Chapter 120 - All Alone:
Early December - Fresh Water Fort:
Voices floated to her from the parlor and Cilla decided to go there. It had been empty for most of the day, but if there was someone in there now - finally - she would have some company. It might be Brownlow and Dalton. They had been uncomfortable around her initially, for she had deliberately spied on them back in the city. But over time, they had relaxed around her and even conversed with her if they had time. Especially Brownlow - he was quite a likeable lad.
But when she reached the door, she recognised Richard's voice and Harmony's laughter. Cilla's enthusiasm for company dropped like a stone in the water. Those were the last two she wished to see.
For nearly a month now, Cilla had found herself living in an increasingly undesirable situation. The mornings being the only exception, for those were the only thing to have remained the same - when she awoke in Richard's arms. Yes, he had attacked her brutally but somehow, she had come to see that monster and Richard her husband as two separate and entirely different beings. Her fear that the monster might eventually return had been dwindling by the day until it was almost gone. Where before, she hadn't been able to look at Richard without fearing that he would brutalise her, now when she looked upon him, she could not imagine the monster returning. She enjoyed waking in his arms - God Above knew it was the only touch she was receiving from anyone these days. She'd gone from her days being filled with affection and pleasure when Banastre was there, to this - those two hours before and after dawn, of feeling the warmth of another living person.
That was all she had now. Everything else was gone - affection, companionship, pleasure… She did have visitors at times, and she did visit others - her acquaintances had grown until there were now five families she called upon, if they did not call upon her. But those visits were certainly not daily and with the approach of winter, they were too sure to lessen even more. When they did occur, they only lasted several hours before everyone was farewelling one another again. Richard, when he was in residence, spent his days and nights with Harmony. And Harmony, when Richard was not in residence, spent her days with Cilla. An uneasy, almost friendship had sprung up between them but Harmony abandoned it whenever Richard was around. She abandoned their visitors also, and would only receive or call upon them if Richard was away.
Cilla hoped her new acquaintances did not notice the pattern in that. 'Oh, your husband has returned! How lovely. And where is Mrs. Farshaw?' If that was asked often enough, if any one of her acquaintances was observant enough, they would realise the truth. That Harmony and Richard - who was said to be over - were still very much together and disdainful of all other company, when he was home. Cilla had tried to speak to Harmony about it - and to Richard - but to no effect. Harmony became angry whenever Cilla tried and Richard… Well, he could see the need and he did occasionally join Cilla for a few minutes to entertain her company but he was always so desperate to leave - to be with Harmony, that he never stayed long. And these moments of joining her were too few - perhaps once a week, he would poke his head in the parlour and pretend to want to be there for all of five minutes before he begged his duties and left them again.
Someone was bound to notice. Sometime, someone would. And then what? All Cilla's hard work and effort will be undone.
And then there was the matter of Harmony only seeking out Cilla when Richard was gone and Harmony was feeling the need for some company. But as soon as Richard was back - Harmony never came near her and Richard kept himself wholly to Harmony. What of Cilla's need for company, at those times? Neither seemed to care. That was quite hurtful, she felt quite used, especially by Harmony, who would only spend time with her when she herself was bored and lonely. And never mind the times that Cilla was bored and lonely and might be in need of companionship.
Cilla approached the parlour and realised it was Richard and Harmony within. She paused just shy of the door, suddenly reluctant to go in. She wanted company, but she always felt these two shared theirs with her only grudgingly. Her stomach sinking, she heaved a sigh and turned away, ready to retreat back toward the way she had come.
"This can't keep coming up, Harm," Richard said and Cilla paused, hearing the heat in his voice. "You know that I can not stay the entire night with you. I've explained all this to you again and again."
Cilla was just as glad now, that she hadn't entered, not if they were arguing. She had grown quite adept at listening at doors and this time, it was simplicity itself as the door was open - a display of modesty for the benefit of the servants, no doubt. At least Richard was thinking. Cilla leaned back against the wall where she could not bee seen from those within the parlour.
"I know, Richard. I know your reasons, but that doesn't mean I have ever liked it. I do not enjoy waking up alone."
At least that's the only time you are alone, Cilla thought grumpily.
"Especially," Harmony continued, "now that I know you snuggle up close and sleep in each others arms!"
On the other side of the door, Cilla went very still, a sense of foreboding washing over her.
