She relaxed against him, fitted her body to his, allowing him the pleasure of her surrender but he was determined that this kiss would be no explosive kiss of demanding passion, as their first had been. Rather it would be an unhurried, physical sharing of each other in a way even he had never before experienced and he quite eagerly set himself to the task.
By the time he pulled away, her eyes had become dark and glassy, slumberous with newly awakening desire and Grayson reveled in the barrage of long-denied sensations she had made him feel. Unwilling for the moment to end, he held her close until his breathing slowed and the erratic thrum of her pulse calmed itself.
Jane felt weighted, her whole body heavy with new desire, as if it had lost its ability to function outside her reaction to his kisses. Dazed, she let him hold her, content to rest within the strength of his arms until the sweet languor of his kiss began to fade...and her thoughts returned to the frightful hours of the previous night.
How could a man who kissed her with such gentle tenderness possibly be mad? What demons so preyed upon his dreams that he was required to be restrained – and how could she help him conquer those demons if he refused to allow her near when they arrived?
She needed answers, and she needed them now, she realized, because it simply would not do for her to fall in love with the rakishly fun, gentle side of her husband's nature only to be forced to live in mortal fear of the beast he became in the night.
Leaning back in his embrace, she met his gaze full on. “What do you dream, my lord, that requires you to sleep bound in chains?”
His eyes went cold.
Without a word, he turned her and lifted her onto her mount before walking away to gather the reins of his own. She thought he would ignore her question completely, leaving her to believe what she would until he said, “There is naught in my dreams which require me to be bound, Jane.”
Confused by his words, Jane turned them in her mind. Was he telling her there was more? Something outside of the nightmares which haunted him that forced him into chains each night?
Jane did not wish to believe it, but suddenly, everything inside her head screamed at her to beware, that there was more to the stories of the beast than she ever wanted to consider. But her heart...
Her heart insisted there must be something more, some other, rational explanation and, like the innocent, docile lamb who lovingly nudges the hand who leads her forth to slaughter, Jane was wont to agree.
Knowing at least a few of the answers she sought could be found in the third floor chamber off the east wing of Edenmaine Manor, Jane nudged her mount forward and hastened toward the Hall.
Despite her earlier resolve, the horrible truth Jane discovered upon slipping inside the tiny room at the end of the east wing slammed into her like a blow.
Much smaller than the chambers where she had spent the previous night, this room held only a small iron bed. There was no fireplace with which to heat the chamber and the windows...
Jane felt tears prick her eyelids. The windows had been barred.
Turning back to the bed, she could not help but notice the pair of heavy steel manacles which had been attached to the frame at the head of the bed with a length of heavy chain – chain she was certain she had heard repeatedly clinking against itself during the night before.
Beside the manacles, stacked neatly atop the freshly laundered coverlet, several lengths of what appeared to be bandaging cloths lay at the ready and her brow furrowed as her conversation with the servant who had barred her way last night played through her thoughts.
“Has the earl been injured?”
“Nay, not yet, my lady.”
Not yet.
Had Grayson soaked these cloths last night with his own blood?
A pair of strong hands closed over her shoulders and Jane gasped before she was lifted bodily and set outside the room. Before she could manage to gather her wits about her, the chamber door was slammed shut behind her and she could hear the grate of a key being turned in the lock.
Turning, her gaze met with Grayson's and held, hers questioning and surely filled with fear while his blazed hot with fury.
“Never, ever set foot in that room again,” he demanded, but Jane did not understand the full furor of his anger.
“Grayson, I only wanted-”
“You will not! This room is completely and forever forbidden to you.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, fury shaking him and through him, her. “It is not safe, do you understand?”
Chapter Seven
The next several weeks fell into somewhat of a chaotic pattern for Jane. During the day, her time spent with Grayson was so very normal and enjoyable she could almost forget the horrible episode in the east wing had ever happened.
Each morning, Grayson would fetch her from her lonely room and the two of them would go downstairs, where they shared breakfast, after which he would reveal his plans for something new for the two of them to do or they would ride to some as yet unseen part of the estate for her to explore.
After their morning outing, Grayson would join her for luncheon and then settle into his study to take care of correspondence, leaving Jane to occupy herself. Time which Jane used to learn everything she could about Grayson and the Burke family – most of which she discovered accidentally. Grayson's servants, she determined, were very loyal and loath to mention anything about the years during which he had sequestered himself away here in the country.
It had taken her days to hear the name Vincent from lips other than her husband, and he only mentioned it in his dreams whilst in the throes of the madness that overtook him each night. Still, day by day, Jane patiently collected bits of information in her quest to piece together the truth of what had happened when the previous earl died and why her husband had become what he had because of it.
Through it all, she would often look up to find Grayson watching her with a hunger in his gaze, which he quickly masked, but to her disappointment not once did he act upon those feelings.
Instead, each night after the two of them shared a quiet dinner together, Grayson would dutifully escort her upstairs to the door of the chamber the two of them were meant to share and, after wishing her a restful slumber, he would leave her there to sleep alone.
