Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  Juliet was not aware of the people staring at Garrett and his small party as they waited out side the steps of the Connaught. The stares were provoked less by the knowledge of his name and title than by his unconventional height, the natural ease and grace of his movements, and the supreme aristocratic air surrounding him, an air accented by the rich, expensive clothes he wore: tall, shiny black boots, the fine grey riding pants and loose-fitting white silk shirt, a heavy black cape parting slightly to reveal a thick grey wool lining beneath. She stood perfectly still at his side, wondering only how the passion of the night contrasted with the cold withdrawal of his emotion now, wondering at how badly it hurt, how badly his magicand passion alwayshurt her.

  Please, God, no more. . . .

  Tomas, save me from him. . . .

  Garrett led Juliet to the waiting mount as they were brought around, Leif behind him. The inn's staff gathered just inside the doors, watching the proceedings with a mixture of horror and fascination as Garrett mounted a stallion, letting the mount dance a bit before reining him into control. Leif reached gloved hands around the lady and lifted her onto Garrett's saddle in front. Gar-rett's arms circled her as he checked his mount, then waited for Leif.

  " 'Is lordship '11 'ave the lady ride the saddle!"

  "Just like the olden days. I'll be damned," a footman said excitedly as Garrett tossed his cloak back, revealing the worn leather shoulder harness and two ivory-handled pistols. "That ought ta make some thief very sorry indeed."

  "Why, I never-"

  "Aye, but the- lady looks like she belongs there, doesn't she? As if riding a stallion with his lordship is an everyday thing."

  "What are they doing now?"

  Kyle came running with two saddlebags, followed on each side by another man, armed with a musket. The saddlebags were secured to the mount.

  "Looks like money bags, doesn't it?"

  "Aye, it does indeed."

  "Look! She's kissin' the Scots boy."

  Garrett kept the horse in check and held her as Juliet leaned over and said a fare thee well to Gayle. A tender exchange, until she promised to write him soon. He seemed first surprised, then anxious, as if at a loss.

  "Gayle?"

  He shook his head again and looked away, yet kept her hand in his. Juliet misunderstood the fear in his eyes as he clasped her hand tightly, afraid to let her go—just as she misunderstood Garrett's impatience, the barrier he put over his emotions, for she could not survive the full force of his anger and he knew well to keep it from her now. Once Leif mounted alongside, Garrett tapped his booted foot to the stallion's side and they were off.

  With his eyes closed, Tomas heard the horses' hooves and he jumped up. Garrett rode into the glen with Juliet. The pirate leered, grinning wickedly until the moment he saw the pistol in Tomas's hands. "Get off the horse!" Tomas said. "Now."

  Garrett slowly dismounted, staring at the pistol, his fear increasing with every step Tomas took toward him. "Juliet, this is for you," Tomas said, as he swung the pistol hard into Garrett's face. Garrett stumbled backward but Tomas was on him again. Again and again he raised the pistol, slamming it into the pirate's face until it was nothing but a bloody pulp and the man fell back unconscious. Then Tomas stepped back and raised the pistol. "Open your eyes!" For several tense moments Garrett struggled to do as he was told. The swollen lids opened to his last sight on earth.

  "No . . . no," Garrett said his last words before Tomas pulled the trigger, shooting twice point blank into the dead center of his chest. . . .

  Tomas imagined the scene a hundred times. If only he could. Yet fear kept putting the rum cask to his cold lips as he waited. The cheap rum did little to warm his insides against the cold chill of grey overcast skies on this day he had so long awaited. The reunion had been made for noon and he had waited here in the small glen near the university chapel since the ninth bell, nearly three hours now. He had waited alone, just as the note stipulated. The rum had done nothing to ease his fear but plenty to numb the anxious train of his thoughts.

  He looked past the leafy maple trees to the grey sky above and closed his eyes again. His fear went in many directions. He felt a gross fear of the man Black Garrett, of seeing this nightmare in real life. What would he do and what would he say? How would the desire—nay, the need-to kill the man manifest itself? If only he were strong and courageous enough to shoot him! To make him pay for all he had put him through. . . .

