Staring wide-eyed at the underside of the canopy above her, she heard the tall clock in the hallway chime the hour. It was already the morrow, and still she couldn’t find the forgetfulness of sleep she so desperately sought.
A cry ripped through the stillness. She sat bolt upright, staring toward the door, barely discernible in the shadowing glow of the dying fire.
Yes, there it was again! There could be no doubt the sound came from Blackwood’s chamber. Barefoot, she crept across the room to rest her ear against the wood.
Now she could discern snatches of sentences, but from this distance, couldn’t understand the meaning. A loud, quick burst of words followed by a low moan tore at her heart.
Whether this was the right way or no, she couldn’t just stand here and listen to Blackwood suffer. Quietly she pushed the door open and entered his chamber once again.
He sprawled across the bed, the dying embers casting a glow which gleamed off his broad, bare chest. The sheet was tangled low around his hips, revealing he wore nothing.
Something hot and tight coiled low in her stomach. She pushed it away to slip onto the side of the bed and softly touch his shoulder.
“Matthew, wake up, it’s only a bad dream.”
Her quiet words brought no relief as, eyes closed, his head twisted back and forth on the pillow.
“The right flank! Must protect the men! Higgens! Oh, no!” he moaned through dry lips.
“Matt,” she said louder, gripping his shoulder more tightly with her fingers, desperate now to end his suffering.
Still the nightmare held him. “Must protect the right flank! No, Jeffries! Leave me! Leave me before it’s too late!” he cried with such anguish tears sprang to her eyes.
Leaning her weight against his chest to capture both moving shoulders in her hands, her hair fell forward around his face as she spoke directly to him. “Matt, you must wake up! Matt, wake up!”
He opened his eyes within the curtain of her hair. An instant later, total awareness widened his eyes and she forced herself to move back from him to tangle her trembling fingers within the folds of her night shift.
“Was it the dreams?” he asked harshly, drawing the sheet up over his chest.
“Nightmares more like,” she whispered in return, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
He nodded, pushing himself higher against the headboard to look squarely into her eyes. The shadows made him look as young as he’d appeared when they met. “It seems I’ve disturbed you yet again.”
“You didn’t disturb me. I want to help you. After all, I’m your wife,” she reminded him.
“This isn’t something I can discuss with you. With anyone.” His dark eyes were as mesmerizing as ever as they bore into her as if seeking her soul. “Serena, it must be apparent to you I’m not the man you wed. That idealistic young fool is gone forever.” He rubbed absently at his injured leg. “The man who remains would never be so foolish as that arrogant youngster.”
“We’ve all changed during our separation. I, too, am no longer as I was when we met.” Was it right? Would it make things better to point out she’d also changed, even though she’d promised she wouldn’t?
“Yes, I can see it.” He nodded. “You no longer chew on your lower lip.”
That he remembered such an insignificant thing made her smile. “You remember that? Then perhaps you also remember our few hours of happiness as husband and wife.”
She could see by the sudden stiffening of his shoulders she’d shocked him by alluding to their hours of intimacy.
“I can see you still possess your blunt honesty,” he said evenly, once again rubbing at his thigh. “I’ll be honest in return. Perhaps, after all, it’s best to confront everything now to prevent any further pain I might cause you.”
If she’d once thought his eyes dark pools in which to drown, they were even more so now; and drowning she was with no hope of safety in sight.
“Serena, I regret we’re strangers now. Whatever drew you to me no longer exists. I’m sorry for it because it’s unfair to saddle you with this union . In time I’m sure we can come to some understanding which will suit us both.”
These cynical words, where once he’d spoken with such romantic lyric, closed in like deep, dark water over her head.
“You regret our marriage because you find me different from the naive child I once was?” Vainly she sought to break the surface.
“I regret that young girl so innocently gave her heart to someone who no longer exists,” he answered gently. “As you say, you are no longer that young girl, nor am I that boy.”