Lady Trent (42 page)

“Do you still pray, Rachel?”

It was a peculiar question. At any other time
it would have probably infuriated her. But she could only stop and
think of how rarely she did pray. In the beginning…well, at one
time it had been not only a daily obligation, but a pleasure. To
call out upon God for the sake of everyone around her, her siblings
scattered about, New Ebony in general, and then herself. At a young
age she had begun to do this.

Prior to coming into the Great City, she’d
reached some sort of peak of spiritual perfection, one she’d
imagined could not be overthrown, no, not by any man or woman or
title at all. But she had failed. She had failed altogether; even
for thinking something of herself that had not been so…that she was
incapable of falling short of everything she’d proven herself to be
in the small town of Westerly. Simply Rachel the Elder.

She realized then and there that she had been
wrong altogether to accept Jacob’s proposal. True, she had begun to
love him, and had fallen in love with him, but could she lie to
herself and insist she had not been intrigued by the lifestyle he
lived and that his wife would certainly live as well? Could she
honestly say that this, too, had not contributed to her
decision?

“Yes,” she quietly answered his question. “I
do.” She inhaled a deep breath to force out what she would say
next. “Although not so often as once upon a time, I must
admit.”

“I was meditating,” he answered in response
to her original question.

“Upon what?”

“Many things,” he said, and that was all.

She examined his wounded but bandaged arm.
The thought of what he’d done caused her to care about him all the
more, to undergo a very strong urge to embrace him, just as she had
in that horrible little room when he’d first entered.

“Is it healing well?” She came to ask.

“Yes,” he very simply answered.

She inhaled a deep, uneven breath, and with
an exhale began to say, “I have not heard word of what truly
happened. It does not seem you have fully explained to anyone.”

“I would rather not go back to what occurred
in that room, Rachel.”

Her name upon his lips was suddenly the most
soothing and sweetest thing of all. “If you could tell me.”

“Why?”

“I want to know.”

“Does it truly matter?”

“It does, of course. It matters a great
deal.”

He paused a moment, turning toward the altar.
He took three steps up to stand beside of a statue of an angel and
ran a palm down the side of it. “Tell me this, Rachel, is it ever
appropriate for a man to lie?”

She knew he was thinking about the lie he had
concocted about the unborn child. Why would he question such a
motive now?

“Do not think for a moment you were in the
wrong.”

“I don’t. I just wonder…” He paused and then
began to enlighten her curiosity. “There were places in the wall,
broken up. Sharp points in the rock. I sliced my arm over one of
these. The first time was not so successful as the second.”

She exhaled a breath, searching the floor
with troubled eyes while she imagined him doing such a thing and
how painful it must have been.

“I dread to think of it as well,” he
admitted, reading her mind.

She shook her head, thinking not only of the
actual deed and feeling the pain of it, but the cause of the deed
which was to spare her and Jacob, for Marcus had been a free man to
begin with.

Marcus dropped his arm and turned to peer
down at her. “I made it seem as if you were losing the child.”

“You think very quickly. The idea of the
child, of these complications...and this.” She shook her head. “No
other man would have done such a thing to himself.”

“That cannot be said for sure.” He took the
steps down, and upon reaching the bottom said, “I must be on my
way. Jacob will be awaiting me for a meeting with the council.”

He started to stalk by her, as if to
purposely just get away from her. She touched his shoulder and he
stopped, turning to stare at her. With her eyes she searched
his.

“I am grateful to you for sparing his life,
for he would’ve given it up for mine.”

He studied her lips. “Your life was spared as
well,” he came to say, “and has become equally as important to me,
possibly even more.”

They stared at one another long, deeply in
the eyes. Then he turned, and began to stalk away.

She could not contain herself. She could not
be silent.

“Sir Marcus!” she called after him.

He stopped in his tracks and turned, his
shoulders not nearly as straight as she had grown accustomed to
seeing them.

