Morgan's Marriage

by Lindsay McKenna

  After trying for a long time to work through those awful memories, Laura felt herself begin to spiral back into sleep. Just as she sighed and surrendered to the process, she heard Morgan scream.

  She sat straight up in bed, the covers tumbling away from her. Jerking her head to the left, she saw Morgan’s blankets and sheet ripped away, falling to the floor as he flailed about fighting an invisible enemy. With a moan, she quickly got out of bed. Sleep left her completely as she dodged his flying fists.

  “Morgan!” she cried. “Morgan, wake up!”

  Through the gunfire and explosion of mortars, Morgan heard a woman’s voice. He could smell the blood and the sweat of fear, taste the terror and hear the cries of his men around him. In the midst of it, he felt a cool, strong hand grip his shoulder. He heard a woman’s low, husky voice calling him away from that hill in Vietnam. With all his strength, he homed in on her voice, knowing on some deep survival level that she could help him. She could save him from the tragedy unfolding before his tightly shut eyes.

  His breath was coming in ragged gasps and sweat rolling down his temples, as he shook like the proverbial leaf in a storm. Blindly, he reached out to grab that cool, steadying hand, to cling to that husky-voiced woman who soothed his raw state. With a groan, he buried his face against her breasts, holding her as if to release her would throw him back into his newly remembered hell. Would the nightmare ever end? Morgan had no idea, at once snared in the bloody memories of the past, and yet clutching her small, strong body, which spoke of the present and hope. Even as he pressed his face against her, feeling the soft give of her breasts beneath the silky material of her gown, the memories kept running before his shut eyes like a reel of movie film.

  “It’s all right, all right,” Laura crooned, stroking Morgan’s damp hair. She held him tightly with her other arm, which she’d wrapped around his trembling, rigid body. He clung to her, and her ribs ached beneath the tension of his arms. Explosions of breath tore from him, and she knew he was back in Vietnam. Closing her eyes, resting her cheek against his hair, Laura continued her soothing words and began to rock him gently back and forth, as a mother might a frightened child. It had always worked before when Morgan would get caught up in his virulent nightmares, and she could feel it miraculously working now. Little by little, his grip loosened, his breathing softening to gasps, and she could feel him returning to the present, once more escaping his horrific past.

  As she sat on his bed, rocking him, she realized more of the memories from Vietnam must have returned. On one level, it was good news—his mind giving up the information, another piece of his life returning. She compressed her lips, kissing his hair, then his sweaty brow. Would Morgan ever remember her? Remember their love? Laura’s heart ached for him—and for herself—as she continued talking softly, knowing her voice would lead him out of his nightmare state and back to the present. Even if he had no memory of her similar help in years past, he was responding positively to it, and she was grateful.

  Morgan’s heart was beating so hard that for a fleeting moment he feared he’d die of a heart attack. But the bloody hill had at last begun to fade. He’d almost died on that hill, had thought he was going to, but he hadn’t. He felt a woman’s lips pressed against his brow. Who…? Laura. His mind gyrated between the freshly churned up Vietnam memories and Laura holding him with her woman’s strength and tenderness. He’d tasted death that day. He’d been so sure he was going to die like his men around him.

  Something in Morgan screamed out for him to prove he was alive. He saw himself in his blood-soaked green utilities, torn and dirty. He saw himself fighting off five Vietcong who had charged through the last lines of defense to attack him. Morgan felt the butt of an AK-47 as it smashed into the side of his face. He felt numbness, then the strong flow of warm blood down his temple and cheek. He was going to die. He saw it in the eyes of his enemies, who wanted him dead.

  In one motion, he released Laura enough to capture her soft mouth. He had to live! He had to feel as if he were more alive than dead! Covering her mouth, he took it—hard and deep. He needed to feel her warmth, her body—feel her responding to him. Her fragrance encircled him, its perfumed scent overriding the odors of blood and death. He felt her moan, the sweet sound vibrating through him, erasing some of the nightmarish past that still clutched at him. Oh, God, let him live! Let him survive this! He slid his hand upward, feeling her small ribs, then groaned as his fingers curved around her small, taut breast.

