by Madelyn Hill
Doubt in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. “Right. If you wish to tell me later, feel free.”
Martine rested her hand on his forearm. “Tell me of your time in prison.”
He looked at her, his gaze unreadable, as if he shuttered any emotion from her. He sighed, then uttered a curse. “’Tisn’t pretty.” He pulled on his breeches, yet remained shirtless.
“I know,” she said softly as she ran a finger along his back.
Declan made himself comfortable by leaning back on his elbows as he lay beside Martine. He stared at the ceiling, wishing she’d change her mind about learning of his horrid past. The shame of it all returned to him, quick and painful. He grimaced at remembering his time in prison, the smell of rotting flesh. The value of life so poor that many killed for a meager bowl of gruel.
He’d killed for a meager bowl of gruel.
Once again he looked to Martine. The early morning light caressed her, making her more lovely than he’d ever imagined. She sat patiently, her large eyes filled with compassion. He knew he had to tell her, but the urge to tuck the toxic memories away tempted him.
“They came for me. My father’s colleagues and the magistrate.”
She nodded her encouragement and gave a slight smile. God, he loved this woman.
He looked out the window and watched a bank of clouds shift its shape through the sky. The distraction failed. He leaned forward and draped his arm over a bent knee. “They arrested me. Treason, they said.” He shrugged. “But ‘twas a lie.”
She leaned up. Concern narrowed her eyes. “And your father? What did he do?”
Declan gave a bitter laugh. “He sat in his chair and watched.” It felt odd talking to her about his past. As if he were talking about someone other than himself. Yet the more he spoke, the more his soul felt purged of its demons.
Martine gasped. “He didn’t try to save you?”
“Nay.” The word dragged out of him like a knife through a fish’s gullet.
Tears glistened in her eyes. Bright, sympathetic. He was certain she was hurting nearly as much as he was.
With a wry grin, he said, “If it eases your heart any, he died after my trial.”
The tears fell, racing down her cheeks in shiny rivulets. “And your mother?”
Darkness consumed him. “I barely knew her.”
She gasped. “Oh, Declan.”
Her sympathy almost undid him. Instead of succumbing to his desire to rage about his past, he inhaled and continued to speak. “When she died, my father became my enemy.”
“I barely remember my mother or father,” she said with a hitch in her voice. “My past is a faded memory.”
He reached for her hand. “I know, lass. I know.”
She gave a sad smile, one filled with memories and hope. “I remember bits and pieces. My mother’s hair was almost the same color as mine. My father was tall with a grayish beard. Sometimes I hear a voice that I’m certain is his. Wishful, I know.”
He brushed away the tears on her cheeks. “We’re a damn sorry lot.”
“Tell me more,” she urged.
He shrugged. “I lived in the hell of prison all the while wanting to die. Then Lord Ettenborough arranged for me to leave.”
She fingered his hand, tracing his thumb, along his palm and around his wrist. He knew she meant to soothe him, but the soft movements inflamed him.
“And the marks on your back?”
Desire doused, he answered her. “In prison, ‘twas the guards’ duty to keep us in our place. Or, for the thrill of it, they’d drag us, one by one, into the yard and beat us for sport.” She was too gentle of a woman to hear the other harsh realities of prison life. “Ettenborough handed me a gift.”
She nodded and said with a soft voice, “Aye, and to him we can be grateful.”
Declan grunted. He held no sympathy for Ettenborough.
“Truly. If he hadn’t found you, you would have never have found me.”
He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her forward. As he gazed into her eyes, he pondered her arrival in his life. Luck, fate—no matter. She’d saved him from a life of loneliness. He glanced at her full lips before he lowered his head and kissed her. They were pliant, giving and demanding. As each moment passed, blood traveled faster and faster through him, igniting a fervor to have her and have her now.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Bollocks.” He rose and opened it.
“I was told ye’d be here.”
“’Tis a bit early, Nate.”
“Aye, well,” he said sheepishly. “The men are restless, and full of spit and vinegar. Could we be having some training?”
Declan chuckled. “Aye. Go to the estate. I’ll meet you there.” He smiled apologetically.
“Go. Play with your men,” she said with a smile.
He quickly kissed her, grabbed his shirt, and turned to Nate. “Aye, you’ve asked for it, lad. Now let’s see what your lazy carcass can do.”
Nate laughed and slapped him on the back. “’Tis good to be back, ye ken?”
He looked over his shoulder at Martine, taking in her womanly curves.
Aye, ‘twould never be dull with his Martine. His Gypsy brought out the goodness in him and had a passionate fire that lit her from within.
But would she be able to live with his sins, the sins of his past and those of his father?
When they arrived in London, would her faith in him unravel as his past became clear? He prayed to God no, but his heart worried it would be yes.
