Kitabı oku: «Her Dark Knight's Redemption», sayfa 4
Chapter Six
He looked perplexed. ‘Because I have not put her down.’
A girl. Aliette had no reason to trust he wouldn’t harm her, but he had held his hand so far and it was enough for her to truly pay attention to the man before her...and the child. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
Alarm crossed his strong features. ‘Nothing.’
‘She’s too quiet. Is she asleep?’
He looked down at her. ‘Her eyes are at half-mast.’
Awake, but listless. ‘Is she with fever? Sick? Has she spit up?’
‘I don’t—’
She took a step forward and raised her arms. ‘Give me that child.’
‘No.’
He said the single word so evenly and decisively it was as a sword striking down.
It stopped her short, her arms outstretched, her stepping foot braced in the air.
‘You may not take her,’ he said.
Where were her finely honed survival instincts? This was not a man to be ordered about. She lowered her arms and foot and stepped back. ‘I only meant—’
‘Save me from well meaning intentions,’ he said sardonically. ‘That’s not why you’re here.’
She could not keep her eyes only on the man. She was a fool. Maybe he was Darkness. But for some reason, instead of heeding the warning in his expression, in his words and deeds, she stupidly took her eyes away from him.
It was the child. Jarringly innocent in this darkened luxurious room, a clamouring instinct had welled up and overtook her good sense.
If she survived this, she’d blame Helewise and Vernon. Gabriel as well, for he was frequently sick and needed her care. He’d been unused to street fare and exposure. It had taken him weeks to toughen to the degree he had.
‘You haven’t told me why I’m here.’
‘I will, in my time.’
‘In the meantime—’ She couldn’t let it go. It was unwell; she was certain of it. Maybe it was the fact she had been a neglected child, or maybe it was the care of Helewise and Vernon that compelled her. Either way, she asked, ‘Is the child yours?’
He swiped a dagger from his waist. If she had taken those steps towards him, it would be buried in her belly.
‘Why do you keep asking me questions about the child?’
‘You’re...’ she swallowed ‘...you’re holding her in front of me.’
The blade looked well used and fit easily in his hand. It was a weapon this man had used many times before. He held still. So did she.
‘The child isn’t mine,’ he answered, watching her watch the blade.
Her entire life she’d lived with Death and his scythe. If it wasn’t the icy cold of winter trying to kill her, it was another person trying to survive. When threatened, she’d learned it was always the person behind the weapon she should be wary of. But this man wasn’t like another thief on the streets trying to steal a blanket. This man didn’t pull his blade to take something from her, for she had nothing. He pulled the blade because she asked about the child. He did it to protect the child—from her.
Fear from being kidnapped swirled with her usual mistrust. But his deeds ceased every emotion in her. She’d never seen a person defend a child before. Not like this. Certainly never her own parents and even a mother with a suckling infant put the infant aside if there was food to be had or a customer to pull up her skirts for.
Five winters past, it had been bitterly cold and she had come across what she thought were wadded-up old blankets. But instead of a treasure, it was a swaddled baby. Frozen, its skin pale, lips blue, with ice feathering along its tiny eyelashes. She’d cried for days afterwards. The babe haunted her dreams still. To this day she avoided that part of town in winter and found herself wary of piles in corners.
But Darkness drew a blade for a child who he awkwardly held and something ripped through her chest. She couldn’t breathe right.
‘You’ve gone pale,’ he said, sheathing the dagger. ‘Are you fainting?’
She felt far away. As if she was here, yet not in the same place she was before. As if she recognised everything, but nothing was the same. Because Darkness guarded a child from harm.
She swallowed. ‘Have you...have you ever taken care of a child before?’
‘No.’
‘Can you put her down?’
His smile curved cruelly. ‘Are you ordering me?’
He said it as though she was an insect who could talk. ‘I’m not ordering you. I...simply want to see her.’
He did a double take. Another. A cant to his head, waiting for something.
She wasn’t about to do anything else. This was enough and he made it clear it was too much. Never trusting anyone, she shouldn’t care about anything other than getting as far away as possible from this madman.
