A Bouquet of Thorns

by Tania Crosse

  She smiled softly to herself. But she couldn’t sit there all day. She must put out clean towels in all the rooms – Daisy’s job really, but they were all busy in the kitchen, and Rose felt there was more purpose in her life carrying out domestic chores. More like the Rose Maddiford of old. She saw to her own first, and Florrie’s, then sauntered into Seth’s room, her vision half obscured behind the pile of thick fluffy towels in her arms as she hummed happily to herself.

  She snatched in her breath. The limpid winter sun was streaming through the tall windows, its brilliance dazzling her so that the contents of the room were thrown into deep, confusing shadow, and at first she had been unaware of the tall figure by the wash stand pouring steaming water into the bowl. She could see by his dark silhouette that he was stripped to the waist and she gulped hard. But surely the best way to avoid any embarrassment was to act casually.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were seeing to the horses.’

  ‘I’ve finished.’ His voice was strange, grating. ‘It’s hot work and I . . . well, I needed a wash.’

  Rose had bustled forward efficiently, nodding as she placed the towels on the bed and now, as she turned around, the gasp stuck in her throat. Seth had his back to her, and the light from the windows was falling directly on to his bare torso. He clearly knew she had seen, and he held himself rigid, staring blindly at the wall in front of him, his muscles tense beneath the scarred skin. For some seconds, neither of them moved, scarcely breathed, and a wave of horror, of anger and sorrow washed down to the pit of Rose’s stomach. The agony he must have suffered, the cruelty and barbarism of his unjust punishment, seared into her heart. She knew he would be marked for life, but . . . to see it for herself, in reality, was a saddening, sickening shock.

  But it wasn’t something to be brushed under the carpet. It had to be faced. She padded up behind him, each beat of her heart vibrating hard in her chest so that her hands shook. ‘Oh, Seth,’ she murmured, her appalled voice no more than a whisper as her trembling finger traced one of the ugly lines that latticed his shoulders and lower ribcage, some no more than faint scratches healed to a healthy white, others deep, the flesh seamed, and even after eighteen months, still purple and angry where the skin had hung in shreds that Dr Power had done his best to stitch back into place.

  Seth flinched at her touch, lifting his head further, his lean jaw set like hewn granite. ‘Not a pretty sight, is it?’ he said, almost inaudibly.

  Rose said nothing for a moment, allowing the grief of it to sink into her heart. ‘Does . . . does it hurt?’ she asked lamely, since she was so stunned she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  She heard him swallow. ‘No. Not now. It doesn’t hurt exactly. But sometimes it does feel tight. Beth’s been rubbing something on to it. Some lotion made with honey and other things. It does help it feel more comfortable. And she says it’ll help it fade over the years. But the scars will never . . . they’ll never . . .’

  His voice cracked, and his chin drooped on to his chest, his eyes closed, and Rose felt his pain tear into her. It was instinctive and she leant forward, her lips brushing the disfiguring scars.

  She felt him shudder. ‘Rose, don’t. Please.’ He turned round abruptly, his hazel eyes dark and scowling. ‘I must leave. This afternoon. Go back to Rosebank Hall.’

  Rose took a staggering step backwards. ‘Go back?’ Her tiny voice faltered.

  ‘Yes. I must. Richard needs my help. Poor sod’s got to keep up with all the debt repayments his father saddled him with. He’s got to have the farm running at full capacity, and it’s impossible for just one man. He can’t afford to employ anyone properly, but I’m happy just to have a roof over my head. I’ve one of their attic rooms now, but a farm labourer would need a tied cottage and since, well . . .’

  Rose stared at his cold, hard face, and her chest clenched with panic, the peace that had been seeping into her soul draining away again to a bottomless chasm of desperation. ‘I have money! I’ll pay for the cottage to be rebuilt. ’Tis only fair as ’twas my fault it were destroyed. I should do it anyway. But . . . please don’t go, Seth! I need you!’

  Her voice had risen in a howl of anguish, but Seth threw up his head with a bitter laugh, harsh lines suddenly forming about his mouth. ‘No, you don’t. You’re a woman of substance now. You can pick and choose who you want.’

