Salvation

by Smith, Carla Susan

  “That her man, John Fletcher, had made a mistake by only eliciting a guarantee of her safety from one brother,” he raised a brow and gave Rian an unfathomable look before continuing, “and that I would never forgive her for being instrumental in the loss of our child.” He stopped speaking as Felicity’s hand covered his.

  “And?” she asked softly.

  Her husband swallowed. On reflection, Liam wished he had been more guarded in his manner with Isabel, but he could not change what had taken place. He had been emotional and grief stricken, and had spoken with his heart, not his head. “I told her that if she was so foolish as to cross my path again, then her life would be forfeit.”

  Catherine gasped, and Rian could not help the sudden surge of pride and admiration that filled him. He and Liam were more alike than people realized. But it was Felicity who shocked them all. Shy and reserved, she normally avoided any display of public affection, but she squeezed her husband’s hand tightly before leaning forward and kissing him full on the mouth. It was the first time since the night of the party that she had shown such physical intimacy, and it took her husband completely by surprise.

  “Thank you, my darling,” she whispered after releasing his lips. The look in her eyes told him that Isabel’s name would never be mentioned by her again.

  * * * *

  Summer was fading. The days were still long and full of bright light, but in the evening hours, as the sun was setting, a coolness that had not been felt previously now made itself known. Both Catherine and Felicity had taken to wearing shawls when they went walking. Catherine’s hair was growing back, more quickly than she had expected, but it would require a little more time before it reached a comfortable length. In the meantime Mrs. Hatch had made a selection of beautiful frilled caps for her to wear, and Catherine had grown quite fond of them. Rian thought they made her look like a beautiful dairy maid, and he couldn’t help being struck by the irony of that particular thought. Isabel had referred to Catherine as a milk maid, but she had meant it in an offensive, derogatory way.

  “If only she knew,” he said quietly to himself, watching his wife make her way across the lawn. He sighed as thoughts of Isabel clouded his mind. He had not told anyone that Isabel was carrying his child, and he especially hated keeping it a secret from Catherine, but in her present state of mind, he feared what the knowledge might do to her. The strong length of steel that bound him to his wife, linking his heart to hers, had been pulled so taut by recent events that it was in danger of snapping. To ask Catherine to accept one more devastating piece of information about her nemesis might be too much right now. It could easily make her turn away from him, and that was something he would not be able to bear.

  He sighed wearily and came to a decision. As long as Isabel kept to her estates in Ireland, Catherine need never know the truth. Protecting her was Rian’s only thought. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep his wife safe, even if it meant walking a razor’s edge himself. It was a risk he was more than willing to take, even though he knew, deep down, secrets had a way of making themselves known. As Catherine disappeared from view, Rian decided he could not wash his hands of Isabel entirely. He needed someone to tell him when the child was born, someone to alert him if she decided to test the boundaries of the agreement with John Fletcher. Someone who, above all, would be discreet. It sounded like a task for Stuart Collins.

  The onset of the cooler evening temperatures encouraged the pursuit of activities more suited to the indoors, and so it was that one evening they all decided to explore more thoroughly the paintings in the portrait gallery. The Connor ancestors all seemed to be gazing back at Catherine with austere and slightly disapproving expressions. “Why do they all look so miserable?” she asked Rian. “Is having your portrait painted really such an awful chore?”

  He had chuckled softly at her miffed expression. “Perhaps it is the knowledge that they will be on silent display for each successive generation to criticize that makes them look grumpy,” he told her. “Although I suspect with one or two the tight lacing of a corset would be a more reasonable explanation.”

  She turned and looked at him, a smile warming her face. “Why are there no portraits of you or Liam?”

  “It’s tradition to paint only the owners of Oakhaven,” he said, waving toward his ancestors, “and I am sure Felicity will talk Liam into a sitting soon enough.”

  Catherine stopped and sighed wistfully as she recognized the canary diamond that adorned the ring finger of one woman in a large painting. Absentmindedly, she twisted the same ring decorating her own hand as she looked up at the beautiful but haughty face. She did not fail to notice that she had yet to see a portrait in which the sitter had been painted wearing the matching pendant.

  “I am truly sorry I lost the necklace,” she said in a subdued voice.

  Coming behind her, Rian placed his hand lightly in the small of her back. “It was your necklace,” he corrected, “and I have every faith that it will find its way back to the family. As I told you before, it always does somehow.”

  “I remember your saying it has been lost before.” Catherine looked up at him, her expression hopeful. It would ease her conscience immensely if she knew she was not the first to have misplaced the fabulous gem.

  With his hand on her elbow, Rian steered her down the hall, coming to a stop before a good-sized painting of a woman with flaming red hair and skin as white as snow. On the ground, tumbling around her feet and the billowing petticoats of her elaborate gown, were a mix of some half a dozen toddlers and small dogs. All of whom seemed to be having tremendous fun pulling tails and chewing feet. The subject of the painting was one of the rare few who seemed happy to have her image preserved for her descendants.

  “She lost the pendant?” Catherine asked skeptically.

  Rian nodded.

  “How?”

