The Wild Child (32 page)

“She had to be restrained,” Craythorne said in a rush of nervous words. “Grahame brought her here tied in a blanket. When she was released, it took two grown men to hold her down. Without restraints, she could have injured herself badly. Besides, it’s necessary to establish discipline before treatment can begin.”

“Is that why her face is bruised?” Dominic said savagely as he moved behind the chair. He tried to untie the ropes, but his fingers trembled too much to manage the knot.

“Allow me, milord.” A glittering dagger appeared in Kamal’s hand as he joined Dominic. Craythorne gasped as the Indian began slashing through Meriel’s bonds.

Dominic recognized the dagger from the time Kamal had trimmed a pineapple. Very convenient on this occasion. Not only did the razor-sharp edge make short work of the ropes, but it finished the job of cowing the doctor.

Meriel slumped forward when the last rope was cut. As Dominic knelt in front of the chair to steady her, he saw that her pupils were dilated so widely that her eyes looked black. There were stains on the straitjacket, and he thought he detected the sweetish odor of laudanum. “Did you force one of your damned narcotic potions down her?”

“I was just trying to calm her enough to begin treatment,” the doctor said defensively. “You have no idea how difficult it is to work with mad patients.”

“And if they aren’t mad to begin with, they will be by the time you’re done with them,” Dominic growled as Kamal sliced through the straitjacket that immobilized her arms. Together they peeled the damnable thing off Meriel.

She tumbled forward onto Dominic, locking her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Her slim body was shaking as if from fever.

He crushed her close, desperately grateful that she was safe. She seemed unbearably fragile as she buried her face in the angle between his neck and shoulder. What if this captivity had destroyed all the progress she had made? What if the girl he’d fallen in love with was gone beyond recall?

Unable to bear the thought, he whispered huskily, “Just a little longer, sprite. Then you’ll be out of this foul place forever.”

It was awkward rising from a crouch with her clinging like a monkey, but he managed. “If you’ve caused permanent harm, Craythorne…” He let the implied threat dangle menacingly in the air.

“I’ll admit that she seems to recognize you,” the doctor said grudgingly. “If any of my people had released her from the restraints, she’d have attacked like a wolverine. But that doesn’t mean she’s sane.”

“Could you prove you were sane, Craythorne? I doubt it,” Dominic said caustically. “How long until the narcotic wears off?”

Craythorne hesitated. “Several hours at least. The dosage was heavy for someone so small.”

Without another glance in the doctor’s direction, Dominic left the restraint room, Kamal close behind. Craythorne made no attempt to stop them as they left the building. He was probably as anxious to be rid of his unwelcome guests as they were eager to go.

Kamal brought the horses, and Dominic found that it really wasn’t possible to mount with a female holding on to him. He passed her to Kamal and got on his horse, then took her in his arms again. It would be awkward to have her across his lap, but he couldn’t let her ride pillion when she was drugged. Dominic and Kamal didn’t speak until they had left the asylum property and were on the public road. Then Kamal said, “The doctor will send word to Lord Grahame immediately.”

“I know.” Dominic glanced down at the top of Mend’s flaxen head and wondered how long it would be until she could bear to look anyone in the eye again. If she weren’t so weak, they could have gone to Warfield, but he couldn’t do that with her in this condition. Where to go instead? Certainly not a public inn—it would be too easy for Grahame to find them. He forced his weary brain to think. “We’ll take her to Holliwell Grange. It’s not far, and the general will help us, I believe.”

Kamal nodded agreement, and they set off. A good thing the grange was near, because the horses were too tired to go far or fast. Dominic tried not to think about his own exhaustion. There would be time enough for that when Meriel was safe.

The Ameses reacted to their unexpected visitors with the swift common sense of a military family. After hearing Dominic’s explanation of why they had come, Jena hustled Meriel away for tending. Meriel was still close to sleepwalking, but she went willingly. Dominic took it as a good sign that she knew her friends from her enemies.

Though he was reeling with fatigue after the long journey to and from Bridgton Abbey, Dominic couldn’t rest until the truth was known. “There is something else you must know, General.” Tersely he explained who he was.

After a startled moment, Ames said, “You don’t believe in a simple life, do you? We can talk about this in the morning. Right now, you both need to rest.”

