by Cheryl Holt
As it was, Judah had had to bribe them so they swore they wouldn’t sneak off after it was dark. If they left, it would be absolutely typical of the debacle so far. They’d have to employ new people, which would slow them even further.
With the afternoon waning, they’d stopped at the nearest inn, and they’d rented rooms for the night. It was a seedy place, and if the decision had been Ophelia’s, she’d have traveled on by, but Judah had been adamant.
He was constantly bossing her, and she’d bitten her tongue and had tolerated his disrespect, and she was beginning to wonder if he was actually the person he’d presented himself to be. Her brother had claimed he wasn’t trustworthy. Was it possible Sebastian had been correct?
In her brief discussions with Judah about how their future would unfold, he’d insisted he wanted a bride who would be an equal partner, but to her great horror, they’d been bickering for hours, and they’d barely departed London. As they journeyed north to Scotland, how might their relationship deteriorate?
Their escapade should have been merry and exciting, but they were practically strangers. The tedious trip had been incredibly stressful, but stress and tension brought out true character. It was easy to be agreeable when matters were running smoothly. When they weren’t, it was much harder to be civil.
He was downstairs, having announced that he needed a stout whiskey to calm his nerves. She didn’t necessarily begrudge him a libation, but he’d refused to let her accompany him. She’d walked by the taproom, and she’d peered into it. Several women had been seated there, so it wasn’t as if women weren’t allowed. Judah had simply felt she shouldn’t be allowed.
The realization was galling.
He was to have sent up a maid to start the fire, but no maid had arrived, and the temperature was frigid. There was a stove in the corner, and Ophelia could have figured out how it worked, but she was too incensed to fuss with it.
She yearned to march down and join Judah at his table. She’d have liked to have her own glass of wine, to tarry by the roaring blaze that had been burning in the large hearth. But she wouldn’t lower herself. Besides, if she pranced in—after he’d specifically told her she shouldn’t—they’d quarrel, and she’d had all the arguing she could abide.
A knock sounded on the door, and she went over and peeked out. The maid had finally appeared, and a footman was with her and carrying their bags.
“I’m here to light the fire,” the girl declared, as if Ophelia might be confused as to her purpose.
“About time,” she mumbled.
The girl ignored her churlishness and blustered in to complete her chore. The footman set their luggage on the bed, then strolled out without opening it or unpacking. Was Ophelia supposed to do it?
It dawned on her that she was so unprepared for real life! She’d always been doted on by servants, her every wish granted. Was she ready to become an ordinary female? If this was how she’d be required to live, she couldn’t bear it.
The flames caught quickly, but Ophelia didn’t remove her cloak. She suspected she’d never be warm again.
“Your clothes might be wet from the rain,” the maid said. “Would you like me to drape them by the stove?”
Ophelia suffered a vision of her undergarments hung from the rafters, and it was too humiliating to consider.
“No, thank you,” she murmured, and she shooed the maid out.
She sat on the bed, misery sinking in.
What was happening in London? Would her mother have found her letter? Was she livid? Or would she not care in the least? What about Sebastian? Had he been informed? Would he care? He’d warned her to avoid Judah, but she’d defied him and had proceeded anyway. Might he merely shrug and think, good riddance!
By eloping with Judah, she’d behaved scandalously. What if she was so unimportant to her mother and brother that they didn’t bother to chase after her? What if they never even noticed she was missing?
Because of the muddy roads, she and Judah hadn’t traveled very far. It would be easy for her brother to find her. She gazed at the meager, dilapidated room, and it occurred to her that she wouldn’t mind if he burst in and demanded she leave with him.
Oh, she’d protest his domineering manner, but she’d swiftly obey.
Yet there was a genuine possibility he wouldn’t come, so she might have to save herself. If she advised Judah she’d made a mistake, how would he respond? Would he let her depart? And if she staggered home, would her mother welcome her back? Or might she have burned her bridges with Gertrude?
At the dire prospect, Ophelia’s pulse raced with dread.
Booted strides echoed out in the hall, then Judah entered, and it was a relief, but an annoyance too. When they’d snuck away in the night, it had seemed so thrilling. Now she was just cold and tired and afraid of what sort of ramifications might befall her.
“We didn’t put many miles between us and London,” he said. “It’s lucky no one knows where you are or we’d have your brother showing up to stop us.”
“My mother knows where I am,” Ophelia stupidly mentioned.
He scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I wrote her a note—so she wouldn’t worry.”
“I told you not to tell anyone.”
“Well, I didn’t listen.”
“Dammit!” he muttered. “Will she apprise Sebastian? Will he ride to your rescue?”
“I doubt it,” she breezily replied. “With how he and I have been fighting, he’d probably be glad to hear I ran away.”
“I’d rather not tangle with him.”
“I’m sure you won’t have to.” She pointed to their bags. “A footman brought in our things, but he deposited yours here with mine.”
“So?”
“We can’t share a room. We’re not married.”
