Chapter 5 #2
He was about to throw the boot into the growing heap when he suddenly realized… it was Gwen’s. It had to be. Ash wasn’t sentimental about anything here. But he’d said fate had brought her back to his doorstep. This must have been where he’d found her.
“Don’t throw this out,” he said, holding up the boot.
Brennan paused for just a moment. “Whatever you say, boss.”
They didn’t finish the job that day, but Brennan was a good worker. They were going to be able to finish in two days what would have taken Trent more than a week on his own. He’d be loath to send the man back when the time came.
He groaned as he sank down into the bath. Every muscle in his body was sore and would be even more so tomorrow. Unfortunately, he couldn't enjoy a long soak. Those were a rare indulgence. Maggie would be waiting for him. On the days he stayed out too late, she refused to eat until he got home.
After washing away the dirt and sweat he’d accumulated, he blew out a long sigh and climbed out of the tub.
He dried off and wrapped himself in his robe.
Even his face felt scruffy. He liked to be presentable for Maggie.
Most people would probably think that was silly, but he wanted her to know she was deserving of that, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to shave twice in a day.
He filled his wash basin and reached for his razor, but it wasn’t there. He looked down on the floor. Perhaps a maid had knocked it off. It wasn’t there either. A ball of ice dropped into his stomach. No. No, no, no.
He raced out of his room and down the hall, bursting through the door to Samantha’s dressing room. She was in the bath, his razor in her hand, desperation filling her eyes. Her hair was cut short and stuck up in all directions, a pile of what she’d removed on the floor.
He closed the door softly behind him, then held his hands up in front of him. “Please, Samantha.” He spoke quietly and moved slowly, trying his best not to frighten her. “Will you give me the razor?”
It trembled along with her body, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. Carefully, he wrapped his hand around hers, relief washing over him. At least he had control of the blade.
Slowly, her grip on it loosened, and he pulled it from her hand. He folded it shut and slipped it into his pocket. Her teeth chattered.
“Let’s get you out of there.”
“I wasn’t going to do what you think. I just…” Her voice trailed off.
Only when he reached in to pull her out of the tub did he notice the cuts on her leg.
Fortunately, they weren’t deep, but they were bleeding.
He sat down on the floor and settled her onto his lap, wrapping a towel around her.
He grabbed a cloth and held it against the wounds on her thigh. They weren’t serious, at least.
For a long time, he simply held her. The world wasn’t a fair place. She didn’t deserve this.
“I wasn’t going to do what you think,” she said again. “I just needed to feel… something.”
His heart wept for her. He knew what that was like. That desperate need to feel was what had driven him to track down Ash in the first place.
“Will you help me to feel something, Trent?” She moved his hand up toward the juncture of her thighs, but he pulled it away.
“No, Samantha.”
“Please.”
He shook his head, and she looked up at him. “Why not?”
“Because it would make me no better than them.”
After a pause, laughter spilled between her lips. Not from humor. This laughter was spawned by pain.
“You think you could be like them? You aren’t capable of that kind of cruelty. You could never be like them, Trent.” She got to her feet and limped, naked, into her bedroom.
He wasn’t sure whether or not he should follow, but then she came back. She threw her sketchbook onto the floor beside him.
“You could never be like him.”
He stared down at page after page of the same man’s face. In some, he was clearly a monster. In others, he looked almost kind.
“Is this the man you thought was your husband?”
She nodded. “Today is the sixth anniversary of our wedding.”
Oh God. That never occurred to him. He hadn’t given the man a second thought. But right now, hatred boiled in his veins. He was the cause of all her pain.
She stared down at him and the book, looking utterly lost. How could she not be?
With a sigh, he got up off the floor, but she didn’t move.
Perhaps she couldn’t. He found a nightgown and wrapper and put them on her, then picked up the sketchbook, and carried her into her room.
There was no fire to warm her, as it wasn’t a cold day.
Instead, he settled her onto his lap and pulled her against him to share some of his own warmth.
She didn’t pull away from him, but she also didn’t cry.
He still held the sketchbook, and she opened it again.
She sat up and shook her head as she turned the pages.
“I should be angry.” She flipped to one of the images where he was unmistakably a villain.
“But how can I be?” She turned to a more benevolent rendering.
“He never hurt me. He was the one who always nursed me back to health after the men were finished with me.”
