Never Say Goodbye

by Sakwa, Kim

  “Your hair looks pretty, Mama,” Callesandra said tentatively.

  Amanda closed her eyes as she hugged Callesandra closer. When she opened them, Alexander was staring at her from the doorway. She looked him over from head to toe, unable to stop herself. His features seemed softer today, his hair still damp from a bath, water probably dragged in from a well somewhere. Gone was the running water, the plumbing her family had installed. There were only basins filled with fresh, warm water—and a commode she’d grimaced through using in the middle of the night when she could hold it in no longer.

  This morning, Alexander wore a white long-sleeved linen shirt, the neck slightly opened and parted from ties that hadn’t been fastened, and black trousers tucked into tall polished boots. Over it all was a devilish knee-length black cloak, which only enhanced his dark looks. Finished with her inspection, Amanda dragged her gaze back to his face, blushing as he raised a brow. Was that amusement she saw in his eyes? Then she watched as he gave her the same once-over. And just as closely.

  Alexander stood in the doorway of his wife’s bedroom, though the woman he stared at appreciatively was not his wife. It couldn’t be. Whatever sorcery had transpired the night before, he was glad for it. Bloody Christ, his entire body had responded to her inspection. He’d never responded to Rebecca like that before. And not that she wasn’t beautiful—she was—but Rebecca’s beauty was only skin deep. But this woman. This woman shone from beauty so deep, bloody hell, it blinded him. And as similar as they were, today the differences were startling clear.

  Her hair was a shade or two lighter than Rebecca’s. Thicker, too, and shorter, falling between her shoulder blades. Her skin was paler, exquisitely flawless. Her nose was straight, devoid of the small bump that had marred it before. Her lips were fuller, softer, and sweetly innocent. And then there were her eyes. Her eyes were the most startling shade of blue they took his breath away.

  This woman’s neck was long and graceful, and her body slim. Her breasts smaller yet so full, he could still feel them crushed against his chest as he’d held her in the tunnels. Though he couldn’t see her legs, he knew they were longer for she was in fact taller. He’d noticed it when she’d stood barefoot before him last night. And she stood barefoot again, her toes peeking from beneath the dress she wore, toes painted with the color red. He’d never seen that on a woman before, and he found he liked it.

  He could make no sense of the reality before him—where had the real Rebecca gone? But he found he didn’t care. He kept his face expressionless as he brought his gaze back to hers. She hugged Callesandra as though her life depended on it. She hid behind her, just as he did. But the warmth in her eyes held no manipulation, no malice.

  “Papa, doesn’t Mama’s hair look pretty?”

  He looked at Callesandra’s “mama” as he answered, “Yes, angel. Your mama’s hair looks very pretty. Callesandra, go with Alice now. I’ll come see you before I leave.” Callesandra hugged the woman holding her more tightly, rewarded for her efforts with tickles that sent her into a fit of laughter.

  “Listen to your papa, silly goose,” she said as she laughed with Callesandra. “I’ll spend the day with you after we’ve talked, alright?”

  Callesandra nodded and then took Alice’s hand, following her out the door.

  And then there were two.

  “We must speak,” Alexander said, at almost the exact same time as Rebecca spoke.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about—” she began, before quieting.

  Alexander was stunned to find they’d virtually spoken the same words. Somehow, he’d not expected her to do so. It was a foolish thought for if he knew anything about this new woman it was that she was both forthright and honest. Before he could say anything, she stood and walked toward him, stopping a step or two before she reached him, laying her hand upon his arm.

  “Listen, Alexander, I’m not sure where—”

  But he couldn’t wait any longer. They could talk anytime. Kiss now, talk later. He had to have her. It had been some time since he’d been with a woman—he didn’t like taking lovers, and he never slept with the same one more than once—but his body was responding as if it was just yesterday. With those thoughts in mind and little else he started moving forward and she back toward the wall, bracing herself against it and into him. They moved in perfect symmetry, mouths fused, hands finding purchase. His behind her back and cupping her head, hers on his chest and tangled in his hair. Just as he was about to press his entire body to hers, she reached out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him in. So. Bloody. Sweet. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all, but when she’d come to him and placed her hand on his arm, when she began speaking and his eyes fixed on her mouth, he’d thought of nothing else.

