Chapter 129 - Like a Becalmed Sea:
The drapes had been drawn. Night had fallen, Cilla couldn't see anything but black outside. Rain still lashed the windows. Thunder crashed overhead and she shuddered; she hated storms. Rain was one thing, but thunder and lightening another entirely. She couldn't understand those people who enjoyed storms. Madmen who would actually sit at the window or on their porch, and watch lighting flare across the sky, and barely twitch when thunder threatened to pull their house down upon their heads. She clutched the blankets to her chest. The door opened, Richard came in, carrying a candle to light the way. The room was quite bright enough with lanterns and the fire burning merrily on the grate, but the hallways were dark. Everything was growing scarce now, including candles to light the hallways. Tavington was being frugal with them now. Cilla had light, because Cilla's room was also Richard's, and Richard was the Major for the British Legion. She looked at his face, saw the same haunted look there that resided in Harmony's earlier.
"Are you alright?" He asked as he closed the door. "I came up as soon as the thunder started."
Because he knew she despised storms, he'd known she would be scared, and that she was all alone up now, no women standing vigil. Their sentry duty would be far less, now that she'd recovered from her flux.
"Why, what were you doing?" She asked, shivering despite the warmth in the room. Damned thunder. He placed the candle on the bedside.
"Working on a report, but it can wait. Are you alright?" He repeated, gazing down at her across his side of the bed. His side of the bed. He would resume sleeping there now. From tonight. From that moment. She shivered again. This time it had nothing to do with the thunder.
"I'm well enough now," she smiled up at him. "Are you coming to bed?"
"Unless you need me to fetch anything?" He asked. "Have you eaten?"
"Mila bought me a tray."
"And did you eat everything on it?" He asked, eyebrow arched.
"Yes, papa," she quipped, smiling. Until thunder boomed right above her head. She yelped, then glared at the ceiling.
"You deserved that for calling me papa," he said, not even bothering to console her. She turned her glare on him. He wore a smile, a fleeting one, it vanished too quickly. She watched as he began to get ready for bed. He reached up to the back of his head and unwound the black ribbon from his hair. He tussled it with his fingers, loosening it from its queue. With that alone, he already looked dishevelled. Even in uniform, men looked so messy with loose hair. It needed a wash, those lanky strands. She wondered how much time had passed since he'd bathed last. Weeks, probably. No one bathed, not with any regularity, especially in the winter. He probably felt he'd already bathed, if he'd been out riding in that rain. He pulled his jacket from his shoulders, hung it on a hook. His waistcoat was next, and his shirt. Both were folded and placed on the bureau. If he was aware of her eyes on him, he gave no notice. He moved as if his limbs were too heavy, weighed down with heart-ache and grief. She wondered how he'd gotten through this week, since Harmony had left, since Cilla had been on her death bed. He'd probably been terrified he would not lose just the one, but both his women.
His boots were placed near the door, were he could seize them up easily in case of need. His belt was unbuckled, he pulled it free, then began pushing down his breeches. He would lay with her in his skin, then. She froze for a moment, uncertain. Should she remove her shift? He sat heavily to the side of the bed, as if his legs would hold him no longer, and he continued to pull first one pants leg, then the other. The breeches were folded, placed aside, and then Bordon continued to sit there, his head in his hands. She studied his back, the long tendrils of hair falling halfway down. He was not sobbing. He was not speaking. He just sat there, his back to her, miserable. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Pining for another woman, while getting ready to be in her bed.
Stop it, she scolded herself. You've known all along that he loves her. He loves you too, in his way. And you are together now. You can't keep being jealous forever, especially now she's gone. Where this wisdom came from, she did not know. Instinct, perhaps. Common sense. Small steps, that was what they needed to take. One small step after another. They'd come such a long way already. This was just another leg in their journey. One he had to go through. He couldn't pretend to not care about Harmony, he couldn't hide his grief. She wouldn't have believed it, if he tried. He still wasn't moving, it was as though he were held in some sort of hiatus, one he could not break on his own. She was thankful he was not weeping. That would have been harder to bear, than this silent grief. She pushed herself up onto her knees and placed her hand on his back. Without even hesitating, no nervousness. He was her husband, she had every right. And it was not the first display of intimacy these last few days, since she'd shown signs of recovery. When they were alone in their chamber, he treated her as his wife, just as he'd promised. He held her so tight, and kissed her until her blood began to burn in her veins. She guessed some of his urgency stemmed from a desperate need for comfort, but she hoped at least some of his desire was for her and her alone. Not just for relief from his heart ache.
