In the Wake of the Wind (42 page)

“Aiden! Now!” she cried, her body shattering into a thousand pieces of unbearable sensation, the vortex of the universe sweeping her into its middle, creation itself, dark and light joining together in an elemental explosion that threatened to unmake her.

Aiden stiffened, his body wracked with shudders as he threw his head back and cried out savagely, his hips jerking as the heat of his seed washed into her in life-affirming waves.

“Swear you’ll love me forever,” he gasped against her mouth.

“I swear it. Forever and beyond.”

A vow kept. A promise fulfilled. And a new beginning, for they had love between them now, strong and sure and unquestionable.

Serafina’s hands loosened on his back as her tremors subsided. She’d never felt so weak, her limbs like water. He moaned and rolled half off her, burying his face in her hair.

“I think I’m dead,” he managed to croak. “And if this is heaven, I think I’ll stay.”

Serafina
gasped with laughter. “If this is heaven, your sister will not be pleased.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, nuzzling the curve of her throat. “Don’t you dare bring my sister up at a time like this. If I know anything about it, Lottie is sitting downstairs, her head filled with dark thoughts about the sinful things we’ve been doing.”

Serafina
lifted her neck for his caress. “Don’t be awful, Aiden. Charlotte is more likely immersed in her Bible, finding an appropriate passage to explain away her behavior.”

Aiden raised his head. “I can think of any number of more appropriate passages. For example, ‘thy two breasts are like young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.’ The Song of Solomon.”

And so saying, he bent his head to her breasts again and fed on them until
Serafina
forgot that anyone existed in the world but the two of them.

They missed dinner altogether, Aiden turning the last of the afternoon and all of the evening into a feast of passion.
Serafina
woke as the full moon rose, her stomach churning with hunger. Aiden lay in a tangled heap of bedclothes, one arm flung over his head, his breathing deep and heavy with sleep.

She smiled, not surprised that he was exhausted. He’d held nothing of himself back, showing her just how fully love could be enacted, how many satisfying paths it could take.

She slipped into a night robe and dressing gown and stole quietly out of their room, creeping down the stairs. Nothing stirred, and she was grateful, for she didn’t want to disturb any of the servants who had gone to a well-deserved rest a good two hours before.

But as she reached the hall she heard a low moan as if someone might be in pain. She stopped and listened carefully. The moan came again from the direction of Charlotte’s apartment, adjacent to the library.

She knew Charlotte suffered deeply on occasion, so she walked softly over to her door and lightly knocked, hoping she might be able to help. There was no answer.
Serafina
carefully turned the handle and entered the dark sitting room. A beam of light came from the bedroom door, half opened. The noise came again, this time a long, low whimper.

She made her way across the room, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark. And froze in shock as the candlelight flickering in the bedroom illuminated the scene on the bed.

Charlotte lay with her nightdress thrown up above her breasts, her body bared. And Frederick the footman lay stretched between her legs, his head buried between Charlotte’s thighs.

“More!” Charlotte spit out, the crop in her hand descending on Freddie’s bare back and buttocks. “Deeper, harder, you fool!”

“I can’t, my lady. Please—I can’t anymore,” Frederick moaned, twisting his head up to gaze at Charlotte imploringly. “I don’t want to. I beg you!”

The crop whipped down in a stinging lash, leaving yet another red welt on Frederick’s back. “Don’t you tell me what you cannot do, what you want and don’t want. You work for me and you will not slack! Harder, I tell you. Give me satisfaction, you mindless servant!”

Serafina
stumbled back against the wall, her hands covering her mouth against a wave of sickness that reached bone deep. She had just witnessed something horribly ugly, an act that made a travesty of lovemaking. For what she’d seen had nothing to do with love. Charlotte, God-fearing Charlotte, was forcing a helpless footman to pleasure her, beating him to a pulp in the process.