  ‘But I only want you!’

  She was clinging to him, his biting words slashing into her as he pushed her aside.

  ‘Then why did you refuse to see me for so long?’ he protested acidly. ‘Going to London to bury your husband where he belonged, yes, that I can understand. But turning me away for two whole months! That . . .’ He broke off, his eyes glinting savagely and his hands clenched into fists, and Rose recoiled, battling to hold on to her shattered emotions.

  ‘But . . . but we were running away together. I was giving up everything for you—’

  ‘No, Rose.’ He took her hands calmly now, his steady gaze boring earnestly into her tear-streaked face. ‘Everything’s changed. We were equal then. I was a penniless wretch and you needed to escape from a brute of a husband. But now . . . You’re a rich widow. You have a respected position in local society. And I’m nothing more than an ex-convict with the scars on my back to prove it.’

  Rose slowly lowered her eyes, her white lips trembling. Dear God, he was hurting. Hurting more than she had ever realized. Not just the physical pain he had suffered, but a mental torture that had gone deep into his soul. But no one understood that better than she. And since when did Rose Maddiford give up so easily?

  She flicked up her head. ‘Do you think that matters to me? To someone who knows the shame of being abused by her husband for over two long years? I’m sorry I turned you away. ’Twas just that . . . Charles, he . . . It took some getting over. But I feel free of him now. With you here. What they did to you, in the prison, ’twas dreadful. You were innocent and yet they . . . But ’twill be with you for ever, and you must accept that. Just as I must accept that I was once married to a man who . . .’ She straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted haughtily. ‘I love you, Seth Warrington, and a few scars can never change that!’

  He had shied away, biting his lip, but now, as he turned back to her, his haunted eyes were glistening with moisture. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came from his throat and, reaching up on tiptoe, Rose brought her lips against his, smothering any words in a kiss so deft and fervent, it sent a shiver down his spine. It took but that one second of overwhelming love, of intense harmony of two broken spirits, for his taut nerves to snap, and a moment later, his hand reached into her hair, his entwining fingers loosening the pins so that it fell about her shoulders in a froth of ebony silk. Their bodies clung, reverently, hungrily, and he tucked her head beneath his chin as he absorbed the very closeness, the soft sweetness of her to his tortured breast. Her cheek was warm against his bare chest, and she turned her head, kissing the lightly haired skin, drawing her moist tongue across his flesh in a natural, fluid movement that had never even occurred to her with Charles. This was something she had never known before, a deep passion, a need borne of understanding, respect, devotion, that plunged down to her loins, and when Seth lifted her head to kiss her nose, her closed eyes, her slender throat, and his hand moved tentatively to her breast, she welcomed it with a deep, heaving sigh, lost in a world of desire, of something so powerful it would not be denied, everything falling away from her but her love for this sorely tried man.

  He laid her on the bed, slowly undressing her, inspecting every inch of her flesh as it was revealed. Stroking it, kissing it, loving it. She stretched her arms above her head, languidly, lasciviously, for him to peel off her shift, and she arched her back, purring like a cat as his mouth closed over her breast, gentle and caressing. Just for a split second did the vision of Charles – clawing at her, abusing her, with no care but for his own gratification – stab into her memory, and then the pain and the fear were g
one, cast aside for ever by this man who truly loved her. She knew he would not hurt her and he entered her gently, carefully, drawing her on to the sublime heights of ecstasy, driving out her demons, until she moaned with pleasure and he let out a joyful cry as their love exploded in unison and their flesh became as one.

  She gazed up at him, mesmerized, breathless, drowning in his glorious, smiling eyes that roamed tenderly over her face.

  ‘God, I love you,’ he muttered as he kissed her again, and then he rolled away on to his back, drawing her against him so that she lay, wrapped in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder and her naked body, unashamed and unafraid, pressed against his. A supreme and exquisite peace washed through her, and she wanted the moment to last for ever.

