The Silent Love (13 page)

 "Ma...master David," she eyed him with some trepidation at having been caught asleep, "... she is resting now. The doctor gave her a sleeping draught."

"You may retire for awhile, Elspeth, I will stay with your mistress." He gave the girl a kindly look, though he did not smile, and she escaped the room quickly, grateful that he had not scolded her. It was only as she went down the hall to her own small quarters that she gave a thought to his presence in Hannah's room.

Strange, that. Elspeth, whose imaginings leaned toward the romantic, worked that imagination overtime in her newfound knowledge. The young master had looked worried enough to burst and his eyes haunted
.

David stepped close to the bed and looked down at the sleeping woman. Her amber eyes were closed, dark lashes sweeping her cheeks, not quite hiding the dark shadows beneath. Her small, pale face was drawn and tired, even in sleep.

Reaching out, he brushed a wisp of hair from her brow and she stirred, murmured, and turned her face away, falling deeper into her unconscious state, the sleeping draught having done its work well. She looked so tiny and fragile, the covers drawn up to her chin, one delicate, graceful hand atop the coverlet, her wedding band shining on her finger.

He went first to the window and drew the heavy drapes closed. Then he reached over and turned the wick down on the lamp, leaving the room bathed in the glow of the banked fire. In the nearly dark room, he was more relaxed somehow, and sat gingerly on the chair next to the bed.

It was a hard-backed, wooden chair with no cushion and no arm rests, designed to keep the watcher alert and awake. David knew he needed something more comfortable, for he planned to stay a long time. He selected a deep-seated, overstuffed fireside chair and lifted it easily, moving it near to the bed as he could get it.

He retrieved the footrest and set it before the chair, took off his coat and boots, placing them in the corner then settled into the chair.

David watched Hannah for a long time before his curiosity overcame his scruples, and he leaned forward to lift the coverlet, drawing it back to reveal her swollen abdomen wherein lay his babe.

Her night rail had ridden up over her hip on one side and her creamy flesh was exposed to him at last, but his eyes were fixed on the rounded stomach, his hand hovering just above, wishing he could touch her, but afraid of going to far, though the sleeping draught had put her out.

Even in sleep she might sense him and become agitated. He replaced the cover, tucking it close around her, and leaned back once more, his head resting on the back of the chair.

 In the soft glow of firelight, his eyes roamed the room...
her
room. The dresser was neat and all the little bottles of salves and lotions that ladies put such store in, were lined up evenly. A silver-backed hairbrush and comb set, worn and tarnished, and, none to expensive, lay on a lace doily. A miniature of Hannah's parents was displayed in a gilded frame, propped against a small golden easel stand. Over the fire mantel, an array of tiny dancing figurines, delicate, hand-painted porcelain, were lined up evenly, just like the items on her dresser.

The little vase, filled with an array of wildflowers, sat on the bedside table beneath the lamp. He smiled to see it and wondered what had happened to the note inside, hoping she had found and read it. He sighed, remembering the simple heartfelt message, which had said only,
'I love you. Forgive me. Be happy. Yours, D.
' 

He leaned close to study the vase, to be certain it was the right one, and as he leaned closer, the door opened and his mother stepped in, beckoning him.

He pulled himself from the chair and followed her into the next room. "What is amiss mother?"

Her features were pensive as she stared at him, and, in her quiet way, she answered, gesturing him to be seated. Leaving the door ajar, he came and sat on the small stool at her feet, as he had so many times as a child.

She reached out and pushed the errant curls away from his forehead in a tender gesture and smiled. "David, my son. There are so many things you do not know... about her, about what she is feeling right now. Perhaps you should not be here."

He started to speak, but she held up a hand, effectively silencing him.

"I asked your father to send for you, and I can see that he did, but I did not intend for you to be just here... perhaps it would be well if you were to go to one of the guest rooms. I only meant for you to be close by."

"I cannot do that mother, and you know it well. If she should awaken and my presence upsets her then I shall go. Until then, here I stay."

"'Tis certain she will be upset should she find you here. Before the doctor came... when I was alone with her, she was demented in her pain..."

Mary Strongbow paused, heaving a great sigh. "Her ravings were nonsensical for the most part, but I heard enough to know that she has a burden of guilt for what you and she have done. A burden that is eating away at her, little by little, mayhap to drive her senseless if she cannot find some release from this terrible purgatory she has created for herself."

"But I—" David tried again to interrupt.

"Shush, David, I am not done. When you made this devil's bargain, did you not think of the consequences?" She patted his shoulder in an effort to take the heat from her words.

"I know that you have had a difficult time, but you should have come to me before you agreed to this. You father is a very selfish old man and he has wrung the very soul from that girl with his scheming. I cannot like it that you are the instrument of his debauchery, but if you wish to help, you will give the girl some distance... and some time to heal."

"Debauchery? Mother, that is a bit strong. I know you have no love left for him, but he has been kindness itself to her. And, though I must agree that this has been an... unethical arrangement, I would not call it a devil's bargain. I will spend time here tonight, just to assure myself that she is mending then I will go back to the cottage."

