The Hummingbird Heart

by Howard, A. G.

  Julian felt like nothing less than a bully. “I - I had no idea.”

  Willow’s finger fumbled along her bared neck for a tendril to twist. She finally settled for clenching her fingers through the tuft of hair at her nape. “Yes. You’ve no idea … no idea how terrifying it is for a child to be held captive in such a way … to feel helpless to escape. To be powerless against an adult.”

  Julian narrowed his gaze. They were no longer speaking of Newton at all. “But you do, don’t you? You do know what it’s like—firsthand.”

  Regarding her bare feet, Willow made her way to the bed and perched on the edge with her knees drawn to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her legs until her hunched frame appeared as frail as a paper sculpture. As if she might blow away with the slightest breeze. As if she wished to.

  Julian came to sit beside her, easing onto the cushions, in hopes to anchor her. “Forgive me. I would never wish to frighten any child. Even unintentionally. I’ll work to be more patient. Children … well, they’re a whole new animal to me. But I’ll honor Newton’s eccentricities. I’ll give him all the time he needs, from this point on.” She didn’t look at him. Instead, her signature pout curved her bottom lip, and Julian ached to find the key that would loosen the tumblers of her locked-up secrets. “Please, Willow. Trust in me. Let me help you carry this burden. I’ve waited over a decade to understand.”

  Soft light from outside reflected off the bedclothes and draped her flawless complexion in echoes of blue. “I-I’ve already told you. I can’t remember any—”

  “A lie. If we’re to broach a new future together, we must break down the walls of your past. Together.” His arm circled her waist.

  After an excruciating pause while she fondled the watch at her lapel, she leaned into his shoulder—warm, soft, and fragrant. “I’m not lying.” Her voice quavered. “I can’t remember. Not that I haven’t the ability, or the memory … just that I am too much a coward. To remember it … to speak of it … will make it real. And I cannot relive the reality.”

  The sun slid completely beneath a cloud and the room darkened around them, as if the sinister confession had prompted a cosmic reaction. An acidic dread ate into Julian’s gut. Willow had told him once that she’d had her tattoo since she was five. He’d always wondered how anyone could justify burning a brand on a child’s tender flesh. However beautiful the hummingbird, he couldn’t even fathom the pain she must have endured upon its etching.

  “Did your parents hurt you?”

  Her face buried deeper into his shoulder. “No. No. They tried so hard to stop those men. We traveled with an obscure circus from Italy all the way to London to escape them. Mama and Papa tried so hard—” He didn’t have to see her face to know that her eyes were pinched shut; that her expression was more turbulent than the sky outside. “I watched them die trying.”

  Julian took off his spectacles and tossed them toward the pillows at the head of the bed so he could nuzzle the top of Willow’s head. Through wayward strands of hair, he gawked at the shadows playing on the wall. She’d watched them die? His insides felt gutted, scraped raw of any words. But his over-analyzing mind wanted answers: What men? Why did they want her? Or was it her parents they were after and she was simply in the line of fire?

  When the tears came, Julian pulled her full onto his lap so her head snuggled under his chin. He situated her legs to hang over his thigh. Then, rocking, he held her warm, soft body tight to quell the questions in his mind. She needed a rock, not an inquisitor.

  She wept quietly, hardly moving—the only proof of her grief the hot wetness glazing his neck. While he cradled her, rage and helplessness warred within him. Men. She’d said men. Despite his best efforts, one question begged asking.

  His nose nudged within the silken waves at her crown. “Did the men … violate you?” Saying it aloud gored his insides—a deep-gutted purge of black rot from his soul. If they had, he would find them. No matter how long it took. No matter whom they were. He would find each individual involved and watch them die the vilest deaths imaginable.

  Between sniffles, Willow wiped her face with her cuff and tried to gather her composure. “No. Not in the way you think.”

  “Thank God.” Julian hugged her. “Can you tell me, then?”

