She sat without a word, her eyes trained on him as he stood before her. All day she had been aware of Tray’s voice thundering through the halls, and her blood had run icy every time she heard Vaughn’s returning snarl. Soon after Tray left her, Sean had come running to her bedchamber, thrown his arms around her and sobbed. Alyssa tried to soothe him, knowing the fear he must have felt upon finding Vaughn at Shadowhawk. She had stroked his short, silken hair, rocking him, trying to give him solace when she had none to give to herself.
Despite her fear of Tray, she asked in a quavering voice, “Is it over?”
Tray took off his coat, throwing it on her bed. “Over?” he asked bitterly. “No, this is just the beginning.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and absorbed Alyssa’s loveliness. Even now, as pale and weary as she appeared, she was stunning. That inner beauty of hers, that island of peace that seemed to emanate from within, fed him in that moment. If only they could hold each other and give sustenance to one another through the strain of the days ahead.
“What do you mean?”
Tray leaned forward, rubbing his face tiredly. “Vaughn is determined to remain here at Shadowhawk, Alyssa,” he began in a low voice. “I’ve convinced him that I won’t let you go. As my mistress, he knows he cannot simply drag you out of here to Newgate. He won’t risk it. Instead, he’ll try to persuade my father, Harold, to force me to release you. But until my father decides whether he’ll enter this family squabble, Vaughn will be hovering over us like a hungry buzzard, hoping to catch you breaking the law.” Tray glanced over at her, his face set. “Starting from this moment, you’ll always be at my side, Alyssa. Either that, or with Sorche. I won’t allow Vaughn to harass or frighten you.”
Her heart began a slow pound, and dread flowed through her. “At your side?” she whispered meekly.
Tray winced. “In and out of bed,” he elaborated grimly. “If Vaughn thinks for a moment our alliance is a sham, he’ll have the grounds he wants to take you from me.” He rose slowly. “And I won’t allow that to happen, Alyssa. I value your life even if you don’t. Come, I’m taking you to my bedchamber.”
Alyssa remained in the chair, tired and emotionally wrung out. She sensed that Tray was mere inches from her, his arm extended for her to take, as she had done so often in the past. “Please…” she begged, “don’t do this to me.”
As gently as he knew how, Tray knelt down in front of her, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. “Don’t cry, little one. I know you’ve experienced pain at the hand of another man. Do you think I want to hurt you?”
She bowed her head, a soft sob escaping from her lips. Did Tray know it had been his brother who had so cruelly hurt her and made her afraid of all men’s touch? Salty tears dribbled across her lips. “N-no.”
Tray lightly laid his hand upon hers. “I have a confession to make, and I want you to listen closely.”
Sniffing, Alyssa accepted the linen handkerchief that he offered her. “What is it?”
“When I first brought you to Shadowhawk, little one, you were grievously injured. Sorche and I stripped you of your clothes and bathed you.” He made a slight grimace as shock registered in Alyssa’s eyes. “We both know that a gentleman would never take advantage of any woman like that. But Sorche was too old to carry you to the bath. Someone had to do it and I did. We wrapped you in a bath towel and then placed you in the warm water to cleanse you of all the blood and dirt. I remained with you long afterward and fell asleep in this chair near the hearth. Later, you woke me up screaming.”
Alyssa blinked, her lashes thick with tears. “Screaming?”
“Yes. Screams wrenched from your very soul. I tried to talk to you, then I rubbed a cooling cloth across your brow, but you continued to sob and cry out. Finally,” he admitted hoarsely, “I lay down by your side and drew you to me. I took you in my arms and began to talk soothingly to you. Within minutes, you stopped sobbing, and within half an hour, you were sleeping soundly once again, nestled in my arms.”
Her lips parted, and for brittle seconds the room was silent. “H-how long did this go on? I mean—”
“Every night until you became conscious, Aly. I slept with you every night. If I tried to leave your side, you’d start to cry again.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I can’t explain it, nor do I forgive myself for my actions. But somewhere in your heart, you must have known I wouldn’t hurt you, little one. Each night you were eager to be held. I never took advantage of you. I simply kept you safe and warm.” He allowed his words to sink in, getting up and walking to the hearth. The confusion and embarrassment on her face tore at his heart. But if Alyssa were to be kept safe from Vaughn, she had to realize that he would never intentionally take advantage of her.
