Chapter Sixteen

Looking down from the minstrels' gallery, the balcony afforded Talia the perfect view of the great hall—a stone-walled relic from the years of maces and knights. Its evenly spaced Gothic arches lined long walls that soared into a delicately vaulted ceiling. Portraits, tapestries, large windows, and the flames from the largest fireplace she had ever seen lightened the hall, but she could still feel the weight of hundreds of years in the cold stone.

She shivered as her eyes swept to the far end of the great hall and she scanned the ten round tables set up near a long sideboard laden with breakfast dishes.

Too many people.

She took a gulp of air, searching the many bodies moving about, several of them balancing plates of food as they moved to open chairs, footmen scurrying to fill glasses. Too many men and women sat in their morning splendor chatting with ease and gaiety.

She had been prepared for an intimate gathering, ten, fifteen people at most. Fletch being one of them. Not this.

She took another gulp of air. Her eyes skittered from face to face.

At the second table on the left—Fletch. She barely caught his profile as he looked to the woman on his right before smiling. His head turned to the other two at the table, one man and one other woman. They were all laughing.

The woman to his right touched his arm, drawing Fletch's attention back to her. She was in mourning, if her black dress—low-cut that it was—was any indication. But that didn't stop her smirk as she talked, drawing the table into laughter again.

Even across the cavernous hall, Talia could hear the rumble of Fletch's low laugh, but she couldn't see his face. She could, however, see quite clearly that the woman intent on garnering his attention was beautiful. Dark hair. Almost exotic for how she had twisted her locks into an intricate upsweep. Maybe she wasn't in mourning. Maybe she just thought dark colors were proper in the morning because they framed her beauty perfectly.

Fletch's table burst into another round of laughter. Dizziness seized Talia's head and she grabbed onto the stone balustrade before her.

She hoped it was lack of food and not panic seizing her head. She could not have an episode at the moment. She could not. She would not.

"May I accompany you down?" Lord Reggard pointed in Fletch's general direction.

She gave Lord Reggard a weak smile, grateful that he gave her a very distinct task to undertake. Get down the stairs. First goal to accomplish.

Taking his arm as they moved to the staircase to the right of the balcony, her other hand went to the smooth stone railing that snaked along the ancient stairs. Her fingers dug harshly into Lord Reggard's thick muscles, but he did not appear to notice as they started down. Again, a wave of silent gratitude passed over her. She needed all the support she could get at the moment to make it down the steps without passing out.

Why had she not considered there would be a sizable party here? But it was too late now to excuse herself back to the coach and London. She set her eyes on Fletch, walking down the curved stairs and toward him. Lord Reggard's gait kept her steady, and as long as her look didn't slip off of Fletch, she would be fine.

It wasn't until they were close, only three steps away from Fletch, that the other man at Fletch's table pointed at Lord Reggard and leaned forward with low words to Fletch.

Fletch spun in his chair, his eyes finding Lord Reggard. "Reggard, what the—"

Fletch froze as his grey eyes gave a courtesy flicker to the woman attached to Lord Reggard.

"Talia?" Fletch jumped to his feet, stepping to Talia in one long stride, and he grabbed her upper arm, jerking her away from Lord Reggard.

Not aware she was about to be manhandled, Talia's fingers on Lord Reggard didn't loosen, and she dragged him for a moment before losing her balance.

Fletch didn't right her from her stumble, instead using her momentum to haul her to the side of the hall, moving them out under the nearest pointed archway that led to a door.

His strides long, his grip on her arm a vise, Fletch didn't stop until they were two hallways removed from the great hall. In the middle of a long, empty corridor of portraits, he halted, spinning on his heel, his grey eyes blazing as he glared down at her.

Talia's look veered past his head, only to be greeted by an immense wall of oil paintings—golden, gilt-framed ancient eyes looming down upon her. Judging her.

Her breath sped, dizziness grabbing a hold of her again.

Fletch grabbed her other arm, giving her a slight shake. "Get control of yourself, Talia."

The long hall shifted, leaning, until her feet felt like they were slipping. Was that the floor or was that her moving? Talia ripped her left arm out of Fletch's hand and bent over at the waist, gulping mouthfuls of air. It took minutes before she could stand and look at him without the room spinning around her.

His forehead pulsating red, the few minutes had only enraged him further and his grip tightened on her right arm. "Of all people to show up here with, Talia? That one? Reggard? The bastard that killed my sister, and you just stroll right into the middle of the blasted hall on his arm?"

Her hand went to her forehead, attempting to still the remnants of dizziness. "Cease your ranting, Fletch."

