Page 43 of Surrender
“Many of the Kall guards were cruel.”
The concern filling his eyes deepened, and he guided her to a nearby chair. He sat down and pulled her into his lap. Her heart thudded in her chest as he began caressing her back.
“Tell me what the guards did.”
“Well, all of them were heavy handed, but there was a particular Kall guard in my settlement who carried a hatchet around. He-he lopped off the head of anyone who caused the slightest problem. My mother saw things, she talked to herself, and sometimes she screamed for no reason. I lived in fear every day that she’d have a mental lapse at the wrong place and time and her head would be added to the pile.”
“Where is your father? Why did he not help you?”
“He abandoned us shortly after my mother first became ill. That was almost ten years ago now. I have no idea where he is, nor do I wish to know.”
He said something sharp under his breath, in his own tongue. Then he drew her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She shuddered at his gentleness and felt her face crumple.
All the worry she’d been carrying around for months came pouring out, and her shoulders heaved as a sob escaped her throat. She brushed at her tears, but he pushed her hand away and blotted at her cheeks with a clean cloth from his pocket.
“Fiona,” he said, uttering her name slowly and thoughtfully, as if he were testing it out, and she supposed that was exactly what he was doing.
She longed to hear him say it again.
“What happens now?” she asked, barely a whisper. She fought the urge to glance in the direction of the leather strap. Her bottom still stung from the one blow he’d given her. Would he retrieve the strap from the floor and give her a proper whipping? Her tears fell harder at the thought.
He cupped her face, drawing his thumbs through her tear tracks. “I want you to start at the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything that has happened to you from the start of the war, until the day we met at the White House.”
He’s asking for my story. He’s going to listen.
She swallowed hard and prayed he didn’t turn cold on her. Prayed the fury didn’t resurface in his gaze. But there was nothing left to do but tell him the truth. The whole truth.
And so, she told him everything.
She spoke of the evacuation from her hometown, of how she’d fled in the middle of the night with her mother, as a siren blared and American troops took up position around the town, ready to fight the approaching Kall army. She spoke of boarding an overcrowded bus and being dropped off at Camp Syracuse, where they slept out in the cold for several nights, until the small trailers were delivered. She also spoke of the terror and hopelessness she’d experienced. Even the anger and the hatred she felt toward his people.
For the first time in a long time, Fiona was entirely honest, and the experience of sharing her ordeal with Merokk was cathartic. Furthermore, the tenderness he was displaying at this moment brought her hope.
Chapter 25
When Merokk had first confrontedhis wife—Fiona—he’d been in a rage. In all his life, he couldn’t recall experiencing such blind fury. But learning she’d married him to save her mother made him soften, even if she had lied to him.
How could he curse her for protecting someone she loved, particularly a sick parent? He couldn’t, and he felt like a beast for threatening her with the strap.
She’d endured a great deal of terror and heartache because of the war—the very war his people had waged against hers. He could only imagine how she must view him. How she must despise him. He couldn’t blame her.
Fiona. Her name was Fiona. Not Betsy.
He thought of Betsy’s biography and it all made sense. All the little hints Fiona had accidently dropped along the way that had given him pause. Her inability to play the piano, her strange behavior around President Carson, her previous reluctance to talk about her mother, her odd reaction when he’d asked about her hiding out in a bunker, and so much more.
And still, he cared for her. He couldn’t imagine letting her go.
But would she despise him for his part in her sorrow?
“…then, after I agreed to pretend I was Betsy and become your wife, I helped my mother pack and told her I was sending her somewhere safe.” She sniffled. “Saying goodbye was awful. We said goodbye at Camp Syracuse and then a second time, after she arrived at the medical resort, when I was permitted a quick video comm call with her. I-I couldn’t tell her where I was going or what I was doing. She didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay with her and I fear I broke her heart, but at least she’s safe at the medical resort.” She sucked in a sharp breath and met his eyes. “Do you think she’s still safe?”
“If you wish, I can contact my father and ask. He is looking into the situation surrounding Betsy Carson, trying to get all the details.”
“Please, I would be grateful for any information about my mother.” Her lips trembled as she attempted a small smile.
Merokk guided Fiona to his study. She peered wide-eyed at the broken desk and took a few steps back, away from him. He cleared his throat and waited until she met his gaze.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Fiona.”