“D-does everyone know about this?”
“No, just Sorche. I would get up at dawn, before the servant came in to restock the fire.”
“B-but if I share your bed, everyone will know. Even Sean.”
“It will become common knowledge,” he agreed softly.
Alyssa’s lashes lifted, revealing exhausted jade eyes. “I would rather die.”
Grimly, Tray walked back to her and held out his hand. “I know you would. But I want your life spared.”
“Why?” The word was wrenched from her raw throat.
“Because your life is worth saving, Alyssa Kyle. Trust me on that point. Now come, it’s late and we’re about ready to fall over with weariness. Take my arm….”
Chapter Nine
Alyssa’s movements were mechanical as she shyly shed her dressing robe and slid into their bed. Tray extinguished the last of the candles in the bedchamber. In the muted glow from the hearth fire, he watched wretchedly as Alyssa pulled the bed covers to her chin, her face belying her fear.
As Tray carefully got into bed, he murmured, “I won’t touch you, Alyssa. Just go to sleep. We’ll take each day as it comes.”
Alyssa lay wide-awake in the semidarkness. She heard Tray’s breathing soften, occasionally breaking into a snore. Little by little, she relaxed her fingers on the pillow and drifted into sleep.
Sometime later, her nightmares flared back to livid, frightening life. Alyssa moaned, and her breath came in great, heaving gulps as she wrestled to push Vaughn off her. The glint of his blue eyes bored into hers, and she screamed as she read the evil intent in his leering features.
Tray jerked awake. Instinctively, he rolled over, as he had done that first week, and pulled Alyssa into his arms to give her a measure of solace. Her hair was tangled across her face and her eyes flew open. Suddenly, her fists began to pummel his chest.
“No!” she cried, pushing Tray away from her. The instant her hand met the hard warmth of his flesh, she shrank back like a cornered animal, huddling near the edge of the bed.
Tray sat up and turned toward Alyssa. “It’s all right,” he soothed, “you’re safe. It’s just those dreams again.”
Alyssa buried her head. “They’ve come back! They’re worse than ever!”
Tray looked at her, unsure of how best to help her. “Can you go back to sleep, Aly?”
She shook her head, her entire body now trembling with the charge of adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream. “N-no. I’m so afraid…it’s so dark. It’s always so dark….”
He got out of bed, gathering up her dressing robe and gently placing it around her hunched shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll go to the kitchen and make us some chocolate. Would you like that?”
Just his voice was a balm to her chaotic feelings. She lifted her head. “Oh, Tray…yes….”
When Tray padded back to the bedchamber with the chocolate, he found Alyssa huddled before the hearth on the deerskin rug. Her face was pensive and troubled as he sat down beside her, taking care to keep a reasonable distance between them for her sake. She took the cup, her hands trembling badly. He threw some more logs on the fire, then rose to place a blanket about her shoulders. Alyssa offered him a look of thanks, and Tray took his own cup and sa
ucer and sat near her on the rug.
“When I was a boy I used to have dreams, and Sorche would come in and bring me a cup of hot milk. She always told me milk would help me sleep again.” Tray smiled faintly, looking at his emptied cup. “I believed her.”
“Did it?” Her voice was raw and she took another sip of the hot liquid. The warmth of the drink soothed the irritated flesh of her throat.
Tray set his cup and saucer aside, drawing his legs up and putting his arms around them. “Fell asleep in minutes.” He laughed softly.
“Why did you have bad dreams? Did something happen to you?”
He inhaled deeply and then released the breath with a sigh. “Let just say that my father never wanted me around.”
“Why?”
Tray rested his chin on his knees, staring blindly at the fire. “As far as he was concerned, I killed his wife—my mother.”
Alyssa twisted her head toward him. “You? Kill?”
