Desire Me Always (21 page)

“I will cause you and your wife no harm, Mr. Riley. On that you have my word.”

“Your word isn't worth anything, Brother John. We both know what kind of man you are, what you participated in.”

“Do we?”

For the first time in years, that small comment had the ability to make Nick question himself and his motives. He shook the feeling off.

The old man picked up his basket and walked on, not waiting for Nick; he must have assumed Nick wasn't far behind. They made it to the cabin in less than ten minutes. Amelia dismounted and let the horses graze.

“There's a table around the back. Chairs too. Come, sit with me a while.” John approached Nick, coming close to whisper something. It took everything in Nick to stand still, to not recoil from the vileness this man represented in Nick's nightmares. “You may not want your wife to hear what I have to say.”

“I will make that call if I have to; it's not your decision to make.”

“As you wish.”

At the rustic wooden table, John pulled out the contents from his basket and picked through the berries, choosing which were good and bad. The bad he tossed toward his vegetable patch.

“Why didn't you stop them that day they beat me?”

“Some wounds never heal, do they?” John's blue gaze, while cloudy, seemed startlingly clear for his age. And in the old man, Nick saw something of himself.

That couldn't be right.

“I will not play guessing games with you.”

The monk held out his hand, motioning to the chair folded and leaning against the table. Nick opened it and settled himself into the seat.

“I was the same age you were when I first attended the vicarage school.”

“Do you want my sympathy?”

“We wear the same scars, Mr. Riley.”

“Do we? To which scars do you refer? Because I carry more than one kind.”

“We all do. But I'm referring to the ones across your back.”

Nick tensed.

“I see disbelief in your expression. Mrs. Riley,” John said in a louder voice, drawing Amelia's attention, “would you mind walking around the front of the house for a few minutes? I have something of a personal nature to show your husband.”

She hesitated.

“Give us three minutes,” Nick said, and after she nodded her agreement and turned around as asked, he continued. “What is it you have to show me, Brother John?”

As nimble as a man much younger than the age he wore on his face, John pulled his habit straight over his head and turned around. Nick's jaw cracked, but he made no other sound to give away what he was feeling. Hell, he didn't know what he felt, other than a strange kinship that seemed wrong.

The scars on John's back were similar to his own. But that did not make their hardships the same.

“You can cover yourself,” Nick said, looking away from the sight that was so familiar to him. John pulled his habit back on and tied the rope around his waist. “If you were a student like me, why did you allow the others to degrade the boys? To act the way they did without taking action against it?”

“I tried. On more than one occasion. It was no use. Their treatment escalated into something far more depraved. So instead, I focused on dividing the rectory, destroying it from within. It took years, but I accomplished it with the help of the other student with whom you attended.”

Shauley. That was the last thing Nick expected to hear, and he was sure his face showed that astonishment. “If Shauley is the good guy, why is he hiding in the background, doing all sorts of misdeeds to get his point across and to achieve his revenge in whatever form it is he seeks?”

“I can only tell you what I know of his character from the school.”

“What does he speak of with the vicar?”

“That I do not know. Their conversations are private, and it is not my place to pry.”

“Can you tell me why you live here with the vicar?”

“I have taken away all his luxuries. Removed him from the comforts of the life to which he'd grown accustomed. I have forced him to live by the hand of God. It should be no burden to a man of his faith, but every day he struggles. Every day he atones in self-hatred.”

“None of this excuses you from the fact that you failed to protect the young men who entered that school. You should have tried harder.”

“It does not. But I have prayed every day that they have all found their way in life, that they have pulled themselves up and made something important of their lives.”

“I want to see the vicar.”

“Of course.”

Brother John led him around the house and opened the door to the cabin. It was dark and musty inside. Nick looked at Amelia. She came toward him and took his hand in hers.

“Do you want me to go inside with you?” she asked.

“I need to do this myself.”

“I'll be out here with Huxley.” Huxley leaned against the fence that surrounded the vegetable patch. Close enough to assist, far enough to give them privacy.

Nick kissed his wife on the mouth and left her in the front of the cabin.

F
aced with the devil himself, Nick found he was at a loss for words. The man he had built up into a grand monster and whom he feared most of his life had been reduced to a husk of a human being over the years.

Looking at the old man in front of him, Nick saw what happened to a man who was full of bitterness.

Nick turned and looked at Brother John. “Can he hear me?”

“I can hear just fine,” the vicar said distastefully and rather obnoxiously. So his hearing wasn't perfect, but he could make out Nick's words well enough. “What is it you want?”

Brother John nodded and motioned for Nick to continue. Nick turned to stare in shock at the aged man before him. He was no longer the monster Nick had built him up to be, only a man broken by the life he led, by the hatred that made his soul as black as tar.

The vicar coughed, the sound like that of a dog with a broken voice. From his lap, he lifted a ragged handkerchief to cover his mouth. The yellow, threadbare linen came away bloody.

“Get on with it,” he said when his coughing fit subsided. “It's too late in the day for visitors. I need to rest.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. Nick stood firmly planted to the dirt floor.

Nick studied the interior with new eyes. Indeed, this was back to God, living from what the land provided. No amenities, no luxuries that new houses provided. The bare necessities of life were all that existed here.

