Wolfsgate Page 4

  “She thought you were dead. We all did. Had you been engaged to marry?”

  “No, but ‘tis no matter any longer.”

  “It matters to you.”

  The rain drops began to fall heavier, fatter, faster. Brandon’s jaw clenched, his wet hair matted against his face. “He probably knew I was alive all along.”

  “No, Brandon, we were told you were dead. William grieved for you. It was a few months later that he found out you were alive, and then the lies and deception began.”

  He said nothing but continued to stare at William and Amanda. The rain drops’ persistent beating on the leaves and the grass pounded in Justine’s ears. Icy coldness seeped through her veins. She had to get him to leave here before they were seen. More importantly, before Brandon sank further into a pit of black humor or rage.

  He turned to face her once again, his face ashen. “This is the life I would have had, isn’t it? This is what was expected of us: the comforts of a fine house, a fitting spouse, a child? This is what our parents planned for all of us.” His gaze fell to the ground, his scars glistening in the rain. “And what home do I have now, Justine?” His voice was rougher now. “An empty shell of an estate. No father. A wife I had no knowledge of borne from a girl I no longer seem to know. And what family I do have left is stealing from me and plotting my demise.” His chest expanded as he took in air. “All in ruins, all of it. I will destroy William. I swear it.”

  “He’s not worth the effort.” Her fingers clutched at his wet cloak.

  “Why not? He’s stolen everything from me.”

  “No, he hasn’t. You have Wolfsgate. Hurting William won’t bring back Lord Jeremy or time lost or your full health. I beg you, Brandon. Don’t do something rash.”

  “Do you think I cannot take on William?”

  “I have no doubts on that score, but I don’t want you to get hurt in any way. If you concentrate on getting stronger and bringing the estate back to its full strength, that alone will destroy his pride. That is your best course of revenge.”

  “You must be an expert of all things William by now.” Brandon smashed his lips together and returned his gaze to the window. “I want to make him suffer.”

  Justine’s heart thudded in her chest. “Please, let’s go back to the house. Your house.”

  “It’s odd how all this feels foreign to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Society, relations, home.” His head tilted back, and he exhaled heavily, his wet hair in slick locks around his temple. “I’m flailing in the dark here, licking my wounds like some pathetic animal. Yet it’s absurd, for I can’t even make sense of what it is I’m feeling.” His aching voice trailed off in the cold, humid air.

  “Loss?” she asked settling her hands on his trembling chest.

  Brandon nodded. “You, too, know loss well.” His eyes were heavy, his cold fingers tightened around hers.

  She squeezed his hand. “I do, and I can tell you it will probably hurt for a long while yet. But you’re alive Brandon, and you’re healing. You must give yourself time.”

  “He took time from me! Time I will never have back.”

  Justine leaned into him. “Yes, he did. So better for you to get stronger and claim your rightful place at Wolfsgate. I’ll help you.”

  “You cannot help me.” He released her hands from his grip. “You should stay away from me, for I am full of poison, always will be.”

  “No, you aren’t. That’s over now, Brandon. That poison is out of your system. You are in control of your life again.”

  “It will always control me, Justine. I can feel the need for it blistering inside my veins right now. But it’s not just the opium.” His fierce eyes pierced hers, and the tangle in her stomach twisted into a knot. “You shouldn’t look to me for anything.” His voice was rough, low.

  Brandon’s severe, dark face took her breath away. It brought to mind the ghostly tales William would tell them as children of the lone black wolf who allegedly lived in the woods surrounding Wolfsgate, howling his despair into the winds of every storm. The last black wolf remaining in England was cursed to haunt the Traherne family forever.

  Brandon’s ancestors had been given their lands and title by a Norman king in the twelfth century as a reward for hunting and killing as many wolves as possible. Here, in the nearby forests which bordered Wales, the wolves had been quite numerous and were a constant threat to livestock and travelers. The fearsome creatures even desecrated graves. Over the years, the Trahernes proved themselves to be worthy hunters. By King Edward I’s reign in the thirteenth century the order for the animal’s total extermination had been given, and over a hundred years later, they had become practically extinct.