This killer. Who happened to cradle a child and was overly protective about her. But the child was too quiet. Aliette needed to see her.
‘You can place her over there, unwrap her and I can see her from a distance.’
‘You know something of children?’
‘Is that why I’m here?’
‘Hmm.’ He took two strides forward. So swiftly she braced herself for a curled fist. It didn’t come. Instead, he held the child towards her. ‘She feels warm.’
‘All children feel warm if you hold them too long.’
She took the child who, despite her length, was light, and carefully unwrapped the swaddling.
Thin, gaunt cheeks. Bone-like arms, a swollen stomach and sunken hip bones.
‘How old is she?’
His brows drew in, his eyes searching the child as if asking her to answer. ‘Around a year.’
She did know something of children and this condition, she knew it very well. Thin, emaciated. Greyish skin. Listless. An unwise anger swept through her. ‘She’s—’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s...hungry,’ she blurted. ‘You’re starving her! When was the last time she ate?’
At his mystified look, she demanded, ‘Did you give her something to drink?’
Lips clamped shut and his eyes narrowed.
‘You haven’t fed her, or given her a drink? Has she been crying? Restless?’
Another bout of silence. Aliette had no patience with it. Maybe the wealthy had time for waiting, but if she stalled or waited for anything she’d have starved to death. ‘She needs oats or bread all warmed with milk and honey.’
‘You want me,’ he said in that terrifyingly even voice of his, ‘to provide that for you.’
‘I don’t know this place. These men don’t follow my orders. How else am I to get it?’
‘This isn’t—’
‘Whatever you want of me, I won’t do it, not when this child needs me.’
He looked to the child and to her. He looked to argue, the superiority of his expression one she’d seen many times when a shopkeeper thought to abuse a street urchin. She stared him down. If he meant to kick or strike her, he could join the others. She’d survived many such blows over the years.
If he intended to kill her, there was nothing she could do to defend herself, though she’d try to protect the child first. But if this was her day to die, it was simply like every day she ever lived. In truth, she wasn’t meant to have made it this long.
With another narrowed gaze, he pivoted towards the door, but not before she saw a flare of victory in his eyes.
What he thought he’d won Aliette didn’t care about, as long as the child had what she needed. She’d seen enough suffering in her lifetime—the fact that this child was surrounded by gold and silk and was still hungry she couldn’t tolerate.
Reynold left the room and closed the door. The two men who had escorted the thief were on the other side and he gave them the unusual tasks. If they wondered about the requests, they didn’t ask. He paid them not to question. Although one of them looked behind him. To see if the thief was unharmed? He would have to be dealt with later.
When they marched down the stairs, he turned to go back into the room, but stopped. The door was partially closed and the thief wasn’t looking his way, her attention fully on the child in her arms.
She was doing this walking, swinging motion and singing softly.
The morning sun filtered through the unwashed windowpanes delicately lighting its two occupants, the shimmering reds and greens of tufted cushions and the rich browns of well-polished carved furniture.
The woman was slight, not much more substantial than the babe she held. Her clothes were an odd, but practical mixture of layers. Two coarse surcoats, one much shorter than the other, over a thick, overly large chemise. She had no gown and her shoes had distinct holes. Grace’s greying swaddling dragged on the floor as the thief swept them from side to side. Both were slight, filthy, their clothes unkempt.
The room was small and the subtle distinct tang of abject homelessness, blood and fresh dirt clashed with the resonating fragrance of lavender and lemon, the warmed silk from the tapestries and the musty familiar perfume of his books.
But she was perfect. Everything about this was perfect. Hair that almost matched Grace’s and both appearing filthy from the streets. No parents to care for her. No one to suspect or question the child she held so carefully and sang to so beautifully was his.
Even more so now that her mothering instincts resurrected themselves. Against him, which both grated on and amused him.
The thief was the solution to keep Grace close to him. A woman of childbearing age in a desperate situation. She would be a servant to him and raise the child. He could then see Grace, keep her close through the years. And because the thief and Grace would be perceived as servants, his arrogant family wouldn’t perceive Grace as his greatest vulnerability.
