The Heartwood Box: A Fairy Tale

by Lilia Ford

  “I gave her a word. She understood I would stop the moment she wished. When I asked if she wished to continue, she said yes.”

  “So it is her fault, then!” Damian sneered. “Unbelievable.”

  “I did not mean to excuse myself at her expense, sire.” It was the closest to contrite he’d ever heard Derek.

  “I should hope not,” Declan retorted. “I had actually warned your brother that you would find it difficult to resist punishing her if she provoked you, but I never expected to find a young woman completely inexperienced in rougher forms of play in such a condition.”

  Derek looked stricken. “I did not realize she had gone so deep. I was sure she would stop me.”

  Declan alone knew what it cost Derek to say that. It was a hideous failure, unforgivable except that Genevieve would be far more damaged if this rupture could not be repaired.

  “And afterwards, when you saw how far you’d gone, you discovered that you could not punish her like that, fulfill one need, only to deny another that was equally great. That she must have evidence that she was deeply desired and cherished by you.” Derek nodded. “Damian, you will find this hard to believe. I ask you to trust me. Derek’s injury in this was to you, not Genevieve.”

  “Sire, did you see her?”

  “I did. It’s the kind of mistake that must first be made in order to be prevented. Neither Derek nor Genevieve understood the need for limits until they were crossed. I sympathize with your reaction, though I deplore your brawling in front of her. No man could sit quiet when his beloved was in such a state. But that state means something entirely different to Genevieve. As I said, the true injury was to you. Derek trampled your prerogative. Brother must defer to husband in matters regarding his bride. The rules are there to prevent exactly this situation.” Turning to Derek, Declan said, “Knowing you as I do, I cannot imagine were your positions reversed that you would react tamely if Damian had seduced or punished your bride without your permission.”

  All three of them knew that Derek would have reacted far more violently than Damian had.

  Declan paused to make sure they had followed him this far. “Damian, all things being equal, it is the husband’s right to refuse contact, and I would sympathize should you wish to now.”

  Derek’s eyes blazed at this.

  “However,” Declan added sternly, “all things are not equal. You are a Black. Your bride’s needs always come first, and she has made her wishes clear. It falls to you now to accept her decision. This is my decree: you and Derek will lead the hunt for the stragglers. Talk, fight it out, do whatever is necessary. But make no mistake. You will return together, at peace, prepared to put her needs first, or do not return at all. In the meantime, I will do everything I can to make sure that she weathers this crisis. Be warned that I instructed Donal to hold nothing back, to give her anything she needs to find comfort including physical affection. The time when you could object has passed. Now go!”

  Damian looked furious while Derek glowered defensively, but both bent to one knee.

  “As you will, sire,” Damian said bitterly.

  Derek made a curt nod, and both left the clearing together.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  When Genevieve awoke, she was lying on her side with the bright sun on her face, a pair of masculine arms wrapped around her. For a moment it seemed like the past two days had all just been a nightmare, but she could not keep back reality for long.

  The first thing she noticed was the scent was wrong. Instead of Damian’s sultry oakmoss, the scent was of summer: cut grass, thyme, violets, fresh earth.

  She opened her eyes to discover that she was not in her bed at all, but on the daybed in the conservatory, though she was wearing only a thin nightdress! She turned over and saw that the arms did not belong to Damian, but to Donal, who was lying shirtless next to her, wearing a pair of loose linen trousers like those that Damian favored.

  He was smiling. “Fever’s broken! You had us worried, little girl.”

  She tried to edge away, but the moment she moved, she was lashed by pain—it was from Derek’s spanking. The full horror fell upon her in a swoop: she was an adulteress, she’d deceived Damian with his own brother, no doubt Declan was on his way here to…

  She couldn’t bear to think further.

  She realized Donal was speaking to her. “Genevieve, listen to me. No one is angry with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  She let out a loud wail. “I betrayed Damian.”

  “Hush, darling. Don’t say that—you didn’t betray him.”