Jane hated the nights.
During most, she had lain awake for hours, tears seeping from between her tightly closed eyelids while she listened to the angst-filled wails and pitiful moans that echoed eerily throughout the third floor. Indeed, many a night had passed in which she would resolve that, come the dawn, she would demand her husband release her from this farce of a marriage and send her home.
Yet during others, she had spent those wakeful hours pacing the narrow space at the foot of her bed between the fire and the bank of windows on the opposite side of her chamber, wishing for a way to help him through it all.
Tonight was one such night when, during one of those especially long and heart-rending hours between dusk and dawn, Jane finally realized the truth hiding behind the terrible dreams that had kept her husband chained for so long – both physically and mentally.
Grayson blamed himself for his brother's death!
Thrilling at the rush of relief her realization brought, Jane sat upright and fumbled to light the lamp on her bedside table, her thoughts a-whirl as the fragmented bits of information she had gathered during the past weeks suddenly began to merge in her mind.
Her husband blamed himself, and in so doing, his subconscious forced him to mentally relive the moments of his brother's death every night in his dreams – he wasn't mad!
Far too excited over her discovery to go through the pretense of trying to sleep now, Jane tossed back the covers and donned a light robe. She could only imagine how terrible it must have been for him, and at the same time her heart constricted with fear, knowing that Grayson, too, could have burned to death while trying to save his brother.
Obviously Vincent had been very important to him – perhaps so much so, he could not bea
r to let him go and so he revisited the moment of his loss in harrowing detail and in excruciating turmoil in his dreams – dreams during which he attempted, again and again, to destroy the fire and save the brother he had loved so well and lost.
Fortunately for them both, Jane thought, having begun to pace the length of floor between door and window in her now excited state, the flames Grayson battled each night resided only within the confines of his guilt-tortured mind, though to him, she imagined, they must seem as real as those he truly had fought on the night he had lost his brother.
In truth, Grayson did become a bit of a madman, she belatedly supposed, considering he routinely chained himself to a bed to ensure the safety of the people around him. But now that she understood why, she also realized his nightmares were simply that, a vicious bit of mental knavery his guilt exercised within the dark recesses of his mind. Mental illusions that convinced him he was truly reliving the event each night in his dreams.
But why, Jane wondered, had no one bothered to try and help him overcome them before?
With a renewed sense of purpose, she began to plan.
Chapter Eight
“Good morning, my lord!” Jane cheerily greeted Grayson when he entered her chamber the following morning and then, to his surprise, her greeting was accompanied by a quick kiss, which she seemingly delivered without thought or reservation.
Unable to mistake the marked difference in both her manner and her festively colored choice of apparel, Grayson's brow rose. She had dressed in a bright cherry riding outfit, topped with a jaunty, brightly feathered millinery concoction that sat at an angle atop the very fetching coiffure her maid had effected. Motioning to her choice of attire, he said, “A ride would be your activity of choice this morning, I presume?”
“Yes, please.” She turned to pull on her gloves before preceding him from the room. “Unless you have some otherwise special outing in mind, Grayson, I thought we should visit the mill.”
The mill? A quick dart of unease pricked him, but he shrugged it off as unimportant in light of her bright mood. “As you wish. We could have Eadith ask the cook to prepare a picnic if you like. There is a lovely spot near the bend of the river...”
“I have already delivered our request to the kitchen, my lord, though I had hoped to surprise you with it,” she grouched playfully before hurrying ahead of him down the corridor to the stairs. “Do make haste to breakfast, Grayson. It is such a lovely morning, I do not wish to miss a single moment of it.”
Following along, admiring the swish of her skirts with a rakish longing, Grayson could not help but wonder what had occurred during the night to affect such a change in her demeanor.
Gone was the somewhat shy and nervous lady she had been from the beginning, and in her place? The thrill of anticipation quickening his steps, Grayson hurried to join his lady wife in the morning room. But the moment his plate was filled and they were alone, she said, “Tell me about your brother.”
He tensed, his fingers closing tightly around the handle of the polished silver fork he held suspended above his plate. “I have no brother.”
From beneath his lashes, Grayson noted her eyes had filled with compassion and a determined bit of curiosity and he knew she would not be denied. Marveling once again at the change in her when she pushed yet again for an answer, he sat back in his chair and lowered his fork to the table beside his plate.
“The previous earl, Grayson. The brother you lost in the fire. Vincent? Tell me about him. What was he like?”
Surreptitiously watching her watch him, Grayson concluded she had asked out of a genuine desire to know and so, surprising even himself, he relented. He assumed she was fully expecting a story filled with woe and grief and loss, but he instead regaled her with humorous tales of a youth spent dogging his elder brother's footsteps, one of near hero worship.
By the time his reminiscing was done, he had cleared his plate and looked up to find his wife watching him with the sheen of tears in her eyes. Tears which she hurriedly blinked back.
“He sounds quite the wonderful person, Grayson. I am sorry for your loss.”
