Closing her eyes and clinging tight to her daughter, she would let the notes flow through her, often shedding a tear as it brought back memories of her past. Serena had once laid her head upon Olivia’s breast and stared up at her with a little smile, reaching up with a tiny hand to swipe at her face.
“Why are you crying, Mama?” she’d asked. “Are you sad again?”
It had broken her heart to know that Serena had grown accustomed to her moods, watching her mother drift away from her time and time again. She hated that she’d allowed it to go on for so long, missing out on so many joyous moments with her little girl.
“I am not sad,” Olivia had said. “Sometimes, tears are happy. I love the music, and I’ve missed it, is all.”
One day, Serena had expressed an interest in learning to play like Adam, and predictably, her uncle had been all-too happy to oblige her. Taking her onto the bench beside him, he had begun teaching her the various notes and how to combine them to make chords. From where she’d sit on a settee, Olivia could not help but smile. Even when she had not been able to care for Serena, Adam and Niall had always been there. She did not think she could express to them how grateful she was to see her daughter so happy and carefree.
Once Adam would finish instructing Serena at the piano, he’d often invite Lady Daphne to join him at the harp, the two of them playing together as if they’d been born to. Daphne had shocked Olivia with her superior command of the instrument, her talent clearly born of something as visceral as Adam’s, honed over time with diligent practice.
After a few days of this, Olivia found herself beginning to feel the familiar urge deep within … that call toward the instrument she loved. The asylum had been so silent, aside from the berating voices of the nuns and the occasional weeping of the other girls—women like her who had found themselves forced to bear their children in such a Godforsaken place. By the time Adam had come for her, she’d begun to think she’d never hear music again. For so long, her world had been stunningly silent, voices coming at her muffled, as if through a windy gale. Now, sitting in this drawing room, her fingers began to twitch with a memory no amount of pain could have driven from her. Her insides grew warm, her palms breaking out in a sweat as a whispered voice in her mind told her she could bring herself to attempt playing again.
So, with no thought to Adam and Daphne’s duet, she rose from the settee, sitting Serena in Niall’s lap. Gaze fixated upon the harp Lady Daphne played with dexterous fingers, she began to move, slowly, as if through a dream. Her feet propelled her to the instrument, the outer edges of her vision growing hazy, until she could only see the harp, hear the harp, feel the harp.
Her mouth went dry, her stomach twisting and roiling as if she might be ill, a moment of doubt creeping up on her in an instant. She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed past the lump of fear swelling in her throat. She was afraid she’d forgotten how to do this, and the part of her that had so loved the music might have died.
She would never know unless she tried. Would it not be worth it to regain this small part of herself? Even if she could never have Niall, or a normal life, or any of the things she’d always wished for … she would have this.
The harp went silent, and she realized that Lady Daphne must have stopped playing upon her approach. Across the room, Adam went on playing with his back turned to them, oblivious to what was happening. Niall and Serena remained where she’d left them, still and silent.
With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch the instrument, her fingertips caressing a single string. The light ripple of that visceral call went through her, resounded through her soul, and lit her heart on fire. Those parts of her had not been missing, after all; they had simply been misplaced. As she took a step closer, she felt it all falling back into place, shuffling into order, solidifying to create such clarity, she thought she might weep for being able to see and feel it.
Adam had ceased playing and watched them from the piano bench. However, she could not spare him a glance … not while she was beginning to realize that she really could do this again.
“I’ve heard you play beautifully,” Lady Daphne said, her voice low and her words measured, careful.
Olivia stared at the other woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was so much like Bertram, it was uncanny—just as pretty, a slight edge of hauteur lending her features a patrician air. But, where Bertram’s eyes had been limpid and enigmatic, Daphne’s were sincere, open, shining as if with tears.
This woman was so unlike Bertram, she realized … perhaps a broken and aching soul just like her brother. It was no wonder Adam could not set her aside. He saw himself in her, as if glancing into a mirror.
“I … I do not think I remember how,” she replied.
That was only partially true. Some instinctive part of her screamed that she might remember if only she tried.
“That’s quite all right,” Daphne said. “Would you like to try? Once you attempt it, your mind will take to it as easily as it once did.”
She was right, of course. Still, something held Olivia back, some mixture of fear and uncertainty keeping her from reaching out and taking command of the harp. Daphne was moving, rising from the stool and motioning at someone else across the room. Olivia kept her gaze upon the harp, her entire being trembling from the inside out as she tried to find the strength to put her fingers to strings for the first time in five long years.
She could hear voices, one of them Niall’s … but hardly deciphered the words. A dull roar had begun in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to find her way back. The last thing she needed was to return to dulled senses—muffled hearing and unfocused eyes and a deadened soul.
Then, she was snatched back into the moment by a familiar touch, light but sure upon her hand. She opened her eyes to find Niall at her side, one of his hands lightly holding hers and urging it toward the harp.
He stared at her in wonder, as if he were just as taken aback by all of this as she. Yet, it was he who encouraged her this time, he who touched her fingers back to the strings with grim determination setting his features.
