Aideen’s hand brushed his cheek. “To want to share is natural, especially with someone so close as a sister. There is a difference between vanity and candour, my Alex.”
Burying closer, he nodded. “Perhaps. But…another spy came to the house. I was not at home and so he left a note – stupid bastard – as he’d found out more about the group concerned. I didn’t return that day and so my sister read it and…”
He could imagine her excitement, Gwen’s fervent anticipation at aiding her elder brother. There would have been no hesitation on her part. “I believe she thought me in danger. Thought I needed the information, so she sneaked out to waylay me on the way to the tavern and hand me the note.”
“Did she take a weapon?”
“A…a walking stick. One of my old ones. Ordinary.”
Fingers drifted down his back, caressing his skin, then holding tight, and he realised that, although hideously painful to talk of Gwen, he needed Aideen to know, to share his burden, to listen.
“I was almost at the tavern when I heard my name half-spoken, half-whispered. I looked back and…and there was my baby sister standing in the middle of that vile Tower Street, in an expensive velvet cloak and fur-trimmed bonnet. I have never felt so bloody angry and was about to vent my fury when a man grabbed her from behind.”
The image overwhelmed him, and he had a sudden compulsion to flee, to escape this bed and the calming touch he didn’t deserve. An embrace crushed him to soft skin, and fingers laced through his hair, but still he envisaged sweet Gwen’s face as the whoreson held her, skin pallid, her excited eyes shifting to horror, walking stick clattering to the filthy cobbles.
Why did it still damn well hurt so much? He’d seen many a man and comrade die since then.
“He…he was crazed. I could see it in his slack face. Gin or opium, I know not. He held a blade to her throat. I could see it pressing against her skin, indenting under the bright moon. All I had was a short sword under my cloak, no pistol, and I was inexperienced, and this was supposed to have been a simple mission. I didn’t…”
Arms squeezed, and he buried his face in Aideen’s chest, aware the material of her night-rail was wet. “He screamed for money, and I scrabbled with my signet ring and fob watch, pushing them into his greedy fist. I would have given him my shirt but a shout from down the street distracted him and… I still do not know if he meant to do it, but his hand tightened… I saw blood and then he drew his arm away, the knife slitting her throat.”
Abruptly, he rolled onto his back, dragging Aideen tight to his chest, unyielding.
“She fell like a doll. A puppet let loose of its strings, her face falling in the dirt. The whoreson ran, but I didn’t care.” His gaze flitted to the bed canopy, red, awash with blood. “The sound, Aideen, Christ. She struggled for breath, and I couldn’t…do anything. A prostitute came to my aid, tearing her skirts for linen, even though that was all she had to her name, and we tried. God, we tried…”
He veiled his eyes in Aideen’s hair, aware tears fell but unable to release her to wipe them away.
“One last awful breath and she left me…alone.”
Wetness seeped over his chest as he felt Aideen’s own tears fall against his bare skin. They clasped each other close, unmoving, the sheer futility of a lost life encasing them in silence.
At length, Aideen pulled from his clasp, kissed his lips, his cheeks, hands pushing back his hair and brushing her mouth over his forehead. And although the memories would always remain, he felt some of his hurt dissipated by her compassionate touch. “Alex, my poor Alex. To see your sister die in such a way, I have not the words. I am so very sorry.”
Staring into her wet sable eyes, he continued, “I carried her home with Mary Lane, the prostitute who’d aided me. It felt like forever and yet no time at all, carrying her through the frozen streets. I felt numb. And since then, I’ve always felt so numb. So cold.”
“And the madman that killed her?” she asked, hovering over him and pressing lips to his hair, violets teasing his mind from the raw horror.
“I asked Kelmarsh to find him for me. I was in no state and my hands were full with Mother’s grief and the funeral. A day later, Kelmarsh said he’d found the bastard dead in his hovel, brought me back my signet ring. I often wonder if Kelmarsh…” He shook his head. “It matters not. I didn’t feel vengeance or satisfaction. I felt…nothing.”
She placed her face next to his, so close he could feel her warm breath. “My dear Alex, you have no need to blame yourself for her death.”
“Everyone denies my culpability but I cannot.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand – such fragile skin. “Kelmarsh had chosen to keep silent with those close to him, nearly lost Sophie over it, as you know, but I’d blabbed. If I had never told Gwen about my vocation or about that mission, she never would have come after me.”
“Or she might have gone searching anyway,” Aideen whispered. “Or followed you one night in suspicion. It is a shocking waste and loss of a brave young girl’s life, Alex, but the blame lies with the man who carried out the needless deed. It is he that is the culprit. You were and are a loving brother.”
He began untwisting the tight plait, watched her hair unfurl. “I have heard it all, Aideen. From Mother, from Kelmarsh, and my mind heeds their words, but my heart – that believes something else entirely.” He finally freed the knotted mass. “I could not bear it if you came to harm due to my own selfish need to have you a part of my life.” He pulled her close, kissing her, a delicate brush of lips. “I have already hurt you.” And he stroked the fading dark-red mark on her neck.
“Only my feelings, and if you’d kept your bog mouth shut, all would have been well. But I knew, Alex. I knew you were pushing me away for a reason.”
“Is that why you were smothering me with sweetness?”
“Mayhap. Did you like it?”
He fingered the ribbons on her bodice. Exhaustion blanketed him, emotions a deluge, and yet he needed Aideen to banish the shadows and ghosts that haunted him. To clear the blood from his vision. He needed her so very much and in every way.
“I did, but perhaps, after the other night, I should show you gentleness. How desperately slow I can love.”
“I enjoyed the corridor,” she whispered, stretching to his touch.
