Chapter Eighteen
The door swung open to reveal the castle’s stable master. Brody’s sharply arched eyebrows always gave him a vaguely astonished appearance, and now they twitched even higher. He cast a wary look over his shoulder in response to Ainsley’s intrusion into the male sanctum.
“Who is it, Brody?” came her husband’s gruff voice from inside the room.
“It’s yer lady, sir. Do ye wish to see her?”
“Of course he wishes to see me.” Ainsley ignored Royal’s low-pitched curse as she pushed by Brody and marched in. “I am Mr. Royal’s beloved wife, after all.”
Sighing, the stable master closed the door and followed her.
She stopped several feet from the bed to dart a quick glance around. Since this was the first time she’d ever been in her husband’s bedroom—a marital oversight of epic proportions—she felt curious and slightly awkward.
The wing housing the family bedrooms, built during the Restoration, displayed that era’s taste for ornate decoration. The paneled walls were beautifully carved, and there was a truly gorgeous mantel topping the old stone fireplace. What furniture there was—Royal seemed to prefer a more austere style—came from a later period. Joining the sturdy oak chest and a battered press cupboard were a plain leather armchair with a matching footstool and small bedside table with a lamp. It was spare and to the point, like the man himself.
The only exception was the enormous, old-fashioned bed in the French style. Its four posts were beautifully scrolled and polished to a high gleam. They reached almost to the ceiling, supporting a massive wooden canopy that featured elaborate carvings of crowns and stags. From the beautiful old wood hung gold and burgundy drapes that matched the coverlet on a mattress wide enough to house half of Marie Antoinette’s court.
It was ridiculously grand, and not at all the sort of bed one would imagine for a brusque, scowling ex-soldier with not the least bit of patience for frills and furbelows, much less lounging about. Somehow, though, Royal’s dark, masculine good looks and his hard-edged arrogance seemed perfectly suited to a setting that harkened back to the dramatic glories of days gone by. There was a sense about her husband that he belonged in a time mistily shrouded in tales of romance and adventure, a time when a man fought to defend his lady and his land, and to uphold the honor of his clan.
“I’m not really in the mood for visitors, Ainsley,” he said. “In fact, I’m not in the mood to see anyone for a good long time.”
Ainsley pointed to the simple gold band on her ring finger. “This says otherwise. I’m not a visitor, I’m your better half.”
Apologizing again would only prompt another display of temper and surely lead to her losing her temper as well. She needed to prove that, all evidence to the contrary, she was a mature woman, perfectly capable of taking care of her husband, her daughter, and his annoying old grandfather if necessary.
“That’s debatable,” Royal muttered.
Ainsley cupped a hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said you shouldn’t be in here. I’m not properly dressed.”
She pressed a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Yes, and I’m not sure my delicate sensibilities can withstand the shock of seeing you attired in your nightshirt. Brody, would you toddle off next door and ask my maid to fetch my smelling salts? If I faint, Mr. Royal is in no condition to catch me. As he so delicately pointed out this afternoon, I’m rather
a big girl.”
“I did not say that,” Royal indignantly replied.
“Still, it’s best to be prepared, don’t you think?” She heaved a gusty sigh. “Run along now, Brody. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.”
“Ah . . . mayhap ye best sit down?” Brody said, looking alarmed.
“Good God, man. She’s pulling your leg,” Royal scoffed.
The stable master mustered a weak smile. “Sorry, my lady.”
“No apology necessary, I assure you. People often mistake my intention.” She gave Royal her sweetest smile. “My dear husband suffers from the same unfortunate inability to understand me. It’s quite tragic, although a common affliction of the married state, I’m told.”
The dear husband rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s because you don’t make your intentions clear.”
She pretended to consider that, and then shook her head. “No, it’s certainly you.”
“Brody, I feel in need of liquid courage,” Royal said. “Please fetch me a glass and the bottle from my dresser, and then you can go. Apparently, my dear wife
has come to nurse me.”
“I’m happy to do whatever I can, of course,” she said. “Although I hear that Brody has done a bang-up job.”