“Ye know how it’s done, mo gradh. I remember ye used to play such beautiful music. That part of ye is still in there someplace.”
Yes … yes, it was still there … in the deepest corner of her mind, glimmering like a faraway star, a tiny pinprick of light in the darkness.
Closing her eyes again, she took a deep breath, drawing strength from the hand upon hers, from the big body close enough that she could feel its warmth. He had always made her believe she could do anything, and now proved no exception. Her fingers twitched, this time, the movement strong enough to produce a note.
Her eyes opened, her lips parting as the sound floated into the air, bursting forth like a splash of vibrant color against stark whiteness. She plucked the same string again, and the spot grew larger and brighter, flooding her world with long-forgotten color. The empty air became a canvas, this instrument her paintbrush.
A smile softened her face as she tried more of the strings, testing herself, seeing if she could recall which ones made certain sounds. More colors came rushing back—blues and greens and hues of red. This room had not been nearly this bright when she’d first stepped into it. It was as if she’d thought she could see all this time, but only now realized how dim her world had become. This … this was true sight, true life, the truest part of herself.
And then, she truly began to play. She sank onto the bench, her hands working from memory, her fingers plucking strings in tandem, creating notes, music, a song.
What was this composition?
It took her a moment to remember it, but the more she played, her memories flooded her mind as if over a broken dam. François-Adrien Boieldieu’s “Harp Sonata”; one of her favorite pieces. Her smile grew, her heart soaring along with the music, and her fingers becoming surer the more she played.
Niall went still at her side, and from the corner of her eye, she saw h
im smile. She wanted to look at him, tell him that she felt more hope now than she ever had … that perhaps, they would be all right, after all. She wanted to thank him for helping bring this part of her back to life.
However, she could not stop, her mind demanding she resume the practice she had neglected for so many years. So, she played. She played, and played, with her brother, Daphne, Serena, and Niall looking on. One composition bled into another, and then another, this moment demanding she pull out the old remembered songs, each one greeting her like an old friend.
Niall knelt at her side, his head resting upon her thigh, his arms coming tight around her middle. The warmth and wetness of his tears soaked through the layers of her gown and petticoat. She could not remember the last time she’d seen him weep.
It only made her smile all the wider.
Sometimes, tears are happy.
And thank God for it. Just as much as she’d needed this, her Niall had needed it, too. He’d needed a sign that she was not completely lost to him.
Olivia was not certain how much time passed before her body finally gave out on her, a reminder that she still had not regained all of her strength. Her arms fell to her sides, and her head slumped as the final notes of her last song died away, the world spinning around her.
The buoyant sensation made her feel as if she floated when Niall caught her up, cradling her in his arms. She could not stop smiling, this sense of euphoria washing over her so swift and warm that she wished it would never end.
“C’mon, mo gradh,” he murmured, standing with her in his arms. “Let’s get ye back to bed. Ye played well, but now, it’s time to rest.”
She cast a little glance at her brother before Niall took her from the room. Adam was watching her with the same wonderment Niall had, his eyes shining like clear, green gems. She hoped this moment had brought him the same peace it had her. Perhaps he’d needed a sign, too, a bit of hope for himself.
“We will tend to Serena,” she heard Daphne saying as they stepped into the corridor.
To her surprise, Niall did not protest. At last, he’d come to see what Olivia had been trying to tell him. He must understand by now that Daphne was not like the rest of her family. She was good, and pure, and genuinely seemed to care for her brother, and by proxy, her and Serena.
Olivia clung to him as he carried her up to her chamber, kicking the door shut behind him once they were alone. He went straight to the bed, bending down to deposit her among the bedclothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck before he could straighten, pulling him to her for a kiss. His response was eager, his breath quickening against her lips, hands cupping her face. She opened her mouth to him, tipping her head back to let him into her, reveling in his taste, his closeness, this newfound joy blossoming in her chest.
“Livvie … my Livvie,” he whispered between kisses. “Ye’ve come back to me.”
She let out a little laugh, then pressed her mouth to his for a long, lingering moment before replying. “Did you ever doubt I would?”
He rested his forehead against hers with a heavy sigh. “I didnae want to doubt ye … but sometimes, it was so hard to hope … I had started to think …”
“It does not matter anymore. I might never be who I was, but I can be something like it. I know that now.”
He smiled, stroking her cheek, tracing a path back to her hair. “You dinnae have to be like ye were for me to love ye. All ye ever have to be is my Livvie.”
She laughed again, this time unable to stop it all from coming out. It had been so long since she’d felt this way, the heaviness of the past easing just enough that she could breathe.
“I know you wanted me to rest, but I cannot spend all day abed,” she declared. “It is too fine a day, and I feel … God, Niall, I feel so alive.”
He stepped back to allow her to stand up, but watched her with a wary glint in his eye. “Ye’re excited right now because of what ye just did. But I want ye stronger, mo gradh. Ye cannae strain yerself.”
