Lady Adalyn (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Let me make sure everything is tight, Giles,” said Evan. “There might be a hungry mouse or two, and I’d rather not encourage them.”

  “Join us when you’re ready, Evan,” said Adalyn. “And thank you for a delicious meal.”

  Since the fire had been burning all day, the parlour was warm and the soft chairs most welcome. Adalyn felt she’d done little enough today, and that the gentlemen probably relished the chance to relax in comfort even more than she did, but it didn’t diminish the oddly wonderful moments she was experiencing.

  Giles poured her a small brandy, and she sipped, wrinkling her nose at first, then widening her eyes and staring at him as the liquor warmed her from within.

  “Oh my goodness,” she held a hand to her heart. “That is quite…potent.”

  There were smiles and chuckles.

  “Indeed, my Lady. Many a man—and woman—have found themselves laid low by the subtlety of it.” Trick saluted her with his glass.

  She rose, attracted by a portrait to one side of the fireplace. “Giles, who is this? Do you know?”

  He nodded. “That is Lady Panthea. Our last mistress.”

  “She is very beautiful,” observed Adalyn, gazing at the reddish blonde curls and the sapphire blue silk of an evening gown that emphasized a fine bosom and creamy skin.

  “She still is,” Evan answered. “She moved away when she married. We missed her, of course, but we all wished her happiness. She found it.”

  “How lovely.” Adalyn smiled. “A local gentleman?”

  For a moment there was silence.

  “You might say so, yes,” Giles stepped into the breach. “However, they do keep in touch now and again.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone ever not doing so, once they’ve lived here with you all.” Adalyn shook her head. “’Tis quite an experience.”

  “A good one, I hope,” said Evan, finally joining them and crossing to the sideboard where he poured himself some brandy.

  “I cannot imagine better, Evan.” She patted her waist. “I know I shall have to start taking some long walks to make sure I don’t show the effects of your wonderful meals.”

  “A good ride will help too, my Lady,” added Trick. “We must see about getting you mounted.”

  She turned to him. “I would like that. Let me find my feet here first though. Since I’ve never ridden, it will be a tiring chore for you to teach me, I’m sure.”

  His smile was potent. “I would like nothing better than to teach you to ride, Lady Adalyn.”

  She couldn’t help feeling there was more to his words than she understood, but she nodded anyway. Daniel rose to refill his glass as she turned from the fireplace, and the resultant collision sent her into a spin.

  “Oh…” Her heel caught on her gown and she thudded heavily against the back of one of the tall chairs. Her gasp of pain brought the men to their feet.

  “What on earth…”

  “My Lady…”

  “Are you hurt?”

  The exclamations came fast as she staggered and felt the blood drain from her face. The wood of the chair had smacked against the sorest spot she still had. Of the many she had concealed, hoping the bruises would vanish soon, this was the worst.

  “Adalyn.” Giles’s voice was strong, commanding, and reduced the others to silence.

  “I’m…I’m all right. Really.”

  He strode to her without further ado. “No, you are not. Stand quite still.”

  He touched her gently, running his hands down her side. When he hit the worst bruise, she couldn’t help another muted gasp of pain.

  “Dear God,” he muttered.

  “What is it?” Daniel frowned as the men tried not to crowd her.

  “I’m about to find out.”

  Giles placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to the room, unlacing her gown rapidly.

  “Giles,” she gasped. “Don’t…”

  It was too late.

  A breathless quiet descended as he drew away the fabric from her skin and revealed enough of her back to show the collection of multi-hued marks that still remained.

  “Adalyn…”

  Jeremy’s voice whispered her name into the stillness. “Dear God, Adalyn. What did that monster do to you?”

  “Easy, Jeremy.” Giles soothed him. “I believe these are healing. But still sore.” He touched her gently. “You have no broken ribs, I hope?”

  She shook her head, staring at her slippers, very aware that five men were observing her back. She could feel the air on her naked skin right down to the end of her spine. “I don’t think so. He was always careful to keep the caning to places that couldn’t be seen.”

  “A cane?” Daniel spat the word. “I’m sorry he’s dead. I’d like to kill him all over again.”

  “As would I,” added Jeremy.

  “And me,” Evan chimed in.

  “God, a cane…” Trick sounded horrified.

  “We all feel the same way,” Giles once again calmed the upset.

  “He’s gone,” said Adalyn. “And I’m here. That’s all that matters.” Bravely she turned around, her hands at her breasts, holding her gown over them as best she could. “Knowing you are incensed helps me understand that I truly am safe here now. That I don’t have to fear such…such behavior ever again.”

  She lifted her chin, and stared back at the gentlemen, expecting to see them smile.

  But the looks on their faces were not happy ones, and she glanced down to see what was upsetting them.

  She’d forgotten about the other marks.

  Bruises, turning greenish yellow now, clearly betrayed the mark of a man’s hands. Each finger had left an imprint, and though she was covered, her gown had slipped low enough over her breasts to reveal them.

  “Oh Adalyn, Adalyn,” sighed Jeremy. “Why didn’t you say something?” He came to her, walked behind, and gently began to lace her bodice.