  Mindless, acting only out of the instinct to survive, he tugged impatiently at the strap of the silken nightgown, hearing the fabric give way as he frantically searched for and found her exposed breast. Tearing his mouth from her lips, he settled it on her hardened nipple, suckling there. Life instead of death. Love instead of hatred. He heard her cry out—a cry of pure pleasure—and felt her press him.

  The past rushed together with the present—the blood of the past mingling with the blood engorging him until he ached for release within her. He pushed the nightgown away from her body, needing to feel her naked, warm skin against him. Laura was alive. She was here, in his arms. He could feel her fingers digging into his bunched shoulder muscles as he continued to suckle her. Nothing had ever felt so right to him. A fierce desire welled up through him, erasing the nightmare once and for all. In its place, he was aware of her lithe body pressed hotly against him, her fingers opening and closing spasmodically against his shoulders, her small cries of pleasure and the fragrant scent that was only her….

  Lifting his mouth from her wet nipple, he took her lips again as he laid her across the bed, needing to seek her womanly core, wanting to feel the heat of her life. He slid his hand down across her smooth belly to ease her thighs apart. Her mouth was soft and giving beneath his, fiercely returning his hungry assault, her breath as ragged and demanding as his. As Morgan slipped his fingers between her damp, taut thighs, he relished the moment as no other. It was one thing to kiss Laura, to suckle her, but to touch her this way was to his dizzied senses, even more intimate, more loving.

  As his hand moved between her legs, he felt her stiffen. At first he thought it was her enjoyment of his touch contracting her muscles. Then, he heard Laura gasp his name—the single sound holding an edge of terror. Her fear snapped him out of his state instantly. Lifting his head, he felt a new, unfamiliar vibration tremble through Laura. He might not consciously remember loving her before this moment, but instinctively he knew that what he was feeling now between them wasn’t right. It was all wrong. But why?

  Morgan looked down to see a terror in Laura’s eyes he would never have believed possible. She lay stiffly in his arms, her hands shoving frantically against his chest, as if to push him away. Her lips, still glistening from his kisses, were contorted. It took Morgan precious moments to reorient himself. He felt her terror as if it were his own. What had he done wrong?

  “Laura?” His voice sounded harsh as he took his hand away from her thighs and helped her sit up. To his astonishment she crawled away from him, curling into a protective position, her legs against her body, her arms wrapped around herself to hide her naked state from him. She huddled, wildness in her eyes, her back pressed against the pine headboard.

  The air was cool. Disgruntled and confused, Morgan pulled the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around her. “Laura? What’s wrong? Talk to me. What did I do?”

  And as he watched her in the darkness, her face deeply shadowed, her eyes mirroring raw terror, he realized he’d broken his word to her. He’d promised not to touch her—yet he had. Raking his fingers through his hair, Morgan felt ashamed. Caught in the depths of his virulent memories, he’d almost taken her out of selfishness to prove he was more alive than dead inside.

  Reaching out slowly, he whispered raggedly, “I’m sorry, Laura…damn, I didn’t mean to do this to you…. It was the nightmare, the stuff from Vietnam I was remembering….” His fingers made contact with the edge of the blanket that she gripped so tightly. He wanted to cr
y over what he’d done to frighten her. Maybe he couldn’t recall their love from the past, but dammit, he hadn’t meant to scare her like this. He’d never seen Laura look like she did right now.

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he rasped, “I’m sorry, so damn sorry, Laura. I never meant to scare you….”

  “It’s—not you,” Laura gasped out brokenly. “It’s me, Morgan. It’s me!”

  He heard the animal-like sound of her voice and stared at her in the ensuing silence. “What are you talking about? I promised not to touch you until—until I could remember, dammit!” He was angry with himself.

  Fighting back a sob, she shook her head. “N-no, you don’t understand, Morgan. It’s me. It’s my past that got in the way.” A sob tore from her.

