by Lilia Ford
Genevieve’s needs. Damian thought of the heartwood box. When he brought out the crop, she’d almost fainted. She needed something he couldn’t give her. The thought was agonizing. Was that why Derek was so angry? “You think she would have been better off with you?”
“What the devil are you thinking?” Derek barked.
“I don’t know!” Damian almost wailed, wondering how the conversation had ended up going in such a perverse direction. “I gave her no choice. At the Bridal Picnic, I pushed until I was sure her box had changed and then rushed the marriage before she could back out. She understood nothing of what it meant to marry me! She said as much when we quarreled—she accused me outright of deceiving her.”
Derek spat in disgust. “Listen to yourself! A few angry words spoken during an argument, and you question yourself! She is the bride of a Black! You are her husband—her master. You did what you must to secure her to you. Had I been in your place, the moment I knew her box had changed, I would have dragged her from the picnic and tied her to my horse!”
His brother was completely sincere. Damian chuckled humorlessly. What would it have done to the poor Mirans if they’d had Derek for a son-in-law? “If you’d married her, you would not have shared.”
“No,” Derek said without a hint of apology. “I would honor our traditions in any way I can, but I could never share what is mine.”
“And yet you expect me to?”
Derek shrugged. “It’s best for our family that she married you and not me.” There was his brother’s thinking in a nutshell. From Derek’s own perspective, his logic was irrefutable.
“So the rules are nothing to you—my rights nothing?”
“I didn’t say that, but the bride’s needs come before any rule.”
“And so you must beat her black and blue and then sleep with her?”
“What would you have me say, Damian? She craves punishment—I wish now I’d understood the extent her craving went beyond a desire for pain. I fear she suffers from some sort of morbid guilt. But I don’t think I would have acted differently even if I had known, and once I’d begun, I couldn’t turn away from her without far more grievous cruelty. My only regret is that she believed herself guilty of infidelity. If there had been time, I would have tried to explain our ways, though I doubt I could have done it in a way she could understand. I think Donal can explain it better—or if not, Declan.”
Damian could not have believed there was anything Derek could say that would lessen his guilt in this, or that he could even contemplate forgiving his brother without a contrite apology—which was as likely as a demon turning healer.
But hearing him, Damian found he understood Derek’s perspective and could even accept it, though it irritated him to no end that he must be the one to back down from his anger. Derek’s one regret was that Genevieve blamed herself. He felt none towards the brother he had injured. Somehow things had twisted around so much that if Damian pointed this fact out, the complaint would sound like childish carping. One would think Derek was a master of casuistry, when in actuality he was the polar opposite.
Arguably he even owed Derek a debt. Derek could have thrown it in his face that Damian had allowed anger at his brother to come before Genevieve’s needs. Must he credit Derek with delicacy now? Were pigs flying as well? He recalled what Derek said about how he would have “courted” Genevieve at the Bridal Picnic and decided that there would be no shortage of bacon for the foreseeable future.
So there it was. He could accept his brother’s actions in what had been a very fraught situation, but that did not mean that Derek could simply discard centuries of family rules. “I am husband,” he said firmly. “You and Donal will abide by our traditions, which means that you do not touch my wife or discipline her without my permission. Don’t ask me to overlook such a transgression again.”
“I won’t,” Derek said. There was no challenge, no resentment in his tone at all.
They sat staring at the dying flames as the stars appeared in the sky. Suddenly, he heard Derek’s voice from the darkness. “I… regret… I am sorry if my actions caused estrangement between you. I believe now that I was guilty of jealousy—or perhaps covetousness. I did not seek to usurp your place or divide you—I swear it on my honor, Damian. But I was caught off guard by how much I desired her. At the picnic, I tried to provoke her. I thought she would refuse to allow me to share the house. I know it was wrong—my duty is to protect her. Then she agreed anyway…. It was only when she spoke to me afterwards that I realized I’d been guilty of cowardice. I’d never before felt disgust in my own actions, but I’d never even imagined a nature like Genevieve’s.”
Talk about pigs flying: Damian could not have been more astounded if Derek had sprouted wings and lifted off the ground. He felt he owed his brother to answer in kind. “Genevieve sensed there was jealousy between us—or at least the potential for it. Would that I had taken warning and examined myself more closely.”
“Why on earth would you? I always took for granted that if either of you found a bride, she would feel nothing but aversion for me. The very idea that you could be jealous of me was too improbable to believe without proof.”
In anyone else the words would be ironic or accusatory, but Derek was making a simple statement of fact. There was no self-pity in his manner at all. Until now, Damian had never dreamt that Derek might realize how difficult he was and wish he could be different.
Damian felt something shift within himself, almost like a door opening. His brother’s words had made something clear to him: Derek was in love with Genevieve. Was it possible that Genevieve loved Derek, his impossible brother? He knew his wife—she must. She would never have let things go so far if she didn’t.
