Ignoring her unclothed state, she quickly slid the window upwards. She didn’t stop to look down, and jumped across the short distance to the thick branch of the large oak outside of the window. It was very high, but she had little choice. With a silent prayer heavenwards, she clambered down the branches she could reach, before she had to let go and fall to the ground with a thud.
Winded for a few moments, she heard voices outside and felt a wave of panic sweep through her. It wasn’t Sebastian. She took a fortifying breath and looked around frantically, not knowing what to do.
She was dressed in a white shift, and would stand out like a beacon if she ran down the drive. Where else could she go? Easing around the edge of the house she looked across to the tree line. In the far distance to the right, she spied the tip of a church spire. She could remember passing it as she rode through the village with Isobel only a few weeks ago.
Without hesitation, she left the sheltered protection of the stone wall and took off across the grass. Despite the increasing winds tearing at her ears, and the pain in her feet from the running across the ground without shoes on, Amelia ran as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. She was vaguely aware of the surprised shouts from men behind her but didn’t stop to look backwards, and instead lengthened her stride as much as she could.
If she could get to the church, or the village, she could find somewhere to hide until morning. Then she could seek help. With her eyes firmly locked on the ground before her, she headed straight for the tree line and the church beyond.
As she reached the protection of the trees, Amelia felt panic sweep through her. The men were closer than she thought. She could distinctly hear Ballantyne’s voice issuing threats as he gave chase.
Crashing through the harsh branches, her feet were cut to ribbons and littered with thorns, but fear drove her onwards without mercy. Branches tore at her thin shift, scraping her arms and chest as she pushed through them. A sob lodged in her throat as she tripped over an unforgiving branch, and landed on the floor with a thud.
She lay panting in the undergrowth for several moments, certain that at any moment she would feel Ballantyne’s hands on her shoulders, dragging her to her feet.
When nothing happened, she glanced backwards. She could hear branches snapping and leaves rustling, but couldn’t see anyone. Lurching to her feet again, she ran for her life.
“There!” Peter shouted, pointing towards the figure of a man heading toward the tree line. Without hesitation he took off after him.
“Wait, she could be inside,” Sebastian gasped, jumping down from his horse. Even from outside, the crackling of burning wood was loud. Smoke billowed out of the rooms on either side of the entrance hall, immediately encasing them in foggy heat.
The acrid burning in his throat made his eyes water, but nothing could deter him from searching the house for Amelia. Although he had little doubt she had fled, there was still the possibility she was inside, and they were trying to burn the house around her. If she was there, he had to find her.
With Dominic and Edward beside him, they entered the large hallway. Orange flames were visible, flickering beneath the wooden door leading to the back of the house.
Coughing against the choking smoke, Edward began a quick sweep of the downstairs rooms he could get into.
Dominic and Sebastian headed for the stairs. As Sebastian reached the top, muffled thumps and cursing blended with the popping and hissing of flames that were steadily engulfing the house.
Despite the thick fog of smoke, Sebastian turned towards the long corridor leading to the bedrooms, and came face to face with Rat.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my lord, the carriage jumper,” Rat sneered.
“Where is she?” Sebastian demanded his voice cold and deadly.
“She’s gone. You wouldn’t want her now, even if you could find her.” He smirked lasciviously and tugged at the placket of his breeches meaningfully. “She was good too. Screamed a lot, but took us both.”
Sebastian fought the raw fury that rose in his throat. “If you’ve hurt her, hanging will be a mercy,” Sebastian spat. “Where have they gone?”
Rat shrugged unconcernedly. “Somewhere.” He didn’t see the big man move, and gasped when Sebastian’s rapier appeared at his throat. His eyes popped wide with surprise, and his bravado vanished in an instant.
“You know what? I hope they hang you last so you can see the fate that awaits you,” Sebastian ground out. “Get out of my way!”
Rat never saw the huge fist that landed squarely in the middle of his face, and crumpled without a whimper.
