A Dangerous Man (43 page)

Good God, a greater fear than he had ever known threatened to unman him, until he didn't know if it was rain or tears
dripping down his cheeks. He would not let her die.

He would not lose Leah or their babe.

"I never wanted to marry Eric," Rachel said, her arm shaking from the strain of supporting the gun. "I did it for you. So
you could have everything."

The implication of her words froze the blood in his veins,
as surely as if it had turned to ice. "What are you saying?"

Rachel started to weep, a loud wailing that rivaled the wind,
then she laughed through her tears. "I had to do it. You would
not come back to me any other way. And now this."

"I do not understand what you are saying." Richard edged
toward her, his eyes holding her gaze. "Eric died of an accident. A fall from his horse"

She merely laughed. "This would have appeared an accident, too. Out for an afternoon stroll, she lost her way in the
mist and tumbled over the edge. But now there is no use. No
hope"

Her gaze darted around the cliffs, the wild eyes of an animal
run to ground, hopelessly trapped, desperate to escape.

A fantastical moment passed in which Richard felt as if he
were a soul disembodied, floating between time and space, the
individual seconds framed within the blink of his eyes. He saw
Rachel raise the gun, point it at Leah. Saw the tendons of her
hand tighten as her finger squeezed the trigger. He saw himself lunge, his arms stretching, reaching, but even that seemed
to happen too slowly, as if the wind were pushing him back.

Then, as if realizing her danger, she spun around until the
gun aimed at him. Braced for the impact, he gave silent thanks
to a God who had so often deserted him.

Then a flash of movement, a swift silvery light cutting
through the darkness, the reflection of moonlight on her hair,
and he knew it was Leah, rushing forward, hands lifted.

"No," he screamed. He wanted to die, to take the bullet, to
save her life. Instead, she shoved her hands into Rachel's
back, pushing as they both plunged toward the edge of the
cliff.

He saw a flash of light, blinding in his misery, as the gun
discharged, then acrid, dark smoke suspended on the wind
and the ground dissolving beneath Leah's feet.

Richard dove for the ledge.

He grabbed Leah by the waist. The momentum of her forward motion nearly tumbled them both over the edge, but he
shoved the heels of his boots against the rocks, locked his
knees, and leaned backward, pulling toward solid ground. He
clung to her, his muscles trembling, arms aching, fingers
frozen from the rain. The wind slammed into his back and
still he clutched her to him until the bones in his back and
legs ached from the exertion.

The furious breakers, whipped up by the storm, smashed
into the cliffs below, shooting water high in the air. The salt
stung his cheeks, and the frigid water burned like fire against
his skin. Time crawled by, punctuated by the mad throbbing
of his pulse. It seemed an eternity that they hovered on the
edge. In reality, mere seconds passed before he fell backwards onto the ground, pulling Leah down atop him.

He rolled her over, knelt above her. She was unconscious,
her face as white as a new-fallen snow and just as cold against
the lips he pressed to her cheek. He searched her neck for a
pulse. It was thin, thready, but it was there.

The rock beneath her was stained with blood but he refused to contemplate the source. His mind centered on only one
purpose. Get her safe. Get her home.

Someone was shouting, calling his name, but he felt disoriented, his thoughts frantic, swirling like the wind, the neverending litany driving him mad-get her home, get her safe.

He pulled her into his arms and ran up the path, his muscles burning with every step he took.

Then Pierce was beside him. "You must be exhausted. Let
me carry her for you"

Richard shook his head. He could not speak past the panic
clenching his throat. Nor could he release her.

Further ahead, he saw footmen and grooms and, thank the
Good Lord, horses. He forced his legs to keep moving, his
blood to keep pumping, his heart not to lose hope.

"Help me get her on the horse," he shouted into the wind.
"Send for the doctor. Meet me at the lodge. It is closer."

"And Rachel?" Pierce said.

"She went over the edge. No doubt she is dead, but have
the men search for her anyway."