He turned to the mercenaries taking the stairs behind him and instructed them to place the food for the babe, the woman and himself on an empty table. He’d propose to the thief what needed to be done and she would thank him profusely for saving her from gaol and poverty. It was all too easy.
Although...there was that one moment of lapse in his control which was concerning. Her request to take Grace catching him off guard. The blade was out of its sheath before he thought to draw it. An indication of how much he cared though he hadn’t had his daughter for a day.
Such action would be an anomaly from now on. People did not catch him unawares and now that he knew his feelings existed, he’d hold them in check so he didn’t reveal anything more. Until he dismantled his family, not even his daughter or the thief could know him.
Chapter Seven
Aliette was startled when the door swung open and the two mercenaries who had carted her here carried in large trays with mouthwatering food and freshly poured ale.
They set them down, one of them glancing at her from head to toe before they walked out the opened doors. A moment later, her captor entered. Silently, steadily, he closed the doors behind him and stood with no direction of what he intended for her.
But the food was here for the child, and she wouldn’t wait another moment. Whatever this man had told the kitchens, it was correct. A bowl, a mortar and pestle, cooked oats, and copious warmed milk all ready to be prepared.
Glancing at the man who hadn’t moved from the doors, she set the child down on the bench and propped her with cushions. Another glance, as she prepared the bowl and dipped the tiny spoon in the mixture.
The near silence made her heart and her breath unnaturally loud. For a clarion moment she wanted to fill that silence, but the way he held still made her think he was expecting her to question and accuse.
She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Silence had done her well in the past when she needed to hide or surprise. So she sat with the child on her lap, covered her finger in milk and honey and dabbed it on the sweet lips until she took sustenance.
The man at the door shifted, she didn’t raise her eyes. Her entire world now was this room and this child.
Another dollop and the child suckled, its incoming teeth gently scraping across her finger. Another, and another, until she sat her up and filled the small spoon.
Her dark, telling, grey-coloured eyes were distinct and explained much. Dark hair, dark grey eyes. Her captor said he wasn’t the father, but the way he watched them, and the way he’d pulled the blade, told a different story...but maybe she was wrong. She trusted her instincts, but she didn’t trust this man or anyone. Lies were too easily told.
Another shift and he strode to the chair nearest them, his dark presence and intent cloaking him. He reminded her of a raven, perched, watching, waiting.
She watched right back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the way his thick lashes fanned his cheeks, the sardonic bowing of his top lip. The way his fine, almost beautiful hands folded in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees. One hand perfect, the other marred by a large circular burn scar.
A growing tension threaded its way between them, but she ignored it. The child’s eyes were wide and anxious, its body curving and contorting in her arms. A franticness to reach the food she was slowly and carefully feeding her.
She knew this feeling. When she was young, and days went by between any scraps, the hunger was a living, breathing animal that clawed and scraped. If she was fortunate enough to snatch something edible, she’d consumed it between blinks. But the feeling would make her nauseous. Her body rejected what it most needed.
She didn’t want this child rejecting nourishment so she kept to the slow steady feeding, but not the entire bowl.
Standing, she adjusted the child over her shoulder. She was around a year old, but so thin and fragile. Walking, talking, comforting, she traversed the room until the child calmed in her arms and fell asleep.
The man in the chair didn’t move, didn’t speak.
She didn’t care. She’d feed this child. Feed her again in another hour, then be on her way. She wouldn’t risk more time here.
He hadn’t taken the blade to her or made any threats. He had no reason to keep her here, so, logically, he must let her go. If that didn’t work, the room was filled with enough precious items. Surely a threat to damage such beauty would warrant her release.
The child she wouldn’t threaten. She could never go through with it and the man, who watched her care, wouldn’t believe she could harm an innocent.
‘She sleeps,’ her captor said.
Aliette nodded.
‘Yet you do not ask to go.’
It was a question that didn’t need an answer. He’d let her go or he wouldn’t, either way she intended to stay a bit longer for a second feeding. She shrugged.