Dear God. What pain must she have endured? If the man weren’t already dead, he’d throttle him himself.
“He would be so loving and caring and so sorry for the pain and anguish I was going through. He’d tell me what a good girl I was and how proud he was of me.” For a moment, she held her breath. “And then he’d send me back again.”
A sob finally burst from her as a flood of tears poured from her eyes.
Gasping, choking sobs, that contorted her whole body, and made him want to weep with her.
How could someone be so cruel? What horrors had been visited upon her?
After a long wail, she tore the page from the book and crumpled it in her hand.
Her head tipped back, a tortured, feral scream hurtling toward the ceiling.
Although he desperately wanted to, he didn’t try to comfort or quiet her. As heart-wrenching as it was to witness, she needed to go through it. She needed to feel every bit of it. Only then, could she finally begin to heal. All he could do was be with her and pray that it was enough.
There was a tap on the door, and Sandra cautiously peeked into the room. “Have Benson bring in some tea, and no one else is to disturb us.” With a quick nod, she was gone.
Samantha started to brush her tears away.
“Don’t stop,” Trent said, frustrated that they’d been interrupted. “Keep feeling whatever you need to feel.”
She looked into his eyes, her brow furrowed as she sucked in short, gasping breaths.
“You’re so brave,” he said, brushing some pieces of cut hair off of her face. “So incredibly strong.”
“I don’t feel very strong.” The tears had slowed, but they continued, at least.
“That’s alright. If you’re not strong enough, I’ll carry you.”
A sob burst from her again and she threw her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. How? The question ricocheted around in his brain. How could someone have done this to her? How could he take her pain away? How could he help her?
Benson hardly made a sound as he entered and deposited a tea tray on the table.
Silent communication passed between them as their gazes met, and he knew the man would be just outside the door if he needed him.
Thankfully, Samantha hadn’t heard anything.
He wrapped his arms around her, trying to provide some of his strength.
Even he didn’t feel strong enough for what she was going through.
It wasn’t fair that she had to suffer so much pain.
Slowly, her crying eased and the stiffness in her body gradually relaxed.
After a while, she sat up and looked into his eyes.
She didn’t say anything, but he could hear the questions.
Why was he doing this? What must he think of her?
There had to be a part of her that worried he was no better than the man in the sketchbook.
After a long moment, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you for carrying me.”
“Thank you for allowing me to.”
“I’m sorry I—”
“No apologies. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, that certainly isn’t true. At the very least, I frightened you, and I’m sorry for that.”
He nodded, breathing a deep sigh. She had frightened him. More than she could possibly know. But that wasn’t her intention.
“We’ll find a better way for you to feel.”
“How?” Her voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know yet, but we will. I want you to promise me that if you have a desire to hurt yourself again, you’ll tell me. I will find another way. Will you promise me that?”
She swallowed, her brow furrowed. “You have more important things to take care of than me, Trent.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care what I’m doing. If I’m out on the estate working, send someone to find me, and I will come. If I’m asleep, wake me.” She looked confused, but he needed her word. “Promise me?”
After a long moment, she nodded. “I promise.”
“Thank you.”
She scoffed. “Thank you, Trent.”
“I need to go down to Maggie. She doesn’t eat when I’m not there. Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you. I’m tired and…”
She didn’t have to finish. He nodded his understanding.
He hated to leave her, but he had Maggie to think about too. She was already feeling neglected as of late. “I’m not leaving you alone, though. I’m going to send Benson in.”
Her eyes grew wide with alarm. He took her hand and shook his head.
“I will never leave you with someone who would cause you harm. Benson is kind, gentle, and nurturing. You don’t even need to engage with him.
If you’d prefer, he’ll just stand by the door, but I trust him more than anyone else in this house. ”
She wiped the residual tears from her cheeks. “I must look a fright.”
“You look beautiful.” She did, despite the swollen eyes and short, jagged brown hair. Hopefully she wouldn’t regret that. “Besides, Benson isn’t going to be here to look at you. He’ll be here to make sure you have everything you need.”
Trent stood and settled her into the chair. He squeezed her hands before walking to the door.
“Will you please see that Samantha has everything she needs?”
“Of course I will.”
“Good man.” He clapped Benson on the shoulder and started for his own room.
Did he just say good man? A smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps he really was Ash’s brother.