When they reached the horses, Richard shifted Leah into
Pierce's outstretched arms just long enough to climb onto his
mount. Then he gathered her against his chest and kicked the
horse into motion, his mind devoid of all thought, save the
haunting refrain, Please don't die, please don't die, please
don't die.

"She has a few minor cuts and scratches on her hands, Your
Grace, but our greatest threat to her life is the bleeding."

Richard clutched her hand to his chest. Her skin had yet to
warm, though he had piled woolen blankets atop her. She
never moved, never made a sound as the doctor poked and
prodded, and all the while her blood streamed from her body.

"Can you not make it stop?" Richard said. His stomach
lurched. The room tipped precariously onto its side.

The doctor, his forehead covered in sweat, ran his fingers
over her wrist, feeling for a pulse. "I shall do everything
within my power, but both the mother and child are in danger.
Unless she is delivered, and soon, neither of them stands
much of a chance. With your permission, I should like to give
her a decoction to hasten the birth along."

"Do anything you must to save my wife." Her face was so
pale, her breathing so shallow, he could not even hear it
moving in and out of her lungs. His throat swelled, his eyes
burned.

She lay as still as death, even as her body struggled to be
free of their child. How could she survive such pain?

How would he live without her?

He closed his mind to the thought.

She would not die. He would not allow it.

Four hours later, their son came screaming into the world.

Richard did not even see him. All he saw was the river of
red that gushed from her body along with the child.

"Do something!" he cried. "Jesus Christ, do something . .

The room swirled around him, as if he were back on the
cliff, teetering on the edge, his wife clutched in his arms, only
this time, he lost her. The air in the room seemed inordinately
cold, though a fire poured heat from the grate.

He fell to his knees, grabbed her hand, crushed her cold,
lifeless fingertips against his lips. Eyes clenched against the
vision of her life's blood draining from her body, he stroked
her hair from her brow.

The doctor blended a mixture of shepherd's purse and
yarrow and forced it down her throat. "To clot the blood," he
said.

He repeated the process with white willow bark dissolved
in wine, then he bathed her privy parts with a decoction of
feverfew. "To fight infection," he said.

So much blood, Richard thought. How could she live?

But as long as her heart continued to beat and she drew breath, he would not lose hope. He pressed her hand to
his lips.

In a never-ending litany, he uttered every prayer he had
ever known, hoping, just this once, God might listen.

In the morning, the fever set in.

Leah moaned. "Richard, forgive me.. ."

Her words, like a whiplash, flayed his body, flayed his soul.
"My love, there is nothing to forgive."

Never had Richard felt so helpless. All he could do was
bathe her brow, hold her hand, and listen to the delirious ramblings of her fevered mind. She called for her sister, her aunt,
her nephew. She called for Alison and Geoffrey. She pleaded
with Rachel to spare her child's life.

But most of all, she cried for Richard. Over and over, she
called his name, begged his forgiveness for killing their child.

Richard thought he would perish beneath the torture of her
sweet voice so wracked with anguish and despair. How could
she think he would ever blame her for anything?

It was himself he cursed and hated and blamed. If not for
him and his sordid past, she would never have been in danger.

He should have protected her, but no, she had protected him.

It was his life she had saved out on the bluff. He would
gladly give up his life so that she could live.

The doctor came up behind Richard. He hesitated a moment,
then laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I fear there is nothing more I can do, Your Grace" His
voice faltered. He cleared his throat. "The bleeding has slowed
to a trickle. But she is very weak. Now, it is a matter of hoping
and praying and her will to survive."

Richard rubbed his cheek against her hand. He heard the
doctor's words, but they had no meaning. "I should like to
be alone with my wife."

The doctor patted his shoulder. "I will be outside the door
if you need me"

There was nothing left to be done but hope and pray.
Richard's mind understood that, but his heart refused to
listen.