  William had always enjoyed telling the ominous family legend. Over the centuries, the spirit of one lone wolf had remained trapped in the woods which surrounded Wolfsgate and would appear on moonlit nights howling for his revenge on the Trahernes. No matter how many times it was told, they had always been completely absorbed by the tale. Listening to it would make Brandon unusually quiet and Justine melancholy. Only Annie, William’s sister and Justine’s stepsister, would roll her eyes and giggle.

  Justine blinked. Here he was before her; her tragic, howling, lone wolf.

  “I have nothing to give you.” Brandon’s long fingers gripped her face, his nostrils flaring. “Not like any normal husband should.”

  She covered his hands with hers. If only it were as simple to comfort him now as it was when he was overwhelmed with fever or chills during those first days, and she had held him in bed keeping him warm. But it wasn’t simple. Now, he’d probably only push her away. It wasn’t her he wanted anyway. Wasn’t Amanda what had brought him to Crestdown in the middle of the night in the rain?

  “Well, there is nothing normal about this entire situation, now is there?” she asked.

  “Why the hell did you bring me back?” The words wrenched from him.

  “Because you are alive and you are the heir of Wolfsgate. God’s blood, it was the right thing to do. You don’t deserve any of this.”

  “And what do you want from me? Why is my return good for you?” Brandon’s jaw tightened. “Now you are saddled with a deranged, deformed husband. There has to be a reason you risked their wrath. Tell me.”

  “You’re not deranged and deformed!” Her voice scraped from her aching throat. “Oh please, let’s go.”

  His fingers gripped her arm. “Tell me.”

  Her gaze met his. “To be free of them once and for all,” she whispered in the darkness against the pattering of the raindrops falling harder, faster. “I can bear no more.” The tension in her upper back and shoulders suddenly released. It felt good to say those words out loud at long last to someone who actually understood. Brandon closed his eyes for a moment. His hand slid up to the side of her face, and she leaned into his touch. He pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, his gaze flickering down her body.

  “You’re cold and wet,” he murmured.

  “As are you.”

  His lips twitched, his thumb stroked her cheek. “Did you saddle your own horse and follow me all the way here?” She only nodded, her teeth clenching against the frigid air. His cool hands smoothed the wet locks of hair from her face, and she let her head fall back slightly, letting out a sigh. He bent over her. “You mean to tell me that the girl who was once so afraid of horses can now saddle one on her own and ride in the dark of night?” Justine only grinned at him. “Christ! You have grown up and changed. Not too much though, I hope.” His voice had lowered, and a soft, searching look passed over his eyes for a moment. “Come on then.” He tugged on her hand and led her toward his horse. Her hand tingled within his grip. “Ride with me, we’re both too cold to go it alone.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “All of today’s excitement provided me with a natural delirium, not to mention the artificial delirium that is my norm. Although I can feel it coming down now. Go, bring y
our horse.”

  She brought her mare over to where he stood with his animal. She opened her mouth to protest, but he swiftly lifted her up into his saddle, and then his solid frame was at her back. His arms stretched around her, his hands firmly on the reins. He leaned over and took hold of her horse’s reins, and they rode away from Crestdown in silence. Justine’s muscles tightened as she tried to hold onto the pommel without falling back onto his chest or risk falling off the horse altogether and landing in the mud.

  “Lean into me.” Brandon’s lips brushed against her ear, his deep voice rumbling through her. Heat fanned her face as she adjusted herself and eased back slightly against him, his long legs pressed against hers. Brandon dipped his chin close to her face. “Justine.”

  Her breath hitched at the teasing tone of his voice. She leaned her weight more fully into him, finally relaxing her muscles and nestling into the heat of his chest. The aroma of the liquor on his breath mingled with the very masculine scent of his sweat along with the musty wet leather from the reins in his hands. She breathed it in.