“Tie him up,” Sebastian snapped at Dominic, kicking Rat out of the way and moving to the room behind him. The smoke was thickening far too quickly. Time was short. He just had to know if Amelia was in the house somewhere. Covering his lower face with his cloak, he stepped over Rat’s unconscious form and pushed into the first bedroom.
The sight that met him made his knees shake, and he cursed fluidly. He paused for a few moments against the doorjamb to steady himself, his eyes filled with horror.
At the foot of the bed on the floor lay Amelia’s dress. The bed, rumpled and tousled, had two ropes at the head, clearly used to tie her down.
“Sweet Jesus,” Dominic whispered behind him, his throat husky from the smoke.
Sebastian blinked back tears as he turned and began to work his way down the remainder of the corridor. He took a small measure of satisfaction at ferociously kicking each door open as he went. Dominic began to search rooms on the other side, ignoring the flames that met him when he opened the last three doors.
There was no sign of Amelia.
With a negative shake of his head at Sebastian, they made their way back downstairs, bursting out of the house as the smoke became too thick to see through. The mixture of the brandy he had consumed earlier that evening, the thick smoke and the sight in the bedroom became too much and Sebastian bent over, promptly losing the contents of his stomach in the bushes.
“There is nobody downstairs. Fire’s in the cellar as well,” Edward reported with a cough.
“They have torched the whole house. There is nothing we can do, Amelia isn’t there.”
“Which way did they go?”
“The church, I think.” Edward nodded. “There was only one man heading that way. Peter’s chasing.”
“Ballantyne.” Sebastian spat the last of the bile out of his mouth and ran to his horse. Within seconds he had mounted and was thundering towards the tree line. He didn’t need to look behind him to know that Dominic and Edward were following.
As he rode, Sebastian blinked the sting of tears out of his eyes as he considered what Amelia could have been subjected to. His precious, wonderful Amelia. Ballantyne was depraved and twisted at the best of times. As he rode, Sebastian swore that whatever they had done to her, as long as she was alive, he would be there for her.
He just had to get to her before Ballantyne did.
At the tree line, Sebastian drew his sabre and tore through the dark overhang of branches towards the direction of the church. He glanced at Dominic, Edward and Peter, who all appeared silently beside him.
“Psst.” Sebastian turned and looked at Peter, who flicked his ear.
“Come out; come out, wherever you are,” the sing-song voice chanted from the graveyard.
Silently they moved forward, listening as Ballantyne chanted time and again, trying to frighten Amelia into coming out of hiding. Sometimes louder, sometimes barely a whisper, it was eerie in the silence of the night.
“I know you are here somewhere, and I will find you. I won’t be happy when I do, and you will pay.”
Sebastian heaved a sigh of relief. Amelia was at least alive. He shook his head, and focused on the graveyard now visible through the trees. He could see the dark shadow of Ballantyne slowly moving amongst the gravestones, but couldn’t see any sign of Amelia.
He felt proud of her. Wherever she was, she had hidden
well.
Sebastian began to circle the gravestones, keeping a careful eye on Ballantyne while he searched for Amelia in the darkness. He was aware of his brothers fanning out around the graveyard, and silently disappearing into the trees.
Sebastian needed Amelia to know he was there. “Lost her again, Ballantyne?” Sebastian shouted, hoping Amelia heard him.
“You took your time, Cavendish,” Ballantyne replied, his eyes scanning the trees suspiciously. “I wondered how long it would take you to find us.”
“You should know there is nowhere you can hide from me.” Sebastian slowly drew his sabre. The sound of steel sliding upon steel echoed threateningly around the graveyard.
“Oh, Amelia knows about paying, don’t you Amelia?” Ballantyne murmured, as a lascivious grin suddenly lit his face. “She was good too. Took a bit of convincing, but took everything we gave her in the end.” His laugh was loud and high.
Sebastian wondered if the man was actually sane. Depraved and twisted definitely. Insane? Maybe.