"No. No, Talia." He flicked his fingers free from her arm, turning and stomping several feet from her, his hands flailing in the air. "You do not appear with that man on your arm and tell me to cease my ranting. My damn ranting is the only reason my fists are not in Reggard's face right now. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing walking in there with you—he already took my sister and now he thinks to take my damn wife from me before I am bloody well in the ground."

"Fletch." Talia had to nearly screech his name to interrupt his flying words. "Lord Reggard is family—nothing more. Aunt Penelope sent him to accompany me. I was the one that wanted to come here."

He spun back to her. "Aunt Penelope did this?"

"Yes. And Lord Reggard was kind enough to escort me."

Fletch growled, both of his hands going to his face and furiously rubbing his eyes. "The blasted old bat. Of course she did."

"Fletch, have you gone bloody mad?"

"She wanted to ensure I didn't ignore you—she knew where I was and then she not only told you when she had no right to, but she went a step farther and sent the bloody bastard with you, the manipulative old bat."

Talia stepped to him. "Fletch, stop calling her an old bat."

"She could have sent you with anyone but him. You didn't know—but she did, she knew exactly what she was doing."

"Fletch, stop. Just one moment. Please. You were dear friends with Lord Reggard. I did not come with him here to anger you. But I don't understand why…" Her hands spun in circles in the air. "Why this reaction?"

His fingers clenched into fists, his glare left Talia as his eyes ran up the tall wall before them. He stared at the portrait right above them, five children in various poses around a whimsically upholstered Louis XV chair, two hounds weaved amongst their feet.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Reggard was always too large for Rachel—too large by far. A monster compared to Rachel's delicate frame. I never should have allowed the marriage—I almost didn't."

"Yet you did."

His eyes closed, his head dropping. "She was in love—I feared what would happen—fears that came true."

A sigh lifted his chest, and he opened his eyes, looking to Talia. "What are you doing here, Talia?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"The note I left expressed all I have to say."

She took one more step to him, her chin having to tilt upward to look at him as she invaded his space. "Yes, you had your say. But what about my say?"

"Your say is what I am attempting to avoid, Talia." The air around him palpitated with unspent rage. Rage that was morphing into voracious salacity as his eyes swept down her body and back to her face.

Talia edged a small step backward, realizing her mistake in setting herself so close to him. The instant manic flutter that manifested between her thighs at his look was taking all wits of reason from her mind. Wits she needed to keep about her if she was to tell him what she needed to.

She filled her lungs, steadying herself from his stare. "Fletch, in the days that you have been gone, I realized something."

His eyebrow arched. Not exactly encouraging her, but neither did he turn and walk away.

"My mother has already immersed herself into regaining the life she once led. Hosting her friends, days filled with calls. She is attempting quite desperately to make life as it was before Papa died."

"Has she been successful?"

"No. And that is what I realized. Nothing can ever be what it once was. You gave me everything in my life back—my sister, the home, the estate, security. But it is not the same—it cannot be when I have been irrevocably changed."

She ventured a slight step forward, her eyes intent on his. "I have been changed by you, Fletch. And I cannot live in the past as my mother wishes to do. Nor can I wait, worrying about living in a future I cannot even fathom. All I want is today. Living with what is in front of me on this day, this second."

"What are you saying, Talia?"

"You are today, Fletch." She swallowed hard, her chest constricting. Her hand lifted, trembling as she set it flat on his chest. The distinct thud of his heartbeat reached her fingers. Unable to look into his eyes, she stared at her knuckles as her forefinger slipped under the dark lapel of his jacket. "Today you are alive. Today I want you. Today I want you in your home, in your bed, with me. And I do not care what it takes to make it so. I will do anything. Whatever you need of—"

His lips slammed onto her mouth, cutting her words as his hands wrapped around her waist, pushing her back against the wall. The kiss held fury twisting with ecstasy, his hands frenzied along the sides of her body.

Just as suddenly, he yanked himself away from her. "Dammit, Talia."

She sprung after him, her hands wrapping around his neck. "No—no ‘dammit.' No leaving me."

Her left hand dropped, wrapping around his backside to pull his hips hard into her, refusing to let his body escape her again. He tried to avoid her eyes, and she dug her nails into his neck, forcing him to look at her.

"I was wrong, Fletch. I was trying to make you into what I wanted. What I thought I needed. And I gave no respect to what you needed." She swallowed, shaking her head. "But what I need is you, Fletch. For as long as I can have you, I need you. I will not ask you to come in me. I will not try to entice you to do so. But I need you—with whatever part of you that you are willing to give me, Fletch. I love you and I am begging you, without pride, without demands—"

He kissed her, cutting her words once more. He drove her backward again, her back hitting the wall, his shaft jutting into her belly, demanding release. He could no further control himself than she could, his mouth ravaging her lips, seeking truth to her words.