He scoffed in a crude way. “Grow up, Ophelia. We’ll be wed shortly. There’s no reason to waste money on two rooms.”
“Are you intending that we will…will…cohabite before the ceremony?”
“Yes, so climb down off your high-horse. You’ve been a shrew all day, and I’m weary of your complaints. I’m trying my best to get us to Scotland, and you’ve criticized me over every little issue.”
It was a hideous comment, one that encapsulated every wretched minute since she’d tiptoed out of her mother’s house to join him in the alley.
“I want to go home!” she blurted out. “I never should have left with you!”
“You want to go home? I don’t think so.”
“I’m not your prisoner. You can’t force me to stay with you.”
“How, precisely, will you arrive in London? Will you saunter in your mother’s door and announce that you’re back? Can you actually be foolish enough to imagine you could?”
“She’d be delighted to see me,” she said, but without much vigor.
“Your mother is a spiteful shrew, Ophelia. She’ll never forgive you. You’re stuck with me.”
His coat was damp from the rain, and he yanked it off and hung it over the only chair. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms, giving every indication that he considered them to be on familiar terms, that he deemed it perfectly appropriate to disrobe in front of her. She was flabbergasted.
There was a mirror over the dresser, and he went to it and studied his injured face. The bruises from his earlier pummeling hadn’t begun to fade and were still very visible. Ultimately, he said, “Nathan really battered me, didn’t he? The prick has a nasty right punch.”
She ignored his foul language and asked, “What are you talking about?”
“When he attacked me, he was determined to kill me.”
She frowned. “I thought my brother assaulted you.”
“I swear, Ophelia”—he glared at her—“occasionally, you are too gullible for words.”
“Wait, wait. Nathan attacked you?”
“Of course it was Nathan. Saint Nathan, beloved friend of the pompous ass, Sebastian Sinclair.”
&
nbsp; She was absolutely stunned. He’d lied to her! He’d claimed Sebastian had thrashed him. And she’d believed him! It hadn’t been Sebastian? It had been Nathan?
She was so flummoxed by the news that she wasn’t paying any attention to him, so she was startled when he stepped to the bed. Suddenly, he appeared very large and imposing, and she could smell a strong odor of alcohol, as if he’d downed more than a few whiskeys. Was he a drunkard on top of all his other flaws?
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, and he leered down at her.
“Get what over with?”
“At the rate we’re traveling, it will take an eternity to reach Greta Green, and I’m not about to delay my wedding night forever.”
“You plan to have marital relations with me?”
“Why not? We’ll be married soon. We’re just jumping the gun a bit.”
“I don’t wish to jump any guns.”
“Yes, well, I’m the man in this pathetic duo, and you’re the woman, and you’re not allowed to have an opinion about it.”
It was the sort of infuriating comment he’d repeatedly hurled at her, and she leapt up and pushed him away.
“Are you drunk?” she asked.
“What if I am?”
“I can’t abide inebriation, and I’ve had quite enough of you.”
She meant to huff by him and march down to the lobby. She’d have begged the proprietor to aid her, to send a message to her brother, but Judah had other ideas.
He grabbed her arm and asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I told you: I’ve had enough. I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not.”
In what would always remain the most terrifying moment of her life, he tossed her onto the bed, and before she could move a muscle, he lay down on top of her.
She cried out, and he clouted her alongside the head—so hard she saw stars. She winced in agony and might have called out again, but he clamped a palm over her mouth to silence her.
“You’re mine now,” he said, “and I guess I better make sure of it. Once I’m through with you, your mother won’t take you in. I guarantee it.”
He began tearing at her clothes as if he’d strip them off. She writhed to escape, but he was so much bigger than she was, and she couldn’t shove him away.
Their grappling seemed to inflame him, and the more she wrestled, the more aggressive he became. He fumbled about and unhooked the clasp on her cloak, then he seized the bodice of her gown and pulled on it. Fabric ripped and a bare shoulder was exposed. The sight agitated him even more.
She bit his hand, latching on like a rabid dog, her teeth breaking the skin so he jerked away in pain.
“Stop fighting me!” he fumed.
“I won’t stop!” she wailed.
“You stupid wench. I can do whatever I like to you, and you have to let me.”
“Never!” She screamed and managed one loud shout of, “Help!”
He slapped her and pressed a palm over her mouth again, and he was partially covering her nose so she couldn’t breathe. Gad, would he suffocate her? Would this be her end?
Then…?
He was viciously yanked away. Just that fast, just that quickly, his body was pitched through the air. He crashed into the dresser, and the mirror tumbled to the floor and shattered.
She was incredibly befuddled, and she gaped about, not certain of what had happened. When she finally focused in, Sebastian was looming over her. Mr. Shawcross was with him, and he had a boot on Judah’s chest to hold him down. There was a cluster of spectators peeking in from the hall.
“You came for me!” she said, and she burst into tears like the foolish child she was.
Sebastian didn’t speak to her, but glared at Mr. Shawcross and ordered, “Get him out of here.”
“Gladly,” Mr. Shawcross replied.
