by GinaRJ
She could not contain herself. She could not be silent.
“Sir Marcus!” she called after him.
He stopped in his tracks and turned, his shoulders not nearly as straight as she had grown accustomed to seeing them.
“Where are you going?” She asked him
“I have told you.”
“You are lying,” she quietly guessed.
Tears began to brim in her eyes, and a few drops fell, sliding down her cheeks. Marcus took slow steps toward her, and upon reaching her, raised a hand, taking her chin with his fingers. Her head fell back, her eyes closing and then barely opening while a few more teardrops fell from them.
Marcus raised his other hand to the side of her face, using a thumb to wipe the tears from her left cheek. Her eyes closed. She could not keep them opened. She felt the warmth of his body, and almost the pounding of his heart as he took her closer, and then of his lips touching hers, sweeping over them again and again. And for a time nothing existed anymore. Nothing at all but she and him and the sensual feelings between them.
She had but a moment to see the dark gleam of lust and desire in his eyes after he’d pulled away, before he turned. This time she did not say a word, but watched him go, feeling as if she would never see him again, fearing it, and then later hiding herself away, telling them all she was ill, that she needed more time to rest, that she had arisen too early. That she needed more time. She just needed more time.
******
Days more passed. She refused to eat. She refused to speak to anyone at all, even to Jacob except for short moments at a time. She refused to see the physician when he insisted she do so. She turned them all away. She did not hear anything about Marcus. She did not ask. She did not seek an answer, for she knew he was gone. That he was gone for good. She would never see him again.
******
Jacob became concerned not only for her, but Marcus as well when he left without a word, skipping several meetings in regards to a possible war with Roark. It was serious business, and not like Marcus at all to dis-include himself.
He had heard that Marcus was in Rowan or somewhere near it and decided if he did not return or nothing was heard of him, he would send someone for him.
So he delivered a message by the hand of Amos, who in turn came back to confirm that Marcus was, indeed, in Rowan in the house of one Madame Patrice, and that he had no reply, that he had not even opened the message, that he had not said a word.
Jacob sent others after him, all of whom returned quickly with words that were not reassuring, so he decided in himself that he would go into Rowan and speak to him personally, one on one, and get to the bottom of the matter, whatever it was.
******
And he did this, catching Marcus completely off guard when Patrice rapped her knuckles against the door of the room he’d occupied…however long it had been. He could not say for sure. One, two weeks. Maybe three.
Jacob stood in the doorway, a peculiar sight considering the place. It was a part of his personal life which Jacob had never been given access to, not that it was hidden from him. They just simply did not discuss the most intimate details of their lives.
Jacob came inside, closing the door quietly behind himself. Marcus had sat peering at the wall, a glass of strong drink in hand—a glass that hardly stayed occupied for any long amount of time. As soon as he filled it he emptied it again.
“What are you doing?” Jacob asked, and when he didn’t get an answer in return went on to say, “are you ill? Is that it?”
“No,” he calmly returned. “I am in good health.”
“If this has something to do with what happened in Ebbs Valley…”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then what is it?” He became evidently disturbed. “With these matters in the balance you speedily disappear and seclude yourself…even while the nobles discuss prospective war and even prepare for it. You ignore my messengers, send them away. According to one, you physically removed him. Tell me, Marcus, what have I done to you? Hum? Have I wronged you in any way?”
“No,” Marcus plainly replied, and then louder as he stood from the chair he’d sat in the past little while. “No, no, no. You have done no wrong.”
“Then why have you avoided me? And worse yet mishandled those I’ve sent to bring you to me?”
Marcus raised a slow hand. “Jacob, please…please go.”
“I will not…not until I have received a suitable answer.”
“There is no suitable answer.”
“There is!” he loudly maintained. “There must be. A man I hold dearer in my heart than a son has decided to be my enemy. I will not leave this place without an answer.”
“You must leave without an answer,” he calmly said, and then sat down again. “Because I have none to give.”
A hand to his sword, Jacob turned and gazed out the window. When he turned again, his expression was hard with anger. “After fifteen years—if this is how it must be. Now, if you must turn your back on me for no apparent reason at all. If you must seclude yourself for whatever cause. So be it. But you could be a rational man and tell me what it is. There could be nothing so bad, so wrong.”
“It is wrong. Very, very wrong.”
“It can’t be.”
“It is,” he argued.
“There could be nothing bad enough to come between us.”
He banged his fist atop the table and shot to his feet. “Dammit it is wrong, Jacob, it is. I’m in love. There I have said it. I am in love with your wife.”
A look of astonishment came over Jacob. Regretting having lost his temper and admitting what he had, Marcus shook his head, massaged his forehead and turned around.
There was a horrible silence. It went on for a long while. He turned again to face him as the man he knew he was, a man in the wrong but able to admit it. A man with pride although he couldn’t recall having ever felt so small.