He turned swiftly to her. She could see on his face, touching him had been the exact right thing to do. All thought fled when his lips descended to hers. Thunder crashed again, jerking her back to herself. She gasped, snapped away from his lips, frozen, staring toward the window. As if expecting an enemy to come smashing through.
"You're a silly thing," he said, sitting beside her, fingers stroking her face. "I could never understand how anyone could be afraid of thunder and lightening."
"Are joking? Lightening can kill you!" She gasped, again staring at the window suspiciously.
"Granted," he agreed. "But not when you're sitting in your bed, a ceiling over your head and surrounded by four walls. It can't touch you here, Cill."
"Don't try to reason with me, like I'm mad or somewhat. I'm not the only one frightened of thunder," she huffed. She gazed at his face; he wore a smile, but it struggled to reach his eyes. She could see he was torn - he wanted to enjoy the moment, to be calm and comfortable during his time with her, but she could also see his thoughts were elsewhere, at least in part. She touched his face, leaving a lazy caress along his cheek. "Are you alright?"
"I've had better weeks," he admitted. "But I will not lay that at your feet. I will not bring that into this chamber."
"Now who is being ridiculous?" She scoffed. "As if you could set it aside so easily merely by walking through a door."
"Is it that obvious?" He seemed honestly chagrined.
"As evident as the nose on your face."
"I'm sorry, Cilla," he said earnestly. "I truly don't want you to be affected by…" He glanced away, haunted. By my love for Harmony and her rejection? That's what she assumed he meant to say.
"If there's one thing I've learned these last months, it's that time heals all wounds," she said gently.
"Time, and a damned fine wife," he added, putting his arms around her. His words made her glow inside. His brow became creased. "Gods, though, Cill - she's sleeping in the tents, in this. Do you think she's alright? Should I rent her a room in a house, should I make her go and live there where she'll be -"
"So much for not bringing her into this room," Cilla interrupted. He was immediately chastened.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"No, you should not make her do anything," Cilla said. "You're making her stay when she wants to go home, as it is. Don't push her this way and that just because you're worried. She has money, she told me she has." And it must have been quite a good amount, if she'd thought to use it to get both her and Cilla all the way to Grindal Shoals, enough money to start anew, she'd said. "I'll speak to her tomorrow and if she wants to get a room someplace, I will discuss it with you and we'll see about it from there. But you won't make her do anything."
"Very well," he nodded. It startled her, that he would surrender so easily. He had always been at the core of their little triangle; the nexus."Did she speak of me?" He asked, eyes downcast.
"She's afraid you'll take her baby, as Colonel Tavington intends to take Mrs. Cox's," Cilla said gravely.
"I'll do no such thing," Richard's eyes flew upward, wide and staring. "I would not hurt her like that. I won't be denied my child, but I would not take it from her, either. Will you tell her so tomorrow? Please?"
She was the nexus, now, she realised. That 'in between' position belonged to Cilla. If he needed to say anything to Harmony, it would be said through Cilla. And Harmony, she would do the same, if she needed something from Richard. Cilla nodded, taking her position as go between seriously. "I'll tell her. But I won't betray confidences, Richard," she warned, laying the law, setting the boundary from the outset. Like Harmony wanting to flee, and inviting Cilla to join her. She would not repeat that to Richard.
"It's probably better that you don't tell me half of what she says," he said, forlorn. "I doubt I'd like hearing much of it."
"Probably not," she said. She'd done her best to explain the situation to Harmony, to convince Harmony that Cilla and Richard were finally free of their shackles and Richard had left the monster back in the dungeon, emerging as a changed man. That he'd never work such evil again. But it was something Harmony had to see on her own, in her own good time. Pointless, to repeat any of it to Richard, it would only cause him pain to hear it. It might give him false hope, which was just as bad.
"Shall we leave her at the door, now?" He asked her. He reached behind her, pulled her long plait over her shoulders.
"If you can," she replied, not believing it was possible.
"There's only you and me in here, Cill," he promised.
"Even in your thoughts?" She asked, biting her lip uncertainly.
"Even in my thoughts," he replied.