Brushing past him, she shrugged one shoulder. “I won’t. If it makes you feel better, we can pass the day doing something quiet … maybe we can finish Cecilia. I just … I cannot spend the entire day in bed.”
She practically floated toward one of the bedroom windows as if upon a cloud, her feet light, her heart lighter. Parting the drapes, she found herself gazing down upon the little courtyard in the midst of the garden off the back of the house. The sight of Daphne and Serena skipping rope together as Adam sat on a stone bench looking on made her smile. Finally, she and Adam might have what they’d always lacked. With Niall and Daphne near, they felt like a growing family. It might be a foolish hope, but today was just the day for such musings. If all went well, they could return to Dunnottar far different than they’d left it. Pressing one hand to the glass, she wished for it with all her heart.
Niall came up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her against him. She sighed, sinking into his solid body. One part of him was particularly solid, coming to life against her back, throbbing with the desire he somehow still managed to keep thinly veiled. She’d understood his reticence when things had been so uncertain, but now that she’d begun to feel more herself, Olivia wished he would take her to bed. More than likely, she’d have to undress for him again and boldly take what she wanted. The thought had her stifling a giggle as she imagined just how she might go about convincing him that she was finally ready, that he no longer needed to hold back with her.
“What the devil?”
Niall’s sudden exclamation brought her back to attention, and she glanced up at him, brow furrowed as she found his shocked gaze fixated upon something out the window.
“Niall, what—”
Her words choked off on a strangled cry of dismay as she set eyes upon what he was seeing. The warmth that had settled over her fled in an instant, her blood running cold and her heart dropping down into her stomach.
Adam, Daphne, and Serena were still in the garden, but someone else had joined them. Someone who struck terror into the core of her being at the mere sight of him. Tremors wracked her, beginning in her center and spreading out to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her mouth gaped open, but she could not draw breath, or speak, or even move. She stood frozen in Niall’s arms, the entire world seeming to shift and darken in a matter of seconds. Her knees gave out, and she nearly hit the floor, Niall fumbling to keep her held tight. Hot tears scorched her face when she blinked, falling off the edge of her jaw and running down her neck.
“No,” she managed, her voice small and weak. “No … he cannot be here.”
But she had seen him with her own two eyes—tall and slender and pale, that shock of red hair gleaming in the light of the sun. He’d been standing on the outside of the garden looking in, hovering on the edge of her new life as if waiting to tear it apart with tooth and claw. Her demon, come back to haunt her on what had been the best day of the past five years of her life.
Serena’s father.
The orchestrator of her most frightening dreams.
Lord Bertram Fairchild.
“Livvie, it’s all right,” Niall murmured, though he did not sound so sure himself.
He was furious; she could feel it in the hold of his shaking hands upon her, hear it in his quavering voice, smell it in the air. And she … she was plummeting again, all the light and color bleeding away and leaving her right back where she had started. She could feel it all slipping away from her—the hope, the happiness, the joy. How could she have forgotten how close he always was, how easily he could disturb her peace, returning to torment her again and again? Now, he was here in her waking hours, not just in her mind—the idea of a threat suddenly made tangible.
She had always known he could come and take their child away, hadn’t she? The threat of that had always been real, even when her dreams of him had not been.
She thrashed in Niall’s hold, panic descending upon her before she could stop it. “Serena! Don’t let him take her,
Niall! Do not let him touch my little girl!”
Niall picked her up from the floor, carrying her back to the bed once it became clear her limbs had ceased to function. His face was a study in determination and rage as he loomed over her, something she’d never before seen sparking to life within his eyes.
“I will protect her, mo gradh,” he declared, his hands curling into big, meaty fists, the veins in his forehead and neck standing out so prominently, it was a wonder they did not burst. “I will protect her, and I will protect you. Stay here.”
With that, he was gone, his heavy footsteps ringing out through the room, the slam of the door shaking the walls. Rolling onto her side, she curled into herself, unable to cease shaking, her throat constricting so tight, she thought she might suffocate. Her knight would always be here to defend them, she knew this. She could count on him and Adam to stop Bertram from laying a hand upon Serena. The protective mother inside her wanted to rise from the bed, march down the stairs, and confront the man who threatened to destroy their lives, to bring her daughter inside and keep her safe. Yet, she could do nothing but lie here struggling to breathe, her limbs heavy and dead, her heart pounding, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to escape it.
However, there was no escape. He was here, and she could sense him, smell him, feel him. Bile burned the back of her throat, her stomach squeezing and clenching as if she might be violently ill. Still, she could not move, could find no escape.
His laughter rang out through her mind, and she could feel the weight of him on top of her, experienced that very real fear all over again … the fear that he might be the end of her. She whimpered and groaned as the tears fell, her skin itching and burning as if she might burst out of it at any moment, her soul flying free of this tortuous prison of her body.
Fighting me will only make this harder than it has to be … you’ve been practically begging for it since the night we met … just a taste, love …
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