But that loss didn’t matter as long as he had Julia.
Julia couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so lighthearted as she had during their exploration of Edinburgh. Randall was the perfect escort. He made her feel safe and cherished, and he knew the city well. It was a grand, dramatic place with more than its share of history, and very different from London.
Ever since Randall had proposed marriage, she had wondered if it was wrong to marry a man only because he was the best of a poor set of choices. Yet Randall had become so much more than bald necessity. He was amazingly kind to her, and amazingly patient. Though she was still uneasy about marriage, she wouldn’t do better than Randall for a husband.
By the time they returned to Kirkland’s house, the light was fading and she was pleasantly tired. Since Kirkland didn’t use the spacious master suite himself, the rooms had been designated the bridal suite for tonight.
“I see Mrs. Gowan’s hand at work here,” Julia said when they entered the large bedroom. She touched the rose blossoms in the lavish bouquet set on a small table.
“She has a sense of occasion,” Randall said appreciatively as he investigated the sitting area at the far end of the room. A table and two chairs had been elegantly set with covered dishes and a bottle of wine chilling in ice. “Shall we change for bed and share champagne and this cold supper? I thought I’d eaten enough food for a week after the wedding breakfast, but all that walking has made me hungry.”
“Food, champagne, and rest.” She smiled at him as she removed her bonnet. “The end to a perfect day. Will you unfasten my gown so I needn’t ring for a maid?”
“Of course.” He fumbled a little as he undid the ties at the back of her neck and her waist, his fingers warm against her skin. She smiled. Better a little clumsiness than a man with too much skill at undressing women.
When he was done, he bent to press a light kiss on her nape. His warm lips sent a shiver through her, and she wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or alarm. Perhaps some of both, which was itself alarming.
“Thank you.” Not looking at him, she retreated to the small lady’s dressing room. Though it wasn’t late, the day had been tiring. She was ready to go to bed. And more than ready to share it with Randall. He had been a warm and pleasant bedmate, and it would be good to fall asleep in his arms again.
Julia let down her hair and brushed it loose over her shoulders. In the soft light, she didn’t look much older than the sixteen-year-old innocent she’d been on her first wedding night. Except for her eyes, which showed too much bleak experience.
She turned and removed her rose gown, then donned the elegant muslin nightgown and matching robe that were Mrs. Gowan’s wedding gifts. The sleeves were long and the neckline was not low, yet the layers of filmy material and white-on-white embroidery made her feel uncomfortably bridal.
Reminding herself that this would not be their first night together, she returned to the bedroom. Hands clasped behind his back, Randall stood at a window watching the last of the day’s light fade behind the craggy heights of Edinburgh Castle. His dark blue dressing gown emphasized his blond hair, powerful body, and broad shoulders.
He was pure Viking warrior, and the knowledge that she’d married him—was alone with him in a bedroom—produced a sharp unease.
Her disquiet vanished when he turned with a smile. The hard-edged warrior who had intimidated her when first they met was real and born of necessity. But the kindness was also real. She suspected that kindness was the deepest, truest part of his nature, or it wouldn’t have survived his childhood.
“You look very…passable,” he said, humor in his eyes. “It must have been difficult to disguise yourself as a wren when you were meant to dazzle like a kingfisher.”
“A kingfisher is too flamboyant, but perhaps I might qualify as one of the more passable finches.” She gave him a slow, appreciative smile. “You look rather fine yourself. Relaxed and healthy.”
“Not being in constant pain is bound to improve one’s demeanor.” Though Randall’s voice was light, his gaze was uncomfortably intense. She didn’t want a man to look at her like that, not even her husband.
“Did you know Mrs. Gowan has been married and widowed three times?” Julia asked as she inhaled the scent of the rose bouquet. “I don’t know how she managed it.”
“According to Kirkland, all the marriages were happy, and she wouldn’t object to a fourth. She is either very lucky, or has excellent marital judgment.”
“I never thought I’d marry a second time, and I certainly will not do so again,” Julia said firmly. “If I can’t manage a decent marriage with a man as understanding and intelligent as you, I need to retire from the lists.”
He gave a surprised laugh. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Julia. I was thinking how lucky I am that you’re willing to take a chance on me.” He crossed to the table that held the food and wine. “Would you like some champagne?”
“Please.” She enjoyed watching him. His smooth movements gave no hint of the months of pain and surgeries he’d endured. And he was very fine to look at.
He poured sparkling wine into the tall, narrow goblets and handed her one, his fingertips brushing hers. “To us, for better and for worse.”
“And there are bound to be both,” she said wryly as she took a sip, then a larger one. The fizzing celebration of the champagne began to relax her. “Alexander,” she said thoughtfully. “Does anyone ever use your full name?”
“My parents did. Not much of anyone since. Alex or Randall is shorter.”
“Alexander,” she murmured. “Someday to be Alexander, Lord Daventry. That will look good on the name-plate of the grand portrait of you in your regimentals that will hang in the portrait gallery at Turville Park and impress future generations. Or perhaps the painter can portray you as a knight in shining armor atop a white horse.”