Charlotte had told her that she had never lost the feeling in her legs when
Serafina
had been trying to convince her to use the oil. She had only spoken of her constant pain, and it had never occurred to
Serafina
that the oil might work too well, awakening sexual feelings in Charlotte, although nothing excused her lecherous behavior. No wonder Frederick had looked so ill when they returned. Charlotte must have been tormenting him for some time.

She had half a mind to go in and drag Frederick away, but she knew she couldn’t do that—not without creating terrible embarrassment for all three of them. The thought crossed her mind to go and wake up Aiden, make him stop Charlotte’s vicious attack. But Aiden would be horrified, even if he did rescue Frederick. He would never be able to erase the picture from his mind of his sister lying naked, legs flung open, whipping a footman into submission, and Aiden didn’t deserve that. No,
Serafina
would never tell a soul about what she’d seen.

She would simply have to find a way of handling the situation on her own. In the morning she would have a private word with Frederick—find him another position without letting on that she knew what Charlotte had driven him to do. Maybe Raphael would be willing to hire Frederick at Southwell. She would send him a note in the morning.

Serafina
staggered out of the room, managing to reach the safety of the outdoors before she was violently ill.

Charlotte’s chest churned with panic as she wheeled herself down the upstairs back corridor of the house, a route
Serafina
took every morning on her way down to collect her gardening equipment as soon as she’d breakfasted in her room.

She was sure—absolutely certain—that she’d seen
Serafina
the night before, skulking about in Charlotte’s sitting room. She had only caught a brief flash of a white dressing gown and long dark hair from the comer of her eye, gone immediately, but there was no one else in the household who matched that description.

And if she knew anything, it was that
Serafina
would go directly to Aiden with her foul gossip. She hadn’t yet, for Aiden had appeared downstairs for an early breakfast and he had said nothing to her, nor given her any indication that he knew what Frederick had been doing to Charlotte only hours before in her bed. Aiden would never keep silent over something like that.

She had to do something now to keep
Serafina
from spilling the truth, for once Aiden heard, Charlotte was as good as gone. He’d never believe her protestations, not if his wife did the accusing. Aiden had shown his true colors the day before when it came to his whore, believing her word over anyone’s, the fool.

There was no time to waste.
Serafina
needed to be dispatched, and quickly. It was the only solution to all of Charlotte’s problems.
Once Serafina
was out of the way, life would return to normal.

She waited in the open doorway of the linen closet next to the stairs, her hands clutching the heavy crystal paperweight in her lap, its sharp facets digging into her fingers. What happened if
Serafina
changed her routine? Suppose she decided to seek out Aiden instead and unburden her secret?

And then Charlotte heard a rustle of skirts coming down the hallway, the tap of shoes on wood. Her heart leapt with anticipation as
Serafina
rounded the corner. She held her breath as
Serafina
came closer, her face all innocence, so unsuspecting.

Charlotte chose her moment carefully. She wheeled out of the doorway, feigning surprise just as
Serafina
reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh!” she cried, one hand going to her throat. “It’s you, dear sister—you startled me. I was just counting the sheets and pillowcases. As usual we’ve come up a few short.”

Serafina’s step slowed, then stopped. “Have we?” she said, her face neutral, betraying nothing of what Charlotte knew she must be thinking. “I’m sure you’ll track them down in no time.”

“Naturally I will. Are you on your way out to the gardens?”

“Yes,” Serafina
said. ‘Your father will be waiting. If you’ll excuse me?” She turned.

In that moment Charlotte lunged out of her chair, her hand raised. She brought the paperweight down on the side of Serafina’s unsuspecting head with a loud crack, putting all of her weight into the blow.

Serafina
cried out sharply, then slowly crumpled to the ground, her temple spreading with bright blood. Charlotte prodded her with her foot, but
Serafina
didn’t move.

With a smile of triumph, Charlotte bent down. Serafina’s face had turned white, her lips blue.

It took almost no effort to roll
Serafina
to the top step, and with one hefty push, she sent her tumbling down the steep stairs.