The stable master cut her an uncertain look as he went to fetch the requested items.
“I’m actually serious this time, Brody,” Ainsley said. “Taffy told me that you did a splendid job fixing Mr. Royal’s leg.”
Brody flashed her a shy smile. “Thank ye, my lady. I’ve got a wee bit of experience, since I’ve been patching up Kendricks for many a year.”
“And much better than that old sawbones,” Royal grumbled. “All he did was maul me about.”
“Nae, sir, Mr. Dillon is a fine surgeon,” Brody said. “I ken he’s got the measure of that leg of yers.”
“I’m glad someone does,” Royal said.
Ainsley wandered closer to the bed. “Is it very bad?”
He hesitated.
“The truth, please,” she coaxed.
“If you insist on knowing the truth, it hurts like the devil.”
“Royal, I don’t want you hiding how you feel from me. I’m your wife, and I have a right to know what troubles you.” For good measure, she wagged a finger at him.
His mouth twitched.
Ah.
Finally, a glimpse of sunshine.
“Yes, my lady,” he said.
When Brody carried over a tray holding the requested decanter and glass, Ainsley took it and placed it on the bedside table, shifting the oil lamp to make room. The fading dusk threw shadows under the canopy and deepened the hollows of Royal’s cheekbones. Her heart clenched at the weariness and pain hazing his green eyes.
“Are you finished with your ministrations?” she asked Brody.
“Aye, my lady, although Mr. Royal could use a wee bit more liniment massaged into his leg. Helps to keep it from seizing up.”
Ainsley nodded at the small bottle on the table. “Is that it?”
“Aye.”
“Very well. I’ll take care of that.”
For a few moments, both men sported similarly incredulous expressions. Then Royal’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“I’m perfectly capable of putting liniment on an injury, Royal.”
“Not this injury.”
Ainsley turned her back on him. “That will be all, Brody. I’ll ring if we need help.”
The older man’s smile was wry. “Ye’ll do just fine. Have Taffy fetch me if ye need anything else.”
“Brody, I don’t want Lady Ainsley—”
“I’ll be checkin’ on ye later, sir. Good night, my lady.” With a respectful nod, Brody quickly retreated from the field.
Clearly taken aback by his henchman’s refusal to cooperate, Royal muttered under his breath. He stretched out a long arm past Ainsley and grabbed the decanter. After splashing a generous measure into the cut crystal glass, he tossed it back in one swallow.
Without flinching, which made her wince.
“Does that actually help?” she asked.
When he splashed another measure into the glass, she had to swallow a protest. The poor man was in pain and didn’t need a scold. Likely, he’d haul himself off the bed and toss her from the room, injury or no. Ainsley sensed that today’s unfortunate events had finally breached his self-control, bringing his impressive willpower crashing down. Her husband was dangerously on edge.
Though she could never be afraid of him, triggering another verbal outburst would not benefit either his health or their marriage.
“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” he said, tossing back his drink.
She glanced at a small medicinal bottle next to the liniment. “Are those laudanum drops? Might they not be more effective for the pain?”
“Undoubtedly, but they also make my head feel like wet wool.”
“Whisky obviously doesn’t have the same effect.”
The only time she’d ever drunk too much whisky was the night before she’d asked Royal to marry her. She’d awakened the next morning with an aching head and a stomach as sour as an old lemon. It had taken three cups of strong coffee before she’d been able to think again.
“Not like the drops,” he said. “If you’d ever taken them, you’d know exactly what I mean.”
“I have taken them.”
A quick frown of concern replaced his surly expression. “Why?”
Her skin crawled at the thought of even mentioning that awful time. But she’d just told him she wanted nothing but honesty from him. Could she offer him anything less in return?
“After Cringlewood assaulted me, I had trouble sleeping. I thought it would help.”
He sucked in a breath. Several seconds elapsed before he replied. “Did it?”
“I think a brain that feels like wet wool is a very apt description.”
True, the drops had made her sleep, but they’d also given her nightmares. And while awake, she’d felt apart from herself in a dreadful, detached sort of way.