  The act was completely brash, but seemingly pre-destined. From the moment they’d touched it’d been like dry tinder igniting. Her clever mouth nearly had him out of his mind. In the minute they’d been lip-locked she’d kissed him practically a hundred different ways. Each one deliberate in its delivery. He’d never met a woman who kissed like that, who took charge the way she did. Suddenly he wanted to kill every man she’d ever practiced on. Jealousy gripped him as she sucked his bottom lip, taking a bite before plunging back in to swipe the roof of his mouth. She grabbed his shirt, fisting it in her hands, and pulled away.

  “If you ever kiss anyone but me again, I swear I’ll kill you,” she warned breathlessly.

  Alexander was so stunned by her words and the fierceness of her expression he threw his head back and laughed. Bloody hell, he laughed! She was obviously feeling the same as he. Looking back down at her, he saw that she wasn’t quite so charmed.

  “I don’t know what you find so amusing,” she said, her mouth pulled in a scowl as she glared at him.

  “Presently,” Alexander returned, “you.” This woman was infuriating, but he found that he liked it. Seeing a devilish determination in her eyes—for what, he didn’t know—he brought her flush against him once more. He pulled her top lip between his, biting and then brushing his tongue beneath it. He felt her knees buckle, and the knowledge that she was responding to him this way thrilled him.

  Alexander chuckled again, pulling her closer. This time she didn’t seem to mind his laugh so much. In fact, her reaction was empowering. Her hands fisted his shirt again; her short breaths warm now upon his neck. Then she burrowed in deeper and sighed in pure contentment. He palmed her head and pulled her away.

  “Tell me who you are,” he demanded in a whisper.

  “Oh, now you want to talk,” she said mischievously.

  “Truthfully,” he said with a grin, “no.”

  She smiled, then frowned. He could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Just how many women have you kissed?”

  “Jealous?” he teased.

  “Insanely.”

  He smiled. “Good.” Then he bent to kiss her again, his question forgotten.

  A loud knock sounded on the door. “Alex!”

  Alexander swore under his breath. Leaning his forehead against the wall, he snapped impatiently, “What?”

  The door opened and Alexander turned, fixing Gregor with a look of supreme irritation. Then he noticed his man’s mouth agape in shock. Alexander couldn’t blame him. He’d never stood in his wife’s room before, let alone embracing her as he did so.

  “I must speak with you,” Gregor demanded after a moment. “Privately.”

  Alexander bent his head and whispered to the mystery woman, “Don’t move from this very spot.”

  She nodded against Alexander’s neck then braced the wall with her hands as he stepped away. Alexander tore himself from her gaze and followed Gregor into the hall, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for him to speak. Gregor’s words were hushed.

  “We found her body, Alex. Below the cliffs. She had marks around her neck and was dre
ssed in riding clothes.”

  “Whose body?” Alexander asked, momentarily stunned with such information.

  “Rebecca’s body!”

  Bloody Christ, how could he have forgotten? He’d been so mesmerized with this new woman that he’d barely given thought to just what in the hell was happening. He ran his hands through his hair trying to assimilate this disturbing news. “Are you sure it’s Rebecca?”

  Gregor narrowed his eyes. “Aye.”

  Alexander stormed back into the room; his look murderous as he turned to the woman who robbed him of his wits. He blamed her now for his foolishness as well as his weakness. “Have you anything to do with this?” he demanded when he stood before her again. She cowed under his gaze, looking confused, shocked, and hurt. He had to admit to feeling the very same swirl of emotion.

  “With what?” she finally asked, her voice small, meeker than he’d ever heard it.

  “Are we back to games?” Alexander said, almost sneering now, feeling his eyes narrow.