  Now she was just angry. “You’re not listening! I… Derek….” She couldn’t bear to say the words.

  “No, Genevieve, you are not listening.”

  She snapped to attention—apparently it was not only his brothers who employed that iron tone.

  “Within our family, we do not consider it adultery for the bride to be intimate with her husband’s brothers.”

  Genevieve was silenced. It must be nonsense. She’d never heard anything so outlandish. Donal was trying to make her feel better, just like her parents used to. Perhaps they feared she might harm herself. “You needn’t lie to me,” she said finally.

  “I am not lying to you, Genevieve. I swear it upon Titania’s name. But if you require further proof, I am more than happy to give it to you.”

  He rolled her over on top of him, gripped her hair, and kissed her deeply.

  “Are you ready to listen now? You know that only one of us can marry. It does not happen in every generation, but it is considered a special blessing if the bride is drawn to her husband’s brothers.”

  It took several minutes for the use of speech to return. When it finally did, she said shakily, “That’s insane.”

  “Isn’t it? Completely and utterly insane, but honestly, Genevieve, you’ve spent time with my brothers. Did you really believe them sane?”

  “But that couldn’t be… you don’t…. That’s wrong,” she said lamely.

  “You mean morally?” Donal looked utterly struck by the notion. “Morally wrong! Well!” He pretended to ponder and then said earnestly, “I should hope so! Honestly, Jenny-girl, moral sex! Where’s the point in that?”

  He was too absurd.

  “Are you going to start crying again?” he asked with boyish alarm. “Lords of hell, I never realized how much girls cry! I thought you might shrivel up with all that liquid pouring from your eyes. Finally I had to dunk you in the tub. Normally you’re pretty enough, I own, but all that sobbing has made your face blotch something awful.”

  Now she punched his arm.

  “That’s my girl.” He chucked her chin and got to his feet. There was a pitcher of water with lemon slices on the table, which had already been laid for breakfast. He poured a glass and brought it to her. She tried to sit up but groaned in pain. Her entire backside still ached from Derek’s beating.

  “Tsk. It’s worn off already. On your stomach! Now, little girl,” he commanded.

  Genevieve obeyed instinctively, feeling that familiar squeezing between her legs. Before she could stop him, Donal flipped up her gown, placing his knee on her back so she couldn’t roll away. She protested in outrage as he started lathering her buttocks with ointment, but her protests quickly transformed into satisfied moans as the pain disappeared, leaving a pleasing tingle.

  As he rubbed he said, “While I’ve got you in this vulnerable position, I would remind you that you made me a promise yesterday. Do you recall it?”

  “Yes!” she said through grated teeth. She’d promised not to hurt herself.

  “Good, because I will hold you to it, and if you even think of breaking your word, I would be happy to go to work on this lovely ass of yours.” He gave her a roguish wink as he helped her up.

  Genevieve thought about dumping her water glass over his head, but settled for sticking her tongue out at him, which just brought out that glorious smile of his.

  “There’s my girl. I take it you’re hungr
y? I promise, no tongue, for now.” He gave her a lewd wink. Incorrigible! “Instead, we have coddled eggs, Roderick’s special sausage pasties, and of course, fresh cherries! But I assume you’re in dire need of a piss first.”

  She smirked—no one would ever accuse Donal of an excess of delicacy. When she stumbled trying to walk, he swung her up in his arms and carried her to the small water closet off the anteroom.

  “Should I help?” he asked hopefully. She slammed the door shut in response. “Spoilsport!” he called through the door.

  Honestly!

  When she was done, he was waiting outside, looking for all the world like a dirty-minded little boy who’d been peeping through the keyhole of his sister’s door. Genevieve didn’t have the energy to become offended at such nonsense and didn’t object to his arm when he helped her back to the conservatory. She was truly famished and loaded her plate with two pasties and an egg, saving the cherries for dessert.

  “Good girl—you need to eat. Talk about pasty—you look half-dead,” Donal observed as they both dug in.

  “I’ve spent most of the last week locked in my bedroom or in a cave!” she said over a mouthful. Good manners were wasted on this brother.