  Once outside of London, Garrett pushed the stallion to a gallop. His arms held Juliet as his body braced hers against the jostle. The wind whipped across her face and the landscape flew past, blurred patches of green upon green, brief thickets of bush and maple trees, occasional houses and farms. The great blanket of his warmth enclosed her, even as she felt his anger, as if he wanted to hurt her. There was nothing he could do now, nothing, she told herself over and over, letting the thought take hold as she closed her eyes. Using all her strength, she forced her emotions back to a safe place where he could not touch them.

  Just a short while longer . . .

  Garrett reined the stallion in, quickly putting the beast through its paces, slowing the trot to a fast walk for her comfort as they turned off the main road. Leif reined his mount in at their side. She opened her eyes. Maple trees lined both sides of the deserted well-kept road. A stone chapel rose in the distance at the end.

  This must be the meeting place!

  Tension and fear shot through her as she frantically searched through the trees for Tomas. Her heartbeat escalated and her breaths quickened, keeping her ignorant of the steely tension rising in the arms that still held her.

  "Over there," Leif pointed through the trees.

  Garrett turned the mount and braced. Using the great force of his will, he braced as Juliet's eyes flew in the direction. She took in the sight with a small pained gasp—joy and relief—emotions edged with a desperation that went through him like the cold steel blade of a knife.

  Tomas stood against a large grey boulder, a rock that matched the sky overhead perfectly, and as the mount drew closer she took in everything: the crown of blonde curls, the wool coat he wore, brown breeches and boots, the pain and fear in his grey eyes as he saw her. Garrett heard the strained whisper of her voice call, "Tomas!" as she tried to slip off the mount before it stopped. Gloved hands came around her waist, lowering her small weight to the ground. Her feet touched the soft brown earth, but Garrett held her still, unable to set her free at last.

  So taken with the sight in front of her, it took Juliet a long moment to realize his hands still encased her waist. She pushed against them with a pained, "Oh please!"

  Watching, Leif quickly pushed his mount to Garrett's side. The weight of Leifs hand on his shoulder made him release her. Once free, she ran through the clearing to where Tomas stood, and Garrett forced himself to watch her fall into the young man's open arms. As he had forced himself to imagine it over and over in preparation of actually seeing it. Still, the sight was a rude awakening to a violence he had never before felt.

  "Civilization is a thin veneer, indeed," Leif swore softly, seeing Garrett's struggle. "Will I, dear God, have to stop you from spilling the boy's blood?"

  "A comforting thought," Garrett said, "that is, my dearest friend, if you could stop me."

  Tomas held Juliet tightly and she clung to him desperately as the final climax of these last long months told her everything, everything. He still loved her, he always had and always would love her, and nothing, not even Garrett, could change that. "Oh Tomas, how I've longed for this moment!"

  Tomas could only say her name over and over again until at last she pulled back to look at his face. The pain and fear in his eyes, eyes underlined with dark circles, told her he had suffered much, too. So did the cologne covering the faint scent of drinking, a foul scent permeating his skin and breath. Yet their trials were over.

  "You are well?" he asked softly.

  She nodded and closed her eyes as she felt the study of his eyes
. "Did he hurt you very badly?"

  Juliet knew what question was being asked and she had practiced lying. She started to shake her head but another voice answered from behind.

  "Yes, I did."

  They both turned to see Garrett still astride the stallion. She understood Tomas's fear, for like that first day long ago, Garrett looked a frightening sight atop the huge black beast. He leaned slightly forward in the saddle, a deceptively casual stance. The folds of his cloak were tossed over his shoulders, revealing the plain sight of the pistols hanging from his shoulder harness, the weapons as much a part of him as his supreme ease and grace. His deadly strength was accented by the harness and, worse, by the cold antipathy in his gaze as he considered Tomas.

  Tomas's clenched fists tightened at his side. "How dare you admit it openly! In front of her, to further humiliate and abuse her!"