  Is this what comfort and safety felt like?

  Their horses steadily made their way towards home in the wet blackness. Justine wasn’t sure if she’d prefer the ride to end quickly or not at all.

  “Are you feeling all right, ma’am?”

  “Fine, Molly. Nothing another cup of tea won’t cure.” Justine pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the morning chill and sank back in the old chair at the large servants’ table in the center of the kitchen, staring at the steam rising from her cup. Molly bent over the breakfast tray she prepared for Brandon. She had been in service at the estate since Brandon had been a boy. After William had fired all the servants, Molly had shuffled about the large, empty manor house on her own, dusting and arranging where she was able and cooking meals with Justine’s assistance. Justine couldn’t imagine Wolfsgate without her.

  Justine and Brandon had been soaked through by the time they had returned home last night. Brandon had insisted she go into the house and get warm and dry while he took care of the horses, but she had refused. They had taken care of the horses together, then ran back to the house in the driving rain hand in hand.

  Once inside she had tried to help him change, but he had barked at her to leave him be, stripping off all his clothes right there in the hall to underscore his point. Justine had bolted up the stairs to her room.

  She swallowed some more tea and stared at the fire roaring in the kitchen hearth. She knew that as the official Lady of the house she should be sitting in the formal dining room having her breakfast along with the Lord of said house, but she couldn’t bring herself to break some familiar habits. At least not yet. The informal kitchen was warm, cozy and safe to her.

  William and Richard had liked the fact that she had stopped joining them for most meals. They had rarely deigned to step foot in the kitchen, so it had become her retreat over the years, and she found she actually enjoyed helping Molly with the household chores. She had learned a variety of new things about managing a house under her tutelage and could even bake bread herself. Justine smirked at the thought of her mother’s certain horror at such a scene.

  Brandon had spent the night in the parlor. At one point she’d heard him walking about, cursing, breaking glass, then silence. She had gone to her door, but she stopped herself from opening it. He needed to be alone, and the last thing she wanted to do was to pressure him in any way. So she climbed back into her bed. He was grieving the loss of his father on top of coping with all the lies and betrayals by members of his own family.

  Today would be a new opportunity, a new start between them, wouldn’t it? However, she had to brace herself for more of his bitterness and mistrust.

  “Why did you not tell me? Why did you hide it from me?”

  The pain in his eyes when he learned of his father’s death haunted her still. She hated having to hide anything from him.

  “There you are!” Richard’s thin raspy voice cut through her musings. “Where have you been, Lady of the Manor?” Her stepfather’s bony finger poked at her shoulder, his body wavered, and his eyes were red. “I can’t get a decent meal in this house now that your husband is home? When I call you, I expect you to come at once. Imagine, I had to come after you in the kitchen of all places.”

  “There are more important things that need attending to today than your stomach, sir,” she said.

  “Ah, looking after your Lord and Master, are ye? Giving your husband special attention? You best think of something fast, sweet pea, something more elaborate than a breakfast tray, before he throws you out the door. Like what’s between your legs, eh?” Richard laughed.

  Justine’s face heated. He leaned in closer to her. “Ah, what’s this? Tsk, tsk. Was it not to your liking?” He let out another shriek of laughter. “Or was there no wedding night still after all this time? Not up for the task, was he?” Richard cackled in her ear, and she turned her face away from the sour smell of his breath. The old familiar pressure closed in on her lungs and the bile rose in the back of her throat. “You best get ready for it, child.” He pinched her shoulder and her body flinched. “You’re a married woman now. You have responsibilities.”

  “Leave her alone, old man,” a deep voice boomed through the kitchen.

  Justine’s eyes widened. Brandon stood in the doorway, his face stony, his body rigid. Richard cowered a few steps back and stumbled on his dressing gown.

