Read The Duchess and the Dragon Online
Authors: Jamie Carie
The Duchess and the Dragon (22 page)
“But thou didst not push him over . . . didst thou? He fell and thou failed to save him. Was it not an accident?”
A harsh laugh tore from Drake’s throat, and he reached up and gripped her hard by the shoulders. “No. You wanted to know, and so you will know the truth of it. I heckled him to the edge of that rail. I had the man scared out of his wits and I pushed my advantage completely. I showed no mercy, Serena. And then I ran.”
She blinked. Her eyes overflowed until tears coursed down her cheeks. She shook her head back and forth in silent denial, but he pressed on. “I have to live with the horror of what I have done every day . . . and now, so do you.”
“Oh . . . God help us!”
With that, she turned and ran from him, her feet flying out from beneath her skirts, her footsteps thudding down the cobblestones of the street. An ill wind began to blow.
IT WAS BACK, more fierce than ever.
That black void he had spent his shipboard days dodging and denying and defying. It mocked him now as he stood on the precipice looking at it—so complete—gaping endlessly, it seemed, into a dark nothingness that could swallow him up body and soul in an instant, leaving only the echo of a man named Drake. He felt the rush of his breath.
Why couldn’t he get enough air?
He was drowning in despair, certain the void would be victorious now. Now that he had lost Serena.
His legs gave way. His back slid down the harsh brick of the wall until he squatted against it. His head dropped to his knees and he wrapped his arms around his head, blocking his ears to the voices—voices that no longer had any fear of God, knew their state as fallen and damned, grasping any they could to take down with them. Like great dark birds, their bodies encircled him in
a cloud, each word attacking as a sword’s thrust.
a cloud, each word attacking as a sword’s thrust.
She hates you now—just as your father hated you.
No one will ever want you. Murderer! Murderer!
You should have never been born . . . Kill yourself! It’s what you deserve.
Drake felt the dragon inside awaken, uncoil, and surge to the surface where it met the barrier of his will, of his flesh and bone. It rolled, roaring inside him, strong, stronger even than the despair. He closed his eyes . . .
Dare he unleash it? What kind of madness would it lead to? Darkness fighting darkness.
Fire burned in his belly as he surged to his feet, fists clenched by his sides, searching for the source of the invisible voices. He cursed his tongue for the way he had told Serena the dark tale, cursed a misbegotten life that had led him to this moment, and cursed God for abandoning him to it all.
Let the dragon reign. It was all he had.
BLINDED BY TEARS, her side aching and breath rushing in and out, Serena ran. It had begun to snow, soft and light and melting as it fell in the spring air, but Serena couldn’t delight in the wonder. Her only thought was home and some sense of firm ground amid the sinking sand of her life.
She fumbled with the door latch, her hands shaking as she jiggled the handle up and down. Taking off a glove she finally achieved her goal and shouldered her way into the warm quiet of the house. Mindlessly she pulled off her bonnet and let it slide to the floor as she walked to the bedroom. She shut the door behind her and flung herself on the bed, letting the sobs she’d been holding back overtake her.
What had she done?
Slowly, like a heavy weight dropping through layer after layer of tissue paper, the truth lodged into her mind. She had married a stranger . . . a murderer . . . and God knew what else. She certainly didn’t. The image of her husband enraged, shaking her, took hold of her thoughts.
He is dangerous. He will hurt you. If you anger him enough, he might even kill you.
She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t.” But the doubts remained, roiling inside her with sickening certainty. For the first time since her marriage, she was afraid she might have made a horrible mistake.
The wind picked up, whistling about the window, lending to the eerie feel in the room. The pretty snow was turning into a storm.
She curled on her side, careful now to stay on her portion of the bed, to keep his side unrumpled. She cried until she had cried herself out and lay staring at the wall, unable to think, unable to feel.
She heard the front door open and sat up, quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. It might be her parents returning from meeting . . . or it could be Drake. She tensed.
The knob turned and Drake’s form filled the doorway. He had a way of filling up a room with his presence that always made her breath catch, but this time she looked at him with fear.
“I beg your pardon. I just came to get my things.”
Serena stared without understanding, sitting straighter on the bed in a slow daze. “Your things?”
“Serena.” His voice was raspy and dead. “You must want me to leave.”
She drew a shaky breath, her eyes wide. “Leave?”
He went around to the far side of the bed and pulled out the trunk from underneath. She watched as he began packing his meager belongings. It only took moments, it would seem, to end something intended to last a lifetime.
Like their marriage.
He hefted the trunk under his arm and looked down at her. “You will be better off without me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, then closed his eyes and lowered her hand, letting go.
She felt the warmth from his hand, a living thing, seep into her skin, melting her shock. In a moment all the lessons of the Friends came to her mind—lessons on honesty, sin, rage, and murder. In the same moment, she saw this man, whom she loved with her whole being, intent on leaving her so that she would be unsullied by his past.