He pulled the ribbon and his fingers gently unravelled her braid. Her straight hair was a little crinkled from being so long plaited, she hoped it was still mostly straight though, not curled enough to remind him of Harmony. Would he be thinking of her, during? Gods, she hoped not. No. He was leaving Harmony at the door. This was their time together, alone in their chamber, husband and wife. He would not think of Harmony. He'd promised it. His arms came about her waist, pulling her closer. Somehow in that movement, he ended up reclined on his back against the pillows, with her above him, straddling his hips. Her shift was bunched around her thighs, and their bare sexes were touching. It made her faint, to feel his hardness against her. His hands moved up and down her sides, he gazed up at her uncertainly. He was hard, he was ready. But was she? That was what he was uncertain about. All their kissing and burning touches these last few days, and going so long without that wonderful, intimate connection, had her surging to the brink. She was ready. Still, he was unsure, now that it came down to it. She'd forgiven him, she wanted this as much as he. But he was worried that in entering her, that awful day would come surging back. He laid there before her, beneath her, his hands on her hips, gaze solemn. He would not instigate further. He would not be the one to put himself inside of her body. Not unless she permitted him to.
"Richard -"
"I can't," he interrupted. He reached up, touched her face. The fingers of that hand wound around the back of her head, entwined in her loose hair. His hand felt so warm on the back of her head. "I won't. You have the reins, Cilla. Your hand is on the helm."
He is giving me the control he took away from me. I can go as far as I wish to, or I can stop this right now. It made her feel absurdly powerful. And so very pleased; with his every gesture, he acknowledged how he had trespassed against her. He acknowledged his wrong doing. She had the power to do as she pleased. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering to her chest. She leaned down and kissed him, and revelled in his desperately agonised sigh. He wanted this… She could hear it in his voice, in his groan, could feel it in the tenseness of his body, the rock hardness of his loins against hers. She reached down between their bodies, wound her fingers around it. If anything, he became even more tense. As if still fearing that somehow, he was forcing her to this. She lifted up, positioning herself. His hands, on her hips, they tensed and for a mad moment, she wondered if he would stop her.
"Do you know what to do?" He asked.
Richard, you have no idea. She shoved Banastre from her thoughts as she began to slide down onto Richard's length. She stared down at him, saw his face go slack, his eyes roll. She wondered if she looked the same. She dropped her head back, felt the tickling of her hair against her bottom. Hot. So hot. Gripping the bunched up shift, she pulled it up over her shoulders and away from her body, dropping it to the floor. Immediately, his hands seized her bared breasts, fingers kneading, caressing her nipples. She arched her back, closed her eyes, a quiet gasp escaped her. Downward she slid, until she felt the tip of him against the roof inside her. She felt so full, wonderfully full. She opened her eyes, smiled down at him. She could not read his thoughts, though she suspected there was a large measure of relief in his eyes. There were people still awake in the house, she could hear someone walking down the hallway just outside. They sounded far, far away. No one beyond those walls knew what future Richard and Cilla were forging within the chamber. It was a taking away of the past, laying a new trail, one she had never expected. She laid her chest along his, which forced him to release her breasts. He did not seem to mind, his hands tangled in her hair instead. And hers tangled in his. Their tongues stroked, and she began to move along his length. She felt lost, drunk, breathless. It was difficult to breathe. She heard him bite back a painful curse. She released her strangling hold on his hair.
"Sorry," she whispered, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp. He mumbled something soothing. Inarticulate. But it made her feel better. His one hand on the back of her head, holding her pinned as his lips moved over hers, his other hand exploring her waist, her back, her hips, her curves. She heard his breath hitch in his throat and she was marvelled by it. He was enjoying what he felt beneath his fingers. A gentle gyration of their pelvis's mashing. Cilla was warm all over, her blood was on fire. Her stomach began to burn, heat radiated from her core, spread outward. Her fingers stroked Richard's face as she moved faster on his yard. His fingers seized hers, laced together. Barely knowing what to do with herself, she pushed upward, head lolling back on her neck as she plunged quickly, straight upward and down. His hands immediately seized her breasts again, and she laughed down at him; he must like them very much. He grinned back at her, even as he squeezed his fingers to perfection. Every stroke inside her body, along her silken walls, every time the tip of him struck the core of her, it was like blazing light and heat and she yearned for more, stars flaring above her. The angle was perfect, but now she needed another. She began rolling her hips, rotating in circles, even as he thrust upward from the mattress, holding her breasts as if they were a handhold, to keep himself from falling. She felt the same. His chest was so broad, muscular, so strong. The perfect place to plant her hands, to support her body as she really got going; lifting herself high and plunging down, driving them both to madness. If his hands had not been holding her breasts, they would have been bouncing all over her chest. His restless legs moved, as if his feet were trying to claw the mattress. Now she needed another angle, she dropped to him again, laying herself on his chest. His hands were forced to relinquish their hold, his fingers found new purchase in the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks. He helped her to move to his satisfaction, no longer afraid. Good, she'd been doing all the work until now, she needed his damned help.
