn down on the rug in front of the fire, unhooking the frogs of her cloak and flinging it onto a chair.
“The child is to be christened Arthur,” he said, his voice hard. “The ceremony will take place on Sunday next, after matins. You will remember your son’s name in the future, my lady, and you will use it.”
Robyn’s tentative spurt of goodwill toward William vanished in a flash. “You may christen my son whatever you please. I’m damn sure I get no say in the matter in this benighted place. But that doesn’t mean you can force me to call my child by a name you’ve chosen without consulting me. I’m the one who delivered him after hours of labor, and as far as I’m concerned, his name is Zach, short for Zachary, and that’s what I will always call him.”
“Why are you determined to throw your infidelity in my face?” William asked tautly.
“You think Zach is your brother’s child?” she asked incredulously. “For heaven’s sake, William, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m not throwing anything in your face and I haven’t been unfaithful to you.” She remembered Clemmie’s brown eyes and flushed, correcting herself quickly. “Not for years, at any rate. You obviously don’t want to believe me, but Zachary is our son. Yours and mine.”
“But of course he is my son,” William said, his voice heavy with irony. “Why else would you have staged that pitiful plea for reconciliation between us last April, if not to provide a father for your son? And if I cannot quite convince myself that a single foray into your bed resulted in instant impregnation, well then, you can prove my son’s heritage jen-et-iclee, can you not?”
“Yes, and if you’re too far in the past to accept genetic theory, you can prove it simply by looking at him. You can see he’s your son if you would only open your eyes.”
Robyn realized that she was near to tears, and she pointedly turned her back on William, setting Zach down on the chest of drawers she had designated as his changing stand. Much to the outrage of Mary and Annie who considered a lady’s bedchamber no place for baby clothes, she kept a supply of clean garments in the top drawer, and a stack of muslin squares folded in a basket that stood between the chest and the fire. She picked up one of the makeshift diapers and pressed its softness against Zach’s cheek.
“See how warm it is?” she murmured, paying little heed to what she said, just wanting to soothe him with her chatter. “It’s clean, too. Do you know how hard I had to fight to get the servants to wash your diapers instead of just drying them off?”
Zach gurgled and she smiled at him. “Right, I agree. That’s disgusting. Gross, in fact. Now Mommy’s going to make you all nice and dry. And we’ll take that nasty wet nightgown off you, too. Are your toes cold from all the rain?”
Zachary’s toes were toasty warm, but he let out a howl of protest as she untied his lacy bonnet and slipped the lavishly embroidered linen gown over his head. She bent down and gave him an absentminded kiss. “Sorry, poppet, did I hurt your arm? Mommy didn’t mean to get rough with you but these clothes aren’t exactly snap-and-go, you know.”
She straightened from her task of tying and buttoning him into a clean diaper, long flannel petticoat, knitted cap, and silk bedjacket, and found William staring at her, his expression arrested.
“You need to change your own garments,” he said, breaking the odd little silence that opened up between them. “You are a great deal wetter than your son.”
“You’re right, I am. As soon as you leave, I’ll change.”
“You cannot unhook your own gown,” William said, not meeting her eyes. “If you will turn around, I will assist you.”
Robyn laid Zachary in his cradle, glad of the excuse to avoid looking at William. “Thank you,” she said, annoyed when her voice emerged sounding curiously breathless. “I would prefer to summon Mary.”
“I wish to speak with you privately,” William said. “And you will catch an inflammation of the lungs if you remain in those soaking wet clothes. My offer was purely practical in intent.”
Robyn sat down in the chair beside Zach’s cradle, leaning forward and rocking it gently. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you need to say to me that can’t wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Can you not?” William crossed to her side, pulling her to her feet. His eyes blazed with suppressed anger. “First you will change into dry clothing, then I will talk and you will discover just what I need to say to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, William. I’m not going to get undressed with you standing around watching.”
“Come, my lady, false modesty does not become you. I have seen all that you have to offer on many occasions and, believe me, there is no danger that I will fall headlong into lust because I unlace your stays.”
His scorn pricked at Robyn’s pride. “Will you not?” she asked sweetly. “And yet, when I was riding home with you, I could have sworn that I felt quite clear evidence of the force of your desire for me.”
Color washed for an inst
ant in William’s cheeks. Then he grabbed the hand mirror off the nearby dressing table and thrust it in front of her face.
“You have a high opinion of your charms,” he said harshly. “Take a good look at yourself, my lady. Do you imagine that such a bedraggled female is likely to inspire me with an overwhelming longing to take her into my bed?”
Robyn turned white at the sight of herself in the mirror, not because she looked so wretched, but because she saw Arabella’s ravaged blond beauty reflected back at her. Pushing the mirror away, she covered her eyes with her hand.
“What is it that you want to know, William?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded depressed and weary. “I will do my best to answer you although, believe me, I am not likely to have any answers for your questions.”
“Very well, if you are determined to play the martyr, so be it. Here is my first question, and it would be gratifying if you attempted to answer it with a modicum of honesty. Why did you seek out Captain Bretton tonight? What did the pair of you hope to accomplish?”
“I didn’t seek him out. Two of his men found me walking at the edge of the woods and they forced me to go with them. I had no idea they would take me to Captain Bretton.”
William smiled without a trace of amusement. “Not one of your better stories, my lady. If you were not planning to meet with Captain Bretton, would you care to explain why you were strolling through the far reaches of Starke Manor on a freezing cold night, with a storm getting ready to blow in off the Channel?” His smile shaded from derision to outright mockery. “Please try to make your explanation a mite more convincing this time, my dear. It is so much more entertaining for both of us when you make your lies a little credible.”
Robyn looked up, meeting his gaze defiantly. “I have a terrific explanation,” she said.
“Then, pray, let me hear it. I am all attention.”
“I was—running away.”
William stared at her for a long silent moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he got to his feet and walked over to the closet. He returned carrying a knitted shawl. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Since I rescued you from certain death after your carriage accident, I would prefer you not to die because you are too obstinate to change out of a wet dress.”
Timeless (A Time Travel Romance) Page 21
