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Fire's Lady

Chapter Twenty

"Ridiculous!" Alexandra exclaimed as her heart threatened to stop beating inside her chest. "That's simply not possible."

"You and Matthew love," said Dayla calmly. "When you love, it is always possible."

"You don't understand, Dayla." How on earth could she explain the things she'd learned from Esme and the gypsies of Provence? "I have--I have been taking certain precautions to see that does not happen." Dear God! The last thing she wanted was to repeat her own mother's mistakes.

"I do not think I make a mistake," said the older woman, "but perhaps..."

Another wave of nausea flooded Alexandra and she swallowed against the fear rising inside her.

"What makes you believe it is so?" she asked, voice trembling.

Dayla's eyes strayed to her bodice. "Your breasts ready themselves," she said bluntly, "and your waist begins to grow wide."

Alexandra glanced toward the drawer where she kept her corset--the same corset she had pulled tight as could be just the night before.

"Perhaps I eat too much."

"You eat like a sparrow."

"The ice cream. I have enjoyed Mrs. Lawrence's strawberry one time too many."

"I think not, Alexandra." Dayla crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to her. "Your woman cycle, does it come?

"I don't know," said Alexandra, near panic. "I can't remember." Think, you fool! Think! Dear God in heaven, when was the last time she had her flow?

Dayla patted her hand. "Think quietly, Alexandra. Do not be so upset."

"Do not be so upset?" A strangled laugh tore from Alexandra's throat. "How am I to feel when you tell me I may be with child?"

"It is God's will."

"What kind of God would wish this upon a child?" Could the woman not see how her own illegitimacy had changed both her own life and her mother's? "Perhaps you were born into a kinder world, Dayla, for this world will not tolerate it."

Compassion was etched in Dayla's features as she took Alexandra's hand in her own and squeezed it. "It may not be so," she soothed Alexandra. "It may be the heat."

Alexandra glanced out the window toward the ocean crashing against the shoreline. "The heat," she whispered. The heat that rose inside her body each time Matthew said her name. The flame that fired her blood each time he touched her.

The hot rush of shame she felt that her mother's sin may well be her own.

For the first time she did not find ease in Matthew's arms. That night as he held her, as he loved her, a part of her remained separate, hovering over the big feather bed, watching her shame.

Alexandra's fears multiplied with each day that passed.

Each night she prayed to God above for an answer only to awaken each morning to find the answer still not forthcoming.

Dayla's eyes were gentle with understanding but she did not broach the topic again for which Alexandra was deeply grateful. It was also apparent that Dayla had not betrayed her confidence and spoken to Andrew about her suspicions for Andrew was as irascible and demanding as ever.

The heatwave ended a week after Labor Day when a violent thunderstorm blew in off the ocean, bringing with it black skies and jagged bolts of lightning that felled trees from one side of the Island to the other. Two oaks on the Sea View estate toppled then caught fire and Matthew and Johnny put out the flames with water from the pump near the carriage house.

With the end of the heatwave came a new harmony within the house. Janine and Cook ceased their open warfare. Andrew's bad temper cooled as the mercury came down. The letters from San Francisco ceased and Matthew turned away from the whiskey bottle once again.

And Alexandra faced up to the reality of her situation: she was going to bear Matthew's child.

Two weeks after her confrontation with Dayla, Alexandra finally gathered nerve enough to look at her body in the mirror. Her belly was growing perceptibly rounder. Her breasts were swollen; just the brush of Matthew's lips upon them was enough to make her cry out. The sight of herself nude sent a thrill of fear mixed with wonder up her spine and she realized the changes were happening not only to her body; they were happening to her heart as well.

Deep inside, Matthew's child was forming. A child their love had created. A child who might have Matthew's eyes and his smile and be the embodiment of everything she could hope for the future.

The day after the thunderstorm she accompanied Matthew into town to collect the mail and to purchase some yard goods for the gowns Janine offered to sew for her. Evangeline Ames was in a chatty mood, telling both Alexandra and Matthew about the summer people who were returning to the city and the broken hearts they'd left behind.