"Cilla," he murmured, throat thick, as if he could barely get the word out. Good, he was not with Harmony. He was with Cilla. Actually with her and not just in body, but in mind and soul. And she was with him, not Banastre.
The pinnacle was right there, that glorious little death, just out of sight. She yearned toward it, she arched her back, her breasts firmly against his chest, his hips thrusting and meeting her every plunge. She stopped lifting her pelvis and simply writhed there, revealing in the feel of her clitorus as it was stimulated by his hard pelvic bone.
A sinuous snake, moving, writhing, gasping -
"Richard," she whispered against his lips. More desperately, "oh, Richard!" She shuddered, her fingers a white knuckled grip on his flesh, lava and not blood in her veins, a quiet explosion, no less intense despite the little sounds she made during. Richard, breathless, eyes shut, jerked bodily beneath her, every bit as silently as she, and every bit as intensely. He collapsed back on the bed and pillows, spent, his chest moving beneath the full weight of her prone body. His fingers laced with hers, his other hand moved up and down the length of her back.
Cilla slowly came back to herself. Except for those soft caresses, her husband lay still, beneath her. He was still buried deep within her, still hard, though that would change soon. He would soften and fall out of her body. What they had done, was so much more than she could have imagined. What she had experienced… it soothed and warmed that place buried deep within her, that cold dark place where she had boxed all the horror, terror, the anger and the misery. She'd said she'd forgiven him and she'd meant it. But both had thought she'd never forget. But that cold, dark place… It swelled and shattered, the full force of their new joining burning it asunder. The awful, cold knot was gone, and in its place was warmth - and love. She'd never felt so languid, warm, sated, comfortable. What sort of person would she be now? Who was she, without that knot plaguing her? The person she'd been… before, back in Charlestown? No, that girl was gone, now. She was his wife, in truth. That was who she was. She lifted her head from his chest, and smiled down at him.
Only to find a look of pure worry had replaced the pleasure she'd seen on his face a moment earlier. "Stop it, Richard," she said, knowing his thoughts without needing to ask. "I wanted this. I am well, I enjoyed every moment. This was our first time. This is the memory we will share as the consummation of our marriage. This is the memory we will take to our graves, not the other. So just… stop it."
The look on his face… She watched him carefully, saw the worry lines begin to ease to something close to stunned amazement. He gaped up at her, shocked that she had been able to read him so well. Then his features melted and shifted again, to relief - then gratitude. He gave her a weak smile, but his eyes… Some men held it in, all the raging emotions, held them in check, trying to be strong, until they could not do it any longer. Richard was one of those men. He'd done his weeping the night he rescued her, but she could see he was still in turmoil. Her words eased it, like a balm on his soul. He pulled her into his arms, his phallus fell limp from her body as he rolled them both to lay side by side, facing one another under the blankets in the flicking candlelight. Their legs tangled, she lay in his arms, they kissed gently, stroking and caressing, forging and deepening the new connection between them.
"Thank you," he said heavily, kissing her brow. He tucked the blankets in close around her back, pushing it in beneath her, making sure she was covered completely. His front pressed close to hers, preventing any chill from finding its way in to touch her skin. Very solicitous of him. She draped her leg over his hips.
"It was a good idea, that. Giving me control," she said gently. The tip of her finger traced his ear, pushing his tangled hair behind it. "But you won't make me do all the work every time, will you?"
He threw his head back and laughed. As she'd meant him to. A full deep body laugh, a release of tension.
"Because you know, my knees were getting desperately sore toward the end there, and I felt my breasts would bounce right off my chest," she said, chuckling softly.
"Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?" He reached between their chests, she leaned away slightly to give him room as his hand closed over her breast. "Such fine little apples as these…" He kneaded and caressed, softly now."…Will stay right where they are," he continued. "We will couple any way you wish, Cill."
She draped her arms around his neck. "Wonderful - we will try another way in, oh, another hour or so."
"Maybe sooner," he nudged his nose against hers. A thrill shot along her spine, she hoped he would be ready sooner…
"There might be a child, after tonight," she said wistfully.
"I pray there is," he became solemn, his handsome face downcast. "It's just you and me now…"
"Yes, Richard. It is," she said, agreeing.
"Don't take it the wrong way," he warned, as though she'd reacted with anger. She hadn't; she understood his meaning. "I enjoy every moment I'm with you. But… a child… I need all the distraction I can get right now…"
"It'll be only you and me, for some time yet. Is that such a bad thing?" She asked, gently - not accusingly.