He grinned. “You have a good imagination, milady.”
“Do you call me that because I’m Lady Julia?” she asked curiously. “That is an accident of birth, of no great importance.”
He looked a little embarrassed. “As a boy, I loved the old tales of chivalry. Gracious ladies and knights pledged to their service. You are my lady. Milady.”
Was chivalry at the root of his desire to protect her when she was in dire straits? If so, she could only be grateful. “You are a secret romantic, Sir Knight.”
He laughed. “Don’t tell Kirkland or Mackenzie. I’d never live that down.”
“God forbid they should think you anything other than as tough as hardened leather.” She sipped more champagne, and realized that she was happy. Not just content, but happy about the exciting, unknown possibilities that lay ahead.
For tonight, she chose to believe that her husband would be able to protect her against her murderous father-in-law. She even believed that someday it would be possible for her and Randall to have a real marriage, in every sense of the word. She raised her champagne glass. “To the future!”
“To the future.” Randall clinked his glass against hers. “Sometimes in the regimental mess we’d toast with our arms interlocked like this.” He linked his right arm around hers, which brought their bodies together from waist to knee. “This way two drinkers can support each other when both are foxed.”
“I’m not foxed, but I see the advantages.” Acutely aware of the warm length of his body, she raised her right arm and brought the champagne to her lips. Randall did the same, his expression teasing. Why had she thought his eyes were icy cold? The clear light color was bright and true as diamond.
As the champagne bubbled through her, she began to relax. She liked how their bodies touched. He was all strength, solidity, and masculine Viking power. Greatly daring, she pressed a little closer.
His expression changed. He finished his champagne in a single swallow and set his glass aside. “Julia…”
He bent his head for a kiss and her pulse accelerated like a mad thing. Their first kiss. Shocking passion blazed
through her, drowning all her senses.
She forgot to breathe. Her champagne flute tilted, spilling the last drops of wine on the carpet. Carefully he removed the flute from her hand and placed it on the table. Then he enveloped her in an embrace that locked their lower bodies together. “Milady wife…” he breathed.
The pressure of his hard erection spiked her pleasure with fear. Furiously she buried it. Randall was nothing like Branford, nothing. He wanted her, as was his right.
And she wanted him. She did. The passion she’d cut from her life flooded back, hot and demanding as his large, strong hands kneaded her back and hips. Ah, God, how could she have forgotten…?
Her lips parted and their kiss deepened. His breathing was ragged. “You are so beautiful, Julia,” he said hoarsely. “So rare…”
His hand slid down, pulling her gown and robe from her shoulder. Cool air caressed her heated skin, followed by his searing hand.
Then he stiffened as he touched the hideous scars she’d tried so hard to forget. “Julia?”
Horrified memories erupted in a blaze of hellfire emotion as past and present collided in an avalanche of pleasure, passion, and pain.
She began to scream.
Chapter 14
Randall’s delight in his bride’s eager response was interrupted when he felt the stunning, incomprehensible ridged scar tissue on her lovely breast.
His happiness splintered as she frantically wrenched herself from his embrace. She stumbled blindly away until she banged into the corner of the room. There she folded over onto the floor in a sobbing ball, her dark hair falling over her face.
The change in mood was as sudden and violent as cannon fire. He had been so sure that she desired him as he desired her. They would become lovers and mates with the intimacy he had craved since he first saw her.
Hope died in an instant as understanding sliced into his heart like shrapnel. But his pain was nothing compared to hers. Her anguished flight defined her first horrific marriage with visceral power.
He knelt beside her, sickened by the knowledge that Branford could still reduce Julia to anguished terror a dozen years after his death. “Julia, tell me what happened. I need to understand.”
She shook her head, her face buried in her hands. “It’s…it’s not you.”
No, but Randall must deal with the consequences. Her left shoulder was still bare, so he was able to confirm the atrocity he’d discovered by touch. The soft curve of her breast was marred by an ugly ridge of scar tissue that formed an irregular letter B.
Grimly he pulled the gown up over her shoulder. “B for Branford, of course.” His voice was unnaturally steady. “I wouldn’t have thought even he could be so vile.”
She seemed to shrink even further. “He carved a D for Daventry into my other breast,” she said dully. “The night I asked for a separation. The night he died.”
Hoping talk would pull her away from her inner hell, he said, “When you told me about that night, you said Bran was drunk?”
“Drunk and mad.” She drew a shuddering breath. “After beating me within an inch of my life, he pulled out his knife and pinned me down with his knee while he slashed off my clothing. He used an antique Saracen dagger he was particularly fond of. He loved all knives.”
“I know. He would sit around and sharpen them for hours.” Randall’s throat constricted as a long-buried memory surfaced. More than once, Branford had come after his younger cousin with one of his knives, but Randall was fast and he learned to fight back when speed wasn’t enough.
He glanced down at the thin white line that twisted around his left wrist and up his forearm. That was a remnant of the incident that made it clear he must fight to survive.
Forcing down his rage so as not to upset Julia even more, he said, “No one should have to endure what you’ve endured.”
