Behind the Mask (101 page)

“This is the day for good works, is it not?” Cameron said, resisting the urge to scream and curse. “I am glad to hear that your needs are being met at last. I only wish that I could bring your good husband back.” She nodded but seemed too overcome to speak. To ease the tension, Cameron added, “You are very kind to make the effort to share your appreciation. I will remember it fondly.”

He almost moved the horse forward until she said, “Your Grace. Forgive me if I speak too boldly, but . . . it’s said that your good wife . . . Her Grace . . . had much to do with bringing you back to us.”

Cameron chuckled. “How quickly gossip spreads.”

“Is it not true, Your Grace?” she asked, as if she feared having spoken some falsehood.

“It is very much true, madame. Her Grace is the finest of women, and I truly would not have been able to come back were it not for her influence.”

“Then you must express to her our appreciation.”

“I will do that, thank you.”

“The both of you will be in our prayers,” she said, stepping back. “Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

“Madame,” he said, and urged his horse forward, the officers doing the same.

While Cameron was pondering this woman’s words and what they meant to him, Lance said, “It’s all a matter of timing, Your Grace.”

“What is?” Cameron asked, confused.

Lance chuckled. “On Friday you were a traitor. Today you are a champion.”

Cameron ignored the compliment, more preoccupied with the irony of their conversation two days earlier when he had made such a comment. Then he forced his mind to the present and spent the remainder of their slow ride back to the castle instructing Lance on what he wanted done in his absence. He told him to work with Georg and the committees to see that everything stayed under control until he returned and that the projects of restitution that had begun would be continued.

It was nearly dusk when they returned to the castle, and Cameron hurried to the bedroom. His dogs were curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed. They lifted their heads to greet him, and he thought of the companionship they had given him through these difficult years. Serenity washed over him.

He found Abbi asleep in the huge bed that made her look even tinier and more delicate. He kissed her awake, loving the way her arms came around him in a manner that was so familiar.

“Get your shoes on, my love. Let’s get out of here.”

Abbi was quickly alert and hurried to freshen up while Cameron changed into comfortable clothes. He was pulling on his boots when he looked up to see Abbi holding a wrapped package.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a wedding gift.”

He looked at her sideways. “That’s really not necessary.”

“I know, but . . . it has no monetary value. I simply want you to have it.”

Cameron set the package on the bed and pulled the brown paper away to reveal the framed painting. He was momentarily speechless as he recognized the depiction of the view of Horstberg from the high ridge. “Abbi, this is incredible.”

“My talent isn’t anything to speak of,” she said humbly. “But it has special memories for me, and painting it helped get me through all of the waiting.”

“Oh, Abbi.” He took her in his arms and held her, wishing he could express how this painting bridged all they had shared on the mountain with all that was happening now. He turned to look at the painting again as another idea occurred to him. “This is our dominion,” he said. “Our Horstberg,” he added in a soft voice. The ironies continued to mount.

“We’ll find a place to hang it when we return,” he said. “Here in the bedroom.”

Abbi nodded and hugged him tightly, then she led him toward the door, wanting only to leave here. She was beginning to feel as if she might suffocate being confined within these castle walls. She wondered how she would ever survive living here the rest of her life.

Abbi felt indescribable relief as she rode Blaze out of the castle gate with Cameron at her side. Her heart quickened as he led the way through the covered bridge, over the fallen tree, and up through the forest. It was dark long before they arrived at the lower meadow. But Blaze had no trouble following Cameron. She knew the stallion could likely find his way here under any circumstances.

Abbi couldn’t find words to express all she was feeling as Cameron helped her up through the ridge. She laughed aloud as he carried her over the threshold of the lodge, once the horses had been cared for. He set her down only long enough to light a lamp, which he handed to her, and then he carried her straight up the stairs to the bedroom. Once the lamp had been set down, he made a comical display of tossing her gently onto the bed, then he collapsed beside her, out of breath.

“I think we’re overdue for a wedding night,” he said. “But since it was our third wedding . . .” He laughed but didn’t finish the sentence. Abbi didn’t comment. She hated the way any implication of intimacy took her thoughts to Nikolaus. She was grateful that they’d been too busy or exhausted since their cathedral wedding to have time for intimacy. And even more grateful when he added, “Truthfully, I’m so exhausted I almost hurt.” Thinking of the bullet wound and the bruises, she felt certain that he was minimizing his pain. He kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “But it will give us something to look forward to.”

“Indeed,” she said, and they hurried to get ready for bed. Abbi felt more content and relaxed than she had for weeks as she fell asleep close to his side, while the world seemed a million miles away.

She woke to find him absent and wondered if he’d just gone downstairs or if he might be feeding the horses. She rolled over and inhaled her surroundings and the peaceful memories associated. She had to admit this was likely her most favorite place to be in all the world, as long as Cameron was here with her.

Abbi’s eye was drawn to a book on the bedside table. She reached for it, wondering if it was one of Cameron’s journals, then she immediately recognized it as the book she’d used for sketching during her stay here with him. She recalled seeing it there when she’d visited him in the summer. She felt moved to think of him keeping it close, but even more so as she looked at the sketches and the history they expressed of her evolving relationship with Cameron. If only she had known then what she knew now!

Wanting to be near him, she went down the stairs in bare feet, still in her nightgown. She quickly realized he wasn’t there, but he’d left coffee on the stove. She poured herself a cup and was sitting at the table to drink it when he came through the door. He smiled when he saw her.

“Good morning, Mrs. du Woernig,” he said and chuckled. “Do you know how many times I wanted to call you that but never dared? I love saying it.”

