Chapter 27
September 13th, 1881
Edinburgh, Scotland
The fire popped and crackled in the grate. Eva was asleep in an armchair, her legs dangling over the padded arm and her head against a cushion.
Footsteps woke her.
She snapped open her eyes to see Elias hovering over her with a blanket. His lips flattened, and he promptly straightened.
“Ye looked cold,” he said.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she murmured, bringing her legs around to the floor. “How’s Henry? Did he manage to eat something?”
With a sigh, he sat in the opposite chair. “He’s sleeping. And yes, he drank a bowl of broth.”
She stood. “I should check on him.”
“You’re wearing yerself out. Rest and allow me the chance to take on the burden of caring for him.”
Eva resisted the urge to leave the room. She wanted to be by Henry’s side. Even if he were asleep, she could monitor his breathing or his nightmares. She could keep him dry and hydrated. She could try singing to him…
“Lass?”
“What?”
“Sit and rest,” he demanded. “Yer going to make yerself sick.”
Slowly, she sat back down. She was exhausted from another long day of acting as Henry’s nurse. It had already been eight days, and she wondered when it would end.
A shiver tingled down her spine. “I guess I am cold after all.”
Elias handed her the blanket, and she wrapped it around her shoulders. The wool felt good against her chilled skin.
“Thank you,” she said. “How are you doing?”
A morose look flashed across his face as he observed the dancing flames in the fireplace.
“I am wounded,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“For many reasons,” he said, his gaze still fixated on the fire. “Reasons that do not need to be said out loud, for they do not matter.”
Taken aback by his honesty, she leaned forward and reached for his free hand. “They do matter, Elias.”
He looked at her with a faint smile. “Och, lass, they don’t. Not really. Much as it pains me to admit, I ken how this will end.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we were lads, Henry and I often explored the woodland. I wanted to capture wee beasties and stick them with pins. Henry wanted to set them free. As we grew older, we spoke about going overseas to America. I only had academic goals in mind. He did too, although his infatuation with freedom took on a new turn. He wanted love. True love. Not the expected kind found in the high-society circles he frequented. It was his desire to have a strong lass by his side. One who could shoot through life like a blazing star, as he often said. I told him he read too many books because a woman like that did not exist.” His gaze was distant as he chuckled. “Do ye ken what he told me?”
Eva shook her head.
“He said I needed to open my mind to new horizons because there was an undiscovered world outside Great Britain. I suppose he was right on both counts.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The orange glow of the fire turned his eyes into two amber stones. They looked down at her hand within his. He gave it a little squeeze.
“Because I see yer struggling with a decision. Ye want to trust him but there’s something stopping ye.”
She breathed deeply. It did not help the rising ache in her chest.
“Have ye told him the whole story?” he said.
“No.”
“Holding things of that magnitude is never any good. As we can see with the blundering fool upstairs,” he grumbled. “Perhaps ye’ve been struggling with moving on because ye haven’t spoken about yer whole pain or even allowed yerself the chance to fully grieve.”
“Grieve?”
“Ye lost many things that day.”
She took a moment to form a reply. “Because some things are too hard to talk about.”
“So ye think it’s better that those difficult things stay lost, rather than being found? Because once they’re found, they are out in the open for people to touch, or worse, break them again,” he said.
The ache in her chest twisted. “Have you forgiven him?”
“Without question,” he said. “And ye should consider it too. Whatever may have happened in June, it was not his fault. The Henry I know would never bring harm to his family. He loves ye with all his soul, and it pleases me he’s finally found his strong-willed woman.”
She stifled her tears. “Thank you for telling me that. I needed to hear it.”
Elias nodded.
No more words were exchanged between them. Minutes later, after a final squeeze of her hand, Elias excused himself from the room. She sensed he wanted to say more, possibly about their budding romance which had withered to nothing since Henry’s return.
She wandered to her bedroom and sat on the bed, pondering Elias’s words and the meaning behind them. He was letting her go. She felt a twinge of sadness at the idea their relationship never had a chance to grow past the initial crush stage. Perhaps it never would have because Henry would have been the one constant thing between them. That thought alone quickened her pulse.
The silence in her room was too much. She wanted to be near him.
She rose from her bed and quietly walked through the darkened corridor toward Henry’s bedroom.
He lay on his side with his back facing the door. Beneath the thick woolen blanket, he was fast asleep. Apart from the wind outside, the only other noise was his steady breathing.
She slowly crawled onto the bed.
Rosie the doll was tucked between the two pillows.
Days ago, she had placed it in Henry’s bed with the hope it would act as a lucky charm. It was a ridiculous idea. But after the doll had given her good vibes throughout her recovery, she was desperate enough to try it with Henry. What she did not expect was the weird paranormal stuff. The same day she had placed Rosie in his bed, Henry had seen his dead mother. She told herself it was a hallucination brought on by his fever. At best, another coincidence. Paranormal activity aside, Henry had knocked on death’s door and survived. That had to count for something.