“I've hated you most of my life,” Nick said, stepping farther into the room.

The vicar turned his head up and glared at him. The man that had frightened Nick as a boy still lurked in that cloudy gaze.

“Who in hell are you?” he said, coughing again.

Nick shook his head, more for himself than for the benefit of the vicar. “I want to say I'm too late, but really, I'm just glad to see you reduced to this half life and pitiful existence.”

“Do I know you? Where's Michael? Michael!” the vicar shouted.

“He's not here to help you. And when I do get my hands on him, he'll be hanged. I once thought it would give me great pleasure to turn you over to the authorities, to have you arrested for sodomy. For the indecencies and your depravity. But now . . . now I want you to live out your life. Or what's left of it. It looks to be a painful end for you, old man.”

The vicar grunted. Nick looked around the small cabin again, saying good-bye to his hatred, his need for retribution. None of it mattered anymore in the face of death. He shook his head and laughed quietly to himself before turning his back on his past and stepping out into the light, where Amelia waited for him, twisting her gloved hands together.

She didn't say anything and a look of puzzlement robbed her expression when she saw his smile. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Yes.” He pulled Amelia into his arms and held on to her for dear life, squeezing the breath out of her as he did so.

“Nick, what is this?”

“This is the close of one chapter in my old life and the opening of a new one into ours.”

Amelia pressed her elbows into his chest and leaned back to look at him. “The vicar?”

“Is nothing and no one to hold sway over me for a moment longer. He is someone I created to be larger than life. A boy's nightmare that grew into something alive. I realize now that while my hate was fruitless, it made me into the man I am. Had I not become this person you see before you, our paths might never have crossed.”

“Oh, Nick.” Amelia's eyes filled with tears. “What about the things he did to you and the other boys?”

“We forgive, and we move on. Is that what you told me? If we don't”—he motioned to the tiny clearing around the cabin—“we become this. The vicar is short for this life, and when he goes, I like to believe Lucifer himself will collect the vicar's soul for eternal damnation.”

Nick rubbed his thumb along her cheek, catching the first fall of tears. All the hate and need for revenge was gone. Miraculously gone. The only thing he felt right now was his love for her. And that truly was all that mattered.

The pounding of horses' hooves reached their ears long before anyone could see who rode toward them.

Nick set Amelia behind him; Huxley lifted the back of his jacket and pulled out a pistol he had hidden there. Nick was too far from his saddlebags to pull out his weapon, but he reached into his boot and pulled out a steel folding knife he had carried when he was popular in the fighting rings. The thugs that would come after him . . . they were no match against his brute strength and his precise aim; the same went for the rider coming in on them fast.

At this point, his presence should have been no surprise.

Shauley.

“Shit,” Nick muttered under his breath. Nick didn't think it was a coincidence that Shauley happened to show up on the day Nick arrived in Highgate. He turned to Brother John. “How did you send word to him we were here?”

“I have no way of contacting Mr. Shauley. He likely followed you from London.”

Nick couldn't fault the monk on what might very well be the truth. Damn it. Shauley had been at their backs this whole time.

Huxley spit on the ground and shrugged his shoulders. The man was a born and bred fighter and the chance of Shauley's putting one over on either Huxley or Nick was unlikely. The shot to Nick's shoulder was a fluke and because Nick had least expected that kind of reaction from Shauley.

This time, he was prepared for anything.

Shauley's horse skidded to a stop, legs dancing as it kicked up dust.

“I always knew you could never trust the word of a woman,” Shauley said. “A shame you didn't listen, Mrs. Riley.”

Amelia didn't respond, for which Nick was thankful. The less either of them said to set off Shauley the better they would all fare. While Nick was armed and ready to fight, Shauley had come prepared with his pistol again.

“I should have aimed better, Nick. You're up and about far too soon for the injury I caused you.”

“Why did you want to keep me from here?”

“Can't you guess?”

“The vicar is an old man. What purpose do you have for seeing to his needs, for visiting him at all?”

“He is the only person who sees me exactly as I am.”

“And what of your employer?”

“A means to keep connected to this part of the country. You took that away from me. You took everything away from me.”

“Is that what the vicar had you believe? That you and he were alike? While I agree you both strongly resemble monsters better suited for hell, you are not alike unless you committed the same crimes as he.”

Shauley made a face that said he abhorred the type of behavior in which the vicar participated.

Brother John had somehow convinced Shauley of that. Had seized upon that opportunity to set up the cabin and keep the vicar away from the village and other boys to whom he could cause injury. Now, it didn't seem like the vicar could do much damage to anyone except to himself. Everything was clear now, but none of it negated the fact that Shauley had to pay for his crimes and answer to the murder of Amelia's brother.

Nick felt nothing but pity for Shauley. Shauley had been easy prey to an older man's constant abuse. And the worst of it was that Shauley—sick, twisted, and depraved Shauley—was the victim here. A victim molded by evil for so long that he had become evil.

Brother John stepped forward. “Mr. Shauley—”

The report of the pistol sent Nick flying into action before he even realized he'd thrown Amelia to the ground, covering her with his body. A second shot followed the first as Brother John fell to his knees, a bloom of red filling his forehead as his gaze dimmed and grew vacant.

