Wolf Island (15 page)

Abby
slapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Rape. An insidious image cut
through her. Cold, callous, brutal. A violent act had made Devlin repulsive and
abhorrent in his mother’s eyes. Her heart ached for them both. With tears
stinging her eyes, she returned her gaze to the page and continued to read.

I wish I could have ended this pregnancy, but my Catholic
upbringing would not permit it. So I endured, and now it is over. I wanted to
send the child away, to put him up for adoption, but Randall and Olivia insist
on raising him. I was hoping to get his father out of my life for good, never
see him or think of him again. But when he escaped from the institution for the
criminally insane, came back here, and attacked me, I knew he would be a part
of my life forever and I could never wash away the horrible memories of him
from my mind. Now this child has his father’s blood, and that makes Victor
Morgan’s immoral acts a part of him.

God forgive me, I pray with all my heart that the baby will die.
I will leave this castle, this island tomorrow and hope never to return. The
only person I will miss is my best friend, Emily. She has been the only comfort
to me through the trauma of the last few months.

Abby
turned the page and found the rest of the journal blank. She shut the book and
choked back a sob. This was the key to Devlin and his past. But how and when
would she let Devlin know that she knew the truth?

Was
that part of the reason he wanted her to leave the island so badly? Had he
inherited the violent triggers of his father? How could she believe that when
he had been nothing but gentle with her since they met? He’d never once tried
to harm her, and he’d had every opportunity.

She
couldn’t imagine the horror of rape. Afterward, if she discovered she was
pregnant, would she want the child? The child wasn’t to blame for the father’s
actions. Didn’t all children, no matter how they were conceived, deserve to be
loved and cherished?

Abby
was still pondering the words she’d read in the diary when someone knocked on
her door. A moment passed before Devlin walked in. He looked incredible,
dressed in faded jeans and a white shirt. In his hands, he held a tray with a
teapot and cups.

Her
heart went out to him. How could his mother not love him? Despite her mother’s
problems, Abby always knew that she was loved and wanted. Tears welled in her
eyes, and a hard lump formed in her throat. Abby turned her face away and tried
to compose herself.

“Did
I interrupt your reading?”

Abby
glanced down at the small, rose-covered diary she still held in her hands, then
back up at Devlin. “Yes, I, um ...” She didn’t want to discuss this now,
with the myriad of feelings churning through her, but how could she ignore the
revelation she’d just discovered?

“Then,
I did interrupt. If you’d like me to leave --”

“No,
I just finished.” Her voice wobbled slightly with emotion from reading the
diary.

Devlin
frowned, set the tray on the small coffee table in front of the hearth, and
turned. He looked at her as though he could see into the center of her heart.
“What’s wrong?”

He
moved nearer to her, and her heart rate sped. Devlin lifted his hand and
brushed the tips of his fingers over her temple and down her cheek with the
softest touch. Abby shifted away from the gentle contact. “Why do you think
something’s wrong?”

“You
wear your emotions in full view of God and everybody. Your skin is flushed, and
your eyes are slightly red. Come have some tea, and tell me why you were about
to cry when I walked in.”

He
had noticed. Darn her fair British skin, which reddened easily. She didn’t want
to talk about the diary now, but she needed to tell him something that would be
convincing. Besides, how could she not talk to him when his voice sounded so
gentle?

Abby
laid the diary on the top of the desk, walked across the room, and settled on
the sofa beside him. “The doctor told me that sometimes a traumatic experience
or a bump on the head can cause a person to be more emotional at times than
they normally would be.”

Devlin
frowned. “Right, I almost forgot. The doc did mention something about that. I
should have come by sooner and not left you alone so much of the morning.”

Abby
sighed. “It’s okay. The bump on my head isn’t the reason you found me with
tears in my eyes.”

“What
was the reason?”

“Let’s
have some tea first.”

A
minute later, Abby sipped her tea and whisked her gaze over Devlin’s dark hair,
which had flopped onto his forehead. From there she traced a path to his eyes,
then to his lips. Oh, yes, his lips.

She
would never forget the way he had kissed and touched her the evening before or
the expression in his eyes when she asked him to tell her why he was so
unhappy. At least now she knew the truth.

There
was no way she was going to leave until she knew for certain that he was safe.
He had held her last night as if she were something precious, a treasure that
he valued.

Devlin
turned on the floor lamp on his end of the loveseat and slumped into the
overstuffed cushions on the stripe-patterned sofa. The words
warm and cuddly
sprang to her mind. All he needed was a pipe and slippers. He definitely looked
like the lord of the manor. She had an inexplicable urge to wrap her arms
around him and cling.

“It’s
so quiet,” she said. “The last time we were here together, we heard chimes
ringing and then ...”

Devlin
reached over and squeezed her hand. “Try not to think about it. This morning,
Otis and I double-checked all of the windows and doors in the castle to make
sure they’re secure. The only way anyone will get back in is if they can walk
through walls.”

Walls.
Abby thought about the strange scraping noises she’d often heard through her
bedroom walls since her arrival at the castle. But when she’d peeked out of her
bedroom door or looked behind her in the hallway, no one was there. “Speaking
of walls ... I’ve heard some odd scraping noises from time to time, but
when I investigated, I found nothing. Do you have any idea what these noises
could be?”

Devlin
rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe tree branches brushing against the castle
walls, or mice scratching around for food.”

She
wasn’t sure about either explanation, but decided to drop it for the time
being. Abby grimaced and gave him a mock shiver. “I hate mice, so don’t even
mention them.”

