Andrea Kane (28 page)

“Because you wouldn’t believe what I’d tell you, Ariana. Leave it alone.”

“I can’t. I love you.”

“Bloody hell.” He snatched up a rock and flung it into the water with all his might.

“Tell me.”

“Fine.” Trenton spun about, his eyes ablaze. “You want to know how my father died? I’ll tell you. He was tortured … slowly, cruelly; not physically, but emotionally; using that which he cherished most … his family.”

Baffled, Ariana struggled to understand the blinding rage emanating from Trenton. “But how—”

“Not
how,
Ariana.
Who.
That’s the operative word here.
Who.
I’ll tell you who: your brilliant, altruistic, contemptible bastard of a brother, that’s who!”

“Baxter?” Ariana recoiled sharply, having expected anything but this. She had been certain Vanessa’s suicide was somehow linked to the late duke’s demise—but Baxter? What did he have to do with Richard Kingsley’s death?

“Yes … Baxter, that vile blackguard who raised you!”

“Why? What did he do?”

“Odd, I thought Caldwell filled you in on our history when you visited Winsham the other day.” Enmity underscored Trenton’s every word. “Or did he selectively forget to mention one or two realities? Like the fact that it was he who brandished your sister’s heartbreaking suicide note to the world … painted me as a seducer of innocents, a sinister madman … or worse. Did he tell you that I came to him, begged him to stop, not for my sake or even for Dustin’s—Lord knows, neither of us gave a damn what lies Caldwell spread—but for my father? Can you possibly imagine what it did to me to have to crawl to your despicable brother on my knees? To plead with him that my father had nothing left but his legacy: the Kingsley name and his sons? And that he was too old and weak to withstand such vicious slander? That the more people who doubted my innocence, the more deteriorated his condition became?”

Trenton faltered, swallowing convulsively. “But beg I did. I begged with the hope that Caldwell would summon up one shred of compassion—not for me, but for an old man who had done nothing to hurt anyone. I should have known I was wasting my breath. Caldwell just laughed in my face and threw me out, continuing to impugn me and my family, until the whole world ostracized us. My father was too frail … his heart just couldn’t take it. He died within weeks. And all because of your detestable brother.”

Breaking off, Trenton drew in harsh breaths, striving to bring himself under control. He stared down at his hands, realized they were shaking, and raised his head to meet Ariana’s horrified gaze. “Still glad you asked, misty angel?”

An eerie chill crept inside Ariana’s heart. “I can’t believe Baxter would intentionally—”

“Of course he wouldn’t! I must be lying.” Trenton’s biting sarcasm cut through her like a knife.

“I didn’t mean you were lying. Only that you might have misunderstood …”Her voice trailed off, for even she was unconvinced by her words.

“Misunderstood? Hardly. Actually, I’ve only just scratched the surface of your brother’s brutality.” Brusquely, Trenton turned on his heel. “Your reaction was predictable. Now I know why I didn’t want to tell you any of this.” Rigidly, he walked away. “I’m going back to Spraystone.”

“I believe you.”

Her declaration was barely audible, a whisper of sound in the afternoon sky. But Trenton heard it.

Abruptly, he halted.

Ariana didn’t pause but walked up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, pressing her cheek against his taut back. “I’m so sorry for your pain. I wish I’d been old enough to comprehend it, and mature enough to ease it.”

At first Trenton did nothing; he merely stood, unmoving, in his wife’s consoling embrace. Then he placed his hand over hers, enfolding her fingers, placing their joined hands over his heart.

The gesture conveyed more than any words he could utter.

The Isle had surrendered to twilight, its beaches bathed in the moon’s silver luminescence, by the time Trenton and Ariana headed back to Spraystone. Neither of them spoke, for the feeling hovering between them was too new, too precious to give voice to.

The manor was practically upon them when a flash of white caught Ariana’s eye, taking her by surprise. “Trenton?” She seized his arm.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She peered through the semidarkness, toward the tall grasses surrounding the barn. Intuition impelled her forward.

“Where are you going?” Trenton followed quickly, frowning at the concerned knit of Ariana’s brows.

“Oh … Trenton.” She rushed forward, dropping to her knees in the grass, bending over a huddled white form.

Trenton peered over her shoulder. “It’s an owl.”

