The Silent Love

by Diane Davis White

  When David drew away, his mother lifted a hand to be helped from the bed, but instead of moving to stand, she merely sat close on the bedside, for Clayton Larkspur, 15th Marquis of Darlington, held her hand in a tight grip, and she knew she must stay close by.

  Carlton came in, carrying a sleepy child, and placed him on the pillow next to his grandfather. The Marquis turned his head to the boy.

  "Papa, are you then going to be with the angels? Can I come?" The child, whose love for adventure shone in his bright amber eyes, snuggled close to the old man, patting his chest with a small hand.

  "I think not this time, Clay. You are not ready yet for such a journey and will not be for many years." He touched the boy's face with a bony hand, and then taking a deep breath, he spoke with certainty. "I would that you know something before I go."

  David stepped forward to protest and the old man's eyes cut to him, and warned him off with a shake of his head, so David fell back, reluctant to upset his father and bring on more quickly what was inevitable.

  "There is a man here who would be your father... but I adopted you, for he had gone away. Now you may call him Papa, and remember me only as I truly am... your grandfather."

  "What is ad... adropted?" The boy was looking from the Marquis to David and back again.

  "It means when a child loses his father, another man comes to help the child... be a father to him until his own father can come back." The Marquis held David's eyes the whole time he spoke, willing his son to understand what he was trying to do, and David, indeed, understood.

  Clay sat up on the bed; still instinctively patting the Marquis on his chest, for the child was quick of wit and knew more than most could believe of him.

  "Are you my Papa, then?" He looked at David with hopeful eyes, for he was a child, after all, and liked the tall man from the woods very much and knew he was safe with him.

  David reached across the bed and lifted the boy, whispering, "Aye, that I am lad, that I am." He handed the child back to Carlton, who took him easily, saying, "Go to your bed Clay and we will talk in the morning." Clay pulled back from Carlton's arms, leaning toward the bed.

  "A kiss Papa... a kiss goodnight." Carlton leaned the boy down and he brushed his lips over the old Marquis' forehead, and then went quietly, resting his small head on Carlton's shoulder, carried by yet another cousin... a De Lacey cousin. His eyes were drifting shut before Carlton had quit the room.

  David stepped back and drew Hannah forward, his arm steadying her about the waist. She did not protest the familiarity, but leaned against his strength, glad for it. She looked down at the Marquis and tried to smile, but her amber eyes, swollen with tears, held her grief for him to see.

  And her forgiveness as well.

  She slipped from David's grasp, knelt by the bed and took one of his cold hands in her own. "Milord... I would have you know how grateful I am for the gifts you have bestowed. Were it not for you I would not have my son... nor yours, to fill my life and I... " she choked, "... cannot speak further... "

  David, hearing her words, light and joy filled him, despite his pain and the Marquis looked at his son, and saw there the beauty of his love for Hannah and smiled, looking straight into the other mans eyes. "You are blessed to have such a woman, David... treat her gently. And keep your mother close by, for she will have need of you... and raise the boy to be like yourself... only tell him the best parts about me... "

  He raised his head from the pillow and clutching Mary's hand, tugged it close to his lips, breathing his last upon her knuckles before slumping back, his eyes staring sightlessly.

  David reached out an unsteady hand and touched the lids of his father's eyes, drawing them over the silver orbs.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  The day was overcast as befitting the mood of the mourners who stood about the fresh grave. A wind had whipped up from the north, bringing the cold sting of snow-topped mountains, and added to the chill of the day.

  Mary Strongbow stood apart from the others, a black rose clutched in her hands, waiting for the vicar to compete his incantation, that she might lay it upon the casket. Her eyes were dry, her chin lifted proudly and she gazed off into the distance, remembering and glad for her life, after all.

  She had known great sorrow and great love, and there had been nothing ordinary or mundane there.

  She looked at the sky and saw a cloud, unlike the others, for it was so transparent as to be nearly invisible, but there all the same. It hovered a moment, above her head, and a warmth stole through her, as though she had been caressed.

