CHAPTER 46 — HE DESERVED IT

He had hurt her.

Kennedy’s fingers curled around the reins, the realization of what he did settling further into the depths of his being as he stirred his horses in the direction of the boarding house.

He knew that returning was a terrible idea. The very thought of it made his heart pound and his palms sweat. But he couldn’t live with the burden of his crime, he especially hated to think his crime made him out to be more of a scum than his father could have ever been. He had lived his entire life hating his father for his many unforgivable sins of gambling and ruining his life. He knew, as he approached the two-story building that evening, that he hated himself even more for his crimes and he could not go on living with the guilt.

Stopping his wagon just outside the gates, he climbed down and made his way through the cobbled walkway. It was nearly midnight, and he had ridden several days nonstop, after he had fled and made his way out of town, just to return and beg for her forgiveness. The sight of the unconscious, bruised woman he had left behind haunted his dreams every single night.

He reached the front door and made to knock, his heart beating faster in his chest. But as his knuckles touched the door, it drifted open before him, giving him access to the building.

Stepping in cautiously, he scanned the empty halls, fear clutching his chest. Finding no one, he made his way up the stairs and to Fiona’s bedroom.

Knowing she would react to his presence by screaming down the building, he didn’t knock. He instead reached for the doorknob and heaved a sigh of relief when the door gave way before him. Pushing it wide open, an empty room stood before him.

She died.

The thought felt like a dagger to his heart. She was gone because his despicable act had killed her.

He didn’t deserve to live, just like his father. The world would prove to be better without him in it. Tears stung his eyes.

“Fiona…” His hands trembled as he ran them down his face. He couldn’t kill himself, he thought. He was a coward, a slimy rapist unwilling to punish himself for his crimes.

Hanging his head, he turned to go down the stairs, hoping to be out of town before sunlight, when something in the distance caught his attention.

Face crumbling into a frown, he turned toward the familiar door. He had seen Fiona go into it several times. Perhaps she wasn’t dead, he hoped desperately. Perhaps she was in another room.

Taking measured steps towards the room, he covered the distance and turned the doorknob. The door gave way easily before him, revealing a modestly furnished room very similar to the one where he had once lodged.

His attention moved to the bed, to the still figure that lay in it. Slowly and quietly, he moved towards the sleeping figure. He neared the bed, a smile settling on his face at the sight of Fiona.

She laid with her back to the bed, her face to the ceiling and her eyes closed. Her black mass of hair was sprawled on the pillow beneath her head. Her face bore faint scars and her perfect lips, the one he desired so dearly to kiss, were parted slightly.

Taking two steps forward until he was standing over her, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cold forehead. He suddenly desired her in that moment, as desperately as he had desired her the other night.

He didn’t desire to rape her, not like he had done before. He wanted her, but he wanted her consent this time. He doubted she’d give it, but he would not give in to the monster in him.

“Fiona,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder lightly.

Silence.

“Fiona.” He touched her face once more. “Wake up, Fiona.”

She laid still before him, neither moving nor blinking.

“Fiona?” He reached out to tug on her hand, his fingers settling on something wet. Confused, he tore his eyes off of her face and to the source of the wetness—the sheets!

He gawked at the blood that stained them. His gaze trailed the blood to its source: her wrist.

Eyes widening, he turned back to her face, noticing for the first time that her skin was ashen and she wasn’t breathing.

“Fiona?!” he barked, gathering her still form in his arms. “Fiona!” He cradled her back and forth, tears streaming down his face.

She was dead. Fiona was dead.

The thought nearly crippled him as he buried his face in her neck and wept.

“Miss…” He didn’t turn around to see the intruder. He sat there, cradling Fiona’s body in his arms.

A loud cry followed...

Then voices...

“You killed her.”

He nodded numbly, admitting to a crime he knew he didn’t commit. He deserved death, and he might have been too much of a coward to take his own life, but the law would make certain he died.

He deserved it anyway.

***

Sweeping away the sweat that beaded her damp forehead, Raymond set the wet rag aside and settled into bed beside Lily, pulling her into his arms.

Her skin seared his arms. Ignoring the heat, he tightened his hold around her and prayed desperately for her fever to relent.

He had brought her home nearly a week ago, from the boarding house of a monster who had nearly killed her. Fiona had been so thirsty for blood she had killed herself. He knew that, and it didn’t matter to him that another man had confessed to her murder.

But he didn’t care for Fiona, not when Lily’s fever only seemed to worsen, doing nothing but giving her nightmares and hallucinations. She laid in bed asleep for several hours in the day, and when she woke up at intervals, she appeared delusional.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on her warm forehead. “Don’t die, love.”

He couldn’t lose her. He knew every night when he held her in his arms, nights such as tonight that he couldn’t lose her. He knew by the desperate pounding of his heart; he knew by the knot in his stomach, the lump in his throat, and the tears in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered for the umpteenth time in one week. “I am a fool for walking away, but you mustn’t punish me, love.”

His palm rested on her bare belly, the firmness and slight bulging of it, a reminder she was still pregnant.

He slid his hand up and down her belly. “If you must punish me, you mustn’t punish our baby.” He swallowed a sob, leaning down and kissing her head once more. “Isn’t that why all of this is happening, you sought to protect our baby from me? Wake up, Lily.” He nuzzled her neck. “Wake up and we will have more babies together.” He leaned further into his pillow, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps another little girl? Perhaps she’ll have your eyes and your golden hair?” His tired eyelids pulled shut as his hands drifted up and down her belly, the image of a beautiful baby with blond hair, blue eyes, and rosy red cheeks flashing before his eyes.

A soft moan escaped his lips as his eyelids snapped open. He must have fallen asleep, he thought. He made to turn to the window, when he suddenly realized his arms were empty.

Fear clouding his mind, he pushed himself to a sitting position and pushed the sheets aside; Lily wasn’t there. Scrambling to his feet, a loud breath of relief escaped his lips as he caught sight of a still figure sitting by the fireplace.

“Lily…” Her name fell off his lips, relief and worry flooding his mind. Relieved to find her, he was suddenly worried to think she might have strained her ill body by standing up. She turned then, her blue eyes coming to settle on him. “Love, come back to bed, will you?” He walked over to her side and took her arm, noticing in that moment that it wasn’t so warm anymore.

“Who…” She shook her head. “Who are you?”