“I love hearing it,” she said, simply because it meant being his wife, and the absence of secrets between them. She wished that she could only be Mrs. du Woernig, and not the Duchess of Horstberg.

While Cameron washed up, she went into the kitchen to start cooking some breakfast, noting that Georg must have come and left the fresh food that was there. She’d barely put a pan on the stove when she found Cameron facing her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. She forced away uneasy memories as he took her into his arms, and she reminded herself that this was her husband. She set a hand to his stubbled face, acquainting herself with a sensation that was so unusual, since she was accustomed to his wearing a beard.

Cameron loved the way just being here with Abbi made him feel. The distance from all their fears and burdens in itself was heavenly. It
felt
like a honeymoon, and heaven knew they certainly needed one after all they had been through.

“This can wait,” he said, easing her away from the stove. He pressed his lips overs hers with a kiss that only began to express all he felt for her in that moment. He was startled when she winced and drew back.

“What?” he asked, noting the alarm in her eyes. She touched her lips as if they had betrayed her. The alarm turned to terror, then disappeared behind a harsh rise of tears. “What?” he repeated, alarmed himself.

Abbi struggled for the simplest explanation, if only to give her a moment to gather courage enough to say all that he would demand to know. “My lips hurt.”

Cameron tried to tally any possible explanation for such a thing—something that might have occurred since he’d last kissed her with any passion. He figured it out the same moment she moved unsteadily to a chair and put a hand over her mouth.

“What did he do to you?” Cameron demanded. She began to visibly tremble. She hung her head and turned shamefully away. “You told me you were fine,” he said while his stomach smoldered.

“And what was I supposed to say?” she countered without looking at him. “You’d told me
you
were fine not so many hours earlier, and you were bruised and bleeding. It was the order of the day!”

“That was
different,”
he snapped.

“Don’t tell me it was
different!”
She looked at him then, her eyes full of rage. But for who? What? “You did what you had to do even though you were
not
fine. I only followed your example and did the same.”

“You could have told me the truth,” he muttered, increasingly sick as he considered what the truth might be.

She shot to her feet, clearly more comfortable with being angry than accepting the pain she was in. He felt most disturbed to realize she’d probably learned
that
from his example, as well. “And what would you have had me say?” she cried. “There were twenty men standing there, and your brother had just been stabbed through the heart. You were barely holding yourself together, and I knew it. Would you have preferred that I’d just sputtered it all out right then and there? Maybe I should have said it loud enough for everyone to hear, and completed my disgrace in front of your most trusted officers. Do you think they will ever look at me without remembering the way he paraded me into their midst, dressed as I was? Do you think they won’t remember the way he
touched
me in front of them, and threw me to the ground, broken and crumbling? Perhaps I should have just publicly added my testimony to his final condemnation. I should have just said it!” she screamed. “He defiled me and used me for the
sole
intent of putting himself on even ground with
you!”

Cameron staggered to a chair and put his head down, barely able to breathe as she continued. “You took what meant most to him, and he was getting even. The
only
reason he didn’t finish what he’d started was to save it as a bargaining point. He made it clear that I might get to keep what little was left of me if you made the right choice. Is
that
what you wanted me to say when you asked if he’d hurt me? You asked if he’d raped me. The answer was no. But I wonder now what
exactly
is the definition of such a word. Are there varying degrees for such an offense? Should I have said he
barely
didn’t? Or that he did everything
but
rape me?” Cameron’s stomach lurched. Physical pain gathered in the deepest pit of his gut, even as her voice softened. “It could have been worse; it could have been
so
much worse. And I thank God that it wasn’t. But he still ravaged and violated me, and we both have to live with that.”

She became silent, but Cameron kept his head down while his tears flowed without restraint. He sniffled loudly and knew she had to be aware of his crying. He pressed a hand over the tangible pain in his chest, finding it difficult to even draw breath. “Why didn’t you . . . say something . . . before now?”

“I couldn’t tell you such things that night,” she said, her voice soft with regret and compassion. “And I couldn’t tell you while you were consumed with seeing your brother buried and trying to accept that he was responsible for all you had suffered. I had no intention of keeping the truth from you. I just needed to wait.”

Cameron tried to take in what he’d just learned. He felt like throwing up. He groaned and pushed his hands harshly through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Abbi,” he cried and sniffled again, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“You have no need to apologize for this, Cameron.”

“I put you in this position!” he shouted, and then he sobbed as the tears continued. But he still couldn’t look at her, still could hardly breathe. “I left you vulnerable to this, when I should have—”

“Cameron,” she interrupted firmly. When she said nothing more he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “God led me into your life. I had the choice of whether or not to stay there. I made that choice with my whole heart, and I do not regret it. Even if he had taken everything from me, we would have found a way to come to terms with it and move on, because I will
not
allow him to destroy my happiness, or yours.”

The source of Cameron’s tears shifted as he took in what she was saying, and her aura as she’d said it. She was everything noble and strong, without even trying. She was his greatest example, and his truest source of power. She had become the pillar and foundation of Horstberg, and she didn’t even know it. While she looked into his eyes with hesitance and timidity, waiting for a response, he was so filled with hope and admiration that it became even more difficult to breathe. He searched for words to express all he was feeling, even while he knew that words could never be adequate.

“I think,” he said, “they will remember most what I remember most. With perfect dignity and unquestionable courage, you told me to choose my country. There was
nothing
broken or crumbling in what you said, or the way that you said it. You behaved like a queen under the most deplorable of circumstances. I am absolutely certain that they will forever honor you for that, as I will.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

ABBI’S MASK