Echoes in the Mist Read online

  Shrugging philosophically, she turned to Trenton and was stunned to see the restrained fury on his face. With a sudden jolt of comprehension, she realized what she’d just said.

  “I’m sorry, Trenton. I didn’t mean to bring up Vanessa.”

  “How could you think that?” Trenton interrupted angrily.

  “Think what?”

  “That you are average, that your brother and sister were superior, enviable. Good Lord, Ariana, don’t you know the truth?” Trenton pushed on before he could reconsider. “Your brilliant brother has done nothing but squander away your family’s money.”

  “He didn’t mean to. It’s only that—”

  “And as for Vanessa …” The words poured out of Trenton’s mouth on their own accord. “Yes, your sister was a dazzling, blindingly beautiful woman, but that’s where it ended. Your beauty is far more vivid, richer. Don’t you see yourself?” He shook his head in wonder. “You really don’t, do you? You don’t see how incredibly beautiful you are, how intelligent, how special? Damn it, Ariana, there is nothing average about you!”

  “Trenton, don’t.” Ariana abruptly rose, turning her back to him. “Don’t lie to me. I can learn to endure your secrets, but I cannot bear your lies. I know just who I am, and that is neither Baxter nor Vanessa. I’m not practical enough to be considered overly intelligent. … My head is always in the clouds. And although I’m hardly unpleasant to look at, I will never approach my sister in beauty. So let’s not pretend otherwise.”

  Trenton came to his feet, then turned Ariana to face him and cupped her chin. “Your head is in the clouds, misty angel. You’re such a warm-hearted, oblivious little fool.” He stared at her, an odd, faraway light dawning in his eyes. “Someday you’ll realize the truth. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to tell you.”

  Ariana caught his wrist, slowly shaking her head. “No.” She was stunned to hear herself refuse. “I don’t want to hear the truth … at least not this part of it. I don’t think I can bear hearing about your feelings for Vanessa. I suppose I’m a coward, but I can’t help it. Forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” He laughed harshly. “I assure you, misty angel, there’s nothing to forgive. I only hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

  Soberly, she stared up at him. “Let’s not discuss my life … or forgiveness … any more. I want to learn about you … not the Trenton of these past six years, but the Trenton who lived before.”

  He was silent, his expression guarded. “There isn’t much I can add,” he answered at last. “I’ve already told you about my schooling, my sketching. …”

  “Did you and Dustin quarrel a lot?”

  “I suppose we did on occasion.” The abrupt change in subject mystified him. “Why?”

  “Did you share confidences? Protect each other from outsiders? Stand up for each other with your parents?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.” Trenton laughed. “Why does my relationship with Dustin interest you so?”

  Ariana’s eyes glowed as she pictured the two boys she’d seen in the photographs. “I told you, I’ve never had a true sibling. Vanessa and Baxter were more like parents to me, especially since my real parents died when I was a child.”

  “Do you remember your father and mother?” Idly, Trenton rumpled her auburn tresses, watching the sunlight catch the bright strands and ignite them into copper fire.

  “A bit. Mostly what I remember are our Christmases.”

  “Why your Christmases?”

  “Because they were magic. When Mama and Papa were alive, Christmas at Winsham was a fairy tale come true. I remember everything: decorating the tree, hanging the mistletoe from the ceiling while I sat on Papa’s shoulders, sneaking batter from the cookies Mama baked. Most of all, I remember that wondrous feeling: excitement, anticipation, and joy all rolled into one, an emotion so vast it made you want to hug yourself even while it caused butterflies to form in your stomach that kept you awake all night. But morning would finally come and all of us would topple down the stairs to the sitting room, gathered around the fireplace where we belonged … a real family. …” Startled, Ariana realized she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said shakily, wiping her cheeks. “We’re supposed to be talking about you. I didn’t mean to go on like that, nor did I expect to become so emotional. It’s just that I haven’t had Christmas since …”

  “Don’t explain.” Trenton cut her off hoarsely, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Don’t even try.”

