Bride (33 page)

“Now,” he said, his voice the voice of a stranger. “Now you shall allow me what you allowed Belcher. I would make him pay for this, but such an action would make me a hypocrite, and that I will not be.”

He had lost his mind. Nothing else could explain his senseless babbling. She managed to say. “You must banish Lord Belcher from—” Something… The end of his manhood pressed to the opening into her body! “Struan!”

His lips silenced her. He rocked over her, pushing
That
against the sensitive place, sensitive and still pulsating from the amazing act he had performed with his tongue.

Struan forced himself
inside
her body. Justine cried out, but she cried out into his mouth and the only noise was a moan trapped in her throat.

He was huge and hard—and heavy. She clutched at his shoulders and tried to pull away. Struan only rocked more urgently, drove deep into her until she felt he would tear her in half.

For an instant he paused, raised his face a fraction. She thought she heard him curse.

Justine shifted. Rather than curse, he shouted this time and delivered a fierce burst of fresh penetration. He thrust into her again and again, breathing as if he were in a desperate race and might fall before reaching safety.

Pain receded. Small frissons of sensation exploded like reflections of the wonder she had already felt. So this was
It.
Foolish tears welled and slid free. By deception she had caused him to join with her. By truth she must explain and then persuade him to accept that she would rather die with him than live without him.

Abruptly, he grew still.

Yet caught by the power that had grown within her, Justine stifled disappointment at its waning. She was not ready for his stillness.

Something had filled her. Something warm. Her eyes flew open in wonder. Part of Struan, from inside him, had entered her. She felt an inexplicable rush of ecstasy.

“Justine,” Struan said. He pulled out of her and lay, one heavy arm and leg pinning her to the bed. “Oh, Justine. You lied to me.”

“No. I didn't lie—not until tonight.”

“But you lied tonight.”

“Yes, I never—”

“You were never with a man before. And you didn't know enough to realize I would feel that you hadn't been.”

“Feel?”

“Feel.
Your sainted grandparent mentioned breaching your maidenhead, remember?”

She couldn't respond.

“I just breached your maidenhead, and if you had been with the odious Lord Belcher, that would already have happened.” Justine swallowed with difficulty. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“I tried to take back the lie, but you wouldn't listen.”

“You made certain I was beyond listening, my sweet. I am merely a man. And you are a very desirable woman.” “I liked
It,”
she said in a small voice.

“I rather gathered you did, damn it all.” He sat up in the darkness. “And if I am honest, I'll confess I doubted your wretched little story.”

The loss of his embrace left her shivering. “Then why did you—”

“Why did I make love to you? Hah! Because I snatched the excuse you handed me. And now I must pay for it.”

Justine reached for him.

At first he didn't move, then he gathered her into a crushing embrace. “Curse my own weakness. Pray to God I have not caused the unthinkable.”

“You have not. No, Struan, it will be all right, I know it will.”

“Nothing will be all right without a miracle. Without a storm of miracles.”

“We shall do well. We shall be happy.” Justine smiled against the smooth hair on his chest. “I am cold.”

“And I am a heartless failure. I have failed at everything.”

Struan left the bed and put Justine beneath the covers. She waited for him to join her. When he failed to do so she called, “Struan,” very softly.

“Sleep.”

“Not without you.”

“I cannot lie with you, Justine.”

“But—”

“As I have told you, I am merely a man, merely human. I do not trust myself.”

She sat up and peered to see his silhouette against the window where a white moon demanded entrance. “This is our wedding night. Surely what has happened was as it should be.”

“When did you last bleed?”

Humiliation stole thought and word.

“When? I must know.”

“Sometime since,” she whispered. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because I must. When you bleed again, tell me at once.”

She covered her face.

“Justine?”

“Very well.” Later she would understand. He would explain everything when he became more accustomed to their new state.

“Listen to me carefully,” Struan said. “And please do not ask for explanation. It will be easier for both of us. There are reasons why it would not do for others to think I bore any affection for you.”

Justine's throat closed.

“Do you understand?”

She managed to say “No.”

“It doesn't matter. Perhaps it may even be better if you don't understand. Merely accept that this will be the case. I have no desire to hurt you—the reverse. Shortly, when I have tended you and you are rested, I shall return you to your rooms. In company we shall maintain a distant relationship.”

Justine's stomach ached with tension. “As you wish, Struan. I'm sure you will tell me the reason for this in time.”

“Perhaps.”

“As long as we are together in private I do not care for anything else.”

The sound she heard was the thud of Struan's fists on the casement. Against the moonlight she saw that he bowed his head.

“Pray,” he said. “Pray for our deliverance from evil. Pray for us all.”

Justine's hand went to her throat. “Tell me about this evil.”

“It's enough that you know of its existence. If you care for any of us, you will not press me further.”

He frightened her. “Hold me, Struan. Come and keep me warm.”

“Sleep,” he ground out. “This night has been a mistake. The fault is as much mine as yours. Even more mine.”

“No. Struan—”

“I shall remember what has passed between us. And I shall long for you with every breath I take. But we may never lie together as man and wife again.”

Chapter Twenty

C
old. Whipped by the wind, her hair bound her eyes. She heard his footsteps but could not see him. “Wait! Wait for me!”

The beating wind tore her words away, pressed her back, clawed at her bare, icy feet on wet and rotting leaves.

Her hair streamed behind her and she saw him, his cloak filled with the wind He moved so rapidly—never looking back—that she would not catch him.

She could not stop trying.

Struan would take her with him if he knew she was there, if she could only make him see her. If he went from her sight he would go, never to return, and believe she had decided not to come this night, not to meet him as they had planned How she had hurried her breath ragged in her throat, desperately trying to meet him at the appointed time and place. But she had been late.