  “Wh-what happened?” she stammered, her fear appearing genuine.

  “It seems my wife’s body has been found,” he ground out through his teeth. “And as you,” he said, jabbing his finger at her, “are not she, I ask you again—have you anything to do with this!”

  The woman just stared at him, shaking her head mutely. Furious that he’d been duped, Alexander grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the room. He led her down the hallway where he all but threw her into his chamber. Let her be scared, he thought as he turned his key into the lock, closing her in.

  Alexander brought his mount to a halt besides the outcropping of rocks along the shore’s edge. Stephen waited some distance away atop one of the shoals. As he neared the site, his fury escalated. Rebecca’s body lay in a gruesome display—broken upon the rocks, already distorted from the waning tide. He reached out, albeit futilely, and pressed his fingers to her neck. Her skin was bruised, swollen from the strangulation that had obviously caused her death before she’d been cast from the cliffs.

  “She’s an imposter, Alexander,” Gregor accused of the woman he’d left in his chamber.

  Alexander pivoted on his heels, eyes narrowed. “For what purpose?” he questioned, surprised that he felt the instant need to defend her. On the ride out to the cliffs he’d tormented himself with wanting to believe her but seeing no way that he could. “What would be her gain?”

  “Her gain?” Gregor repeated. “The same as your wife’s!” he shouted. “The life of a queen. The trappings of wealth. A title she couldn’t live without!”

  Alexander stood, turning toward Gregor, gesturing for him to continue.

  “What more proof do you need, Alex?” Gregor went on. “She was found just after we followed Rebecca into the tunnels. What if she killed Rebecca herself? Or worse, what if she had an accomplice who’s still out there?”

  “When we came upon her, Gregor, a man was overpowering her,” Alexander reminded him, wondering if he was just trying to convince himself of her innocence.

  “Have all these years left you so desperate that you can’t see what’s before you? It was a trick, Alex!”

  Alexander grabbed him by the shoulders. “Cease!” he bellowed. “She ran last night. From you and from me. If she’s an imposter, she’s not a very good one. She’s. Nothing. Like. Rebecca,” he said, each word carefully enunciated through clenched teeth.

  “And if she is?” Gregor returned.

  “Then I ask you again—what is her gain?”

  “And I ask you again—who is she!”

  “Enough!” Alexander threw him aside. Bloody hell, he could only take so much! He had enough problems, one in particular, without this current dissension among his men.

  “Alex, I’ve watched you suffer for years at her cruelness. If you’re finally free of her, then for God’s sake just be free!” Gregor pleaded once again, picking himself up from the ground.

  “What am I to do with her, Gregor? Send her off? Where?”

  “We’ll find her family—give her back. Alex, please don’t make the same mistake again.”

  “I saw hope in my daughter’s eyes for the first time last night, Gregor. Hope that her mother might love her. I’ll not take that away from her!” It was but half the truth.

  “Your love has always been enough, Alex,” Gregor said, his voice softening. “Callesandra’s loved by all of us. You know that.” He paused. “Will you listen to reason?”

  Alexander pivoted on his heels. “You listen to reason!” he shouted, knowing how menacing he sounded and not caring. “You saw her last night, she has not one of the same mannerisms as Rebecca did—she played the God damned piano! An imposter wouldn’t do such things. And if whoever did this to Rebecca,” he cautioned as he motioned toward her body, “realizes a woman who looks so very much like her is alive and living within the walls of my holding, then she is in danger too!”

  That at least brought the quiet he so desperately needed. “Think—all of you,” he said, emphatically looking to his men. “If she wished to assume the sorry life of my wife, she could have done so easily, at least for a time. Though I appeared by her side, I never looked at her, not really. None of us have, and you know it to be true. But she sought my help last night—on more than one occasion. She looked to me—right in the eyes—for guidance. I tell you—she’s no imposter.”