"For us? Most certainly not," Richard said, and he meant it. But he dropped back onto his back - pulling her with him, and stared up at the bed canopy, forlorn.
"But you miss her," Cilla said the words he would not.
"We've agreed to leave her at the door," he said. He pulled her close. Her arm was draped over his chest, he laid his hand on it and began running his fingers up and down, leaving goose pimples along her skin.
"Eh. Don't bring her to our bed," she said, offering to reestablish the boundaries.
"Then we still can't discuss her, can we? We're in bed."
"I meant, you know, during… You weren't thinking of her, were you Richard?"
"No, Cilla," he kissed the top of her head, gave her body a light squeeze. "There was only you, all the way, I vow it on my honour."
"Then I don't mind talking about her here, just this once, if you need to," she was not feeling insecure, not anymore. "I know you miss her."
"I'm sorry, but yes, I do and I likely always will," he sighed, surrendering to her.
"I'm not sure if I should be upset to hear you admit that, or pleased that you'd tell me the truth. I like this new Richard, I find it difficult to be angry with you for giving me the honesty I ask for, especially when I already know the truth," Cilla said, finding it preferable that he would not mince words or whitewash what he felt for Harmony.
"I could lie, to spare you," he offered.
"No, because I will always learn the truth," Cilla said. "Always. And then it'll be even worse, later, because you lied. I'd prefer one hurt now, than two hurts later." Though in retrospect, she realised she was being rather unfair. Richard had never made any attempt to lie to her about his love for Harmony. She'd never been under any qualms about it. She was surprised he was not becoming defensive and pointing this out to her now. He must have been very distracted.
"As I'm being so honest with you, I'd like you to be honest with me also," he said, a crease etching his brow.
"I've got nothing to hide," she said, puzzled. Except her spying for her father… He couldn't have learned of that, could he? He'd be right mad, if he had. And he'd have every right to be. He'd consider it treason, even if she did not…
"No? Cilla, I was expecting you to be nervous just now, despite how far we've come. I thought you'd be unsure at best, or terrified and thinking of the dungeon, at worst," he frowned. "So I gave you the reins, but I rather expected that you wouldn't know what to do with them. But you did, Cilla. You did very well indeed."
His blue eyes stared directly into her brown, into her very soul. Oh damn and blast it. She realised it was true. He'd approached their lovemaking in such a way that she could not possibly feel threatened. He'd given her control, but in hindsight, she should not have known what to do. The mechanics, yes, she should know. But there'd been no terror, she hadn't even been nervous. She'd torn off her shift and bared herself to him, in that moment of pure ecstasy, she hadn't cared. Banastre had torn away those barriers, enabling her to lose herself in the moment and… simply not care.
Hardly the cringing virgin bride. She'd all but announced to Richard that she was well versed in the ways of bedding, knowledge which could only come from practice. And as she hadn't bedded Richard in all these months, he was right to suspect her. Damn and blast it to hell. He was too astute by far.
"I'd thought I'd have to lead you through it, step by step," he said, when she said nothing. "Whispering reassurance, as most men would have to do with their wives on their wedding night. I thought I'd need to instruct you. But Cilla, you knew precisely what you were doing just now." He gave her a pointed look. Her face bloomed red, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, biting. He was watching her reaction keenly and right now, she was not giving him anything to avert his suspicion. She was incapable of it, she felt like a little bird, caught and shoved into a cage, wings fluttering, heart fluttering. "After our little chat about how much you appreciate my honesty; is there something you should be telling me?"
He could read people well, and he knew his wife. Her heart began to pound. He could see it, that she was suddenly furtive and worried. His frown deepened, she was not denying it - she was looking for a way out.
"Cill…" He prompted, a warning in his voice. "You have left me with no doubt now. Who is he? And when?" Laying naked under the covers, entwined in one another's arms after their much needed, much longed for love making; still, his temper flared when she continued to balk and he snapped, "honesty goes both ways, Cilla. I did you a great harm, and I know that even with your forgiveness, it'll never go away. But we are trying for a new beginning, you promised me we could start anew. All of my crimes are laid at your feet, you know me like none other, now. I can wipe my slate clean, but I strongly suspect you need to show me what's on yours, before you can wipe yours. It goes both ways, my wife."
