Spring Blossom (12 page)

“How about you’re your sake, Maggie?” he
asked softly. “You know, I’m not certain whether I want to talk
with you, spank you, or kiss you,” he said as he moved farther into
the room.

Maggie’s eyes grew wide as she backed up
against the window seat, then teetered and plopped down onto the
cushioned window seat.

“Which do you think I should do?” he asked,
halting before her with his arms akimbo.

“None,” she said firmly.

He smiled, shaking his head. “I think you
are a very beautiful woman,” he said sincerely, “but you don’t seem
to want to hear that. That makes me curious.” He drew a dainty
boudoir chair close to her.

“Easy words to say,” she muttered as he made
himself as comfortable as possible. The pulse at her temples
started pounding painfully as her eyes darted around him, looking
for a means to escape.

“I meant them or I wouldn't have said them.
You must know that much about me.”

But why should she believe him? And if she
did…what then? She carried deeper scars than the one on her face
and she harbored dark secrets. Surely he would not be so tolerant
of those. He would be repulsed by them and she would have to say
good-bye to him again, just as she had three years ago…and this
time the parting would be forever.

“What is it, Maggie?” he asked, his dark
eyes searching a young face that seemed to be growing older as he
pressed her. “Why do you hate me so?”

She looked at him then, really looked, and
saw the vulnerability in his eyes; this man was sincere, but Maggie
did not want to get close to him again. She was feeling trapped and
wary and the sickness was threatening her stomach. Even though he
had coaxed her close to revealing her secret, the thought of his
reaction was more than she could bear.

Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on
his spread knees as he loosely knit his long fingers together. He
was so close to her he had only to reach out to touch the layers of
dark skirts she wore. He searched her face, knowing she was
frightened but he could not back away now. He had to know. “Why
have you been trying to drive me away since the moment of my
arrival?” he asked reasonably. “Why did you try to injure me that
day when I first rode the stallion?” There was along moment of
silence when she refused to look at him. “Why, Maggie?” he
urged.

She raised her pale blue eyes to his much
darker ones, at last. “It was not my intention to harm you or
Pride,” she said softly. “I just wanted the horse to stay and you
to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re here on account of some
bargain you made with my father,” she admitted. “But I make my own
arrangements now.”

Hunter shook his head. “There is no formal
arrangement.”

“All to the good,” she said brightly. “Then
you are free to go, are you not?”

He sighed, watching her as he sat back in
the chair, his hand falling between his parted thighs. “Margaret,”
he said softly, “don’t you realize I’ve come back for you? And not
because of any bargain. I'm here of my own accord.”

“No,” she breathed.

“I’ve merely been waiting for you to grow
up.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“That is precisely why I’ve come, so we
can…”

Margaret shook her head, tears threatening
to spill over the tips of her lashes as she gripped the cushioned
edge of the window seat. “I don’t want you here.” She leaned
forward, closer to him, speaking firmly. “I want you to leave. You
must leave.”

Hunter felt the sting of her words, but he
remained calm and determined. “Tell me why you want me to leave. If
I knew your reasons…”

She stood up hastily, skirting around his
knees as if touching him would inflict some dreadful disease upon
her. She whirled away when he quickly rose and put himself between
her and the door. Moving to the fireplace, she gripped the edge of
the white wooden mantel and stared down into the cold, empty cavity
blackened by years of flame and soot and smoke.

After a moment’s thought, she stiffened her
spine and regally raised her head as she turned to stare at him
defiantly. “Very well, Mr. Maguire,” she said woodenly, but he
noticed her steely resolve was betrayed by the clenching and
unclenching of her hands at her sides. “I’ll tell you why I don’t
want you here. I recall that you once seemed to care for me, you
see, and I had hoped to avoid any unpleasantness between us, but
the fact is…I am not beautiful, inside or out. I am not anything
like you remember me to be, and you have…”

“Maggie, for the love of God!” he breathed,
taking a step toward her as he stared at the silent tears now
streaming down her face.

“And you have wasted your time by coming
here,” she continued, taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Go find
yourself a virgin wife if that is what you are seeking, Hunter
Maguire,” she added in a whisper.

Hunter stopped in his tracks only a few feet
in front of her. “What are you saying?” he asked in hushed
tones.

That sad smile that made him feel so
foolish, so ignorant, was on her face again, even as tears washed
past the corners of her delicate lips. “I’m saying I was raped. I’m
saying…” She breathed deeply and turned away from the naked pain
dawning slowly in his eyes. “I’m saying…you really must go.”

Stunned, he stood staring at her back as his
heart froze in mid-beat.

Her stance was totally unapproachable, and
yet he felt a need to reach out to her, whether for his own
consolation or hers, he was not certain. He turned away from her
then, away from the bent head and the stiff back, wanting with
every ounce of his being to step up behind her and wrap his arms
securely around her. He wanted her not to hurt, and he wanted not
to hurt for her, but the pain was there and he had to find some way
to get past this moment.

Maggie was clutching the mantel with both
hands by the time Hunter walked over to the small chair positioned
in front of the window, turned it toward her and sat down. His legs
spread, he rested his elbows on his knees and knit his fingers
together. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before asking
quietly, “When did this happen?”

His voice sounded so cool, so detached, that
Maggie’s pain intensified. She dropped her hands and wrapped her
arms firmly around her waist. She had known it would be like this.
He was repulsed and, no doubt, disappointed. But that was what
she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she wanted him to be so disgusted
that he would reject her openly? Confusion warred with her emotions
because she had to acknowledge that only moments ago, when she had
told him what had happened, she had actually hoped he would want to
console her, to have him soothe away this heavy wretchedness that
lay so heavily on her mind. No one had been able to do that; why
would she think this man could? She could not even bring herself to
look at him, knowing he would see her now as a tainted
creature.

