Legends of Havenwood Falls 2

by Belinda Boring

  Many prayers had been offered up as I knelt beside the simple stone carving, pouring my heart out with the hopes that somehow God would show mercy and pity my feeble attempts.

  In the beginning, I came looking for redemption.

  All I had left was bitter prayers that I would one day meet my maker having found my vengeance.

  “Who is she?”

  It was my turn to jump. I’d forgotten she was standing there, my thoughts consuming me again.

  My voiced cracked from thick emotion. “Her name was Primrose.”

  Catriona stepped between me and the headstone, trailing her fingers lightly across the top. “Did you love her? Is that why you can’t love me?”

  She squinted at me, hoping to catch the truth through my reaction to her questions.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to lie to her, to sugarcoat what I wanted to tell her, so I would at least be seen in a favorable light. But that wasn’t the reason behind me bringing her here.

  Just as the night gave way to the day—the moon setting as the sun rose—I couldn’t remain in the shadows with her anymore. I needed her to see me . . . to see all the horrible flaws and choices I’d made. Nothing was as brutal as that first ray of light, because there was no hiding from its blinding honesty.

  Guiding her to the wooden bench I’d spent many evenings sitting on, I paced back and forth in front of her, suddenly nervous.

  “Listen to what I have to say in its entirety. Once I’m done, I will answer whatever questions you might have. I only ask that you reserve judgment until the last detail has been confessed.”

  She nodded in agreement. “What’s brought about this change in heart, Marcus?” There was a soft smile when she realized she’d already disobeyed my request. “I only ask so I don’t dwell on it.”

  “How were your dreams tonight?” I countered, bracing myself for her anger. “Did you enjoy your time in the ruins?”

  Her mouth dropped open with astonishment, and she shrank back against the bench, her hands clutching at her gown. Each time she began to speak, Catriona shook her head, dismissing the thought.

  “I took a potion so I could visit you in your dreams,” I continued, studying her to see how she might react. She appeared eerily calm and not the feisty woman who’d threatened to sneak into my room at night and chain me to my bed so she could escape. “Catriona?” Her silence was unnerving.

  “That was real?” she finally asked, her eyes wide as saucers. “That means we . . .” Her fingers pressed against her lips as if she was remembering the passion between us.

  I nodded. “Invading your dreams is one of many sins I need to confess to you.” I took a step toward her and thought better of it. I didn’t trust myself right now, and as my hunger flared deep in my gut, I realized I should’ve gone to Knox for fortification before attempting this heavy conversation. “Will you listen to what I need to say?”

  It looked like she didn’t trust herself to respond, either. Nodding, she folded her hands in her lap and gave me her full attention.

  Suddenly at a loss for words, I glanced over to Primrose’s memorial, praying that somewhere in her afterlife, she could see I was trying to do the right thing.

  Taking in a deep breath, and with the morning’s first rays brightening the sky, I then prayed for courage to see this retelling through to the devastating end.

  For Catriona.

  For Primrose.

  For the broken pieces of my soul.

  Waiting for her to speak was an exercise in agony.

  I had divulged it all, leaving no detail untold as I gave a faithful account of that night in the alleyway, of Primrose’s death and the subsequent cursing by her kin.

  I described the person I had transformed myself into—the reasoning behind embracing my new life as a blood drinker—how easy it had been to become cruel and hostile to those around me.

  I spoke about that night, how in desperation and anguish I’d vowed my most solemn oath of vengeance. I shared each failed attempt in finding the gypsy clan. I spoke of the carnage I had wielded—the bodies and blood I had consumed in my pursuits.

  I had resembled a feral animal in those days before Knox planted those few seeds of faith that he could find the answers I needed. Story after story, I confessed my thirst and hunger for blood and gore, of leaving trails of dead behind me, of being the very killer many in the country whispered about.

