Page 46 of His Dark Heart
Darcy and his new wife spent much of their time talking. Elizabeth had stayed away from the hard questions, though they were both more than aware those questions existed. He told her of his mother's indifference to him and his Papa's strength as a ruler, and that Jane had been the one playmate who had been there his entire life, and when she married Finn, Darcy was angry to have to share her. Despite having liked Finn from their first meeting, Darcy had banished him to the lowest ranks of the Royal Guard and had not spoken with Jane for months. Only after he had learnt of Jane's pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage had he put aside his grudge.
Darcy learnt equally as much about his bride and, when evening rolled forth, could easily inform somebody that she had started painting at a very young age—seven—and that her first pet was a hare that she had called Jump. She had also told him of a sister who, similar to his, had died as an infant. She was good with numbers and happiest when she was in the company of a small party rather than in a huge gathering. The conversation was easy and open, and he found himself happy to indulge her.
They were curled up in bed, Elizabeth examining his hands, when the tone of her questions changed from light curiosity. She shifted, rolling to face him and her fingers lightly touched the waxy scar over his heart.
“How did it happen?”
“In battle,” he replied, his tone clipped.
Her lips pressed into a straight line. “No. I want the whole story. Jane mentioned that ye had to defend thy right to rule. Is this a result of that battle?”
“No, the one on my stomach is from that battle.”
Her touch trailed over the long, jagged mark over his gut, and he bit his lip, trying not to recall the horror he had endured when it had happened.
“Who was he?”
“The loser.
She shook her head. “Jane says that battle changed ye, that ye came back colder and crueller.”
“Jane talks too much,” he grumbled.
“My lord, pray tell me.” She begged, her eyes searching his.
He sighed and let his gaze drift somewhere over her head. “I was nineteen when my father passed, barely old enough to grow a beard. Father's most trusted advisors assured me that my ascension to the throne would be smooth since Father was a well-liked and popular leader. Those very same advisers neglected to mention that my mother's nephew, my own cousin, aspired to seek revenge against the slight he thought my father's family had performed against my mother's memory.
“My parents' marriage was a marriage of station. Father gained several parcels of land when he took my mother to bride. Her family, or, rather, several members felt insulted when Father refused to give them positions of power, especially after Mother died. They said Father sullied Mother's reputation with tales of infidelity and that he had painted her as a cold, unfeeling rock of a woman.
“I knew this to be true; my mother, as I have told you, was a callous and hateful woman, but I had few dealings with Mother's family and was not aware of the severity of the accusations until Father passed.
“My cousin, Griffith, challenged my place, which meant that we were to fight to the death. I was not thinking clearly since I had just lost my father and had not been prepared to lose my throne. We fought a long, hard battle and Griffith almost defeated me. He managed to inflict this, which did not fail to gain my attention. Only then, when I was exhausted and practically willing to die because of it, did I understand how serious his challenge was.
“He let his guard down for a single moment, thinking his victory was at hand, and I ploughed my blade deep into his gut. Sliced him from belly to chest. So, yes, it did change me. I saw blood, the same blood that ran in my veins, spill to the ground and I could never again take my place for granted. I did what I needed to do to secure my throne.”
“Ye poor man,” she whispered. She pressed closer to him.
“I do not regret my decision, Elizabeth. I ask no pity.” He twisted away from her and left the bed and dropped to his knees to tend the fire. “I was raised to rule and knew no other life. If I had allowed Griffith to beat me, to steal my throne, I would have dishonoured my father. So, I killed my cousin, then trained with the best swordsmen in the country to make sure others knew I would kill them too.”
She knelt behind him, wrapped her arms around his torso, and ran her hands up his flesh to his broad chest. Her mouth pressed against his shoulder.
“Ye are not a killer by choice, my lord. Ye do what is necessary. I understand that. Do not be ashamed of what you had to do.”
“I never said I was.”
“Then why will ye not look me in the eye?”
He remained silent for a long time, and his wife stood and started for the bed. His cool, hateful voice froze her in place.
“Griffith was the first man I killed, but not the last. The man you see before you barely deserves to stand in a single ray of sunlight let alone bask in your glow. I am not a good man, Elizabeth. I am a cold-hearted, brutal warrior who knows no limits in securing what I want when I want it. Do not paint some picture of me within your head to suggest I am a soul in need of saving. You cannot absolve me of my sins.”
She faced him squarely, her soft curves fuzzy in the firelight. She seemed to radiate in an unearthly manner as though trying to prove him wrong about standing in her light.
“I know ye are a warrior, my lord. I have no illusions about who or what ye are, but a special nature within ye whispers of goodness. If it did not, I could not lie with ye whatever my duties and vows required. No man is perfect, nor should he be, but ye are what ye are and ye have no need to apologize for that. Saints and sinners alike still bow before their makers. We all answer for our misdeeds, but that is at the end. Ye cannot hate thyself for what is beyond thy control.”
“Do you not understand?” he asked, desperation like lead in his voice. “I made justified choices in the beginning, but I have long since been corrupt.”
She closed the space between them, her modesty now a thing of the past, and knelt before him. She kissed his cheeks. The reassurance from her lips flooded through him, making his heart swell with grateful relief. Perhaps there could be a small chance that she would love him someday after all.
