Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  “You are a worthy opponent,” Woodstone announced. “It has taken a decade for anyone to take note of our operations.”

  Carter asked, “How will you stop the others from killing you?” He would not antagonize Woodstone with a personal taunt–not when the man still held a gun on Carter’s father.

  Woodstone’s confidence rose quickly. “I need only to make an example of you.” The man turned the gun on Carter, and despite the danger, Carter breathed easier. His father would be spared. “And I am not afeared of your friends’ revenge.”

  Carter ceased his sideways movement. It was essential to protect the baron at all costs. “You think yourself invincible?” he asked with feigned nonchalance.

  Woodstone shook his head in denial. “I require no shield of invincibility. You have underestimated me, Sir Carter. After all the elaborate plans you have witnessed this day, did you think I would approach six men without some form of assurance?”

  Carter’s heartbeat hitched faster. If Woodstone spoke of six men, he had likely incapacitated Beauchamp. “As I know you are dying to tell me, please explain your proposal.”

  “Very well.” Woodstone gestured with the gun. “Our removal of Mrs. Warren from Blake’s Run has served its purpose. While you rescued the lady, my associates have removed Lady Hellsman from the manor.” Carter had anticipated something similar, but he had rushed away before putting security in place. “If I do not join my friends by midnight, Lady Hellsman will pay the price. So, I am certain you can convince your companions to permit me my freedom.”

  Carter could hear his father’s anxious breathing. “You cannot injure Lady Hellsman,” the baron asserted. “She is the title’s future.”

  Woodstone declared, “Then you best hope I arrive in time.”

  Carter’s mind raced in search of answers. “Ransing means to have his retribution?” He hoped his bold assertion would rattle Woodstone’s composure as much as the man had rattled his.

  A flicker of doubt crossed Woodstone’s expression. “You have discovered the viscount’s involvement?”

  “Of course,” Carter declared. “But I do not understand a man who makes an innocent woman his target.” He regarded his enemy with a hint of suspicion.

  Woodstone’s jaw line tightened, and Carter took note of the man’s inherent disapproval. “Ransing means for your brother to know grief for his many manipulations. Hurting Lady Hellsman will destroy the future baron.”

  “Arabella…” the baron began.

  “Is a strong woman.” Carter hoped to keep the news of Bella’s upcoming lying in a secret from these men.

  Woodstone gestured with a nod of his head. “Blakehell, you must carry my terms to the others.”

  Carter glanced to his father. “Do as he asks, Sir.” He hoped to remove the baron from danger; only then could Carter act.

  “I will not leave you, Carter,” Blakehell declared.

  Carter attempted to reason with his father. “Sir, Lawrence will require your guidance. Law is your heir.”

  “And you are my youngest son,” the baron insisted as he stepped menacingly toward Woodstone.

  “No!” Carter shouted, but it was too late. Woodstone reacted to the baron’s charge; he turned the gun and fired.

  From his eye’s corner, Carter saw his father stumble backward, clutching at his chest, but Carter had no time to tend the baron’s wound. He lunged for Woodstone, taking the man to the ground. His opponent struggled valiantly; yet, Carter’s training prevailed. A few well-placed blows to Woodstone’s kidneys sent the man reeling with pain. When his father’s assailant used a hand to protect his side, Carter delivered a solid punch to the point of Woodstone’s chin, and the man spun to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Chest heaving, Carter stood over Woodstone waiting for his attacker’s next move. Behind him, he heard his father groan, but Carter purposely did not turn his head. He was the only defense between Cyrus Woodstone and Niall Lowery.

  “What the…” Kerrington’s voice boomed over the silence. His friends had arrived, and Carter’s shoulders relaxed.

  “A bit of trouble,” he said through tight lips.

  “Father!” The desperation in Law’s voice drew Carter’s eyes from the culprit who had shot the baron. He turned to see his brother pressing a handkerchief to their father’s shoulder.

  Quickly, he joined Law on his knees beside his father’s body. “What happened?” Law demanded.

  Carter had no right to feel offense as his brother’s tone: It was his fault his father had known danger. His enemies had made those Carter affected their targets. “Woodstone meant to prevent my involvement in an investigation of a grand scale. I attempted to remove the baron, but father placed himself between me and Woodstone.” Carter still could not believe he had failed to protect his family. What good were his skills if those he loved still could know harm?

  “I have Woodstone secured,” Kerrington announced.

  Carter felt the divide between Carter Lowery, governmental agent, and Carter Lowery, dutiful son, widen. “Send someone to where Beauchamp held the others. I suspect Woodstone has seen to his accomplices’ release.”

  Godown nodded his understanding. “Lexford and I will see to the others and return Mr. Beauchamp and his captives to Blake’s Run.”

  Mrs. Warren, supported by Charleton, appeared in the open door. “What is amiss?”

  “Father has been shot,” Law shared. “But I cannot tell the extent of the injury.”

  She straightened her shoulders with renewed resolve, and Carter recognized the determined Lucinda Warren had returned. “Carry the baron outside where the light is better. I shall examine him there.”