Though he’d never breathed a word of it to anyone, for the last twenty years, Damian had yearned to somehow create a home where his brothers could be safe and happy. He adored Declan, who’d been the best of fathers to them, but of the three, only Damian remembered their mother and could measure what the Reavers had stolen from them. But as they’d grown older, he’d begun to fear for his dream. Damian had no idea how much of Derek’s off-putting behavior was due to the tragedy and how much was simply his natural temperament. Not that it mattered really, but Damian had grown increasingly worried that when the time came, his bride would refuse to allow Derek to share the house with them. And every surly word or unsocial action of Derek’s just reinforced that she would be entirely justified.
And then he’d met Genevieve, his miracle of a wife, who hadn’t hesitated to welcome Derek—who loved Derek. But instead of doing everything he could to nurture his dream, within days of his marriage he’d come close to destroying it. Their house was supposed to be a safe haven for her, but he’d threatened to make it her prison. Even worse, instead of celebrating Genevieve’s love for Derek, he’d exploded in a jealous rage.
And yet Derek was right that it was best for all of them that Genevieve had married Damian. Derek would have seen no reason to set limits on the submission he demanded from his wife so long as she was experiencing pleasure. That kind of pleasure could be highly intoxicating, but Damian honestly didn’t think it was enough of a life for Genevieve or any woman. And Derek could not have shared her no matter what she wanted. If Donal had married Genevieve, he would have shared her with his brothers, but the situation would have been dangerously volatile. Derek could not have tolerated Donal’s contempt for all rules, and the two of them would have constantly been at each other’s throats with Genevieve caught in the middle.
They needed Damian if the four of them were to actually form a family. He could only pray that Genevieve and the fates would give him another chance to get it right.
Chapter Twenty-six
To Genevieve’s relief, her days of staying locked away in the garden—or the bedroom or cave—appeared to be over. As soon as Declan left, Donal returned holding out her boots and a key. “Before you go on the rampage, I have a little gift by way of apology.”
>
“What gift?” she said suspiciously.
“This is the key that opens the dining room door.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s yours on one condition. You can’t go out on your own, Genevieve.” When she frowned, he said gently, “I’m not sure if Damian explained matters, but the truth is that the Reavers would give anything to kill you. They believe if they do, the Black line will end. With us gone, they could seize control of the demon gate, open it permanently. This house is warded with Fae magic, but anywhere else…. Damian defeated this latest push of theirs, but they’re like an infestation of bedbugs. No matter how many times you keep eradicating them, they just keep coming back. They’ll be waiting for a chance to find you unprotected. Please promise me you won’t.”
“This is not an excuse, is it?” When she saw his expression, she quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t Genevieve—don’t apologize, Gods,” he said, looking abashed. “I suspected Damian hadn’t told you. I’m sure he had notions of not wanting you to worry, mixed with guilt because marrying him endangers you in a way you wouldn’t be otherwise.”
“Don’t ever say that!” she protested.
He kissed her cheek. “I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t a matter of keeping you locked up.” She gave a skeptical humph, and he said, “Well not entirely, at least.”
“I understand. You needn’t have worried about the promise. Derek already got it out of me—by different means.” It amazed her that she could even laugh about it. It felt good, though. She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “But I promise you as well. Thank you, Donal, for explaining matters to me. Neither of your brothers chose to.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I doubt he’ll be too happy about this key either, but as he’s absent at the moment….” He gave her a mischievous wink and said, “Come on, George and Thomas can’t wait to meet you.” He showed her how to unlock the hidden door in the dining room, and for the first time Genevieve actually entered the kitchen without being carried over a man’s shoulder.
George and Thomas turned out to be brothers in their fifties. The two men couldn’t say enough about the honor of being entrusted with caring for the bride’s house, causing Genevieve to turn crimson. The brothers acted as if they were meeting Queen Titania instead of a village girl whose family had never employed more than a neighbor’s boy or girl to help out. There was also the problem of her and Donal’s activities in the garden and the conservatory. If anyone even guessed, let alone witnessed some of them, Genevieve prayed she might expire.
Unfortunately, Donal seemed to have been born constitutionally immune to embarrassment. He gave her a roguish wink and handed Thomas a key. “You two can get in there now. We’ll be out for a few hours. Make sure to change the linens on the daybed in the conservatory. Why don’t you have a bath ready there for five?”
Genevieve said nothing as Donal led her out the back door to the stable yard. Once they were out of sight, she punched his arm. “Why don’t you just say outright that we’re sharing a bed! What if one of them came in?” They’d been making love at all hours, right out in the open.
“Enough, you little harridan! In the first place, their family has been serving the Blacks for generations—trust me when I say that nothing surprises them about us. In the second place, didn’t you see me give them the key?”
“You mean they don’t have it?”
“You can blame Damian—or better, thank him. He’s the one who set the rules. Because of what happened with our parents, he’s been rabid about security in this house.”
“What happened with your parents?”
“I was a baby. I don’t remember anything and they never talk about it. All I know is that two Reavers somehow got themselves invited to the house and proceeded to murder our parents. They had a knife out to slit Derek’s throat when Declan burst in and pulverized them into Fairy dust.” She must have gone pale because he said, “I’m sorry, Genevieve. What a thing to tell you!”
Genevieve quieted him with a light kiss on the lips. “You were right to.”