He lifted Judah and stood him on his feet, and though Judah was battered and disgraced, he puffed himself up and said to Sebastian, “What’s all the excitement about? She was eager to elope. In fact, it was her idea. Why are you in such a lather?”
Sebastian hit him so hard that his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed. Mr. Shawcross, without missing a beat, dragged him out, the onlookers separating to create a path for him.
Sebastian walked over and shut the door in their curious faces, and Ophelia sank down onto the pillow. She wanted to die! And she wished a hole would materialize in the floor so she could drop into it and never climb out.
* * * *
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t listen to any apologies for awhile. I’m too furious.”
Sebastian frowned at his sister. Other than a swollen cheek from where Judah had slapped her, her condition wasn’t too bad.
The dramatic episode was long over, the observers disbursed, bribes paid to buy the servants’ silence over what they’d witnessed.
The proprietor had been suitably horrified, and he and his employees had kindly endeavored to smooth over what had occurred. Ophelia had been bathed and her gown mended as she’d been washing. She’d been coddled and dosed with several glasses of wine to calm her nerves.
They were in the yard of the coaching inn and about to leave.
When he’d departed London, he’d had a Sinclair coach follow him so—once he’d found her—he could send her home in it. Her maid was inside, and his most loyal driver and outriders were waiting on her.
He guided her up the step, watching as she settled herself on the seat. He should have been more sympathetic, but her reckless act ensured a violent ending was about to arrive for Judah. Sebastian would have to dole out his punishment. Did she realize it? Had the notion ever crossed her mind?
Judah couldn’t be allowed to behave as he had without a severe consequence being imposed. If Sebastian didn’t impose it, Raven definitely would.
Sebastian could have turned Judah over to the authorities, could have had him prosecuted and hanged, but Ophelia’s name would have been dragged through the mud, which Sebastian would never permit.
No, this was a castigation Sebastian would have to implement all on his own, and he was irate with her for instigating so much trouble. Later, he’d forgive her. She was young and naïve and had never previously bumped into a snake like Judah. But for the moment, he was too livid for words.
“Judah told me you had pummeled him,” she said.
“What?”
“His injuries? He told me you beat him up as a warning to stay away from me.”
Sebastian scoffed with disgust. “I didn’t touch him. Nathan attacked him, at the inquest.”
“I know that now, but it’s why I left with him.”
“You should have trusted me,” Sebastian said. “I was trying to protect you.”
“What will happen to him?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m afraid of him. I would hate for him to show up in London. I’ll always be scared he might.”
“He won’t show up there, and he won’t ever bother you again.”
He stared her down, conveying a potent visual message, but he doubted she’d ever understand what he intended. He wasn’t about to explain it either.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
He breathed out a weighty sigh. “We’ll chat more after I’m home.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“No. I have to wrap up a few matters here.”
“If you’re not there to speak for me, how will I persuade Mother to let me in?”
“If she’s difficult, tell her I order her to welcome you. Use me as your excuse.”
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
“That’s what brothers are for, I guess.”
She reached out and squeezed his fingers. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
“I have.”
“I hope too that you’ll heed me in the future. Occasionally, I know what I’m t
alking about.”
“After I’ve recovered a bit, I consent to being thoroughly berated for being such an idiot.”
“I’ll take you up on it.” He moved away. “I’ll see you in town.”
He closed the door and motioned to his driver, and the vehicle rolled away. He stood in place until they vanished down the road, then he spun away and went to the barn.
Judah was bound hand and foot, gagged too, and lying on the hay in a stall. Raven was guarding him.
“Is your sister safely away?” Raven inquired.
“Yes.”
Raven gestured to Judah. “Have you decided about him?”
“I’ve decided.”
The proprietor had offered to summon the local sheriff, to have Judah carted off to the village jail, but Sebastian had convinced him not to, claiming he’d transport Judah to London and have the law sort it out there. The proprietor was a smart man, and he hadn’t asked any questions.
“I expect the conclusion you’re considering will be similar to the one I’m considering,” Raven said.
“I’m betting it’s exactly the same.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to waste energy luring you around to my point of view.”
Their horses were saddled, a third one rented for Judah, but he wouldn’t be astride it. Raven was strong as an ox, and he lifted Judah and threw him over the animal’s back, face down, like a sack of flour. Judah kicked and protested, but Raven secured him to the saddle without too much effort.
Once, when he grew too cantankerous, Raven whacked him with the butt of a pistol. It silenced him and slowed his wrestling.
They took off, riding away from the city, proceeding farther into the countryside and away from people who might recognize them. He and Raven didn’t speak, but Judah was mumbling behind his gag. They ignored him.
Eventually, Raven found a spot he liked, and they left the road and were swallowed by thick forest. The sun was on the horizon, evening approaching. It was starting to rain, the clouds heavy, so the deluge would probably increase as the hours passed. It would wipe away any tracks.
“You should head to town,” Raven said. “If this is bungled, you shouldn’t be attached to it.”