Page 36 of The Butterfly
But, as he stood there, an overwhelming numbness took hold of him, robbing him of anger, despair, sadness. He could only feel resignation now, the realization that this had been inevitable foremost in his mind.
Of course this was bound to happen. His father had told him as much, hadn’t he?
What do I always tell ye?
Fine things aren’t to be touched by the likes o’ me.
He had allowed himself to believe Olivia could be his, when they had truly never stood a chance. Here was a man who had the power to hurt his Livvie, to make her life a living hell, all because she dared to love him. Niall could not allow that to happen. He had always shielded her from harm. If ever he was given the chance to stand before her and accept the fall of the sword that would harm her, he would choose to do so every time. She had called him her perfect knight, and he would uphold the expectations of such a title. He would fall on the sword, and he would tear them apart and pray that she found some way to be happy in the end. It did not matter if it killed him; if she still stood any sort of chance for a future, he would do his part to ensure she had it.
“Aye, Master,” he said, placing his hand in the earl’s offered palm. “I understand.”
Shaking his hand, Rowland nodded. “Good. I expect it to be done soon. Do not force me to remind you of your promise.”
Niall only answered with a bow, then stood watching as the earl strode toward the house. Turning back to the stable, he released a heavy sigh, one hand coming up to rub the tense muscles of his neck.
He stood so far away from where he’d been just an hour ago. He had gone from planning a future with Olivia, to reconciling himself with destroying that very same future. Instead of running off with her, he’d send her running from him in tears. It was the only way. Somewhere deep down, he had always known it would end badly for them. At least, this way, Olivia might escape this unscathed. Or, if not unscathed, still intact, at least. She could find love again, forgetting all about him.
And Niall would go on to live life as he’d always been meant to live it—lonely, miserable, and suffering.
CHAPTER EIGHT
fter she had overcome the worst symptoms of withdrawal, Olivia began working tirelessly to regain her strength. It was as if, now that the fog of laudanum had lifted, she could see the world, the people in it, and herself far clearer.
Things were not perfect; she had not been cured of the malady of her mind as far as she could tell. Even so, she felt stronger now, more capable of fighting it, or living with it—whichever came easier at any given moment. Her dreams were still plagued by frightening tricks of her subconscious mingled with her memories. She could not close her eyes without being tormented by her demon, his clawed fingers smeared with her blood, dark malice glittering in his hard, cold eyes. She could not sleep without the voice of the dragon echoing through her head, calling her a whore, condemning her to Hell for having become pregnant out of wedlock.
Despite that, she rose each morning determined to find peace in her waking hours, making her way to some place where she could live without fear, or doubt, or pain. Her body had been weakened by her bout of withdrawal, requiring her to take her time leaving the sickbed. She sent Maeve to the kitchen each morning for a substantial breakfast, forcing herself to eat every bite so she would have a full belly to rely on for strength. Then, she insisted upon leaving the bed to bathe, dress, and walk. Clutching tight to the arm of whomever had been chosen to attend her, she attempted to make her way farther beyond her bedchamber each day.
The betrayal of her own body was frustrating, but she grew more and more determined not to let it stop her. She had been frail and helpless for so long, drowning in her own misery. Now, she wanted nothing more than to swim to the surface, pull herself up out of the mire, and stand upon her own two feet.
A physician had come to inspect the gouges in her arms, declaring he was happy with the rate at which they’d begun healing. The stitches still itched like the very devil, but the time had not come to remove them. Aside from that minor annoyance, the pain had grown far less noticeable, only pestering her when she dwelled on it overmuch—which actually proved to be a good thing, at times. The pain reminded her of what was real; that she was not only alive, butliving.
Niall remained steadfastly at her side through it all—holding her during the nights when her hellish nightmares awakened her so she felt safe, brightening her room with flowers brought from the garden, ensuring she got to spend as much time with Serena as possible. Seeing the two of them seated on the edge of her bed, smiling and laughing as they related the events of their day to her, made her heart pang with a bittersweet ache.