"You managed to keep that from me, didn't you?" Harmony snapped. "All this time we've all been living here, every night when you leave my bed for hers… I thought you just slept there. I imagined you keeping to your side and her to hers, but then I find out the servants find you each morning wrapped in one another's arms! You never told me that."
Cilla clutched at the pendant hanging from her necklace, her fingers wrapping around it firmly. She had so little now; was Harmony about to take that from her too?
"Oh, Harm, it doesn't mean anything," Richard groaned and Cilla's eyes widened, she grew very still.
"I will ask you this one last time, Richard. Are you bedding her?"
"I have told you again and again, I am not bedding Cilla!"
Cilla stifled an indignant gasp. How dare she ask that, I'm his wife! If anyone has the right to be bedding him, it's me!
"I want to believe you," Harmony said. "I truly do. But I just… why hold her then, Richard? You're going from my bed into another woman's arms!"
Oh wonderful, here come the tears, Cilla thought scathingly as she heard Harmony's voice break. Gods, she's going to take this from me too. It's all I have, but she's going to take it.
"Harm," Richard said, Cilla could hear the imploring quality to his voice. "I am not bedding her. I am sharing my wife's bed, but we sleep there, only. That is all. As for why - Gods, it's winter now - it's getting colder by the day! I'm leaving the warmth of your beautiful body to go and lay in a bed that is damnably cold. But Cilla has been laying there all night and is warm so… that's all, Harm. We share body warmth, because it's just so frightfully cold."
Cilla's shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor, feeling unaccountably hurt by this.
"I don't like it, it caused me such agony to hear it," Harmony muttered and Cilla nodded, thinking that it was coming now. She knew what Richard would say now.
"Then it stops," Richard said matter of factly. Simple as simple. Though she'd been expecting it, Cilla's heart sank.
"Do you promise? You won't sleep in each others arms?"
"I promise," Richard said, sounding indulgent. "I'd do anything to help ease your discomfort, I know this is not easy for you."
Not easy for her? What about me! Cilla fumed, on the verge of tears. I'm the one doing all the work and I'm to get nothing.
"It hasn't been," Harmony admitted and Cilla wanted to march in there and slap her. She risked a glare around the wall into the chamber and saw a smiling and contented Harmony taking hold of Richard's hand and splaying his fingers across her stomach.
"He's awake again," he said, all amazement. Richard met Harmony's gaze, both oblivious to the figure spying on them from the doorway. "I'll never cease to be amazed by this. To feel him move - oh! He kicked! He's a strong lad already!"
"Your strong lad," Harmony agreed, fingers moving over Richard's cinnamon hair. "He is just like he's papa."
"God forbid," Richard laughed. "I'm hoping he'll be much more like his mother."
Cilla stared at them enjoying the child moving within Harmony's stomach, her mouth going slack. Cilla placed her hand over her flat, empty stomach and grief welled up so strong she thought she would sob right there in the hall. Her stomach was empty, flat when she should have been five months along by now.
"It's the most amazing thing," he said, leaning down and planting a kiss on the swell of his beloved's stomach.
Cilla could take no more. She would have been as large with child as Harmony was now, but hers was gone. She would never have a baby of her own to hold and love, though Harmony would bear Richard one in a matter of months. Desolate, she peeled herself from the door and rushed up the stairs, not stopping until she was in her chamber. Slamming the door behind her, she lay face down on her bed, and wept into the pillows.
Cilla opened the curtains to allow the cold morning sunlight to shine through the windows. She went behind the privacy screen and passed water, placed a few logs on the dying fire, then padded across the chamber to the door, so she could lock it. It was still damnably cold, so with those small ministrations done, she returned to bed. However, she did not lie back down. Instead, sitting in the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, chin resting on their tops, Cilla stared across the room at Richard.
For he was asleep there, on the chaise.
Was that Harmony's demand, also? That not only should Richard not sleep with Cilla in his arms, nor should he share the bed at all? Or was that his own choice? For there he was, in the place she had found him when she'd woken, sprawled out across the chaise, instead of in the bed with her. He was taking his mistresses concerns, quite seriously, it seemed.
He looked cramped there, his head at an odd angle on the upward sloping end of the chaise, his legs dangling over the other end.
If you get a cricked neck, it'll serve you right, she thought as he began to wake. He stretched and yawned and blinked in the morning light. He wore light linen pants, closed with a draw cord. His chest was bare, however, and as he sat, the blanket fell away from his legs and onto the floor. Cilla's eyes roved his chest, taking in the sight of him. At those arms, as thick as a blacksmiths', arms that would never wrap around her again. Because his mistress had forbidden him.