  Nodding, she took a deep, shuddering breath. “The strangers came one afternoon … when Mama and I were practicing our trapeze act.” Her hands clutched his lapels. “Papa was there, too. Had I not gone back for Tildey, had I not hesitated, they would never have been murd—” A sob caught in her throat, squeezing off the final word.

  Julian couldn’t stand the conviction in her voice, as if she truly believed she’d caused the tragedy. “Who was Tildey?”

  “My doll. My parents died because I went back for my doll instead of running.”

  “You were a child. You were thinking like a child. That’s a natural reaction.”

  “Not for me. I knew what to do. They’d rehearsed that moment over and again. As if they’d expected it…”

  Julian kissed her head, trying to calm her. This answered one of his questions. These men had been after Willow from the beginning. “Do you know why they wanted you?”

  She shook her head and sniffed. “And I don’t remember their faces at all. They put a sack over my head, but I could feel the roll of the carriage when they took me away. I could hear the creaking of the suspension and the horses nickering. It was so dark.” Her fingers tightened, catching the fine hairs on Julian’s chest, pinching the already tender flesh where he’d been burned. He embraced the sting. It grounded him, kept him from exploding into a thousand pieces.

  “I held Tildey so tight. She was all I had left. And I started chanting over and again: ‘Mama is a hummingbird, Mama is a hummingbird’… to forget her fall … for if she was a bird … she could fly, you see.” Willow’s voice became small and wispy like a child’s and the words started to gush out faster, as if she were a well overflowing. “I chanted it for the entire trip—what felt like hours. The men tried to shush me, but they never hit me or touched me, as if they’d received instructions not to. When the carriage stopped, they took me somewhere inside, still bagged and blindfolded. I smelled a fire and antiseptic—” Her voice broke again. She cleared her throat to gain control. “They chose a hummingbird to mark me as punishment for my nervous rantings. All these years, I’ve never looked at it. Not once.” Her jaw moved against Julian’s neck, and he sensed she must be sucking on her lower lip. “The men left me at the orphanage after that.” She tensed in his arms. “Do you think it’s a sin to hate someone, Julian? To want to kill them with all your heart and soul?”

  Fighting his own battle with hatred at the moment, Julian couldn’t answer.

  Taking a deep breath, Willow shivered. “I’ve tried to forget them, to forget it all. But I could never forget the mark was there. Even after it no longer hurt. The other children told me what it was, teased me about it. And sometimes … sometimes even now it feels as if it’s alive, swishing its wings across my back to mock me. A taunting song only I can hear.”

  A bout of nausea overtook Julian. No wonder she’d left the orphanage. She’d wanted to escape anything tied to her parents’ death. But she could never escape her own flesh.

  He held her tighter, as if he could be a shield to the anguish battering her. He felt so impotent. He should’ve been prepared for such a possibility, familiar with his father’s tortured youth. Yet to hear this repulsive tale from Willow, to envision her as an inquisitive and vibrant little girl in braids, witnessing the death of two parents that loved her … it left Julian’s innards rocking. A turbulence more unsettling than the looming question mark that had once shaded her past.

  “I’m so sorry.” A pale benefaction of sympathy that could never vindicate her shattered innocence and childhood. Her weight on his lap shifted as he stroked her skin, dried the tears from the cheek faced away from him. Then his fingers nestled into the hair at her nape and his lips hovered at her
ear. “No one will ever leave you powerless again. I’ll see to that.”

  “I know you will. It is why I never left the manor.”

  He kissed her temple, overwhelmed by her faith in him. “I’m glad you left the orphanage, though. I’m glad you found us.”

  She leaned back to meet his gaze—eyes dewy and soft, nose the color of a ripened berry. He couldn’t help himself … he kissed the tip of it.

  The action brought an unexpected reaction; her lips sought his mouth, searing him with salt and sweetness. He ran his hands through her hair and twined their tongues with a nobler intent than the night before. This was not about satisfying his urges. This was an exchange of comfort and support, so much more intimate for the starkness of their frayed emotions.

  “Willomena,” he spoke against her cheek, fingertips running the length of her spine. “I’m here now. Let me help you banish the memory.”