  She adjusted the gown as he did so. “They are not painful. Not anymore. And once they’re gone, I shall be able to put those memories behind me.”

  She lifted her chin. “I have learned from it. Things I probably should have known before. But I had hoped for a modicum of kindness from my new husband, even though my mother told me to accept whatever he wanted to do to me, and not make a fuss. She told me he was my husband and that husbands can do as they like with their wives. She and my father were gone before the wedding, so I had nobody to ask, nobody to turn to. My hopes for some sort of happy union vanished the first night.” She shivered, then nodded her thanks to Jeremy who still stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders in comfort.

  “I learned about cruelty, I suppose. And what a man will do when unchecked by a conscience or an iota of empathy for the woman he has married. Or, I think I should say bought, in my case.”

  “I ache for you,” whispered Jeremy. “It was so brutally wrong what he did.”

  “No man should ever raise a hand to a woman in anger, Lady Adalyn,” said Trick, his voice hard.

  “You will never need to fear a man again, my Lady,” choked Evan. “Never. We’d all give our lives to prevent it.”

  “Evan speaks for us all, my Lady,” Daniel touched her hand.

  “Now, how can we best help you heal?” Giles’s voice was gentle.

  She looked around at the faces she was coming to know better each passing day. A lump formed in her throat when she saw in their eyes that they meant every word.

  They would indeed die for her, if need be, and it was going to take her time to absorb such a huge gesture of commitment and affection.

  “Allow me to live happily here with you all,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble with the tears that remained unshed. “This is the first happiness I’ve ever known. Every little thing any of you does…it means more than you know.”

  She lifted a hand, a vague gesture that encompassed each man. “I am healing because of your kindness. I will heal completely because of you all. You have
already given me so much, and every day I get better and better.”

  A watery smile broke through her composure. “So just be who you are. That is the best medicine I could ever ask for.”

  “Always, my Lady,” said Giles. “For all of us. That’s a pledge.”

  The men hastily retrieved their brandies and raised them in a toast.

  “Lady Adalyn. Always.”

  She’d never been toasted before. The thought crossed her mind as she readied herself for bed later that night. After the dramatic revelations, her gentlemen had managed to resume their conversation and the rest of the evening passed quickly and quietly.

  When it came time for her to retire, she did note that they said goodnight to her with gentle touches of affection, Jeremy kissed her hand, Daniel squeezed both of them, Evan kissed the inside of her wrist, and Trick lifted her hand to his cheek.

  Giles walked her to the door. “I believe we’d all like to think you will sleep better tonight for having told us the worst, Lady Adalyn.”

  She nodded. “It does feel better to have gotten such things off my chest.” She chuckled. “Although my gown nearly came with it.”

  He laughed. “You have retained your humour. A great gift. Make sure you keep it handy.” He raised her hand and once more she felt lips press warmly against her fingers. “Sleep well, my dear.”

  “Thank you Giles. I will.”

  As she turned back the covers, she remembered the kindness in his eyes. Slipping between the cool linens and shivering just a little, she sighed, realising that yes, she probably would sleep better now that they knew of her situation. And how things had been in her marriage.

  But even though such thoughts were comforting, it was a while before she could finally feel herself drifting and relaxing.

