Honor Bound(72)

She threw herself against him and gripped handfuls of his shirt. "Go ahead. Hit me. Maybe then, just maybe, I'll know you're alive and not made of stone. I'll gladly invite you to strike me if that's what it takes for you to show some emotion, some feeling."

She shook him, grinding her white knuckles into the hard wall of his chest. "Damn you, Lucas! Talk to me! Yell. Scream. Show me your pain. I know it's there. I know you love Tony even if you love no one else. He might die and I know you're hurting because of it. Use me as your punching bag, as your sounding board. Let me share your grief."

She was crying, but the tears ran heedlessly down her cheeks. She licked them from the corners of her mouth. "You're so proud, aren't you? Nothing can touch you." She shook her head in denial of her own words. "I know differently. I heard you keening when Joseph died. I witnessed your pain. And that heartache can't begin to compare to what you're feeling now for your son. Your own stupid prejudice keeps you separate from the rest of the world, not the other way around. Are you so heartless that you can't even cry at your son's deathbed?

"You say you don't need anybody. But you do, Lucas. You just won't admit it. I needed my parents' support during this time, so I swallowed my pride and called them, having no guarantee that they wouldn't hang up on me. I need all the support I can muster today. I don't want to go through this crisis alone. Even if it meant losing face, I would have begged them to be here with me. You ridicule them, but you have more in common with them than you think. You're as cold and unyielding as they are. Only they relented. They're here for me now and you're not."

She gripped his shirt harder, almost tearing the fabric. "Whether you love me or not, you're my husband. I need you. Don't you dare withhold your support from me. You married me because you felt honor bound to do so. But is there any honor in deserting your wife when she needs you the most? Does it make you less a man to weep with me?"

She slapped him again. And again. Tears rained from her eyes and rolled down her face and dripped off her chin. "Cry, damn you! Cry!"

With a suddenness that snatched the breath from her body, he flung his arms around her and bent his head low. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. At first Aislinn didn't realize that her fondest wish had been granted. But then she felt his broad shoulders shaking and heard the wracking sounds of his weeping.

She encircled his waist with her arms and held him close while his tears bathed her neck and dampened her blouse. He cried on and on, and when she couldn't support his weight any longer, they sank to the floor, their arms still around each other. She pressed his head between her breasts, curved herself over it protectively and held him dearly, rocking back and forth as she often did with Tony. Her own tears were unstemmed and fell into his hair.

Lord, she loved him. She hurt with love.

"I want our baby to live," he sobbed. "You can't know what it was like for me to learn that I had a son. I want him to live. I want him to know me. When I was a kid, I wanted a father so badly, Aislinn. I want to be the kind of father to Tony that I used to dream about having." He burrowed his head deeper into her flesh. "Would God be so cruel as to take my son from me?"

"If he is taken from us, Lucas, I won't be able to bear your pain. I love you too much."

After a time, his tears ceased, but he kept his head nestled in her cleavage. He kissed her through the damp cloth of her blouse and murmured endearments, sometimes in English, sometimes in a language still foreign to her.

"I didn't want to love you."

"I know," she replied softly, combing her fingers through his hair.

"But I do."

"I know that, too."

He raised his head and looked at her through tear-washed eyes. "Do you?" For an answer, she lifted a tear off his glossy black eyelashes, looked at it, then at him, and gave him a bittersweet smile.

They shared one poignant second before there was a gentle knock at the door. Their expressions turned bleak. Lucas stood up and extended his hand down to her. Trustingly, she laid her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet, placing a strong, supportive arm around her. They faced the door as though facing an executioner. "Come in," Lucas said. They expected the doctor.

But it wasn't the doctor who came through the door. It was Warden Dixon. Aislinn didn't recognize the man, but Lucas did. She could tell by the tensing of his muscled body.

"Hello, Mr. Greywolf. I know this is an awkward time for you." He was embarrassed, for it was apparent that they had both been crying. "I'm Warden Dixon," he said to Aislinn when it became obvious that Lucas wasn't going to make introductions.

"What are you doing here?" Lucas asked, curtailing the pleasantries.

"As I said, I know this is a terrible time for you. I apologize, Mrs. Greywolf, for the untimely intrusion. If I wasn't delivering good news I wouldn't trouble you at a time like this."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Mr. Andrews's secretary. I telephoned him this morning when I failed to contact you after trying all day yesterday."

"You've been diligent, Mr. Dixon," Aislinn said. "Have you come to see us about something important?"

"Your husband's exoneration." He looked at Lucas. "A judge has reviewed the transcripts of your trial. He has also considered the affidavits submitted to him freely by two men who have confessed to their crimes. The documents absolved you from any and all guilt. In fact, they stated that the only reason you were in the fracas at all was to break up the fighting. You were trying to prevent the violence, not perpetrate it. You are to be officially vindicated and immediately reinstated to the bar."