  But the room was cold and she shivered as her passion subsided. Seth lifted his head, sensitive to her needs, and reached out to gather the counterpane about them, reluctant to let her go. ‘There. I can’t have my beautiful darling catching cold now, can I?’

  She snuggled down beside him, her arm across his chest, breathing in the masculine scent of him, intoxicated by his closeness, the wonder of what had just passed between them silencing her until she felt him push his head back into the pillow. She raised her eyes and watched, fascinated, as his prominent Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed.

  ‘That’s what kept me going, you know. Thinking of you,’ he croaked, staring at the ceiling, and all at once, the hairs bristled down the back of Rose’s neck. ‘When I was . . . being flogged, I just concentrated on thinking of you. Creating a picture of you in my mind. It was . . . the only way I could take the pain.’

  His voice was thick. Ragged. Choked. And the enduring compassion that was Rose Maddiford swamped her in a tidal wave as she drew his head against her breast and he wept wretchedly like a child. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, feeling the scars, the ridges, beneath her fingers. Oh, yes. She had wept for her own lost soul, but she had found herself again because of this good, worthy man. And now she must be strong for him.

  ‘We can get through this, Seth,’ she whispered into his tousled hair. ‘We have each other now. Look at poor Adam, what he went through. He says ’twas having Rebecca that saved him. And Richard, too. He could never work the way he does if he didn’t have Beth to support him.’

  She paused, and waited as Seth drew back, pushing the back of his hand against his mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sniffed awkwardly. ‘You must think me—’

  ‘Don’t say another word, Seth Warrington. I love you. And to my mind, a man who can’t cry isn’t worth his salt. However.’ She sat up abruptly, tossing her head so that her hair swung enticingly down her back. ‘I am getting rather cold. I suggest we get our clothes back on,’ she said, picking up his discarded underdrawers and throwing them at him with an endearing grin, ‘and go over to Rosebank Hall. I’ll tell Richard to work out how much the repairs to the cottage will cost, and I’ll also pay Beth for her services in looking after you. But on one condition: that you’re living back here with me by Christmas.’

  Seth stared at her, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘Are you sure? I mean, that’ll set tongues wagging.’

  ‘And since when do you think I ever cared about that?’ She stopped to pull the shift on over her head, then added cheekily, ‘Of course, you’ll be sleeping in your own room. Although I won’t mind if you sneak along to mine once in a while.’

  The corners of Seth’s handsome mouth turned upwards with amusement and then he threw up his head with a roar of laughter, his eyes dancing rakishly as they settled on her face again. ‘I won’t mind if I do. You know, I do love you so much.’ And he took her in his arms once more.

  Rose felt like a child again, free and happy and rocked in a glorious, warm cradle of harmony and peace. There were regrets, of course, things she could never change, but with Seth beside her, she was awash with a deep sense of euphoria. She hadn’t been so content since before it had all happened, since her dear father’s accident which had set the horrific chain of events in motion. Now she could look forward to a future without fear.

  It was into January when the telegram arrived for Seth. Rose frowned as he read it, for she couldn’t think why he should receive such a thing. They were in the morning room having breakfast, and when he had finished reading it, he screwed it into a ball and tossed it into the fire where it uncurled slightly and burned in seconds. His face was set, his lips pursed as he stared into the flames for a moment before turning to look at her.

  ‘Seth?’ she asked in a panic, her heart squeezing, for surely nothing could spoil their happiness now? ‘Seth, what is it? They . . . they can’t revoke your pardon, can they?’

  ‘No, no. It’s nothing like that. But . . .’ He dropped his head before lifting his eyes to her again. ‘Rose, I need to go away.’

  Rose’s heart turned to a solid block in her chest. ‘Go away?’ she murmured. ‘For . . . for how long?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered evasively. ‘And . . . I’ll need money. A great deal of money.’

  She felt the agony penetrate somewhere beneath her ribs. Go away. With her money? Dear God. She knew the colour drained from her face and she began to tremble. Seth stepped forward and took her hands, but she turned her head away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rose, but . . . I can’t tell you why. Not yet. But please, I beg you, trust me in this. You’ve trusted me in everything before, and this . . . I just can’t tell you, for your own sake.’