  Looking at her strangely, he moved closer. “What are you talking about?” He pushed several strands of her hair away from her eyes. “Laura? What is it? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Tears burned in Laura’s eyes and Morgan’s face blurred momentarily before her. She forced out a response. “I don’t know what happened, Morgan. I wanted you to kiss me, to touch me….” She shut her eyes, ashamed. “And then…something happened. I was enjoying you, wanting you so badly. But something happened.”

  “What?” he demanded roughly. “What did I do? Did I hurt you? That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, Laura. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Laura gripped the edges of the blanket, feeling so very cold and distraught. Morgan’s face mirrored a mix of confusion, concern and anger. She knew the anger was aimed not at her but at himself for some unknown transgression. “The fault,” she said unsteadily, “isn’t yours. It’s mine. You did nothing wrong, Morgan. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Then…” Morgan shook his head and took her back into his arms. She came without hesitation, huddled against him like a lost, frightened child. “What is it? Talk to me. How can I help you?” He moved his hand up and down her blanketed arm. Laura pressed her face against his chest as if she wanted to hide not only from him, but from herself.

  “I—it’s the rape, Morgan,” she whispered bleakly. “My therapist warned me this might happen, but I didn’t believe it. Oh, God, Morgan, I froze when you started to touch me down there. Something inside me just snapped, and I felt myself leaving my body. I felt such terror that I couldn’t think. I felt like a cornered animal that was about to die!” She blinked through her tears as she studied his ravaged face in the dim light. “But it was you! I love you! I’m not afraid of you, of your touch.” Pressing her hands to her face, she sobbed.

  Gently, Morgan held her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Shh,” he whispered close to her ear, “it’s all right, Laura. It’s all right….” It wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say or do. Somehow, Laura’s past had been revealed in a way neither had expected. His mind spun with questions, and he felt helpless. And then he felt rage toward Garcia. As he rocked Laura in his arms, whispering words of comfort, renewed fury tunneled through Morgan. At that moment, he wanted to kill the man who had hurt her. He searched his spotty memory for any knowledge about rape, but he knew nothing about its effects. Damn! As if they didn’t have enough to handle, Laura’s rape had reared its ugly, controlling head, ruining the one, untouched thing they’d been able to share with each other.

  Angrily, Morgan sat there, consumed by his hatred of Garcia. He waited until Laura stopped trembling. When he felt her begin to relax against him, he took her over to her bed and made her lie down.

  “I’m going to fix us some tea,” he told her huskily. “I’ll be right back. Just lie there, Laura. Try to relax.”

  Laura followed Morgan’s shadowy presence with her gaze until he disappeared from the chilly room. Grief overwhelmed her. What had her body done to her? Or had it been her mind? How could she reject Morgan, the man she loved so fiercely? How could his touch, which she had so eagerly dreamed of, suddenly make her feel such terror? Morgan hadn’t raped her, Garcia had. Repeatedly.

  But that wasn’t all, Laura knew it. And Morgan still did not know the rest of what had happened. Her grief turned to a deep, gutting sense of loss. In reality, she’d lost Morgan the night he’d been kidnapped. All his memories were returning except for those of her and their marriage. Bitterness coated her mouth as she lay on her side, clenched into a protective fetal position. Tears dampened her eyes as her mind and emotions spun out of control. How could she have pushed Morgan, of all people, away from her?

  Laura felt something deep within her shatter—actually felt the snapping sensation in the region of her solar plexus region—leaving in its wake a spiraling sense of giving up, of no longer having the strength to fight back or to survive all that lay ahead for her and Morgan. Of what use was she? Because of the rapes, she would spurn Morgan in the future. Her therapist had warned her but Laura hadn’t wanted to believe it—had gone into denial about it. Morgan’s kisses had not brought up these feelings of detachment and terror. On the contrary, she had greedily absorbed them and his touch like sunlight into the frozen ground of her broken heart and mortally wounded soul.