He had said that if she proved her love by coming to be at his side on the journey, all would be well The past would be forgotten. They would be forever one in their love—but he would not wait.

Her feet had been too slow, and her leg too weak. She had tried, but the weight of slippery leaves covered her bare feet and dragged her down. And now Struan's tall figure grew smaller in the tunnel through the trees.

“Struan! Wait?”

“Wait. Wait. Wait.”

Her own voice echoing?

Clutching her billowing nightrail to her body, she cast about. Not her voice, but another's. A crackling whisper that was neither male nor female.

Sweat broke upon her brow, upon her upper lip. It ran, stinging, into her eyes.

Darkness. Her lips parted. No breath entered. There had been light, hadn't there? Moonlight? Gone now. “Struan! Struan!”

“Struan. Struan.”

Not an echo. A whisper like eddies in dry sand. Nearby. Whispering over her skin.

If she did not reach Struan she would lose him forever.

She ran, her feet sucking out of the leaves with each step. Rain hit her face, soaked her gown—slowed her toiling limbs. Each straining step pulled free as if from deep mud.

Exhausted, she paused, her heart pounding.

Other footfalls.

Behind her. Heavier. Faster.

“Struan!”

“Struan.”

No one touched her, did they? She felt fingers on the back of her neck, sliding around to tighten on her throat.

The gown wrapped in a sodden rope about her body, lashed her legs together.

“He is gone. You will never catch him now. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone…”

The fine white bonds tripped her.

Slowly she fell, arms outstretched, to the slimy carpet beneath the wind- and rain-whipped trees. “Struan!”

“Struan. He is gone. I am here. I am here.”

Brightness, brief and thin, rushed toward her from the tunnel. Struan was gone.

A shadow, its huge, long limbs spread wide like some giant bird, cast darkness over the light and descended, laughing, to cover her—to press her down.

It turned her until her face pointed upward to the rain. Rain like great flakes of snow, soft now, falling faster now, covering her face, burying her.

She clawed at the flakes and opened her eyes.

Not snow. Paper. Sheets of paper.

The other's laughter rose like the growing rumble of distant thunder.

Paper. Letters. There were words but she could not read them.

Laughter punishing her ears.

Evil letters from the evil ones who threatened Struan

“Let me help you,” she cried. “Let me help you.”

“He will not let you help him,” Dry hands caressed her face, explored her body with a husband's intimacy. “He fears for you. Give up. Let go.”

Large, crushing hands upon her breasts.

Justine's eyes snapped open. Her breathing labored. Her nightgown stuck to her heated body. Strands of her hair clung to her damp brow.

No dark, hollow-eyed face hovered above her. No insolent hands fondled her breasts. It had been a terrible nightmare.

But Struan was afraid of something he refused to share with her. In the night he had washed her gently, not speaking pressing a finger to her lips whenever she attempted to do so. Then he had brought her back here to her rooms and left without another word.

She felt about upon the covers, then grimaced. The dream had seemed so real, but her bed was not covered with letters that would reveal everything she needed to know if she was to help her husband.

Her husband. Yes, he was truly her husband now, and if he believed they would never lie together again then he must be a fool. Struan was not a fool. But he had not fully taken the measure of the woman who was his wife. She felt the faintest soreness where their bodies had joined, and she shivered at the memory. No, he had not taken her measure. She would have him beside her—and inside her—or die in the attempt.

How amazing an event their joining had been. Nothing, no imagining, could have prepared her for the wonder of feeling when Struan filled her. These were matters that must be recorded most judiciously. Her book would find a wide audience and might even prove quite controversial, but it must get into the hands of those who needed such a volume.

The next gust of air that crossed her face was a part of no nightmare.

Justine held still and lowered her eyes from the canopy to search the shadowy room. Perhaps a window was open.

A soft voice said, “I cannot rest.”

Justine clutched the bedcovers to her neck.

“Men were always such foolish creatures.”

She sank deeper into the bed. “Who…” Her throat clicked and she couldn't form another word.

A thin wail wafted through the shadows. “There is pain here, and sorrow. Who will ease the pain and sorrow?”

Justine saw her then. Hovering, swaying in the doorway to the dark sitting room, stood Hannah. Dressed exactly as she had been in the ballroom, her veil drifted over her face and about her shoulders.

“Only a woman may heal the division.” Hannah's sigh reached Justine, a long, long sigh. “I waited until it was too late. I can never be free until I help another. Heed me, fair Justine, or we shall walk these halls together through eternity—weep together through eternity.”

Justine muffled a cry.

“He loves you,” the figure said, her voice high. “But something troubles him. Heal his troubles. Bind his heart to yours so firmly, it may only beat if yours beats at its side. If you fail… If you fail…”

Cautiously, Justine pushed herself up in the bed. Hannah's form began to recede, for all the world as if some unseen force drew her from sight.

“If I fail?” Justine said, throwing back the covers. “Don't go, Hannah. Talk to me.”

“Do not fail.”

Justine scrambled from the bed, lighted a candle, and hurried to the sitting room.

No woman in gorgeous satin and pearls remained. Justine scoured every corner but found nothing, not the smallest sign that anyone had been in the room since she left it the previous day.

In her bedchamber she threw open the heavy drapes at the casement and sat on the window seat with her legs drawn up beneath her gown. The dream had left her shaken. Hannah's appearance had left her more so.

But she didn't believe in ghosts!

Justine raised her chin and stared at dawn's first light banishing the night sky.

There were no ghosts, but if there were, Hannah's made some most sensible points. Men were obtuse. Arrogant. Too proud to accept the help of those they loved and who loved them in return—loved them to distraction.

Hannah was right. Struan bore a deep and destructive trouble, and he needed help. Justine remembered the cold sheets of phantom paper drifting down to bury her. She would not be buried by scurrilous letters—no matter what they contained.