  The cloud of mist went higher then, and drifted off toward the heavens... and Mary knew it was her Clayton, his spirit at peace as he went to meet his maker. And though she had no death wish, she anticipated joining him there one day.

  David stood close by her, but, sensing her need to be apart, he did not touch her or move in his mother's direction. He looked down at Hannah, whose warmth he could feel through the glove that grasped her arm. She swayed toward him, and he drew her against his side, where she rested her slight weight with a smile of gratitude.

  A quiet hush fell over the small group, and only the wind whistling through the treetops could be heard, for the vicar had finished at last.

  Reaching down, David lifted a clod of earth and handed it to her, and Hannah tossed it upon the casket. Mary stepped forward and tossed the black rose on top of the small mound of dirt, her eyes brimming at last.

  Clay, standing straight and quiet next to David, picked up a small clod of earth—not understanding the ritual—and tossed it in as well, bringing a smile to Mary's lips and she knelt and hugged her grandson, whispering. "He will like that most well, lad. For he was... is... so very proud of you."

  Looking up to the sky, she pointed and said, "See there, little man, that wisp of cloud, alone in the sky? That then, is your grandfather's spirit... going to God."

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  The small group repaired to the manor and sat about, talking little and sipping the fine napoleon brandy that the Marquis would have loved so well. David remarked to Darwin that the old fellow would probably turn in his grave at the inroads they were making into his best stock.

  Darwin, not one to speak more than necessary, merely grinned at his new master and handed him a note from the solicitor.

  Though they had expected Mr. Maguire three days before, Gates had returned without him, as the solicitor had been abed with the flu and unable to travel. He had sent along his assurances that he would arrive as soon as may be, and they had to be content with that.

  Clay was on his best behavior and sat next to his weeping mother with his stoically quiet Aunt Mary on his other side. He ate the iced cakes and drank the strong sweet tea and fell asleep to the drone of adult voices, quiet and somber.

  Indeed it was enough to put anyone to sleep, but a five-year-old boy was certain to succumb to such sobriety. His napping was a relief to both women who had grown tired of trying to answer the boys' questions and had finally instructed him to ask his father later.

  "A storm is coming on strong, Carlton. Would that you could take me to the village, for my tired old bones are ready for a nap." Gillian Strongbow, resplendent in his best Sunday clothes, sat stiffly on a hard backed chair, uncomfortable in the manor house—though his Larkspur blood gave him leave to be here.

  "Aye, sir, and glad I am to take you. I would stay on awhile, then, and nap on your couch, for it will be coming down hard 'afore we arrive."

  Carlton eyes cut to the window and studied the bank of black clouds coming fast from the north, and saw the sweep of rain that lay beneath them. "Let us hurry along then, old grandfather."

  "Ha! I am not that old that you should be calling me so, you insolent pup." Carlton merely grinned at the old fellow and aided him to his feet, Gillian grumbling all the while about being fit enough to get up by himself, but not resisting the help. Carlton was nearly fifty and c
lose upon his heels to Gillian's mind.

  "I shall come along as well." Mary hugged the sleeping child and lifted him gently from her lap, bussing his soft cheek as she laid him against his mother. "I am not done in, but would bake a pie or two."

  She smiled at Hannah and explained, "I used to bake always for Clayton in weather like this. He liked the coziness of it... the smells of baking, the warm oven, and the rain upon the roof of the cottage."

  She gave a snort of laughter. "He would nigh stuff himself on cherry pie then lay about whining that his belly hurt him. Foolish man." She smiled at Hannah and touched the girl's cheek and made as though to rise.

  David raised his eyes from the note in his hand, halting his mother's progress, a small smile for her story hovering on his lips. "Will you come tomorrow then? Mr. Maguire shall arrive by noon and we will have the reading of the will."

  "And why do you need me for that? I have no claim on the estate and would not, if it were granted me." She looked a frown at her son, a spark of pride gleaming in her eyes. "You may have us for supper, for I vow I shall not want to cook again after I bake today."