She picked up the doll and studied it. Maybe it had brought him luck. Maybe Rosie Asheford was looking down on them both. Stranger things had happened. She only had to look at herself stuck in the past as a testament to that. Eva nestled the doll against her chest. Lying on her side, she placed her head against the pillow and observed the back of Henry’s head.
It had been eight days of suffering. How had time passed so quickly? How had he made it through the worst sickness she had ever seen? To have done so without modern medicine was an incredible show of strength. Still, she hoped it would soon be over and that there would not be any long-lasting effects.
Henry rolled onto his back.
She held her breath.
He was still asleep. In the faint light of the clouded moon, she could see the dark-purple rings beneath his eyes. His expression, no longer marked by the harshness of withdrawal, told the tale of a man broken free from an impossible weight.
She exhaled.
Finally.
Henry had always seen himself as a coward, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was a soldier in his own war who had sacrificed his needs to fight fearlessly for the people he loved and the freedom he wanted.
And you hated him for it.
Her fingers instinctively lay on his arm.
Elias was right.
She had lost many things that day: love, trust, dignity, safety. To find them again, she needed to open herself up to the idea of accepting the full extent of what had happened. She needed to speak out. Some of those lost things may never return, some may never be the same, and some may rise again, stronger and sturdier, like a phoenix from its ashes.
***
The sun heated his eyelids, nose and lips, but it was not warming his midriff. That came from something heavy, soft and affectionate.
He opened his eyes.
Eva was asleep next to him. Her arm was draped across his chest and her head rested upon his shoulder.
He stayed as still as he could.
In the light of the morning sun, she appeared like a subject from a Renaissance painting. A soft white glow surrounded her honey locks like a halo, her cheeks were tinged pink, and her face was tranquil.
He smiled at her beauty.
For her to lie next to him meant she trusted him again. He wondered what had happened. His last conscious thought had been days ago, shortly after his breakfast of eggs and toast. Once gripped by the severity of withdrawal, he could not hold on to reality and drifted between hallucinations and sleep.
He shuddered.
What had he confessed to? Had she told him more of her story? If she had, he did not remember, and that meant he had not listened.
He breathed out.
Relax.
It could not have been that bad; she was by his side.
He looked at the fine blonde hairs on her arm. Her skin was still browned by the sun, and there were more freckles than he remembered from the last time they were this close. What had she been doing the last few months? Where had she gone? He hoped her tale was not too harrowing. He hoped to God she at least found joy.
He did not want to wake her, but he could not help but touch her skin. He gently skated a finger across her wristbone, down her forearm and to her elbow, where her cheek rested.
She was near enough to kiss. That would cross a line they had yet to speak about. But, God, did he have the overwhelming urge to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
She moved and let out a soft, sleepy murmur as her hand slid across the side of his torso, planting itself on his beating heart. Her head popped up.
Their gazes caught.
Wide-eyed, she jerked away. A cold swoosh of air fell between them as she sat up.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What for?”
She gave him a confused look. Furrowing her brow, she brushed a hand through her wild mane of hair.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“I am.”
“You’re speaking and looking at me.” She touched his forehead and rested two fingers on his neck. “Fever is gone. Pulse is normal. You even have some colour in your face. How do you feel?”
“Like I fought a battle.”
“Don’t be modest,” she scoffed. “You fought a war.”
His heart clenched. “I hope it wasn’t too off-putting a show?”
“You get bonus points for expelling the demons literally and figuratively for nine days straight. I nearly considered bringing in a priest for an exorcism.”
A wave of shame overtook his senses, and he wanted to stand. He did not want to be reminded of this nine-day humiliation, or how weak a man he was. He wanted to move forward. With great effort, he pulled away the covers and threw his heavy legs over the edge of the bed.
She crawled to his side. “Let me help you.”
“No.”
“You haven’t walked in a week.”
“I doubt I have forgotten how to walk,” he snapped.
She sat back on her ankles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up a doll and stare at it with a sad expression. He wondered why she had a doll. He also wondered why he had switched from infatuation to feeling cold and distant with her.
A terse silence settled over the room.
He clenched his jaw. “It would seem I am irritated,” he confessed.
“With me?”
“With the entire situation.” He brought his gaze to his hands. His veins were thick along the inside of his forearms. How much weight had he lost? “As I sit here, I still feel weak, and it irritates me to high hell. I do not remember much of the last few days. I do not know what I may have said or done. If you told me things, I cannot recall your words.”
“We did not talk much,” she said.
He looked at her. “About anything?”
“Apart from you vowing to fight the darkness and I forgiving you, we did not speak about anything more.”
“Forgiving me?”
“Yes.”
“How did you say it?” he said. “Say it once more for me, please.”
“I threatened you, mostly.”
“Typical.”
“You deserved it,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “You were adamant you were dying and begged me to forgive you. I told you I had forgiven you long ago, but I swore to never forgive you if you died on me.”
He breathed through a subtle jab of pain. “Ah.”
“You don’t seem happy with the news?”
“It does not bring me happiness to know your forgiveness was forced.”
She made a choking sound. “Oh, c’mon.”