She drew a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the confusing emotions. Still, she studied him.
He was much broader than Banastre and far more hairy. What was that purple blotch on his skin? She'd never seen that on him before. There were several, she realised. Circular in shape, and yes, purple in colour, just above his nipples. His cinnamon hair fell about his shoulders as he stretched his arms high above his head and let out a manly groan. Cilla's eyes lingered on those corded muscles moving beneath his skin.
"What time is it?" He asked, voice raspy and thick from sleep.
"Nearly seven-thirty," she replied woodenly, winding her arms around her legs over the blankets. "Tavington is already up."
"Oh, did he summon me?" Richard said, blinking as though he were trying to force himself to wake properly. He even slapped his hand against one cheek.
"No, I just heard him in the hallway, walking by with Brownlow I think. One of the other Officers anyway," she cocked her head to one side, dying to ask him why he'd chosen to not only give in to Harmony's demand to sleep without touching her, but to sleep on the far side of the room entirely.
It had hurt more than she'd thought it might, waking up to discover that not only did he not have his arms around her, but that he had disdained her bed entirely.
It had felt nice, being held as they woke in the mornings. The last man to hold her like that, so secure in a warm embrace, had been Banastre Tarleton. Cilla lowered her eyes and began plucking at the blanket. Her golden hair spilled forward, she did not push it back, for it shielded her face from him.
She would not ask him why he'd disdained their bed.
"Good," he said, rising. "I had a dream last night," he announced as he threw his legs over the side of the chaise. She glanced up despite herself and saw him wince as he stretched his neck. He groaned, a flare of pain crossing his face.
Serves him bloody right, she thought, looking away.
"We were in England, you and I," he began.
With your mistress too? How delightful.
"And you were wearing a magnificent gown, all of silk."
"We'll have to send to Charlestown, if that dream is to come true," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "All of my gowns are at home."
"Oh, no no no," he laughed softly. "My dear Cilla, as wealthy as your father was, not even he has ever purchased you something as grand as the gown you were wearing last night…" he said, trailing off.
"I wish I could have seen it," she said wryly. He laughed again and rose, fingers scratching his chest. "What is that?" She asked, expressing concern. "I noticed the marks before. Are they itchy? I can get Mila to make up a balm?"
"No," for some reason, his face coloured. He shook his head and waved away Cilla's concerns. "They are nothing. The dress! Magnificent, I too wish you could have seen it. All silk, burgundy and brocaded through with gold thread, so much lace you could have supplied four more dresses. And it was out to here," he placed his arms two yards from his sides to show how wide the dress was. "With hoops, of course. And the jewels you were wearing… all gold and gems, in your hair and at your throat."
"What occasion would I possibly have to wear such as that?" She asked.
"Didn't I say?" He grinned down at her. "We were at the palace and were being presented to their Majesties, the King and Queen!"
"The King and Queen!" She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Lord, Richard. If I was presented to the King and Queen, I'd give both a piece of my mind."
"You would not," he scoffed. He poured cold water from the ewer into a bowl and began to wash his face and chest. "Not even you would be brave enough for that, my courageous little rebel."
She could not understand why, but those words did something to her. Courageous little rebel. For some ridiculously stupid reason, Cilla's chest began to warm, the heat spreading from her heart and outward.
"No one would speak hotly to His Majesty, not even his most hated enemy," Richard said. He was seated now and was setting about the task of shaving.
"Why were we being presented to your Majestics?" Cilla asked, baiting him deliberately.
"I'm your husband, lass. My Loyalties are now yours," he said this in a lofty way, not rising to the bait. "They are your Majesties now, too. And we were being presented to them because you are my wife and I was a hero."
"A hero!" Cilla laughed despite herself. "What heroic thing did you do? Net General Washington and deliver him to Cornwallis?"
"Now, I like the way you think," he said, pointing at her with his blade. He began to scrape his cheeks gently, cutting away the stubble. "Now, it was a dream, Cil. I don't actually know what I did to deserve it, what grand and glorious action I took. The reasons don't matter, how we got there doesn't matter. But we were there, in the grand palace, surrounded by riches and affluence the like of which neither of us have ever seen, and that's saying something considering the fortunes of both our families. But we were there and it was all very proper and grand. The Queen even took your hand and welcomed you to England and the King offered me a position in his coterie."