Sadie lounged in a chair by the hearth and twirled a lock of her hair. Trenmore stood behind her, driving her to insanity with his solicitous manners and continuous attention. She’d done nothing wrong, to be sure. Didn’t Abigail deserve to be dead with the way she had neglected such a fine man as Declan Forrester? Aye, her friend had ensured misery wherever she went and Sadie’s heart broke at the how Abigail treated her husband.
“Would you like a bit of tea?”
She rolled her eyes. “Nay, Trenmore. I’m drowning in tea.”
He patted her arm. “Now, now, my dear. No need to be upsetting yerself.”
She rose and paced to an open window. The day blazed with a bright afternoon sun. How she wished to be outdoors and out of her prison. Trenmore had assured the magistrate he’d keep her secure in her home. And blast him if the man didn’t hold true to his promise.
The green landscape taunted her. Och, how she wanted to go to the village, buy a hat or some ribbons, hear some gossip. No doubt the gossips were a wee bit busy with the news she’d created.
“My dear, you’ll catch yer death. Come away from the window.”
“Aye, Trenmore,” she said sweetly. “’Tis a brisk day.”
She sat on the chair and accepted the throw. Aye, Trenmore was handsome, quite a catch in the midst of County Kildare. However, she had a more comely suitor in mind. Trenmore’s constant attention smothered her and the way he picked his teeth after a meal churned her stomach. Sadie covered herself with the woolen blanket, feigning compliance.
He leaned over the hearth and added a brick of peat and some brambles to the fire.
Sadie leapt from the chair and grabbed the poker. In one swift motion, she struck him on the head. He landed in a heap on the stone hearth with a guttural oath. Blood poured from the small hole in his head. A hiss passed his lips as his body stopped twitching.
“Well,” she said aloud, “that didn’t take long at all, at all.”
Chapter 19
“How could this happen?” Declan paced in front of the magistrate’s desk, seething with anger, still muddied from training his men.
Connelly’s ashen face didn’t soothe his temper in the least. “I’m sorry Lord Forrester. Gre
y assured me he had the situation well in hand.”
“You trusted her lover to watch over her?” Declan raked his fingers through his hair. Sadie Bannon had escaped. Worse, she had killed again. How could he protect Martine without knowing where the damn woman was? His men were watching the pub, stationed at each entrance to ensure her safety. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he contemplated wringing Connelly’s worthless neck. “Is there any sign of where she has gone?”
The magistrate shook his head and cast his gaze to his desk. He shuffled some papers and lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I’ll be alerting the villagers.”
Declan threw up his hands. “Aye, and I’m certain she’ll be wandering down main street for all and sundry to see.”
Connelly stood and pulled his posture into one with gumption. “I can protect you.”
Declan cocked a brow. “I’ve seen how you’ve protected mine so far. I’m not impressed with your measly efforts.”
He sputtered, yet no reply escaped the man’s mouth. For that Declan was grateful. He’d hate to beat the hapless man if he spoke.
“I’ll see to my own. Of that be sure.” Declan left the small jail.
“See here, don’t be taking the law into your own hands,” he yelled.
Declan ignored the man. He had to ensure Martine was safe. No other purpose mattered.
Frustrated and madder than hell, Declan silently paced past villagers. He was in no mood for chit chat and the solicitous nature of the inhabitants of the village. Even preparing for their departure with his men hadn’t quelled his unease at Sadie’s escape.
The pub bustled with the afternoon crowd, a meager crew of regulars that would eat and drink their day away without an ounce of guilt. He cast a quick glance to ensure no trouble lay in the shadows.
“Barkeep,” he yelled. “Send dinner up to my rooms.” Declan threw a bag of coin on the bar. “Make sure it’s your best.”
One last meal before they departed. It had taken longer than he’d planned to ready his men and their steeds. They were now two hours past departure time and it festered in his jaw.
He pounded up the stairs. Where was Little? He was not to leave the door. Outside their chamber, he attempted to settle his temper. Declan scrubbed his hand over his face and inhaled as he turned the knob. “Martine, I’ve had dinner sent up.”
He stopped in his tracks.
His wife sat in a chair with ropes binding her wrists and legs and a rag stuffed in her mouth. He rushed to kneel before the chair and began untying her. “Stop struggling, I can’t get the knots.”
Panic filled her gaze as she shook her head.
Dear God, he’d failed to protect her. “’Twill be just moment, lass. Sit still.”
“Cease,” a voice behind him said.
Declan shut his eyes and sighed. What a fool he’d been. “Welcome, Sadie,” he said as he stood. He positioned himself between the two women.
With a crazed gleam in her eyes, she advanced from the corner. Her unbound hair snarled around her face and her clothes were stained with ashes and blood.
He forced a smile on his face. “Why don’t you sit and dine with us.”
Martine squeaked from behind. He clasped his hands behind his back and then opened his palm in the same manner he remembered she used with the Lurchers. He prayed she understood that he wanted her to remain calm.
“Nay, me love,” she cooed. “You and I alone will make our way to my estate.”