“Amelia, stay where you are, darling. I will find you,” Sebastian shouted through the gloom, catching sight of Dominic approaching slowly and silently from the side of the church.
“Ah, isn’t that sweet. He will find you, Amelia,” Ballantyne sing-songed. “He won’t want you when he realises what we have done to you, but he will find yooouuuu!”
Sebastian suddenly had a thought. “You are going to the gallows for murder, Ballantyne, you know that. Unfortunately for you, nobody will buy your claim to insanity. You are greedy. You are a callous, depraved murderer, but you are not insane.”
Ballantyne turned hard, feral eyes on him. All traces of mirth vanished in an instant, leaving Sebastian in no doubt that before him was the cold, hard murderer who had ruthlessly slaughtered an innocent servant. Then sent an innocent man to the gallows.
“You have nothing on me,” Ballantyne spat, his voice devoid of humanity.
“Oh, but I am afraid we do. You see, we have people who will testify against you and letters confirming your trickery from the people who were your victims.” Sebastian paused when Ballantyne snorted.
“Of course you do. They are all dead,” he shouted, holding his arms wide. “Nobody is alive to implicate me, because they are all dead!”
“Unfortunately for you, they all knew how low you could really go, and wrote letters confirming what you had done before they died.” He watched Ballantyne hitch a breath to interrupt and continued.
“Martha, the maid you murdered with your brother, had told her sister that you were both raping her. Passing her around at orgies and so forth. Her sister told her to leave, but she daren’t be cast out, especially as she was carrying your child. It was yours, wasn’t it Ballantyne? You had slept with a servant and stupidly got her with child.” Contempt coloured his voice. “But that wasn’t enough. You had to get rid of Hawksworth when he saw you slit Martha’s throat, didn’t you? You knew that when he sobered up, he could remember everything and go to the authorities. So you framed him.”
“Stupid oaf. Always drinking. Even with the most beautiful woman at the orgies, he couldn’t get it up. Instead, sat in the corner in a drunken stupor. Drinking and watching. Stupid bastard woke up while we were trying to clean up the mess. Damned maid bled like a stuck pig. Hawksworth became agitated, so we plied him with more drink. It was easy to lie him down in the bed next to the whore’s body, and put the knife in his hand. He couldn’t remember anything he saw when he woke up. He was easy to convince.”
“Until he did sober up in gaol. By that time it was too late, and nobody would listen to the ranting of a drunken murderer.” Sebastian was unsurprised when Ballantyne made no move to contradict him.
“You didn’t count on Hawksworth writing to his family seeking help, and revealing everything though, did you?” Sebastian added. “Sending a letter to his cousin that clearly detailed everything he knew. Telling everyone you were the one holding the knife. He could remember the events he witnessed that night clearly enough to recount specific details. When nobody would listen to either his true identity, or the name of the real murder, he wrote a true account of events and sent it to his family. Especially when he knew he was going to be hung for a crime he didn’t commit.”
For the first time Sebastian felt a little empathy for the drunken Hawksworth, who for no other reason than his own weakness, had found himself living on the fringes of society. A society that parcelled him up and handed him over to the hangman’s noose without mercy.
“Nobody has any firm evidence. Your aunt claimed she had a letter, but who would believe her? I am now Lord Ballantyne. Nobody can accuse me of anything. Especially some mad old bat who was behaving oddly anyway. Nobody has any evidence that can convict me of anything.” The arrogant contempt in the man’s voice made Sebastian’s skin crawl.
“You have no wealth,” Sebastian contradicted loudly. “You spent it all on whores and gambling. Your estates are about to be claimed by your creditors. Your family name is blackened by your debauched lifestyle. You can fire a house, but the evidence isn’t there, Ballantyne. I have it. Montague has the rest.” He watched panic enter the man’s eyes and wondered just how far he could push him. “You are finished, Ballantyne. The hangman’s noose is going to be the easy way out.”
“My family name is not besmirched,” Ballantyne screamed, and he drew his sabre, lunging at Sebastian with an epithet.
