by Cheryl Holt
“What do you mean?”
“I forbid you to ever see Holden Cartwright again.”
Her jaw dropped in astonishment, and she gaped at her mother. “Can he forbid it, Mother? Can he order me about like this?”
“Yes, I’m afraid he can,” Melvina responded.
“What if I don’t obey?” she asked Melvina. “You’re content to grovel and ingratiate yourself, but I won’t. I’m not ten, and I barely know Uncle John. It’s outrageous for him to imagine he can command me.”
It was John’s turn to bristle. “I won’t debate this with you, Ellen. You will not ever speak to Holden again, and until I can guarantee he is far, far from Dunworthy, you will be confined to the island. You are not to leave the castle until further notice.”
“I refuse to comply with such an absurd edict! I’m not a child you can reprimand!”
“Calm down, Ellen,” Melvina said. “I can’t abide your hysterics, and I’m certain your uncle isn’t too keen on witnessing them either.” Melvina looked at John. “I’m stunned that you’re taking Miss Watson’s word over ours. Ellen assures me there is no issue to concern us with Mr. Cartwright, and it’s ridiculous to chastise her over it.”
John’s temper exploded, and he slapped a palm on the desktop, the sound echoing off the ceiling. “This isn’t about Miss Watson! Don’t mention her to me.”
“All right, all right,” Melvina grumbled. “I won’t mention her.”
“Ellen,” John said, “you haven’t traveled beyond the borders of Dunworthy.”
“Don’t you dare tell me I’m too naïve to make good choices.”
“I will tell you that. You’ve been isolated, so you’ve never encountered a man like Holden Cartwright before. He is a notorious scoundrel who might perpetrate any despicable deed with regard to you—and it won’t stir a ripple in his conscience.”
“Stop saying that!” Ellen seethed.
“I won’t stop,” John said. “If Holden has befriended you, there’s nothing innocent about it. If I ignore this, and you’re harmed, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“He wouldn’t harm me.”
“The fact that you don’t realize he might is alarming to me, so I have to insist on the restrictions I’ve imposed. You will not communicate with him in any fashion whatsoever, and if he tries to contact you in the future, you’ll notify me immediately.”
“What if I don’t?”
She was being such a brat, and he’d never previously observed this facet of her personality. Occasionally, Melvina griped about how stubborn Ellen could be, but he hadn’t been confronted with any obstinacy himself.
He wanted to whack her and order her to knock it off. If she’d been a boy, he’d have done exactly that, but he wasn’t accustomed to feminine insubordination and was at a loss as to how he should deal with it.
“It’s not an option for you to defy me,” he said to her. “Until I decide differently, you will not step foot outside the castle unless you have my specific permission.”
“You’re treating me like a prisoner!”
“I guess I am.”
“What if I disobey your grand self? Not everyone thinks you’re quite as amazing as you think you are.”
“I suppose not,” John said, “and obviously, you’re one of those people. But if you flout my wishes in this, you little snot, I’ll lock you in a convent for the rest of your days. There’s a really awful one in Scotland I could pay to take you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Ellen fumed.
“I would.” He nodded to the door. “Head to your room and stay out of my sight. Your sass has exhausted me.”
She was ready to explode, and her mother said, “Let’s go, Ellen. You’ve caused enough trouble this morning.”
Ellen leapt up and stomped out, and as Melvina stood to depart too, John said, “Not you, Melvina. I’m not finished with you.”
She froze, nearly uttered a scathing retort, then eased down into her seat. They listened as Ellen’s strides faded. Once it was quiet again, Melvina asked, “What did you need from me?”
“You and I have danced around over the notion that you’re Duncan’s widow. You’ve been clinging to the preposterous idea that I might marry you.”
“It’s our way. I’m mistress here, and I don’t have to relinquish my spot merely because my husband passed away.”