  Slowly, Ariana’s arms slid around him as she gratefully accepted the comfort she had long craved but never received. “Maybe we could spend this Christmas at Spraystone,” she whispered hopefully against his chest. “We could gather evergreen sprigs and perhaps some chrysanthemums and camellias and black ivy berries. Then, if it snows, we could watch the world turn white, and the wrens would sing and the sparrows—”

  “Yes,” Trenton agreed huskily, his arms tightening around her. “We can do all that, misty angel. I promise.”

  She raised her head. “Broddington holds nothing for you, does it?”

  “To the contrary, Ariana, it’s hold is powerful … and terribly painful.”

  “Because you lost your father there?” Seeing Trenton’s expression, she knew instantly he intended to shut her out. With a gentle, beseeching look, she reached up to touch his cheek. “Please tell me. I’ll do my best to understand.”

  Trenton’s lips twisted bitterly. “It was a long time ago, Ariana. Too much has happened that can never be undone.”

  “Dustin told me that your father’s death was sudden, despite his depleted health. Is that true?”

  Silence.

  “Trenton?”

  “Yes, dammit, it’s true!” He jerked away, turning his back to the reminders her questions brought.

  “He died just after Vanessa,” Ariana persisted. “Are the two events related?” She saw her husband’s shoulders stiffen and softly added, “I’ve told you I don’t believe you killed Vanessa. Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “Because you wouldn’t believe what I’d tell you, Ariana. Leave it alone.”

  “I can’t. I love you.”

  “Bloody hell.” He snatched up a rock and flung it into the water with all his might.

  “Tell me.”

  “Fine.” Trenton spun about, his eyes ablaze. “You want to know how my father died? I’ll tell you. He was tortured … slowly, cruelly; not physically, but emotionally; using that which he cherished most … his family.”

  Baffled, Ariana struggled to understand the blinding rage emanating from Trenton. “But how—”

  “Not how, Ariana. Who. That’s the operative word here. Who. I’ll tell you who: your brilliant, altruistic, contemptible bastard of a brother, that’s who!”

  “Baxter?” Ariana recoiled sharply, having expected anything but this. She had been certain Vanessa’s suicide was somehow linked to the late duke’s demise—but Baxter? What did he have to do with Richard Kingsley’s death?

  “Yes … Baxter, that vile blackguard who raised you!”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “Odd, I thought Caldwell filled you in on our history when you visited Winsham the other day.” Enmity underscored Trenton’s every word. “Or did he selectively forget to mention one or two realities? Like the fact that it was he who brandished your sister’s heartbreaking suicide note to the world … painted me as a seducer of innocents, a sinister madman … or worse. Did he tell you that I came to him, begged him to stop, not for my sake or even for Dustin’s—Lord knows, neither of us gave a damn what lies Caldwell spread—but for my father? Can you possibly imagine what it did to me to have to crawl to your despicable brother on my knees? To plead with him that my father had nothing left but his legacy: the Kingsley name and his sons? And that he was too old and weak to withstand such vicious slander? That the more people who doubted my innocence, the more deteriorated his condition became?”

  Trenton faltered, swallowing convulsively. “But beg
I did. I begged with the hope that Caldwell would summon up one shred of compassion—not for me, but for an old man who had done nothing to hurt anyone. I should have known I was wasting my breath. Caldwell just laughed in my face and threw me out, continuing to impugn me and my family, until the whole world ostracized us. My father was too frail … his heart just couldn’t take it. He died within weeks. And all because of your detestable brother.”

  Breaking off, Trenton drew in harsh breaths, striving to bring himself under control. He stared down at his hands, realized they were shaking, and raised his head to meet Ariana’s horrified gaze. “Still glad you asked, misty angel?”

  An eerie chill crept inside Ariana’s heart. “I can’t believe Baxter would intentionally—”

  “Of course he wouldn’t! I must be lying.” Trenton’s biting sarcasm cut through her like a knife.