“Not just an owl,” she whispered, turning damp eyes up to his. “My white owl. The one who brought you to me. Trenton … he’s hurt.”

“Be careful.” Trenton stayed her with his hand. “Owls are wild, Ariana. He’ll claw you mercilessly if you try to touch him.”

“He can’t hurt me … he’s unconscious. Please, we’ve got to help him.”

Cautiously, Trenton squatted beside her, looking from the unmoving creature to the solid barn wall beside him. “Apparently your owl flew directly into the barn … hard enough to knock him senseless.”

Ariana nodded vigorously. “He probably wanted to perch inside the barn and struck the window trying to enter. Owls see glass as open space and often hurt themselves because of it.”

“Well, I’d be surprised if he didn’t have quite a concussion. However, he is breathing, and damned lucky about where he fell. The grasses here are very thick and, judging from the natural angle of his wings, I would suspect that nothing is broken.”

“We have to take care of him, Trenton. I’ll never ask another thing of you … but please help me save him.”

Wordlessly, Trenton gathered the injured bird, then rose and moved toward the barn entrance. “We’d better hurry … before he awakens and scratches my eyes out.”

“Thank you,” Ariana said simply, rising to follow.

While Trenton held the owl, Ariana hurried inside and located a small crate. “Put him in the far corner of the barn, where it’s warm,” she instructed, carrying the makeshift cage with her. She waited while Trenton placed the owl on the ground, then lowered the crate over his inert form. “Now he’ll be confined until he’s strong enough to fly.”

“I’m impressed,” Trenton acknowledged. “Though I don’t know why I should be. You’ve obviously cared for sick birds before.”

“Yes … but this one’s special.” She knelt beside the crate. “He’s free to soar the skies … yet he finds me whenever I need him: my own precious symbol of hope. He’s like you, Trenton: offering so much, yet always searching, uncertain where he really belongs, seeking to find out.” Her gaze softened as she stared at the owl. “My extraordinary wanderer … my Odysseus.” She sighed. “Perhaps we’re all really alike in the end: All of us wanderers, all of us searching, venturing into the world in the hopes of discovering our true purpose.”

“So profound. And still you doubt your value, misty angel.” Trenton leaned over, gathering her silken masses of auburn hair and pressing his lips to her nape. “I fear that your vision is far worse than that of your beloved Odysseus. He is blind only to glass. You, on the other hand, are blind to your own worth.” Gently, Trenton drew her to her feet, silencing whatever she was about to say by laying a finger across her lips. “Your patient needs his sleep. As do you, if you want to be strong enough to properly nurse him back to health. Let’s go to bed.”

Ariana glanced over her shoulder, chewing her lip hesitantly. “I don’t want to leave him. What if he awakens? He’ll be frightened.” She turned back to Trenton. “You go to bed. I’ll join you later.”

Trenton didn’t answer. Soberly, he regarded his wife, then silently left the barn.

Feeling the evening chill set in, Ariana curled up beside the crate, wrapping her arms about herself for warmth. She wondered if she’d angered her husband by refusing to accompany him. If so, she couldn’t blame him. After all, such devotion to an owl probably struck him as bizarre.

The barn door creaked, and a moment later Trenton sank down beside her, wrapping a blanket around them both. “Now at least we won’t catch pneumonia,” he muttered.

Ariana looked up, surprise, then gratitude, and finally tenderness registering on her face. “No,” she whispered. “We won’t.”

The tawny eyes opened, blinked dazedly, slid shut, then opened again. Slowly, the owl lifted his head, peering unsteadily through the slats of the crate, meeting the sensitive scrutiny of his rescuer.

“Don’t be frightened, Odysseus,” Ariana soothed, her heart aching at the disorientation clouding his magnificent topaz stare. “You’re all right now. No one is going to hurt you.”

In response, Odysseus’s head drooped back into the hay, and his eyes closed.

“Trenton …” Instinctively, Ariana gripped her husband’s arm beneath the blanket.

“He’s only sleeping, misty angel.” Trenton was as awake as she. “Listlessness and confusion are perfectly normal following a concussion.”

“What can we do for him?”

“For now, nothing. He did awaken, and that’s a good sign. He’ll probably sleep a great deal over the next few days. We’re keeping him warm and confined. Now we’ll have to be patient.”