“I’m being serious, Eva. Do you truly forgive me? Or was it only said because it was my dying wish?”
She set the doll aside. She rose to her knees and placed her hands on either side of his face. “I forgive you,” she said. “And, for added measure, I will say it again and continue to say it as many times as you need to hear it. Henry Asheford, I forgive you.”
His irritation melted away. The familiar need to be close to her unleashed a longing pull in his chest. Like a magnet, he was pulled to her. His hands reached for her hips. Shapely, curvy, soft hips. He could not contain his need for her and pulled her into his arms.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her belly.
She took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. “It took me a long time to find the strength to say that, and, if I’m honest, it’s still a struggle. There are many stones left unturned between us. There’s three months of missing time to account for. I do care for you” —she brushed a thumb over his cheekbone—“but I need time to find my way back. We both do. Do you understand that?”
“Time,” he said. “I bloody hate that word.”
“It is rather annoying, isn’t it?”
“Utterly irritating.”
Her eyes brightened, and she gave a small smile.
His smile back was tight-lipped and felt hollow. Hopefully, it would return with time. Time. Yes, he too needed time to find his way back.
“The sun is shining, and I would welcome a little nanty narking. What say you to a walk around the garden?” he said.
“Nanty… narking?”
“It means having fun.”
Her smile grew into a smirk. “Yes, quite. I too would welcome a little nanty narking around the bushes. Would you acquire my helping hand, Mr. Asheford?”
He grimaced at her horrible attempt at an English accent. “Good God, not with that accent, madam.”
“What’s wrong with my accent?”
“It’s hindering my nanty narking.”
She laughed. “Okay, how about my southern belle one? Why, sir, that will surely get your jimmies in a rustle.”
“Slightly better,” he murmured. “But it does not get my jimmies in a rustle either.”
“Well too bad for you, ’cause I can keep talking like this ’til the cows come home.”
His brow rose. “I dare you.”
“My heavens, a dare? You shouldn’t tease this li’l lady with threats of fun.”
His mind whirled from the feel of her in his arms, from the rumble of her laugh, from her teasing that he’d sorely missed. If he stayed in this position any longer, he would have her pressed beneath him against the bed. He would blanket her in a shower of kisses. He would touch those curves, breathe her in and whisper longing words before they would be reunited as one.
And he was seconds away from losing all self-control again.
Christ…
Turning from her, he made to stand but quickly realized a problem. The hardness pressing against the front of his trousers would reveal his sinful thoughts. His face reddened. The last thing he wanted was to make Eva uncomfortable, especially after her speech about taking their remedied relationship slow.
“Will you allow me the chance to wash?” he said with an unsteady voice.
When she did not answer, he looked at her.
She was watching him.
Flushed cheeks, soft eyes and her lower lip sucked between her teeth. A look of arousal if ever he saw one. Had she noticed his obvious encumbrance? If she had, was the feeling reciprocated? He swallowed hard.
Don’t think of that. Not until you are both well again.
“I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes,” he managed to say.
“Ten, it is. Although, you may want to stretch that to fifteen,” she said, a provoking smile on her lips. “Who would have thought the southern belle would have such a huge effect on you?”
He was burning in an inferno of awkwardness. So, she had noticed. Typical Eva to make a quip about it.
The blankets rustled as she made her way off the bed. As soon as the door shut behind her, he stood on unsteady legs. After he had washed, brushed his teeth and changed into something more appropriate for the hour of the day, he made his way outdoors. Every few yards, he stopped to feel the sun on his face and breathe in the cool country air. It had a delightful crispness and was filled with the whispering scents of Scotland. He found Eva sitting on a stone bench beneath a large oak.
Heat still lingered in his cheeks from their earlier conversation.
Ah, well.
They were both adults. They had been lovers. He should not be ashamed by his natural physical reaction to a woman he was still in love with.
He sat next to her.
They sat without speaking for several minutes. The view before them was a green meadow, slowly yellowing with the change of season. The river in the distance was framed by purple-and-green mountains. A line of trees marked the river’s edge.
Henry was the first to speak. “I’ve missed a view like this.”
“It’s hard to beat,” she said. “Scone?”
He glanced at the plate of scones in her hand. They were lightly golden and dotted with fruit, and their scent wafting to his nose made his stomach growl.
“Thank you,” he said, selecting the largest one.
As he took his first bite of solid food in days, he continued to take in the scenery. Everything about this moment was entrancing. It was so profoundly, breathtakingly beautiful, he felt his heart mending. The tranquility took him back to Asheford Hall and faraway memories of his boyhood days rolling down hills or running through meadows. He could scarcely believe he had once been that boy, untainted by chaos.
“Eva?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” he said for the third time that morning. “There are no words to convey the powerful gratitude I feel for your compassionate care. You’ve given me a new chance at life.”
She didn’t reply.
He turned to look at her, and her eyes cautiously met his. There was no denying the glint of distrust in them.
“For as long as I live, I will never fall to such depths of deprivation again. It is a promise made to you and to myself,” he said.