Cilla's mocking laughter rang through the chamber. "To hold hands with the Queen… Oh sweet Lord. And you - I can just see you in those great long robes and the stupid powdered wig. You'd look daft, Richard! You'd look like man of sixty years!"
"I would not look daft," he shot her an arched eyebrow and returned to his shaving. "I'd look distinguished. I'd be distinguished. It'd be a fine thing, lass, if we were welcomed in the King's court. In the upper echelons of society. Our life would be made much easier, then."
"Hmm, but you must remember, Richard, it was just a dream. We are not going to live in England after all, are we?" She asked, feeling the first stirring of worry.
"Of course," he said, giving her a startled look. "Lord, I am not going to live in this God forsaken country when the war is done."
"I love this country and I don't believe God has forsaken it at all," she grumbled, her dark mood returning.
"Come now, Cil. There is nothing keeping us here. Everyone we know will return to England, our entire Society will be there after the war," he cleaned off his blade and sprinkled a pomade on his cheeks.
"Your society," she shot back. "Mine is right here. Sarah, Rebecca, Emily, Beth. Not that I get to see any of them, especially with you refusing to send for Rebecca now, even though you promised. My entire Society now consists of you and Harmony, and I rarely see either of you, unless one of you is gone off elsewhere."
Richard glanced at her, his mouth falling open. Cilla tightened her lips, wishing she could have the words back.
"Is everything alright?" He asked her.
No. Nothing is alright. You keep making concession after concession for your mistress and I get nothing. I don't even get to invite Rebecca here, because Harmony is here. I'm so heartily sick of the both of you I want to scratch both your eyes out!
"Everything is fine. What of Harmony and your child?" Cilla asked pointedly. "Will they be coming to England as well?"
He paused, meeting her gaze over her knees. Then he sloughed off the questioned with a shrug. "There is no point in planning too far ahead now is there?" He asked her, rising. In a tall wardrobe, hung a fresh Legion uniform. While he dressed, mostly in silence, Cilla dropped her chin to her knees again. She wrapped her arms tightly about her ankles and stared past Richard, trying to sort through the disordered thoughts clouding her mind. As she did, she began to slip deeper in a brood and did not know how to bring herself back out of it. It was not in her nature to become depressed and she did not know what to do about it. Richard continued to dress, pulling on his breeches and shirt, his waist coat, until he had on his boots and was tying the lace off at his neck. His hair was already combed by now and tied back in a neat queue, and with his cravat perfectly positioned, he was ready to leave.
"You do have other Society, Cilla," he said. "There's Mrs. Campbell and the Reynolds. This Mrs. Felton and her daughter. Others. You have people to keep company with."
"Yes, which means you and Harmony are let off the hook," Cilla said archly. Richard studied her for a moment, his lips working, but he appeared to not know what to say. Instead, he inclined his head toward her, then left the chamber.
Cilla was sitting in the parlour in a window seat beneath a broad bank of windows. The sun filtering through was quite warm here, because of the glass panes. She was leaning against the wall on comfortable cushions, a book in her lap and a cup of tea betwixt her fingers. Hearing a commotion outside, she glanced up to see a carriage trundling down the avenue toward the house - it looked like Mrs. Reynolds. Cilla brightened considerably, for the older woman and her daughters were always such bright and merry company. She set aside the book and moved closer to the fire, to wait for them.
Lately, Cilla had been feeling like a ghost, moving among servants in an otherwise quiet house. But now the parlour was filled with laughter as the women chatted and gossiped - Alice Reynolds did a twirl for Cilla to show off her new dress. They had only been there a few minutes when Harmony entered, smiling. Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters greeted Harmony with kisses and hugs, while Cilla sat there trying to look gracious and not seethe.
Richard has gone, has he? She thought snidely as Harmony sat down, joining them. The conversation continued to flow - Cilla was well-bred enough to uphold her part in it, though it was not the natural, easy thing of before, not now that Harmony was there. Still, the other women could not discern the difference and their laughter and chatter continued, none of them realising that Cilla's heart was no longer in it. For several two hours, this continued - with Mila directing servants to bring in sweetmeats and Mrs. Ambrose even sent in syllabubs, to their delight.
Eventually, it came to an end, as all good things must and Cilla stood at the door with Harmony at her side, both of them kissing and hugging the other women and then waving farewell as they climbed into the carriage. When the carriage drove away, Cilla turned back into the house.
"Do you want to play Whist?" Harmony asked behind her.
