Her Defiant Heart Page 11

  "What I did? But—"

  "What you did," he repeated, his features implacable, giving no quarter. "You were my guest here, now my employee. Neither of those positions give you the right to mother or coddle me as if I were an infant. I do not need you to determine what is for my own good. I may not be a kind man, but I am a man. You would do well to remember that the next time you find yourself under me."

  The back of Jenny's hand covered her mouth and smothered the strangled sound that rose in her throat. Color vanished from her cheeks. Her dark eyes were wide and wounded. "You're like the others," she whispered. "No different at all... I thought..."

  "What?" Christian leaned forward. A frown puckered his brow. "What did you say? I couldn't hear—"

  Jenny's hand dropped away. She shook her head, denying that she had said anything.

  Christian did not press. He had heard more than he'd admitted, but until her denial, he thought he must have been mistaken. "You may remain in my employ, but it would be prudent of you not to take on tasks which are none of your concern." He pointed to the stack of letters. "Contrary to what you might think, Dr. Turner is not the one who pays your wages." He pointed to the drapes, the sitting area, and the freshly washed walls. "In spite of what I said to Scott, I don't believe for a moment that Mrs. B. was entirely responsible for this. I permitted the changes because I wanted the company of the people who did the work. In other circumstances I would have told everyone to go to hell. Am I making myself clear?"

  She nodded.

  "What?"

  "Yes, Mr. Marshall," she said dutifully. "You've made yourself clear."

  "Then one more thing," he said. His eyes did not leave hers. "Stay out of my way, Jenny Holland. I prefer not to know you're here. Convey my wishes to Mrs. Brandywine. She will give you appropriate duties."

  "Yes, sir," she said softly. "May I go?"

  "With my blessing." When she was gone, Christian drew the towel off his neck and sank lower into the tub. He stared at the fire in the grate, frowning. He reviewed his conversation with her, wondering if he had inadvertently sent her packing. Not that she had anything to take or anywhere to go. Still, his purpose had been to remove her from his immediate sight, not push her back to the streets. Out of his sight, out of his mind. He chuckled humorlessly. Out of his mind, indeed.

  * * *

  That night Jenny's sleep was troubled. Except for the intensity of her fear and confusion it was not a new experience for her. She had known sleepless nights before she went to Jennings, had known them throughout her stay in the hospital, and had come to expect that she would always suffer them, even in Marshall House. When she had confided as much to Dr. Turner, he had assured her that the distressing nights would eventually become less frequent. Time, he told her. She required time, and peace of mind would follow.

  Jenny was not so certain. Outside the sky opened up and icy shards of rain pelted her window. Wind swirled violently, rising and falling, battering the house and pressing its cold cheek to each pane of glass. The snow that had brightened New York was driven away and sidewalks and streets were frosted with a thin layer of ice. Just beyond Jenny's room the spindle-fingered tips of an oak tree scratched at her window. The ends of the branches were covered with diamond chips of ice, and in combination with the wind, became the equal of any glasscutter's tool.

  Jenny buried her head beneath a pillow to shut out the drumming and the pinging and the scratching. Blotting out Christian Marshall's image was not so easily accomplished. When she closed her eyes he was there, at the back of her lids, staring at her with his own ice chip eyes and giving her a faint smile that was both derisive and cruel. When she opened her weary eyes and focused on the opposite wall, she saw his image projected there as well. His profile was hard, his mouth grim, and a muscle worked in his cheek as he ground his teeth together.

  He wanted her gone, Jenny thought despairingly. Somehow she had offended him. He regretted everything he had done for her, she was sure of it. She told herself she shouldn't have badgered him. And she wished she hadn't asked Mrs. Brandywine to approach Christian about the alterations to his room. Better he should have rotted in his dreary bedchamber. She should have followed her instincts and kept well clear of Christian Marshall. His callous comments notwithstanding, the last thing Jenny thought she needed was yet another man dictating to her. That he should purposely set out to embarrass her still raised hackles at the nape of her neck. His biting reminder that he was a man was unnecessary and unseemly. She had been deliberately provocative with him only once, and Jenny believed anything she did in order to leave Jennings Memorial had been justified. She had no wish to find herself beneath Christian Marshall ever again.

