Breathless, sobbing now, she was barely aware that he had sat back on his heels and was staring at her, his eyes a pale gleam in the shadows. The night was filled with the sound of falling water and the thunder of her own heartbeat.
“Maybe I understand more than you think, Ginny.”
It was said so quietly she almost didn’t hear it, but the words lingered somehow, an offering and a confession.
He laughed, a hollow sound. “I never told you—never told anyone—but in the prison where Devereaux sent me, there was a doctor…He’s dead now. I wish I had been the one to kill him, but someone else he tormented had that particular pleasure. He made me feel the way you just described…as if I were a thing to be used for his own gratification. He used to taunt me, bring me into his office where he sat behind a white linen tablecloth spread with hot food and wine, knowing that if I’d had anything at all to eat, it was not enough, just scraps of moldy bread or dirty water. He tried to break me down in other ways, as well. I know what it is to feel powerless, to be touched when and how I don’t want to be touched. To be afraid.”
She could feel his muscles tense, feel a vibration shudder through him, hear the fury and disgust in his tone as he said, “I wasn’t as strong as you are. God! I tried to hang myself in my own chains one night…I couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me, and preferred death.”
“Steve—”
“No. No, Ginny, you see, I do understand more than you think. You, with your woman’s soft body and tender heart, have survived far better than I could have. You have come through it all with your soul intact. I lost mine. I gave up but survived in spite of myself. Sometimes, I find it damn hard to forgive you for being stronger than I am.”
Trembling, she put a hand up to touch his face, her fingers skimming over the abrasive stubble of his half-grown beard, tears clogging her throat and slipping down her face as she murmured, “We can’t surrender, Steve. We have to fight, for ourselves and our children. We have to win.”
“Ginny…” He gave a short laugh as he caught her hand in his and held her palm against his jaw. “You have the heart of a Comanche warrior in that soft woman’s body of yours. I guess I’ve been ashamed. Every time I saw your bruises and heard you whimper in your sleep, I felt the extent of my failure in keeping you safe. I let Luna ambush me in that village, was careless enough to risk you, and you suffered for my inadequacy. It was more than humbling—it was torture of a kind I’ve never felt before.”
“Oh, Steve…” She faltered, realizing what had been behind his silences, the furtive, shamed glances he gave her. It wasn’t her humiliation that so chagrined him—it was his own.
She drew in a deep breath, the shadows that had clouded her for so long dissipating.
“It’s behind us now. It’s been said that if we do not acknowledge our past, we will never get beyond it. Let’s not dwell on what we can’t change, Steve, only what we can. Please…I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wishing for what I’ll never have.”
“Ginny—I don’t know. I don’t know if either of us can forget, can live with the knowledge of what we’ve done and had done to us. It’s a lot to put behind us.”
“If we don’t try, we’ll never know if we could have done it, Steve.” Her fingers moved to touch his jaw. “Give me some time. Give us some time.”
After a moment of long silence, he said softly, “We can try.”
A dying ember popped in the fire, slowly turning to gray ash, but neither Steve nor Ginny noticed.
He held her all night, an arm draped over her body, her spine pressed into the angle of his chest and thighs. He didn’t try to touch her again, but the weight of him at her back was reassuring. She slept that night without dreaming, without waking in fear, slept in Steve’s arms where she was safe.
37
How many days had they spent here, dwelling in this enchanted valley that was so far away from the rest of the world? Ginny lost track of time, drifting in a confusing haze of peace and passivity.
It was warmer now, the sun a burning orb above. She went frequently to her favorite spot to sunbathe, lulled to serenity by the steady melody of water against the rocks, a fine mist diffusing the heat of the sun on her face.
Once, she would have lain atop the mossy rock without her clothes, but not anymore. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Now she remained covered from neck to ankle in the loose peasant garments. The restrictions of proper society that she had once chafed against were now harshly self-imposed.
“You look like a Mexican peon,”
