by Gayle Eden
“Of course.” He looked over her own linen shirt, the trousers, and boots. “I’ve been testing the shoulder a bit each day. So long as I favor it awhile, I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head but went to climb into the saddle, gathering the reins and going alongside him. “Very well. I am saying nothing more on it. But the servants, you know, give me that scolding eye when you won’t let them coddle you.”
He grunted and steered her toward the rolling hills, just west of the estate house. As they rode and eyed the dark distant clouds, he murmured, “It’s not you. It’s the fact that George, the boot boy, caught me practicing with sword last week, and apparently assumed my normal sweating and grunting was an oncoming sign of death. He ran yelling such, and in moments the ballroom was overrun with my entire staff.”
She laughed. “For all they don’t openly show it, my lord, they care for you.” After a moment, she regarded him, noting his improved color, and the natural swarthy skin. She observed the breeze ruffling long strands of his raven hair. He had a few silver ones sprinkled about. It did not detract from his harsh handsomeness.
Having stopped just on a rise, Rotherham glanced over and caught her staring at him. After doing his own scan of her face, he said in low tones, “You’ve won Hembrick’s admiration.”
Hembrick was his steward.
“Have I?” She grinned into his eyes.
He seemed to study that as he nodded then murmured, “I’ve a dozen notes from tenants thanking me—for things I don’t recall doing…”
She grimaced and then supplied, “You sponsored a charity race for the Vicar, who promised me he would bring a tutor in for the boys here abouts'. And you—um—donated that cottage just off Jameson’s farm, for a girl’s school. Possibly... you supplied food for a picnic and games…last week…”
He supplied, “And donated new pews to the village church, as well as hymnals. I apparently sent letters off for young John Beverly to attend the riding academy—and announced an annual opening of the reserve for tours and rides. Refreshment’s provided, of course.”
“Um—well you see, Trevon, the thing is, Audra and I noticed that most of the people are farmers, of one sort or another. They have not much leisure time, nor much in the village—save church. We’ve seen them in their carts, taking children by the park to—”
“—Um,” he cut her off her explanation, watching her bite her lip sheepishly. “Just try and leave me a list of the good deeds and generous things I do next time, Madam, so I won’t look so brain blank at Hembrick that he starts feeling my head for fever.”
Alina saw it then—the smile in his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
“I’ve raised your allowance. You apparently donated the last of it in my name. And, since Audra is trying to gloss over the fact she desires to order several volumes for her clubs, but can’t afford it—and you can loan it to her.”
“That is—generous of you.”
“Is it.” The amused glow lingered in his eyes. “It appears that I’m a most generous fellow.”
Alina looked around at the rock styles and still green grasses sprinkled with late blooming wild flowers. “You never mention growing up here. What it was like to do so?” When she glanced back, Rotherham’s visage was tense.
After a moment, he motioned with his head and said gruffly, “Come, the shower will be upon us soon. There is an old fallen church just a short ways in the woods. Enough shelter to keep us dry. ”
She rode with him that direction, her stomach muscles tightening because she could feel his tension.
Into the woods, they came upon the tumble down structure, now moss covered and vine laden. Dismounting, she led her horse with his into a fairly dry spot with enough grass growing to keep them occupied grazing.
Rotherham turned and reached out his swarthy hand. “Careful where you step.” He led her up crumbling stairs, to a half packed stone second story, the entire length about 9 feet by 7.two sides were gone, open to the elements .the large arched window in front of them was uncovered, misshapen, and larger from the loose stones haven fallen below. There was a smooth stone ledge, bench like, against the back wall.
He invited her to sit there.
Alina did so, smelling the rain and picking up the stronger waft of breeze mingled with deep woods and earth.
She leaned back and watched Rotherham go to the opening, one hand braced on the side and his boot sole resting on the stones at the bottom, whilst he gazed out.
Eyeing his height, the powerful long legs, swarthiness—watching the wind ruffle his hair and tug at the pleat-shouldered linen shirt; she rubbed her damp palms down her thighs. His profile was so distant, so dark—his expression as if looking into the past.
His voice came raspy, “I suspect that despite my efforts to avoid it, you have seen my back?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He did not turn from his distant gaze. “My father, and Rane’s, were both young widowers. As titled do, who are neighbors, I was betrothed to Rane’s sister from age twelve.”
Alina’s mouth went dry. with heart thudding she awaited his next words, dreading them from his tone and expression, yet needing them—feeling a tight dark pain in his voice.
“She was older than me—quite a bit older. She began tutoring me in her particular sexual games right away. Once the sexual encounters became more painful and less pleasurable—I declined to participate. However, Imogene was sly and manipulative, she would tell our father’s I abused her or some such. I was too young to know anything; save that, one never spoke ill of a lady.
In time, I did voice my refusal to marrying her to my father. I went to hers also, to beg off. It enraged her. Although, on the surface, you would never see it. She was a stunning beauty, with honey skin, long red gold hair, and topaz eyes. Her manner was such that anyone not knowing her darker nature was instantly charmed by her.
