The Crimson Lady (18 page)

“Why?”

“Because it is not based in truth. It is the one part of my life with Draven that I have not told you about, the part that seals my fate to his, binding me to him in ways that no one but he, my brother, and now perhaps you, will ever understand.”

“Go on,” he said quietly, reaching out to stroke a rain-dampened tendril away from her brow.

She stilled, soaking in his touch, trying to impress the sweetness of it into her memory, not knowing if she’d ever feel the likes of it again once he had heard the full extent of her wickedness and participation in Draven’s scheme to keep her as his own. At last exhaling on a sigh of resignation, she murmured, “The truth is that I have never actually bedded anyone
but
Draven. The countless men you spoke of—those who purchased the favors of the Crimson Lady—none of them ever completed the act of joining with me.”

Braedan reacted as if he’d been struck a blow that nearly knocked him from his feet. He jerked back from
her, and her heart twisted in misery. Here it was, then. The rejection she’d been expecting all along…

“What are you saying?” He frowned, the blatant denial in his expression raking her soul. “Such a thing is not possible. You are the Crimson Lady, are you not? There has never been any question concerning the grounds for your notoriety…it was the reason I chose you as the one who might best be able to help me find Elizabeth. Unless you’re telling me that all of England has somehow been gloriously duped, you cannot be speaking true.”

“I am, as impossible as that sounds,” she answered bitterly, “because Draven never allowed any other to have me in that way but him.”

“How, then—?” Braedan challenged, sounding almost angry. “The entire country cannot be daft! I heard numerous accounts of your skills from knights and high-ranking nobles alike who had known the pleasures of your bed before leaving for Saint-Jean-d’Acre—firsthand,
detailed
accounts. Are you saying every one of those men was lying about what they’d experienced with you?”

“Not to their knowledge, nay. But in truth, none of it happened as they thought.”

Fiona swallowed, trying desperately not to be sick again, not to sink to the ground in a boneless heap for the agony this was causing her. It was a horrible, perverse thing, made worse, somehow, by having to share the details of it with Braedan. The breeze gusted, sweeping through the glade at that moment and loosing a sprinkle of raindrops from the leaves above them. It soothed her somehow, and she breathed deep, committing herself to finishing and letting the pieces fall where they would.

“It was Draven’s idea and his wicked knowledge that
allowed us to commit our ruse against all of those men,” she said, finally, as much to fill the painful, incredulous silence Braedan had fallen into as to attempt to convince him of the truth, “but I went along with his scheme, much to my shame.”

She clenched her fingers in front of herself, pressing them into the damp, crushed folds of her kirtle. “After I’d been at his estate for nearly two months, he decided to keep me for himself. It was as much a surprise to him as to me, I think. He told me he had never before felt so about any woman he’d purchased to train for one of his bawd houses, and I believed him.”

“Had he fallen in love with you, then?” Braedan asked hoarsely.

“Nay.” Fiona nearly strangled on the word, restraining herself from saying what first came to mind concerning her thoughts of Draven and love. Instead, she settled for bare fact. “He wanted to own me completely, but he still was not willing to forgo the sizable amount of coin he’d lose by keeping me out of the
stewes
.”

“I don’t understand, then. If he would not allow you to bed the men who’d purchased your favors, how did you earn the coin he sought, not to mention your reputation?”

“Draven bought the services of someone who could help him to create a grand illusion, but who would also be compelled to remain quiet about it.” Fiona glanced at Braedan, unable to resist watching his response to what she was about to say next, though she knew it would hurt terribly to see it. “Do you remember the alchemist I spoke of when we were gathering plants in the forest—the one who was executed for his crimes in the dark arts?”

“Aye.”

“It was he who gave Draven the formula of herbs that allowed us to perpetrate our deceit. Knowledge of the mixture had been passed down for centuries amongst certain secret groups. It was a foul concoction that caused the men who took it—either as an unguent rubbed into the skin or swallowed in wine—to fall into a sort of spell, marked by wild imaginings that took color and form from whatever they were doing before the potion took hold.” She looked away, trying to keep her emotions in control.

