Chapter Nine

Warmth drifted through the bed linens, and Blair opened his eyes to a splash of morning sunlight. The woman had come to him again, lay beside him, snugged up tight, wearing only her unmentionables. This time it was no dream, for he was now awake, or appeared to be, and she still lay there, calm and peaceful, and beautiful.

Another dream, but one he prayed was not real. He’d shot someone, right here in this room. But who? And why? In the dream he believed it had been Roger. But it couldn’t have been. His best friend had died trying to save his life. Lying in a pool of his own blood that soaked away into the ground, forever baptizing that horrid battlefield. Often he dreamed he had killed his best friend, and in truth he probably had. For if Roger hadn’t come back for him, he would probably have survived that bloody war. No way to get around that. He checked out the corners of the room to see if Roger had come to remind him of that guilt. No one lurked there accusing him of anything. Just a sunny bright room, the draperies already opened, no doubt by Simmons.

Wonder what he thought of Rowena, asleep in his bed? Perhaps he was hallucinating and no one could see her but him.

Once more he concentrated on her, lying beside him, so still, her skin like fine porcelain. How he enjoyed touching her, and he did so now, ever so gently, so as not to awaken her. She might leave. Had her presence chased them all away? Those deadly spirits? He rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was still dreaming, in which case she might disappear in a pouf of smoke. He touched her again, this time with the knuckle of his first finger. So soft and vulnerable. What had she said last night? She wouldn’t leave him, she loved him. The idea frightened him a great deal. It was something he dared not put much faith in. Today they would discuss the so-called marriage.

Last night’s events came back to him like a vague, drug-induced memory, reminding him of what he feared most. That he would let himself love her and she would be killed or taken away from him. As punishment for his sins.

Her eyelids fluttered, opened to reveal those startling blue eyes, and her first sight on awakening was his face, oddly reflected in her pupils so that he saw what she saw. The corners of her fine lips curled into a smile as morning light danced over her exquisite features. Tangles of pale hair framed her sleepy face.

Good God, he was smitten. This could not be real. The ghost who occasionally came to him and his Rowena all mixed together. All unreal. Taking a chance, he whispered her name, and she replied.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” Her lips moved so delicately he had to touch them with the tip of his finger. She nibbled at his skin. An erection, building since she appeared beside him, reached out and prodded her. With widening eyes she snuggled against him, rubbed ever so gently.

“That answers my question. Should I…?” She rose, made to lift one leg across him, but waited for his consent. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

When he spoke his voice was ragged, as if he hadn’t used it in a long while. “You won’t hurt me.” It only hurt to want her and not have her. This woman who so surprised him with her enjoyment of his body. Not at all prudish, as he had suspected when they first met.

She completed the slow move and, lowering herself, gently guided him until he was totally surrounded, held captive by her moist warmth. She remained still for ever so long, studying his face. He thought he’d die with the longing to finish it. Finally she began to move in a rhythm that increased ever so slowly. He hung on as long as he could before falling from the edge in a spiraling moment of profound ecstasy. She vibrated around him, making small sounds deep in her throat, fingers kneading at his arms.

She wasn’t real. Of course she wasn’t. And she wasn’t Rowena. He was dreaming again. This one had come to him in the past. He once called her Lysette. Yes, that was it. Lysette. And many nights he had held, then lost her. Whispering after her in French. And he did not know who she was or why she had chosen him. But today this feeling seemed real, so he clung to her tightly, eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them she would be gone. Like always.

Long, sweet moments later, while he held on to her as if that would stop her vanishing into thin air, she whispered in his ear. “Blair?” Her warm breath feathered against his cheek and tickled his neck. “Was it good? I enjoyed it very much.”

The voice jerked him into reality. He was no longer in Paris in a hospital bed, or in some strange room he did not recognize. Nor did he lie wounded and dying on the battlefield. Here the woman, the sunlight, the silence of peace, held him in a close embrace. There was no smell of blood or acrid stench of gunfire. No antiseptic odor. Just the sweet fragrance of her skin, her hair, her breath. The feel of her firm breasts pressed against him. And her voice saying his name, like she owned it. And he was dumbstruck. Speechless.