  “Absolutely no idea,” he admitted. “Family history says that a detailed account would not only be impolite, it might also prove embarrassing to a certain member of the Royal Family.”

  “Hmmm, how very convenient.” Catherine stared at him for a few moments before turning her attention back to the figure in the painting. “So, if I were ever to have my portrait painted—”

  “When your portrait is painted,” Rian corrected gently, “we will have a postscript entered into the Connor Family history so generations to come will know that you temporarily misplaced the diamond.”

  “Misplaced,” Catherine murmured. “You really are very generous to describe its loss that way.” A frown suddenly puckered her brow. “But how would future generations know? You said that only the owners of Oakhaven can have their portraits in this gallery.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Then how would my painting be here?”

  “I am sure Liam would make an exception. Besides”—he smiled at the confused look on her face—“do you not have a portrait gallery at The Hall?”

  She shook her head. “Well, there’s a gallery but no paintings. Not anymore.” She thought of the beautiful canvases that had been catalogued and sold to pay her father’s debts. They had fetched more for the frames than the subject matter, or so she had been told.

  “You have no picture of your father or mother?” Catherine shook her head. It had never bothered her before that neither of her parents’ likenesses had been captured, but now she felt the loss keenly. “Then I think it’s time the tradition was reinstated,” Rian said, sensing her sudden depression. “And your portrait would be the perfect start to such a collection.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it closed as Liam and Felicity joined them.

  “Catherine, you really must come and see this!” Felicity took her hand with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, leading her toward a smaller display.

  “Your wife found Uncle Seamus?” Rian asked, giving his brother a knowing look.

>   “That she did,” Liam confirmed, wearing a grin that lit up his face and stretched from ear to ear.

  Their heads turned as one when Catherine, in a mix of disbelief and astonishment, declared,“ My God, you’re right; it is a goat!”

  Two feminine heads swiveled to look at them, and Rian decided it was as good a moment as any to tell them the colorful tale of Uncle Seamus and his unabashed love for his beloved goat, Penelope. Before long both Felicity and Catherine were holding their sides as they giggled helplessly. Even Liam continued grinning, never tiring of the story. Rian, meanwhile, managed to keep a pained look on his face as if mortally offended by their mirth.

  “Stop it!” Felicity admonished waving a hand weakly at him, her eyes damp with tears of laughter. “I refuse to believe that I have married into a family whose members openly admit to having a relative who slept with livestock!”

  “But it’s true!” Rian defended in a wounded tone as he dramatically clutched his chest. “Uncle Seamus always claimed he couldn’t tell, between his wife and Penelope, which of them had the more beautiful beard. But rumor has it the goat had the better disposition!”

  Howls of laughter echoed through the gallery and Rian allowed himself the comfort of a smile when he saw his brother hold onto his wife, and embrace her warmly. Later, when they said their goodnights, he had the feeling that it would not be long before they began trying for another child.

  Chapter 29

  Catherine was still recalling the story of Uncle Seamus a few days later as she returned some books to the library. A smile lifted her lips and every now and then she would chuckle to herself as she recalled yet another humorous remark made by Rian that evening. She was thankful for his patience with her, and seeing how Felicity and Liam were managing to deal with the pain they had endured gave her hope.

  She could not compare her defilement at Phillip’s hands with the loss of a baby, but it had caused a pain of a different kind. She knew the bond she and Rian shared was just as strong as the one that tied Liam and Felicity to each other. If her best friends in the whole world could put enough trust in each other to move forward with their lives, surely she could find the same faith in her husband, and he in her. Of course, the difficulty that threatened their love for each other was very different in nature.

  Catherine had returned to her previous bedroom because she had been afraid. Afraid of being rejected by Rian. Would he ever be able to look at her again and not see Phillip’s hands on her body? How could he take her to his bed and not be reminded of all that had happened that night? Was the image of her, on her knees, burned forever in his mind? Would he—could he—ever want to make love to her again? Had Phillip succeeded in destroying the passion and desire they’d once felt for each other?

  Catherine had no answers, but these questions had haunted her every day since returning to Oakhaven. She knew Rian would never deny her his bed, but what if he turned away from her? Or chose to sleep elsewhere himself? It was cowardly of her to seek refuge in what had once been his mother’s bedroom, but better that than to lie next to him knowing he could not bring himself to touch her.

  It had been different when they’d first escaped from Phillip’s house. Once Catherine had convinced him she suffered no lasting physical effects, all attention had been devoted to Liam and Felicity. This did not mean Rian failed to be attentive to her, but Catherine was able to direct his concern to his brother, telling him rightfully that Liam’s hardship was greater than hers. When Rian finally returned to their bedroom, the hour was inevitably late and she was sleeping. Not wishing to disturb her, he had spent his nights fitfully dozing in the chair.

  But that had been in the city; at Oakhaven it was a very different matter.

  As his wife, Catherine was expected to share his bed, but why put him through the torture of making excuses not to sleep with her? So she had decided to take the decision out of his hands and asked to be given her old room. He had agreed, as she knew he would; only now she didn’t know how to breach the impasse between them.