It took all of Alexandra's self-possession to keep from weeping when she saw the familiar San Francisco postmark on a large ivory envelope--and the all-too-familiar black cloud descend over Matthew's mood.

She had planned to tell him on the drive back to Sea View but he was unapproachable and she kept her own counsel.

Truth to tell, she was grateful for the reprieve.

At dinnertime Matthew seemed more relaxed and she entertained him with stories of her childhood spent half running barefoot in Provence and half in starched uniforms at the Aynsley school in London. A brisk breeze was blowing off the ocean and after their meal she fetched a wrap and they went down the rickety wooden steps to the beach.. They held hands as they walked, talking little, and when she grew tired they sat on a small rise and watched the sun drop into the Atlantic.

And because she knew no other way, she simply told him.

"Matthew," she said, looking into his eyes, "I am with child."

His expression did not vary. "What did you say?"

Her hands trembled and she hid them inside the folds of her cape. "I am going to have your child."

Kiss me, Matthew. Hold me close. Tell me how you've longed for a son to be proud of, a daughter to protect.

His features seemed hewn from granite. "How long have you known?"

She swallowed around an enormous lump of fear in her throat. "I have suspected for two weeks. I only became certain this morning." Haltingly, she explained about the sporadic nausea, the absence of her monthly flow, the unmistakable changes in her body.

"When is the child due?"

"Dayla said it shall be right after the new year."

"Dayla?" His voice rose angrily on the name. "And what in hell has Dayla to do with this?"

Heat rose to her face despite the chill wind. "Dayla was the first to realize I was enceinte."

"Who else knows about this, Alex? Is Andrew preparing for his first grandchild? Is Janine knitting booties?"

His accusations stung. "You insult me, Matthew. I did not tell Dayla--she told me." What on earth was happening? Where were the kisses and the concern and the sweetness she always thought to be part of such a grand annnouncement?

He looked angry, Matthew did, and his anger cut through her like a sword.

"Say something," she begged. "Please tell me what you are thinking." Don't look at me like that, Matthew. Do you not know this isn't the way I planned my life either?

"I am thinking I would like to go for a walk."

A red mist of fury descended upon her. "And I am thinking that is not a good idea."

"At this moment, Alex, staying here with you doesn't seem a good idea." He rose and headed down the beach.

Was this how it had been for her mother? Had Marisa been flooded with the same terrifying fear as Andrew turned away from her twenty years ago? How little the world had changed...

She jumped up and hurried after him through the still-warm sand. "Do not turn from me this way!"

Matthew ignored her and kept walking as anger exploded behind her eyes. Her mouth and her throat were filled with the taste of rage as Andrew's words echoed inside her head: She was on her hands and knees...begging....

"You cannot walk away from this, Matthew. I will not allow it!" The life of her mother would not be hers, no matter the obvious parallels.

He stopped and faced her, his expression unreadable in the gathering dusk. "It is not up to you, Alex."

"If you run there can be no common ground upon which to meet." I cannot follow you where you do not wish me to go. Her pride would not allow it.

"I need time." He dragged his hand through his hair and the gesture tore at her soul. "I need to think."

"Damn you!" Before she could weigh the consequences, she slapped him in a terrifying rush of anger. "You will not walk away from me, McKenna for I shall be the first to leave."

Stop her! his mind screamed. Stop her before she runs from your life forever.

This was the moment he'd dreaded, the moment they'd been racing toward from that day they met in the main hall of Sea View and she'd dressed him down in no uncertain terms. He'd fallen in love with her spirit, her wit, her vulnerability. He'd loved her body and fallen beneath the spell of her soul. She was as much a part of him as the air he breathed, as much a part of him as the blood pounding fiercely in his veins.

And if he didn't go after her now, she would be forever lost to him.

"Alex!" Her name tore from the depths of his aching heart.

She kept running, her dark cloud of hair flowing behind her like a banner unfurled.