Jacob’s gaze had fallen to the floor. “In love,” he quietly repeated. His brows drew together. “With Rachel?” He yet held to the handle of his sword and Marcus decided he wouldn’t blame the man if he suddenly pulled it from its sheath and executed him right then and there. Jacob stared at the floor, silent for a while. Finally he raised weary eyes to his. “Since when?” He asked him. “Since the trip to the manor? Since Westerly? Is that it? Should I have sent someone else?”
“This is no fault of yours.”
“When?” He demanded a second time.
“I don’t know,” he loudly returned. He calmed his voice, avoiding Jacob’s downtrodden gaze. “I do not know.”
“Does she know this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you told her?”
“No.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“No. I don’t know. That I have some sort of feelings for her, yes, but it hasn’t been discussed, this idea of love.”
“What has been discussed?”
“Nothing.”
Jacob’s brows drew together. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then I will not bother persuading you otherwise.”
“How long has this been?” He asked, his gaze set so hard upon him that he could not possibly look into it.
“I don’t know. Over time, I suppose. Over time.”
He stepped slowly away from his spot, his eyes to the floor. “How did I not see it?” He stopped. “I know you are very skilled at the art of deception, but to me.” He looked at him rather plainly. “I should have noticed.” His brows furrowed. “You should have told me. In the beginning, you should have made it known.”
“Why? What could you have done? Excused me only to afterward peep around corners watching my every move, leery of me, or to even have you excommunicate me? What purpose was there? I would have nothing come between our friendship. But now, with this…my feelings, since they cannot be persuaded to stop, no, not even with time or separation, I have excommunicated myself, not only because I love her, b
ut because I love you as well. The guilt has become too hard to bear.”
Jacob sat down and bent his head to massage his temples. Finally, he raised his head and with tired eyes studied Marcus from head to toe and then his eyes. “Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“If I brought this to her attention, there is nothing she would say that has not been said.”
“She has not betrayed you, Jacob. She loves you. And I would prefer you did not mention this to her at all.”
“Yes, yes…well, I suppose you would.” With that, Jacob stood and without a word left the room.
******
Rachel sat staring out the window, a fist pressed to her chin, watching the clouds scroll across the sky, studying some children playing off in the distance.
She heard the door open and turned her head to see Jacob entering the room. She stood to get a clear view of him. He had left the day before. She was glad to see him back although it was very clear that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
She searched his eyes while he came closer. “What is it?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”
He still just stared at her, as if giving time for her to figure something out on her own. A deep crease formed between her brows. “Is it Marcus? Is he well? Has something happened?”
He walked past her, making his way to the bed. He eased down, sitting on the edge, and simply sat there. Uncertain she went toward him and slowly seated herself beside him. She tilted her head to the side, asking, “What is wrong?”
He would not look at her.
“Jacob, what is it?”
As if by force, he turned his head so that their eyes met. “Foolish of me to think I could bring you here and keep your heart all to myself. Very foolish. I suppose I have brought this upon myself. I should have thought so far ahead.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Marcus,” he said and held her gaze.
“What about him?”
“The man has surrendered himself to exile…and for a reasonable cause. I returned from Rowan where he has kept himself secluded, refusing my messengers and behaving violently toward some of them.”
“Is he well?”
“No.”
“No?” She searched his eyes. “What’s wrong? Is he ill?”
“Yes.” His saddened eyes met with hers. “Ill with guilt. Ill…with love.”
She immediately turned her gaze away, avoiding his although a harsh one it wasn’t. He continued.
“I went to him, demanding an explanation which, I must say, would probably be better left unknown—for a little while longer, anyway. The man is in love, Rachel. He is in love with you.”
“What?” She almost laughed. “Jacob that is—“
“He told me so, Rachel.”
“When? Where?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I…I don’t know.”
“Or could it be that now after having heard it said, you, as I, can look back and see it very plainly.”
She simply shook her head.
“A man shouldn’t suffer for his feelings if they are wrong but never acted upon.” He paused before asking, “Did he ever act upon them?”
“No.” She assured him. “He has not misbehaved toward me.”
“My hope is that this will pass. Perhaps now that he has gotten it out in the open it will pass. That’s sometimes the case with a man.” He would have stood, but taking his hand she kept him there.
“You shouldn’t despise him because of me. You are friends and should remain so.”
“I agree,” he said, patting her hand. “I agree.” He bent, dropping a kiss on her temple and stood, making a quiet exit from the room, and leaving her in total despair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A few very long, dreary days passed. The end of the week, after Jacob had kept himself from her and everybody else, hidden in his private quarters, Rachel went into Rowan and searched for Marcus.
Jacob had been correct in saying the day would come when riding horseback would perhaps come in handy. She’d dressed in her riding apparel which had lay dormant for some time, and acquired a horse in secret from Linus who, although hesitant, agreed to offer a steed for the ride.