  "As you wish mother, but Mr. Maguire has specifically asked for you to be here. Do as you wish, of course, but it would be better, perhaps if you consented."

  "Well then, I shall think upon it and let you know." She raised a hand to Darwin, who aided her from her chair and David rose quickly to walk out with her. She leaned down to kiss Hannah's cheek and whispered. "This then, shall be your night... do not shirk your wifely duty, child. It would make the Marquis very angry."

  She winked at the girl and went slowly out the door on David's arm.

  * * * * *

  .

  It was long after the departure of the last of their guests that Hannah and David were alone in the study. They were silent and tense, for each one so aware of the other, was reluctant and shy, as they had been since discovering the truth of their relationship.

  David, his manly need stirring against his will, shifted uncomfortably in the chair and gave her a sidelong glance.

  Sensing his look, she turned her head slowly and looked back at him, her eyes unreadable in the shadowed light of the fireplace.

  Outside, the rain battered on the windows, driven by a strong howling wind. It was cozy here by the fire and warm, as well.

  Hannah lifted a hand to her throat, touching the pulse that beat there in a rapid tattoo. David's eyes followed the progress of that fluttering hand then moved upward to her lips, his gaze growing warmer, the firelight dancing there and giving him a most roguish appeal.

  The silence stretched between them still, and their eyes were locked in a silent communication that only a man and woman can know at such a time. The air fairly crackled with the heat of David's desire and a warm, tingling sensation raced along her skin, moving down her body to her womb, where it throbbed.

  The feeling startled her and she tore her gaze away from him, and he instinctively knew her fear.

  "Hannah..." his voice was deep and mellow, and hesitant as well. "If you should wish to retire alone, I will not pursue the matter this night, but— "

  He swallowed a lump in his throat then continued, "I would that we talked this out sooner rather than later. We cannot ignore what is between us, and you are, in truth, my wife."

  She lifted her eyes to his once more and the answering gleam of desire shot through him like a hot poker, sizzling along his nerves, worsening his already embarrassing condition. "I think the time for talking is past, David. We know already what each of us would say."

  "And?" He lifted his dark, heavy eyebrows in a question, wanting to be certain of her meaning... willing her to say what he needed to hear.

  "And, Milord, I do think it is time to retire to our bed." Made bold by the look in his eyes and her own pressing need, Hannah's eyes burned darkly. "For I am tired of waiting for you... "

  "Go then, Milady, and I shall follow you shortly." His voice was rich and deep—nearly a primal growl in this throat—and her nerves tingled in expectancy at the sound.

  She quit the room, not looking back. She knew he would follow, knew it well, for his warm gaze stroked her as he tracked her movement with his eyes.

  Hannah allowed Elspeth to assist her from her gown, brush her hair out and warm the bed, dismissing her with an admonishment. "No need to wake me on the morrow, and, Elspeth, do knock before you enter the chamber from now on. I shall not be alone."

  Elspeth curtsied and left the room, her eyes sparkling with delight. At last the mistress would come into her own. The maid's romantic heart beat a rhythm of gladness as she went to her own bed, stopping by the nursery to check on her charge along the way.

  The whole servant's quarters were abuzz with the news, it would seem, and Elspeth was glad to add her share to the gossip abounding there.

  * * * * *

  .

  The room was dark, and the fire was tamped down to glowing coals. The drape was drawn tightly across the window, holding back the night. David stepped through the door and stopped, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, then came forward to the bed, and unlike those other times, he could see her shadowy figure as she lay as far from him as she could get.

  He smiled to himself as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. Her heard her small gasp with some pleasure as he she gazed upon his body.

  Hannah closed her eyes and heard the thump of his boots as they hit the floor, her body jerking involuntarily, for it had been a long time since she had heard that sound, and it startled her, despite her eagerness for him.

  The bed dipped under his weight as he slid beneath the coverlet and she pulled herself into a small, tight ball, inching closer to the edge of the bed, her heart tripping.