“I felt like I couldn’t think, or make any decisions,” she added. “And I needed to think.”
Royal reached over and briefly squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Ainsley. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
She shrugged. “But they’re always lurking, aren’t they? I’m not sure it makes sense to pretend otherwise.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have snapped—”
“Oh, do stop apologizing,” she said, echoing his words from earlier in the day. “I’m the one who’s at fault here. My idiotic tantrum compelled you to come dashing to my rescue.”
He scratched his bristled chin. “It wasn’t much of a rescue.”
She had to repress a smile. “Sadly true. I was forced to rescue you
, which must have been quite the blow to your masculine ego.”
He narrowed his eyes in warning.
Consistent with her fatal tendency to ignore warnings, Ainsley flashed him a little smirk. “Especially with you being a war hero and whatnot. You have a reputation to uphold.”
His laugh was grudging. “Especially the whatnot.”
“I don’t see why men should get to do all the rescuing, anyway. It’s not fair, when you think about it.”
“Nonsense. It’s our job to rescue children, puppies, and damsels in distress, especially from fire-breathing dragons or marauding pirates. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
“I must have missed that lesson.” She propped her hands on her hips. “But do I really look like a damsel in distress?”
“At the moment, you look rather like a hectoring wife.”
“And you, sir, look like a bad-tempered husband.”
When she kicked off her shoes and started to clamber up on the high mattress, Royal went as stiff as a hitching post. Then he snatched the coverlet and sheets up under his arms, as if to safeguard his virtue.
“Ainsley, what the hell are you doing?”
“I should think it obvious even to a man all but insensible from drink.”
“I’ve barely had a drop!”
She sat tailor-style next to his legs, trying not to jostle him. The bed was so wide that she could choose to put considerable space between them, but she had an almost desperate need to be close. More than anything, she wanted to snuggle up and kiss the grumps from his stern mouth.
Sadly, he seemed disinclined to accept her affection. In fact, he was all but glowering at her.
“I’m not going to have my way with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. “So you needn’t bristle like your outraged maiden aunt.”
“I don’t have a maiden aunt.”
She tapped her forehead. “I will file that for future reference.”
He sighed. “Ainsley, you should not be in here, much less sitting on my bed. It’s not proper.”
“Royal, I’m your lawfully wedded wife. It’s quite shocking that I hadn’t yet seen your room until now.” She glanced up at the expansive canopy with its elegant draperies. “And this bed is perfectly splendid. It does give a girl some interesting ideas, if you know what I mean.”
A surprising flush bronzed his cheekbones. Although she was simply trying to tease him into a better mood, she had to admit he looked altogether enticing with his broad shoulders showcased by the fine linen nightshirt, and a nice sliver of chest exposed by the gap of his collar. She’d never really seen a man’s naked torso before, and her fingers itched to play with the dark hair that dusted his brawny muscles.
Still, she had no intention of throwing herself at him, knowing her nerves would likely get the better of her. The idea of cuddling with him, however, was enormously appealing. She suspected they both needed comforting—if only he was willing to receive as well as give.
Her husband cleared his throat. “I suggest you get those ideas right out of your head. I’m in no condition for any sort of . . .” He paused. “I’m not sure what you’re proposing, come to think of it.”
“I’m only trying to tease you out of the sullens, my dear sir. You’ve had an exceedingly trying day, and I’m truly sorry for that.”
“I thought no more apologies?”
“There’s no need for you to apologize to me, certainly. You’ve been an absolute saint since the day I reappeared on the doorstep of Kendrick House. But I do wish you would let me abase myself at your feet, especially now that I’m sitting right next to them. I’ve been an awful pill, Royal. How you continue to bear me is the question.”
His gaze warmed. “It’s not your fault, love. You’ve been under a great deal of strain.”
She waggled a hand. “The strain is partly my fault. Angus is responsible for the other part.”
“I suspect he wouldn’t agree.”
“You’d be wrong about that. Your grandfather and I had a little chat, and we owned up to responsibility for our bad behavior.”
Royal’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
She nodded.
He settled back onto the plump cushions propped behind him. “Did you get him drunk first?”