“Blair? Are you all right? Say something. Are you hurting? Do you need morphine? Oh, dear, I have hurt you.” She cradled his face in both hands. A hot tear fell on his cheek, trickled over the scar like warm rain.

Amazed, he opened his eyes to gaze up at her.” You are real.”

She continued to cry. Buried her face against his neck. Hot tears, heated breath, warm sweet flesh, lips moist on his skin.

He clung to her for fear she would slip away. Remaining in his embrace, she rolled off him and curled up at his side, sobs abating.

“It’s the morphine,” she said. “I know it is, but I worry so about you. I want you to be happy and free. Free of pain and the agony of bad memories, but I don’t know how to accomplish that.” The words came out breathy, as if she were trying to control her emotions. “I hoped my love would be enough.”

“It would be…it should be,” he told her, and rubbed her back with the flat of his hand.

“Then why isn’t it?”

After a long while thinking about that, he said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know. I wish I did.”

“Can you tell me about it? Maybe if we talked together.”

His hand lingered on her back, fingers touching a rough ridge. “What is that?” He traced the scar from her shoulder to her hip. “My God, what is that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Who did this to you? Why did they…?”

“Blair, it’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

“I need to see. Show me.” He peeled the chemise off in one swift movement. “Turn over.”

“Please, no. I don’t want you to see. It’s ugly.”

“Nothing about you could ever be ugly.” Despite her plea he insisted, and so she rolled until her scarred back was exposed to him. Gently he traced the tracks one at a time from top to bottom, counted three in one direction, two more criss-crossing those from the other shoulder.

“Rowena, tell me about this.” He kissed the scars, and her flesh shivered under his lips.

How could someone have hurt her like this? And why? By God, he would kill him. Odd, but the scars made her more real to him, and he was no longer afraid she would disappear from his bed.

It took her a long time to answer, but when she did her tone was firm. “I will tell you, if you will talk to me about the war and what happened to scar you from the inside.”

What could he say? How could he tell her of the things he’d seen and done? She would hate him forever. She would leave. Best if she never knew. Let her leave without knowledge of the horrors of war. Yet, how could he let the monster who had marked her go free? It was a terrible trade-off, one he could not agree to.

“You only think you want to know,” he said finally. “You don’t, and I don’t want you to hear the horrific acts we humans can commit against one another.” Yet she knew. Had been a victim.

Even though she stiffened, she remained in his embrace for a long while before stirring. He let her go without further comment, his gaze falling upon the stripes in the pale flesh of her back. If he ever learned who had done that to her, he would track him down and deal with him in kind.

She spent a while behind the screen set up for a makeshift dressing room in one corner of his study. In there also was the chamber pot and wash bowl. He heard her brushing her teeth, then splashing water. Imagined her washing under her arms and breasts and between her legs. Grew hard just thinking of such an intimate act. After a while she came out, took off the chemise, and slipped out of the under-drawers and stood before him naked. Watching him, eyes glittering, she stepped back into her drawers, pulled on stockings, slips, her camisole, and finally a simple frock she preferred to wear without a corset. She was so lovely in the sunlight, her fair hair shining when she fingered the braid loose and swept the curly strands back off her face, letting it tumble down her back.

He had never seen anything more beautiful, not even in drug-induced fantasies. With all his heart he wished she could be his. Forever. But everything had changed for the both of them, He could not, dare not, love her, and that had been brought home more surely because of the accident. She could not be harnessed to a cripple. And for the first time since the war had spat him out, he was determined to live. To recover. To prove he deserved her. The notion caught him unawares, surprised him. He felt clean inside, new. She had done this.

He motioned her to sit on the bed. “We must discuss our marriage.”

Her frown dismayed him. “You will remember in time. We married at the Episcopal church in Victoria four days ago, and nearly the entire town witnessed it, including Simmons, Grady, Annie, Nellie, and Lizza. Ask any one of them.” She adopted a teasing tone. “Is this just your way of saying you don’t want to be married to me because I’m bossy?”

“I do love you, I know that above all else. But I know the dreadful things I do, and you need not be privy to them.”