“I love you—you know that, don’t you, little girl?”
“I do. I love you too. Finish your story.”
“There isn’t much story after that. The three of us were moved to the fortress, and Declan gave up most of his duties at Titania’s court and moved back from Faerie to raise us himself.”
“He must have been wonderful.”
“He was,” Donal said feelingly. “I never knew anything else, so I can’t say I was affected by what happened. It was only when the preparations for the Bridal Week started that I began to wonder about Damian. He and Declan had lots of talks behind closed doors. The upshot was a decree that no one would be allowed in this house except for the family and a handful of servants he trusted absolutely. The door from the kitchen was to be locked at all times, and the servants would only enter your part of the house when one of us opened it for them. It struck me as rather extreme, to be honest. I realized then that he’d never fully gotten over it.”
“Derek either, I suspect.”
Donal shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the idea.
It was impossible not to be influenced by Donal’s account. Genevieve decided she could forgive Damian a fair degree of high-handedness, but she was grateful that Donal did not see the same need for caution. She did not want her life held hostage to a tragedy that occurred before she was born. She also recognized that both Damian and Derek were motivated to restrict her freedom by something other than mere concern for her safety. Luckily, their younger brother did not seem enraptured by the idea of locking her up.
Never one for melancholy topics, Donal gave her a kiss that left her dizzy and then pulled her along to the stables. “Come, I have a surprise for you.” He led her to a stall where an ethereally beautiful grey mare stood placidly. “She’s yours,” he said proudly.
“What?”
“Declan had her brought—from Faerie. So my brothers won’t squawk about the dangers. She’s gentle as a lamb but could outrun a demon if she needed to, and no Fae horse would ever throw a rider. Her name is Mist.”
They led the horse out to the paddock. Genevieve’s family had not had the means to keep a horse, and she’d never learned to ride, but with Donal’s encouragement, she climbed up on Mist bareback. She proceeded to giggle like a halfwit as the horse sedately walked about.
Unfortunately, her rear end was still healing. The moment she began to shift uncomfortably, her eagle-eyed brother ordered her to get off. She ignored Donal, encouraging Mist to a trot, which she quickly regretted because it caused her to bounce up and down, which hurt! For the first time she felt serious annoyance at Derek for leaving her in this state.
In the meantime, Donal had caught up to her. “Off! Now!” he ordered.
Genevieve dearly wanted to defy him, but she was pretty sure her little adventure had just reopened some of the welts her beastly brother had given her. She gingerly dismounted. Donal was the picture of masculine disapproval, which just made her laugh. “What’s got into you?” she asked innocently.
“I am beginning to understand how your backside ended up in that shape if you behaved like this with Derek. I never thought I’d say this, but he can’t come home soon enough.”
“No!” she snarled.
“Oh yes. I have a feeling you are going to be spending a lot of time in the study—and good thing!”
“You are such a hypocrite!”
“In other words a male, sweetheart. Come on, I have more surprises for you.”
They left the stables, and Donal led her through a short forested path, hardly a quarter of a mile long, that led to the back entrance of the fortress. She almost laughed at the sight of an ordinary poultry yard, kitchen garden, and paddock with several draft horses munching quietly. The formidable Black castle seemed far less intimidating from this perspective. They entered the house through an unassuming door that led directly to the kitchens
where she was presented to the infamous Roderick.
Roderick turned out to be barely taller than she was, though so stout he must have been thrice her weight. She’d been expecting an ogre who would terrify her with his wooden spoon. Instead he lit up into an almost childlike smile. Within seconds she was seated at the kitchen table, being offered plates of tarts, homemade cheeses, and a sausage pie fresh from the oven. At her invitation, Roderick joined her and proceeded to interrogate her on all of her favorite foods, any special dishes she wished him to make and, to her great relief, any foods she disliked.
When she bemoaned her poor cooking skills, he put his hands to his cheeks and exclaimed, “Well then you must learn! Any time, my dear, come! I’ll teach you to make any dish you wish. Beginning with the sweet-cheese rolls you told me of. I’ll send someone today to your mother to request the recipe.”
“My mother would be honored, sir,” she said, utterly charmed.
“Well, I cannot have Damian’s bride pining for the foods of home.” He whispered confidentially into her ear, “And you will not be offended when I say that you must eat more—you need more meat on your bones. What if you were to take sick, Titania please it never happen? You’d waste away.”
Genevieve laughed and promised she would eat more. After she and Donal left, she realized that he’d barely spoken the whole time they were there—truly a marvel. “You goose,” she said. “How could you make him out to be such an ogre? He could not have been sweeter!” Donal looked at her as if she were possessed. “What?”
“You’re dangerous. You appear so shy and kittenish, but I begin to suspect that beneath that sweet appearance, you’re actually a witch, or perhaps a demoness.”
“How dare you!”
“HOW DARE I!” he roared. “You just called Roderick, RODERICK, SWEET! The bane of my childhood, the author of my sufferings, the terror of the tart-taker! You think your backside is bad? I don’t think a day went by when he didn’t crimson my rear end with that spoon of his.”