“Believe it or not, we simply talked. In fact, we had barely insulted each other even after twenty minutes of conversation.”
“Amazing. I hope I won’t have to keep falling off my horse to enforce the truce.”
Ainsley laughed. “I will certainly keep you apprised. But I do think Angus and I have come to an understanding.”
He looked dubious. “So, what did you two talk about, aside from mutual guilt?”
“You.”
“As I feared,” he said, reaching for his glass. “I hope he didn’t tell you any outlandish stories.”
“That’s for next time.”
“Something to look forward to, then.”
She ignored his sarcasm and rested her hand on his blanket-swaddled foot. How did one even approach such a terrible subject? But it had to be done if they were ever to have the marriage she longed for. Royal needed to know she truly wished to ease the pain that plagued him, both in body and mind.
“What is it, Ainsley?” he quietly asked.
“Angus told me about your little nephew.”
Even through the layers of bedclothes, she felt his body go tense.
“If I’d known, I never would have chosen that spot.” She gently rubbed his foot, trying to convey her sadness for him.
Royal’s strong features fell into brooding lines. “I’ve been by that place a hundred times since it happened. I won’t say it’s not still painful, but it was stupid of me to overreact the way I did.”
“Of course, it will always hold tragic memories for you. Then to see me sprawled in the grass, it’s no wonder you thought the worst.”
“You weren’t sprawled. You were flat on your back, straight as a board with your hands tucked up under your chin.” He gave his head a little shake, as if trying to clear the painful memory. “In fact, you looked like a . . .”
“A corpse? I’m sure, because I tend to sleep like that. It can be very disconcerting for hapless bystanders. There was a maid in my father’s household who refused to come into my room to light the fire in the morning. She said I gave her the frights.” She tapped his foot. “So, forewarned is forearmed, husband.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Thank you, wife.”
For a few charged seconds, they held each other’s gazes. Then Ainsley looked away, her newly discovered feelings making her shy. She wanted to tell him but lacked the courage to face it head on, at least for now.
Besides, he probably wouldn’t believe her. Hello, I’ve just discovered that I’m madly in love with you.
It sounded ridiculous, even to her ears.
“What did Angus tell you about Cam?” Royal finally asked.
She met his somber gaze. “He told me what happened at the river that day, and how it tore your family apart. He also said you saved Kade, and that you, more than anyone, helped Lord Arnprior and the family through that terrible period.”
He waved an irritated hand. “I’m no hero, Ainsley. We were all just hanging on by our fingernails.”
“Angus certainly seems to think you’re a hero.”
“Och, he’s a silly old man.” His brogue was low and rough.
“He’s a silly old man who loves you and is worried about you. I hope you’ll let him apologize tomorrow. He was quite downcast when you wouldn’t let him in the room.”
“He gets fashed whenever my leg is bothering me. It’s not good for him.”
“Do you know what I think?”
“I’m sure I will momentarily.”
“Behave, Royal Kendrick, or you’ll be sorry.” She jabbed his good leg. “What I think is that you don’t like people fussing over you. It doesn’t fit with your image as a mighty Highlander who can wrestle a wild boar to the ground and hold off a ruthless band of brigands, all whilst playing the bagpipes.”
“That’s ridiculous. I never learned to play the bagpipes.”
“Don’t try to distract me with humor. You hate it when people try to help you. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing,” he said firmly. “What other whiskers did Angus tell you about me?”
“He told me a little bit about Waterloo.” She went back to gently rubbing his foot. “He said you’d been abandoned on the battlefield. I’m not entirely sure what he meant by that, but it sounded absolutely horrific.”
Her husband growled. “I am going to throttle that old man as soon as I’m out of this bed.”
“Why shouldn’t he tell me what happened? I’m your wife.”
“In name only,” came the terse reply.
She had to swallow a few times before she could answer. “That was not very nice, you know.”
He grimaced as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, lass. I’m a thorough brute. You’re my wife in every way that matters, and I’m that proud to be your husband.”
His obvious sincerity eased the tight feeling in her chest. “Then why won’t you tell me what happened at Waterloo?”