"Damn you and your fine speeches," she sighed. He was right. She wanted honesty, and she would get it. She would be a hypocrite, to demand from him what she was unwilling to give. But knowing it did not make it any easier. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her rib-cage. Her palms were sweaty. She pushed herself up, felt his seed slide out of her body to coat her thighs as she pushed her bottom back into the pillows. He sat up with her. She clutched the blankets to her neck, as if to hide herself. If only she'd thought of modesty earlier… No, it was better this way. Better that he know. Better to be honest. It wasn't her way, to lie and evade and cover tracks…
"It was shortly after we were married, after you bought me here," she began, hoping to make him understand, before she told him details of the affair. She did not want him to think she was loose of morals, she needed him to understand it was more than that. "I was afraid of everything, especially of you. And I was angry, furious that I'd been made to marry you."
"Not fair," he muttered, looking ashamed. "I'd forgive you anything, if you open with that and you know it."
"Oh no, don't think that. I'm not trying to shame you to make you forgive me. Although, when you think about it, ours was a name only marriage then and you were having an affair with Harmony, so you can hardly complain."
"Try me," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Oh dear.
"I'm explaining it from the beginning, not to make you feel guilty, but so that you won't think less of me," she said, lowering her eyes. "So you won't think I'm like a doxy…"
"Oh," his arms unfolded. "The thought never entered my head," he said. He settled back and pulled her with him. They leaned against the headboard, cushioned by pillows, his arm around her shoulders. "But that does not alter the fact that we were married, and you were indiscreet."
"As were you," she said, feeling he needed another reminder. "Will you fetch your belt, as Colonel Tavington did Beth?" Cilla asked, only half joking.
"Never," he shook his head. "Besides. It was a different situation entirely, wasn't it? Beth lost her virginity and could not find the courage to tell it. You were unfaithful while I was unfaithful… it's different."
Different scenario, but with the same man, she thought wryly.
"You were saying?" He prompted.
"Oh, that wasn't enough?" She asked, genuinely surprised. He knew of her affair, it was out in the open, what else was there?
"Of course it's not!" He cried, as if she were completely mad. "I need to know how long it went on for. If it's still going on. If you might already be with child. Gods, I can't believe you bedded another man!" He said this in such a way, as if it was only just now hitting him; like a tonne of bricks.
"It's over, long since," she said, turning to face him earnestly. "It lasted a few weeks, is all, and at the very beginning. I've had my courses several times since, I vow I am not carrying any little problems for you to raise. I have not seen him in some time and if I ever do see him again, there'll be no repetition. He gave me what I needed back then when I sorely needed it. That loved feeling that everyone on the face of this earth needs to feel. Safety - another thing I felt had deserted me. Security. Courage. If not for him, I might have been terrified about bedding you just now. You know, if not for him, I don't think I ever would have fallen in love with you. He broke down my walls."
"Because of what I did to you?" He asked pointedly and she nodded. "So I should thank him? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm not saying anything of the sort. I'm just telling you what happened, how it happened, and why."
"Without telling me who it was with. His name, Cilla."
She shook her head. Gods, what would he do to Banastre, when next he saw him?
"I know it's not William," he said. A puff of air burst from her mouth.
"Certainly not," she said, frowning fiercely.
"Banastre was laid up in bed, too sick to use the chamber pot much less sport with a woman, or he'd be the first person I'd suspect," he did not notice the sigh of relief drifting from her lips. She felt immediately sorry - should she tell him - was holding back this information as bad as lying in the first place? "Which leaves Brownlow, Dalton. Wilkins perhaps. Gods," he gasped, as if he'd suddenly hit upon it. "Was it Wilkins?"
"It wasn't Wilkins," she rubbed her brow, conflicted. Surely it was enough that he knew the truth, could any good come of her revealing her lover? It'd leave to bad feeling between Banastre and Richard. She didn't want that…
"Brownlow then?" He prompted fiercely. "I know he was partial toward you, back in the city. I need to know, Cil. I rely on him, I trust him with my life, I need to be able to trust him with my wife. I need to feel absolutely certain that he would never shame me in such a way. You did say you thought Brownlow was handsome… You even suggested that you might have an affair with him! Gods, I'll kill him -" He began shoving off the blankets, as though he'd go in search of the Cornet then and there and throttle him.
"It was Banastre," she said heavily. More to save Brownlow from the Major's wrath than anything else. But also because, as she reasoned, she knew who Richard's lover was. Bordon gaped at her, poised there with the blankets still half pulled back, one leg thrown over the side of the bed. He really had intended to search for Brownlow, right then and there.
"He couldn't have… He was too sick!" Richard said, a scowl beginning to form. "Banastre… Christ, Cilla. Of all the people… of all the men! I'd have preferred it to be Brownlow. Do you know how many women he's bedded?"