“Draven set me up in a chamber and instructed me on how to begin each seduction, which for the customer included either drinking some wine laced with the herbs, or if that was refused, a massage with the specially prepared salve. Draven would watch from a hidden compartment to make certain that all went as planned. Once the man had fallen into the expected stupor, Draven would bring me out and send in one of the women he had set aside especially for the purpose, someone to actually finish what I’d begun. All had been specially chosen by him for their auburn hair and slender height, and each always entered the chamber wearing a crimson gown…”

She glanced down to her tightly clasped fingers. “The men we tricked in that way awoke the next morn with pounding heads, but also with vivid and usually detailed memories of the night they believed they’d spent with the Crimson Lady. And so Draven got what he wanted, collecting a prodigious amount of coin for my notorious services, while still maintaining complete possession of me for his use and pleasure.”

“Christ Almighty…” Braedan breathed, as the entire import of her claim began to sink in.

Fiona felt herself withering under the aversion he clearly felt toward what she’d described. His disgust was no more than she deserved. She knew that, and yet she hated every second of it.

“It was lawless and evil, I know,” she continued, ruthlessly attempting to crush her own weakness. “The kind of crime for which people are burnt in village squares and castle greens every year. We were fortunate that we were never caught in the act of committing it. No one ever knew, except for God Himself, of course,” she added softly, locked in the painful swell of memory, “and He punished me for my sin by rendering me barren, so that I could never bring an innocent life into the evil world I had helped Draven create.”

Braedan remained silent for a moment, clearly stunned by all she’d told him. When he looked at her again, his expression was troubled. “Did the ruse never fail, then, that the authorities were not called? Were the herbs so potent that no errors were ever made?”

“There were a few mishaps,” she admitted, frowning with the memory of those times. “It was why Draven remained in secret observation, to handle any problems as they arose. Usually, however, all went smoothly. Exactly as he’d planned.”

Braedan fell quiet again, too shocked, no doubt, to speak more on the subject. It was done, then. Tremors began in her stomach as of old, and she stiffened against their onslaught. The vividness of her memories had brought back the unwelcome sensations, and she found that no matter how she tried she couldn’t suppress them.

Closing her eyes, she turned away, leaving Braedan to his thoughts and the condemnations of her that she knew he was too much of a gentleman to voice. Wrap
ping her arms around her middle, she tried to stop the trembling; she realized that the earlier rains had saturated her borrowed finery, and she picked at the sodden material at her elbow, miserable and afraid of what was churning inside her.

Heaviness filled her. She’d known it was inevitable that Braedan would eventually learn the truth of what she was…that he would come to recognize the damaged and immoral woman inside her…but for a short time she’d indulged herself in the pleasure of his refusal to see it. It had felt so good to bask in the light and warmth of someone’s esteem—of
his
esteem—for a little while, and it hurt so much, knowing she was losing it now.

Reaching deep, she willed her icy facade back into place, covering the agony she was feeling with the pretense of calm that Draven had forced her to perfect so long ago. She needed to regain her composure so that when she turned back around to face Braedan, he wouldn’t know how much his newfound loathing of her hurt.

“We should go find the others now,” she managed to say, her voice husky with suppressed emotion. “You have heard all there is to know about me. Nothing more need be said.”

Utter silence greeted her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the pain of it. He didn’t even think her worthy of a response, then. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It was no more than she’d contended with hundreds of times as the Crimson Lady, but, somehow, the fact that it was Braedan dealing her the blow wounded her more than she’d known it could. Releasing her breath slowly, she let her hands fall to her sides, stiffen
ing her back to at last turn around and leave the glade with as much dignity as she could still manage to muster. Yet before she could move past him he stopped her with his low-voiced request.

“Wait, Fiona.”

She went still, not trusting herself to meet his gaze. “Why?” she asked quietly. “We have finished here. I am calmer now; you have accomplished what you intended, and I thank you for it, but there is nothing else to say.”