  “I didn’t mean you were lying. Only that you might have misunderstood …”Her voice trailed off, for even she was unconvinced by her words.

  “Misunderstood? Hardly. Actually, I’ve only just scratched the surface of your brother’s brutality.” Brusquely, Trenton turned on his heel. “Your reaction was predictable. Now I know why I didn’t want to tell you any of this.” Rigidly, he walked away. “I’m going back to Spraystone.”

  “I believe you.”

  Her declaration was barely audible, a whisper of sound in the afternoon sky. But Trenton heard it.

  Abruptly, he halted.

  Ariana didn’t pause but walked up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, pressing her cheek against his taut back. “I’m so sorry for your pain. I wish I’d been old enough to comprehend it, and mature enough to ease it.”

  At first Trenton did nothing; he merely stood, unmoving, in his wife’s consoling embrace. Then he placed his hand over hers, enfolding her fingers, placing their joined hands over his heart.

  The gesture conveyed more than any words he could utter.

  The Isle had surrendered to twilight, its beaches bathed in the moon’s silver luminescence, by the time Trenton and Ariana headed back to Spraystone. Neither of them spoke, for the feeling hovering between them was too new, too precious to give voice to.

  The manor was practically upon them when a flash of white caught Ariana’s eye, taking her by surprise. “Trenton?” She seized his arm.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” She peered through the semidarkness, toward the tall grasses surrounding the barn. Intuition impelled her forward.

  “Where are you going?” Trenton followed quickly, frowning at the concerned knit of Ariana’s brows.

  “Oh … Trenton.” She rushed forward, dropping to her knees in the grass, bending over a huddled white form.

  Trenton peered over her shoulder. “It’s an owl.”

  “Not just an owl,” she whispered, turning damp eyes up to his. “My white owl. The one who brought you to me. Trenton … he’s hurt.”

  “Be careful.” Trenton stayed her with his hand. “Owls are wild, Ariana. He’ll claw you mercilessly if you try to touch him.”

  “He can’t hurt me … he’s unconscious. Please, we’ve got to help him.”

  Cautiously, Trenton squatted beside her, looking from the unmoving creature to the solid barn wall beside him. “Apparently your owl flew directly into the barn … hard enough to knock him senseless.”

  Ariana nodded vigorously. “He probably wanted to perch inside the barn and struck the window trying to enter. Owls see glass as open space and often hurt themselves because of it.”

  “Well, I’d be surprised if he didn’t have quite a concussion. However, he is breathing, and damned lucky about where he fell. The grasses here are very thick and, judging from the natural angle of his wings, I would suspect that nothing is broken.”

  “We have to take care of him, Trenton. I’ll never ask another thing of you … but please help me save him.”

  Wordlessly, Trenton gathered the injured bird, then rose and moved toward the barn entrance. “We’d better hurry … before he awakens and scratches my eyes out.”

  “Thank you,” Ariana said simply, rising to follow.

  While Trenton held the owl, Ariana hurried inside and located a small crate. “Put him in the far corner of the barn, where it’s warm,” she instructed, carrying the makeshift cage with her. She waited while Trenton placed the owl on the ground, then lowered the crate over his inert form. “Now he’ll be confined until he’s strong enough to fly.”

  “I’m impressed,” Trenton acknowledged. “Though I don’t know why I should be. You’ve obviously cared for sick birds before.”

  “Yes … but this one’s special.” She knelt beside the crate. “He’s free to soar the skies … yet he finds me whenever I need him: my own precious symbol of hope. He’s like you, Trenton: offering so much, yet always searching, uncertain where he really belongs, seeking to find out.” Her gaze softened as she stared at the owl. “My extraordinary wanderer … my Odysseus.” She sighed. “Perhaps we’re all really alike in the end: All of us wanderers, all of us searching, venturing into the world in the hopes of discovering our true purpose.”