  His words were spoken with such gravity, his voice so thick, that her gaze was drawn back to his earnest face, his eyes dark with anguish.

  ‘How much money?’ she hardly whispered. ‘And . . . you will come back, won’t you?’

  He looked horrified, his jaw dropping. ‘Yes, of course I will. Just trust me, Rose.’

  Her face was alive and intense with pain as she stared back at him and then swallowed hard. ‘When will you go?’ she muttered.

  ‘As soon as possible. Today.’

  ‘Oh . . .’

  She twisted her head away in an agony of shock, and brushed him off when he tried to take her in his arms.

  ‘Rose, please. You know I wouldn’t be doing this unless I absolutely had to.’

  ‘Will you take Tansy?’ she asked frostily now.

  ‘No. Thank you. I’ll be going by train.’

  ‘Train?’ That meant he was going far. To London? ‘’Tis nothing to do with my investments or . . . or your own family?’ she suddenly thought to ask.

  ‘No, thank the Lord. But I would appreciate you taking me into Tavistock. In the wagonette, perhaps, as it’s dry.’

  It was indeed a beautiful crisp and sunny winter’s morning, the sort Rose loved, but as she drove Merlin down into Tavistock, she hardly noticed it. Seth was going away, and he wouldn’t say where or why. He tried to talk to her, but she didn’t want to know. They went to the bank, the clerk frowning at the substantial amount Mrs Chadwick withdrew and then entrusted to the tall and handsome man by her side. And when Rose saw Seth off at the station, a black tide of suspicion and dismay ripped through her heart. Would she ever see him again?

  With a broad, confident smile, she told Florrie, and Molly when she went to visit her, that he had gone away on business and would be back in a few weeks. But inside she was torn to rags. Had she been wrong about Seth all along? He had been proved innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt, but was it possible that in all other ways he had deceived her? Alone in her room, she wrung her hands in frustration and banged her fists on her head. She had been betrayed too often before. She was free from Charles, but was Seth really just as bad?

  Dear God, she had given herself to Seth on several occasions. Perhaps even now she was carrying his child. He had been so caring, so gentle, awakening her body to some ecstasy she had never known before. But had it all been a trick? Surely not! But she had learnt to distrust, and she felt dragged down by a deep and gnawing depression.

  The days passed and she heard nothing.
Sometimes she was hard and bitter, a knot frozen solid in her chest. At others, she felt drained with grief and degradation. For what would she say to Florrie if Seth never returned? How could she admit to her shame and her weakness at being taken in by his handsome smile? And yet, at every minute, something inside her still believed in him.

  It was more than two weeks before she heard the furious clatter of hooves thundering up the drive and scattering gravel in every direction. Rose was coming down the stairs and by the time she got to the window, the horse had disappeared round the side of the house. Rose’s heart tripped and began to gallop as she ran out of the back door and along the terrace towards the stable yard. Could it possibly be . . .?

  ‘Rose! Rose!’

  Seth’s voice rang in her ears. Yes! He had kept his word. He was back! Joy sizzled through her body like a bolt of lightning as she scudded through the gate in the high wall. And there she stopped dead, every muscle in her body stilled. Locked in all-encompassing paralysis.

  The great sable horse in front of her lengthened its neck, gave a trumpeting whinny and then did what he always had when he couldn’t contain his excitement. He did a standing leap from all fours and then bucked wildly, almost unseating his rider.

  ‘Whoa!’ Seth called, bringing the animal under control, and then sat, grinning down at Rose while his magnificent mount shook his head and snorted, jangling the bit in his mouth and breathing great white wreaths into the cold air.

  Rose still stood senseless, staring, unable to believe. Slowly, as the horse whinnied again and came forward, nudging demandingly at her shoulder, the numbness unfurled and she shrieked to the sky.

  ‘Gospel! Oh, my God! Gospel!’

  Her arms were around his strong, hairy neck then, trying to draw him into her very being, and when Seth swung his leg over the saddle and jumped down beside her, she didn’t know which of them to hug first.