  "Indeed," A dark brow lifted, though his gaze remained steady, hard, cold. "And how dare you pretend to care about her abuse, much less her humiliation. After you stood by and did nothing all those years that man beat, mutilated, and terrorized her—"

  "No, Garrett!" Juliet cried, "Don't do this-"

  "What can you mean by that?" Tomas stared aghast. "You would dare make an accusation against me when 'twas you who swept into our life, abducted and abused an innocent girl, killed her uncle in cold blood, and left me imagining she was dead, too—"

  "Tomas, no, please. You don't know! You dont understand. My uncle and Clarissa killed his brother most cruelly and Garrett thought I was Clarissa. He—"

  "My God, Juliet," Tomas swung around to face her. "You're not going to defend him, are you? I don't care -hat your uncle did to his brother, if his brother was half as despicable as he is, then 'twas a deed well done!"

  Juliet shot frightened eyes to Garrett, measuring his response. There was none, save for the barest hint of amusement in Garrett's gaze, as if he considered Tomas's slander less than a minor irritation. Yet the thought of Edric, the profundity of Garrett's grief, set against the unintentional cruelty of Tomas's words made her say, "I'm sorry, Garrett. He doesn't know what he says. I know when he understands—"

  Furious she would apologize for him, Tomas clamped his hand over her mouth before another word could be said. A shot passed so close to his head that he felt a burning rush of wind. Tomas trained his startled eyes on Garrett, whose pistol now aimed at the dead center of his heart.

  "Take your hands off her."

  Tomas's face went white. He slowly removed his hands. Juliet looked shocked and more than a little confused. The last thing she could bear to witness was a confrontation between the two. She started to shake her head, but Tomas suddenly screamed.

  "You can't do this!" He turned to her, not willing to take her arm but certain they had to leave before the man pushed him into a challenge. "We don't have to listen to you—"

  "I'm afraid you do."

  Leifs mount danced a bit, a small signal of unrest, a warning that he would give chase. Tomas turned around and with equal parts viciousness and fear said, "You've hurt her enough. Let me take her away."

  "Not on your life."

  Not a platitude, not even a threat, a statement of fact. In that first awful moment Juliet knew. She turned to see him. Watching her, Garrett's gaze had nothing to do with Tomas, as if the young man were still no more consequential than a bothersome insect. So it was when he spoke. "You see, I have this problem. Juliet thinks she loves you, that you are deserving of that gift. Her innocence has forgiven so much. I've not even told her of the rat-infested hole you plan to keep her in, keep her without even offering the dubious protection of your name."

  Alarmed by those words, Juliet's gaze shot from Garrett to Tomas. Tomas first looked surprised, then nervous, as he met her eyes. "It's a lie, Juliet . . . he's lying. It's true that I don't have much money—"

  "Enough," Garrett stopped him cold. "It's bad enough that I have to listen to her making excuses for you, but you can believe I won't listen to yours." Garrett watched the uncertainty play in her eyes. "Aye, love, this is what I was afraid of, that your heart would still quiet the doubts. What I must do is show you something you can not forgive."

  Garrett reached behind to his saddle bag and withdrew the money bag. He tossed it unceremoniously to the ground, one short foot from Tomas's feet. Juliet stared with incomprehension until he said to Tomas, "Ten thousand pounds in gold, yours if you walk away with the vow never to see her again."

  For one long moment Juliet couldn't believe he really did that, that he truly imagined Tomas would trade her for a bag of money! Yet no, he had said it. There lay the bag to prove it. A swift surge of rage and indignations trembled through her, shimmering in her eyes as she stared at the bag. "Garrett . . . how could you, Garrett? How—"

  "You are hesitating?" he asked Tomas, unwilling to show mercy now. "Well, I'm surprised. The greed in your eyes tells me your ... ah ... love is worth less than the bag that gold sits in. In the event you disagree, I'm open to bargaining, that is, if you can overcome your concern for Juliet's ... ah ... humiliation."

  She was shocked, just shocked. He truly believed this sordid ploy would work, that Tbmas was of a character that would trade her for a bag of gold. "Garrett ... I cannot believe this. . . .How—" She stopped as her consciousness became abruptly riveted to the utter stillness of the glen. She froze, panicked by it, by the terrible quiet interrupted only by the shuffle of the horses' hooves, each intake of the beasts' breaths. The slightest turn of her body would allow her to see Tomas now, but something strange and awful forbade the measure absolutely.