Grateful to accept the general’s judgment, Dominic followed him to a bedroom. Within two minutes, he washed, stripped, and was sleeping like the dead.

Chapter 30

Flames and screams and a silhouette of evil. Traveling in terror through the desert night, a large hand on her spine to prevent her falling from the saddlebow of a horse so rough-gaited she could barely breathe. Crying for her mama and papa, and a frantic refusal to believe they would never come. Hope eroding day by day, until there was nothing left but bitter acceptance that she had been abandoned. The scene shifted to her uncle lashing ropes around her blanket-wrapped body. Fighting frantically to escape from the horrible straitjacket, but being overpowered. The doctor speaking soothingly as he rammed a funnel down her throat and poured a sticky potion that she must swallow or die of choking. This time, she knew better than to expect rescue.

She returned to consciousness in broken patches, cold with sweat. But this time, rescue had come, hadn’t it? Or had she imagined Renbourne’s embrace, his scent, and the steady beat of his heart under her ear?

Eyes closed, she took stock. A soft bed, a small dark room with a dim light. A clean country smell rather than the stone-deep despair of the asylum. Warily she opened her eyes and saw Jena Ames sitting by her bed, quietly reading by the light of an oil lamp. So Renbourne and Kamal really had come for her. She tried to order her chaotic thoughts. Kamal had brandished a lethal dagger, and a furious Renbourne had been on the verge of ripping out the doctor’s throat. Another ride on horseback, but this time cradled against Renbourne instead of weeping helplessly on a terrifying ride into the unknown. Then Jena, who helped her wash and made her drink broth before tucking her into bed. She shifted her gaze and saw that she wore an overlarge shift, old but clean.

Cautiously she stretched. All her muscles ached from the torment of being tied like a mummy for hours. The only respite had been periodic releases from the chair when a burly female attendant had helped her use a chamber pot, a clumsy, humiliating business for someone tied in a straitjacket. Hearing Meriel’s movement, Jena glanced up. “You’re awake. Good.” She bent forward to study Meriel’s eyes. “It looks as if most of the laudanum has worn off. How do you feel?”

Meriel gave an infinitesimal shrug.

“You’re probably thirsty.” Jena poured a glass of water, then held it to Meriel’s lips. “My mouth was always horribly dry after they made me take one of those ghastly potions.” Though she tried to speak calmly, there was a faint tremor in her voice. It hadn’t been that long since she had been as helpless as Meriel.

As Meriel greedily swallowed the water, she tried to remember how long Jena had been in the asylum. Many months. Meriel had been there—two days? three?—and had already vanished into the mists of her own mind. She would never have survived a year.

After Meriel drank her fill, Jena set the glass aside. “I was horrified when Renbourne and Kamal appeared. You looked more dead than alive. How dare your uncle send you to Bladenham! You and I both owe your young man a great deal.”

So they knew who he really was. Good. Meriel thought of Renbourne with sharp longing. His physical presence had lured her from the seductive blankness of the mists. Reassured her that this time she had not been abandoned to her fate.

Where was he now?

“Knowing you were in the asylum has brought it all back.” Jena gazed at the lamp, her expression strained. “I’ve been trying to… to come to terms with my time there. Dr. Craythorne isn’t evil—in his own way, I think he’s compassionate and very dedicated. Many of the patients really were hopelessly mad, but he is so singleminded that he sees madness everywhere, even when it doesn’t exist. That I can’t forgive.”

She looked at Meriel again, forcing a smile. “I shouldn’t talk of that. More amusing to tell you how we’re going to turn the tables on my ghastly husband. Since divorce is virtually impossible, my father’s solicitor has filed to get me an annulment. Did you know a marriage isn’t legal if one of the parties is insane at the time of the wedding? Since my own husband committed me to an asylum, I must have been mad. Ergo, the marriage was invalid.” She smiled wryly. “I had no trouble signing an affidavit that I was insane when I married—I had to have been crazy to marry Morton.”

Meriel smiled a little, understanding Jena’s amusement. There was poetic justice to the grounds used for the petition for annulment. She hoped it was granted. How horrible to be forever tied to a man one loathed.