She watched with satisfaction as Serafina’s body bumped and twisted until it landed at the bottom in an inert heap like a limp, broken doll.

She took a moment to wipe the paperweight clean of blood and hair and scrubbed at her fingers to remove all traces of her crime, shoving the stained handkerchief into her sleeve. And then she returned to her chair and quickly wheeled away, disappearing in
to the bowels of the house.

“M
y lord! My lord, come quickly—there’s been a terrible accident!”

Aiden dropped his pen as Plum appeared in the doorway, out of breath, his face as pale as a ghost’s. “What is it?” Aiden demanded, slowly rising, his heart pounding in dread. Plum’s expression of severe distress bode only ill.

“Her ladyship—she fell down the back stairs, my lord. She’s hardly breathing … we don’t know if she’s broken her neck or what else is wrong with her, but she’s bleeding badly from her head.” He wrung his hands together.

“My sister?” Aiden said, swallowing hard.

“No, my lord—your wife. Frederick found her. Lord Delaware’s gone for the doctor.”

Aiden tore across the room, thrusting past Plum and out into the hall. Not
Serafina.
It couldn’t be. Not his sweet
Serafina,
his very life.

Plum chased after him, pointing up the stairs, and Aiden took them two at a time.

She lay on their bed, half her face covered in a mask of blood, the rest of it ashen. He might have thought she was dead but for the uneven, shallow rise and fall of her chest.

He dropped to his knees, taking her hand in his, trying to still the panic in his heart. “Sweetheart?” he whispered, smoothing her hair back off the uninjured side of her brow.
“Serafina?
Please, my love, open your eyes. Look at me, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here.”

Janie rushed in with a bowl of water and linens draped over her arm, her face streaming with soundless tears. “My lord. Oh, my poor lord,” she said, putting the basin down next to the bed. “How could such a thing happen to our angel? I only spoke with her half an hour ago, and she was hail and hearty. God couldn’t be so cruel as to take her from us, he just couldn’t.”

Aiden didn’t reply. He couldn’t. If he tried to speak, he knew he’d start to rage against God Himself, and
Serafina
needed all the help she could get.

Janie wrung out one of the cloths and gently began to pat at Serafina’s face, wiping away the blood. “There, my pet. We’ll look after you, we’ll see you right,” she crooned. “You just hold on, for everyone’s counting on you.”

Aiden watched every move Janie made, but he flinched as her administrations revealed a deep gash on Serafina’s temple. It was all he could do not to fling the woman away and take the cloth from her, but his hands were shaking too badly to do
Serafina
any good.

A deep reddish-purple bruising ran from the edges of the open wound, spreading all the way down her cheek to the fragile skin behind her ear. Looking at it, Aiden didn’t know how she’d survive. And he didn’t even know what other injuries she might have.

In that moment Aiden wasn’t sure he wanted to survive either.

The doctor came and went. He stitched Serafina’s head up and pronounced her neck in one piece, no other bones broken. But his news was nevertheless grim. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, just before departing. “Your wife has suffered a severe concussion, the result of a serious blow to the head. There is no telling what might happen.”

“Will she live?” Aiden asked from between gritted teeth, his effort at control nearly killing him.

“I cannot say. I would not hold out great hope, for her breathing is erratic at best. Only time will tell, but I would prepare myself for the worst.” He didn’t meet Aiden’s eyes, gazing instead at a point over Aiden’s shoulder, not a good sign, Aiden knew. “Please call me should there be any change. The best you can do is keep a vigil.”

Aiden
nodded curtly, not trusting himself to speak. He went back up to the bedroom and took up a chair next to Serafina’s bed, vowing not to leave it until she decided to either live or die.

Three days passed. Raphael, his father, his sister, Tinkerby, Janie all took turns staying at Serafina’s side. But Aiden refused to leave for a moment. He allowed their presence, only because he knew they cared about her and would be even more distressed if he turned them away. But nothing changed.
Serafina
lay deep in a coma, the fragile skin of her eyelids bruised and blue over her closed eyes. He ate only because he had to eat, but only managed a bite here and there. He slept fitfully in his chair, waking at the slightest sound.

