She threw her arms around his shoulders and hurled herself against his chest. She was trembling violently, low sobs racking her body. Julien froze for a moment in shocked confusion. Without conscious thought he closed his arms about her and held her tightly against his chest. He scooped her up, pulling her covers with him, and carried her to a chair beside the fireplace. He could feel the strength of her terror, so tightly did she cling to him. He whispered low, comforting words, words that scarce made sense. Slowly the racking sobs diminished and she loosed her grip, as if exhausted from the effort. She lay against him quietly, her head lolling against his chest.
He said her name softly, again and again, smoothing damp tendrils of hair from about her face. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He struggled with himself to speak to her of the nightmare, knowing full well what it must be, and realizing that to do so would encourage her to pour forth her story. He held back, suddenly aware that if she were to speak, he would be unable to hold the truth from her. She broke the long silence. In a voice vague from the effects of the laudanum, she whispered, “God, I can’t bear it. Surely I’m going mad, surely.”
“Mad?” he repeated blankly, his mind arrested at her strange words. “What is it? What can’t you bear?”
“The blackness, the voices.”
He tightened his arms about her in silent comfort and waited for her to calm. She spoke again, her voice cracking, the words jumbled. “The blackness, it’s never been so strong, so real. It covers something horrible, something evil, but yet I can’t see what it is, it was so very long ago. There is just such pain, such pain, and the voices, cruel, jeering voices, ugly grunting voices, men’s voices. They want me dead.”
He tensed, his mind almost refusing to work. Long ago, not today. What was so long ago? “You must tell me what happened? What is this blackness, the pain, the voices? What did you dream?”
“I can’t be sure, but it’s there, always there, but I don’t understand it.” Suddenly she stiffened.
She looked toward the fireplace, focusing upon something he didn’t see, couldn’t see. In a high, hysterical voice— a child’s voice— she cried, “Mama, why did those men hurt me? They ripped off my clothes, Mama, and there’s so much blood. Why am I bleeding? It hurts so very much. Why, Mama? Please make it stop. No, Father, no! Don’t hurt me! What have I done? Father, what have I done? No, no! Stop!”
Her voice stopped in a cry of pain. She winced and cowered, jerking her arms above her head as if to protect herself from blows raining down upon her.
Julien grabbed her arms and shook her until the cries ceased and the dull, glazed film dropped from her eyes. She looked up into his set face, and in a voice of great weariness she whispered, “Julien, I’m so very glad you’re here with me.” She nestled her face against his chest. “Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it if you left me.” But a moment later he heard her even breathing and knew that she slept.
Early-autumn sunlight poured into the room before Julien raised his eyes from his wife’s still face. His arms ached but he didn’t move, not wishing to disturb her. She was in a deep sleep, a healing sleep. He was aware that he felt extraordinarily humble, his bitter anger and wounded pride stripped from him. He understood her fear of him now, why she hadn’t wanted to marry him, even though she herself hadn’t understood her reasons. He remembered the day when they’d ridden to the small copse, and the look of blank terror on her face. A place of evil, she had said. She had not been able to fathom her reaction, and he hadn’t considered it important, so intent had he been on his gentlemanly offer of marriage.
How could he have been so damned blind? He felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck at the thought of Kate as a small child being attacked. Good God, what kind of man would rape a child? His hands clenched and unclenched in black anger as he pictured in his mind a small, helpless girl at the mercy of men who cared for nothing and no one. All too clearly he saw Kate’s father, cursing at her, blaming her, beating her.
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