Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 270 - Two Hundred And Sixty Nine

The grand foyer was quiet again, the heavy doors shut tight against the curious world outside. The servants had melted away into the shadows, leaving the family alone in the aftermath of the judgment. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, marking the passing of a turbulent morning.

Beatrice stood up from her chair. Her movements were slow, her joints stiff with age and the cold dread she had carried for days.

She leaned on her cane for a moment, then let it fall as she walked toward Derek, her hands trembling.

"My boy," she whispered, her voice cracking.

She reached out and pulled him into a hug. It was a fragile embrace. She felt small against his armored chest, like a bird caught in a storm, her head barely reaching his shoulder.

"I thought I lost you too," Beatrice sobbed, her composure finally shattering. "I thought you left me. I thought you went to join your father and brother in the cold ground, leaving me alone in this big, empty house."

Tears began to flow freely from her eyes, soaking into the rough wool of his military coat. She had buried a son. She had buried a grandson. The thought of burying another, the last of the line, had been a weight too heavy to bear.

Derek held her gently. He felt the sharpness of her shoulder blades, the fragility of her spine. He realized, with a pang of guilt, how much his "death" had hurt her.

"I am not going anywhere, Grandmother,"

Derek said softly. He used his thumb to wipe the tears from her wrinkled cheeks, his touch tender. "Not yet. I still have work to do. I have a family to protect."

Beatrice pulled back slightly, looking up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, any hint that he was a ghost. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

"Marissa," she said, her voice urgent, clutching his lapels. "Marissa. Have you seen her? She misses you, Derek. The news... it was a huge blow to her. It nearly broke her."

Beatrice shook her head, remembering the scene in the courtyard as Mrs Alma described.

"She tore down the wreaths," Beatrice whispered. "She screamed at the servants. She was wild with grief, Derek. She fought everyone. She refused to believe it. She held onto that locket like it was life itself."

Derek interrupted his Grandmother by hugging her again, tighter this time, burying his face in her silver hair.

"I have met her," Derek said, a small, rueful smile touching his lips. "She slapped me."

He chuckled. It was a low, warm sound that rumbled in his chest.

"But I deserved it," he admitted. "I kept her waiting for too long. I let her think I was gone. I let her suffer."

Beatrice nodded, wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "She loves you, Derek. Don’t test that love too often. Hearts can only break so many times."

She patted his chest, right over his heart.

"Welcome back," she said. "Go to her now. She needs you more than I do. I am old, I can wait. But she... she has been waiting for her husband."

Derek nodded. He kissed her forehead. "Rest well, Grandmother."

He turned and walked toward the east wing, his steps lighter than they had been in weeks. All the burdeny were gone.

He reached the door to his bedchamber. It was open. He looked inside.

The room was warm, lit by the glow of the fire in the hearth. Marissa was sitting at her vanity table, but she wasn’t looking in the mirror. She was hunched over a large, leather-bound ledger, her brow furrowed in concentration.

She was calculating the household expenses. Winter was almost coming to an end. The snow would melt, the roads would open, and trade would resume. There would be a lot to buy—seeds for planting, new livestock to replace the winter losses, repairs for the roof that had leaked during the storms.

Derek leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

She was so focused. She tapped her quill against her chin, muttering numbers to herself. She dipped the pen and scratched a note, her movements quick and efficient. She looked like a general planning a campaign, but her battlefield was the household expenses.

He smiled.

"She looks so serious," Derek murmured to himself.

He loved that look. He loved seeing her in her element, managing the world he had given her. He loved that even after everything, she was still working, still building, still protecting their home.

Marissa paused. She felt it. A prickle on the back of her neck. A change in the air pressure. A warmth that hadn’t been there a second ago.

Feeling another presence in the room, Marissa looked up.

She saw him.

Her husband was standing in the doorway, watching her. He was still in his uniform, dusty from the road, his arm still in a sling, but he looked relaxed.

Her face lit up with a smile that banished the shadows of the room. It was radiant. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

She put down the quill. She stood up, abandoning the ledger, abandoning the numbers.