  I didn’t stop—even when her gasps grew louder and louder—or the look of horror remained across her face. With each syllable, the possibility of ever kissing her again, of truly being a husband to her, faded away until it blinked out of existence.

  This was what I wanted.

  I wanted her to see me for the beast I was, and to give up her futile attempts to tame me.

  I wanted her to run away from me screaming.

  I wanted her to declare her own oath—that for as long as she drew breath, she would fight to stop me harming innocent people.

  There was so much I needed from her—from her reaction—but it didn’t keep the whole ordeal from feeling like I was slowly being gutted, one agonizing cut at a time.

  I needed her to loathe my very presence.

  I needed her to curse my birth and wish for my speedy death.

  Yet she did neither, and that was what devastated me.

  She didn’t offer her condemnation nor her acceptance.

  I wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d give me her forgiveness, but something—anything but her silence—would’ve been enough.

  Finally, she let out a faint breath, and looked at me. “Why tell me all this?”

  Her stare unmanned me. “Because it’s the only thing I can give you, Catriona. You showed me your heart in your dreams, and I felt you deserved the same in return. While I can never give anyone my love and affection, I can at least help you understand why.”

  She slowly nodded as if she was struggling to digest it all. “Well, I appreciate that, Marcus.”

  Her brow crinkled from the heavy thoughts mulling about inside her head. At least, I assumed they were heavy. I knew mine were.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” I asked, hoping that might alleviate some of the tension. “I promised you I would answer them all as truthfully as I can.”

  “You drink blood.” Fact.

  I bobbed my head.

  She nervously raised her hand to her throat. “Do you want to drink mine?”

  I took a step back to grant her some space. “There was a time when I would’ve taken from you, whenever I wanted.” Her eyes widened again, and I almost expected her to get up and flee. “However, Knox has made it so I only need to feed once a day. He procures the blood I need and then adds his special ingredients to it. It enables me to control that part of me without becoming a ravaging beast.”

  That surprised her. “You want to live like this?” Her incredulous tone was understandable.

  “All I had was my honor when I walked into that alley with Primrose. I wasn’t guilty of the crimes they accused me of, yet they cursed me anyway. They reduced me to this.” I didn’t hide the bitterness I felt, smacking my hands against my chest in anger. “Justice demands to be appeased. They will pay for what they’ve stolen from me.”

  I wanted to smooth out the permanent wrinkle on her brow. “In one breath you speak of honor and justice, yet you thirst for your revenge. They are at odds with each other—you can’t have revenge and remain honorable.”

  “Watch me,” I fired back, my own annoyance flaring. “Endure what I have and see whether you still believe that. I didn’t ask for this life, but I will use whatever gifts it has given me to claim some semblance of peace.”

  She had the audacity to laugh. “You call this peace, Marcus? Let go of your need to make those who’ve harmed you pay. Embrace this new life and make the best of it. Imagine the great things you could do with your extended life. Think of the legacy you could leave in your wake . . . of being someone who rises above the harshness of l
ife and makes the world a better place.”

  I shook my head, already dismissing her words as folly. “Can you not see that this is the path I am destined to walk? I used to believe I held some control over what Fate did . . . that I chose the life I wanted. If there was one thing the curse has taught me, it’s that I was a fool, and in order to survive, I needed to kill that side of me.”

  “Then I pity you, Marcus, I truly do. You’re wasting the chance given you to find meaning and purpose.”

  Anger continued to bubble up inside me. While I’d granted her the freedom to talk to me as she wanted, to ask her questions, it still rankled. Her fear I could handle. Her disappointment and disgust were expected.

  It was her pity that irritated me, because I didn’t need her sorrow.

  “This is why we can never have the kind of relationship you yearn for.”

  “So, you chose to act like a barbarian because you felt I was too weak and feeble-minded to understand your plight?” She finally stood and approached me, placing her hand over my chest. “Do you really think so little of me?”

  It was my turn to be speechless.