She knew she should let him walk away . . . that she should spend the rest of her live in safe solitude, in the quiet, unassuming browns and blacks of the life she’d always known. The cost of the full spectrum of life’s color hit her. But as she looked into his eyes, all she knew was her love for him—a love that didn’t care what he’d done or what he might yet do or how wrong his whole life appeared to be.
“No! Don’t go. Do not go . . . Drake.” It came out as a soft pleading. She reached out her hand toward him. How could she have doubted what they had? It was too strong to be denied. “I love thee.” It was a helpless plea.
He stood there, his face on the verge of crumbling . . . muscles quivering throughout his whole body. For what seemed an eternity he weighed her words, testing their validity. He finally set down the trunk and pulled her from the bed into his arms, sighing heavily into her hair. “I will make it up to you . . . to God. From this day forward I will do only what is right.”
She looked into those fierce eyes, seeing determination and pain, a battered person resolving to be righteous.
“I will be a good husband. I’ll work hard, provide for you and any family we have. I’ll be a devoted father. I . . . I will be kind and . . . patient . . . like your father. I will be like your father.”
“Being good, even as good as my father, will not undo what thou hast done. Thou must pray for forgiveness and then seek restitution with the man’s family.” It was hard to say, but she knew they must face the truth of it.
He slid to the floor in front of her, dropped his head against her stomach. “I have prayed, many times. I just don’t know if anyone is listening. Why should He listen to someone like me?”
“God is always listening. He knewest what thou wouldst do when He made thee in the beginning of creation. And still He made thee. He knew all the sin man would commit from the beginning to the end—then He made restitution for sin by allowing His perfect Son to take it upon Himself. Thou hast repented, thou art forgiven. ’Tis so simple and yet hard for us to truly grasp.” Serena sighed. “The other, though, I am not certain. I know not how to recompense for a man’s life.”
“I cannot go back!” he rasped. “I am tormented by it, but I’ve no desire to hang.”
Serena gasped, feeling as though a lance had been driven through her heart. “They would hang thee?”
Drake looked up at her, his eyes bleak. “It is possible.”
She wavered. “But thou didst not really intend to kill him, didst thou? Tell me true, Drake. Didst thou
mean
to push him over?”
mean
to push him over?”
Drake shook his head. “I thought to scare him, that is all. Something changed . . . I don’t know what happened, but I was so angry, I couldn’t see or think. I have very quick reflexes, honed by years of swordsmanship. After going over and over it in my mind, I know I could have grasped his hand and saved him . . . but I didn’t. And I do not know why.”
He grasped the fabric of her skirts in his fists. “I am sorry—so sorry. If I could go back and make it right I would, but it’s too late. I need more time, Serena. Maybe someday I can go back and face the charges, but not yet, not when I have just found you.”
Serena shivered at the idea of them going to London where Drake might be hanged, leaving her a widow and a stranger in an unknown world. Or worse, his going back alone, she not knowing if she would ever see him again. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t demand it of him. She didn’t want to risk his life any more than he did.
A rattle at the door brought them out of the moment. Drake stood, and Serena straightened out her skirts and smoothed back her hair. “I’ll go and help mother with dinner.” She clasped his strong hand in hers and squeezed it. “If we need to leave Philadelphia, I think I know of a place we could go.”
He half-smiled with a frown between his eyebrows. “Where?”
“Dost thou think farming would be more to thy liking than silversmithing?” Her eyes were hopeful.
“Serena . . .”
“I have a friend, in the Shenandoah Valley. He has more land than he can currently farm and, I think, would sell some to us and help us get started.”
Drake’s countenance darkened. “This friend wouldn’t be Christopher Kingsley, would it? Did he not want to marry you?”
Serena shrugged and looked down. “He may have at one time, but he knows I love thee.” She pleaded with her eyes. “Drake, ’tis beautiful there, buried in the mountains. We . . . thou . . . wouldst be safe there.”
Drake shook his head. “I do not like it.”
“We could begin our own life there—together.”
Drake felt the dragon within retreat to its lair, folding in its wings, settling back, far back into him. To sleep again. It was borrowed time . . . but he was willing to take it, to keep the monster asleep.
“I will consider it.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY
The Great Trading Path—or Great Warrior’s Path, as some called it—was more of a deep gouge in the earth than a path. The surface was worn down ten inches or more in spots and muddy from the spring rains. Muck sucked at Drake’s shoes. Wilderness—dense, leafy screens on either side—flanked them, its green arms reaching toward them, trying to reclaim the trail man had carved through its belly.
The group of six trudged through the mire. Serena paused to wipe her hand along her forehead and readjust the grip on her walking stick. When she didn’t move, Drake stopped the packhorse and two-wheeled cart he was leading, went to her, and placed a hand on her back.
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