Emotion rose up to choke him, but he pushed it firmly down. Under the cover of quitting the meal, Grayson stood, cleared his throat, and offered her his hand. “Shall we have that ride you were so eager for, Countess?”
* * *
Hours later, Jane reclined beside him on a quilt beside the river, her hunger for food replete. Their visit to the mill had not taken long, and soon, Jane had led him on a merry chase through the woods and across the meadow before giving him the lead.
The spot he had chosen for their lunch was a lovely, secluded clearing right on the river's edge. Fine, soft grass covered the bank where she had prepared their lunch. Tall trees spread their thick branches overhead, causing the sunlight to dapple the area with alternating spots of shade and sun, one of which even now forced Grayson to shield his eyes from the glare with his hand.
Rising up over him, Jane said, “You may open your eyes now, my lord.”
He peeked first one eye and then the other open to peer askance at her. “What are you about, Jane?”
She shifted so that she could hold herself up on an elbow, and shrugged. “Enjoying an afternoon with my new husband?”
“Hmm,” he rumbled, a slumberous, seductive slant to his gaze. “Perhaps a kiss would make the time even more enjoyable? Yes, I believe that is precisely what is in order.”
Rising swiftly to his side, he leaned over her, forcing her to look up to see his expression which revealed a mixture of playfulness and barely suppressed desire. “May I kiss you, Jane?”
“No.” She shook her head and lifted her free arm to twine it about his neck before plunging her fingers into the thickness of his hair at the base of his neck. “This time, my lord, I shall kiss you.”
And so she did.
* * *
Some time later, Grayson stood and helped her to her feet.
“We should get back. It looks as if a storm is brewing back there,” he said, motioning toward the darkening clouds moving in overhead.
Reluctantly, Jane began to gather and pack the remnants of their lunch while Grayson fetched their horses. The ride back was spent in companionable silence and they were making good time ahead of the storm when she spotted the blackened ruins in the distance.
Without warning, she yanked hard on her mare's reins and kicked the horse into a gallop, racing straight for it.
“Jane, no! Come back!” she heard Grayson shout after her, but heeded neither the fear nor the terse warning in his sharp command.
Too late, Grayson understood her intent and the true purpose of the change in her today. With a growled curse, he turned his own mount to follow after her, despite the anxiety closing over his throat like a fist, cutting off his air. By the time he reached her side at the burned lodge where his brother had met his untimely death, he was gasping and struggling for breath.
“Jane? Jane, we have to hurry. Now,” he urged between panicked inhalations.
He could feel the remembered terror of the night closing in on him, the same hum of insanity he had felt the night he had paced this site like a caged animal while the dying screams of his brother echoed in his ears over the roar of the scorching flames.
Feeling once more they licked against his flesh, fiery darts of agony, searing him. Grayson's eyes grew dim and he sucked in a gasp, choking on the cloying, acrid scent of smoke.
He fought it, fought the memories, fought his rising terror as best he could...because he had to, because something was vitally different this time.
“Jane,” he whispered past the burning ache in his throat. “Jane, please. We have to get out of here.”
Finally, he wheeled his mount around and sped off without her because he simply had no choice.
The last time he had come here, the madness had come upon him so fiercely it had taken four of his strongest men to restrain him, and still more to make sure he didn't hurt himself
once he had been chained.
So he fled, racing blindly away, to protect his wife.
He had to keep Jane safe at all costs because he knew her own fear would soon render her utterly defenseless against the ravening beast he would become.
Chapter Nine
By the time Jane dismounted, without assistance, the rain had already begun to fall. In the distance, thunder rumbled and occasionally, a long blue streak of lightning flashed eerily through the clouds but for Jane, the storm had already reached full force, rolling in a furious tumult throughout her body.
She had dared much, she knew, by forcing Grayson to follow her to the ruins, yet the biggest gamble of the day lay in a hand still to be played. Seeing his reaction to the blackened, charred remains of the hunting lodge had almost stolen her courage, but making her way into the Hall, Jane steeled herself and straightened her shoulders, determined to see her plan through.
Eadith met her at the stairs, her eyes filled with something akin to respect though her damning question revealed none of it.
“Are ye daft, my lady? Only a fool would take his lordship to that horrid place again after all he has been through. 'Tis like to kill him, it is, but then, perhaps such was your plan?”
Jane pinned her with a steely gaze. “My goal, Eadith, is to help him. The earl will never be able to see past his fears if he never takes a moment to face them. Today, I merely gave him the opportunity to do so.”
Remembering the way he had gasped for breath and pleaded with her to come away brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back, resolved, and shook her head. “I-I cannot go on this way, Eadith. Surely you can see how it is impossible?”
The housekeeper studied her in silence for a long moment, and when she spoke again, Jane thought it would be to berate her more for the folly of her choice, but Eadith's calmly spoken words brought an unexpected surprise.
“You are right, my lady, and it is high time someone stepped up to show the master they care. As his wife, 'tis fitting it be you. Come,” she offered, “I will help you out of that drenched riding habit before you catch your death.”
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 13