Chapter 7 #4
Alexander kissed his daughter before heading to his chamber.
He’d told her before he left that morning that her mother was feeling poorly.
Her crestfallen expression had made him add that perhaps tomorrow they’d have some time together.
Until he had some answers, though, he could not jeopardize her safety.
Alice had orders to stay in the nursery, and his chamber was to remain undisturbed as Lady Rebecca was ill.
She’d voiced no questions. Alice and her own daughter, Beatrice, were newly employed and paid generously for their service.
Rebecca always had the house in such a state of distress the servants were constantly turning over.
Her last waiting maid left only a week ago, taking Callesandra’s nanny with her.
Alice and Beatrice hadn’t been here long enough to realize how very different the estate's affairs were right now. A small blessing.
He slipped the key from his pocket, imagining the state his chamber would be in when he entered, and was surprised to find it undisturbed, not a single item out of place.
Alexander couldn’t see the woman, and truthfully was shocked she’d not been waiting to throw something when he opened the door.
He wondered what her name was. Wondered too if it was her lover who he’d rescued her from in the tunnels.
She’d kissed him eagerly enough, though.
Bloody hell, she’d kissed him almost witless. Each and every time.
The room was completely dark, the fire long since burned out.
He lit an oil lamp and searched until he found her shaking on the floor in front of the fireplace.
When he realized that she’d lain freezing on the floor instead of seeking the comfort of his bed, he knew for certain she was nothing like his wife, who would have taken all she wanted without a second thought.
She was, in fact, nothing like any woman he’d ever known.
She sat up as he neared, and he plucked her from the floor almost violently. He was furious, but this time, with himself.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as he cradled her, pressing her face to his shoulder.
Her silent tears soaked his shirt. He tightened his hold as he moved toward the bed.
She was chilled to the bone, and holding her easily with one arm, he pulled his duvet back and carefully placed her on his mattress before covering her with a thick blanket.
He saw to the fire next, restoring it to a warm, crackling blaze. Then, unsure of what to do, what to say, he sat on the edge of the bed, bent over with his head in his hands.
Did he really want answers to the questions that plagued him? As he pondered just how to proceed, he heard his door creak open, followed by the patter of Callesandra’s feet. When she stood before him, he lifted his head, smiling in spite of his mood at his daughter’s temerity.
“Can I sleep with you, Papa?”
“Yes, angel.” He reached out to capture her little head in the palm of his hand. “You can always sleep with me.” She threw her hands around his legs and he picked her up, hugging her tightly as he swung her toward the bed. “You get to sleep with Mama as well.”
“But Mama never sleeps with you, Papa.”
Alexander turned, looking at the woman in his bed. “She does now, angel.” This new woman faced him now, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes and then reaching her hands out, waiting to enfold Callesandra.
He handed his daughter to her, the action somehow feeling right, and safe.
He watched as she hugged her just as lovingly as he had, then stood and unfastened his cloak and removed his shirt.
Callesandra remained buried in the woman’s arms, her face hidden against her chest. The woman watched as he undressed, leaving only his breeches on.
He came silently into bed, looking at the two of them taking comfort from each other. “Mama, you’re so cold,” Callesandra whispered. “And you still have your dress on.”
She answered his daughter while staring into his eyes. “I didn’t feel well today, Callesandra. I was too tired to remove my dress.”
“Papa said you were ill. Take your dress off, Mama, sleep in your shift.”
“I’m fine. Hush now, angel, go back to sleep.”
Alexander sighed. His daughter was right. “Sit up,” he ordered softly, and she did.
He turned her to face the other way and undid the fastenings of her dress, pushing the material from her shoulders. It was then he saw the bruises on her back and her arms.
Callesandra gasped. “Mama, what happened?”
“I fell, sweetheart. It doesn’t hurt.” She smiled over her shoulder at Callesandra.
Alexander knew she lied for the sake of his daughter. He helped slip the dress down, freed it from her feet, then tossed it to the floor at the end of the bed, smiling as Callesandra giggled.
They both lay down again, looking at each other, eyes filled with regret, though no doubt for different reasons.
“Your name?” Alexander finally whispered when he was sure Callesandra was asleep between them. The woman lowered her eyes, but didn’t speak.
Alexander bristled and repeated the question.
“Amanda,” she said after a long moment.
“Where are you from, Amanda?” he asked, relief flooding his body.
It took a long time for her to answer. “Far from here, Alexander. So far I’m not sure if it truly exists anymore.”
“Is there something or someone you’re running from? The lover I pulled from you last night?” The thought not only sickened him, it angered him.
“No,” she said, her face open and earnest. She was telling the truth. “I’ve never run from anything, and he was not my lover.”
“You ran from me,” he reminded her, suppressing a relieved smile. “You chose the cliff wall rather than the protection of my men.”
“I’d never seen them before, Alexander. How was I to know they wouldn’t harm me?”
“My men would never harm you, nor would I.”
“You hate Rebecca. And if I am she, then you hate me too.” Her voice was small—she looked almost scared.
“I didn’t hate her. That would imply that I loved her at one time. I only hated her actions, her cruelness, especially to my daughter.”
“Is Callesandra only yours, then?”
“No, Amanda. She is ours.” It sounded right. He hoped she would agree. He’d only just met this woman, Amanda, but something told him she was the only woman for him.
“What of your wife, Alexander?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, slowly, measuring his words, not sure how much to say. “It seems as you said last night: you are my wife, and for the sake of my daughter, you shall remain.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay,” she said.
“Have you somewhere else to go?”
“No.”
“Is there a letter you wish to send, a relative you have need to contact?”
“I wouldn’t know where to send it, and there’d be no one to receive it.”
“Then as I’ve said, Amanda, you shall stay—for the sake of my daughter.”
“And what of yourself, Alexander? What of your sake?”
“I have no sake, I have only my daughter.”
“You’re very lucky then, Alexander, for I have nothing—at least not here.”
Amanda turned, taking Callesandra with her. She faced the wall, though failed to hide the tears that fell down her face. Alexander wrapped his arms around her, pulling both her and Callesandra into his protective embrace.
“You have me and my daughter now, Amanda.”
Alexander tucked her head under his chin, holding them even tighter. They slept that way the entire night.