  Charleton argued, “Lucinda, I must insist we remove…”

  She laid a comforting hand on the earl’s arm, and Carter instinctively wished she would look kindly upon him. “Uncle, I appreciate your wish to protect me, but I have nursed men with wounds previously. I am not of such a frail nature as to have my sensibility offended.”

  Charleton reluctantly nodded his agreement.

  Kerrington suggested, “Let us use the broken door as a litter.”

  Carter and Law carefully lifted their father to the wooden panel. With Kerrington’s assistance, they carried the baron into the light.

  “Set him down under the tree,” Mrs. Warren instructed. She released her hair and quickly rewrapped it into a tight knot at the back of her neck, but the few seconds it had hung loose about her shoulders added to Carter’s fantasies of her. “I shall require you knife, Sir Carter.” She extended her palm in his direction.

  “What makes you believe I carry a knife?” he said just to watch the gamut of emotions crossing her countenance. The lady did not disappoint: first disenchantment and then irritation.

  She extended her hand further. “Your knife, Sir, and then I will require clean water or brandy for the wound.”

  “I have a flask and a roll of bandages in my saddle’s bag,” Kerrington acknowledged. “I will bring the horses about.”

  Carter instructed, “Ask the marquis and Lexford to locate the wagon’s horses. We will require them to transport my father home.”

  As Kerrington moved off, Mrs. Warren said, “I shall require your assistance, Gentlemen. I do not wish to move the baron any more than necessary. One of you must cut away his jacket and shirt.”

  Carter recovered his knife from her hand. “I will see to the baron.” He knelt where he could reach the wound. Blakehell’s countenance held his pain, and Carter wondered how long the lines had covered Niall Lowery’s forehead and eyes. In Carter’s mind, the man he called “Father” had never aged, but, obviously, Carter had erred. The gentleman lying upon the wooden litter was firmly in the latter part of his life. The thought grieved Carter: they had wasted so much time with contention.

  Kerrington returned with the necessary supplies. Mrs. Warren replaced Carter at Blakehell’s side. He shuddered with pain, and Lucinda brushed his hair from his damp forehead. “Baron,
I must examine your wound,” she said softly as her fingers probed the opening.

  The baron swatted her hand away. “You may do your worst, Mrs. Warren,” Blakehell said through tight lips. “But first I must speak to my sons.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to Carter, and he nodded his agreement. He knew without a doubt what the baron meant to say. Therefore, Carter permitted Law the preference of the contact.

  “You must permit Mrs. Warren to tend you, Sir,” Law encouraged. He caught the baron’s hand in his, and despite his best efforts, Carter knew the twinge of jealousy. When Niall Lowery passed, Lawrence would hold the memories the baron’s other children had been denied.

  “I am not avoiding Mrs. Warren’s care,” Blakehell assured. “But neither you nor Carter can spare the time to oversee the lady’s efforts.” The baron swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visible.

  “Carter and I mean to see you well, Sir,” Law reasoned.

  Realizing his father’s intent to tell it all, Carter interrupted, “The baron is correct, Law. You and I must escort Woodstone south. We have an encounter with Viscount Ransing to keep.”

  Puzzlement crossed Law’s countenance. “I do not understand. What care I for Lord Ransing?”

  Carter scowled. He was not certain he believed Woodstone; he could not imagine Ransing could “walk” into Blake’s Run and simply steal Arabella away. Such a move would be unprecedented. “In his ploy for freedom, Woodstone claimed if he did not meet with Ransing by midnight of this day, the viscount would kill Lady Hellsman.”

  “Bella?” Law said in disbelief. “How in bloody hell…did Ransing achieve… access to Arabella?”

  Carter admitted, “I remain unconvinced Ransing has Bella; I think Woodstone means to play me.”

  Law managed to untangle his tongue. “Yet, we cannot simply ignore the possibility.”

  Carter argued, “Ransing would not dare…”

  “To violate or to kill my wife!” Law exclaimed incredulously. “The man planned to ruin my future by stealing Triton from my stables. He married Miss Dryburgh because the viscount thought I would claim the woman. And do not forget Bella had a hand in turning Ransing’s manipulations to folly. Personally, I find the viscount quite capable of the ultimate revenge, especially if Charleton’s earlier disclosure proves true. Ransing would have little reason not to complete another crime.”

  Blakehell grunted, “You must hurry. Lady Hellsman carries the title’s future.”

  Kerrington encouraged, “Charleton, Mrs. Warren, and I will see to the baron. You must finish this, Lowery. Close out the investigation, which could assure you of your future with the Home Office, and settle this feud forever.”

  Mrs. Warren laid her hand gently upon Carter’s arm, and the customarily unsettling tension sparked between them. “Much of what I have overheard makes little sense,” she began. “But Lord Worthing is correct: You are the answer to all this chaos. I promise my best care for Baron Blakehell, and I charge you to offer the same for Lady Arabella.”

  He would dance through fire for this woman. “Of course, we all have our duties,” he said regrettably. All Carter wanted was a few minutes alone with Lucinda Warren before she slipped from his life forever. Reluctantly, he instructed his brother, “Assist me with hoisting Woodstone onto a horse, Law. I suppose Ransing has retreated to his property in Dove Dale.”