“Keep back,” Sebastian shouted to the others, as they all moved out of their respective hiding places at once. “This is between me and him.”
He lunched forwards with a parry that took the smaller man by surprise.
With astonishing dexterity, Ballantyne returned the volley and sparks flew.
The fight was on.
Amelia couldn’t see anything from her hiding place behind a huge gravestone, but could hear the clanging of steel upon steel as the two men fought. Once or twice, she thought she saw sparks fly into the air but daren’t look.
Despite knowing Ballantyne’s attention was on Sebastian and their fight, Amelia daren’t stand up. She was so cold, she wasn’t sure she had the strength in her legs anyway. Her feet were so bloodied and bruised from running through the woods, it was painful just to sit with them resting on the floor. Instead, she tried to block everything out and curled into a tight ball to wait.
If Sebastian was there, the chances were Peter, Edward or Dominic was there too. She couldn’t see them and she didn’t want to distract Sebastian by appearing like a ghost from behind the crypt. So she had to sit and wait, and hope that if Sebastian became at risk, his brothers would step in and finish the job for him.
Shivering and terrified, she curled into a tight ball and began to pray.
Sebastian fought for Amelia. Not for the physical pain of the beatings they gave him, or his attempted murder. But for everything they had subjected Amelia to.
His blows were harder; his parries longer. He let his demons loose. With a low snarl, he countered each blow Ballantyne struck with dexterous ease, pleased when the tip of his blade scored along the man’s shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
Ballantyne stared down in disbelief at his shoulder before turning his gaze back to Sebastian.
“Tell the others to move back,” he spat, chest heaving with exertion from wielding the heavy sword for such a long time. “Tell them, or I kill her.” The tip of his sabre disappeared behind a large gravestone.
Sebastian heard Amelia’s whimper before she was grabbed by the hair and dragged to her feet. He swore fluidly at the bedraggled sight of her.
Her hair was loosely hanging down around her shoulders and wildly tangled, barely covering her modesty. The abject terror in her eyes nearly unmanned him.
Sebastian was vaguely aware of his brothers moving out of the way, to allow Ballantyne to edge sideways towards the entrance, dragging a reluctant Amelia with him.
“I swear to God, Ballantyne, this has to stop,” Sebastian demanded wit
h a growl.
“Sebastian.” Amelia wasn’t sure if he heard her, but it gave her strength to know he was nearby. Her gaze locked on him beseechingly.
“Keep your distance, or I will slit her throat,” Ballantyne warned, his voice deadly as he swept around in a circle. “You can then watch your whore die, knowing that not only is she soiled with our seed, but she is dying slowly and painfully.”
Amelia whimpered as her feet landed on the sharp stones on the pathway leading away from the churchyard. She was already numb from the cold, but could feel every stone dig into her bruised flesh with agonising accuracy.
As she was dragged out of the churchyard, she could barely put her feet down. Her weight was too much for Ballantyne to drag. With a curse he picked her up bodily, and ran along the cart track with her, heading away from the village.
Amelia eventually heard the sound of rushing water with a sense of dread.
She began to fight and writhe against him until he dropped her. Her feet had no sooner hit the floor before she was pulled upwards by the hair, and dragged towards a large river running along the side of the track.
The noise of the rushing water flowing fast and furious was deafening. Amelia’s stomach dropped when she was dragged to the edge of the stone outcrop, directly above the raging water.
“Suicide?” Amelia gasped, staring in horror at the gaping darkness below.
“I’ll survive,” Ballantyne replied absently, squinting through the gloom for signs of Sebastian and the others. Within seconds they pounded to a stop a few feet away.
Amelia screamed when she was immediately shoved forwards until she was hanging over raging waters, held by nothing more than her thin shift. The whisper-thin material wasn’t designed to carry her body weight and it began to tear. She frantically clawed at Ballantyne’s arm, trying to gain a secure hold as the material was pulled tight.
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