“I recognize that we honor our traditions, but we’re not Vikings. We’re not Celtic raiders, and we haven’t been for centuries. So let me be clear: I will never wed you. I’ve explained politely, but you’ve ignored me.”
“You have to wed me, John! I’ve been counting on it.”
“You shouldn’t have, and I have to be very blunt with you. I will not marry you, Melvina, and you should not assume I ever will.”
“This is all Miss Watson’s fault, isn’t it?”
“Be silent! I warned you to leave her out of it.”
“Why should I? From the minute she strolled in, she’s been a nuisance. It’s a mystery to me why you’ve allowed her to instigate so much mischief.”
“I like the mischief she’s instigated.”
“You would!” Melvina said. “We’re all aware that you’ve been lifting her skirt. Has she been worth it?”
He didn’t care that his relatives had learned about his affair, and he wouldn’t be chastised for it. Not under his own roof.
Dunworthy Castle was his home, and as his kin never ceased to remind him, their customs were paramount. The main one was that the lord of the castle was king of it. Melvina didn’t get to castigate him without consequence.
He glared at her until she began to fidget. She realized she’d crossed a line with him, and she couldn’t retract the terrible comments she’d just hurled.
“You don’t seem to hear me when I speak,” he said, “so I’ll repeat myself. I’m determined that we will have no misconceptions in the future.”
“There won’t be,” she mumbled. “I promise.”
“I won’t dignify your remark about Miss Watson with a response, but you should know this: If I choose to flirt with a female, it’s none of your business. If I choose to welcome a guest, it’s not your business. If I have a guest tarry—even if it’s forever—you will not have an opinion about it. Nor will anyone else.”
“I understand.”
“Do you, Melvina? Do you really?”
“I do, John. I swear.”
“If you can’t abide my behavior, or if our cousins can’t abide it, all of you are free to depart. You are in the most jeopardy. If changes are required, you’ll be first on my list.”
“You won’t need to make any changes,” she hurried to insist.
“If you threaten Miss Watson again, if you lie to her about my bond with you, if you humiliate or disturb her in even the slightest way, it will be the final straw. I suggest you tamp down your disdain and figure out how to interact with her. And with me.”
“I will. You have my word on it.”
“You’re excused, and as with your daughter, stay out of my sight for awhile. You’ve exhausted my patience too.”
She stood and huffed out, but as she exited the room, he caught a glimpse of her expression. She was livid, obviously loathing him, but loathing Winnie even more. She’d blame Winnie for her difficulties. She’d convince herself that Winnie had turned John against her.
Her attitude was infuriating. He hated quarrels and tried to never engage in them. He was completely surrounded by family members, so it seemed particularly pointless.
No doubt he’d temporarily reined in her conduct, but she wouldn’t be able to disregard her umbrage for long. Eventually, her dislike of Winnie would spiral and burst out, so he had to implement plans to be rid of her.
But for the moment, he’d had enough bickering, and he still had to speak to Freddie. His day of fighting had barely begun.
* * * *
Freddie walked through the courtyard. It was getting busy
, with people climbing up the hill, eager for the celebration to commence.
As to himself, he was ambivalent about the party. He’d attended many of them over the years, and they were all the same. Revelers ate gluttonously, then drank themselves into stupors. The evening would usually conclude with some fisticuffs.
With nearly everyone being a cousin, there were scores of bitter feelings festering under the surface, and the Dunns were a hard-headed lot. They were experts at nursing grudges.
If he was glad about the party at all, it was because the festivities would keep John occupied and help to shield Freddie from his wrath. The prior night, he’d accosted Miss Watson, and he’d been quite sharp with her—when he probably shouldn’t have been.
The problem was that he was anxious to remain at Dunworthy, and Miss Watson—with her stupid connection to Holden—was precisely the sort of chink in his armor that could wreck what he’d been working so desperately to repair.