Devlin
smiled. “You seem to be feeling better.”

“I
am.” Abby retrieved the diary from the desk, then sat back down beside Devlin.
“I found this wedged in a drawer in the desk.”

“What
is it?”

Abby
looked up at him, reached out her hand, and caressed the side of his face.
“Your mother’s diary. I’m so sorry, Dev.”

He
didn’t move, just looked at her as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. “You
know. Oh, God, you know.” He tried to draw away, but she grabbed his hands and
held them tight. “Don’t pull back, or nothing will ever change. Can’t you see
that?”

He
stared at her with misery on his face and pain shadowing his eyes. “What did it
say?”

“Just
that she was raped and you were raised by your grandparents.”

“That’s
all?”

“Basically,
yes.”

“Did
she say anything about me? Did she say --”

He
turned his face away, but she raised his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles.
“Talk to me, Dev.”

“What’s
left to talk about?” The grief she heard in his voice broke her heart. “You
just read it all.”

“Tell
me how your parents met.”

He
looked away for a moment, then back at her. “Valerie and her best friend, Emily
Good, came here for the summer, right after Victor arrived home from college.
They stayed with Emily’s older sister, Catherine. They spent most of their time
sunning themselves and sketching down on the beach.”

He
rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “One day the two of them wandered up
here to the castle. Victor was out riding. He came galloping up just as they
crested the hill and nearly ran them over. All it took was one look at Valerie
and he fell madly in love with her.”

Madly
in love. How does a man go from madly in love to rape?

“Six
weeks later, they were married.” His voice trailed away, wistful and sad.

“She
didn’t mention anything in the diary about how she met Victor or their wedding.
I think the diary I found was a continuation of another.”

Devlin’s
head snapped up, his face an expression of surprise. “Do you think there could
be another one somewhere in the castle?”

Abby
shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. But does it really matter if there is?”

“No,
I guess not. It would probably just be filled with stories about Victor’s
jealousy.”

Jealousy?
Abby nodded as if she knew exactly what he was talking about and waited for him
to continue.

“They
had been married barely six months when Valerie opened a gift shop down in the
village. Emily had stayed on the island and helped Val out in the shop a few
afternoons a week. Had a lot of tourists, even in those days, who came to the
island to rent cottages for the summer.”

He
paused as if gathering his thoughts. “Victor didn’t want her working. He tried
to talk her out of it. He couldn’t stand for her to be out of his sight. At
first, my grandparents were amused at his possessiveness, but then he started
showing up at the shop on the spur of the moment and would find her helping a
customer. My mother was a beautiful woman. She was friendly and handled the men
who came into the shop well. Harmless flirtations. She brushed them off because
she only had eyes for Victor. Only, he couldn’t see that.”

Abby
blinked away the tears that nearly rolled down her cheeks. How terrible for a
man so obviously in love to allow something like petty jealousy to come between
him and the love of his life.

She
reached for Devlin’s hand and entwined their fingers. “Dev, no matter what you
tell me, I’m not going anywhere.”

He
looked away. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Hurt, old pain, and guilt laced
his words.

Abby
couldn’t resist giving him some comfort. She touched her hand to his arm. He
looked up at her. “Devlin Morgan, you’re a fine man, and nothing can ever
change that. Tell me what happened with Valerie and Victor.” She was anxious
for him to finish the story.

“At
first Victor would just become angry and storm out of the store. Then he
started making nasty remarks to the customers. He became belligerent. One day
he broke a man’s nose. My mother was horrified and incensed. She tried in vain
to convince him there was nothing going on and there never had been. They had
some terrible fights. He started drinking, and the more he drank, the angrier
he became.”

In
spite of what Victor had done, or perhaps because of it, her heart went out to
them both. How could the deep love he’d held for Valerie have become so
twisted, so distorted by the intrigues he had unjustly imagined?

“But
there was something else going on, too, something no one realized at first.
Months went by, and he started hearing things. Voices in his head. He misread
every little thing Valerie said or did. He accused her of having an affair with
Emily’s boyfriend. He even went down to the village and nearly beat him to
death.”

Deep
sadness filled Devlin’s eyes. Instinctively, Abby reached over and laid a hand
on his arm. He looked at her, smiled briefly, then stared across the room as if
observing the memories his grandparents must have shared with him. “His
drinking became worse. Every time Valerie left the castle, he quizzed her about
where she was going and what she was planning to do. Then he started following
her. He would sit in the shop and practically dare her to smile at anyone who
came through the door. As you might guess, the situation became unbearable.

“My
grandparents tried talking to him, tried to persuade him to see a doctor, to
get some help, but he refused. He accused them of encouraging Valerie to pursue
other men.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine a father telling his
daughter-in-law to cheat on his son? No amount of talking could convince him
otherwise.”

Abby
squeezed his arm. How awful it must have been for them to just stand back and
watch their son become worse and worse and not be able to help him.

“Slowly
they watched their son’s mind disintegrate before their eyes.” Devlin looked at
her and smiled. “He wasn’t always a bad man, Abby. They weren’t sure what had
happened to make him change so drastically, so they consulted a psychiatrist on
their own, to try and get some answers as to how and why it could have
happened.

“They
were told that mental illness usually runs in families and that unless Victor
was willing to submit to some testing and agree to therapy, medication, and so
forth, there was nothing he could do to help him.

“I’m
sorry.” Such pitiful, ineffectual words, but Abby truly didn’t know what else
to say.