“It’s not fit for a woman like you to hear.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You think I’m too sheltered? Well, I’m not.”
Not anymore.
“It’s not fit for any
woman to hear. It’s too ugly.”
“I’ve lived through ugly, Royal. It no longer frightens me.”
“I know you have. But war is a different kind of hell, and I don’t want you touched by it. You’ve been through enough, love. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden, too.”
“But—”
“Angus should have held his tongue.”
“He didn’t tell me very much. He said it was your story to share.”
He mirrored her posture by crossing his arms over his chest. For a moment, she was distracted by the widening gap of his nightshirt, exposing more of his impressive chest.
“That’s right,” he said. “My
story.”
“To share
. With your wife
.”
His gorgeous green eyes flickered with irritation, but she held her ground—or her piece of the mattress, so to speak.
“It would be good for you to talk about it,” she said.
“Why?”
She searched for the right words. His wartime experiences were so much a part of who he was, and yet he refused to talk about them. She understood why, but the cost of carrying so much pain, all alone, was a heavy one.
“For months, no one but my mother and then Aunt Margaret knew I’d been assaulted,” she said. “My mother certainly didn’t wish to talk about it, and my aunt would grow too distressed. So I had to lug it around inside, like a great, iron chain that grew heavier by the day. So heavy that I could hardly bear it.”
He made a distressed sound deep in his throat and reached for her.
Ainsley held him off, needing to finish. “When I came back to Glasgow and was finally able to talk to you and Victoria about it . . . well, the chain began to unravel, link by link, and I felt like I could breathe again. I didn’t have to carry the weight of that horrible truth alone anymore.”
He took the hand she’d clenched over her breastbone and pried it open. When he leaned over and kissed the middle of her palm, Ainsley had to blink back sudden tears.
“I’m so glad you told me, love,” he said gruffly. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I can breathe just fine, thanks to you and Tira.”
“Maybe, but you still carry a very grim burden from the war. I can see it, and your family can certainly see it too. That’s why they worry, especially when you withdraw from them. It’s almost like you don’t want them to come near you.”
Abruptly, Royal leaned back into the pillows, adopting the sardonic expression he wore like a suit of armor. It clearly said do not trespass.
“What nonsense,” he said. “You make me sound like a caricature of an inane poet, shutting myself in my room to pen gloomy poems and drink myself into oblivion. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m much too busy working and taking care of my family for that sort of idiotic behavior.”
He finished his little speech by grasping the whisky bottle. But Ainsley plucked it out of his hand and put it back on the nightstand.
“I’m sure that’s all true,” she said, “but look what happened today. You’re positively beating yourself up because you think you somehow failed me.”
“Because I did
fail you,” he growled.
“That’s a demented way to think, and it’s the product of the shame you seem to feel about your injury.”
He flinched but quickly recovered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “You think what happened to you makes you weak, like you are not a whole man because of it. You can’t bear to ask for help because you believe people—including your family—will think less of you. That I
will think less of you.”
His gaze darted off, narrowing on the fire. He studied it with a ferocity that conveyed an inner battle raging in his soul. She could only pray it would tip in her favor.
The seconds passed, marked by the quiet tick of the mantel clock and the hiss of coals in the grate. Dismay hollowed her stomach at the lengthening silence and the shuttered expression on his face. She’d pushed Royal, wanting him to open up and share the hidden parts of his life, as she’d shared her deepest secrets with him. But perhaps some wounds ran too bloody and deep for that.
And perhaps some words, no matter how honest or true, were too bitter and ugly to ever be said.
“Royal, I’m—”
“I was left for dead on the battlefield for hours,” he interrupted in an oddly flat voice. “Overnight, in fact. A soldier rolled me into a ditch and left me there.”
Her stomach lurched into her throat.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not strong enough to hear this.
But she had to be strong for him. For them both. “They didn’t check to see if you were alive?”