Shauley was reloading his pistol, and Nick knew he couldn't give the man another chance to aim that weapon.

Nick charged toward the horse and its rider without a second thought. Nick's fist flew into Shauley's face; the resounding crack of his jaw and the spray of blood that followed only fueled Nick's newfound rage. He continued to pummel Shauley's face, taking him right off the horse and to the dirt.

“Your reign of terror is over.” Nick spit out the blood that had filled his own mouth. He must have knocked a tooth loose on his way back down to the ground.

Huxley's boots came into view, reminding Nick he wasn't alone. With his knee pressed into Shauley's chest, Nick held him down.

His fist lowered, Nick surveyed the area around them. Amelia was where he'd thrown her onto the ground, tears washing down her face, eyes red and raw. The crook of her arm muffled her sobs where she held it over her face, but he read the relief in her eyes when their gazes clashed and stuck.

They had a moment of thanks that they were both safe.

Huxley held out a length of rope, which Nick took before roughly turning Shauley over and tying his hands behind his back. Huxley grabbed Shauley's legs and bound them together.

“I'll tie him to the horse,” Huxley said, as if this were something they did with regularity.

“I'll see to my wife,” Nick said, without taking his eyes off his wife.

She was heaving in great gulps of air when he approached. She didn't look up at him; she stared at the spot where Brother John had fallen face forward onto the ground. Nick didn't need to check the old man; he was dead with a shot between the eyes.

Kneeling next to her, Nick pulled her into his arms and rubbed his hand over her hair. “Shh,” he said. “I have you now. We're going to be all right. We have made it this far. We can make it through anything.”

B
y the time Amelia and Nick arrived back at the inn, it was dark. He took her immediately up to their room. All Amelia could think was that an innocent man had died, and she had been helpless to stop it.

Nick hadn't left her side once Huxley tied up Shauley on his horse and headed back to the inn ahead of them. Nick was a constant she needed if she was going to make it through this ordeal with her sanity intact.

And Shauley—right now, he was on his way back to London to be tried for his crimes. Huxley had accompanied the magistrate to ensure a smooth ride without hiccups along the way.

She could hardly believe it was over. They'd been working toward this point, and in the blink of an eye, it was just over.

Shauley would not be given a reprieve; he would hang, and Amelia knew that as sure as the sun rose each day. Shauley had confessed to his involvement in her brother's death, allowing for closure on both her and Nick's pasts. How odd that it came from the same source, when prior to Amelia's coming to London, she and Nick had been worlds apart.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Amelia looked toward the door. Light filtered in behind Nick. She must have been sitting in bed for some time. She hadn't the energy to get up. Hadn't the energy to even shed another tear.

“I was lost in my thoughts,” she responded.

“Care to share them?”

She looked away from him. “I can barely make sense of them.”

“Try.”

“Brother John didn't deserve what fate delivered him today.”

This caused Nick to frown. “No more than your brother deserved to die, I suppose.”

“Does it make me an awful person to be glad Brother John is dead and that you're safe? That Shauley chose to shoot him before hurting you?”

Tears trickled out of the corner of her eyes again. Guilt was eating her up. Guilt that someone had died in place of Nick being hurt again.

Nick leaned over the table and lit a few candles, just enough for them to see by.

“It doesn't make you a bad person, Amelia. It makes you human.”

“I could have lost you.” Her lips trembled.

“You didn't.” Nick kissed her forehead and urged her to stand. He helped her toward the washbasin. “Let me wash the dirt from your hands, Amelia. Let's wash the day away. We likely won't ever forget it, but together, we can move on.”

Amelia stared down at her palms. Her hands had been tightly clasped in her lap for so long that she'd forgotten they were scraped nearly raw. Scratches dotted with bits of blood left streaks of red all over her.

Before she could protest what Nick was doing, he sunk both her hands in the washbasin. She hissed in a breath.

“I'm sorry. They need to be cleaned; then we'll check the rest of you for injuries.”

“I have none. Nick, I just want to climb into bed and lie with you. I can't face anyone right now. I don't even want to talk. I just want to close my eyes and be thankful we still have each other. I want your arms around me, keeping me safe.”

Wrapping a linen around her hands, he dried her carefully, patting the water away. He removed her outer clothes, letting them fall on the floor. He didn't remove her chemise or corset. There was nothing sexual about the way he handled her. He tucked her into bed, stripped out of his own clothes, and lay behind her, holding her in his arms, her back pressed to his chest. Neither said a word as they gently touched and caressed each other for what might have been hours.

“Nick?” Amelia whispered.

“Hmmm,” he mumbled sleepily.

“I love you.”

Nick moved the hair away from her neck, tucking it behind her ear, and kissed the soft curve of her neck. “You are my life, Amelia. Without you, I am nothing.”

And she was nothing without him. Today, as tragic and awful as it was, had put them on the path to their future. After today, they could face any obstacle and become stronger together. But the key to that was always in trusting in each other, being honest, and respecting each other's boundaries.

Amelia fell asleep with that thought on her mind.