‘You also fed the child without feeding yourself. Two trays and you chose to feed her first.’ With a huff, he pushed himself back in the chair. His relaxed position did not make him seem less threatening.
‘This is all so...uncomplicated,’ he said.
That warranted her looking at him. She heard the mercenaries outside the door shift their positions. Trained killers positioned to threaten her or protect him. Which begged the question—what did she have that he wanted?
For what was easy for this man would never be easy for her. Over the years she’d been caught, which always revealed three options for her: fight, pretend stupidity, or plead for mercy.
None of those would work in this situation; talking of the child was her only safe choice until he exposed his purpose for kidnapping her.
‘She is a child and needs shelter, food, and gentle words. There is nothing difficult about it. It would do her well to be bathed, to have a change of clothing. She is soiled and, with the food, she will soil her clothing far worse.’
‘I have ordered her clothing and a bath. They will be available in another room.’
Aliette was surprised at his forethought and yearned to go there now. But if her stay went beyond this room she feared it would change his expectations of her. She had no intention to stay here.
‘In her condition and over the next sennight,’ Aliette continued, ‘she’ll need to be fed and cared for as I have done. Anything less and her condition will worsen. It may seem simple, but there are concerns here.’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘The child is a concern, but not what I meant.’
‘Then what is uncomplicated?’ she said without thought, without thinking, her mind on the supplies the child needed and Gabriel’s worry.
‘You.’
She stopped moving and looked directly at him. No, nothing of his relaxed stance changed her impression that he was shadows and dark. He was Darkness, swirling around the light in a dance that didn’t make it any less threatening. She only had to misstep and a blade would be in her belly.
He quirked a brow at her, his mouth curving at the corners. ‘Interesting.’
She didn’t care what was interesting, she cared for his deeds, his words.
‘You’re not talking.’
He was playing with her. Making her wait. She couldn’t remain idle the whole day. ‘It’s your turn,’ she said. ‘I asked questions that you have yet to answer. Further, you’re the one who dragged me here. It would be appreciated if you would be courteous and convey the reasons why.’
‘Haste again.’
‘With good cause.’
Another brow, enquiring, looking for elaboration on her statement. She wouldn’t give him more. It was none of his concern that she needed to return to her family. When it came to time, hers was important as anyone’s. Rich or poor.
Another huff of air as if she amused or frustrated him. ‘I want you to care for the babe.’
‘I already am and I intend to wake her in a bit and feed her more. Then she should bathe and sleep.’
‘It is good you let me know your intentions—what will you do when she sleeps?’
‘Leave.’
He nodded. ‘You are correct in thinking it is my time to talk, for I intend for you to stay.’
‘Stay?’
‘For the remainder of the day, tomorrow and the conceivable future.’
‘You said—’
‘I do not want your body or your death, nor by extension will my men. I intend for you to care for the babe, as you’ve been doing.’
No one snatched a stranger off the streets and ordered them to care for a child. Especially when that child was obviously theirs. He’d drawn a blade guarding the child, now he was giving her into her care?’
‘You want me to care for your child,’ she said.
‘Not my child.’
‘The mother, wouldn’t she—?’
‘You’re her mother.’
She jerked, momentarily waking the child in her arms, and she walked around the room again until it was soothed. A year old. She should have been plump with dimples and too heavy to carry this long. She weighed no more than the swaddling wrapped around her.
‘We both know I’m not her mother.’
‘You look alike.’
It was true.
‘You look alike,’ she pointed out, certain he’d confess to the relationship.
He only smiled. ‘Anything could be a deception.’
She’d play along if she must to understand this. ‘If you are not the father and I am not the mother, won’t the parents have some say in this matter?’
‘She has no parents.’
‘You’re certain.’
‘She has no one.’
Not true. She knew what it meant to have no one. ‘She has you. She was in this room and you were holding her.’
‘Now you are.’
An abandoned baby. This man took a trebuchet to her defence against her argument to leave.
‘Everyone saw you with the child first.’
