Tessa Radley - The Saxon Brides

Drained of all emotion, Joshua paused in the entrance of the coffee-cum-flower shop in the hospital lobby. His eyes burned. After almost twenty-four hours awake, he needed a shower, a change of clothing and sleep.

But right now there were other things—important things—to which he needed to attend.

His chest expanded as he hauled in a deep breath.

And the first that needed sorting was sitting at a table beside a rack of magazines, staring into a coffee cup, a napkin crumpled in her fist. Some sixth sense must have alerted Alyssa to his presence because her hand tightened around the mangled, once-white napkin and she looked up.

The vulnerability in her eyes vanished the instant she spotted him, replaced by wariness. Okay, so this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. But it couldn’t be delayed. He started forward.

“Alice—” No, not Alice. “Alyssa,” he corrected himself. He’d kissed Alice. He’d never willingly touch Alyssa. “My mother sent me to tell you …” He broke off and swallowed the burning bile at the back of his throat.

She was on her feet, her hand against her mouth. “Roland … is he conscious? Can I see him?”

He shook his head. An appalling sorrow splintered inside his chest. There was frustration and bewilderment, too.

“Why? Just for a few minutes? Please?”

Her eyes were wide, beseeching. As much as he disliked her, it was clear that she loved his brother, that she’d do anything, even beg, to be with him. Damnation! This was more difficult than he’d expected.

His legs carried him to her without his realising it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Alyssa—”

Her hand touched his sleeve. He flinched, and she jerked it away.

“I won’t make waves. I won’t do anything to cause Amy anxiety. I just want to see my—Roland.” She was frantically shredding what was left of the paper towel.

He caught her flailing hands and tossed the napkin on the table, hating what he had to do. “Alyssa, you don’t understand. Roland is dead.”

“What?” She rocked on her feet, looking as if she was about to faint.

“Steady.” He moved closer, shifting his hold to her shoulders, propping her up with his body.

Her eyes were wide, staring. Shocked. Little flecks of black floated in the unseeing smoky purple irises.

“Alyssa?”

“Is it true?” She pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, looking shaken to the soul.

Joshua nodded, swept by a wave of terrible pity. She’d said she loved his brother. Had Roland known the depth of her love? Had he even appreciated it? Joshua doubted it. But he couldn’t afford to relent. Family came first.

Alyssa Blake was more than capable of looking out for herself.

Besides, she was too much of a forbidden temptation. “So you’ll be leaving in the morning?”

Her head came up. The magnificent eyes flashed. “I’ll go after the funeral. Please, leave me alone until then.”

And as he watched the tears pool, the foolish and chivalrous part of him wished he had the right to hold her, comfort her and wipe those tears of hopelessness from her eyes.

Alyssa crept in and stood in the back of the church, keeping her head bowed, and stared blankly at the order of service booklet that had been given to her by the usher at the door.

Yesterday she had called David Townsend, her editor at Wine Watch magazine, requesting a few days’ leave, without giving him any explanations. If she mentioned the word bereavement , she suspected that the tears that dammed up the back of her throat might overflow. Once she started, she feared she might never stop.

David had given her two days.

Alyssa had told him she’d be back in the office on Wednesday. But standing here in the crowded church, work … and Auckland … seemed so far away. A numbing mist enveloped her. Beneath the booklet she held, her gray pin-striped pantsuit seemed woefully inadequate. She’d intended to wear the outfit to the one-on-one meet she’d coerced Roland into. A quick glance around revealed that the boutique businesswear was out of place among the designer black and sedate pearls.

She hadn’t brought much with her—she’d only expected to be in Hawkes Bay for the weekend. She didn’t even have pins to put her hair up. The dark silky mass lay around her bowed face in a sleek wave. But shopping for mourning clothes and hairpins had been the last thing on her mind yesterday. Roland’s death on Sunday had left her reeling.

She opened the order of service booklet and found herself staring at a photo of Roland … a piece about his achievements, a short eulogy where he was described as “the much loved son of Kay and Phillip, brother of Joshua, Heath and Megan.”

Of course, there was no mention of his real parents, or the sibling who had been robbed of the chance to know and love him.

The hymns reverberated around Alyssa, moving her until her heart ached so much she thought it might burst. Then Joshua stood and started to talk about Roland, and her heart shattered.

By the time she arrived at the cemetery on the farm where Saxons had been buried for nearly a century, Alyssa was so wrung out by emotion that her legs felt a little shaky.

She’d debated about the wisdom of coming to the burial. She’d known it would be upsetting. The last funeral she’d attended had been her adoptive mother’s—and that had been simply awful. But in the end, the need to see her brother—her flesh and blood—laid finally to rest had won out. Perhaps now she might get some peace, too.

The first person she recognised as she made her way through the white-painted picket gate was Joshua.

She hesitated. He hadn’t seen her yet.

Alyssa halted a distance off from where the Saxons crowded around the grave and sneaked another look at Joshua.

His arm was around his white-faced mother and on his other side stood his sister, Megan, sobbing into a hanky. Behind them stood Heath and Phillip Saxon, looking solemn. Amy hovered dry-eyed at the edge of the raw grave, her expression bleak.

From her vantage point, Alyssa could see the rows upon rows of vines planted on the hills that lay below the cemetery. They would only just be starting to bud for the coming summer. It struck her that, unlike the vines, Roland would never see another summer.

Blinking back a fresh prick of tears, she barely noticed the breeze that swept her hair off her face as she listened to the priest delivering the prayer.

“Amen,” she murmured with the rest of the crowd as it ended.

“Don’t plan on staying,” Joshua said very softly from behind her.

She didn’t turn her head to look at him. She hadn’t heard him approach. But every hair on her nape stood up. “I won’t.”

“Good.” He moved to stand beside her as the final hymn started. “I don’t want Amy suffering any more than she already is.”

Alyssa stared at the words on the sheet of paper in her hand and stifled an impatient sigh. Amy. His parents. That’s all he could think about. What about her? “Please believe me, I’m not going to do anything to harm Amy.”

He gave her a hard look. “I wouldn’t let you.” His eyes scanned her face. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, as he examined every inch of her face.

“Well?”

“You’re beautiful.” His tone was dispassionate. Unmoved. He might have been studying an inanimate block of marble.

“Thanks,” she said tersely, her gaze dropping away from his. The knowledge that he considered her beautiful didn’t bring satisfaction. Joshua didn’t even like her —the real Alyssa Blake beneath the veneer—he’d made that clear enough.

A disturbing thought struck her. Perhaps he fancied Amy? And, now with Roland out of the way, did that mean Joshua expected a chance with his brother’s grief-stricken fiancée?