“My mother died giving me birth, Aly. My father could never forgive me for that. In fact, I can’t forgive myself.”
She reached out to comfort him. The gesture shocked them both and Alyssa withdrew her fingers from his arm. “How could it be your fault?”
He stared down at his deformed and twisted foot. “Someday I might tell you the entire story, little one, but not now. You’ve lived through an emotional storm from the day I met you. You don’t need to be told my troubles on top of everything else.” Tray slowly rose and removed the blanket from her shoulders. “Come, you need to sleep some more. You still have shadows beneath those lovely eyes of yours.”
Once in bed, Alyssa felt a strange sense of peace stealing through her as she lay next to Tray. This time she did not seek the very edge of the bed. Instead, she curled up much like a kitten, facing Tray, clutching the pillow to her.
* * *
“Keep your voice down!”
“Now listen here, clubfoot, I don’t care what you say, I’m sending one of your servants after Father.”
The familiar voices of Tray and Vaughn pulled Alyssa from the edges of sleep. Clubfoot? She rubbed her eyes and stretched. Darkness met her eyes as she opened them, as it always did, but the crowing of a cock in the background told her it was morning. She heard the voices moving farther away and guessed that the argument was taking place in the drawing room next door. Then her door opened, and her heart jumped in her chest. Was Vaughn sneaking up on her as he had done the first time?
“Tray?”
“Here. I didn’t know you were awake,” he apologized. Dressed in his normal attire of riding breeches, boots and an ivory-colored chamois shirt, he hesitated at the bed, hands on his hips.
“Do you feel rested?” he asked, watching her wake up. God, how he longed to kiss those full, pouty lips awake. Tray savagely quelled his desire and gathered up her dressing robe.
“I think Sorche was right. The milk did help.”
“You slept long,” Tray agreed, walking over to her side of the bed. “Come, I’ll help you into your robe.”
Alyssa hesitated, then reached out to find his offered hand. A blush swept across her cheeks as the intimacy of their situation dawned on her. What would Dev and Gavin think if they ever found out that she had lain in an Englishman’s bed? Would Sean hate her? He was too young to understand the complexity of the problem. At the same time, she remembered Tray’s honorable behavior toward her. She wondered again if he knew Vaughn was the man who had raped her. If so, how could he condone Vaughn’s behavior toward her and yet treat her so differently? There was so much to mull over, to try to understand. As she shrugged into the robe, she admitted that Tray had never once hurt her.
“Thank you,” Alyssa murmured shyly.
Tray found her efforts to tie the mutinous satin sash touching. “Here,” he offered in a low voice, removing her hands from the offending cloth, “let me help you.”
She stood there, acutely aware of his male scent, his closeness and the rush of feelings that threatened to engulf her as he ran his fingers along the circumference of her waist, untwisting the satin ribbon. He seemed to savor the simple task of tying her sash, and Alyssa swallowed convulsively, conscious of Tray as never before. Conscious of him as a man who represented protection, not pain.
Tray stood inches from her, staring down at her hungrily. My God, he thought, if she could see his face she would scream in terror. He wanted her in every way. The pleasure of helping her tie the sash built such an incredible ache within his body that he forced himself to step away from her before he could no longer control the dark, brooding emotions that seethed deep inside him.
“There,” he heard himself say, his voice strained. “I’ll ring for Maura so that she can bring you breakfast.”
“Wait,” Alyssa pleaded, “we must talk.”
* * *
Sorche looked up from her needlework as Tray stalked into the green drawing room. He scowled over at her.
“Is it Vaughn again?” she asked as Tray sat down opposite her.
“I wish it were. At least with Vaughn, if I get angry, I can roar back at him.”
“You’ve had a tiff with Alyssa?” she ventured, starting to rock slowly back and forth.
Tray angrily combed his fingers through his hair. “Tiff? God’s blood, it was pure, vitriolic hatred on her part and confusion on mine. I don’t understand this change. Doesn’t she realize I’m making her my mistress to protect her and Sean?” His nostrils flared as he glared down at the dark green carpeting.