He leaned over the bed and growled in her ear. "You will
not die. Do you hear me? I will not allow it. I need you-" He
could not stop his tears rolling down his cheeks. He did not
even try. "I need you, Leah. Everyone needs you. Alison.
Matthew. Geoffrey. Our little boy. You haven't even seen our
little boy. I do not even know what you want to name him. We
never decided. You must come back to him, to me. We cannot
be a family without you"

He was sobbing now, his back heaving with the force of his
grief. "Leah, my love. Please, open your eyes. I cannot face
life without you. So you must come back to me. Without you,
there is no me. . °"

She heard Richard's voice, choked with agony, wracked by
hopeless despair, calling her through the darkness, dragging
her back to the pain. Sobbing. Begging. Pleading.

Don't leave me. Don't go.

But she was tired. So very tired. She wanted to sleep.

He would not allow it. Every time she drifted away, he
would squeeze her hand, bathe her brow, whisper words that
she didn't understand, until finally she pulled open her eyes.

Her vision blurred. The room swirled about her head. He
sat beside her, his cheek pressed against the palm of her hand,
his shoulders shaking with his heart-wrenching tears.

"Richard," she said. Her voice dragging over her dry, aching
throat was so low, he did not appear to hear her, but she had
not the strength to try again. She was so cold, deep inside, she
started to shake, yet her skin felt damp, sticky with sweat.

She squeezed his hand, seeking his warmth, seeking his comfort. His shoulders tensed, his head swung up, his dark
eyes met hers through his tears. His brows rose, his mouth
inched open, a faint expression of uncertainty, as if he were
lost in a dream, or perhaps she was dreaming, she was so confused. He gave a sigh, from deep within his chest, kissed the
back of her hand.

"I love you," he whispered again and again, his voice trembling over her knuckles. His scent of jasmine and amber filled
her with peace, eased her anxiety.

Then memories rushed through her mind.

Bright flashes of light. Rachel. The cliffs.

She moved the palm of her hand over her stomach.

It was empty and flat, and she moaned. Pain, intense and
blinding, speared her back, spread down her legs. Her throat
closed. He covered her hand with his, but she turned her eyes
to the wall. Her heart shredding, her soul dying.

She had killed their child with her foolishness. She had
murdered him out on the bluff as surely as if she had driven a
stake through his heart.

How would she survive this pain?

He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "Wouldn't you
like to meet your son? He is most anxious to meet you"

Her lungs hurt. She couldn't drag in enough air. "We have
a son? He is alive?"

Richard smiled, his devil-may-care grin that did not hide
the trembling of his lips. "Yes, ma'am. Alive and screaming.
A red, wrinkled, squalling bundle of baby boy. Would you
like to see him?" He did not wait for a response. He ran from
the room.

A heartbeat later, he sat beside her on the bed, a wrapped,
wriggling bundle cradled in his arms. He moved his fingers to
the swaddling blankets, peeled the edges away to reveal her
beautiful baby boy. He was chubby and pink and screaming to
wake the dead. Tears dripped from her cheeks onto her neck.

"Our son," she whispered, amazed by the thick tuft of black hair covering his head. With a shaking hand, she traced
the contours of his face, his arms, his hands. She marveled at
his tiny toes, his miniature fingernails, his long, dark eyelashes. "He is perfect"

Richard gently placed the babe belly-down across her
chest.

"Of course. Given who his mother is, I would expect nothing less." The gleam of moisture in his eyes belied the teasing tone of his voice. He leaned back, a mischievous twinkle
in his eyes. "There is only one thing wrong with him, madam.
He doesn't have a name"

"Eric," she said quietly, brushing her fingers over his
downy soft hair. "I should like to name him Eric. If it would
please you"

She looked up at him, then, and Richard thought he would
drown in the clear depths of her eyes, deep green eyes dusted
with amber that entranced him still, as they had from the first
moment they met. And he had almost lost her.

"Nothing would please me more," he said, his voice breaking over the words. "But now you should rest" He cradled his
wife and his son in his arms until they slept.

Leah sat on a bench in the gardens with her aunt by her side
and her three-month-old son resting peacefully across her lap.
Beyond the sloping lawns, golden streaks of gorse stretched
out along the cliffs, a startling contrast to the endless blue sky.