  Garrett had never known such hate as he watched what she could not. Tomas stood mute and helpless. Small trickles of sweat lined his brow as he considered not the consequences of his next act but rather if the offer could possibly be genuine.

  Leif could hardly bear a moment more of her pain, though God knew it would only be worse. "Your hesitation speaks well of your choice. Take it, boy, and be gone. You have my word, he will not hurt you now."

  From the corner of her vision, Juliet watched Tomas's hand reach down to touch the bag. Like the shot that shattered the quiet, her startled cry stopped him. He briefly met her eyes, and in that moment she waited for the denial he would not give to her. In a flash of blinding white light, she saw him for the beast in her dreams. Then suddenly she was running. Bolting like a startled doe, she darted through the glen and into the forest.

  In that instant Garrett reined his mount around to give chase. Tomas looked up with sudden alarm, only to see he was the victim of the great red giant's disgust, like a hard-edged knife. "Begone, before I decide to kill you myself for the misery you bring to this earth."

  With the bag in his hands, Tomas turned away.

  Leif kicked his mount after Garrett and gave chase through the thicket on the other side. "Garrett, nay!" The warning sounded just as Juliet darted onto a footpath leading into the forest. Garrett reined the mount in and the great beast reared before coming into control. Garrett turned as Leif came to his side. "She is shocked, badly wounded. Give her the release."

  Garrett turned from Leifs concern to the path Juliet took, hesitating. Yet Leif was right. The violence of her emotions would need a release before he could go to her. He thought of her pain and he swore with sudden viciousness, "God forbid I ever see his face again, Leif," Garrett flexed the gloved fingers of his hand. "My fingers ache to bury that boy at last."

  "Ah, but you did, Garrett, you did."

  The woods and thicket grew more dense as she ran. She swung wildly at the encroaching branches, twigs and bushes claiming the path, swinging as if they were a malicious enemy trying to stop her. Still she ran, further and further, until her lungs burned and she could no longer feel the hot throbbing in her legs. She knew only that she could not, would not stop. Not ever . . .

  All at once the path opened to a small clearing of tall grass. She never saw the rock the greenery concealed. The torn slippered foot hit it and with an ugly t
hud, she hit the cold, brown earth, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Her knee caught under her skirt and ripped it, while the sharp edge of a twig cut her hand and gravel scraped her face. Pain shot through her body, but she ignored it. Panicked, she tried to get up but her limbs would no longer obey her will and she collapsed with the effort.

  She felt that sadness welling inside, the force of her will pushing it back . . . back. She would not cry. She would never cry. Tears were associated with cold and death, the morning she woke to see the broken braid of hair and her mother so still and cold at her side, looking not peaceful or tranquil but so terribly frightened. Her mother greeted death's portal and the sight, like the sharp point of a sculptor's knife, carved the hellish fright on her face. She called her mother's name over and over, the invocation a spell, as she laid her warm cheek against the frigid cold of her mother's, so certain the hot tears running in streams over her mother's face would ease the terror and warm the cold flesh. Her mother would wake to see the tears, the lavish display of the depth of her grief, and she would forgive everything.

  Sometimes when she closed her eyes she heard the scream as they found her like some many hours later. She felt those hands seize her slight form, forcing the parting at last, the voices screaming at her over and over, "Mamma la morte! Mamma la morte!" until at last she understood these precious tears were no good; they meant nothing, they changed nothing.

  She knew better than to cry.

  As she lay there perfectly still, listening to her heartbeat spiral downward and her breathing slow, like a ghost come to haunt her, she remembered her mother's perfume. She closed her eyes, trying to grasp and cling to the memory of that exotic, evocative scent.

  She remembered standing in front of the vanity late Tuesday afternoons watching her mother dress for the flower shop. First came silk stockings and lace chemises, then fine corsets made of pretty colored silk. Her mother always let her brush her hair, and as she stroked the long hair, her mother carefully applied first face powder, then rouge and red lip color. Coal oil went on her lashes and blue powder over her eyelids. . . .