“Blair, that’s ridiculous. I’ve already seen those things. Besides, how do you think you could hurt me with your leg all trussed up? Shall we wait and discuss this when you are able to chase me around the room?”

He didn’t reply, and she glanced down. He had fallen asleep. Smiling, she kissed him, pulled the covers up under his chin, and went to have breakfast while he slept off the morphine dose. How long would it be before he remembered the pact they had made? That she live apart from him? She would not bring it up. And she would sleep with him, comfort him, love him.

She followed the enticing aroma of bacon cooking into the kitchen, where she found Wilda and Calder at the table enjoying eggs, bacon, and beans. Both greeted her and kept eating.

“Would you like something?” Annie stood at the stove, wearing a white apron and a cap over her curls. “I’m taking a tray to Sir Blair and Miss Lizza. She should come down, but I’m afraid last night’s excitement frightened her. I knocked earlier and announced the meal, but she said she did not feel like eating. Perhaps if I take it up, she will.”

Heavens! How could she have forgotten all about Lizza being up there while her husband lay on the floor of the study dying?

“Oh, dear. Someone will have to inform her of her husband’s death. I suppose that will have to be me. I’ll take care of it after breakfast. I’ll fix myself a plate when I come back. For now I’ll have a cup of tea.” Rowena fixed her tea and sat next to her sister. “That was some excitement we had yesterday. I hope your wound is not bothering you too much, Calder.”

His green eyes flashed, and he grinned. “Nah, it’s fine. I never was much of a shot, but you’d a thought I could’ve hit the blaggart, close as we were to each other. Your Blair is quite the marksman, considering.”

“Yes, well, you caused enough excitement to stop that awful man from hurting anyone.” She glanced around. “Except himself. Has Grady taken care of the…?”

“He was here earlier,” Wilda said. “He took the body to Hays City. Reckoned the sheriff may have some questions to ask all of us.”

“If that no-good lawman has questions, he can blamed well come out here to ask them,” Calder remarked, then flushed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take charge, but you don’t need to have to go into town, and especially not Blair. How is he this morning? Damned sorry about what happened. Is he going to be okay?”

Rowena stared into her half-full cup. “I’m not sure. He… I don’t know how much Wilda has told you, but his experiences during the war have left him debilitated.”

Calder shook his head. “I’ve heard of that. Some soldiers from our Civil War suffered the same malady. They call it soldier’s heart.”

“Do you know what is being done for them?”

“Nothing, that I’m aware of. If they are in bad enough shape, they’re put in some asylum and left there. Others, if they have no kin to take care of them, simply wander around until they starve or are killed or die of exposure. It’s a damn shame.”

Unbidden tears filled her eyes. She stole a glance at Wilda, then stared out the window across the windswept plain dotted with melting piles of snow. “That will not happen to Blair. Not ever.”

Wilda reached across to take her hand. “If he gets violent, if he tries to hurt you, you must protect yourself.”

“He won’t do that.”

Wilda shrugged and glanced at her husband, who shook his head.

“I want him to see a phrenologist. It is said they are helping many people with their mental acuity. But he won’t go, and I don’t know how to persuade him. I’ve spoken to Hildegarde Smythe, who only lately I learned is Grady’s mother and your aunt, Calder. She has an office in Victoria, but she will not see him unless he requests it.”

Annie left with two trays. Her return a while later interrupted a conversation in which Rowena had just learned Calder and Wilda were leaving that morning.

“I never did hear why you took the chance of coming back to Kansas. Didn’t you agree that you would never come here again?”

Calder laughed, and Wilda joined him.

“Not exactly. I agreed never to commit a crime in Kansas again. Nothing was said about me not coming back. Grady and I had some unfinished business from before Wilda and I left, but it’s settled now. Nothing to worry about.”

“And I came along,” Wilda said. “I wanted to see you so badly, and he figured it would be safe for us to pay you a visit if he kept a low profile, so his cousin Grady arranged for him a place to stay while I came to Fairhaven and they did their business.”

Calder covered her hand with both his. “Now, it’s best we leave, considering the gunplay last evening. Since I was involved, I could get thrown in the hoosegow. So we need to be far away before Grady gets that body in the hands of Sheriff Calumet in Hays City. We were well acquainted, the sheriff and I. We’re taking the noon train out.”