He gave a credibly nonchalant shrug. “It was utter chaos when I went down. I’d been lucky until then. My arm had been winged in the mess at Quatre Bras a few days before, but I was still relatively untouched. After we marched to Waterloo and took up our position, we faced heavy artillery fire and direct attacks from the French troops. I was wounded during one of those later cavalry attacks.”
“How did it happen?” she softly asked.
“I caught a lance in the thigh.” His mouth twisted in a travesty of a smile. “Didn’t even see the French lancer coming at me. I was caught outside the square, you see, hacking and slashing away like an idiot. Fighting like the wild Highlander that I was, as you would say.”
Her heart ached for him. “I’m sure you were simply trying to survive in desperate circumstances.”
His nod was somber. “You have the right of it, lass. It was carnage. We were all just trying to stay alive, including the French.”
“But how could your men just leave you there, wounded like that? You weren’t unconscious, were you?”
“Not at that point, no. A British infantryman shot the soldier who lanced me, and then pulled me back into the square. A couple of fellows tried to get me to the back of the line, but we were overrun by a regiment of Cuirassiers.” He grimaced. “And when I say overrun, I mean overrun.”
“By horses?” she asked, horrified.
“Yes. One trampled my wounded thigh. What were the odds of that?”
Words utterly failed her. Her imagination failed her too, mostly because she couldn’t bear the thought of him in such horrific straits. For several terrifying moments, Ainsley couldn’t catch her breath.
“Sweetheart,” Royal said, gently cupping her cheek. “It’s all right. I’m here, and I’m well.”
“I know. I . . . it’s just that I’m so terribly sorry you had to endure such a horror.”
“Are you sure you wish to hear the rest?”
She stiffened her spine, mentally and physically. “If you could live through it, then I can certainly hear about it.”
He nodded and withdrew his hand. She missed his warmth, but sensed that he needed to retreat a bit to finish the tale.
“Needless to say, the pain from the encounter with that bloody big horse put me right out. When I awoke, I found myself halfway under a hedge, with no idea how I’d gotten there. My regiment was well gone, taking part in the final advance against the French army, as I later learned. I managed to crawl a few feet, but all I could see were dead bodies, both horses and men. And I was so weak at that point I could scarcely move. Night was falling and I had no idea which direction to go in, anyway.”
Ainsley swallowed against a sudden rush of tears. “You must have felt so terribly alone there in the dark.” After her assault, she hated
being alone in the dark.
“I wasn’t alone for long,” he said dryly. “Nightfall was when the scavengers came out.”
“You mean people who rob the bodies of dead soldiers?”
“It’s a time-honored tradition amongst soldiers of both sides, unfortunately.”
Anger seared like a hot poker in her chest. She wanted to kill anyone who’d hurt Royal—or would ever try to hurt him again.
“And you were obviously robbed,” she said.
Royal nodded. “The man thought I was dead, so he was quite surprised when I grabbed hold of his coat and asked for water.”
“Did he give you any?”
“Hardly. He coshed me on the head, riffled my pockets, and then rolled me into a ditch.”
When she gaped at him, too sickened to muster even a sympathetic word, he shrugged again, as if it didn’t matter.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Ainsley finally stammered.
“There’s nothing to say, love. It’s war. That’s what men do.”
“Awful men. But not you,” she protested. “Or Lord Arnprior. Neither you nor any of your brothers would act like that.”
“I hope not. But war is a desperate, dirty business. It brings out the best and the worst in men, and you never know for certain what you’re capable of until the moment is upon you. You never know if you’re going to survive. That’s the worst part. The not knowing.”
She grabbed his hand, desperate for his touch. “But you did
survive.”
“Thanks to Nick. He defied orders and spent the whole night searching for me. He finally found me in that damned ditch, half-drowned and nearly dead. And I was in bad shape for weeks after that.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder how—or even why—I survived when so many didn’t. There’s no making sense of it.”
She lurched up onto her knees and crawled to the head of the bed.
Royal peered at her with a concerned frown. “Ainsley?”
She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You survived for me, you stupid man, for me and for Tira. And don’t you ever, ever
forget it.”
And then, too upset to care that she hated to cry, Ainsley collapsed into his arms and burst into tears.