  “Thank you for confiding in me. Your secret is safe with me.” Patting my chest affectionately, she left me with a smile that tugged at my heartstrings again. “Let us be friends.” And with that, she kissed my cheek and turned to head back to the house.

  Right before she disappeared from my sight, I found my voice.

  “Catriona, thank you,” I called out. Then, as a new thought arose, I threw caution to the wind. “Prepare to journey to London later this morning.”

  She stilled ever so slightly, then nodded.

  Falling onto the bench, exhausted, I couldn’t help but wonder if this had been yet another mistake in a long line of many.

  Friends.

  It was more than I deserved.

  Much more.

  Chapter 10

  Mrs. Pickering was worth every pound her services demanded.

  Upon our arrival in London, I quickly sent Knox to see whether the popular seamstress would see us. Those who recommended her were adamant there was little chance of her granting our request because of how highly in demand she was. I’d listened to them all attentively, but I also recognized a greater truth.

  Lengthy waiting lists could often be obliterated when enough money was placed on the table. I had extremely deep pockets and no problem spending the wealth I had accumulated.

  Sitting on the gold brocaded chaise longue in the corner of her workshop, I couldn’t keep the smug expression from settling across my face.

  Catriona had been so anxious about being dressed by the woman who boasted about a client list containing some of the most elite aristocrats in our country. Hell, Mrs. Pickering had even adorned the king and his queen with her fineries.

  After glaring at my speechless companion, I reminded her that her new wardrobe was a gift from me—my way of showing her how truly sorry I was for my former treatment of her.

  As far as I was concerned, the moment we were able to, I would order a bonfire to destroy the tacky clothes I’d forced on her.

  “What do you think, Mr. St. James? Does your wife not look stunning in this emerald green dress?” The older woman stood back from her creation, gesturing to Catriona, who was raised up on a wide stool so Mrs. Pickering and her apprentice, Harriet, could move about easily. “With the rich darkness of her hair, and her flawless skin, you may wish to hire a guard to keep this one safe.” Gazing up at Catriona, the seamstress continued. “You, my darling, are quite stunning.”

  She rattled off a long string of instructions to her apprentice, who in turn faithfully jotted it all down on a small pad. I’d told her the outfits I believed Catriona would need and that she was to spare no expense.

  She’d simply chuckled softly and patted me on the arm like I was a child. “My dear, I have no doubt that you are quite accomplished at what you do. However, you don’t see me come into your office and tell you how to do your work. Do you doubt my abilities? My skills?” She cocked an eyebrow as if daring me to challenge her. “I didn’t think so. You’ve come to me because you heard I am the best. Perhaps you should’ve left with your manservant?”

  Answers bounced around in my mind, but something warned me that this was not a woman to argue with. Resigning myself to the corner, I’d spent most of the past few hours watching the process.

  And watching my wife . . . who wasn’t truly my wife . . . who was barely a newly formed friend . . . the woman who continued to complicate my life.

  “What do you think?” Catriona asked, chewing her bottom lip as she twisted, the dress swishing about her. “You don’t think it’s too elaborate for spending each day at the estate?”

  I heard the question within the question she asked.

  Why was I going to such an extreme when all she would ever see were the walls within my home? So far, I had not taken her out into society, refusing any invitations to balls and dinner parties that were extended.

  People would always be curious about me—the reclusive heir of Smithersby Field—but she was something else entirely. Rumors had labeled me a confirmed bachelor after my constant refusal to court the local beauties. Yet, here I was, married.

  They wanted to meet her with the hopes of understanding how she’d managed to tie herself to such an affluent family.

  Let them wonder, I silently grumbled.

  I nodded my agreement. “You look beautiful, Catriona.”

  I added a smile to my words, hoping that it didn’t reveal the true depths of my feelings. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was extraordinary.