I began to avoid her as best I could. But she was not above slipping into my bed or using my friendship with Rane. I could not say anything to Rane. It was his sister. And, he was a few years my junior. Besides, how does a lad that young articulate something he himself does not understand?
For two years, I was trapped. I never stopped begging my father to end it. She would discover my petitions to end our association, and have some cruel punishment to retaliate. I tried to get my father to let the tutors go and send me to university—just to be rid of her. But she would fall into her weeping and helpless, act—and that would end that.”
Trevon wet his lips and swallowed. His voice grew tighter as he went on, “I reached a point where I told her that I would never wed her, no matter what anyone expected. There were things in Imogene’s life, I could never know—because I was consumed with my own escape of her—and, I was not grown or worldly. However, one night as I returned from the village, several riders converged on me, catching me off guard. They covered my face—and took me to a spot in the woods.
Once they had strung me up—spread armed, they took off the sack—and I saw Imogene, standing with a lantern. She was nude under her cape and she and the four males went through a kind of violent sexual orgy. I have no idea if the bloodletting and chants were satanic—or simply her sadistic taste.
At the end of it, she came behind me, stuck a dagger in my shoulder, and kept saying that I would wed her; and she would be Countess of Rotherham.
I cursed her, and I told her never. The longer I refused, the more she cut me.
Suffice it to say, by the time she started on the other side—I did not care. She would lift her weight by the dagger and rage. Before I passed out, the fellows ran off. But I did black out, waking near dawn with Rane hauling me to my father on the back of his horse.
I was too done in to speak for over a week. Though, I finally did. My father, fearing I would die, which is what he was told—confessed to me that he had been a part of Imogene’s sexual initiation from her youth. He and several of the men hereabouts. I raged. Not because of that betrayal, but b
ecause he had promised her to become Countess—all those years ago, and let me go through all of that, pretending to not believe me—and nearly driving me mad….
In time however, my father went to Rane’s. Whatever happened between them resulted in Imogene was sent off to an asylum. My father came home, and blew his brains out. Rane’s—went mad.”
The rain had started and gusted across the opening, starting to drip in some places from the half roof.
Alina got to her feet. He did not move, nor mind the drops that blew on his face and shirt. She went to stand behind him before sliding her arms around his waist, and holding him.
“What really happened the night you were shot?”
He told her, all of it, getting to the part where he was in the coach with Rane and uttering, “He shot her in the face…he killed his sister.”
“Poor, Rane.”
Rotherham straightened and covered her arms that held him across the waist.
“He has always felt guilty because he knew more than he could speak of. Just as their father did. Rhys, was in his own world, and thought nothing of it, but Rane and his father had to lock Imogene in the cellars many time because of her improper or sadistic behavior. She could act perfectly fine, seemingly at will. And—she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Rane suspected, at some early age, an older man introduced her to sexual pain and she enjoyed inflicting it. Add to that, a compulsion to lie, manipulate—and her fixation with being a Countess…
Rane blamed himself for never telling me, for not doing more. But he was scarcely nine or ten himself when it began. For my own part, after my father’s death, I suspect it was he—my father—who initiated her and it grew out of his control as she matured.”
Rotherham took her hands and tugged so that she came to stand in front of him, leaning back against his good shoulder.
Alina welcomed the spray of rain. The tale was so grim.
He said, “I was going through my father’s books, the accounts, and his personal effects. I discovered things that furthered that belief. It did not start with Imogene. She was simply someone dangerous as she grew up. He had also paid Rane’s father huge sums—for what, neither of us know. I was a long time healing. My rage grew with it. The rest hardly matters—save that I was shaped by it from the time Imogene manipulated my life.”
Alina turned in his arms, looking into his eyes, while she pulled his shirt free in back. She slid her palms over the sleek muscle. She kissed the edge of his chin, their shirts wet in front, and heated skin felt through it.
“That is a long time for a young boy to be victimized. And uncover a set of horrific betrayals and secrets.” Taking a wild guess, she said, “As a young man, later, you must have felt tainted by it all—as did Rane likely. The both of you were awfully young to be left alone with wrecked lives.”
Her palms skimmed higher, to the edge of the bandage, then down again, to his spine. “There may never be an explanation for Imogene—if she was born or made that way—or why. You are right, secrets destroy families. Abuse can wreck souls. People who manipulate and use, are sadistic. They can do very real, very lasting, damage.”
She skimmed her hands out and leaned back, tugging the rest of the shirt free, watching his face clear of shadows—seeing him shudder as she caressed him once more. “You don’t have to explain who you are to me, apologize, or justify, Trevon. I know already. And, aside from that wall I sometimes run into—I find nothing but pleasure in being your wife.”
He raised his hands, cupping her face, then lowered his head, and kissed her. It was tenderly sensual, a supple kiss that she returned, having missed them, having built up the hunger, since the London incident, along with a fierce need to touch him and hold onto him.
He lifted his head. Wind gusted rain at their hair and faces. For the moments, they stood there—and the times he kissed her again, before the rain ceased, Alina needed no words. The kisses he gave, spoke eloquently to her.