“He
must
get well,” she breathed, half to herself, thinking of all the times Odysseus had appeared when she’d needed him most, praying she could remedy his suffering in return.

“He will.” Trenton framed her anxious face between his palms. “I give you my word.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Trenton brushed her cold lips with his thumb. “Because faith as unwavering as yours has the power to heal far more than a mere concussion.”

Ariana’s tightly drawn expression relaxed, a warm glint lighting her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in healing.”

“I thought I didn’t believe at all.”

Tenderly, Ariana raised up and kissed her husband’s mouth. Easing back on her haunches, she yawned. “I’m suddenly very sleepy. And now that I no longer doubt Odysseus will recover, I’d like to get some rest.” She snuggled into the blanket. “I was right, you know.” Her eyes drifted shut. “You really are a wonderful man.”

Trenton stared soberly down at his slumbering wife, her affirmation echoing in his mind. A wonderful man. The fact that Ariana believed that of him was, in itself, an unexpected wonder.

But the true miracle was that, for the first time in eons, Trenton began to believe it himself.

The woman watched the French shoreline grow more and more indistinct, until it disappeared altogether, leaving nothing behind but miles of ocean and years of agony.

She lifted the hood of her mantle higher over her head, gripping it against her cheeks to block out the sharp winds and icy sprays. In truth, she hardly felt them. Long ago she had learned to block out physical discomfort by retreating into a secret place inside herself. It had become her means of survival.

Slowly, she averted her head, looking, for the first time in six years, toward England. And for the first time in six years, a ripple of anticipation stirred within her, growing quickly into a steady pulse, spreading like a long-craved narcotic through her greedy bloodstream.

“Ma’am? May I get you something?” The straight-backed crewman stood politely beside her, crisply accommodating and, perhaps, a bit curious.

The woman didn’t turn. “No. Thank you.”

She listened to his steps fade away until she was, once again, alone. No, he could get her nothing. As always, what she wanted, she would have to take herself.

And take it she would.

“N
OW I UNDERSTAND WHY
you abruptly lost your appetite at dinner,” Trenton commented dryly, lounging against the barn wall. “That beef was supposedly your meal.”

Ariana jumped up as if she’d been caught stealing something. “I really wasn’t hungry.”

“But Odysseus was?” Trenton strolled past her, over to the crate, where the owl was finishing off the slice of lean meat. “He certainly has improved these past few days—not surprising, given meals like roasted sirloin. Still, I thought you said something about restricting him to plain, lean beef?”

“I scraped off every bit of horse radish and pepper,” Ariana defended instantly. “Besides, he’s hardly eaten anything all week. The first three days all he did was sleep. Yesterday he ate bits of veal, but this is the first decent meal he’s had.”

“Meals,” Trenton corrected.

“Pardon me?”

“Meals … not one, but two.”

“It’s only a slice of meat—”

“His second in the past hour.”

Ariana inclined her head. “I don’t understand.”

With apparent concentration, Trenton studied the wooden beam beside him. “I gave him a portion of my dinner while you were in the kitchen.”

“I see.” Ariana managed to keep her face straight. “Well then, I suppose he has had enough for now.” She cast a loving glance at Odysseus, who stared back at her, unblinking and alert. “In another day or two you’ll be fit enough to fly, dear friend. But not if you’re laden with pounds of beef.”

“Ariana … I need to speak with you.”

The seriousness of Trenton’s tone startled her. “What is it?”

Trenton held out a note. “This message just arrived from my solicitor. Evidently, my permission, and my presence, are required in London in order to transfer a large sum of money to my bank account here in Wight. I need to complete that transfer so I can begin the renovations I designed for an entire section of farmhouses in Bembridge.”

“You’re leaving for Broddington?”

He nodded. “Not tonight. But soon.” The vulnerable whisper of emotion Ariana had come to recognize flickered in his eyes, then vanished. “You don’t have to accompany me. I know how happy you’ve been at Spraystone, and how attached you are to your white owl. I’ll take care of my business—”

“I want to go with you,” she interrupted. Oblivious to the look of unguarded surprise and pleasure that flashed across her husband’s face, she studied Odysseus, assessing his condition. “If you can wait a few more days, I’m certain Odysseus will be eager and ready for his freedom. Then I can join you in Sussex.” She hesitated. “Unless you’d rather go alone.”