Lindsay McKenna - Lord Of Shadowhawk

Lords, it was whispered, took only beautiful women as their mistresses. Alyssa’s fingers lingered on her rose-hued skin. Except for having occasionally seen her reflection in a quiet pool of water, she knew little of her appearance. No one had ever said she was beautiful. Dev often teased that she had turned down all marriage proposals because she was waiting for a rich Catholic Irishman to come along. That wasn’t true. She loathed the idea of being torn from her family; she loved her brothers and father too much to part from them. She would rather live in the embrace of the forests, trying to make a home for them in some burned-out thatched hut or whatever they found along the way, than live with a strange new family.

And then an excruciatingly painful thought came to Alyssa. No man would want her now. She was damaged goods. No self-respecting farmer would consider her for a wife. Alyssa bowed her head, feeling the hotness of tears that matched the burning anguish in her heart. Hadn’t her father impressed upon her time and again that a woman’s purity was the most valuable asset she could offer a man? A soft sob escaped from her lips. No one would ever want her now; she was blind, and no better than a common whore.

“Little one?”

Alyssa jerked her head to the left, toward Tray’s soft voice. Tears splattered across her cheeks and she clutched her hands protectively to her chest.

Tray quietly pulled a chair over and sat down, facing her. He had risen more than two hours earlier, working in the adjacent drawing room, which began to resemble his study more and more with each passing day. His gray gaze lingered on Alyssa’s flushed features and he saw anguish in her haunted expression.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he coaxed gently.

“N-nothing, my lord. Didn’t you know that all Irish weep easily? Remember, you told me it was all right to cry.”

A slight smile pulled at his well-shaped mouth. In the past four days, some of the natural tension between them had dissipated, and upon occasion, when Tray was able to get past her defenses, they could talk almost as if they were friends. He hoped this would be one of those times. At least she was no longer trying to hide her true feelings from him. He pulled a handkerchief from his trousers and leaned forward.

“Here,” he offered, placing the linen against her clenched hand.

An understanding silence stretched between them. Tray sat back, watching Alyssa dry her eyes. “People usually cry when they’re very happy or very sad,” he noted quietly, knowing there was little in her life that she could be happy about. “Are you crying because you miss Ireland?”

Alyssa knotted the handkerchief in her lap, her head bowed and face hidden by the natural barrier of her hair. “I awoke happy this morning, my lord. And then…then I began to think of the future.” She compressed her lips and closed her eyes, her voice low with strain. “I’m blind. I’m damaged goods. Of what use am I to anyone? No man will ever look at me as wifely material now.” She opened her slender fingers in a gesture of frustration. “What man who must work from dawn to dusk in the fields would want a helpless blind girl? He would need a strong woman at home to care for him.”

Tray’s mouth grew into a grim line. He had no defense against her, nor, he was discovering, did he want any. Alyssa was simply herself, without the training that society normally placed on women of his class. Her freshness and vitality made him feel more alive than he could ever recall.

“You’ve been here almost two weeks and I haven’t found you to be in the way,” he said, forcing a lightness to his voice he didn’t feel. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the negatives of her situation. “And Sorche was telling me that as you grow stronger, she’ll teach you how to card wool. She also felt that you could help in her kitchen, since you’re insisting upon walking around. So you see, you aren’t useless.” And then his voice deepened. “If I hadn’t already given my word to send you back to Ireland when you recovered, I would ask you and Sean to remain here at Shadowhawk.”

Alyssa’s lips parted and she turned toward him. Sweet Jesus, if she could only see! Then she could tell if Tray was lying to her or not. She could look into his eyes and know if he spoke the truth. She was getting more adept at listening and judging the quality of the voices around her. And if this method could be trusted, Lord Trayhern meant what he said. Then another thought occurred to her.

“As what?” she asked faintly.

“What do you mean?”

It took all her courage to blurt it out. “I’ve heard of lords taking a mistress. I—I don’t ever want to be touched by another Englishman. I don’t want to bring further shame on my family by being known as a mistress to an enemy of Ireland.”

Tray tried patiently to take her fervently spoken admission in stride. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I would turn you into an unwilling mistress?”

Alyssa gave a small shrug. “I don’t know what to think of your attentions, my lord. In Ireland, the titled English ride into our villages, pointing out the young women they want, who are then dragged off to their manor or castle. When next we see them, if we see them at all, they are always dressed in finery, yet look so sad.”

Her voice trailed off and Alyssa crumpled the handkerchief between her hands. “Father always told me that love could exist between a man and his wife, and that there was no need for a mistress. He said my heart would tell me when I found a man I could love. But now it’s too late. I’m soiled, like those women who were dragged off, shamed and dishonored. I couldn’t bear to stay here at Shadowhawk. For any reason.”

Tray had to stop himself from reaching out and caressing her wine-colored hair. Her words cut like a sword through his heart. Did Alyssa realize that she had welcomed his embrace each nightfall when she was unconscious? He had savored those precious hours with Alyssa at his side, soothing away the dreams that plagued her sleeping hours. Regardless of how Alyssa felt, a large part of him wanted her to remain at Shadowhawk. And yet, Tray had to acknowledge her view of the situation. He kept his voice carefully neutral when he spoke.

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