before, he'd lain in wait to capture his wife with naughty kisses. Will I ever kiss her again and feel her shy, eager response?
He turned right down a long hallway of bedrooms, hardly noticing the
gleaming wainscoting on the walls, the cream-colored plaster, the painted
portraits of the family hung in gilded frames. His whole attention remained riveted on the door at the far end.
She's never seen my room. The thought struck him as odd. This woman who
now reigned as queen over his heart had never seen the bedroom where he'd spent his childhood. He opened the door and stepped in.
Christopher tenderly laid his wife on the bed and collected water and a cloth
to bathe her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding, and she looked better, though
bruised, once cleaned up. He stood slowly and looked down at her.
I promised her, damn it. Promised she was safe, trained her to be safe, and in
so doing I left her vulnerable to another attack. His breath caught in a harsh sob.
A little sizzle of pain shot through his hand and he frowned to see his sore, oozing and split-open knuckles. He had damaged them… all over his father-in-law's face. Shouldn't I feel something about that? Regret? Pride? Something?
Only numbness sank heavily over his heart, in contrast to the stinging of his torn
skin.
“You need to clean that,” his mother said matter-of-factly, as though she were not looking over the hand that had just beaten a man bloody.
“What am I going to do, Mother?” he asked, his voice breaking again.
“Endure. Pray.” She hugged him tight, stroking his back.
“Do you think she'll live?”
“I hope so, son. I hope so.”
By the time Mrs. Turner arrived, Christopher's knuckles had been bathed,
and he had changed his wife into a loose cotton nightgown. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding her hand and murmuring to her.
Mrs. Turner sat on the bed beside Katerina and lifted the nightgown. “I don't
see any blood or amniotic fluid on Katerina's thighs or privates,” she informed
him. “Her cervix is tightly shut.” Then the midwife settled her hand on the swell of her client's belly. “The child is moving,” she added, “and there are no contractions.”
“Well?” Christopher demanded, “what does that mean?”
“I can't tell you about her head injury, but at this point, I see no signs of impending miscarriage. If she survives, the child should be fine,” the midwife informed him.
“Thank God.” He leaned down and touched his lips to his wife's temple.
“I'm so very sorry, Christopher.” She patted his hand. “The poor girl. No one
deserves that.”
“I'm such an ass. I was so proud of myself, proud of my sacrifice. I saved her. That's what I told everyone. But I was the one who put her in danger.” His
unsteady voice broke several times.
“No. You rescued her from danger,” Julia insisted. “It's not your fault it followed her.”
“I couldn't get there in time.” He ground his teeth.
“I know.” Mrs. Turner laid a soothing hand on his arm.
“Why did this happen?” he exclaimed, and his angry shout caused Katerina
to twitch, though she made no further sign of waking up. “Hasn't she suffered enough?”
“She has, son,” said a deep voice from the doorway.
“Father?” Christopher shot to his feet.
Adrian crushed his son in a tight hug. “Remember, Christopher, she suffered
for years. With you, she was happy. You gave her the best months of her life, and, God willing, you will again.”