‘You mean by the men who are in my pay?’
This man wasn’t like anyone she’d met before. She’d always been able to bargain her way out of a situation. But every argument she could think of, he’d already anticipated.
Panicked, she blurted, ‘I can’t stay.’
‘You’re a thief, homeless, on the streets. Before I snatched you from that predicament you were to be sent to gaol to suffer for your crimes. Wouldn’t staying here in this home, taking care of that child, be preferable?’
Darkness was a madman. ‘No one snatches a complete stranger off the streets to care for a child. No one takes a thief and brings them into their home. You do not know me.’
‘True, but you do not know me.’
Oh, but she did. Her instincts never lied. He was far more dangerous than his act of bringing in a thief. And she let him know she knew him. ‘I saw your blade.’
‘Yes...you did.’
Threats. If he set her free, she’d go to gaol. He’d insist; Ido, the arrogant baker, would as well. There her sentence would be an ear, a hand, her life.
That is, if he set her free. After all, there were other means to dispose of her. For all she knew, she was the second woman he’d offered to care for the child. Maybe another kidnapped woman declined his offer and it was her blood on his clothes.
‘If I refuse?’ she asked.
‘You can’t.’
He didn’t say any more, but he didn’t need to. It was the truth. She couldn’t refuse though she had a compelling reason to beg. Pleading did no good with the mercenaries, but pleading was all she had left. She’d tried reasoning and that failed.
But what could she plead? He wouldn’t believe the little bits of work she did or her scavenging were important.
She couldn’t tell him she had others in her care. That would give him an advantage and put her family in jeopardy. All he would need to do was find them and threaten them and she’d comply with his demands.
Her only recourse was to agree, then escape. Gabriel wouldn’t stay at home, might already be in the streets looking for her. Maybe he’d listen to Helewise and Vernon. They’d talked of a situation like this. That if she was caught to give her time to return.
She prayed he’d give her time.
Striding to the bench, she plopped herself and the child down. It was enough to wake and feed her again, which is what Aliette did.
‘That is your answer.’ He indicated to the food, to the child.
‘I can’t refuse you and this child needs care. If you are so insistent that I’m the one to do it, who am I to argue?’
‘The house and food for your belly doesn’t hurt.’
That is what he thought compelled her. Shelter and food? Once it might have been enough, but her dingy room with her family was worth so much more than that. With them she laughed and told stories.
Darkness never smiled.
She smiled at him. ‘If I’m to be treated as well, I’d be a fool not to accept.’
Narrowing his eyes, he stood. It forced her to raise her chin as Darkness loomed over her.
‘I do not mean you or the child harm. I intend to give you a roof over your head and all the food you could want. A bath and clothes have been ordered for you as well and they are to be prepared for you in the room next to this one. You could have all this daily.’
‘Until the child is well?’
He slowly shook his head. ‘Food and shelter for years. Something you’ve never had.’
She hated that he guessed the truth.
‘All this as long as you never cross me.’
‘I assumed that,’ she said, pointedly looking at his belt where the dagger was sheathed.
‘And you must be the mother.’
‘You want me to pretend to be her mother.’
‘Not pretend. Simply make it truth. She will sleep with you and you will feed her. I will confer with the staff and find a place of employment for you in this household. But you must claim the child as yours.’
The threats were clear. Everything else was not. What was he not telling her? So much, but what could she infer from what he did reveal to her?
That he had a scratch on his cheek, blood on his clothes. That he meant every threat. That he couldn’t be trusted with her life or the child’s.
Still she had to ask. ‘Surely there is someone else in this large house that would have taken this position.’
‘There are only men. Although now that you are here, I will need to remedy that. You will be too noticeable otherwise.’
‘What is her name?’
He took a few steps away from her. ‘Grace.’
‘And yours?’
Another few steps and he stopped at the door. Looking over his shoulder, he answered, ‘You will call me what everyone else calls me: Sir.’
It wasn’t until the door was closed, Grace was fed and Aliette fed herself, did she realise not only did she not know his name, he didn’t know hers.
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