Like the idiot he could definitely be, he’d threatened and manhandled her, and she was the type who’d tattle to John. So far, there had been no repercussions, but he hadn’t allowed for any. He’d risen early and had spent the day over in Dunworthy town, deliberately not returning until he could blend in with the crowd.
Hopefully, John would be waylaid by his many guests, but Freddie couldn’t hide forever. His warning to Miss Watson had been clearly delivered, and he could only pray that he’d shut her up. If John ever learned that Holden was living on the other side of the water, Freddie couldn’t predict how John might react, and he was in no mood to find out.
As he strolled to the grand doors that led into the main hall, Bobby was standing there, his mutt too. Huntly was hovering behind them, gazing worshipfully at Bobby, as if Bobby was his new hero. Freddie couldn’t figure that one out. Hadn’t Bobby pummeled Huntly? How had they become such fast friends?
“Hello, Mr. Townsend,” Bobby said. “I’ve been watching for you.”
“Why, you little cretin? Don’t you have more important things to do than harass your betters?”
“I’d argue with you about who is better between us, but I was taught to mind my manners around adults.”
“Cheeky devil,” Freddie muttered.
He would have stomped off, but Bobby said, “Lord John demands you speak with him immediately.”
Freddie missed a step. “John wants me?”
“Yes, he’s waiting for you in his office.”
“I’ve been in town, drinking at a tavern. I should…ah…change my coat and wash up first.”
“He said immediately, Mr. Townsend. You shouldn’t dawdle.”
“Yes, well, I’ll certainly oblige him—when I’m ready.”
He continued on, but Bobby blocked his path. The impertinent child seemed bigger, as if he’d grown a foot since he’d arrived. Or perhaps he appeared taller due to John having singled him out. Whatever the source, it had imbued him with a huge dose of cocky confidence that made him feel superior.
Freddie tried to proceed to the stairs, but Bobby and his dog herded him in the direction they were intent he travel—as if he were a sheep. He might have created a scene, but the main hall was packed, and he wouldn’t stir any gossip.
A happy thought occurred to him: Maybe he was worrying for nothing! John might simply wish to discuss the party or the liquor or the rough-housing that always got out of control. It might not concern Holden in the least.
He marched across the large chamber and down the rear hall to John’s office, but as he entered, his optimism evaporated in an instant.
An arm whipped out, and he was gripped by the throat and pinned to the wall. He was staring at John who looked angrier and more dangerous than Freddie had ever seen him.
He and John had been best friends since they were ten. They’d been through ups and downs, thick and thin, dearth and plenty. Until Holden came along, that is. Freddie had let Holden wedge himself into their bond, and naught had been the same since then.
John was unbelievably strong. He’d lifted Freddie off the floor, so his feet were dangling. John had been wounded—and nearly killed—in the duel Holden had caused, and it was generally assumed he was in a reduced condition. How had he recovered so much of his prior vigor?
“Tell me where he is!” John hissed.
Freddie wasn’t confused as to who he meant: Holden Cartwright. His initial impulse was self-preservation, and he opened his mouth to offer up a whopper of a lie. John shook him so hard his head banged on the wall.
“Tell me!” John raged. “And before you attempt to hoodwink me, you should be aware that I already found out.”
“He’s renting a room in Dunworthy.”
“Above the tavern on the wharf?”
“Yes.”
John released him, and Freddie crashed down with such force that his knees buckled. He was a coward and always had been. He might have run out to escape, but Bobby and his dog were in the doorway, so he was trapped.
John loomed in and seethed, “When did he slither in?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“You’ve been deceiving me the whole time.”
“I didn’t know he planned to travel to Dunworthy! I swear! I didn’t invite him. He just showed up.”
“What does he want?”
“Money. Isn’t that what he always wants? He doesn’t have any, and after our recent debacle, he’s flat broke.”
“He’s not broke,” John fumed. “He has the diamonds, remember?”
Freddie had never been sure if there had been any diamonds or not—it might have simply been a piece of Holden’s swindle—and he shrugged. “Maybe Holden has the diamonds. I can’t guess the truth, but he appears to be down on his luck.”
