His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  Chapter 10

  The unfamiliar sound jolted Gillian from her sleep. She sat up as Fred’s frantic barking echoed throughout the house. She scanned the house and came up empty. No one was in the house besides her husband and their dog. She concentrated on the apartment above the garage and could only pick up the peacefulness of Birdie’s slumber.

  Mason woke up a second later. “What is it?” he mumbled as he shook the sleep from his head. “Why is Fred barking?”

  “I don’t know.” Gillian started to slide out of bed to go investigate. Mason’s hand stopped her,

  “Stay right here.” Mason slipped from bed and reached for his robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

  Gillian could tell he was scanning. She was going to tell him it was clear, that she had already searched, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. In the past three days since the photos of her arrived at his office, Mason had been so protective she was beginning to feel suffocated. She went nowhere without her husband by her side. She couldn’t ask her brothers to accompany her on trips outside the house. Cullen and Kent would demand to know why she needed protection, and then they would probably tell her parents. And besides, Cullen and Kent as bodyguards would probably be more suffocating than Mason.

  She got out of bed and ignored Mason’s glare. “I’m coming with you.” She grabbed her robe, which had been hanging next to his. “There’s no way you can stop me.”

  “There’s plenty of ways I can stop you, Gillian.” He reached for her hand and pulled her closer. “But you’re right, you’ll be safer with me.”

  Gillian slowly shook her head as she followed her husband out into the hall and down the dimly lit steps. She wasn’t afraid. With her shields up there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Mason had misunderstood her curiosity as fear. Fred was downstairs by the front door barking his head off and growling. Something had upset the dog. Her gut instinct was telling her she wasn’t going to like what disturbed the dog at one-thirty in the morning.

  Mason reached the bottom of the stairs and flipped on the light switch. Light flooded the hall, living room and dining room. He bent down and stroked the top of Fred’s head. “What is it, boy?”

  The dog tried to bury his nose in the crack beneath the front door. A low, dangerous growl rumbled throughout Fred’s quivering body. His tail was stiff and practically standing straight up.

  “Is something out there, boy?” Gillian questioned. Her scanning couldn’t detect a human presence outside the house, but she did perceive an evil force. She backed away from the door the same instant Mason’s shields surrounded them all. “He was here again.”

  Mason studied the oak door as if he was seeing through it. “I know.” He glanced over his shoulder at her and softly said, “He’s sent something else.”

  She studied the strain and anger etched into her husband’s face. This psychopath was tormenting Mason more than her. Mason was the one suffering through nightmares nearly every night while she slept like a baby. She wondered if tormenting Mason was his intent or if she was his main victim and Mason was just an innocent bystander.

  Either way it made no difference. Mason didn’t look like he could handle too much more. The only way she knew how to figure out which deadbeat father was doing this was to confront them all. Which was impossible. Mason wouldn’t let her leave the house without a bodyguard. She couldn’t endanger another member of the society or her family. Calling Jon Hall was an option, but for some reason Mason didn’t like the idea of her spending too much time in the detective’s company. She would have loved to chalk it up to jealousy on Mason’s part, but that would be wishful thinking.

  The only option was for them to work together to locate this madman. Her husband wasn’t the type of man who would meekly follow her lead and allow her to investigate the way she thought best. Mason would want control. Mason always wanted control. It was who he was.

  Right now Mason didn’t have control of the situation and it was tearing him apart. But she was drawing a blank as to how to end this predicament. Maybe whatever was outside the door would give her a clue. Maybe this time the psycho had gotten careless and left a lead.

  “Would you like me to open the door?” she asked.

  “No, you stay back.” He turned to the door and opened it.

  Gillian could see a cardboard box sitting on the stoop. Evil surrounded the box, but not danger. She knew the surrounding area would be empty, but she scanned it anyway.

  Fred took a step closer to the box and growled menacingly.

  Mason looked at Gillian. “Hold the dog so I can see what’s inside.”

  She picked up Fred and lovingly scratched behind his ears. His whole body was trembling and he looked ready to rip the box open. “It’s okay, boy.” She hugged him closer to her chest. “You’re a good watchdog, aren’t you?”

  Mason flipped on the outside lights and flooded the yard and stoop with brightness. Gillian stood behind him and glanced away from the box. She didn’t want to see what twisted sick thing her tormentor had come up with this time. Her gaze stayed on one of the two concrete urns sitting on either side of the door, filled with red and white geraniums that Birdie had planted. She glanced down when Mason muttered a disgusted curse.

  The top of the box was clutched in Mason’s hands. In the bottom of the box was a wooden rat trap, complete with a dead rat. The rodent’s sightless eyes were staring straight at her. Fred started to growl and squirm in her arms. She took a step back.

  Mason stood up and showed Gillian the message pasted to the inside of the lid. It was just like all the letters they had received. Each word was cut out of a magazine or the headline of a newspaper: Feel like a trapped rat yet? He dropped the lid back onto the box and closed the door.

  “I’ll drop it off with Jon tomorrow morning on my way in to work.” He walked into the kitchen and yanked his car keys off the peg by the back door. “There has to be something they can do.”

