Forty

THE next days were hard for the battered Adalene.
The bruises on her face and the cuts on her chest had to heal, and she had to force herself back from this unexplainable cocoon of numbness that seemed to have overcome her since her harrowing experience in the forest with the thieves.
She was going to have scars, but at the end of that week, as she watched Odette in another of her bursts of crying, she realized that it could have been worse.
If that horse had not reared and bolted and if the other woman had fallen on the ground with her, both of them could have been taken. Odette would have been attacked, too.
Also, no one would have pointed to Fabian and his men in which direction the thieves had gone, and if rescue men had not reached her in time…
She wasn’t completely raped, was she? If there was anything like that. They had violated her body in ways she had never experienced.
Fabian and his men stopped them, killed them all before they could finish what they’d started. They’d had their hands on her, and it would have just been a moment or two before—
She moaned, then was sorry for making that painful sound because she was never alone in her rooms.
Fabian was instantly there by the side of the bed where he was sitting, reading by the side of the window.
She had been pretending to sleep. It felt awkward and shameful to talk to him. But she was busted.
“Hey… what is it? What can I do, *ma bichette*?”
And he was caressing her arm, her thigh. She realized she was sweating hard again, and she was trembling.
This will pass soon, right?
Like the bruises that had started to lighten on her face. Like the cuts that had started healing on her chest and feet.
She couldn’t don any of her dresses for outside because of the bandaged cuts on her chest.
She could only wear these loose slips for sleeping that were made of soft cotton and new ones of silk.
She remained in bed though she could walk. But she didn’t want to walk outside because she didn’t want to see the pitying looks of the servants and of the knights.
Odette’s guilt was already too much.
“You should be on your errands,” she told him when she could finally open her eyes to look at him.
Sometimes, she couldn’t even do that. She felt scared of what she could see in his face.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Instead of replying to that, he slid between the covers and lay next to her. But there was a line between them, a small space that separated them as his eyes searched her face.
The first day they’d arrived, she couldn’t even turn toward him.
Her limbs and body ached, and the doctor had her drink something that had her asleep for hours.
She screamed upon waking up to find her skin close to a man’s skin, not realizing it was him.
But since then she could get close to him. She could let him touch her and she could lay her cheek on his chest and hear his heart beating.
It was getting easier.
But since then, this was what he would first do… observe her, not touch her, to make sure she would not bolt again.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a soft voice.
She smiled. That had become easier, too.
At first, it was because her face was swollen and bruised, and she’d had a cut on her lip.
And then it was because she was thinking of dark thoughts.
“I was thinking how patient you are.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, looking confused and upset enough he couldn’t hide it.
“And persistent,” she added.
He seemed encouraged that she was talking today. “Persistent?”
She nodded. “You’re not leaving my side.”
“Not for a second, *mon coeur*,” he said gravely.
Her hand reached and clutched at the cloth on his chest. “I am here and I’m safe. You’ve killed the men, Fabian, and they can’t hurt me anymore.” Only in her nightmares.
His chiseled face looked dark, his eyes angry.
And she knew he had his suspicions, but what could they do if she told him what she’d heard the men speak?
He would have a quarrel with Lady Veronique and it was all because of her.
She wasn’t truly harmed.
She was still alive.
“Let it go…”
“You’re still having nightmares, crying and screaming in your sleep. Moaning when you remember when awake. How can I?”
“I wasn’t raped. They were going to, but I wasn’t. You came in time to save me. You do know that, Fabian?”
He gathered her to him, now that she had touched him, and held her as tight as he could possibly do without hurting her. “They’ve hurt you, ma bichette. They dared take you from me to hurt you. Damn them!”
He was trembling.
*Oh, dear.*
“They were going to get paid to do it, Fabian,” she blurted out. “Is that going to help?”
“I already know this…” he replied after a moment. “One of the thieves confessed before we went after those who took you. It was Veronique.”
She moved her head back a little so she could see his face.
“How did you know?” he asked her.
“I heard one of them say it.”
“And you haven’t told me, even though you thought I didn’t know.”
“I’m scared of what could happen next.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve caused you too much trouble already—”
She was punished by a kiss, the first one they had shared since that night.
Her cut on the lip was healed and she could kiss him as thoroughly as he found himself kissing her.
This seemed to annoy him more and he kissed her earnestly, opening her mouth with his probing tongue, and angrily seeking hers.
The kiss quickly turned to something more like their kiss… passionate and loving and needy. His hand caressed the side of her face, his body careful not to put pressure on any parts of her that still needed to heal.
But she needed him.
Now.
“Fabian,” she moaned, breathing heavily when he raised his head from hers. Her hands were already seeking his naked skin under his shirt. “Please…”
“Are you sure? You won’t get scared of me again?” he asked.
She stared at him and felt the pain in her heart melting, only to be replaced by the powerful feeling of how much she loved him that it became another kind of pain.
“I was never scared of you,” I said, tears falling down her temples. “It was a nightmare… I thought—”
“It’s fine, *ma bichette*. I knew. I just want you to know that you’re safe now and this is me… and I’ll never hurt you.”
She was nodding her head. “I know that. But… do you really still want to marry me after what happened?”
He stared at her, hurt. “Do you love me?”
“Of course, I do,” she said.
“Say it.”
“I love you. *Je t'aime beaucoup*.”
“Then don’t ask that question ever again.”
And he kissed her again before he pulled away so he could relieve himself of his clothes.
“Just lie there, I’ll take care of everything,” he commanded when she was about to sit up, too, to undress.
She smiled. If this was what was going to get the sting off her asking him if he still wanted to marry her, then he could have his way.
And… she was ashamed to admit it, but the Baron being authoritative was exciting her more than she expected she would be.
She couldn’t wait to feel him against her, his aroused manhood inside her.
She couldn’t wait for him to make her feel whole and wanted and loved… these were the memories she’d wanted to sustain her, not of the terrible hands that gripped her and hurt her that night.