She had always imagined moments like this, with Niall and a child that was theirs, with laughter and love and happiness. Seeing the way Serena adored him, the way Niall treated her as if she were his own … it made her want to smile and weep all at once. Despite the heartwarming picture they made, the truth of their situation was never far from her mind. Too much had happened for her to ever forget that nothing had turned out the way she’d dreamed. Niall was not her husband, and Serena, who she loved so dearly, was nottheirs. Not by blood, or by any sort of physical or familial bond, anyway. There would always be the startling show of red hair and freckled cheeks to remind them both exactly where Serena had come from.
It left her wondering if it might not be too late for her and Niall; if even after she’d begun to feel more like herself, they might still be doomed to remain apart. A younger, more whimsical Olivia might have said that nothing was impossible, and of course she and Niall still stood a chance. Perhaps a part of her still believed that, as the young, idyllic woman who’d fallen in love with a stable groom could never be completely snuffed out by all that had been done to her. However, now older and wiser, she could not help dwelling on all that had happened to keep them apart, their past deeds and the consequences of them stretching between them like a wide, deep ocean.
As she would lay abed, snuggling Serena close to her side while Niall read to them each night before bed, a part of her could not help clinging to the future they had planned together. The one in which they ran off to live their own life neatly tucked away from the world, where they could raise their children in peace, loomed so far out of her reach. Still, she wanted it, held out hope that it could someday cease being a dream and become real.
However, her hope was a fragile one—as tentative and weak as the newly tested legs of a baby deer. It had not become strong enough for her to rely upon it, to rest her faith in it … because experience had taught her that every time she’d thought she might finally have what she wanted with Niall, something would inevitably happen to destroy it, tearing them apart.
She was not certain if, this time, she would have the strength to survive it.
1814
Five years earlier…
Olivia glanced left and right as she entered the stable, her heart lifting as she realized no one else was about. It had been her hope to find Niall alone so she could discover whether he’d had time to plan their elopement. Days had passed since their last night in the hayloft, the night they had agreed to throw caution and propriety to the wind so that they could be together. She had awakened just before sunrise, finding that Niall still slept beside her. After pressing a kiss to his brow, she had risen to dress, hurrying from the stable so that she could sneak back into her own chambers before anyone was the wiser. She had been a bit more reckless than usual, spending most of the night with Niall instead of going back to her own bed after a few hours of passionate exploration. However, she hadn’t had it in her to feel fear or trepidation over it; not after the decision they had just come to. Nothing mattered any longer—not society’s expectations of her, or her stepfather’s plans for her life. None of it mattered because, soon, she was going to be Niall’s wife, and the only thing she would need concern herself with was his happiness.
A little laugh bubbled up in her throat as she entered the stable, the familiar scent of horse and hay wafting up her nostrils. She did not think she had ever been so happy, or felt sofree. For so long, she had been aware that her life must happen a certain way, her course charted before she’d been old enough to have a say. She’d accepted this because she hadn’t known any better, hadn’t experienced what it was to wonder what could happen next, where her own choices could take her. Now, she would know. Life with Niall might be riddled with uncertainties and difficult decisions, but what mattered most was that they would navigate those things together. If she’d be forced to abandon her way of life, leaving behind everything she’d ever known, Niall was the only person she’d want to do that with.
The setting sun cast a muted orange glow into the dim interior of the stable. She found Niall coming from one of the stalls, a saddle held over one big shoulder, his long legs propelling him toward the set of sliding doors that opened the stable up to the carriage house. Even with his back turned to her, she could see the tension stiffening his shoulders and clenching his free hand into a tight ball at his side. Something troubled him.
“Niall,” she called out, hurrying toward him with skirts held in hand. “I’ve been trying to find you alone for days.”
He paused in the opening to the carriage house, and if she weren’t mistaken, he tensed even more, his entire body winding taut. She frowned as he stood with his back to her for a moment without speaking or turning around, his head lowering slightly and his clenched hand opening and closing in rhythmic spasms. Something was definitely wrong.
“Niall?”