  They seemed to come to a silent agreement, then looked down at the body of the woman for whom they felt only contempt. None of them wished her dead, but they’d not miss her spite, her cruelty. They waited until dark before moving her from the shore and buried her behind the chapel. Stephen said a prayer as they covered her grave. They left the area completely undisturbed. No one must ever know what happened.

  Amanda spent the day trapped in Alexander’s room. It wouldn’t have been so terrible if he hadn’t looked at her with that expression of betrayal nearing on hate. Somehow, she just wanted to make him happy. Something she knew he wasn’t. At least not before. But she knew the few times, the very few times they were together, she had made him happy.

  She paced for hours with nothing to do but admire his décor. It was completely masculine, completely him. His bed was covered in dark linens and filled with pillows; the posts wrapped with black silk. The floors sported rugs rich in design, their colors the same that ran throughout room, black, burgundy, and gold. The drapes over the windows hung from at least twenty feet above the floor, cascading from rods with ornate finials. The chairs in front of the fireplace were a dark shade of red, so dark, they appeared to be black. The leather was soft, decorated with gold nail heads. Another sitting area was arranged in front of the bathing chamber—a table, chairs, and large chaise covered with a throw. There were even baskets filled with toys she knew he kept for Callesandra.

  She’d tried to keep the fire going throughout the day, but her attempts were futile. By evening, she had a pounding headache and was so hungry she had that sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away. What had she done?

  You assumed the role of his wife, that’s what!

  Nothing made sense about how she had gotten here, but she was here. And oddly, that had made sense. Until now. Cold and hungry, she curled up by the fireplace and covered herself with a throw from one of the couches. She fell asleep wondering where she would be when she woke up. In the back of her mind, she wanted it to be here, but Alexander seemed to hate her again, just as he had before.

  Her dreams weren’t pleasant like they’d been the night before. They were nightmares of the man who despised her. Again.

  Alexander kissed his daughter before heading to his chamber. He’d told her before he left that morning that her mother was feeling poorly. Her crestfallen expression had made him add that perhaps tomorrow they’d have some time together. Until he had some answers, he wouldn’t jeopardize her safety. Alice had orders t
o stay in the nursery, and his chamber was to remain undisturbed as Lady Rebecca was ill. She’d voiced no questions. Alice and her own daughter, Beatrice, were newly employed and paid generously for their service.

  Rebecca always had the house in such a state of distress the servants were constantly turning over. Her last waiting maid left only a week ago, taking Callesandra’s nanny with her. Alice and Beatrice hadn’t been here long enough to realize things were so very different. A small blessing.

  He slipped the key from his pocket, imagining the state his chamber would be in when he entered, and was surprised to find it was undisturbed with not a single item out of place. Alexander couldn’t see the woman, and truthfully was shocked she’d not been waiting to throw something when he opened the door. He wondered what her name was. Wondered too if it was her lover that he’d rescued her from in the tunnels. She’d kissed him eagerly enough, though. Bloody hell she’d kissed him almost witless. Each and every time.

  The room was completely dark, the fire long since gone. He lit an oil lamp and searched his chamber. He found her shaking on the floor in front of the fireplace. Bloody hell, she’d lain freezing on the floor instead of seeking the comfort of his bed. She was nothing like his wife, who would have taken all she wanted without a second thought. She was, in fact, nothing like any woman he’d ever known.

  She sat up as he neared her, and he plucked her from the floor almost violently. He was furious, but this time, with himself. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he cradled her, pressing her face to his shoulder. Her silent tears soaked his shirt. He tightened his hold as he moved toward the bed. Bloody hell, she was chilled to the bone. Holding her easily with one arm, he pulled the duvet back and carefully placed her on the mattress, before covering her with a thick blanket.

  He saw to the fire next, restoring it to a warm, crackling blaze. Then, unsure of what to do, what to say, he sat on the edge of the bed, bent over with his head in his hands. Did he really want answers to the questions that plagued him? As he pondered just how to proceed, he heard his door creak open, followed by the patter of Callesandra’s feet. When she stood before him, he lifted his head, smiling in spite of his mood at his daughter’s temerity.