“It will be a short trip,” she lied, knowing well the journey was a decent one. She’d located Rowan on the map, discovering a route to it that would certainly be the quickest. Linus also suggested a few guards to go along, ones who would not speak of her whereabouts. To this she agreed, thinking they could very well ride with her in silence…agreeing to the journey for the sake of her safety. Once they realized she intended to travel to Rowan, she had already gone so far, and they would not turn around, nor could they persuade her to do so. They only briefly tried.
So she rode into Rowan, wondering what sort of place he would reside in. Zaria had once named a woman by the name of Patrice. So she went about asking for a lady by that name. It was quickly answered, and he was, indeed, to be located at her place of residence.
Patrice knew who she was immediately. Her eyes skimmed over her. She peered quite suspiciously upon her for a time before greeting, although with absolutely no apparent desire to do so, “Lady Trent, what a surprise.” She then went on to slyly and suspiciously ask, “What do you want?”
Rachel’s shoulders straightened, “Is he here?”
“Who?”
“Marcus,” she said, remaining calm although knowing good and well this woman knew exactly who she was talking about.
Again her sleek, dark eyes skimmed over her. “He does not want to be bothered much less by you.”
“Tell him I am here.”
“No.”
“I will not leave until you do so”
“You may stay in Rowan so long as you wish…only in time your husband will come for you.”
“My husband is not well. Marcus must be told.”
This changed the woman’s attitude instantly. “Is he dying?” She asked.
“I will answer only him,” she said to her.
Patrice, with a sly sidelong glance stepped aside, allowing her inside, and lifting the hem of her skirts, led the way up a narrow flight of steps. She stopped in front of one particular door, rapped on it with her knuckles and after a brief, narrow stare, walked away.
There was no response from the other side. Rachel placed a hand on the knob, hesitating before turning it and opening the door. She instantly spotted Marcus and he her from a seat at the opposite side of the room. He’d lifted his head and their eyes met. Her heart stopped beating altogether. It appeared his may have as well. In fact, his face went pale, as if he had seen a ghost.
Without taking her eyes from him, she began to close the door, but not altogether. At the same time, his expression changed…it changed abruptly to one of pure irritation.
“What are you doing here?” He demanded.
“I need to speak to you,” she simply stated.
“Are you so foolish as this, to visit me like this now?”
“Am I foolish? You should rather ask yourself that question.”
“You should not be here.”
She pushed the door with a palm so that it snapped shut. “Why did you say those things to him? Marcus, what were you thinking? There was absolutely no reason, none at all. Why? Marcus, why?”
He stood, turning his back to her and his face toward the empty fireplace. “For the sake of the truth, which you obviously know nothing about.”
“What truth? Marcus, nothing has happened.”
“It has happened.”
“We’ve done no wrong.”
“No wrong?” He turned from the hearth. ““Did I not kiss you? Did you not allow me? How can you say we’ve done no wrong? You of all people? Have you forgotten the difference between right and wrong?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing.”
“And you call me foolish for being honest? For the love of god, Rachel, I love you. My dearest friend’s wife. My friend, closer
than a brother, than any man I’ve ever known.” He barely shook his head. “You may see nothing wrong with it, even with hiding and pretending, roaming about a man’s home, lusting after his wife, and of kissing her. You may see nothing wrong with those things…but I do.”
She dropped her head back and stared up at the ceiling, fighting to keep control of her emotions, to even piece all of these things together. It’d all had happened so suddenly.
“Jacob is not just any man,” Marcus said, bringing her attention back to him. “Otherwise, I would not give a damn.”
Both of their gazes dropped to the floor. For a while there was complete silence.
“How is he?” He came to ask.
“I don’t know,” she softly replied. “He is not speaking to anyone.” She suddenly shook her head and swung around. “I must go.” But before she could, he had her by the wrist keeping her in place, swinging her about to face him.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” she threw at him. “I’m going home.”
He slung her arm away. “You still refer to Westerly as your home?”
She said nothing at all.
“So that is it. You are going back to Westerly.”
“I will go insane if I don’t go away from you and him and everything. From here, from there. From everything and everyone.”
“And what will you then do? After you’ve run away? Will you forget? Pretend as if Jacob Trent did not exist? As if you are not married or never were to begin with? As if I do not exist?”
“What else am I to do? What good is anything? My world is falling apart.”
“Your world,” he repeated, mocking her. He forced a laugh that was evidently faked. “Yes, indeed, your world. Yours.”
“Yes, my world,” she agreed, her eyes slanting at him. “It has been nothing but hassle since I received that summons, since I accepted it—since I met him and you.”
“Since you were given a taste of the real world,” he implied. “Now look at what you’ve become. A coward.”