"I know. I'm sorry, Richard. Now, anyway. I was not, at the time," she stared downward, eyes downcast. "He was exactly what I needed then. I was like a wounded animal, and he the healer."
"Gods," he deflated. She'd struck a chord again, though she honestly did not mean to use what happened in the dungeon against him. He was right, it wasn't fair to use it, especially after she'd forgiven him. She did understand that he'd forgive her anything each time she raised it in her defence. It was like a loaded rifle, sighted on his guilt and shame. She would not use it in the future, but she would in this, for it was the simple truth. It was the only reason she had come to be in Banastre's bed.
"You know how things were when I first came here," she said softly. He turned to look at her, to listen to her. "It was bad then, Richard. Between us. I could barely be in your presence without feeling that awful terror. I told you once, that I feared the monster would emerge again. And there was that anger… the futility. I was alone, bitter, in turmoil…" She trailed off for a moment, she glanced up at him, was glad he'd put his arm around her again. She leaned into him. "It's all changed between us now, it's like a different life now, a different world. But back then… Do you understand?"
"He always boasted he could charm the leaves from the trees," Richard curled his lip. He gazed down at her. "But yes, I suppose I understand why you would seek comfort from him."
"He is charming… He was friendly, he bought be back to life. He gave me strength when I had none of my own. I vow there'll be no repetition. But… It happened… and it was healing for me. He showed me how pleasurable it could be, to couple. Emily tried to describe it but I never knew, not until I was with Banastre. I truly believe that if not for him, I would never have become so willing with you now. Being with him, he showed me that men weren't all monsters, that some could be trusted, that some didn't have to be feared, and that bedding didn't have to be like… like it was in the dungeon."
"Blunt," he said, dropping his head back against the headboard. "I suppose you would have seen me as all those things."
"I honestly don't know if I could have ever been with you just now - intimately, I mean, if not for my time with him."
"I'm still not going to thank him," Richard growled. "I can understand your side and I don't blame you. I bloody blame him. Sporting with my wife. He didn't know the truth of how we came to be married, did he?" She shook his head.
"He knew it was bad," she admitted. "But he said some consumptions are, he thought it was a displeasing wedding night."
"Then it had a different meaning to him, than it did to you. You were both seeking different things. You went to him for security, friendship, safety, intimacy. I do understand that, no matter how galling it is to hear it. But what did he take you for? Because you were there?" His face hardened. "I am not angry with you Cilla. He is an entirely different matter. He has shamed me, taking my wife to his bed." She could feel his tension, he quivered with it. "You vow it won't happen again?" Again, she nodded.
"On my dying oath," she whispered solemnly.
"That's a stronger oath than I can give to you, therefore it's more than I deserve," he admitted, thinking of Harmony. If she returned to the house that very moment, he would take her in his arms and give her a thousand kisses. Well, not at that very moment, perhaps. He would not shame his wife by leaving her bed to rush to Harmony's. But still, he would return to Harmony's bed, if she let him. "I'll never forgive him for this, however. I'll pummel the sin from him, when I see him next. I understand your reasoning but his? He has shown me disrespect, he has shamed me. I thought we were friends. Did he not even mention me at all? No guilt, no nothing?"
"He knew you were bedding Harmony," she replied, "I do remember him saying that if you could be so neglectful of me, then you could hardly complain."
"Jesus, that's one thing I want to change about you," he scowled, but it held no heat. "Your damned bluntness." She gazed up at him quietly, waiting for him to reconcile to all she'd told him, in his own time. He gazed back, jaw working, teeth grinding. Christ. She'd been unfaithful. He knew it was a hypocritical thought. But it plagued him all the same. "Do you love him?" He asked.
"I'll regard him highly for the rest of my life, for what he gave to me back then," she said. "My life, Richard." He cringed. She half expected him to complain about her bluntness again, but he didn't seem to have it in him. "But no, I do not love him."
"How can I be sure?" He asked. "I am not questioning if you would repeat the affair. I believe your oath, I know you would not. But I don't want you thinking of him, when I'm with you. I am leaving Harmony at the door. Can you leave that damned back stabbing, cheating piece of filth, Tarleton?"
"He hasn't been in my thoughts for a long time now," she said. "I had a fever dream about him, when I was sick. He stood in the doorway, naked but for a blanket, and he was beckoning me to him. Only you appeared as well, reaching for my hand. I chose you, even in my dream. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was gone. I know it was just a dream, but it meant something. How can you ask if I am sure? I know my own heart, Richard. I don't love him."