Why? Because Richard is not here and you're bored
"No. I'm feeling quite tired, I think I'm going to go lay down," Cilla replied, trying to maintain a polite visage though inside, she was seething. She didn't care how many times she had to use that excuse in the future - she was not going to let Harmony use her again.
"There's a dinner next door," Richard said, standing at Cilla's side of the bed. "We've been invited."
Cilla, trying to pretend to be asleep, said nothing. She felt him move away and she was hopeful that her ploy had worked.
"Come sleepy," he called to her as he began to change. "Harmony said you've been in here for hours, since the Reynolds left. If you sleep anymore now, you won't get any sleep tonight. O'Hara has is asking for you particularly."
"I have a headache, Richard," she said, her voice muffled into her pillow.
"I'll send for some Warts," he replied. "Mila knows how to brew it so well, even the worst headache will be gone within a half hour." He disappeared for a moment, she heard him talking in the hallway. She stared at the wall, not wanting to move a muscle. When he returned, she tried again.
"I don't want to go, Richard," she said. "I am tired and I don't think the Warts will work. I want to stay home tonight." Usually, she enjoyed her time with the General's and the other company they chose to invite, even though all of those were Loyalists. And she enjoyed her time with Richard, also - the carriage ride over and the carriage ride back were always quite jovial.
But since discovering him asleep on the chaise that morning, since he gave in to his mistress to never hold her again, she did not feel up to it. She would be performing a charade, if she went, and she did not feel up to that, either.
She could feel him pause, then heard his boots cross the room toward her. "Cil," he said, soothing, she felt his hand close on her shoulder. "Half the reason I've been invited at all, is because of you."
"I know," she replied, an edge to her voice. The ONLY reason he was welcome next door, was because of her. Yet he neglects her. He gives in to Harmony's every whim even though some of those have been at Cilla's expense. He spends all his free time with his mistress, only deigning to share it with Cilla when they were heading over to O'Hara's, where he spent the night basking in the glow of adoration she had created for him. And he cooed over Harmony's swelling stomach while Cilla's remained empty and probably always would be.
"Then you understand how important this is," he said, squeezing her arm, taking her words as agreement. "O'Hara will be gone soon. We need to seize every opportunity we can, to further deepen his good will. Come now, up you get. It'll do you good and I promise, we'll leave early if you wish."
Vickie entered, she stood in a corner waiting, and Cilla could no longer remain laying on the bed, for the girl was sure to gossip of it. Cilla had been wondering who had told Harmony of Richard and Cilla sleeping in one another's arms and Cilla had come to suspect it had come from her maid, Vickie.
As if her body weighed a thousand pounds, Cilla sat up and turned very slowly.
"There you are!" Richard cried, not seeing - or refusing to see - Cilla's despondency, or that she had been weeping. "I knew you'd understand. I need to push my advantage now, Cil. It's for both of us. Don't worry, your headache will go as soon as you drink Mila's brew." He held his hands out to her and she took them, allowing him to pull her up onto wooden legs. "I'll return soon," he said, kissing her cheek.
Because Vickie was standing there, Cilla supposed. He had kissed her for the benefit of her servant, not out of any affection for her.
Cilla forced herself to smile throughout the evening, she spoke with the women and laughed when she was supposed to. She put on such a great performance, again reminding herself that she should have taken to the stage for her living. She'd become an adept actress in the last few months, not even her husband noticed how melancholy she was.
When she was returned to her chamber, Vickie helped her to undress. She chatted about Mila, who was feeling unwell, the baby was upsetting her. Another one with child, while Cilla was without. As soon as her stays were removed, Cilla dismissed her maid, having no more desire to listen to the young woman prattling about babies. The fire was burning cheerfully, many of the candles were doused. Cilla stood at her bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed in. She glanced at Richard's side of the bed, eyes narrowed. Instead of reaching over and pulling back the corner for him as was her habit previously, she lay down on her side and turned her back. There would be no further invitations from her.
Not that he would have accepted it. He'd likely sleep on the chaise again. Oh well, if he could live with a sore neck, then so be it.
She was awake when he came in hours later. Whether she'd slept or not, she did not know, but she was awake when the door opened. The candles had burned low, she thought the time must have been around three in the morning. She heard him bustle about, heard him stoke the fire and place on new logs. Then he began to undress. She lay as still as stone, wondering if he would do it again.