He’d never felt more helpless or more frightened. Death hovered close by, a constant companion. He could feel it pulling at her, Serafina’s tenuous grip on life slipping farther away. She began to babble, a stream of delirium, calling names he’d never heard, with the exception of one.

Adam.

She spoke it repeatedly, her hands clutching at the bedclothes, her head tossing back and forth. Adam. Aiden’s heart twisted every time he heard it, the name she’d called him twice before, once the first time he’d put her to bed, the second—he could hardly bear to think about the second, in the peak of climax.

Adam.

He hated the man. He hated whomever he was, who stole Serafina’s confused dreams from him even now. He hated all the names she cried out: Clio, Michael, Leo. But he hated Adam most of all. And the one name she never murmured was his own.

If Elspeth had been around, he would have interrogated her until she was forced to tell him everything about Serafina’s previous life. Tinkerby had been no help, roundly insisting that he’d never heard of any of the people
Serafina
asked for now. Aiden didn’t even know where Elspeth was, the one person who should have been there for
Serafina.
And he hated Elspeth too for deserting
Serafina
in a time of need.

When the truth came down to it, he hated everyone, God included. But he hated himself most of all. For as illogical as it was, he and only he was responsible for Serafina’s welfare. And therefore he was responsible for her predicament now. If
Serafina
died he would have only himself to blame.

On the fourth day, Elspeth appeared out of the blue.

Aiden lifted his weary head as she came careening into the bedroom, her face drawn into tight lines of concern.

“What’s this I hear about my dear girl?” she demanded, marching over to the bed and looking into Serafina’s face. “Plum said she fell down the stairs. I don’t believe a word of it.
Serafina
may have her faults, but she’s always been graceful.” Elspeth lifted one of Serafina’s eyelids and peered into her unseeing eye. “Four days of this, Plum said? Hmm.”

“Leave her alone,” Aiden snapped, too tired to go into a full-fledged roar. “The last thing your niece needs is to be mauled. Or doctored by you. She’s delirious, Miss Beaton, and your poking at her isn’t going to accomplish a thing.”

“And what would you know of it, my boy?” Elspeth said, tapping her finger against her cheek. “What’s she been saying that makes you think her delirious?”

Aiden raked his hands through his hair, longing to throw the old woman out of the room. “She’s been calling out all sorts of names, and maybe you can explain that. They’re people she’s never before mentioned, but the way she’s been going on you’d think they were her dearest friends on earth.”

“Serafina
didn’t have any friends to speak of before she came here, other than the people she sang with in the church choir and a few villagers,” Elspeth said, frowning. “Who is she asking for?”

Aiden told her, out of his mind with worry. “Day and night she tosses, crying and moaning, making no sense.”

Elspeth just nodded. “I see,” she said, gazing down at
Serafina.
“I should have expected something like this.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about, woman?” Aiden, already pushed beyond his endurance, really didn’t think he could bear any of Elspeth’s foolish babble.

She gave him a sharp, assessing look, and once again he saw a keen intelligence in her eyes that belied the vapid old woman he was accustomed to. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I can tell you that
Serafina
is not suffering from the effects of a concussion,” she said. “She is suffering from an injury of the mind, and it’s one that took place a good long time ago. If you want your wife back, then you’re going to have to help me—you, your father, your sister, and the duke.”

Aiden stared at her in disbelief. “My dear Miss Beaton, the doctor has made a diagnosis, based on his considerable medical knowledge. I hardly think you have the experience to contradict him. And you still haven’t explained a damned thing about these people
Serafina
is calling for.”

Elspeth regarded him impatiently. “That’s because the people she’s calling for are no longer known by those names, not in this lifetime. And I haven’t time to go into it, not if
Serafina
is to recover. If you have an iota of sense in your head, you’ll do as I ask and gather your family and the duke. The rest will become clear.”