“Where are you going?” She asked him

“I have told you.”

“You are lying,” she quietly guessed.

Tears began to brim in her eyes, and a few
drops fell, sliding down her cheeks. Marcus took slow steps toward
her, and upon reaching her, raised a hand, taking her chin with his
fingers. Her head fell back, her eyes closing and then barely
opening while a few more teardrops fell from them.

Marcus raised his other hand to the side of
her face, using a thumb to wipe the tears from her left cheek. Her
eyes closed. She could not keep them opened. She felt the warmth of
his body, and almost the pounding of his heart as he took her
closer, and then of his lips touching hers, sweeping over them
again and again. And for a time nothing existed anymore. Nothing at
all but she and him and the sensual feelings between them.

She had but a moment to see the dark gleam of
lust and desire in his eyes after he’d pulled away, before he
turned. This time she did not say a word, but watched him go,
feeling as if she would never see him again, fearing it, and then
later hiding herself away, telling them all she was ill, that she
needed more time to rest, that she had arisen too early. That she
needed more time. She just needed more time.

******

Days more passed. She refused to eat. She
refused to speak to anyone at all, even to Jacob except for short
moments at a time. She refused to see the physician when he
insisted she do so. She turned them all away. She did not hear
anything about Marcus. She did not ask. She did not seek an answer,
for she knew he was gone. That he was gone for good. She would
never see him again.

******

Jacob became concerned not only for her, but
Marcus as well when he left without a word, skipping several
meetings in regards to a possible war with Roark. It was serious
business, and not like Marcus at all to dis-include himself.

He had heard that Marcus was in Rowan or
somewhere near it and decided if he did not return or nothing was
heard of him, he would send someone for him.

So he delivered a message by the hand of
Amos, who in turn came back to confirm that Marcus was, indeed, in
Rowan in the house of one Madame Patrice, and that he had no reply,
that he had not even opened the message, that he had not said a
word.

Jacob sent others after him, all of whom
returned quickly with words that were not reassuring, so he decided
in himself that he would go into Rowan and speak to him personally,
one on one, and get to the bottom of the matter, whatever it
was.

******

And he did this, catching Marcus completely
off guard when Patrice rapped her knuckles against the door of the
room he’d occupied…however long it had been. He could not say for
sure. One, two weeks. Maybe three.

Jacob stood in the doorway, a peculiar sight
considering the place. It was a part of his personal life which
Jacob had never been given access to, not that it was hidden from
him. They just simply did not discuss the most intimate details of
their lives.

Jacob came inside, closing the door quietly
behind himself. Marcus had sat peering at the wall, a glass of
strong drink in hand—a glass that hardly stayed occupied for any
long amount of time. As soon as he filled it he emptied it
again.

“What are you doing?” Jacob asked, and when
he didn’t get an answer in return went on to say, “are you ill? Is
that it?”

“No,” he calmly returned. “I am in good
health.”

“If this has something to do with what
happened in Ebbs Valley…”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then what is it?” He became evidently
disturbed. “With these matters in the balance you speedily
disappear and seclude yourself…even while the nobles discuss
prospective war and even prepare for it. You ignore my messengers,
send them away. According to one, you physically removed him. Tell
me, Marcus, what have I done to you? Hum? Have I wronged you in any
way?”

“No,” Marcus plainly replied, and then louder
as he stood from the chair he’d sat in the past little while. “No,
no, no. You have done no wrong.”

“Then why have you avoided me? And worse yet
mishandled those I’ve sent to bring you to me?”

Marcus raised a slow hand. “Jacob,
please…please go.”

“I will not…not until I have received a
suitable answer.”

“There is no suitable answer.”

“There is!” he loudly maintained. “There must
be. A man I hold dearer in my heart than a son has decided to be my
enemy. I will not leave this place without an answer.”

“You
must
leave without an answer,” he
calmly said, and then sat down again. “Because I have none to
give.”