She fought for air, angling her mouth to grasp a breath enough to speak. "Yes?"

"Yes." It spilled into her mouth as more growl than word, but Talia heard it perfectly.

His mouth closed on hers, his tongue plunging, freeing all of her needs from the past days to his command.

A purr rumbled through her throat and Fletch dropped, his lips trailing to her neck, his hand cupping her breast, teasing the hardened nipple through the layers of her plum-hued dress. She arched into him, near to losing herself completely in his ruthless onslaught.

Yet there was one more thing. One more request she needed to make before she lost all ability to think straight.

"I only have one thing to ask of you, Fletch." The words tumbled rough, breathless from her lips.

He did not pull away from her neck. "What?"

"That when the time comes, you fight."

"Fight what?" His voice was muffled on her skin.

"Death. You will fight it for me."

His head lifted, his hands clasping the sides of her face.

His forehead fell onto hers, his eyes closed.

Breath ragged, his chest heaved, but no words fell from his mouth.

His eyes of steel cracked to her, his tortured soul clear. "Talia…I would fight a thousand hells for you. But my death, it is not a fight I can win. I accepted that long ago."

"Or maybe you've always accepted death because you never truly wanted to fight for life."

"Talia—"

Her fingers went to the back of his head, digging into his hair. "I am asking you, Fletch, right now. Fight for it. Fight for us. Fight for the life we deserve to have together. Fight for it when the time comes."

His eyes closed. "I cannot fight what I cannot change, Talia."

For a moment, the world stilled.

Stilled until her next breath. In that breath, devastation rolled up from her toes, stealing all feeling, crumpling her body.

He would not fight for her.

Did he want death?

The possibility struck her, shattering her air, a thousand tiny blades attacking her chest.

Her hands dropped from him, her vision muddied by a wall of tears that would not leave her eyes. She stumbled from his grasp, staggering down the long hall. Blinded, she disappeared into the bowels of the castle.

Run.

It was all she could do.

Run away from the possibility that Fletch wanted death.

Run from what she could not accept.

***

It was minutes—eons in what had become Talia's garbled mind—before she found the great hall in all the corridors she had immediately gotten lost in. Around every corner she had had to stop and listen, peek around the stone walls, and pray Fletch was not in her path.

She couldn't face him again. Not now.

She had asked for nothing, except for the very thing that meant the most—that he would want to live—and he had denied her.

She loved him. But if he could not do that one thing for her—fight death—she wasn't sure if she could look at him and not be crushed every single time she touched him.

All she wanted was hope.

All she wanted was for him to try and live.

Stumbling into the great hall, she realized too late what a walking mess she was, tears streaming, her gait not solid. More than fifty pairs of eyes turned to her, snide curiosity obvious. Perfect fodder for the gossips.

She considered turning and disappearing back into the corridor she had just exited at the exact moment she saw Lord Reggard.

Standing by the sideboard, chatting with two men, he looked past the tops of their heads, seeing her almost immediately. He was to her side before she could commit to skulking back the way she had come.

Grabbing her hand, he set it in the crook of his elbow as he steered her across the length of the long hall, blocking her from the many gaping eyes of people at the tables. He leaned down, his voice low. "That did not go well?"

Talia had to swallow three lumps before she could manage words. "No. I would like to leave."

"Of course. It will take a few minutes to prepare the horses on the carriage." He pointed to the balcony at the top of the curved staircase along the end of the hall. "There is a drawing room we passed on the way inward that appeared to be empty earlier. Perhaps you would like to wait in there."

Talia nodded.

They made their way up the stairs, walking past the minstrels' gallery they had surveyed the room from earlier. A footman passed them, and Lord Reggard halted, stepping aside to request the carriage be readied. Talia turned to the edge of the balcony, looking down at the far tables.

Whatever scene she had just created, it had already passed, as not a person looked up in her direction, the throng of them going about their conversations and concocting plans for the day.

Aside from a few men at the sideboard filling plates, only one lady moved through the tables, the widow, the dark-haired beauty that had been seated earlier with Fletch.

Talia looked over her shoulder to Lord Reggard, silently encouraging him to hurry with his conversation. She needed to be rid of this place. Needed to remove herself from Fletch's vicinity before she did the very thing he feared. Agreed to something she would only regret.

And watching Fletch die without a fight was a regret she wasn't willing to live with.

She looked back down the hall, her fingers tapping on the grey stone railing of the balustrade.

The swish of the widow's black skirts drew Talia's attention to the arched entrance the woman walked through. It was the same corridor Fletch had steered Talia through earlier when they left the hall.