  When the bed moved beside her, she froze on a muted cry.

  ~~~~~

  “Hush, Adalyn. Hush.” She recognised the voice.

  “It’s me. Jeremy.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she saw him, standing in the shadows, and leaning on the bed as he shrugged out of his robe.

  “What…is everything all right?”

  “Yes and no,” he said, lifting the quilts and slipping in beside her. “I could not sleep for thinking about you and what that madman did to you.” He settled himself on the pillow and turned to look at her. “I have…well, I have an incident in my past that I cannot forget. And it left me with a violent distaste for any man who would hurt a woman. Physically.”

  “But…Jeremy…should you be here?” She wasn’t afraid or concerned, more curious than anything else. Even though she was now sharing her bed with him.

  “If you wish me to leave, Adalyn, just say the word. But I felt that it would be the right thing. For tonight.” He turned fully on his side and reached for her. “I need to hold you. Just hold you. And reassure myself that you’re safe.”

  Adalyn found he was helping her turn on her side as well, away from him, so that his front was tucked up against her back. His thighs moved and touched hers, almost as if she was sitting on them, but lying down.

  “It’s known as spooning.” He slipped an arm around her. “We fit together like two spoons in a kitchen drawer.”

  “I haven’t heard of it,” she whispered.

  “Started in northern Europe, I believe. Warmth up there is important.”

  And it was warm. She found the heat of his body against her back was soothing, comforting and blissful. His chest seared her spine and his thighs and shins toasted the rest of her.

  “Are you comfortable like this?” His voice was gentle and soft as he ran a hand over the sleeve of her nightgown to her shoulder and back down again. She wanted to purr.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “So good, Jeremy.”

  “I’m glad.” His breath tickled her ear.

  “I shouldn’t like this as much as I do.” She snuggled backward, fitting her bottom into his groin. And becoming aware of the very male hardness pressing against her. She stilled.

  “I like it very much too, as you can tell.” He shifted, nesting himself against the softness between her legs. “But I’m here to hold you safe in my arms, and to see that you sleep. That’s all.”

  Drowsy now, Adalyn nodded. “Thank you, Jeremy…thank you…”

  She spared a moment to wonder what had happened to him that would send him here, to her, and to her bed. Sleep claimed her before she could ask.

  And when she awoke in the morning, he was gone.

  Dear Diary,

  The sun has barely risen, and I find myself here at my desk already, eager to write down some of the astounding events of last evening.

  I will begin with dinner, another of Evan’s masterpieces with my favourite mint sauce to complement a lovely leg of lamb. I indulged my appetite, but managed to not overeat, although I confess it was no easy task.

  It was delightful to be permitted my first taste of brandy afterward, when we adjourned to the parlour. I could not possibly be missish enough to demand tea, when my companions were sipping the wondrous liquor. Giles, as always, conceded to my request, and brought me a lovely crystal glass with a small serving.

  Honesty compels me to confess that it is burning, strong, and made my eyes water after the very first sip. But then…oh the delight of the spreading warmth throughout one’s body. I finished my allotted dram and now can claim to understand the appeal of such a beverage. Giles has promised to let me taste what he refers to as a ‘drop of Highland magic’, in other words Scotch whisky. I’m hoping I might find that palatable as well.

  But now I must speak of things that occurred during our evening. Things that are both shocking, embarrassing, and yet liberating, all at the same time.

  Although I have written about the healing taking place on my body, I suppose I was too forward in thinking that the bruises would vanish without my ever having to acknowledge that they existed. Last night proved otherwise.

  Since this is the first time I have maintained a diary, I must include mention of the night I received some of these marks—the night of my wedding to Sir Ridley Wilkerson.

  It was an unpleasant introduction into the details of the marriage bed. And that is the best I can say about it.

  As an untried woman, I had hoped for some gentleness, some consideration of my innocent state. But his Lordship thought otherwise and had me remove my clothing in front of him while he watched. As if I were some kind of slave, he would poke, pinch, stroke and slap those portions of my body he found to be of interest.

  I cannot remember if he ever looked me in the eyes, but I steeled myself to accept his unwelcome touches..

  I had to turn around, suffer the indignity of him prodding my behind, stretching the cheeks apart to the point of pain. When I gasped, he laughed. It was, unfortunately, the sound he had awaited.

  I learned in the next hours that my new husband only became aroused when he inflicted pain. I was forced to bend over the bed while he lashed my nakedness with his riding crop. I sobbed, of course, because it hurt, but I managed to muffle my sounds in the linens.

  After he had administered sufficient punishment, he made me turn over, spread my legs and accept his intrusion. It was unimaginably painful and this time I cried out when he forced that male part of himself into me. The sound made him smile and thrust himself quite violently, as his hands grabbed and squeezed my breasts until I wanted to scream in agony.

  Those bruises, still visible after all these weeks, play a pivotal role in what happened this evening.

  I shall not go on talking about that man’s treatment of me. My marriage was a terrible mistake and my husband a brute. I know this now, and may God forgive me for being thankful the man is dead. He will never hurt me again, physically, and I refuse to allow these memories linger unspoken, lest they continue to damage me in other ways.

  I had hoped, in my naiveté, to keep such things to myself and let time eventually heal both body and spirit. But I underestimated the damage that had been done t
o my person.

  The night before his death, my husband decided I should be lashed beneath my breasts. He tied my hands to the bedposts and proceeded to do just that, with his riding crop. When I refused to cry out, being so angry that I could hold my tongue for a little while, he put down the crop and picked up his cane. The atrocities he committed around my ribs defy description. In truth, I believed my bones to be broken, it was so painful.

  Fortunately, either because he wasn’t strong enough, or I was in better health than he realised, I only bruised. Those particular bruises proved to be my undoing last night.

  An accidental misstep, a hard-backed chair, and I hit the remaining tender spot, which made me cry out. And indeed took my breath from me for a few moments as the flash of exquisite pain emptied my lungs. I had managed, up to that moment, to be careful and not expose the sore areas to any kind of abuse. I am healing; most of the bruises are faded down to mere shadows.

  But when in a roomful of attentive gentlemen, with all the candles lit, any kind of physical display indicating pain is noticed immediately.

  Thus it was last evening and before I could get my breath back, Giles was behind me, undoing my gown and revealing my sad marital legacy.

  The outrage from all of them was palpable. And I should not have been surprised, but I was. The horror they felt on my behalf was comforting, and may—I believe—turn out to be what I needed to completely heal and mark an end to this painful period of my life.

  Showing off my back was embarrassing, but I managed to keep my bosom covered with the bodice of my gown, held in place by my hands.

  I had no idea the fabric was low enough to reveal those other marks…the ones from Wilkerson’s bony and vicious fingers.

  It was as if a dam had broken. They came to me, touched me as if I was a fragile piece of Italian glass. Their affection and distress both warmed and shattered me, and I had a difficult time hiding the tears their attentions brought so close to the surface.

  As we parted for the night, each embraced me in their own way; there were kisses, on the hands, on my fingers, a touch of my face and a hand raised to caress a cheek prickly with beard stubble.