A hand to his sword, Jacob turned and gazed
out the window. When he turned again, his expression was hard with
anger. “After fifteen years—if this is how it must be. Now, if you
must turn your back on me for no apparent reason at all. If you
must seclude yourself for whatever cause. So be it. But you could
be a rational man and tell me what it is. There could be nothing so
bad, so wrong.”

“It is wrong. Very, very wrong.”

“It can’t be.”

“It is,” he argued.

“There could be nothing bad enough to come
between us.”

He banged his fist atop the table and shot to
his feet. “Dammit it is wrong, Jacob, it is. I’m in love. There I
have said it. I am in love with your wife.”

A look of astonishment came over Jacob.
Regretting having lost his temper and admitting what he had, Marcus
shook his head, massaged his forehead and turned around.

There was a horrible silence. It went on for
a long while. He turned again to face him as the man he knew he
was, a man in the wrong but able to admit it. A man with pride
although he couldn’t recall having ever felt so small.

Jacob’s gaze had fallen to the floor. “In
love,” he quietly repeated. His brows drew together. “With Rachel?”
He yet held to the handle of his sword and Marcus decided he
wouldn’t blame the man if he suddenly pulled it from its sheath and
executed him right then and there. Jacob stared at the floor,
silent for a while. Finally he raised weary eyes to his. “Since
when?” He asked him. “Since the trip to the manor? Since Westerly?
Is that it? Should I have sent someone else?”

“This is no fault of yours.”

“When?” He demanded a second time.

“I don’t know,” he loudly returned. He calmed
his voice, avoiding Jacob’s downtrodden gaze. “I do not know.”

“Does she know this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you told her?”

“No.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“No. I don’t know. That I have some sort of
feelings for her, yes, but it hasn’t been discussed, this idea of
love.”

“What has been discussed?”

“Nothing.”

Jacob’s brows drew together. “I don’t believe
you.”

“Then I will not bother persuading you
otherwise.”

“How long has this been?” He asked, his gaze
set so hard upon him that he could not possibly look into it.

“I don’t know. Over time, I suppose. Over
time.”

He stepped slowly away from his spot, his
eyes to the floor. “How did I not see it?” He stopped. “I know you
are very skilled at the art of deception, but to me.” He looked at
him rather plainly. “I should have noticed.” His brows furrowed.
“You should have told me. In the beginning, you should have made it
known.”

“Why? What could you have done? Excused me
only to afterward peep around corners watching my every move, leery
of me, or to even have you excommunicate me? What purpose was
there? I would have nothing come between our friendship. But now,
with this…my feelings, since they cannot be persuaded to stop, no,
not even with time or separation, I have excommunicated myself, not
only because I love her, but because I love you as well. The guilt
has become too hard to bear.”

Jacob sat down and bent his head to massage
his temples. Finally, he raised his head and with tired eyes
studied Marcus from head to toe and then his eyes. “Is there
anything else?”

“No.”

“If I brought this to her attention, there is
nothing she would say that has not been said.”

“She has not betrayed you, Jacob. She loves
you. And I would prefer you did not mention this to her at
all.”

“Yes, yes…well, I suppose you would.” With
that, Jacob stood and without a word left the room.

******

Rachel sat staring out the window, a fist
pressed to her chin, watching the clouds scroll across the sky,
studying some children playing off in the distance.

She heard the door open and turned her head
to see Jacob entering the room. She stood to get a clear view of
him. He had left the day before. She was glad to see him back
although it was very clear that something was wrong. Terribly
wrong.

She searched his eyes while he came closer.
“What is it?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”

He still just stared at her, as if giving
time for her to figure something out on her own. A deep crease
formed between her brows. “Is it Marcus? Is he well? Has something
happened?”

He walked past her, making his way to the
bed. He eased down, sitting on the edge, and simply sat there.
Uncertain she went toward him and slowly seated herself beside him.
She tilted her head to the side, asking, “What is wrong?”