  Jenny tossed and turned, hardly knowing if she was asleep or awake. Dreams and reality became indistinguishable, and all she felt was a gnawing ache that tightened her stomach to the point of nausea. She curled infant-like in her bed and prayed for sleep to ease her tormented thoughts. The nightmares came anyway, slipping into her dreams so stealthily there was no way to know she was still sleeping. She heard someone screaming and thought it might be her, but that didn't make sense because she knew better than anyone that she couldn't scream anymore. She shuddered so violently that she thought her bones would crack.

  The room was cold. Bitter, biting cold. Jenny reached for blankets only to find there were none. The floor was wet and her nightshift was damp. Her fingers and toes were stiff from the cold and they hurt unbearably. She curled more tightly, seeking warmth from somewhere inside herself, and sucked on her fingers. The whitewashed stones at her back were uncomfortably rough, but she was afraid to return to the cot. They would tie her down if she did that, and she would go mad if they tied her again.

  There were footsteps in the hallway. Three pairs of feet. She recognized Billy MacCauley's heavy tread, Ronald White's shuffle, and Dr. Glenn's military stride. They were coming for her. She frowned, trying to concentrate as a wave of nausea threatened to turn her insides out. What she had been thinking could not be right. She wasn't in the hospital anymore. But why was she so cold, and why were the attendants here? She could not account for the presence of Dr. Glenn. He was ordering a treatment. She heard him. They were going to bring the tub and fill it with water, and they would try to drown her again. Tears slipped beneath her closed eyes as she shivered and tried to make herself invisible against the stones. Perhaps no one would see her, and she would escape while they were looking for her.

  It did not work. The tub was brought in, and although she struggled, Billy and Ronald held her down. They were not gentle now. Their grips were like iron. They were only gentle when someone was observing or they wanted something from her. Sometimes they would give her an extra blanket or another serving of soup or even loosen her straps, but she'd have to let them touch her then. Most often she let them do whatever they liked. It was that or freeze or starve or strangle. They rarely did anything but run their hands over her. It was almost as if they were afraid to do more. She was mad, of course, and Jenny thought that probably accounted for their peculiar manner. Billy always wanted to fill his big hands with her breasts. He would stand at her back and rub himself against her while he held her breasts. He never removed her shift. Sometimes he slipped his hands beneath the gaping neckline; other times he simply touched her through the material. Ronald liked looking at her with Billy. His pleasure almost always came mostly from watching. He made certain Billy could have his way by looking out for the doctors, and in exchange he saw everything. When that was not enough, he would press her hand against his groin and hold it there for a long time while he watched her with dull, flat eyes. Then he would begin to move her hand and the look in his eyes would change.

  "I'll do it for you now," she whispered huskily because her throat wouldn't let her do anything else. "You can touch me, too. I'll let you. Just don't put me in the..." She clutched his shoulders as she was lowered toward the icy water. "Don't. Please don't." Jenny changed her tactic. She vowed to hold him
so tightly that she would pull him in with her. That would put an end to Dr. Glenn's treatment and her nightmare. Everyone would laugh when she and Ronald fell in the tub together.

  * * *

  "Mr. Marshall! Mr. Marshall! Come quick!" Mrs. Brandywine pounded on Christian's door. "Wake up, Mr. Marshall! We need you!" The housekeeper glanced at Mary Margaret, the young scullery maid, and pointed her in the direction of Jenny's room again. "See if you can't pick the lock with one of your pins." She gave the door a sharp kick with the toe of her slipper and didn't even feel the pain. "Oooh! Won't that man ever wake?"

  "Maybe I should pick this lock instead," Mary Margaret offered helpfully. She plucked a pin from her bright red hair and started to kneel, wrinkling her pert nose in concentration.

  "What the hell is going on?" Christian asked as he opened the door. He frowned at Mary Margaret, who was so shocked by his sudden appearance that she almost stuck him with her pin. Christian steadied her as she started to fall and set her on her feet. He raked his fingers through his hair and turned his attention to his housekeeper. "Mrs. Brandywine? What's this all about? It must be two o'clock."

