Chapter 1 #4
But he also knew that, if given no alternative, Raff would force himself to wed and bed a woman he had no love for to maintain the family line and prevent their lands from moving into the hands of someone who would not care for them.
Ash thought of the close comfort that had made him so jealous at the funeral, of the way Penn stared at Raff, of the way they linked arms when they thought no one else was watching. He thought of the pain they had both endured to ensure such closeness.
He thought of Oliver. Olly, with his huge smile and messy hair like spun gold, like autumn straw, of his endless promises.
He could not damn Raff like that. Like he had been damned.
Ash sighed. He deserved this. Raff had sacrificed years of his life for him.
When Ash had returned from France, delirious and determined to die, Raff had stayed by his side.
He’d forced him to survive, even though Ash had fought him every step of the way.
He’d held Ash down when he’d tried to flee the keep, desperate to bring home the body he’d never been permitted to find.
Afterwards, all anyone else saw was the miraculous recovery and the awful scar on his face. Raff saw the rest: the fractures beneath, the fog that had descended over Ash’s mind, the listless, endless sea of grey and the consuming, half-formed memories.
Another brother might have pushed him back into the role of heir, injury or no.
Raff hadn’t. He’d allowed Ash’s wild moods and furious tempers, and had all the while taken on his role, too.
He’d gone with their father to visit nobles and villagers alike.
He’d worked with townspeople to see to trade routes and harvests.
He’d mingled at banquets in Ash’s stead, and Ash had let him, even though he was aware of how much Raff hated being around such crowds of people.
Raff would return anxious and exhausted, and Ash would thank him, but not relieve him of the duty.
He owed Raff too much to blame him. It wasn’t surprising he’d finally reached for what he wanted rather than what others needed. A worse man would have done it years ago.
Through marrying and ensuring an heir, Ash could finally repay him those years of tolerance and undeserved patience.
He felt a little guilty that Raff’s hard work would ultimately be for naught – that Ash’s fate would remain the same as it had done when he’d stumbled back into his brother’s life years ago – but at least he was leaving Raff with more than he would have done then.
His death would hurt. Ash wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise; the death of their father had been a sharp enough pain.
But the funeral had proven what Ash already knew – that Raff, and Lily too, would be all right.
That they had others to lean on – others far more reliable than he ever could be. In time, they would heal from the loss.
He was watching a moth land on an overturned bucket when the sound of footsteps caught his ear.
‘Ash?’
Raff had appeared in the garden archway. He weaved between the overflowing beds and came to sit beside him.
‘I thought I may find you out here,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, Ash. About the marriage. I know it must be difficult, after … well.’
Ash wanted to deny it. But the wine moved his tongue unthinkingly. Raff was the only one he could talk to about the ghost that was still trailing him, after all.
‘I am betraying him,’ he admitted.
Raff pressed closer, saying nothing.
‘At least I am not marrying for love,’ Ash said. ‘This is just another choice I must make as earl. Making trade agreements with Roland is not a betrayal, doing that does not break my vows. This is no different.’
Raff’s answering silence was not an agreement. But nor was it a denial.
When he finally spoke again, he was looking at his feet. ‘Surely you planned for this? With Ol—’ A sharp intake of breath, the word swallowed. ‘With him? You knew you would one day inherit the title, after all.’
Ash had half-hoped Raff would say the name aloud. He was thankful that he had not.
‘We … we did,’ he muttered. ‘But, in truth …’ He gave a sharp, uncontrolled bark of a laugh so sudden it made Raff jump. ‘Frankly, we had rather assumed you would deal with the problem.’
‘Me?’
‘Oh, come.’ Ash rolled his eyes. ‘You are kind, and thoughtful, and not entirely hideous …’
‘High praise indeed.’
‘What I mean … I— we had assumed that Father would marry you off to some noblewoman and you’d have so many children that the issue of issue would no longer matter. We could do as we liked and the title would pass to them, in time.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh indeed.’
‘I could still—’
‘No.’ The word came out stronger than Ash had intended. ‘No,’ he fixed himself quickly. ‘You could not. Do not even entertain that thought.’
Raff seemed poised to argue, before thinking better of it. He could not know that Ash had accepted this a long time ago, even before their father’s death.
The acceptance still stung. At least it would be over soon. Ash itched at the cord looped heavily around his neck.
Soon.