“We won’t bring you into it, then,” Rowena said. “Odd, Grady never mentioned that you two were related, Calder.”

“Well, he wouldn’t, you see, not wanting to get painted with the same brush. You could ask him about our business if you like, but I for one won’t say anymore.” Again that mischievous grin that revealed to Rowena what had first attracted her sister to this personable ex-outlaw.

The couple remained while Rowena finished her breakfast, talking about the coming baby, the ranch, and her unexpected marriage to Blair.

Later, she hugged them both before they left on the horses they had rented when they arrived in town.

She stood outside, hugging herself against a chilly wind, and waved until the two riders disappeared into the distance. After shedding a few tears, she returned to the house to find Simmons waiting outside Blair’s study.

“He wishes to see you, mum.”

“Do you think he’s going to be all right?”

“He’s in his chair. He still claims not to remember the wedding.”

“I think I understand that, and the doctor said it is not unusual for someone with such an injury to forget the previous hours before the accident. If he decides to kick me out, I will become concerned.”

“Oh, mum, he has no plans to kick you out, as you so colorfully put it. I do believe this western life is rubbing off on you.”

“On all of us, I think. I find myself combining words like is and not and has and not.” She smiled. “I am glad to know he wants me to stay. He hasn’t put it into words.”

Simmons stared over her shoulder, his whiskey-brown eyes not meeting hers. “Though it’s not for me to say, I know that he loves you, mum. He just doesn’t trust love like some do. And I will be here to care for him as long as he needs it, so you have no worry that you will be saddled with that responsibility. I’ve spoken to Grady about continuing to help until Lord Blair is on his feet again, and he has agreed. Miss Annie also. So, you see, you have no reason to leave. My concern is, do you have a reason to remain?”

“I love him. I married him because he said he loves me. Those are all the reasons I need to remain.”

He regarded her with stoic precision. “Then you will go in to him now?”

“Someone has to tell Lizza about the death of her husband. I was on my way to do that. She heard all the commotion last evening, and Annie says she’s afraid to come out of her room. I must deal with that, then I’ll see Blair. Can you explain to him that I’ll be in later?”

Simmons nodded in assent and slipped back into the quiet study.

Rowena hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to Lizza’s room. She knocked discreetly. “It’s Rowena, Lizza. May I come in?”

Silence.

A louder knock prompted no response, so she opened the door enough to see into the room. The drapes were drawn against the winter sun, so only shadows were visible in the light from the fireplace flames. An unmoving form huddled on the bed.

“Lizza? Honey, it’s me. Rowena. Are you all right?”

The lump moved. A head poked out from under the covers. Uncombed brown hair tumbled around frightened features. “Is he here? Did he come for me?”

Filled with compassion, she went to the girl and put an arm around her thin shoulders that trembled uncontrollably.

“He’s gone. He won’t be back. You’re safe here.”

“Oh, yes, he will. He always comes back. He says he’s going, but he always comes back.”

“This time, he won’t. I’m afraid…well, I’m afraid he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Firelight glistened in her dark eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure. I’m afraid he was shot.”

“Shot?”

The young woman was clearly confused, maybe even in shock. Rowena patted her. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, please don’t. If I could see his body, maybe I’d believe you. It’s just that I’ve imagined him dead so many times. It’s never been true. Are you sure, truly sure?”

“Oh, yes, but I’m afraid you cannot see him. Grady has taken his body to Hays City to report the incident to the sheriff.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Together they rocked for a while in silence, then Lizza stopped. “Who killed him?”

“Oh, honey. Does it matter? All that matters is that he will not ever bother you again.”

Lizza burst into tears, sobbing so hard Rowena could scarcely keep a hold on her thin body.

“We grew up together. I loved him always. How could he do those things to me? What did I do that was so wrong?”

“You did nothing, Lizza. Nothing. Some men are violent, and feel they must show their strength by hitting someone smaller and weaker than they are. Don’t blame yourself for this. You get some rest, eat the breakfast Annie brought up. Then you must come down. Have you been shown the bell pull, here by your bed?”

Lizza glanced up as if seeing it for the first time, didn’t speak.