He schooled his features to mask his fury. Yet his anger chased through his veins. “’Tis sorry I am to be refusing you, but I’ve plans with my betrothed.”
“Your betrothed!” She screeched. “I’m to be your wife.” She ran forward, her hands ready to claw him. “I’m yer wife. I’m yer wife,” she yelled as she battered his chest and sunk her nails into his face. “I saw you with her—the Gypsy whore. By the river she bewitched you. Forced you to bed her.”
He grappled for her flailing hands. Blood dripped from his face. Finally he pinned her arms to her side, holding her back as much as he could. “Nay, Sadie. I love Martine.”
“No!” she screeched as she ripped from his grip and continued her assault.
Declan didn’t want to hurt the befuddled woman. But he did want her in jail where she belonged. He grabbed her arms and forcefully pinned them to her sides. “Stop.”
Martine grunted from behind. He shifted his gaze to the door and saw the Pub’s owner holding a tray laden with food. “Get the magistrate. Now.”
The tray clattered onto the floor in a clash of broken china.
The man nodded and turned to leave, shock visible on his unshaven face.
“Wait,” Declan called after him. “Untie my bethrothed.”
The man came back and skirted around them. He quickly untied Martine and left.
“You despicable, vile woman.” She came close to Sadie, her face red with indignation. “You nearly killed me.”
“And kill you I will,” Sadie yelled back.
Declan almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
“Pah,” Martine said. “You could barely hurt a fly.”
Sadie spat, hitting Declan instead of her intended victim. “Och, ‘tis sorry I am, my love.”
“No matter.” He wished to keep her quiet until Connelly arrived. If Sadie became overly agitated, she may just attempt murder once again.
“Sadie,” he said in a soothing voice while he looked pointedly at Martine. “’Tis important you stay calm.”
“Calm?” Her eyes widened and the harsh manic tone of her voice set his teeth on edge. The room seemed to be consumed with an evil spirit.
Declan tightened his grip and nodded to Martine to step back. An angry glare still hovered in her eyes, but she complied.
“How did you get in the room, Sadie?” he said in a deceptively calm voice.
She giggled. “Your man Little ordered tea. And I brought it to him with some of the same drug I gave you.” She appeared pleased with herself and although he wanted to throttle her, it was more important she went to jail.
“Forrester,” Connelly yelled as he bound into the room. Sadie shoved against Declan, attempting to twist out of his grip. He held his position, thwarting her efforts.
“Sadie Bannon.” Connelly wiped his brow and whistled under his breath. “You’ll be coming with me.”
“I’ll help you,” Declan said. “She may try to escape again. Truth be told, she’s a stronger lass than I thought.” He couldn’t help but smile when Martine scoffed.
“My love, don’t let this eejit hurt me,” Sadie whined.
Connelly grabbed Sadie and forcefully dragged her from the room.
“My love,” she screamed. “Come to me, my love.”
“Don’t move an inch,” Martine warned.
He turned toward her. “I need to make sure she goes behind bars.”
She tipped her head. “I know.” Refusing to meet his gaze, she continued with a shaky voice. “She meant to kill me, Declan.”
He pulled Martine into his arms and kissed the top of her head. Holding her stilled his hands from shaking. He’d almost lost her. What would he have done without her? “I know. I know,” he said into her freshly washed hair. He could barely catch his breath over the thought of her in danger. “We leave soon.”
“Aye, in London we’ll be safe.”
Declan didn’t have the heart to tell her that may be far from the truth. If he couldn’t keep her safe in the small village, how would he in London? He fleetingly thought of seeking Rafe’s help in keeping her in Ireland as he went to secure his innocence. He dismissed the thought, knowing she’d refuse.
He kissed her once again. “My men are downstairs. Don’t open the door to anyone but me.”
What a sight it would be to see Sadie Bannon behind bars at last.
Declan strode into the small village jail as if he owned the place. Actually, he did. He fleetingly wondered if he was still lord over Riverton and determined not to allow the good people of the town to suffer because of the machinations of Ettenbourgh.
“Now, Forrester,” Connelly said as he held up his hand. “I’ll be taking care of me guest.”
“As you did before?” He leaned against the door jam, trying to remain calm when he was anything but. Truth be told, he was both relieved she was captured and damn furious. “Seems to me, you’ve a need to restrain your prisoners better.”
Connelly dipped a fat scone into his tea. “You’ve the right of it.” He took a huge bite. “Thought I could trust Grey.”
Declan scoffed.
“Is that you, my love?”
He ignored Sadie’s question as he placed his hands on Connelly’s desk. Although he’d rather smash his fist in the incompetent magistrate’s face. “Keep her here, or die trying.”
Declan turned and left the building as Sadie screeched his name over and over.
In front of the pub he waited until he was calm before he entered. Still agitated after a few breaths, Declan walked the length of the street as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Truly the last few days had been exhilarating and treacherous at the same time. He entered the pub and went to their chamber.