  Gillian knew Mason was fighting a battle with himself. The law was not doing enough; in fact, they weren’t doing anything. The sad part was, there was nothing they could do besides file a report. “It’s harassment, Mason. He hasn’t threatened my life. He’s playing mind games with me. The most the police could do, once we discover who it is, is give him a slap on the hand and possibly issue a restraining order against him.”

  “They should lock him in jail and throw away the keys.”

  She wholeheartedly agreed with that. She would love to see this sicko locked up for a real long time, but she knew it wouldn’t come to that. “Even our laws have limits, Mason.”

  “You don’t think 1 know that?”

  “You may know it, but now you have to accept it.”

  Mason glared at her for a moment before storming back to the front door and slamming it behind him.

  Gillian sighed and gave Fred a doggie treat from the box sitting on the laundry room shelf. “You’re the best watchdog in the world, Fred.” She placed him on the rug in front of the kitchen sink, next to his plastic squeeze toy. “Thank you for the alarm. I’ll have Birdie cook something tomorrow with a big fat juicy bone in it for you.”

  Fred wagged his tail, as if he knew what she was talking about, before lying back down. The danger had passed.

  Gillian walked out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Mason saw to it that the house was locked back up. The man was becoming obsessed with checking the locks. He was doing it twice, if not three times nightly.

  Twenty minutes later Mason joined Gillian in their bedroom. She was standing by the window searching the night. Her long blond hair was tousled and tangled from their lovemaking. He couldn’t get enough of the silken strands. He couldn’t get enough of his wife. The light by the bed illuminated the room with a soft glow.

  By the stiffness of her shoulders he could tell she was still upset. He wondered if she was upset with him for being so protective or at finding this madman’s latest keepsake. Somehow, he thought it was him.
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br />   He knew she was champing at the bit to go out and locate this psycho. But he couldn’t allow her to go alone, and for some reason she seemed reluctant to ask him to join her. His wife was a very independent woman, while he, contrary to modern-day thinking, was a very oldfashioned man. He wanted to fight her battles for her. It was a very sobering thought, considering that when he married her he had thought to merely suffer through quietly and tolerate her existence. Now he wanted to slay dragons for her. When had it all changed?

  The only other woman he ever wanted to slay dragons for was his mother. She, too, wouldn’t let him. He had only been twelve, too young and full of hatred for a father who had abandoned them. Nadine Blacksword was a proud woman who was determined to make it on her own, without the help of the society or her headstrong son. And she had. The years were rough and long, but they all managed to make it through them. But he still remembered the feeling of uselessness, watching his mother work from morning to night, every day, year after year, and never get ahead.

  He had stood by and watched the work, the years and the worry take its toll on the mother be loved. His mother was now fifty-one years old and no longer working tenhour days bent over a sewing machine. She was now the assistant buyer of infant clothes for a fancy department store in Center City. Her hair was stylish, her clothes fashionable, and since she met and married Walt Martin, she looked years younger and happier than he ever remembered seeing her. But it was her hands that twisted the guilt deep within his soul. Years of demanding work had taken their toll on her hands. They were slightly bent and more often than not the joints were painfully swollen with arthritis. Every time he saw her hands he remembered what she had endured for him and his two younger sisters.

  His mother had forbidden him to use his powers to help their situation. Nadine had insisted that her children learn to survive just like other human children. And they had, but it had been so hard for him to watch powerlessly.

  He couldn’t stand by and watch helplessly again. His youth had used up all his patience, if he ever had any. Gillian needed help and it was his job, as her husband, to give it to her. But was that the only reason he wanted to fight her battles, because it was his duty as her husband? Or was there something more?

  He stood in the doorway and silently watched her stare out into the darkness as if the night held the answers she was seeking. His feelings for Gillian confused him. He knew he cared for her, really cared. He had hoped for compatibility in their marriage bed at the very least, and was granted burning hot passion. His body hardened at the mere thought of her, and by her response night after night he had to say honestly that she, too, was consumed by the fire.

  From the moment he pledged his life to this woman in Senator Targett’s garden, his entire world had been turned upside down. His once neat and orderly home was filled with statues of purple dragons, huge plants, a frisky pup and a formerly homeless vagrant who created tantalizing aromas in the kitchen.

  Fred was a good pup and had only managed to chew on one old pair of sneakers and one brand-new golf shoe. Tonight Fred had earned his keep. He’d had doubts about Fred being a watchdog, but the spirited pup had proved his worth.

  Birdie was a dream. He would never admit to Gillian her cooking was bland at best, undigestible at worst. He had been trying to figure out a way to kindly suggest to his wife that he would gladly do some of the cooking at night, without hurting her feelings.

  In the past three days he had been subjected to a virtual smorgasbord of meals prepared by their new cook and gardener. Birdie loved to cook and he loved to eat her cooking. Her services were well worth the cost of feeding her and the utilities for the garage apartment. If the next week and a half turned out as good as the first three days, Birdie not only had a permanent job but a raise.