"Alexandra!" He sprang forward, muscles coiled and tight, his strides long and powerful. She stumbled over a patch of dune grass and pitched forward and in an instant he was next to her, holding her, taking the fall himself as he cradled her to his chest.

"Damn you, McKenna! Let me go."

His grip tightened as she struggled in his arms. "No, Alex. Listen to me--"

She swung out wildly with her fists, her anguish piercing his heart. "I have listened!" she screamed, her voice ragged with emotion. "I have listened and listened and listened and still I have heard nothing at all! Nothing about how you feel or what you think--" A sob broke through and she lowered her head.

"Look at me, Alex," he urged as her struggling ceased. "You know I care--you must know that!"

"I know nothing, Matthew. Nothing of what matters. You are the father of my child and I don't know where you were born or where you grew up. I don't know your dreams or your plans." A wild laugh tore through. "For all I know you may have a wife hidden somewhere--"

He couldn't prevent the jerk of surprise that ripped through his body. "Alex, I--"

"Dear God, no!" Her eyes--those beautiful eyes of deepest gold--clouded with pain and he would offer ten years of his life if he could only wipe it away.

"It is not as you think, Alex. Madolyn is--"

"No! Don't say it, Matthew...I can't bear it..." "Madolyn and I have not lived together for many years."

She covered her ears with her trembling hands. "Say no more. I refuse to listen to you. You're vile...I will not allow our child to--"

"You will listen to me," he roared, pulling her hands down and pinning them behind her back. "You say I do not reveal myself to you. You say there is much you do not know. Then listen, Alex, damn you! Listen and find out why..."

The marriage was dead and had been so for a very long time.

Matthew leaned back on the veranda of their country house north of San Francisco and watched his wife and his son and his wife's current lover playing croquet on the lawn. Madolyn didn't realize Matthew knew the gentleman was her lover but then intellect had never been Madolyn's greatest attribute.

No, her attributes appealed to a man's baser instincts. She'd taken her first extramarital lover soon after Christopher was born and, in a way, Matthew could not blame her for his work consumed him. He'd often considered divorce but Madolyn had been quite plain in her threats. Madolyn liked being Mrs. Matthew McKenna and if he left, she would make certain he never saw Christopher again and he would endure any humiliation before he would allow that to happen.

And so it had begun, the inexorable destruction of a marriage. Soon afterward he had taken a lover himself and his last dream of creating a marriage like the one his parents had enjoyed went up in flames.

He took a sip of whiskey as he watched his son cavorting on the lawn. The rhythmic pounding of hooves made him look left as his newest coach, pulled by two spirited bays, careened off the drive and bounced across the green lawn toward the croquet game. Madolyn's brother Anthony, as reckless as his sister, held the reins loosely in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.

"The Terhunes are having a house party," Anthony called out. "Why don't we ride over and join in the festivities?"

The horses whinnied and tugged at their harnesses and Matthew stood up, suddenly alert.

"Yes!" Madolyn exclaimed, beaming up at her lover. "Adelaide has been insufferably smug about her newest chef. Let us see for ourselves."

"And me! And me!" Christopher, his blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, danced around his mother, waving a miniature croquet mallet in the air. "Patty has a new puppy and she said I can play with him."

Anthony leaned down to lift the boy and the carriage rocked crazily as Madolyn and her paramour climbed into the back.

Christopher had no business even riding in that damned coach with Madolyn's drunken brother at the reins and if Madolyn had the mothering instinct of an alley cat she would know that.

"Wait!" Matthew vaulted the railing of the veranda and raced toward them over the vast expanse of rolling lawn.

Anthony held the crop high and the horses lurched forward, ears flattened against their massive heads. "Take the whip, Chris!" Anthony's words were slurred by drink. "Make them fly like the wind."

Christopher's china blue eyes were wide with uncertainty as he reached for it. Don't do anything, Chris! The horses are whip-shy. I'm almost there...almost...

The bays bucked, whinnied, then took off across the lawn, headed straight for the ravine. Matthew's legs pumped furiously as he leaped an azalea bush and tried to head the carriage off.