  Fourteen

  A soft patter of rain hit the windows—a rhythmic lull. The room darkened to a purple haze and Willow drew back slightly to watch the color of Julian’s eyes change with the shadows. The silver surrendered to a glimmering gray, as hypnotic as the innermost cinders of a dying fire.

  This is why she loved him. Gentle, steadfast, and protective Julian. Even as a youth, he’d been her guardian. He not only helped her learn to read English, he’d taught her how to swim as he feared she might fall into one of the many ponds at the manor and drown; he’d shown her how to ride a horse—how to tame a colt with a slice of apple and a gentle voice so she need never fear the wildness in its gaze. And now, in this moment, when her ravaged past lay raw and writhing at his feet, he stepped over it and held out his hand to be the bridge she’d never had, so she might leave it all behind.

  She remembered when she had first started wanted to tell him. On her twelfth birthday, when they sat in a tree together, reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She’d watched Julian’s mouth as he recited Alice’s shock upon eating some cakes that caused her to shrink: “‘But it's no use now,’ thought poor Alice, ‘to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make ONE respectable person!’”

  Willow had wished to admit that very day that she was two people herself. The impulsive young girl he knew, and the damaged child that had shrunk away after watching her parents die. But she could never bring herself to say it aloud.

  Until now.

  “Tell me,” he murmured, still cradling her in his lap. “Tell me what I can do.”

  Hearing a rattle of paper in the parlor where Newton was still preoccupied, Willow took Julian’s hand. “Mend my heart.” She pressed his palm between her breasts. “It hurts inside my heart.” Her eyes blurred with tears again.

  He held her gaze as she moved his fingers to massage her sternum over her shirt. Ripples of linen squeezed her breasts. His focus shifted, taking note of her body’s outline beneath the fabric. Slowly, he slid his hand down, raking his thumb beneath the heavy swell of one breast.

  Riding the sensation, Willow exhaled a trembling breath as his arms eased around her hips, securing her tighter on his lap. He bent to skim his mouth along her collar bone, his breath hot and rapid. She buried her face in the silky hair at his nape, smelling the faint scent of lavender from his bath the night before. As she twined her fingers through his braid, he moved his lips lower, across her sternum—soft, gentle kisses. The crisp linen shirt caught on his whiskers with tiny popping sounds.

  She wanted to feel that bur against every inch of her bare skin; but she couldn’t forget they had company in the other room. “Newton …”

  Julian’s lips glided upward, stopping at her neck. “We could lock the bedchamber door,” he whispered against her throat as he followed her racing pulse to find her mouth once more.

  She met the lingering press of his soft lips—matched it with her own intensity before breaking away. “We shouldn’t leave him unattended…”

  “You’re the one who needs attending.” Julian’s hand drifted down to sculpt her breast—the faintest palpitation, as if he hesitated to cross those boundaries. The careful ministrations unfurled a dark, hot yearning … a demand for more. She whimpered.

  Julian looked into her eyes, his own dark with passion.

  The rattle of silver sounded in the parlor, followed by a drawer opening. Newton was exploring. Soon enough, he’d find his way to them.

  Julian sighed and pressed his forehead to Willow’s chin, his thumb stopping over her covered nipple in mid stroke, leaving her aching for more. A soft rumble shook his voice box. “You’re right. I promised to be a responsible guardian.”

  Trying to ground her senses, Willow measured his words for bitterness but found none. Julian understood her connection to Newton in a way few others could. The boy was alone in the world, just as she had been at his age, and needed someone to watch over him as the Thorntons had her.

  “We should get the day started then.” Julian extricated himself from Willow’s embrace, helped her off his lap onto the mattress, then kissed her wrist as he began to stand.

  She caught his hand and tugged him to sit again. “What are your plans?”

  He paused, palms rested on his knees. “First, I’m to apologize to your mouse for earlier. Then I’m going to take him with me to the barber while I get a shave. He needs a haircut. And he’s returning all of the farthings the barber gave him for that stolen hair. The child must learn some morals.” His gaze shot around the room. “Say, where did I put my spectacles?”