David got to his feet, leaned over and bussed his mother on her cheek, and went back into Hannah's chamber, firmly closing the door, hearing the uneven latch click into place. A familiar sound.

Through the night he watched her, dozing periodically, but alert to her every move, each change of her breathing, until his big body could no longer stand the confines of the chair. He then shed the remainder of his garments and slipped beneath the covers, drawing Hannah close. When she did not resist, he placed his trembling hand upon the place where his son slept and a soft flutter of movement beneath his hand as the babe responded to his touch, gave him a start.  

Tears of wonder and joy welled in David's eyes, and he snuggled her closer, drawing strength from her warmth. She murmured something inaudible and turned into the heat of his body, resting there until daybreak, her small hand flung across his chest.

He slept fitfully, afraid to move lest he wake her, therefore was awake when his mother opened the door a crack and peered into the room. She glanced at the bed, then closed the door gently once more. David was not worried that she had seen him, for under the circumstances she could hardly object to his being in the bed. He did worry though, that he really should not be here. Hannah moved, shifting her bulk and curled closer into his arms. He thought no more about leaving.

When daylight crept, gray and overcast, through the chink he had left in the drapery, David slipped quietly from her arms and dressed. Picking up his boots and jacket, exited the room.

 "David, do you stay here, or return to the cottage?" As he slipped through the anteroom, his mother caught him by surprise.

 "Mother, I had not expected you awake. I will return to the cottage, I think. As you say, Hannah is very distraught, and the sight of me surely won't help her. Just send for me if you think I can be useful."

"Your sin is not in loving her, David." She looked toward the half open door to Hannah's room and then again at her son. It is in the deception... and you know the other, as we have already spoken of it. Pray she recovers her senses and bears a healthy child."

Bowing respectfully to her, he went into the hall and bore to the left, toward his father's chamber. Tapping lightly, he entered before asked, looking around as he stole into that inner sanctum where he had never been. The Marquis sat by an open window, still in his clothes from the day before, his eyes watering at the sight of a son who had derided him so the day before, he thought never to see him again.

David crossed the room and knelt by the old man, his head bent low as he spoke. "Forgive me father. I was wrong to speak such to you, and I would have your blessing."

His father's hand upon his hair, told him he was forgiven, though the Marquis did not speak. They stayed thus for a while, each man deep in his own thoughts. Finally, David moved to a chair nearby and looked out the window before he spoke, the view of Darlington Manor's great park filling his eyes, trying to see what his father saw there.

 "I will withdraw my... request. You and Hannah will be left to decide for your yourselves if you should wish to... "

 "Request?" David, though relieved that he would not have to battle his father on this issue, was slightly piqued at his choice of words and said so. "'Twas no request, father. It was a demand, and we both well know it. That you would consider putting Hannah through such an ordeal... "

Choosing to ignore David's outburst, the Marquis changed the subject somewhat abruptly. "Will you come back here... to the manor?"

"Not just yet, thank you. I need to be alone and the cottage is the very place for a man to... hide and lick his wounds, if you will."

"Yes. I know."

"Do you father? Do you really know?" David's voice held no rancor, but he could not forget the look in his father's eyes the day before. That cold, calculating look, the autocratic bearing. It was an image he had carried for years, and he had hoped it untrue. But seeing it first hand, he knew his father capable of many things. Dark, hurtful things; that he should have his own way.

David had come to ask forgiveness, but he had not forgiven in his turn. Still, he had an affection for his parent and something more.

 Rising, he gave the Marquis a rueful smile. "Please call for me if I am needed. I will begin on the plans for the new carriage house next week. I am not up to it just yet."

His father nodded, silent. By mentioning the project of the carriage house, David had assured his sire that he would be staying, at least on the property, if not at the manor, to fulfill his obligations.

He stepped into the sunlight and breathed deeply of the country air, hearing the sounds of the trees moving in a soft breeze and the hum of a lazy bumblebee cavorting among the pansies growing near the path. He was beginning to love this place, though not near as much as he loved the woman who lay in the room just above where he stood. It would be hard indeed, should he have to leave here.

Fighting the melancholy that threatened to tear him apart, he moved with purposeful strides toward the stable to retrieve his stallion. Not liking the name Sun Star, had renamed the great black stallion. He called him Challenger, for the beast had great heart and would take any fence he put him too, soar over any hedge with ease, fearless and stalwart, somewhat like the man who rode upon his back.

Turning the animal toward the woods, he trotted away, feeling, if not at peace, at least at home.

Chapter Nine

~~

David returned to the cottage and began his long vigil, the days slipping by with no word from the big house. He filled in the hours by taking walks to the village to see his Grandfather Strongbow. He sat one late afternoon, watching the old man whittle, the shape of a toy soldier gradually taking form under the craftsman's expertise.

The stallion grazed nearby, for David often walked the horse into the village, allowing the animal exercise without his heavy weight to weigh the stallion down.

"Grandfather, why then are you a smithy when you have so much talent? You could have made toys and puppets and all manner of things for people to enjoy. Surely you would have fared as well as you do now, if not better. And the work would be more enjoyable, would it not?"