  Gillian’s compassionate heart had done remarkably well. A watchdog and a cook all within the first month of marriage. He shuddered to think what the first year would bring. Lord help him, but there were still three empty bedrooms in the house. If he didn’t find a way to control Gillian’s charitable heart, he was going to end up with a house filled with homeless people and an endless stream of pets.

  He’d worry about his wife’s compassionate heart later. Now he had more important things to do. Like hold her.

  Mason quietly walked over to Gillian and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. His gaze followed hers out into the night. He could see the outline of the trees that bordered the western portion of their property and the distant glow of a neighbor’s porch light. Their neighborhood was a safe sanctuary from the slums of the inner city. A sanctuary some madman had violated.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” Mason said.

  She leaned back into him. “I’m not worried about that.”

  “What are you worried about, then?”

  Gillian turned slightly in his arms and looked up at him. “I’m concerned about you.”

  “Me?”

  Her fingers reached up and caressed his jaw. “You’re not sleeping well at night. You have a nightmare almost every night and you won’t talk to me about it.” Mason watched as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “You told me you never dreamed.”

  “It’s not a dream, Gillian. It’s a nightmare.”

  “One you won’t share with me?”

  There was no way he could share this horrifying dream with her. And it came every night. Some nights he could hide it from her, most nights he couldn’t. “I much prefer your dream.” When he. woke up trembling and covered in sweat, Gillian would cuddle up close and tell him about her favorite dream. The one with the little boy on the beach building sand castles. For some reason, her dream calmed him and filled him with hope—the same emotions she swore she felt every time she dreamed that one particular dream. At first he couldn’t figure out why, but the more he thought about it, the easier it was to explain. The calmness came from Gillian’s sweet voice whispering in the dark, and the sense of hope he felt probably had something to do with the sweetness of the dream. If he could have nightmares, surely he would dream about a peaceful beach one night.

  She gave him a soft smile and buried herself against his chest. “I know you like that dream. That’s why I keep telling you about it.”

  Mason couldn’t prevent his arms from tightening. He could feel the slight trembling of her body beneath her satiny robe. “It’s okay, Gillian.” His voice grated with strength and fear as he hugged her harder. “I’ll protect you.”

  Gillian glanced up but he couldn’t read the emotions shimmering in her pale blue eyes. “But who’s going to protect me from you?”

  He pushed her away so he could see her face more clearly. The trembling of her lower lip tore at his heart. “Protect you from me?” He would die before he would harm a hair on her head. Was this psychopath doing more damage than he had imagined? Was Gillian now frightened of everyone, including her own husband?

  Gillian studied the concern etched into her husband’s face. He thought she was afraid of him, and she was in a way. But not for the reason he was assuming. She didn’t fear for her physical well-being, she feared for her heart. During the past ten minutes she had been staring at the darkness wondering how to tell her husband she loved him. It was a strange phenomenon. Here they were, married, sharing every conceivable intimacy two lovers could share, and yet neither one had spoken the words. She feared Mason would never utter those words.

  She knew Mason cared for her. When they were downstairs he had wrapped his shields around her and Fred without a conscious thought of doing it. It came naturally to him to protect her when danger was at hand. It was one of the most exquisite gifts Mason had ever given her. The rubies he had given her were a sign of possession, but his shield was an act of love. Problem was, Mason didn’t believe in love.

  Gathering her courage, she gave her husband the gift of her love. “You’re holding my heart, dear husband.” She brushed a kiss across his su
rprised mouth. “Be gentle with it.”

  Mason cupped her chin and gazed into her eyes. Gillian shivered at his intensity, but she bared her soul for him to see. He could have easily scanned her feelings and discovered her love, but instead he wanted to read it in her eyes. She allowed him to and prayed that one day he would allow her to search his soul in return.

  Whatever he saw there caused him to frown quietly for a moment. His fingers released her chin and slowly stroked her lower lip. “I’ll treat it as if it was made out of the finest crystal.”

  Gillian glanced at his chest. The robe he was wearing gaped at the front, giving her an enticing view of the midnight curls that swirled across his chest. It wasn’t the response she had wanted, but it was better than having him hand her heart back to her. At least he wanted to keep it safe. But she wanted to exchange it for his. An even exchange.

  “Gillian?”

  She forced the sadness from her eyes and glanced up. “Yes?”

  “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  Your love! Only your love. She couldn’t tell him that. “I only want what you’re willing to give.” It was a partial truth. She did want his love when he was willing to give it.

  His fingers trailed down her throat, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The lapels of her robe parted, revealing the same thing she wore every night since their wedding. Nothing. She did try to wear a couple of the lacy diaphanous gowns she had received as shower gifts, but it took longer to get them on than for Mason to get them off. She wasn’t complaining though. There was something sinfully delicious about sleeping naked in your lover’s arms.

  She could feel her nipples tighten and her breasts swell in anticipation of his touch. The warm liquid feeling pulsed through her veins to pool at the junction of her thighs. Mason’s slightest touch could make her want.

  He bent his head and followed the path his fingers had taken with his mouth. He placed a moist kiss between the curvaceous mounds of her breasts before glancing up. “I could give you this.”