“Those marks on your skin. I don’t care about them. Dr. Clarke said they aren’t hereditary. They won’t affect our children.” I’d asked about those children in a very different way when speaking with Dr. Clarke. At the time, I’d thought that would never be a possibility for us. To talk of them now, after declaring war against anyone or anything that would pull us apart, made the room seem brighter. Our future family could be one of laughter and hope.
“You spoke to Dr. Clarke about my skin?”
“Yes.” I took a deep breath. How long had it been since I’d taken a full one? “I’m sorry if that was a breach of your trust. You said he was your doctor as well, and after I saw the same spot on Julia’s arm, I thought perhaps they were the reason we couldn’t ...” My voice trailed off.
David’s eyes had gone cold, his body rigid.
“What?” I asked. I placed my fingertips on his cheeks, but he didn’t even notice my touch.
“You saw a mark on Julia?”
I nodded. Surely he knew about it.
But the look on his face contradicted my assumption. David’s jaw clenched, and it looked as though he might be ill. He took hold of my hand, unlocked the door, and, with a quick glance for servants or his father, pulled us into the corridor and toward Julia’s room.
W
Chapter 25
“He hates me, and he makes everyone in the family pay for it. It is even worse now that Mother is gone.”
—David Tate, 1839, Age 12
David knocked on Julia’s door the instant we reached it.
“Who is it?” Garrett’s voice answered low and protective.
“David,” David replied. “Is Julia in there with you?”
The latch from the door slid free, and Garrett opened the door wide. “Yes,” he said, motioning for us to come in. Julia was sitting on her bed, eyes dry but not focused on anything. She didn’t even look up when we entered the room.
David dropped my hand as soon as we were safely in the room, then strode to Julia and knelt in front of her. “Show me your arm.”
Julia’s eyes came into focus. She searched David’s face and shook her head. “No.”
“What is this about?” Garrett asked. When the two of them wouldn’t answer, he turned to me.
“I’m not exactly certain.” It was the truth.
“When did he hurt you?” David’s voice was dangerous. My stomach twisted at his words; pieces of a puzzle I should have put together sooner clicked into place. David didn’t have a skin condition. He never had.
Julia shook her head again. “He didn’t. He’s never hurt me. Not in that way.”
“Then why did Anna see a scar on your arm?”
“What?” Garrett’s face went pale.
A scar. Those marks were scars. Scars made by someone intentionally hurting the person who bore them. I stumbled backward until my back pressed against the door. David didn’t have just one or two of those scars. I’d seen dozens of them, and I’d only seen a very small portion of his skin. There was only oneheDavid could mean. What had Lord Murphy done to his children?
Julia straightened, all her strength from dinner returned. She met David’s gaze without flinching. “Father didn’t hurt me. I did it to myself.”
Did what to herself? What exactly had Lord Murphy done to them? Suddenly, David’s resistance to bringing me into his family made a lot more sense. He was protecting me, not from a terrible person but from a fiend.
“You did it?” David’s voice was a hoarse whisper, almost a plea. If he asked the question softly enough, maybe her answer would change.
Julia’s eyes filled with tears, and she swallowed hard. “Do you know how many times I had to watch him burn you? Do you?”
Burn. Bile rose to my throat at the word.