  She flinched as Harriet accidently pricked her with a long dressmaking pin. It earned the poor young girl a slap from Mrs. Pickering, and the admonishment that should she spoil the fabric with blood, it would come out of her meager wage.

  The mention of blood tugged at my senses, and my mouth watered. The elixir Knox had brought the previous night had all but left my system, and oddly, my hunger had roared back with a vengeance. There might not be time enough to wait until we returned home.

  There was a knock at the door, and to my relief, Knox entered, his eyes glued to Catriona’s svelte figure on display.

  Whistling softly, he dragged his gaze away from her, and approached me. “Marcus, we have a problem.” He crouched down beside me so he could whisper. “I tried to get you an audience with her, but she is unmovable. I couldn’t even gain entrance to her home to ask her personally and share your plight with her.”

  It was as I thought. We had been lucky with Mrs. Pickering, but meeting with the infamous seer of London proved to be impossible. People came from near and far to have Lady Hannah read their futures. I already knew mine, but I had desperately hoped she could grant us some insight into the curse I bore.

  “Perhaps I should try,” I answered, already moving to stand. As pleasant as the view had been, Catriona’s new wardrobe would not restore me to the man I was. It wouldn’t help me gain my revenge. It was simply a means of distraction.

  “I’m afraid I need to take my leave, ladies,” I announced, tilting my head forward with respect. “It seems that my associate here requires my help with another errand.” Catching Mrs. Pickering’s gaze, I added, “How long will you still be needing Mrs. St. James?”

  It felt odd addressing Catriona that way, but I knew it was a title that removed suspicions. No one needed to know we were far from the typical married couple.

  She waved me away impatiently. “You can’t rush perfection, Mr. St. James. Go, take care of your business, and return in a few hours. By then I should have most of the measurements needed to create a wardrobe fit for a queen.”

  To show me just how unimportant my being there was, she then turned her back to me and continued talking with Catriona and her apprentice quietly.

  Thoroughly dismissed, I bowed once more and left the house, Knox in tow.

  “Good God,” he complained once we found ourselves out on the street. “
How are you not tearing your hair out from boredom?” Knox threw one last glance over his shoulder before climbing into my coach behind me. “All that material and lace.” He shuddered hard.

  “It paled in comparison to where I placed my focus,” I chuckled, giving him a knowing look. “Heaven help me, but I’ve grown to appreciate my . . .” It was on the tip of my tongue to call her my wife. Thankfully, I caught myself in time. “My new friend.”

  Knox snorted, recognizing my explanation as the falsehood it was. He was gracious enough to let me continue fooling myself, anyway.

  “I hate to tell you, but I don’t think you’ll have any better luck talking to her Ladyship’s footman. He was quite firm in her refusal.” Knox bounced up and down as the carriage wheels hit an uneven portion of the cobblestone road. “I tried every kind of plea to convince him. I even took a page out of your book and offered to throw an obscene amount of money for him to turn a blind eye.”

  It was a dig at my spending a year’s monetary allotment on Catriona’s wardrobe.

  “And you told them it was a matter of life and death?” I asked, trying to think of any other way to approach the London seer. “That my sanity hangs in the balance?”

  “Does it?” Knox fired back, that ridiculous smirk on his face again. He was thoroughly enjoying the way Catriona had gotten under my skin. I hadn’t breathed so much as a syllable regarding the change of heart that was currently happening, but somehow, he still knew. It was the consequence of assigning him the very specific role of ensuring that I didn’t lose what little humanity I had to the beast that lurked inside. “I would have said your control was slipping the moment you announced Catriona was going to join us today so she could go shopping.”

  I couldn’t deny it. It was definitely a sidestep from my usual behavior. “It seems I need to remind you, again, that I am the master in this relationship, Phineas. Although—” I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m tempted to side with you. Love is a fickle thing that has turned on even the strongest of men and rendered them blithering idiots. Maybe, instead of petitioning Lady Hannah, you should take me to the nearest asylum and have me committed.”