Chapter 20 #2
The orchestra kept playing, with one song blending into the next, but they did not stop dancing. Catherine’s eyes drifted away from Alaric’s face, and he sensed her stiffen.
“It feels like everyone is watching us,” she murmured.
“Focus on me.” Alaric’s voice was a gentle command. “Let them fade into the background. There is only you and me.” Her eyes flicked to his face. Alaric nodded. “Good.”
He spun her again, the music weaving them closer together. They moved as one, her hand sending warmth through him.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” Alaric murmured, his heart aching as he stared into her eyes.
“Alaric, I...” Catherine began, but he did not hear the rest of her words.
Pain shot through his head, so violently that he thought his head would split in two. The world around him faded. He could smell iron.
Somewhere in the distance, horses were screaming. Something wet trickled down his face. Every breath he took was agony. It was as if his chest had been pierced with a thousand daggers.
He pulled himself forward, screaming as he went. White, hot, blinding pain. All around him was debris, pieces of the carriage, splintered and broken, with the spokes of the wheel scattered. He grasped one to pull himself along, but it snapped.
Pain pierced through him again, and he swore. His eyes were fixed on the broken spoke. It was not a jagged edge but a smooth cut, almost as if someone had sawed into it.
Why can I smell lavender?
“Alaric!” The world suddenly came into focus, and Alaric stumbled. He was still on the dance floor with Catherine.
Sweat coated his body, and his hands trembled. Catherine’s hands rested on his face, her face pale and her eyes wide. Nausea threatened to take him over.
“Pineapple,” Alaric murmured, blinking rapidly to stop the lights dancing before his eyes. “Pineapple.”
Catherine nodded subtly, moving to Alaric’s side. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her, and she did not pull away. His legs were trembling, but her presence beside him gave him strength.
He barely noticed as they apologized to the host. He forced himself to walk to the carriage, mustering all his willpower not to be sick. He helped Catherine into the carriage, or at least, attempted to appear as if that was what he was doing.
He climbed in after her. As soon as the door shut, he slumped against the wall and clutched his head. Catherine sat beside him. He heard the dull thump of her hand against the carriage, and then it started moving. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly.
He was vaguely aware of Catherine murmuring to him, though he could not make out what she was saying. He let sleep take him.
When he woke up, the carriage had stopped, and Catherine was gently guiding him into the castle. He followed her; his head still ached.
“His Grace is unwell.” Alaric heard Catherine say as they entered. “Help me take him to his room.”
“No, I can manage.” Alaric’s voice sounded far away to his own ears.
He could feel Catherine’s disapproval as he slowly made his way to his room. He sensed the warmth of her behind him, her hand resting on his back.
As they entered the study, Catherine threw several logs on the fire while Alaric lowered himself into an armchair, massaging his head.
“Why did you not tell me sooner that your head was hurting?” Catherine was by his side, brushing his hair from his face. “Alaric, I cannot help you if you keep things from me.”
“I did not want to worry you.” Alaric felt the warmth of her fingertips spread through him.
The scent of lavender replaced the lingering metallic smell in his mind. The headache eased, and the memory came back to him once again.
“How often has this been happening?” Catherine’s voice was soft, full of fury and something else he could not identify in the haze of his pain.
“It has been more frequent of late. The slips… They are more violent, and the memories are unsettling.” Alaric opened his eyes and was surprised to find Catherine so close to him.
“What do you mean?” Her brow furrowed.
“They are the kind of things one would prefer to forget. I suspect that is why they have taken so long to return.” Alaric gritted his teeth.
“Moments of my father beating me, the way he used to paw at anything with a pulse. My mother weeping over his many, many betrayals. His laughter… I hated him, Catherine. I still do. I hate him with every part of me. He was cruel. Weak.”
Catherine took Alaric’s hand in hers, and he felt her thumb gently stroke his knuckles.
“When he died, I took so much pleasure in stopping all of the things that brought him joy. His payments to G od knows what, his business ventures in the West Indies. All of it.” Alaric’s words were like bitter poison.
“I remember how he used to insist that I would become just like him. That I would behave as he did.”
“You could never do that.” Catherine’s voice was iron.
Alaric swallowed. “My memories of my father are not the only ones that have returned. I keep reliving the accident. That is what happened to me in the ballroom.”
Catherine drew in a breath.
“The more I remember of that night, the more certain I am that it was not chance that caused the crash.” He clutched his palm with his nails, the pain pushing away the remaining nausea.
“Just now, I remembered finding a broken spoke and trying to use it to pull myself from the wreckage. It snapped under my weight.”
“That is hardly surprising. From everything I have been told, the carriage was completely destroyed.” Catherine frowned.
“The break was not a jagged one, Catherine.” Alaric heard the snap of wood in his mind. “In my memory, the thing had a clean edge. As though it had been intentionally cut through.”
“What? But that makes no sense.” Catherine drew back from him.
“It does if we assume that what happened was not some cruel twist of fate.” Alaric met her gaze with his own. “I think someone wanted my carriage to crash.”
“But why? Why would anyone want that? Something like that could kill you.” Her eyes widened. “Heavens ! You think they were trying to kill you?”
“It is the logical conclusion if we assume the accident was not anything like that.” Alaric sighed. “By the time I was found, the driver was dead, and most of the carriage was beyond saving. But the more I remember of that night, the more certain I am that it was no accident.”
“But who would want to do that to you?” Catherine’s hands rested in her lap, her fingers flexing and clenching.
Before Alaric could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Enter.”
Mrs. Langley arrived with a pot of tea on a silver tray. Her green eyes flicked from Alaric to Catherine as she curtsied. Alaric noticed Catherine stiffen as the woman set the tray down in front of them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Langley.” Alaric gestured to the tray. “You may leave us.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mrs. Langley moved toward the door. “Shall I bring you more tea tomorrow?”
Alaric nodded, and Mrs. Langley left the room. He turned to find Catherine staring into the fire, her mouth drawn into a thin line.
“If someone tried to kill you, Alaric, we need to understand why,” Catherine murmured. “Then we may have a chance of discovering who was behind this.”
Alaric looked at her, and as he did, his heart felt like it was suddenly too big for his chest.
How can she just accept this without flinching?
He watched as she stood up and began to pace, tapping her fingers on her thighs as she did.
“One way or another, we will get to the bottom of this.” Catherine stopped her pacing to throw a log on the fire before turning to Alaric. “I just wish I knew how.”
“So do I, Catherine.” Alaric clenched his fists. “But we will find out.”
It is the only way to keep you safe.