  “Ah, there is the fortunate bridegroom,” Richard said. “Not satisfied, eh my boy? Come for breakfast, have you?” Richard tittered and flopped his hand back in Justine’s direction, losing his balance. He gripped a chair to steady himself. “Here’s your wife, ready and willing.”

  Brandon’s eyes blazed, and he didn’t move a muscle, yet the room filled with his anger. “I want you out of my house, Uncle. I will have you delivered to your son within the hour, so pack your belongings. Do you understand me?”

  Molly and Justine shared a quick glance.

  “What?” Richard spluttered through rubbery lips, studying Brandon as if he remembered finally who his nephew was.

  “And I want that marriage document before you go, do you hear?”

  “Oh. That.” Richard’s eyes sunk into his face once more.

  “Molly, take my uncle to his room, help him pack up his belongings as he is leaving us today,” said Brandon. “And get the marriage certificate from him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Molly nodded at her master, a slight smile etched on her face. She took Richard by the arm and scooted him out of the kitchen.

  Brandon’s sober gaze fell on Justine. Steam rose from her every pore. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  She nodded, a hand going to her throat. “T’was nothing.”

  “Not nothing, Justine. That was ugly.” He studied her, but she turned her burning face away from him. He let out a heavy sigh and smirked. “Have no fear. The true Master of Wolfsgate is back now, and everything is changing for the better.”

  A small smile lit her face. “And so it is.”

  “Such faith.” Brandon ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

  Justine went to the side table. “Molly just prepared this tray for you. I’ll bring it into the dining room.”

  “I don’t want anything.” He straightened himself up and leaned on his cane again. “Bring me the marriage document and please arrange for Uncle Richard to be taken to William’s.” He turned and left the room.

  Justine deposited the tray back on the table. This was going to be difficult.

  Over an hour later Richard left in a clamor of shouting and whining protestations. Justine heaved a sigh of relief the moment Martin picked up the reins of the old carriage loaded with Richard’s trunks and led the horses and Richard away from the house. She could only imagine the scene that would take place at Amanda and William’s house upon Richard’s surprise arrival. She truly hoped Amanda enjoyed her father-in-law’s singular company
.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool pane of leaded glass. Her stepfather and stepbrother no longer had any control over her. Brandon was reviewing their marriage document this very moment confirming its legitimacy. She had to speak with him. She quit her room and went down the long stone staircase.

  Justine held her breath as she knocked on the parlor door. No response. She pushed it open slowly. The marriage document lay on the worn settee, and Brandon was slumped in the large seat of the bay window which faced his mother’s rose garden. His eyes were closed, his legs stretched out before him. The brocade curtains were open and warm light streamed over his figure. His shirt was untied at the neck and untucked from his breeches. The long, sturdy column of his throat glistened with perspiration.

  The room was stifling. Justine leaned over him, raised herself on her toes, and unhitched the latch, pushing open the casement window. A gust of fresh air washed over her. Brandon’s eyes flashed open. He glared at her, his lips set into a firm line.

  “Sorry. You need fresh air,” she said quietly. “Richard’s just left.”

  He grabbed her arm pulling her towards him, and her hand instinctively flew out landing on his knee to keep herself from falling on him. He clasped her fingers, his eyes smoldering over her. “Where’s your wedding ring now, Lady Graven?”

  “I-I used my mother’s old ring for the trip to London.”

  “What a fine masquerade,” he muttered. He released her and she stumbled back. Brandon turned his head toward the window again glaring at the roses and the colored shrubbery and hedges that created the serpentine walk. His head fell back against the wood panelling, the lines of his face tightening. He was angry. Angry they were married, angry he had been cheated out of so much.

  Angry at her.

  Justine slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.

  JUSTINE DIDN’T SEE BRANDON AGAIN FOR TWO DAYS. She had Molly check on him and leave him trays of food, but they would be left mostly untouched. He did order her to fetch him more liquor though.