Aiden rubbed his hands over his face. “Miss Beaton. I know all about your witchcraft and your lunatic ideas about reincarnation, and I don’t want to hear another word on the subject. Furthermore, if you think I’m going to subject my wife to one of your nonsensical rituals in her condition, you had better reconsider.”

Elspeth drew her tiny body up, her eyes flashing. “You think you know all about it, do you? And I suppose you know better than I who Adam is and why
Serafina
calls for him? I suppose you also know why
Serafina
loved you long before she ever laid eyes on you, why she waited for you so patiently?”

“Now what are you going on about?” Aiden cried, thoroughly sick of Elspeth and her convoluted ideas.

“You are Adam, you idiotic man. And
Serafina
has dreamed of you since her childhood—not as you are now, but as you were then, and just as blind, I might add. It wasn’t Serafina’s fault that you all came to a bad end, anymore than it’s her fault that the same thing is happening all over again, with Charlotte at the heart of it, just as before.”

Aiden sank into the chair, trying to make sense out of what Elspeth was saying, but he couldn’t find anything to grab hold of, other than Elspeth was suffering from dementia.
He
was supposed to be this mysterious Adam? That in itself was laughable.

“See here,” Elspeth said, bending over and stroking Serafina’s brow. “The child needs to journey to find the truth, and I’m the only one who can help her, but I can’t do it by myself. If you love your wife, Aiden, then support her now. Trust that I won’t hurt her.”

Aiden looked up at her, torn by confusion. Nothing had helped
Serafina
so far, and she showed no signs of improvement. Something had to change or he would lose her. He couldn’t really see the harm in what Elspeth was proposing, even though he thought it was a bunch of poppycock. “What are you going to do?” he asked listlessly.

“As I said, I’m going to take her on a journey. It will be a long and difficult one, but she has to travel back eight hundred and …” Elspeth thought for a moment. “Eight hundred and fifty-three years. To a place called Cyprus.”

Aiden sat up very straight, suddenly alert. “Cyprus?” he said. He’d been to Cyprus … even though it was under Ottoman rule it was an island he’d been strongly drawn to, a place that felt incredibly familiar. In fact he had been alarmed by just how familiar it was, how he seemed to know beforehand how the cities were laid out, Kyrenia in particular.

A cold sweat sprang to his brow. He’d never been able to explain the experience to himself—or why he had read whatever he could find on the place. “Why Cyprus?” he asked warily.

“Because that is where you and
Serafina
lived. And although she was called Sarah then, she was your wife and you loved each other truly. The problem was that your father and sister and Raphael lived there also, all of you making a muck of things,” Elspeth answered tartly.

“How—how do you know this?” he said, thoroughly bewildered.

“Because I was there too, and maybe I have a better memory than the rest of you fools. It all ended in disaster, and Serafina’s the only one who has the good sense to know it, which is why she’s in such a terrible state now, worrying that you will all come to another bad end.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I doubt you know the first thing about karmic debt, but it’s time for it to be cleared, and apparently your wife is the only person who can do it. But she has to be surrounded by the people who created it in the first place.”

Aiden passed a hand over his eyes. Sarah. Elspeth had said Serafina’s name was Sarah. And he had called her that when she’d fallen from the tree, he remembered now.
I knew I heard it right,
she’d said joyfully. And later. I
think I must have loved you forever
…
As he must have loved her. As he had loved her from the first moment in the woods.

He knew it was insane even to consider the idea, but if Elspeth was right, everything made sense—why
Serafina
had insisted she loved him long before they met. Why she had called him Adam. Even why she had behaved in such an odd fashion the night she’d been reading his history of ship building, the book falling to the floor, open to the pages of Cypriot history. Over eight hundred years ago. She had gone into a blind panic, unable to breathe, insisting he tell his father something. And he had mistaken her terrified ramblings for exhaustion, a simple faint. Not the first time. Not the first time.