Page 15 of Lord of the Lost

The maid scurried out of the room as Devlin offered Mona his arm.

“The carriage awaits us – let us go.”

She simply nodded, and he led her away.

Once settled in the carriage, they travelled in silence and, after a while, Mona slipped into sleep, tilting slowly sideways until her head came to rest upon his shoulder. Carefully, he moved his arm until it encircled her.

He should, he knew, feel something – some delight in the woman who was now his wife, some desire, some… something… But instead, the grey coldness still possessed him, and he looked at her, felt the warmth of her against him, and there was only confusion, and regret – regret for the loss of the boy he had been, regret for the fact that she would now need to live with the shell he had become.

Still, that faint sliver of warmth spread out from her, into him, as if the physical warmth sought to remove his internal chill. He would do his best to treat her as she deserved, to care for her, even if the manner of it was empty… Perhaps, if he acted the part of a man capable of care, of love, then he might eventually become that?

~~~~~

Deerwood Chase was beautiful – more so than Mona had expected. It was also larger than she had thought a hunting lodge would be – a solid two storey building with a small yet elegant garden surrounding it. They had been greeted by the few staff who cared for the house – a cook, a footman, and a housekeeper – and shown to the rooms which had been prepared for them.

Now, the next day, Mona thought back on the night before, her feelings confused.

Devlin had risen early, and gone out to walk in the surrounding woods – as yet, even though it was now early afternoon, he had not returned. Which gave her time to decide how she felt… about everything.

When they had arrived, it had been quite late, and they had simply eaten the meal which Cook had prepared, and retired. Devlin had sent Chalmers and Millie to their beds, telling them that he and Desdemona would undress without their assistance. That was the moment at which an embarrassed flush had coloured Mona’s cheeks. From there, it had been both awkward, and educational. Devlin had, with no fuss at all, simply stripped off his clothing, until he stood before her in nothing more than breeches.

At which point he’d turned to discover her standing there and, after a moment’s confusion, he had realised that she needed help with lacing and buttons. Help which he had cheerfully provided. She flushed again now, remembering.

What had happened thereafter had been… not unpleasant… but not as pleasant as she had hoped it might be, based on the whisperings she’d heard from the servants over the years. He had treated her gently, had done what a husband was expected to do with his wife – but… there had been nothing of emotion in it. He had seemed almost cold, as if he was not really present, as if his mind was on other matters, even whilst…

She pushed the thought away, determined to be positive. Perhaps such things improved with practice?

In truth, what troubled her more than that distance between them at what should have been the most intimate moment, was what had happened later, in the depths of the night. She had been disappointed when he had insisted that she sleep in a separate bed from him, in the adjoining room, but she had done as he asked. Many hours later, she understood why he had made that request, when she was woken, in the darkness well before dawn, by screams and shouts.

After the initial shock, she had realised what was happening – Devlin must, she thought, be dreaming, and terrible dreams, at that. She had risen from her bed, pulled a wrapper around her, and gone through the door which linked his rooms and hers. Just inside the door, she stopped, her eyes on the bed, where he thrashed, as if fighting the sheets, having already tossed the coverlet to the floor.

The screams stopped, but then he shouted imprecations, as if at someone who threatened him. She had not known what to do, had simply stood there, frozen, listening, trying to understand what he said. Half of it was in French, she had realised.

Then the manner of it eased, and it was as if he conversed with someone, or perhaps more than one person – words had come to her, words about ghosts, and ‘the lost’ and a refusal to grant someone what they asked for.

She’d stood there, afraid to go near him, yet feeling, somehow, that her duty as his wife, as someone who cared for him, was to stand guard until this passed. So she had. When he had finally dropped into deep sleep, lying still again, and silent, she had crept forward and lifted the coverlet from the floor, spreading it gently over him, then returned to her own bed.

Now, as she sipped at the tea which the housekeeper had brought her, and looked out through the parlour window, across rolling hills to where a small lake could be seen in the distance, she wondered. Did he dream like that, every night? She had known that war had changed him, but she had not, even after his reaction to Roland surprising them near the gate, thought it to be so bad.

What would life be like, with him, if he was always like this – distant, almost cold, and wracked by bad dreams and memories? A woman marrying had the expectation that their wedding night would be pleasant, would be about kindness, and hopefully love, yet hers had been oppressed by his memories of death, and battle and bloodshed, and the coldness which that had driven into him.

It had not, in any way, featured gentle intimacy or emotional connection.

She set the tea down with a sigh, and rose, intending to find something to occupy herself, beyond thinking, when she noticed, in the distance, Devlin – walking back towards the house. A frisson composed equally of fear and hope ran through her, and she dropped back into her seat, watching him.

Mona had no concept of what they might talk of, when he reached the house, but she was determined to attempt conversation, to attempt to build the beginnings of at least comfortable companionship between them.

~~~~~

Devlin had spent the morning thinking, even as he walked about the fields and forest of his property.

Deerwood Chase had been a favourite place to visit, when he was a boy, and he had hoped that being here now might allow him to find the peace that had been in his life then. But all that he could think of was the previous night.

He knew that he had not been as gentle and loving as he should have been, that he had, after retiring to his bed, and sending Mona to hers, dreamed again. The ghosts of the lost had surrounded him, and he had fought them, had railed at them, demanding that they release him, that they let him feel again. They had laughed, that bitter dying laughter.

As he often did, when the dream finally eased, he half woke, reassured by the silence, and the fact that he lay in a good bed. He had been lying there, being grateful for the dream’s departure, when a sound had made him freeze in place. He had turned his head, and looked, under still lowered lids, to discover it to be Mona.

Utterly unsure what to do, he had watched as she crept towards him, lifted the coverlet from the floor – where he must have thrown it when deep in the dream battle – and gently spread it over him, before turning away and leaving the room. Only once she was gone had the breath he’d held left him.

And then, for just a few minutes, the strangest warmth surrounded his heart. Perhaps, despite everything, Mona did care for him.

Perhaps, if he tried, there was hope…