  A ragged sigh tore from her lips. She could hear Morgan in the kitchen making tea. He didn’t remember her, their marriage or their children. Would he ever? Something warned her he wouldn’t. But even if he did, so what? The way she was feeling now, unable to allow him to touch her intimately, what good would it do? The feeling of worthlessness grew within Laura until her life stretched before her, grim and gray. Morgan was a man of great passion. He not only deserved but required a woman who could lie eagerly with him and love him fully. Settling for mere kisses could not be enough. Laura realized sadly she couldn’t be the woman he needed.

  She was, in the true sense of the word, damaged merchandise. And Morgan didn’t even know the worst of it yet. A sob tore from her throat and she pressed her face into the pillow, wanting to die, wanting to escape the overwhelming pain that had finally broken her. She had no more strength left, no more will to fight back and survive. Garcia had murdered her, she realized, grief stricken by the dawning awareness. He’d taken her physically and killed her emotionally. His evil revenge was still playing itself out.

  Sobbing harder, the sounds absorbed by the pillow, Laura realized for the first time the extent of the revenge Garcia had leveled against Morgan. The drug lord had known that by raping her, he was taking her from Morgan. The very thing Morgan loved most in the world—his wife—was gone forever. As Laura tried to stop crying before Morgan came back with the tea, she realized it was probably a lucky thing that he no longer recalled their life together, for it could only cause him greater pain now.

  Oh, how could he live with such hurt? She couldn’t. She knew that what they’d shared could never again be the same—ever. Why put him through it? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Wouldn’t it be better if she simply disappeared? A shadow of the past that remained there? That way, Laura thought, he could get on with his life. He could find a woman he could love—who would love him fully in return.

  Yes, that was the answer. She had to leave. Who would want her the way she was—frigid, fearing a man’s intimate touch? Morgan didn’t remember her anyway. And now the terrible, wrenching secret she still carried would stay safe with her. Morgan need never know. To cut out the pain that only grew daily between them, Laura became increasingly convinced that she must leave as soon as possible. Somehow, she would disappear. No one, not even her children, must know where she’d gone, though just the thought of never seeing Jason and Katherine again made her sob even harder.

  Still, Laura convinced herself, Susannah Killian would care for them, would be a wonderful surrogate mother until Morgan could find another woman to love him without the baggage of the past overwhelming their present. Yes, her children were young; they would adjust. But could she? Laura wasn’t certain. But she was sure she had to leave. It would be best this way—for all involved.

  Chapter 11

  Sunlight lanced brightly into
the bedroom, eventually wakening Morgan. He raised his head, blinking, and pushed his covers off. What time was it? Disgruntled, he sat up, feeling exhausted. Leaning over, his hands covering his face, he allowed the memories of the night before to return. Shame intertwined with guilt as he thought about his selfish, almost instinctive actions with Laura. Where the hell was his head? Why hadn’t he placed her rape squarely in front of him instead of behind him, practically denying it had happened?

  Sourly, Morgan lifted his head and rubbed his hands along his thighs as he stared at the sunshine spilling through the east window. Laura’s bed was empty. She usually got up and moved about sooner than he did of late. He heard the short, sharp exchanges of chickadees outside, and the soothing sounds of the nearby creek. A momentary peace settled over him. He liked being so near water. Maybe he should move the family to the ocean. He wondered what Laura would say to that idea.

  Hell, he didn’t even remember if Laura liked the ocean. Today he was going to drop by and talk to Dr. Parsons—see if he could cultivate an understanding of what rape did to a woman and how to handle it. He wasn’t about to put Laura through that kind of anguish again—at least, not knowingly.

  As he sat thinking about her, Morgan began to realize that what he felt toward Laura was far more than caring. Something alive and healthy remained between them despite the terrible circumstances that now engulfed them. Morgan felt that vibration of certainty in his heart, which seemed to expand with absolute joy. Though his mind might refuse to release the memory of loving her, he knew now, sitting on the edge of his bed, that he loved her anyway.