  The housekeeper tightened the belt of her robe. She knew precisely what time it was and that was hardly an issue. "Can't you hear it?"

  "Hear what? All I hear is you and the howling wind, and pardon me, but it is not always easy to know the difference."

  She tapped her foot impatiently. "From Jenny's room."

  Christian listened, but heard nothing alarming. Jenny's room was in the opposite wing, separated from his room by the wide center staircase. "Is she ill?" he asked.

  "I think she's hurt. Mary Margaret heard a window break and woke me. We've narrowed it to Jenny's room. There's a rush of air from under her door, but she won't come to it when we knock. We can't get in because it's locked and she gave you the extra key. Remember?"

  Christian shrugged into his robe and then found Jenny's key in his bedside table. "Let's go."

  Mary Margaret and Mrs. Brandywine ran to keep up with Christian's long, slightly uneven stride. He fairly leaped down the six steps that led to the main staircase's landing, ran across it, then took the six steps that led up to the south wing in two quick jumps. He stopped outside Jenny's room. Christian could feel the draft from under the door on his bare feet. "Miss Holland!" he called. "Jenny? Can you hear me, Jenny?"

  "Use the key," Mrs. Brandywine urged breathlessly.

  Christian did. A horrible, pained scream filled the frigid air as Christian thrust open the door. "Oh, my God," he said quietly as he felt the full impact of the scene. Behind him, the scullery maid and housekeeper stood on tiptoe to see over his shoulders.

  Jenny crouched in the corner of the room nearest the window. Firelight made the shards of glass and ice chips in her hair glitter with flashes of orange and gold. A tree branch had broken through the window, and the wind was carrying stinging pellets of rain to all parts of the room. Even in her corner, Jenny wasn't safe. Her shift was soaked through, and her hair was plastered to her scalp. Thin rivulets of diluted blood trickled out from under her feet. To stop her own screaming, she had one hand pressed to her mouth and sucked on her fingers like an injured child. Her eyes were open, but Christian thought it was doubtful she saw what he did. He had observed men during the war sleeping with their eyes open while they relived some hell. There were times he had known the same. Jenny looked as stricken as any of the men who crawled away from the bloody carnage in the open fields at Shiloh.

  "Mother of..." Mary Margaret crossed herself three times in quick succession. "She has the devil in her! Just like I said to Carrie. We shouldn't have—"

  "Be quiet," Mrs. Brandywine said sharply. "This has nothing to do with the devil. The poor thing's frightened and chilled to the bone."

  Careless of the glass scattered on the floor, Christian went straight to Jenny's side. He hunkered down and gave orders with staccato precision to Mrs. Brandywine and the maid. "Heat water for a bath right away and add it to my tub. It hasn't been emptied yet. I'll take her to my room where the fire's warmer." The housekeeper nodded once and hurried out. "Mary Margaret, get me a blanket, then start cleaning up this glass. When it's cleared, wake up George and tell him to board up the window. And put something warmer on. You can't help if you're frozen, too."

  The maid stripped the bed and tore off a blanket that wasn't too damp. Her hands shook with cold as she gave it to Christian. She couldn't understand why Jenny had not left the room or at least moved away from the window. Mary Margaret held to her original conclusion that Dr. Turner's patient knew Satan's touch.

  Christian thanked her briskly. "Go on," he said when she hesitated. "Get a coat or borrow another robe and go find a broom. I can handle things from here."

  "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Marshall, but should you be alone with her? She might hurt you."

  "Go," he said again, and this time made no effort to shield her from his impatience.

  Mary Margaret nearly tripped over her own feet in her efforts to be gone from the room. Her nightgown flapped about her legs and her cap slipped sideways over her unruly curls.

  Christian drew the blanket around Jenny's shoulders and lifted her. She seemed completely unaware of his presence. She remained as tightly curled against him as she had been in the corner. Her body was rigid with cold, and she shuddered so deeply that Christian felt his own frame vibrate in response. A faint trail of blood marked Christian's passage back to his room. He kicked open the door, carried Jenny to the rocker, and sat down with her in his lap. The blanket fell away, but Christian thought the fire would be enough. He looked over his shoulder for Mrs. Brandywine.