Would he choose the chaise again? Or would his sore neck deter him? When he came a little close to her, she cracked open her eyes. He was standing at the window for some reason, one drape pulled back, glancing out into the darkness. He was as naked as the day he was born, and was close enough that she caught a strong, musky scent wafting from him. A familiar scent, she recognised it immediately, she'd smelled it often on herself after coupling with Banastre. It was the musky scent of a man's seed and woman's wetness, the mingling odour of spent arousal. Appalled, she turned over and away from him, she burrowed her nose into the blankets.
He did not ask her if she was awake, and she kept her eyes firmly shut, so he would think she was merely turning over in her sleep. Richard rounded the bed and pulled back the covers. He climbed in beside Cilla with a heartfelt sigh of relief. That was to be expected, she'd been a bundle of nerves all day lest he choose the chaise again. It was the contentment that surprised her. Why should she be so happy that he'd chosen to sleep with her?
She wondered if he would hold her, should she instigate it. It's not as though they knew she'd overheard the conversation. As far was Richard was concerned, all Cilla knew was that she'd woken up to find him on the chaise. She'd never addressed it and since then, they'd had what Richard thought to be a lovely evening over at O'Hara's. He did not know how low she was feeling, or the reasons behind it.
He thought that everything was simply stupendous.
Her heart began to pound, nerves making her feel lightheaded as she nestled in closer toward him. She was not supposed to know what he'd promised Harmony and it did indeed make her feel as though what she was about to do was utterly wrong. A betrayal. Which was ridiculous - this man was her husband, for crying out loud.
Besides, she wanted to see what he would do, so that she could gauge for certain, how damaged their relationship was now. She needed to know.
Boldly, she shuffled her body closer until she was alongside his, and she lifted his arm and placed it around her. As if it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be doing, even though this was actually the first time she ever had. She felt him stiffen as she laid her head on his shoulder, her arm draped over his chest.
"Gods, so cold," she said, as if that was the reason she was sidling closer. Just as he did to her, every other night. He had grown as stiff as a buckboard now though and she noted that the arm she had put around her was flat on the bed behind her, he had not wrapped it over her body. "You're so warm - do you remember telling me that first night you took me in your arms?" She asked - a gentle reminder that that had been his idea back then, not hers. "You told me I'd be sidling up to you in winter. You were so right," she lifted her leg and laid it across his and did a little shiver as she burrowed into the blankets, her body wrapped around his.
"I remember," he said.
"Things have changed so much between us since then, don't you think?" She asked, another gentle reminder. She wanted him to recall how poorly they had started, to compare it to how they were now. Did he really want to risk returning to how it'd been in the beginning? "It's so much better between us now."
"I… yes, it is," he breathed.
She tilted her head back on his chest to gaze up at him. Was she reaching him? Was she getting through to him? Was he really willing to damage the closeness they'd been developing? She longed to ask him. Instead, she asked, as if making conversation, "Richard, why did you sleep on the chaise last night?"
Will you tell me the truth? She thought.
"I… ah… you looked so comfortable when I came in, I did not want to disturb you," he said.
She felt herself grow cold all over and it was all she could do to keep up this is companionable facade. She forced a merry laugh.
"As considerate as that is, it's never stopped you before," she replied, still laughing. "You usually have no qualms about falling into the bed, waking me and hauling me about until I'm in your arms and you're stealing my heat." He said nothing and she waited as the silence stretched. Finally, she said, still with forced cheer, "I guess men can be strange at times. Oh well. Good night, Richard."
"Yes, good night, Cilla," he replied. And then he turned over.
Cilla was displaced as his arm was lifted from beneath her and she was suddenly confronted with his back. Her leg was shifted off from him as well, and she'd instinctively lifted her arm to give him room as he rolled onto his side away from her. Now, her arm hovered over his side, and she stared at the back of his head, astonished.
Her chest constricted, Gods it hurt so much. Staring at him wide eyed, she shuffled backward and away from him, astonished and hurt by his blatant rejection. She pressed her trembling lips together and she wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Cilla rolled over onto her other side, back to back with him, with a large gap between them.
Within minutes, she could hear his soft snores. Lord, he didn't even care that she was laying right there beside him in the depths of despair. What a bastard. She dried her eyes, swallowed past the constriction in her throat. She glanced over at him as his snores became louder. Anger twisted her stomach, rose in her breast - she wanted to rake him with her finger nails.
Shoving the blankets aside, Cilla rose. Richard did not rouse even when she snatched up the spare blankets and went to lay down on the chaise. She was far smaller than he, and she had a more comfortable fit. Even still, all she could do was lay there, awake, staring into the fire and hating the sounds of his damned snores.