“Nellie would love to have your company. She will be sewing me a frock this afternoon. Do you sew?”

The girl shook her head miserably. “I never learned.”

“Well, then. Nellie would be the perfect teacher. Or you could sit at the table and assist Annie in readying tea. You wash up and put on those things we bought you at Chesshire’s. You’ll feel much better then.”

She moved the tray from the bedside table to the bed and urged her to eat. “Then you get some rest. I’ll send Annie up to sit with you, if you’d like.”

“No, no. I need to be alone. I can’t believe he’s dead. I loved him, you know. I really did, but he frightened me so. I never knew why he liked to hit me. I was bad, I guess.”

“No, you were not bad. Now, if you’re sure, I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything, just pull that and someone will come.”

“Thank you,” Lizza murmured, and rolled up into a ball under the covers, ignoring the tray.

Reluctantly, Rowena left and hurried downstairs to Blair’s study. She found him sitting in the wheelchair at the tall windows, reading a book. For a long moment she stood in the door studying him, her heart thumping with hope, or fear, or both. He would be all right. They would be all right. She just had to be patient.

“Come on in, Rowena,” he said when she cleared her throat.

“It’s good to see you up.” She went to him and stood at his side, daring to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to talk to you.” He closed the book, laid it carefully on the side table, and she saw the title, The Woman in White.

She noted an empty glass and assumed he was drinking.

“Could you verify that I shot the man here last night? I am unable to tell what are dreams and what reality. I clearly remember hearing the shot, and then this morning seeing the blood on the carpet. Simmons would not tell me, said it didn’t matter, that the man deserved to die for what he had done, and he would face his God to atone. But it matters to me. Do not lie to me, please.”

She rose, but let him keep her hand in his. “Simmons is right. It doesn’t matter who shot him. But Barton Crouch is dead, and he came here to hurt Lizza, and threatened everyone’s safety. The sheriff will be out to talk to all of us, and it’s best you don’t remember and you tell him so. It was the morphine, and he will understand that. There should be no further trouble after we speak to him. Oh, and it would be best if we don’t mention Calder and Wilda’s presence.”

He nodded. “So, it was I who shot the ruffian?”

She nodded. “I’m so sorry, but you did what you had to do. You probably saved more than one life in doing so. Please don’t dwell on it.”

He stared out the window with a faraway look in his eyes, then changed the subject. “I won’t speak of Calder and Wilda’s presence. I do remember his being pardoned and ordered to leave Kansas. I’m so glad your sister came to see you. I know how you’ve suffered, not hearing from her all this time.” He bent and kissed the back of her hand.

For a long moment she stared down at his mop of black hair, shimmering with blue highlights in the morning sunlight. When he tilted his head to gaze up at her, she noticed gray flecking the sideburns. A love so intense it squeezed at her heart filled her.

“Blair, my dearest,” she said softly.

He jerked his head back to look at her, as if startled, then pulled his hand away. “I wish you would not do that.” A harsh tone that stabbed at her. He dropped her hand and angrily turned the chair so his back was to her. “Leave me now, I’m weary.”

Holding herself back ramrod straight, she started from the room. At the door, she stopped. “Shall I send Simmons?”

“No. Tell everyone to leave me be. Before you go, get me the morphine from the drawer there, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d be glad to—”

“No, dammit. Just go. I cannot do this. We cannot do this. Now go. Leave now.” He picked up the empty glass, threw it across the room into the fireplace. Glass shards tinkled onto the marble hearth.

It occurred to her that Blair had not smelled of whiskey. A random thought that came and went.

“If you need me for anything, please send Simmons and I will come. I promise you that. With all my heart.”

Disappointed at the turn of events, she slipped out the door and closed it softly. Tried to think only of the man who had carried her in his arms and called her his dear heart. That man lived within the shell of the one she had just left, and she would not forget him. Not for one moment. Somehow she would see that he one day emerged forever free of his nightmares.

Blair slept not at all that night. Ragged corpses crowded the room, walked incessantly, and accused him of their deaths. For most of the night he argued with them. Unable to flee on horseback, he had no other choice but to meet them head-on and do battle. Alone.