“I was his wife,” she said bitterly. “He could do with me as he willed. He said that repeatedly. I was his possession, and he had the right to mark me as his. After he cut the letters into my breasts, he raped me.”
“Dear God, Julia!” Randall said, too anguished to pretend calm.
She laughed, a hysterical edge to her voice. “The rape was what saved me, actually. When Branford was done, he slumped down on me and I was able to push him off. I managed to get to my feet. Before I could escape, he grabbed at me, but I was slippery with blood and he couldn’t keep hold when I shoved him. He…he fell into the edge of the fireplace then. I don’t remember screaming, but when I thought back later, I always heard screams. Odd, don’t you think?”
“Branford was evil,” Randall retorted, unable to keep his voice calm. He took her hand. She tried to tug it free but he held fast. She needed to be tethered to the present so she wouldn’t drown in the past. “You are not to blame for his madness.”
“No, but I am to blame for my shameful stupidity.” Her unsteady voice was barely audible. “I never should have married him.”
“There is no shame in being young. You were hardly more than a child when you married. But you were never stupid.” He squeezed her hand gently. “That I know.”
“You think not? I told you I agreed to marriage willingly, but that was…less than the whole truth.” She laughed bitterly. “The beastly, shameful reality is that I was mad for Branford. He was handsome, charming, every girl’s dream prince. And I…I though the loved me, too. I was foolish beyond redemption.”
Knowing Branford, Randall understood. “So in the beginning, he was tender and loving. He would apologize sincerely if he hurt you, claiming it was accidental. He took pains to win your trust so that you would suffer the anguish of betrayal as well as physical agony when he turned brutal.”
She became very still. “How did you know?”
“He was much the same with me. But the relationship between two male cousins is less intimate than between a man and his wife.” Though the betrayal had been bad enough. When he had first been delivered into Daventry’s care, he’d looked up to Branford. He’d wanted to have a big brother who would be his friend. For a fortnight, he thought that he did. That belief had briefly eased his mourning for his parents.
It would have been easier if Branford had tormented him from the beginning.
“He was the master of betrayal,” she whispered. “You can understand that as no one else.”
Sadly, he did. If that understanding helped Julia, there would be some value to the misery Randall had endured. “I wish I had been the one to kill the devil.”
She gave a dry laugh. “But I was the murderer.”
“An accident while you were trying to save yourself is not murder.” Though he understood that a woman dedicated to preserving life would feel that way. “Branford has wrecked years of your life already. Don’t let him destroy the rest.”
“That would be his triumph from the grave, wouldn’t it?” She pressed her tear-stained cheek against Randall’s hand. “He would love knowing he’d ruined me for any other man.”
She was shivering from shock like a battle-weary soldier. Randall asked, “Would you like some brandy?”
When she nodded, he said, “It’s time to come out of your corner.” He rose and used their joined hands to coax her to her feet.
Her fingers were icy and her face splotched with tears, but she’d mastered the shattering pain that had sent her flying away from him. In bare feet and her pale night robe, she was slight and beautiful and indomitable.
Glad he’d replenished his travel flask, he poured a small glass for her, then a larger one for himself. He wished he could block out the images of a bleeding, frantic young girl trying to escape her brutal husband, but there wasn’t enough brandy in the world for that.
After several sips of her drink, she said in a stronger voice, “I thought I’d buried the worst memories, but I was wrong. Now I’ve given you my nightmares.”
He shrugged. “They may be lighter for being shared.”
“Perhaps.” She finished the brandy, refusing when he of
fered more. “Tomorrow, I shall be sane again. I promise you that, Alexander. For now…I wish to be alone.”
Though he wanted to comfort her, he wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t bear his touch. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, but I meant—really alone. I’ll go to one of the other bedrooms.”
Once more he reminded himself that it was not really him she was rejecting. She must deal with her past in whatever way she thought best. But he wasn’t sure he could bear it if she decided she must leave her brand new husband. “You won’t run away?”
“No. My word on that.” She sighed. “I’m tired of running, tired of being terrorized by the dead hand of the past. I want to live freely again. I just wish that my struggles weren’t hurting you.”
“Together we can manage. Remember that, milady.” He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her safe against the terrors of the night, but that wasn’t possible. “Till morning comes.”
“Till morning comes,” she echoed. “Thank you, Alex. For everything. For understanding, for being here, and for going away.”
He released her hand, but couldn’t bring himself to leave before he brushed her thick glossy hair. The silken strands tantalized his fingertips. He dropped his hand and knotted it into a fist. “Sleep well, milady.”
He slid the brandy flask into the pocket of his banyan as he walked out the door and headed numbly downstairs. He was entering his old bedroom when Mackenzie emerged from his room just down the hall.
The other man was dressed for some nighttime prowl, but he stopped, surprise and then speculation showing in his eyes. “I thought I heard a woman scream earlier.”
“Probably courting tomcats,” Randall said tersely, wishing to hell that Mac wasn’t here to see that the bridegroom had left his bride.
“I would imagine that any woman who had been married to Lord Branford would require…patience,” Mackenzie said quietly.
Randall scowled. “I prefer it when you’re shallow and insensitive.”
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