  He had the gall to laugh. “Be honest! You were a pale thing the day I met you.” That was true enough. Too many days spent hiding in her room. “It’s a good thing that I’ve decided you’re to spend the day in the garden.”

  “You’ve decided, have you?”

  “Oh yes—Declan has put me in charge of getting you better, so now it’s my turn to lord it over our bride. I advise you not to disobey me, Jenny-girl, lest I take a page from my brothers and chain you to the bed or take you over my knee.”

  He rubbed his hands together and made a wicked-sounding cackle. He was so ridiculous, it was impossible to get annoyed with him. Even her old hated nickname didn’t bother her. Indeed, for some reason she liked it when Donal called her that.

  The daybed turned out to have wheels, which Genevieve thought very clever. Donal dragged it out to a spot in the garden that was warm but not right in the sun and then gave her a little push onto the bed. “Go on then, you’re tottering on your feet.”

  He made two more trips, fetching a small table, the cherries, and the pitcher of lemon-water, and then without waiting for an invitation joined her on the daybed, his body flush against hers.

  Donal’s well-timed humor had eased the first wave of remorse, but sitting in the garden, Genevieve was assailed by memories of that perfect morning she and Damian had spent chatting and joking on the grass.

  She tried desperately to hold back the tears and then rolled to her side hoping Donal wouldn’t realize.

  Donal just chuckled and said, “I don’t think so, little girl,” and pulled her to lie against his shoulder. She cried as quietly as she could, but soon her body was shaking with sobs.

  After the first wave of misery tapered off, he said evenly, “Are you done?”

  “For now,” she sniffled. “I’m surprised you didn’t run for the hills. I must look a fright.”

  “Hideous,” he responded amiably.

  Miserable as she was, she took comfort lying in his arms. Donal didn’t seem eager to judge her, and he didn’t pity her either, which would have been intolerable. She found the teasing way he treated her agonies infinitely more soothing than her poor mother’s anxious queries of what she could do to help or her father’s desperate promises that they would fix what was wrong.

  “You and I are going to figure all of this out,” he said cheerfully, raising the back of the daybed so it became a lounge chair. He placed the basket of cherries between them to nibble on. “Let’s start with Damian. What happened that last day?”

  Genevieve wasn’t sure whether it was trust or desperation, but between bites of the cherries she found herself describing how she and Damian had lain out on the lawn while Damian told her all about their childhood, being raised by Declan, and Donal’s stealing tarts only to get pounded by Roderick the cook.

  “I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I was too afraid, and then directly after we had this dreadful quarrel.”

  “And he tied you to the bed. I’m sure you must have done something truly wicked and disobedient—at least I hope you did.”

  He plopped a cherry in her mouth, looking absurdly eager to hear the details.

  She spat out the pit, thinking of the reason for their fight, and irritation finally began making some headway against guilt.

  “Our quarrel. Well, you must understand. That visit to the garden was the first time he’d allowed me to leave the bedroom. It took me some time to notice that this house is designed as a luxurious prison, without any discernible exit. When I remarked on this, Damian saw fit to decree that I was forbidden to leave the house without a minder. And when I voiced an objection, he carried me upstairs and tied me to our bed.” Donal looked ready to explode with laughter. “You believe I was wrong?” she asked, ready to explode herself and then grab the pitcher of water and dump it over his head.

  “No, of course not. It’s outrageous,” he said.

  He must have noticed her eying the pitcher because he picked it up, poured them each a glass of water, and then replaced it safely on his side of the lounge-chair.

  “Well at least one of you is halfway sane,” she said frostily, taking a sip. “Derek asked me the same thing, and when I told him, he informed me I should be grateful that Damian was so lenient. If I were his wife, I’d only be allowed to leave the house one day a year—for Titania’s Feast.”

  Donal had been taking a sip at that moment and spat out the water, howling with laughter. “Oh, that’s priceless. Did he say this before or after he pummeled you?”

