Page 106 of The Forsaken
The answer came to her like a whisper on the wind, simple and devious. She had to protect her baby at any cost. Hugh need never know. He’d been drunk on Christmas. He wouldn’t remember if he lay with her or not. The idea made her cringe with shame, but what choice did she have? The baby was more important than any of them. It was innocent of any wrongdoing and she’d rather die than allow Hugh to cast doubt on its parentage.
Kate rested her forehead on her clasped hands. She longed to share the news with Guy, but couldn’t bring herself to tell him just yet. To rejoice in their infidelity and the result of their sin seemed wrong, even if the outcome of their affair seemed to be sanctioned by heaven itself. Kate’s hand went to her belly. It was still flat, but she hadn’t bled since before Christmas. Her breasts were tender and swollen, and her belly had grown firm, as if her body had donned armor to protect the babe within. Normally, Hugh would notice these changes, but their relationship had changed since the day he hurt her. He seemed content to let her be, and Kate was grateful for the respite. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe Hugh was celibate, but if he chose to lie with someone else, she didn’t care, as long as he did nothing to endanger her babe.
Kate crossed herself and got to her feet. She was expected in the kitchen. Joan needed help, and there was solace to be found in hard work. There was bread to bake, fowl to pluck, pies to make, and laundry to do. Kate didn’t volunteer to do the laundry,on account of the babe, but she gladly undertook the other tasks. Keeping busy allowed her to avoid both Hugh and Guy in the mornings, which made things easier. They were often out on the estate in the afternoon and liked to practice swordplay in the bailey after dinner. Kate only spent time in their company after sunset. They ate supper, then retired to the Lady chamber where Kate and Eleanor sewed or read and Hugh and Guy played dice or shared the latest news. As long as Kate remained aloof and kept her eyes on the sewing she could barely see, she was safe.
SIXTY-FOUR
AUGUST 2014
London, England
Quinn’s eyes fluttered open when she heard the doorbell. It had to be teatime since the slanted rays of the late afternoon sun flooded the bedroom with a golden haze. She felt rested and comfortable, and calm. Dr. Malik had ordered complete bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy, a protocol that would begin to chafe after a while, but for now was exactly what Quinn needed. She’d spent the past few days in bed and slipped into a peaceful sleep several times a day, giving in to her body’s need for rest. Phoebe was now installed in Emma’s room and would remain in London for as long as she was needed. Quinn was grateful to her for looking after Emma at a time when she couldn’t do it herself, and being there for Gabe, who was frantic with worry.
Quinn scooted up higher and leaned against the pillows as Gabe poked his head in the door. “You have a visitor. Are you up to it?”
As long as it’s not Sylvia or Jude, Quinn thought, but was certain Gabe wouldn’t have allowed them past the threshold. “Of course.” She hoped it was Jill or Logan. They always made her feel lighter, and she enjoyed their company.
Rhys stepped into the room, looking fresh as a daisy despite the heat of the August afternoon. He held a plastic container in one hand and a bunch of daisies in the other. “I brought you some scones. Just baked them, in time for tea.”
“I’ll put the kettle on and put these in some water,” Gabe said as he accepted the container and the daisies from Rhys and retreated toward the kitchen.
Rhys sat on the side of the bed and gave Quinn a searching look. “How are you?”
“I’m better now. I must remain on bedrest until the baby is born.”
“So I heard. When’s that, eight more weeks?”
“Thereabouts. I don’t know how I’ll manage. I’m so used to being active,” Quinn complained.
“Use this time to catch up on all the books and films you’ve not had time to enjoy. You won’t have much leisure time once the baby is born, especially once you come back to work.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“No. I just wanted to see for myself that you’re all right. And I see in your eyes that you’re not as Zen as you pretend to be.”
“I’m sad, Rhys, and so disappointed in both Sylvia and Jude. I can’t begin to image what might have happened if Emma had ingested that heroin. She could have died.”
“I know. It doesn’t bear thinking about.” Rhys reached out and took Quinn’s hand in his in a gesture of support. “Quinn, may I venture to offer an opinion?”
Quinn smiled. She’d talked things through with Gabe and Jill, both of whom advised her to banish her newfound family from her life, but Quinn was eager to hear Rhys’s point of view. He was further removed from the situation, and was someone who saw events in a unique way, almost as if he were always looking through a camera lens and imagining what his audience would see when they viewed the footage. “Go on, then.”
Rhys looked away from Quinn for a moment, staring through the window at the cloudless sky outside, his gaze thoughtful. He often wore that expression when marshalling his thoughts, especially when he needed to say something that mightnot be well received. At last, he looked back, his gaze burning with intensity.
“Quinn, you are not my daughter, but I wish you were. I felt a connection to you from the moment we first met. Of course, at the time, I mistook it for sexual attraction, but I no longer feel that way about you,” he added with an embarrassed grin. “I often catch myself thinking, ‘I have to tell Quinn about this,’ or ‘Quinn would really appreciate that.’ You are a kindred spirit, a person who understands me better than anyone I know, even my own family. What I’m trying to say, in a very awkward and roundabout way, is that we can choose our own family. We don’t have to limit ourselves to the people we’re related to through an accident of birth. I know you had high hopes when you first discovered your parents and siblings, and all you wanted was to play Happy Families, but life’s rarely that simple. The deepest wounds are often inflicted by those we love and trust, and you gave your love and trust, albeit unwittingly, before you truly understood the nature of these people.”
“Are you saying my expectations were too high?”
“Perhaps, particularly where Sylvia is concerned. Quinn, Sylvia will never be the loving, supportive mother you want her to be. She loves her sons, but there’s a part of her that she always holds in check, a part that no one can reach. Perhaps it’s something to do with her upbringing, or the trauma she went through when you were born, but this is who she is and you must either accept her as she is or move on.”
“And Jude?”
“Jude’s problems are not about you. He’s a young man who needs help but will not ask for it until he’s good and ready. I hope that moment comes before it’s too late. He does care for you, in his own way, and he has a soft spot for Emma. He’s devastated about what happened.”
“How do you know?”
“Sylvia called me. She hoped I’d come round and offer her a shoulder to cry on, but I decided to come here instead.”
“And while you’re being Freudian and philosophical, can you also help me deal with what happened with Brett?” Quinn asked, smiling at Rhys.