Margaret quickly whisked all such hopeful
thoughts away, for they were the wishes a different girl would have
had in a previous time.

Knowing he would not leave until she had
answered all of his questions. Keeping her back to him, she moved
to lean against one end of the sculptured fireplace. “It happened a
year ago,” she said.

Hunter closed his eyes, his head dropping
forward briefly with his sorrow. “And you thought my knowing this
would drive me away?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you were wrong, my dear,” he said
flatly. “And you give me little credit.”

She faced him then, the shock of his words
clearly evident. “But I want you to leave,” she firmly.

“I’m sure you do,” he returned quietly
staring across the room at her, wondering if it was just him she
wanted to reject or would the same hold true for any man?

“We cannot possibly be more than…”

Hunter’s dark brows arched in question over
her hesitation. “More than what?” he asked, getting to his feet and
walking slowly toward her. “More than what?” he prompted again as
she began to back away.

“Stay away from me,” she ordered, but still
he advanced.

“I wish I could have spared you that,
Maggie,” he said, taking still another step closer as his gaze held
hers. “I could kill the man who hurt you. Now tell me…we cannot
possibly be more than what?”

He was upon her now, standing so close she
could almost feel the warmth of him. “Friends,” she cried angrily.
“Only that. Anything else is impossible now. Don’t you understand
that?”

“Sweet Lord,” he breathed, as he reached out
and gently pulled her against his chest. “My innocent girl,” he
muttered under his breath as his arms went cautiously around her.
“I’m so sorry for what happened.”

Suddenly the steel barrier she had
constructed to protect her heart seemed to snap and Margaret had
the sensation that she could melt into this man’s soul and stay
there, forever protected. But this gentle side of him was tearing
out her very being as hot tears of release flowed and her fingers
clawed at his shirtfront as if to escape the nightmare of her
memories.

As her knees began to sag along with her
ebbing energy, Hunter scooped her up and carried her to the high
bed. He placed her gently on the mattress, then sat and held her
close for a time. He warred internally with anger and frustration
at what had been done to her and his inability to resolve the
situation or even punish the bastard who had committed this vicious
crime. If only he could undo what had been done…

Margaret dared to cling to him for just a
short time; it was like a purging of her dreads and deepest fears
just to have told him, just to be held against the warm strength of
him. Her mind, totally cleared of thoughts for just a few moments,
she actually sagged against him for succor.

Her eyes were red and swollen by the time
she began to take control of her runaway emotions and, with reality
once again forcing itself upon her, Margaret began to pull away,
turning to lie on her side, her back to him. “I’m sorry for that,”
she whispered. “Please leave me to collect myself.”

“Maggie,” he said softly, placing a gentle
hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could make it right for you, you
must know that. I wish I had the power to change what happened to
you. I can’t do that. But please know that this does not change my
reasons for coming here.”

“It does, however, change my past reasons
for wanting you to come,” she said woodenly. “Please leave,
Hunter,” she whispered.

And he understood that her words were not
focused only upon his leaving her room.

CHAPTER 10

“Dammit, man. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hunter raved as he paced the worn carpet in Alastair’s study.

Alastair’s expression was one of surprise.
Clearly he hadn’t expected Margaret to reveal her tragedy and now
Hunter wondered if the older man was hiding even more surprises.
This feeling that he had been manipulated, did not sit well. He was
angry that both daughter and father had obviously felt he would
turn and run at the first indication of difficulty. He supposed
Margaret was still hoping he would run. But he was disappointed
that Alastair could believe he was so shallow.

Hunter crossed the room, dropped down into
the chair opposite his host and rested one booted ankle on his bent
knee as he sat back. “What were your thoughts, Alastair?” he asked
with tight control. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I felt that Margaret should be the one to
tell you when she was ready,” he said softly as he retrieved his
pipe and tobacco pouch from the small table beside his chair.

Hunter leaned forward, his dark eyes
piercing those of his companion. “But your silence didn’t help. Can
you understand? I didn’t handle the situation well,” he added. “I
was so damned shocked I couldn’t tell her half the things that were
going on in mind. Not once, in all the times I had heard references
to Maggie’s ‘accident’ had my dull wit imagined this.” He shook his
head, unhappy with his own ineptitude. “Not very clever of me.”

“You had no way of knowing,” Alastair said,
then added apologetically, “I did what I thought was right.” He
sighed as if a huge weight had centered on his chest. “It’s so
difficult to know what to do with her.”

Hunter sat back in his chair, thoughtfully
scrubbing a forefinger across his chin. “Is there anything else I
should know?”

Alastair shook his head, contrite.

A long silence stretched out between them,
the passage of time announced by the chiming of the mantel
clock.

“What will you do?” Alastair asked
eventually.

Hunter raised dark thoughtful eyes from the
study of his boot top. He had not yet forgiven, but he thought he
understood Alastair’s motives and he could not say that he would
have handled the situation any differently; but he certainly hoped
he would have. “It’s true that Maggie is not the same girl she was.
How could she have remained unchanged by this?” He sat forward in
his chair gain, restless in his thoughts, his expression intense.
What he would do needed further discussion with Maggie. His
intentions had not changed. What would change, and all that
mattered, was awaiting Maggie’s adjustment. He was angry on her
behalf and he was honest enough with himself to understand the
possible ramifications to both of them. To Alastair he said only,
“My plans have not changed.”

The older man sighed audibly before nodding
his head in agreement. “I have been hoping you would say that,” he
said earnestly. “But…” he hesitated, “Margaret is openly hostile
toward any man who comes into this house…”

Smiling ruefully, Hunter broke in. “I
know.”

“Yes, well, her hostility is understandable,
wouldn’t you say?”

Hunter nodded his head in agreement, and
waited.