  "What's keeping her?" he muttered. "How long can it take to boil water?" His eyes dropped to Jenny. She was every bit as pathetic looking as he remembered from the hospital. "Poor Jenny Holland," he said softly. "You've had quite a time of it, haven't you? Jumped from the frying pan into the fire. You could not have anticipated this when you left Jennings. Probably thought you'd escaped everything for good. You couldn't have known this house harbored its own lunatic." His fleeting smile was self-mocking. "I suppose you've forgotten all about staying out of my sight." Christian began to pick bits of glass from her hair. Rivulets of melting ice ran over her forehead and across her cheeks, but the source of some of the trickling was Jenny's tears.

  "I could use a drink just about now," he said, flicking chips of glass into the fireplace. They snapped and popped and turned yellow tongues of flame to shades of green and blue. He glanced at the door again. "Where are you, Mrs. B.?"

  Christian realized he had also picked up splinters of glass in Jenny's room, and while he rocked her, he felt each of them like tiny pinpricks in the soles of his feet. Wiping Jenny's pale face with the cuff of his nightshirt, he watched her eyes close slowly. He was selfishly grateful when he did not have to look at the terror in her sightless and unblinking stare.

  "Thank God you're here," he said feelingly when Mrs. Brandywine appeared on the threshold. She carried two large kettles of hot water.

  "Will it be enough, do you think?" she asked, setting them down beside the tub.

  "It will have to be." Christian stood with Jenny in his arms and looked in the tub. There was not a lot of water in it. He thought the kettles would be sufficient to heat it up what was there. "She's nearly frozen through. I'm worried about her hands and feet. Scott said they would be susceptible to frostbite for the rest of her life. You add the water and test it. I'll put her in the tub when you say it's ready."

  Mrs. Brandywine drained one kettle and most of the second before she declared it safe. Christian changed his grip on Jenny to make it easier for him to lower her into the tub. "This will warm you," he told her. "Just like the first night you were here."

  Jenny shook her head. "I'll do it for you now," she whispered. "You can touch me, too. You like that. Don't put me in the..." She clutched Billy MacCauley as he began to lower her. "Don't. Please don't."

  Her words brought C
hristian up short. He heard Mrs. Brandywine's gasp and looked at his housekeeper helplessly. "I don't know what she's talking about."

  "Like before," Jenny said, pressing her face into Billy's shoulder. "You can do whatever you want. Ronald will watch. Always watches." She removed her hands from his upper arms so she could curl her fingers around the lapels of his coat. She wriggled to get closer to him.

  The shift in Jenny's weight threw Christian off balance. He faltered, caught himself, and then felt his bad leg give way. He swore out of sheer frustration, realizing he was going to drop her and probably follow her down as well. There was no time to maneuver a graceful descent. Jenny plunged into the water, never releasing her bloodless grip on Christian's robe, and pulled him in top of her.

  Mrs. Brandywine jumped away as water showered the sitting area. Flames spit and sizzled in the fireplace. Puddles darkened the braided rug. Water dripped from the ruffled hem of her nightgown. Eyes wide, the housekeeper lifted one hand to her gaping mouth as the battle between Jenny and Christian began in earnest.

  Jenny fell into the tub on her back and her head briefly went under the water. Just as she surfaced, Christian's heavy weight bore her under again. He tried to get out quickly, but it was difficult to get purchase on the sides of the tub. No human body, he thought, was meant to be folded in so many awkward angles. He pushed at the sides of the tub again, attempting to lever himself over Jenny, only to discover that she had yet to release his robe.

  As soon as he made a grab for one of Jenny's wrists, he lost the support of the tub. He slipped again, falling on her hard, and Jenny's scream was choked off as she slid beneath the water a third time. Her panic was complete. She kicked, squirmed, and shoved, and her terror-filled eyes opened under water. Above her she saw the distorted shadow of the man who was trying to drown her.