She went to him. She walked quickly, her skirts swishing around her legs, the sound like a whisper.

"So," she asked, stopping in front of him, her eyes dancing. "How did it go? Did you give them a surprise? What did you eventually do to Carlos?"

Derek looked down at her. She was so close. She smelled of ink and roses. Her eyes were shining with curiosity and relief.

He couldn’t help himself when she was looking at him like that.

He didn’t answer. He reached out with his good hand and cupped her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t a gentle touch on the lips. It was a claiming. He poured all his relief, all his love, all his need into the kiss. It was deep, hungry, and desperate.

Marissa melted in his arms. She sighed against his mouth, her body softening against his hard chest. She opened to him, welcoming him back.

She instinctively wrapped her hands around him, seeking to pull him closer, to eliminate the space between them. Her fingers slid over his back, finding purchase on his coat.

But she made a mistake.

Her hand pressed against the left side of his ribs, right where the arrow had exited. Right where the fresh stitches held his skin together.

Derek groaned. It was a sharp, involuntary sound of pain. He flinched, his body going rigid against hers. He broke the kiss with a gasp.

Marissa stopped instantly. She pulled her hands back as if she had touched fire.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I’m sorry! I forgot! Your wound!"

She looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. She reached out to touch him again, then pulled back, afraid to hurt him.

Derek grimaced, holding his side with his good hand. He took a shallow breath, waiting for the throb to subside. The pain was sharp, a reminder of his mortality.

He immediately regretted that sound. He regretted showing weakness. He regretted breaking the moment.

He looked at her. Her lips were swollen from his kiss. Her eyes were dark with concern and desire. She was right there.

He put his forehead on hers, panting slightly.

"Mari, please," he whispered. His voice was ragged.

He took her hand. He guided it down. He pressed her palm against the front of his trousers.

He was hard. Painfully hard. The adrenaline of the confrontation, the relief of survival, and the nearness of his wife had combined into a powerful, undeniable need.

"I can’t take it anymore," he said, his voice husky. "The pain... it doesn’t matter. I need you. I need to feel you."

Marissa felt him. She felt the heat, the size, the desperate need pulsing against her hand. Her own body responded, a flush of desire spreading through her veins, settling low in her belly. She wanted him. She wanted him as badly as he needed her. She wanted to finish what they had started before the war.

But she was a doctor. She was practical. She knew the body.

She looked at his chest. She imagined the stitches pulling, tearing under the strain of passion. She imagined the wound reopening, the blood soaking the sheets again, the infection setting in.

"No," she whispered.

She pulled her hand away gently, though her fingers lingered for a second.

"If you do something strenuous," Marissa said, her voice firm but tender, "the stitches will be ruined. You will bleed. And then I will have to sew you up again, and it will hurt more than the first time."

She reached up and caressed his cheek, stroking his jaw with her thumb. It was the same soothing gesture she used for Ryan to pacify him, a gesture of comfort and control.

"Let’s wait for you to heal a bit, okay?" she coaxed. "Just a few days. Until the skin knits. Until you are strong enough."

Derek looked at her. He looked at the bed, soft and inviting. He looked at her hand on his face.

He closed his eyes. He took his head back and let out a painful, deep-throat groan of pure frustration. It was the sound of a man denied water in a desert.

"Fine," he growled. "I’ll listen to you. Because you are right. And because I don’t want you to sew me up again. It’s very painful."

He opened his eyes. They were dark with unspent energy, with a violence that had nowhere to go.

"But I cannot stay here," he said. "If I stay here, looking at you, smelling you... I will break my promise. I will rip those stitches myself just to have you."

He stepped back. He needed an outlet. He needed to hit something. He needed to see someone suffer, since he was suffering.

"I’m out in the courtyard," he said. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for some seconds. He turned and walked out of the room, his stride long and angry. He didn’t go to his study. He didn’t go to the barracks. He took his frustration to the courtyard.

He went to where Carlos was being punished. He went to watch the whip fall, to hear the screams, and to remind himself that some pains were necessary, and some debts had to be paid in blood.