“Holden Cartwright has never been down on his luck.” John grabbed Freddie by his shirt and pulled him in so they were nose to nose. “Here is what you’ll do.”
“Yes, yes, just tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll handle it for you.”
“You have exactly one hour to get over to Dunworthy and advise Holden to flee so I don’t catch him.”
Freddie nodded vigorously. “I will. I can’t predict if he’ll heed me, but I’ll definitely inform him.”
“He’ll heed you, Freddie, and this is why. I am not heading over there to notify him myself because, if I lay eyes on him, I will beat him to death.”
“Now, now, let’s not over-react. You shouldn’t land yourself in a jam with the authorities over a dolt like Holden.”
“I’m not over-reacting, Freddie. I’m merely apprising you of what’s approaching for Holden if I have to talk to him. I’m not eager to commit murder, which is what will occur if he doesn’t depart immediately. So…you will convince him to leave.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee any results.”
“You will then return to the castle and personally assure me he’s left.”
“Fine. I will. I promise.”
“Then I will visit Dunworthy and check that he’s gone. If he’s not, I won’t kill him. I will kill you.”
“John, you don’t mean that.”
“I absolutely mean it, Freddie.”
“Is this because of Miss Watson? She tattled, didn’t she?”
Freddie didn’t realize his blunder until after the blow was delivered, but then, he hadn’t fully grasped the depth of John’s affection for Miss Watson. John hit him as hard as he could, and Freddie crumpled to the floor. He huddled there on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose.
“Jesus, John,” he spat, “what is wrong with you?”
“Don’t ever utter her name to me again. Don’t even think about her name. Don’t ever let it slither through that pathetic mind of yours.”
“All right.”
Bobby leaned down and dragged Freddie to his feet, but Freddie pushed the boy away.
“I’ll speak with Holden at once.” Freddie was struggling to muster his dignity, but wit
h blood spattering his shirt, it was incredibly difficult.
“After you’ve met with him, you’ll come back to the castle—to pack your bags.”
Freddie froze. “What are you saying?”
“I’m finished with you, Freddie. You should be ready to leave first thing in the morning.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I warned you about Holden, so this is the end for you and me.”
“When he arrived in Dunworthy, I couldn’t decide the best course! I was anxious to tell you, but I was afraid you’d murder him. I was keeping you out of trouble.”
“I might still murder him,” John coolly stated, “and I might murder you.” He pointed to the door. “Get out of my sight and complete this last chore for me. Then go away and don’t ever return.”
A tense moment festered. Freddie wanted to throw himself at John’s feet, to beg him to reconsider, but with him being in such a foul mood, there would be no swaying him. But Freddie was an expert at handling John, at manipulating John. He always calmed down. He always forgave Freddie, so Freddie would work on him later.
Yet what if he didn’t calm? What if he never moved beyond his fit of pique?
If he didn’t, that witch, Winifred Watson, would have to pay for the dilemma she’d stirred. Melvina would be happy to help him inflict a bit of torment on the annoying harpy.
“You need to hurry, Mr. Townsend,” Bobby snottily said. “Lord John’s given you an order, and the clock’s ticking.”
Bobby gripped Freddie’s arm as if to escort him out, but Freddie shoved him away and marched out on his own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Winnie sat in a chair by the narrow window in her bedchamber, and she stared out at the night sky. Occasionally, she could hear laughter from people enjoying the party down in the main hall, but for the most part, it was very quiet.
The clouds had cleared for a change, and she could see some stars. She gazed out at them, feeling her isolation in a particularly potent fashion. She might have been the last person on Earth.
She should have gone down to the celebration. Normally, she wouldn’t have let a few negative comments chase her away, but recent events had quashed her usual zeal. She was thoroughly disliked at Dunworthy, an outsider who had no ability to assimilate.