When the rain stopped, they walked to their horses and headed toward the estate house, at times looking at each other. This time with no secrets and only the passion, in their eyes.
* * * *
Audra had donned trousers the next day and left her boots on the courtyard, while she worked in the late summer gardens. The sleeves of her linen shirt rolled up to her elbows, and the trousers at her calves, she was in bare feet, having piled her hair up haphazardly whilst down on her knees to pull out weeds.
She had been at it for a while, when a shadow fell over her.
Sitting up, shading her eyes, she saw Rane standing there. Weak sun struck his hair and warm skin and her gaze skimmed down his white shirt, the buckskin trousers, and wine boots, before she carefully got to her feet.
Taking off the dirty gloves and dropping them with the trowel, she murmured, “Good morning.”
“It is afternoon.” He grinned, and reached out to pluck a twig from her half-fallen hair. Still, his gaze went over her and he offered, “You look beautiful.”
She flushed and laughed. “With dirt on my knees, and twigs in my hair.”
His grin flashed. He again went over her visually. Her face was dewed and flushed, the hazel eyes greener, and her curves were outlined in the male attire. The blouse was unbuttoned low and he could see dew between her full plump breasts. Even with a camisole under it, the nipples were outlined. Her rounded hips looked lush and womanly in those trousers.
Raising his eyes again, watching strands of silken hair waft against her cheek and neck, he said huskily, “Gowned in silks, or as you are, you cannot help but stir me.”
Audra met his topaz gaze while wetting her peach lips. “I’m glad of that.”
Something flashed in his eyes and he asked, “Are you?” while searching her face.
“Yes.”
Rane stared at her while a cloud passed and blocked the sun. He then came closer and tentatively he touched her cheek, before slowly lowering his head.
Audra’s breath rushed out, seconds before the kiss came. Yet once his lips brushed hers, once his tongue slid inside her mouth—she stood on tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Rane’s hands shifted to her spine, head moving as he tried to devour her without unleashing all the hunger he had contained.
Audra breathed erratically when he lifted slightly, eyes finding hers when her lashes raised.
Masculine fingers firmed and flexed on her spine. Rane husked, “How can a woman kiss a man who has kissed before, and make it feel like the first intoxicating time?”
She laved his flavor off her mouth. “It feels like… more than a kiss to me. It felt like flavor, texture, and heat. Like a man’s mouth, his intimate secrets. I have a desire to know yours.”
“Audra.” His palms skimmed up her back and then down her sides to her hips. “I have some things to explain—about my absence this week.”
She stared at him. “Rotherham confided in Alina, and she in me. I am sorry. So very, sorry.”
Rane pulled her tightly to him a moment, taking her return embrace, her hugging, holding him tightly. His face buried against her hair, he said after some moments, “I’m simply glad 'tis over. She had been released for some time. I was never told. She had been following him.”
“Is your father alive?”
“No. He died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled back and regarded her. “I can’t be sorry for that release either. Is that not heartless?”
“No. I understand it.” She uncurled her arms and reached for his hand, tugging him to walk with her. At the courtyard, she murmured her thanks to the maid who brought iced drinks and then curtsied.
In the shade of the roofing overhang, she sat beside him on a bench, as they drank. Rane occasionally spoke of his younger life, the chaos and confusion—the madness and final abandonment. It was apparent to Audra that out of all of them, only he and Rotherham loved each other, or were loyal. They survived because of thei
r bond.
A half-hour passed before the shadows of the past faded. The both of them felt as if the now, and the day itself, was more vivid.
Audra pulled on her boots and got to her feet, watching his graceful frame unfold. He took her hand this time and they began to stroll—just holding hands, until his arm went round her, and her head rested against his chest.
They laughed, chuckled softly, when she stubbed the toe of her boot, and nearly fell. She grumbled about her dirt and messy hair. He breathed in, smelling her scent and subtle perfume—the sun and wind—and told her, she was perfect.
Somewhere beyond the stables, and just at the entry of the woods, he turned her under the dappled shade of the trees, and kissed her again.
Aroused, Audra clung to him. She buried her hands in his hair, her body coming alive as his hands smoothed over her hips and back.
Lips damp and parted, strands of hair blowing against her brows and cheek, she leaned back from him and viewed the feline passion in his face, the mingled need and hunger—and more—so much more, there.
Holding his gaze, she put her hands on his forearms, breaking his hold, and then put them on his wrists, guiding, at first flattening the palms against her stomach before she urged them up to her plump breasts.
“Touch me, Rane,” her whisper was needing and wanting—desperately needing to be touched by him...
The fire deepened in his eyes. With lashes half-mast, he undid the shirt first, pulling it free of her trousers. The backs of his fingers had her shivering, while he unlatched the short camisole. When he pushed the edges back, and aside of her full milky breasts, exposing them his breath rushed out at their beauty, the large nipples beginning to tighten already under his gaze.
Rane flickered his eyes to her face observing her parted lips, eyes glittery. With her hands still on his forearms, he cupped her breasts, watching white teeth sink into her lip but feeling the slight arch of her back as she gave them to his touch.
