The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

He lifted the cloth and let it drop to the floor. Quickly he untied the blindfold and pulled it away. He stopped short, realizing that it was wet with her tears. His proud Kate. Her long, thick lashes were wet spikes against her cheeks, and her pale skin was blotched with the streaking tears. There was a small drop of blood on her lower lip, bitten in her pain.

Julien forced himself to look away. With shaking fingers he untied the silken bonds from about her wrists, wincing at the dark, mean red welts. His eyes traveled to between her thighs. Mingled with his seed were dark traces of blood. He’d used her fiercely, but why would she bleed? She wasn’t a virgin, there’d been no maidenhead. He didn’t know.

He quickly bathed her and placed the cover over her body. He shrugged himself into his clothes and drew out his watch. A sense of unreality seized him. He’d had her with him but three hours. It seemed unbelievable that his life could so change in such a short period of time. And he’d been the author of all the change, he himself, no one else.

He quickly dressed her in her riding habit, not bothering to confine her masses of tangled hair with pins. It didn’t matter now that she looked disheveled.

He lifted his unconscious wife in his arms and walked quickly from the room and out of the small thatched cottage he had secured for this one day. He lifted her over his shoulder, untied their horses, and mounted, taking the reins of her horse in his free hand. He eased her down into the circle of his arm, wheeled his horse about, and rode away.

27

“Oh, thank God you have found her ladyship, my lord! What ever has happened? James searched the grounds and all of the meadow where her ladyship rides.”

“She’s all right, Maria. She must have fallen from her horse. I found her on my return from the village.” He strode past Mrs. Crayton into the villa.

“James, quickly, you must fetch a doctor immediately!”

“No!” Julien said sharply. “That is, it’s not necessary, Maria. I’ve examined her ladyship and there are no broken bones. She merely struck her head, and there’s nothing a doctor could do that we cannot.” Seeing that the Craytons were unconvinced, he added with a curl of his lip, “Would you that the village doctor, a foreigner, attend her ladyship?”

“No, certainly not. What shall I do, my lord?”

“Fetch hot water, cloths, and laudanum,” he said with cool authority. He turned abruptly and carried his unconscious wife to her room. She moaned as he laid her on the bed and began to pull off her riding jacket. He set his jaw and didn’t look at her face, but he found that his hands were none too steady in carrying out their task. She seemed so very fragile, and he hated that because he knew she was strong and independent, so very sure of herself, but not now, not after what he’d done to her. He quickened, not wishing her to awaken until he’d gotten her into bed. He reflected inconsequentially that women wore too many layers of clothing. He ripped off her shift in his impatience, and as he looked down at her naked body, he felt no desire, only intense despair. Another man had possessed her, had caressed her soft white skin. With a deep moan of animal pain he wrenched himself away and strode to the armoire. He fetched a nightgown, the one she’d worn on their wedding night.

He crumpled the soft material in his hands, remembering all too clearly how he’d been so gallant, so caring of her and her virginal fear. With jerky movements he slipped the gown over her head and smoothed it over her body. He turned at an urgent tap on the door.

It was Mrs. Crayton with the water, cloths, and laudanum he’d told her to fetch.

She moaned again as Julien eased her between the covers, this time turning her head slightly. Mrs. Crayton took a quick step forward, but Julien blocked her path. “As you see, Maria, her ladyship will be fine in but a moment. I will attend her. Don’t worry, I shall call you if I need your help.”