  “So profound. And still you doubt your value, misty angel.” Trenton leaned over, gathering her silken masses of auburn hair and pressing his lips to her nape. “I fear that your vision is far worse than that of your beloved Odysseus. He is blind only to glass. You, on the other hand, are blind to your own worth.” Gently, Trenton drew her to her feet, silencing whatever she was about to say by laying a finger across her lips. “Your patient needs his sleep. As do you, if you want to be strong enough to properly nurse him back to health. Let’s go to bed.”

  Ariana glanced over her shoulder, chewing her lip hesitantly. “I don’t want to leave him. What if he awakens? He’ll be frightened.” She turned back to Trenton. “You go to bed. I’ll join you later.”

  Trenton didn’t answer. Soberly, he regarded his wife, then silently left the barn.

  Feeling the evening chill set in, Ariana curled up beside the crate, wrapping her arms about herself for warmth. She wondered if she’d angered her husband by refusing to accompany him. If so, she couldn’t blame him. After all, such devotion to an owl probably struck him as bizarre.

  The barn door creaked, and a moment later Trenton sank down beside her, wrapping a blanket around them both. “Now at least we won’t catch pneumonia,” he muttered.

  Ariana looked up, surprise, then gratitude, and finally tenderness registering on her face. “No,” she whispered. “We won’t.”

  The tawny eyes opened, blinked dazedly, slid shut, then opened again. Slowly, the owl lifted his head, peering unsteadily through the slats of the crate, meeting the sensitive scrutiny of his rescuer.

  “Don’t be frightened, Odysseus,” Ariana soothed, her heart aching at the disorientation clouding his magnificent topaz stare. “You’re all right now. No one is going to hurt you.”

  In response, Odysseus’s head drooped back into the hay, and his eyes closed.

  “Trenton …” Instinctively, Ariana gripped her husband’s arm beneath the blanket.

  “He’s only sleeping, misty angel.” Trenton was as awake as she. “Listlessness and confusion are perfectly normal following a concussion.”

  “What can we do for him?”

  “For now, nothing. He did awaken, and that’s a good sign. He’ll probably sleep a great deal over the next few days. We’re keeping him warm and confined. Now we’ll have to be patient.”

  “He must get well,” she breathed, half to herself, thinking of all the times Odysseus had appeared when she’d needed him most, praying she could remedy his suffering in return.

  “He will.” Trenton framed her anxious face between his palms. “I give you my word.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  Trenton brushed her cold lips with his thumb. “Because faith as unwavering as yours has the power to heal far more than a mere concussion.”

  Ariana’s tightly drawn
expression relaxed, a warm glint lighting her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in healing.”

  “I thought I didn’t believe at all.”

  Tenderly, Ariana raised up and kissed her husband’s mouth. Easing back on her haunches, she yawned. “I’m suddenly very sleepy. And now that I no longer doubt Odysseus will recover, I’d like to get some rest.” She snuggled into the blanket. “I was right, you know.” Her eyes drifted shut. “You really are a wonderful man.”

  Trenton stared soberly down at his slumbering wife, her affirmation echoing in his mind. A wonderful man. The fact that Ariana believed that of him was, in itself, an unexpected wonder.

  But the true miracle was that, for the first time in eons, Trenton began to believe it himself.

  The woman watched the French shoreline grow more and more indistinct, until it disappeared altogether, leaving nothing behind but miles of ocean and years of agony.

  She lifted the hood of her mantle higher over her head, gripping it against her cheeks to block out the sharp winds and icy sprays. In truth, she hardly felt them. Long ago she had learned to block out physical discomfort by retreating into a secret place inside herself. It had become her means of survival.

  Slowly, she averted her head, looking, for the first time in six years, toward England. And for the first time in six years, a ripple of anticipation stirred within her, growing quickly into a steady pulse, spreading like a long-craved narcotic through her greedy bloodstream.

  “Ma’am? May I get you something?” The straight-backed crewman stood politely beside her, crisply accommodating and, perhaps, a bit curious.