"Sometimes you don't know your own heart though," he persisted. "Not you, you. I mean you in the general sense. You might be in love with him and not really know it. Are you heartbroken that he went off with Beth? How do you feel about that?"
"Are you hurling counter arguments at me, hoping to trip me into admitting - to myself - that I am in love with him?" She asked, her voice growing heated. He blinked at her, tightened his lips, and she realised that this was one of the tactics he used during interrogation, to weasel out the truth. He was doing it gently with her; no pincers, no pain, but he was interrogating her all the same. It made her furious. "I know that I'm not in love with him, Richard, because I'm in love with you, you damned dolt."
His jaw dropped to his chest. She immediately regretted her rashness, and she jerked away from him. She pushed the covers from her legs and perched on the side of the bed, regretting. Wishing she could have the words back. Stupid fool. She'd promised herself, to only ever give to him as much as he gave to her. And here she was, giving him oaths stronger than he ever had her, and declaring her love for him. Damn and blast the man. She wanted to weep.
"You love me?" He asked behind her. He placed his hand on her arm, trying to turn her back, but she jerked her shoulder, loosening the hold.
"Even if you don't return it!" She spat. "Damn it. I told myself I'd only ever give you as much as you gave to me. I promised it! And you've only ever said you have love for me. What does that even mean? Like a brother has love for his sister? A father, his daughter? You never said that you're in love with me, and I vowed I never would admit to more." She shot him a hard look over her shoulder. "But you push and push for more," she glared into his calm, solemn face. "That's one thing I want to change about you - the way you push and bloody push for more! And now you know that I am in love with you and I'm still left wanting for more from you than you'll ever be able to give because you are in love with her!"
"Never say never," he said gently. He reached up with both his hands and cupped her face. "I do love you, Cill."
She swallowed hard around his fingers. He reached for her un-resisting body and pulled her back to his body, guiding her to lay down with him. She could barely think, barely move without his assistance. His words reverberated, bouncing around inside her head. She licked her lips as he stroked her face. "Like… a sister? Or... a daughter?" She asked, worried.
"Ugh, that's a little bit disgusting, considering," he laughed down at her. She squirmed in his arms, still on the verge of tears, and too afraid to succumb to those stirring tendrils of hope. "Sorry, now is not the time for jokes, eh?"
"No, it is not," she said miserably.
"Cilla, I do love you. I love my wife. I am in love with my wife," he said as clearly as he could. The blood began to roar in her ears, surging through her body, she felt limp and weak and she gave him a silly smile that she knew was silly but she was powerless to change it. The vision of him swam before her, as tears rushed to fill her eyes. He kissed her, his lips brushing hers gently, and she felt it as the sensation rushed to every extremity. He frowned, as if he was thinking of his words carefully, as if he needed to explain it in a way that would reveal his true feelings without any pain to her. "You know that I love her."
"I do know," she said. "But it's true? You really do love me too?"
"Differently to her, but I do love you, too. I do not say this to hurt you, but I want you to try to understand it -"
"I know," she let him twine his fingers through hers.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't mention her now, but I can't seem to explain all this, without speaking of her too. I love Harmony, but it's different. It's a banked fire at times, a roaring thing at others, like a forest fire, its flames whisking to the sky," he gave a violent upward shake of his arm, as if to demonstrate. Then he gazed at her with a look she could only describe as serene. "And I love you - and it's a stable thing, like a calm sea. I feel becalmed when I'm with you, like I could lay there in the still waters forever," he demonstrated by pulling her closer, as if she was the ocean and he would hold her now, "and troubles would never touch my heart. And just now, when I was inside you, it was like the calm waters were suddenly seized by a storm and my love for you was raging, every bit as much as it does when I'm with her." He put his finger under her chin and lifted. "I love you, Cilla. Are you listening to me?"
Her vacant eyes focused and she nodded. "I'm listening," she breathed, voice quavering. "I never thought I'd ever hear those words from you. The sea… I'm like the sea?" She giggled, so very pleased. "Sailors don't like becalmed seas, they don't get anywhere."
"I don't need to get anywhere, I'm already there with you, I don't mind being in that stillness, I find I enjoy it very much," Richard replied.
"Oh Richard." It'd been the perfect thing to say. Banastre, charming? Gods, he had nothing on Richard. She clung to him, her arms tight around his neck as he began kissing her until the becalmed sea began to froth to whitecaps and then surge to massive waves large enough to capsize a ship.
There was a time for calm, but now was the time to ride the tempest…