  Rian was still kind and attentive, giving every indication that he was happy to be her husband and she pleased him as a wife, but she could sense him starting to withdraw from her. At least physically. He had never needed an excuse to touch her. Stroking her cheek or reaching for her hand came as naturally to him as breathing. But he no longer did those things. When they walked, he kept his hands firmly jammed in his pockets and no longer pulled her behind a tree or some overgrown shrubbery to nuzzle her neck or kiss her. And he no longer whispered how much he wanted to take her body. Like a plant that was deprived of water, the intimacy they once shared was slowly dying.

  With a sigh, Catherine realized there was only one way to stop torturing herself with unanswered questions. She had to know, to be absolutely certain whether her life with the only man she loved, the only man she ever wanted to love, was over or not. Pushing her fear aside, she searched for the courage to speak about what had happened with the only person who truly mattered. Before it was too late.

  * * * *

  Rian and Liam were in the study dealing with estate business when the letter was delivered. Recognizing Edward’s neat script, Rian quickly broke the wax seal bearing his insignia and unfolded the heavy parchment. The letter was short and, unlike his customary reports, made no mention of The Hall. At least not directly. Rian quickly scanned the two paragraphs, and felt his heart sink. He glanced at his brother, and then reread the letter. The expression on his face remained bleak.

  “Rian, man, for God’s sake what is it? What has happened?” There was more than just concern in Liam’s voice, so Rian handed him the single sheet of paper. He poured them both brandy as Liam read for himself Edward’s words and then took the glass from Rian’s hand.

  “How on earth are you ever going to tell her?” Liam asked.

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  * * * *

  Catherine was in her room, brushing out her hair when a knock on the door interrupted her. “Come in, Rian.”

  Looking slightly flustered, he entered. “How did you know it was me?”

  She turned on her seat and smiled at him. “If you have not forgotten, I spent a great deal of time confined to bed in the townhouse. I learned to recognize who passed by the door by the sound of their footsteps.”

  His expression made her suddenly embarrassed by her revelation, and turning back around, she busied herself with her hairbrush, hoping he had not noticed the flush on her cheeks.

  “Your hair is getting longer,” Rian observed.

  Self-consciously Catherine put her hand to the nape of her neck and looked at him in the mirror. He seemed out of sorts, distressed and a little agitated. There was a shadow in his eyes, one that made her heart skip a beat.

  Oh my God, is he going to tell me that he doesn’t love me anymore? Or worse, that he does, but can’t be with me?

  “Rian, what is it? Is something wrong?” She swiveled around and watched as he came and knelt before her. Oh God! A man only knelt before a woman to either ask for her hand, or to give her the gravest of news. As she and Rian were already wed, he was not kneeling out of joy. Gently he took the hairbrush from her hand and placed it on the dresser. His face was filled with sorrow, and Catherine stared at him, trying to guess what could have caused such misery. “Rian, something has happened, hasn’t it? Please tell me what it is. You’re beginning to scare me!”

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a husky whisper. “I received a letter today…from Edward.”

  She nodded. A letter from Edward. Well, that wasn’t unusual. Edward had written to Rian before. “What did he say?” she asked softly.

  Her eyes were a bright summer sky blue, clear and gentle as they stared back at him. The barest hint of her earlier embarrassment still flushed her cheeks, and her mouth, lips full and slightly parted, reminded him how much he wanted to taste the sweetness agai
n.

  “Rian, what did Edward tell you?”

  There was no way to soften the blow. “Old Ned has died.”

  For a moment she felt nothing but relief to know he hadn’t come to tell her he no longer loved her, but then his words registered and she was immediately ashamed of her selfishness. Guilt and sorrow stole her voice for a moment.

  “How?”she asked, barely above a whisper, and had Rian not seen her lips move, he would have missed the question.

  “It was very peaceful. His daughter told Edward he died in his sleep.” He swallowed. “I know how much he meant to you, Catherine.”

  She looked up at him and nodded, then dropped her head. Seeing the telltale movement of her shoulders, Rian got to his feet and pulled her into his arms so he might console her. Catherine turned her face into his shoulder, and mourned for someone who had shown her kindness her entire life, and who had been so much more than a faithful retainer.

  She did not know how long she wept, but when she was finally done, the sense of loss was so strong, the void became a dull, throbbing ache. She did not protest when Rian picked her up in his arms and laid her gently on her bed. She did not protest when she felt him reach for her hand and press his lips to the back of it, but she turned away from him when she felt the threat of more tears. She did not weep for Old Ned. She wept for herself and Rian, and what they were in danger of losing.

  * * * *

  At Rian’s suggestion, Liam left with his wife to spend a few days with her parents. Although she had made great progress, Felicity was still fragile, and he wasn’t sure how Catherine’s grief might affect her. Liam would tell everyone at Pelham Manor the news of Old Ned’s passing in the morning.

  Rian frowned as he closed the door to his bedroom. For some reason Mrs. Hatch had only left a single candle burning. It cast a weak light, but it really didn’t matter as he could navigate his way around the room in total darkness if need be. Removing his jacket, he sat in the chair and pulled off his boots before rising so he could begin the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Catherine’s voice stopped him just as he was done with the last closure.