  David lay a moment on his back, waiting for her, and, when she did not move, he sighed and rolled to face her. He reached out a hand and touched the familiar silk of her hair against the pillow. His hand moved slowly downward and tugged at her shoulder, pulling her upon her back.

  Her body uncurled, and she lay prone, waiting in her turn. He breathed in gently and let it out on a sigh as his hand moved over her soft flesh, covered only by the thin linen of her night rail. She trembled beneath his touch, and the blood quickened in his veins.

  "Hannah... sweet lovely Hannah." He breathed her name, his hand stroking, stroking.

  "Nay, Milord, do not speak." Her voice quivered at his touch.

  "No? And pray tell, why should I not?" He was amused, but puzzled.

  "I would have it as before, at least for tonight." Her voice was shy.

  "Hmmm... as you wish." He then moved closer and drew her beneath him, his hands tugging at the hem of her gown. He growled softly in his throat, that humming noise that she remembered so well. David cared not if she wanted silence, only that she wanted him.

  She shied away as he lifted her, and he gentled her with his lips to her brow, then moved his mouth down her cheek to find her, kissing her deep and long, and she no longer resisted him. Gratified that she accepted his touch, David drew her into his world of passion, gentling her when she would flee from him, drawing her when she sought him once more.

  Through the night they renewed their silent vow of love and Hannah knew a fulfillment at last, of that which she had heretofore only dreamed.

  * * * * *

  .

  David opened his eyes slowly, aware that someone watched him. Thinking it was Hannah, he turned his head and smiled at her, but she slept on, her face turned toward him on the pillow. He then moved his head the other way and came face to face with Clay, who gazed at him from the edge of the bed.

  David had a moment of discomfort, then realized that he belonged in Hannah's bed, and smiled at his son, reaching out to tousle the black curls.

  "What do you here so early in the morn?" He whispered to the boy, not wishing to wake his mother.

  "I am hungry, and nanny has not come yet." Clay peered past his father's shoulder, looking at his mother as she reste
d on his far side. "Momma sometimes feeds me early... for my tummy growls and makes awful noises."

  He His small voice whispered to David, answering him in the same low whisper.

  "Well, then you and I shall raid the kitchen, for I know that cook put by some very nice meat pies and we can feast on them."

  Remembering that he had no clothes on, he added, "Go and fetch your clothes and meet me at the top of the stairs... and be quiet, for we want no intruders on our raid."

  When the boy had run off to do his bidding, David slipped from the bed and donned his trousers and shirt, not bothering with buttons nor shoes. He went along the hall, his heart singing at the thought of being with his son and remembering the night with the boy's mother.

  All was well in David's world... with the exception of losing the old Marquis, he thought sadly.

  He entered the cavernous kitchen, the flagstones cool beneath his shoeless feet. Thinking he'd take time for slippers when they next did this, he smiled at his son, who sat at the table.

  "Shall I call you Papa?" Clay munched on a cold meat pie and sipped from a mug of warm milk, leaving a crescent of the white milky film on his upper lip.

  He looked so endearing that David hugged him, but the boy drew back and looked up at his father with an imperious frown. "It is not seemly that you should be so familiar with my person, sir. I am, after all, the Marquis."

  "Yes, my boy, that you are. But I am your father and shall hug you without reserve and you shall do my bidding until you are old enough to do your own." David's voice was stern, but gentle. He knew the child had many confused notions and silently berated his own father for filling the boy's head with this nonsense.

  "Then I shall call you father, I suppose. Papa... " Clays small face clouded with worry, "... he has gone away to heaven and we shall not see him ever again."

  "Not in this life, Clay, but surely when you've reached the ripe old age of ninety you will wish to join him in God's heavenly paradise." David gentled his son, smoothing his dark hair.

  The child pulled again away from his touch, his voice imperious. "'Tis unseemly, I tell you, for a Marquis to be so coddled. I would that momma would stop it, but she never does."