  Genevieve wondered to hear such things spoken of so openly, but Donal made it seem a matter of course. “Before!” she said, trying to glare at him, but finding the corners of her mouth turning up in spite of herself.

  “Lord, Derek the smooth-tongued seducer,” he said, feeding her another cherry. “First he force-feeds you a food you hate, then he boasts that he’ll keep you locked up for life. I always wondered how our middle brother would go about wooing a woman.”

  She giggled then—it was too ridiculous.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t deny he’s a complete beast, but I know Derek—he never would have continued if you’d told him to stop. Declan told me he confirmed as much. That backside of yours is a bloody mess. With any other woman, I’d have worried you were afraid, but having seen you stare down my brother, I just don’t believe it.”

  Genevieve blushed so deeply she wondered blood didn’t pour out of her ears. “I wasn’t afraid.” She was afraid of what she felt for Derek, but not of Derek himself.

  “You wanted it then—you enjoyed it?”

  “Enjoyed it!”

  “Some people enjoy it. If you didn’t, why on earth didn’t you stop him?”

  “I don’t know…. I don’t know why I didn’t,” she cried, tears threatening again.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out here, Jenny-girl. Let’s put it this way: are you angry with Derek? Do you never want to see him again, or are you eagerly looking forward to the next time he takes you in hand, as it were?”

  “How can you even suggest that? Damian will never forgive me as it is!”

  He leaned over and affectionately brushed her cheek. “Genevieve, do you trust me?”

  She laughed through the sobs. “I don’t know—should I?”

  “Yes. I swear it on Titania’s name,” he said with rare seriousness. “So trust this: Damian does not forgive you.” Before she could choke, he added, “He does not because he is well aware that he has no right whatsoever to be angry at you. He is angry at Derek. You see, by our rules, Damian is the husband, which means he gets to play lord and master over you and the rest of us. Derek must have Damian’s permission before he can put his you-know-what, you-know-where, let alone beat your other you-know-what black and blue.”

  “Donal,�
�� she said impatiently, throwing a cherry at him

  “Don’t blame me for getting so excited,” he said, throwing it back at her. “Finally, my two law-abiding brothers were the ones who got in trouble instead of me. I was hoping Declan would thrash both of them, but he contented himself with sending them away to thrash each other and kill demons instead.”

  “Why was he angry at Damian?”

  “Because he made such a fuss, of course! Talk about tantrums. I don’t blame Damian for wanting to thrash Derek, whom I’ve yearned to pummel for years, but he had no business doing it in front of you and making you think that you were to blame, which you weren’t.”

  “It makes no sense. I’m the one guilty of infidelity.”

  “We’ve already established that you are a fiendish vixen guilty of murdering puppies and causing floods in the Indies, but infidelity? Jenny-girl, you might say that the motto of the Black family is ‘what’s another brother….’ So that brings us back, at long last, to the question we started with: do you want Derek to come back?” He stopped her before she could interrupt. “Assuming that Damian and Derek work everything out, and Damian is completely in accord with the ‘what’s another brother’ plan, how do you feel about Derek?”

  “Of course I want him to come back,” she said, her voice breaking. Donal searched her face as if trying to make sure she was sincere. “I’m not mad at Derek—what happened wasn’t his fault.”

  “That’s an absurd thing to say, little girl. But I am very glad to hear you’re not angry with him. Genevieve,” he said more cautiously, “you realize that if he does come back, this will happen again. You two are like a tinderbox. I could tell at that picnic that he was already within a hair of taking you over his knee, and he’d barely known you an hour. Then at the wedding, the moment you and he started dancing—well, let’s just say, Derek’s palms were itching something fierce to get at that ass of yours.”

  Genevieve slapped at him, her face burning with mortification.

  He must have read something in her expression because he kissed her forehead and said, “You are a very special girl, and Derek is a lucky bastard. Anyone else would have shown him the door for what he did.” He ran his fingers lightly through her hair. “So that only leaves your quarrel with Damian, and in that you were entirely to blame.”