“Nay, Fiona. Stay,” Braedan murmured, stepping closer to her. He took her hand, his touch sending pleasurable warmth spilling through her. She stared at the broad, strong expanse of his chest, struggling against the urge to lift her gaze to his—afraid of what she might see there. “I do not wish to discuss my past further, Braedan. I have told you all, and I feel shamed enough by it without being made to relive it all again. I cannot—I will not—do that, for you or anyone else.”

“Discussion is not part of what I had in mind, lady.”

As he spoke he moved past her, circling around behind her so that she could no longer see him, even had she possessed the courage to meet his gaze. But she could feel him, and his warmth against her back, his breath wafting over the sensitive skin of her neck, sent sensuous shivers down her spine.

“What you have told me is horrible indeed,” he continued, his voice caressing her, “but more than anything it shows me that tenderness and care have too long been absent from your life.”

Fiona closed her eyes again, staggered by the impossibility of what he seemed to be saying. Perhaps he wasn’t rejecting her, then; he didn’t want to push her away. Oh, she wanted to believe that he had heard the entire, vile
truth and could still care for her in spite of it, but she hadn’t dared to hope.

The time had come to find out once and for all.

Heat stung her eyes as she turned to face him. “Do you truly believe that, Braedan?”

“Aye.”

Her breath caught. “If it is so, then I am glad for it. But it still does not explain what more you want of me here.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, his blue eyes intense—both troubled and full of warmth as he stared at her from under knitted brows. “I want you to let me hold you, Fiona,” he said at last, gruffly. “To let me give you what I know you need but will not take from me.” He held her gaze with the heat of his own, the intensity flowing from him in a molten tide, sweeping her away with sudden understanding. With the same longing that even now filled his eyes…

She felt poised at the edge of some momentous decision, knowing what she wanted but was too afraid to accept, come to a place she never thought she’d be after Draven and all that she’d been through with him. Braedan’s face swam before her, tears welling as she worked up the courage to voice what was deepest in her heart.

“I—I am so afraid, Braedan,” she whispered, her voice ragged with all that was at work inside of her. “I do not know what I will be able to feel—
if
I will be able to feel. Draven has been the only one for so long.”

“He does not have to be anymore,” he said firmly, squeezing her hand in gentle encouragement, though the resolute look in his eyes made her heart pound. “Just speak the word, Fiona, and I will do all that I can to wipe
your heart and mind clean of his foul presence.” He lifted his hand to the tender spot just below her chin, cupping her there with his palm, his fingers stroking gently, and she swallowed a moan of surrender.

“I have never felt so about anyone else, Braedan…never known what you make me feel.”

“Nor have I, except with you,” he answered, that fierce, yet passionate gaze still trained on her face. “Ah, lady, let me wash away the memories of what he did to you so that you may start anew, free of the burden you have carried for so long.”

As he spoke, the breeze cast another sprinkling shower of drops down onto them, and Fiona’s hands found his dampened sleeves beneath his cloak, her fingers clenching into them convulsively. She wanted to let go. She wanted to believe that it could happen…to feel the completion of this sweet aching inside of her.

“I wish I could,” she whispered, at last, her pulse racing and her limbs heavy. “God in heaven, I do, but I know not, even, how to begin. He was always in control of me and of what we did together. Always—”

“Command me, then, lady,” Braedan broke in hoarsely. “Tell me what to do. It will be as you wish, or not at all, I swear that to you, until you feel safe and whole again.”

Fiona gazed at him, overwhelmed with the emotions sweeping through her. She remained silent for a long while, weighing what he’d said. She yearned to believe that Braedan could help her, that he
wanted
to help her, and that her newfound feelings for him could banish Draven’s taint from her forever. She wanted to laugh, cry, and shout all at once, but in the end she settled for a whisper that resounded through her soul.

“Kiss me then, Braedan.” She brought her fingertips to her lips, shyness battling with her growing sense of power as she did so. “I want you to kiss me here…”

A blaze erupted in his eyes, and with a tender expression he murmured, “As you command, my lady,” before leaning in to brush his mouth over hers, savoring her. She kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a slow building of her passion, the rain mingling with the taste of him, salty and wonderful on her lips.