Talia's fingers froze in mid-tap above the railing. The beauty had stopped in front of someone. From her angle, Talia couldn't see the other person until the beauty moved to the side.

Fletch. She was chatting with Fletch.

Reaching up, the beauty wrapped her hand behind his neck, and she went to her toes, setting her mouth on his, her dark head tilting and blocking Talia's view of her husband.

Talia's knees went to jelly. For a breath, she thought she would sink. Become a puddle right under the vaulted ceiling. Instead, her mind went blank as her legs sent her spinning, running down the hallway.

"Lady Lockston? Talia?" Lord Reggard yelled after her. "Talia?"

She didn't stop. Didn't slow her feet.

She wasn't about to wait another second.

She was leaving this place.

"What just happened?" Reggard looked to the footman. "Where is Lady Lockston going?"

The man looked just as puzzled. "I do not know, m'lord. I just heard the gasp and then she ran. Mayhap she is sick?"

Reggard looked down the empty hallway, Talia already out of view. He glanced down into the great hall. "Bloody hell."

Reggard was down the stairs and to the far end of the hall in seconds, his large frame a force of fury. He snatched Fletch's arm, ripping him from the woman who still had her talons wrapped around his neck. "Bloody blasted hell, you bastard."

Fletch yanked his arm free from Reggard's grasp. "What of you, Reggard?"

"You just did that." Reggard flew a finger in the general direction of the dark-haired widow. "In front of your wife."

"I what?" Fletch wiped the spit from the woman off his lips. "I was just walking into the hall when…" His eyes narrowed, swinging to Lady Canton.

"You are a blasted fool, Lockston." Reggard's fists ground into his sides. "And you are twisted. You cannot have life, so you want to destroy everyone around you. You bloody well did it with me—I lost Rachel, and then you made sure to take everything else from my life—and I was left with no one. No one. And you have everything—friends, family, a wife—and ass that you are you're throwing it away."

Reggard shook his head, snarl curling his lip. "We were friends once, Lockston. No more. You have gone too far. I always thought you would redeem yourself before the end. Rachel always believed that you had that in you. But now your bloody selfishness and petty cravings are ensuring you are to leave this earth a worthless human being."

"Shut your vile mouth, Reggard." Fletch took a step toward his brother-in-law.

"You shut yours, Lockston. Did you not hear me? Do you not realize what you just did? Talia saw you kissing that tart from the balcony, you fool."

Fletch looked up through the great hall to the far balcony.

"She saw your repulsive display and she ran. She is the best damn thing that has ever happened to you, Lockston, and you just threw her away."

Fletch couldn't tear his eyes off the empty balcony, his voice still seething. "Why do you even care, Reggard?"

"I don't. But I do for Rachel," Reggard said. "She would not have wanted to see your despicable ass leave the earth in this way."

"Rachel's dead, Reggard. So you can leave me the hell alone."

"I should leave. It's what you deserve after the way you dismantled my life after Rachel's death." Reggard rounded Fletch, blocking his view of the balcony. "I should leave you in the sniveling shell you are determined to rot in."

"So leave." Fletch's lip curled, the words vicious.

"I will. Do not worry on that, Lockston. There is nothing I would rather do in this moment." Reggard unclenched his fists, heaving a sigh. "But unlike you, I loved my wife. So I care about your life because of her. Because she would have demanded it of me."

"You know nothing of what I feel for Talia."

"No. You're right. I know nothing because I never would have treated my wife—or any woman—like you just did." Reggard's eyes narrowed at Fletch. His voice notched downward. "Do you know, Lockston, that even before your sister, I always believed that if anyone could break the curse, it would be you. But now I am beginning to wonder if the curse is exactly what you are meant for. Had your sister just seen what you did, I think she would think the same."

"Bloody well stop throwing my sister in my face, Reggard. She is dead."

"So you have forgotten Rachel? What she wanted for you?" His head shook in disgust. "Damn, Fletch, she believed far too much in you."

Fletch's mouth twisted. "Yes, well, she always was misguided when it came to the men she loved."

Reggard refused to acknowledge the insult, not allowing so much as a twitch. His finger swung in the air, pointing again at the far balcony. "That woman—Talia. Talia is what Rachel wanted for you. Not this." Reggard's look swung to the dark-haired widow that had backed to the wall, making herself small. "Not this wretched harlot."

"Watch yourself, Reggard."

"No, you watch yourself, Lockston. You need to make a choice, friend. Life—life with meaning. Or whatever sorry state this is." Reggard's eyes pointedly ran up and down the widow. He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest, glaring at Fletch. "Now am I going to have to go after your wife, or are you?"

Fletch's mouth opened, then he stopped and his lips clamped shut.

With a shake of his head, he pushed past Reggard, sprinting across the great hall.