Jena studied her face. “One of the things I hated most about Bladenham was the lack of privacy. Knowing that at any time an attendant might peer through the window in the door to see what I was doing. I didn’t want you to wake up alone, but now that the drug has worn off, would you rather I left you?”

Meriel gave a sharp nod.

“You’re almost yourself again. In fact, we’re having a real conversation.” Jena hesitated, then said diffidently, “Mr. Renbourne said that you’re speaking now. I don’t suppose you’d like to demonstrate?”

Meriel shifted her gaze to the faded wallpaper. She wasn’t prepared to talk to anyone other than Renbourne.

Correctly interpreting her silence, Jena got to her feet. “Perhaps another time. Try to get more rest. By morning, the last of the potion should have worn off.” She leaned forward and kissed Mend’s cheek.

“I’m in the room on your left, Mr. Renbourne is across the hall, and my father and Kamal are in the other wing, so you’re safe. No one can kidnap you from Holliwell Grange. If you need anything, just call.”

She started to lift the lamp, then hesitated. “Shall I leave the light?”

Meriel nodded again. She’d had enough of shadows.

After Jena left, she lay still for a time, appreciating the silence and cleanliness and privacy—and giving Jena time to undress and go to bed.

The knowledge that Renbourne was across the hall made her… hungry. She wanted him. Wanted his touch, his taste, his closeness.

When she thought enough time had passed, she shakily sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Though her body hurt as if it had been pounded from head to foot, she felt a certain detachment from the pain. A lingering effect of the drug, perhaps.

Cautiously she stood, and had to grab the bedside table to keep from falling. When her balance steadied, she made her way to the washstand and splashed water on her face. The coolness helped clear her head.

As she dried her hands and face, she studied herself in the small mirror above the washstand. She looked ghostly in the dim light. Her only color was a purple bruise on one cheekbone and dark shadows beneath her eyes. With tendrils of hair escaping from her braid to writhe around her face, she was a sight to make Mrs. Marks sigh with exasperation. But seeing the image made her feel real. Returned from the mists.

Cautiously she opened the door. No squeaks. She stepped across the hall and turned the knob on the opposite door. It swung open soundlessly; the general’s household was as well run as his army cantonment must had been.

She closed the door and leaned against it as her eyes adjusted to the darker room. Renbourne lay sprawled on his side on the bed, illuminated by a wash of moonlight. The blanket had worked its way down to his waist, exposing his bare torso. Judging by the pile of crumpled garments, he had simply stripped off his clothing and fallen into bed.

She liked the way he was made, broad through the shoulders, narrow through the hips. The clean limbs and firm muscles of a man who enjoyed physical work. In the moonlight the fading patterns of the mehndi on his upper chest were faintly visible, a reminder of the intimacy they had shared. Being in the same room, breathing the same air, brought a sharp release of tension. When her uncle drove Renbourne from Warfield, she’d been terrified that he was leaving forever. Certainly she hadn’t expected him to discover what had happened to her, and come to the rescue. The thought made her soften with tenderness.

Craving the feel of his bare skin against hers, she peeled off the loose shift and climbed into the bed. Trying not to disturb him, she carefully fitted her body against his, circling his ribs with one arm so that her breasts pressed into his back, tucking her knee between his thighs. Then she relaxed, finally feeling safe. His scent, warm and familiar, created a hazy feeling of contentment. Dreamily she stroked his chest, enjoying the contrast of smooth warm skin and soft, springy hair. Despite her relaxation, she felt paradoxically alive.

She kissed the hollow under his shoulder blade, savoring the salty taste of his skin. What had begun as a desire for simple closeness became more as her blood quickened. Could a male mate in his sleep? It would be an amusing experiment to find out.

She skimmed the firm shape of his flank under the blanket, then moved her hand up the front of his thigh until she found what she sought. Already semi-erect, his organ hardened in her hand. The memory of their previous mating sprang to vivid life as she began to caress him. She wanted—needed— that intimate fire again.

“Meriel,” Renbourne murmured. Rolling onto his back, he drew her close and began to caress one breast with his other hand.

He wasn’t truly awake, but his instincts were excellent. She raised her head and kissed him. His lips, warm and welcoming, aroused her. She wanted to flow in and around him, dissolve all barriers until they were truly one flesh.