"The wheel!" he yelled to Anthony, his lungs burning for air. "The back wheel is shaking loose!"

The carriage bounced crazily over the bumps in the lawn. Good God! Christopher held the reins in his tiny hands. Thirty feet before the ravine Matthew managed to grab the long-step in the front. His teeth rattled as the coach slammed over a bed of rocks and he struggled to pull himself up onto the front seat. The horses were wild with fear and even were they not, Christopher had not the strength to subdue them.

Anthony, drunk beyond reason, laughed and tried to hit Matthew's fingers with the vodka bottle. "...spoil our fun...what kind of person would spoil our fun..."

Matthew levered himself up and swung his legs over the railing. "The reins!" he screamed over the rushing of the wind. "Give me the reins, Chris!"

But the boy was beyond hearing as the coach rumbled closer and closer to the ravine. In the back seat Madolyn screamed while her useless lover sat still as a stone.

The coach tilted wildly as the loose wheel worked its way off inch by inch.

Matthew knew it was do or die.

Somehow he found the strength to hoist himself into the front seat over Anthony's drunken objections. Christopher seemed frozen in place. The reins had somehow wrapped themselves around his hands and the leather straps were cutting into his tender flesh as the horses strained forward.

Matthew climbed over Anthony and, grabbed for the inner reins of the horses' harnesses.

"Whoa!" he roared as he pulled back with all his might.

The horses resisted. Matthew pulled back again, pinning Anthony under him on the narrow bench. Christopher's piteous sobs rose over the rush of blood in his ears.

The coach wobbled as the rear wheel loosened yet another degree.

The ravine was no more than twenty feet away.

If it were only his life, he would let the goddamned coach plunge into the blackness and be done with it for certainly eternal damnation would afford him more happiness than this existence had.

But there was Christopher, his beloved son--his own flesh, his own blood. More than anyone on that coach, Christopher McKenna deserved to live.

But it was Christopher McKenna who died.

"I stopped the damned thing," Matthew said, his fce buried in his hands. "Just before the ravine."

His torment penetrated Alexandra's guarded heart and her tears mingled with his. "Oh, my God, Matthew. I didn't know...I had no notion..."

But he didn't seem to hear her; he was face to face with his own private hell. "Everyone was safe. It was over. I climbed down and was about to help Christopher out when the wheel gave way, the horses bolted and--" A deep wracking sob ripped its way up from his gut. "Chris pitched forward and the carriage...the wheels..."

Alexandra could see it all as if it were happening right before her: the child's small body tossed to the ground; his cap of curls gleaming like fool's gold; the terrifying realization that the boy he'd fathered, the son he'd loved, was gone.

"They blamed me," Matthew managed. "All of them..." From his wife to her brother to the faceless stranger who shared his woman's bed.

"But the wheel was faulty," Alexandra said, wishing she could ease his pain. "You tried to stop them."

His shrug was eloquent testimony to the hopelessness of it all for after a time, even Matthew ceased to believe it was anyone's fault but his.

Whiskey became his solace; vodka, his confidante. He sought the unending blackness that had devoured his son and plagued his soul. Death was preferable to the living hell his wife set out to create for him.

"But why not a divorce?" Alexandra whispered, holding him close to her breast as dusk wrapped them in its embrace. "Why would she stay married to you?"

"My punishment," he said, voice flat. "Madolyn sought to create my enternal punishment here on earth."

"But you left San Francisco, Matthew; it's been years since you lived together as man and wife. Surely now, after all this time, she would--"

He grabbed her shoulders and she looked up into his eyes. "She will not, Alex. If you understand nothing else, understand that. Until she draws her last breath, she will never let me go."

"Maybe now," she said, her hands spanning her belly protectively. "Maybe now that we--"

"She would see me dead first."

There would be no marriage between them. No gold and diamond ring upon Alexandra's hand, no flower-bedecked church, no happily-ever-after ending as in the fairy tales she had loved as a child.

There was only this man and this moment and the love that tore at her heart and she prayed it would somehow be enough.

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