  “You dropped them by the pillows.”

  Julian crawled across the bed, sinking into the cushioned mass of covers on his way across to retrieve the glasses. “I suppose after that, I should take Newton to the tailor. Get him a suit made. He should look the part of a viscount’s son, after all.”

  Rolling to her side, Willow smiled. “So the captain believed we’re your brothers? That we stowed away without your knowledge?”

  “He did … Wilson.” Julian winked, pausing mid-crawl to dig for his spectacles. “And he’s not even making me pay for your occupancy, so long as I keep you both out of trouble.” He grinned. “Come to think, it might have been easier just to dole out the coinage.”

  “Oh, ha.” Willow twined her body into a tight ball and flipped over to position herself between Julian’s hands and knees before stretching out beneath him on her back.

  “Now there’s a fine trick.” Julian smirked. Behind the levity of expression lurked a baseborn hunger that sent a tremor of excitement through Willow’s body, just to see how much he wanted her.

  Her fingertip trailed his mouth, captivated by the fullness. “We’re keeping Newton, then?”

  Julian settled his body atop hers, supporting his weight in his arms. Sensual heat swirled through Willow’s abdomen as his hardened planes and angles effected a sweet invasion into her curves and hollows.

  “The lad’s not an orphaned squirrel, Willow.” His voice lowered to a husky rasp, as if he, too, was rocked by the mock joining of their bodies. “I’ll try to help him feel at home with us for now. But it’s imperative we find his father. I might know who he is. He’s on this ship. And he needs to be apprised that his child is alive after all.”

  “Who?” Willow asked, already intuiting the answer.

  “Mr. Sala. They have the same eyes. No mistaking it. I believe the lad is following him.”

  Willow’s muscles stiffened. She and Julian had discussed Mr. Sala last night, and came to the realization that he was the Italian nobleman she and Newton had run into in the men’s corridor the day before. Willow had to agree it was a possibility he was Newton’s father, after watching how the child reacted to the man—how quickly he had struggled to get on his feet and escape. “If that is true, there must be a reason Newton hasn’t revealed himself. Nadia said their father would corrupt him. And Mr. Sala might very well be behind the abduction of the shoes from your room. That unsettles me.”

  “Yet you admitted you’re not sure you believe any
thing Nadia says.” Julian tapped one of the pins in her hair, causing part of her bangs to slide loose. He played with the glistening strand. “And we could be wrong about Mr. Sala’s involvement with the shoes. Perhaps Nadia turned Newton against their father to appease some personal grudge she harbors.”

  “Please. Don’t act on this until we have more information. Newton’s safety is our priority, above all else.”

  Julian’s jaw clenched. “I don’t feel right about keeping this quiet. The man seemed very sad when he spoke of having no children. I believe he misses his son greatly.”

  Pulling her hair from Julian’s fingers, Willow scowled. “Can you just this once take the lower road? Lie to Mr. Sala until I can speak to Nadia again. I must question her further.”

  “That’s impossible, seeing as we don’t have the shoes. Unless Newton can tell you where she is.”

  “Only if Nadia knows where she’s been taken. So far, he has told me she only sees darkness around her. She must still be in the box. She’s removed from the physical world when she is in that box unless Newton is in close proximity. So unless someone takes the shoes out and Nadia gets a look around, she can’t tell Newton where she is. She can only make him more fearful through her own worry and helplessness.”

  Julian sighed. “Damnit, Willow. This is against my better judgment.”

  “Why must you always surmise that your judgment is better?” In an effort to get out from under him, Willow tried to spin her body around, popping Julian in the cheek with her elbow.

  He cursed.

  “Oh, il mio piccolo cavolo. I’m sorry.” Wincing, she reached for the red spot that was sure to make a bruise.

  Julian started to pull away, but winced and let her touch him instead. “First you trop me in the noddle with a headpiece. Then you slap me with food. Now this.” He caught her hand and molded it to his cheek. “You’re not a lady to be loved with kid gloves, are you? Boxing gloves are more apropos.”