* * * * *
Kyrah drifted in and out of coherency through an eternal night. More than once she dreamt of Ritcherd, lying in some makeshift military hospital, writhing in pain after being shot in the arm. Then her dreams merged into reality as she awoke to find herself in more pain than she’d ever comprehended. And if the physical pain weren’t horrible enough, the scope of what she had done made her curl around the pillow and groan. How could she have been so stupid—so thoroughly and utterly stupid? Was she so naive? So gullible? Obviously she was. She had made choices that had thrown her into this mess—choices that could never be undone.
In the deepest part of the night, Kyrah felt as if the darkness would swallow her whole. She felt tempted to curse God for allowing such horrors to happen to her. Then she recalled the repeated whisperings from within that had seemed to warn her. She had ignored those whisperings and given in to her fear instead. And now it seemed her life was over.
As daylight finally filtered into the bedroom where she lay, Kyrah barely managed to open one of her eyes and survey her surroundings. The room felt cold and barren, void of any color or warmth. When her brief perusal intensified the pain in her head, she closed her eyes against the light and attempted to relax. Unable to bear the helplessness and despair surrounding her, she cried into her pillow, heedless of the resulting pain. And while she cried she prayed. She prayed for forgiveness, and she prayed for strength. At the moment, she just needed the strength to make it through the day, to find something to eat. And she prayed that her baby would survive what her body had been subjected to. She told herself she should be grateful that Peter hadn’t forced himself upon her. And while there was no question concerning her relief, there was a degree of humiliation in being rejected by someone so low. What kind of woman was she, that a man like Peter Westman could disparage and degrade her so thoroughly?
Kyrah was barely aware of the room’s brightening with the light of morning, while nightmarish images of the previous day flashed repeatedly through her mind. Her relief in knowing that Peter had left was overshadowed by the fear of what her fate might be when he returned. What kind of life would she face? What would he do to her child?
Kyrah’s growling stomach finally forced her to get out of bed. She fought the pounding in her head, and managed to open both her eyes enough to focus. As she rose unsteadily to her feet, every muscle in her body protested. She took a few steps toward the bureau mirror and cried out at the sight of her own reflection. Her face was so swollen and discolored that she hardly recognized herself. And with the way it hurt to move, she suspected the rest of her body was equally battered. She knew she couldn’t go back to the pier and hope for Ritcherd to miraculously disembark from one of the few ships that came here. It would be a very long time before she could even leave the house. And even longer before she could face the reality of what her life would be like, married to a madman.
The Captain of Her Heart Page 38