“Do you have time for an old woman’s thoughts, my son?”
His shoulders fell and Tray rested his elbows on his thighs, giving her a wry look. “At this point, I would welcome any sane opinion. One day, Alyssa seems to trust me, and the next, she turns moods as swiftly as the Irish Sea during a storm. Last night she woke up screaming. We shared a cup of chocolate in front of the fire and I felt as if we were back to where we were before Vaughn came. And now she’s threatening to starve herself to death because she can’t stand the idea of being my mistress. Damn! She confounds me, Sorche.”
“Listen to me, Tray. She was a virgin before the Englishman raped her. A mistress beds down with her lord. Don’t you think she may be frightened that you will injure her as that other man did?” She gave Tray a kindly smile.
“But I haven’t touched her!” Tray rose, muttering a curse. “I haven’t done a thing to make her think I’d do anything against her will. Although,” he continued blackly, “I find myself drawn to her more powerfully than any woman I’ve ever known.”
Sorche slanted a glance up at him. “More drawn to her than you were to Shelby?”
“God help me, yes!” He paced back and forth like a caged animal, hands entwined behind his back. “I won’t fence with you, Sorche, I’m falling in love with Alyssa. Don’t ask me how or when it happened…I couldn’t tell you. But I do know that when Vaughn came to take her away, I knew with crystal clarity that I loved her.” He stopped, glaring down at the hearth. “And I’ll be damned if anyone, even Alyssa herself, is going to stop me from protecting her until she realizes that I love her.”
A smile gleamed in Sorche’s blue eyes as she bowed her head, pretending to unknot a thread. But anyone who knew of her talent with the needle knew she never made such a beginner’s mistake. Tray gave her a disgruntled look and resumed his pacing.
“Have you considered marrying her, Tray? Don’t forget, in her eyes, being a man’s mistress is degrading and humiliating.”
He threw up his hands. “Marriage? My God, she’s throwing a royal temper just over the idea of being my mistress, much less my wife! How could I suggest such a thing? We’ve barely known each other for two months. And don’t forget, I can’t drag her up in front of a priest and force her to submit to marriage. At least she has no say in being my mistress.”
“I see,” she murmured, finally solving the problem of the knot and resuming her stitching. “But you feel Alyssa is wifely material?”
“Of course,�
�� Tray growled, pacing again. “I’m not ashamed of her. She’s young, beautiful, too damned intelligent for her own good, kind, unselfish and—oh, hell…”
“Be her friend, Tray.”
Tray shed his fierce countenance and thought about Sorche’s suggestion. “So you’re suggesting we keep sharing those very things we enjoy together?”
“Not only that, give Alyssa more responsibility at your side. Allow her to help you. Don’t always be the one in charge. Make her feel that she is an important part of whatever you share, that you cannot make do without her. I see no reason why she couldn’t ride with you at night, hunting for those poor, orphaned lambs and taking them back to the barn. Let her carry the lantern.”
Tray’s mouth pulled into a rare, careless smile as he leaned down to place a kiss on Sorche’s hair. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully.
“And one more thing, my son. If Alyssa continues to wake up at night because of her dreams, take advantage of those precious moments. I think it might be time to impress her with how good a man you truly are.”
Tray nodded, digesting Sorche’s last comment. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” was all he said as he left. Sorche smiled broadly, humming an appropriate Irish song quietly beneath her breath.
* * *
Alyssa jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed, a scream on her lips. Her flannel nightgown was soaked, clinging to every curve of her young body, and her hair was disheveled. She trembled violently, trying to tear herself from the grip of the nightmare. She almost cried out for Tray, then stopped herself. Instead, she pulled her legs up to her body and rested her damp brow against her knees.
“Are you all right, little one?” came Tray’s sleep-thickened voice.
“It’s just the dreams again,” Alyssa admitted hoarsely. She felt Tray stir, suddenly grateful for his nearness. One part of her wanted to turn and bury herself in his arms, the other part reminded her that he was the brother of the man in her nightmare.
“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?”
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 12