  Godown appeared with the wagon’s horses. “Beauchamp, likely has a broken leg, but your steward managed to follow his escaped prisoners. He and Lexford have everything in hand.”

  “Then we have use of your special skills,” Carter said knowingly. “We have another lady to rescue. I will explain as we ride.”

  Godown smirked, “I am beginning to think you see me as being cut from the same cloth as Thornhill.”

  Lucinda handed Carter the reins for the horse upon which they had tied Woodstone. “You are to return safely to your father, Sir,” she said softly.

  Carter leaned down to speak to her ears only. “Promise me you will remain at Blake’s Run until we can speak privately.”

  “I am at the earl’s disposal,” she protested. “I can offer no such promises.” The lady looked to where Charleton fed Blakehell small sips of brandy. “Lord Charleton means for me to know a home. It has been six years since I have experienced such devotion.”

  Carter knew her correct: When thrust into the worst of circumstances, Lucinda Warren had responded with courage and resolve. She deserved time to be pampered by a doting uncle. He nodded curtly to release her. “My father is not much of a drinker: The baron abstains beyond what is served with his meals,” he cautioned. He would act the role of gentleman. Carter would withdraw; he would accept the impossible: He would move on with his life.

  “Then I should return to the baron’s side,” she said dutifully. “Know care, Sir Carter.”

  “And you, as well, Mrs. Warren.” With that, he kicked his horse’s flanks. He did look back to see her hand rise in a final farewell. Deep in the pit of Carter’s stomach was the sinking feeling of dread: He had just ridden away again from the woman he loved. Surprisingly, the realization he loved Lucinda Warren did not scare him half as much as what he thought it might. In reality, the idea felt “right”–more right than anything else he had ever known. However, his future was named: He would continue to concentrate on his goals within the Home Office and forget his aspirations of calling Lucinda Warren “wife.”

  Lucinda reluctantly returned to Baron Blakehell’s side. Raw and unadulterated grief filled her heart: There had been no time for her to express her gratitude to Sir Carter for risking everything to save her. She still held no idea of how Sir Carter had come to ride with Lord Hellsman and the earl. It seemed whenever she knew trouble, the baronet appeared in her life.

  “I am quite capable when it comes to gunshot wounds,” Lord Worthing announced. He returned her gaze. “It comes from many years in service to England while on foreign shores.”

  Lucinda assured, “I am glad for the assistance.” She rinsed her bands in a bit of the brandy before using her fingertips to probe the opening more thoroughly. “It appears the volley has passed through the baron’s shoulder and out his upper arm.” She touched a particularly sensitive spot, and Blakehell grimaced. “A sliver of shrapnel is lodged against the collar bone. Where is the closest village where we might find a surgeon?”

  Kerrington shook off her unspoken suggestion. “The closest surgeon, to my knowledge, is in Hayfield.”

  “I fear for infection if the metal is not removed efficiently,” Lucinda whispered.

  Lord Worthing asked in concern, “Do we have the means to remove it?”

  Lucinda glanced about them. “The conditions are not ideal. If we had a fire where we might heat water…”

  Worthing assured, “Sir Carter would not have left his father in your care if he did not believe in your ability to persevere.”

  “There was the need to rescue Lady Arabella.”

  “Sir Carter holds the reputation for thwarting the baron’s plans,” Worthing confided. Lucinda wondered why she had not previously recognized the source of the pain so often found in Sir Carter’s voice. In his eyes, there was always the mask to disguise the agony of guilt–that is unless he looked upon her. They held a great passion in those few stolen moments, and such a thought brought a flood of exquisite yearning to Lucinda’s heart.

  She accepted Viscount Worthing’s explanation without comment. “Then we should not disappoint the baronet.”

  Within minutes, she cut the skin of the baron’s shoulder, opening the wound further and permitting it to bleed again. The blood would assist in cleansing the injury. It was not exceptionally deep, and, thankfully, Mr. Woodstone had not been an accurate shot, but Lucinda recognized the seriousness of the situation. She had witnessed many men die from lesser wounds, and the conditions were far from ideal. In addition, Baron Blakehell had passed the prime of his life. “I can see the tip,” she announced. “I will require your assistance,
Lord Worthing.”

  The viscount adjusted his position, keeping Blakehell’s upper arm braced under his leg. “Tell me what you require.”

  “Dip your knife in the brandy and then use it to flay open the skin while I cut around the metal to loosen it.” She glanced to the pain contracting the baron’s countenance. “We must work quickly.”

  “I am at your disposal, Ma’am.” Lord Worthing followed her instructions perfectly, and Lucinda wondered if he should not have been the one cutting into Blakehell’s flesh.

  Slowly and meticulously, she cut the exposed tissue to free the piece of metal. Finally, she caught the tip between her index finger and thumb. Gently lifting upward, Lucinda released the shrapnel from the skin. Holding it tightly in her grasp, she slipped it into a pocket in her day dress. “Hand me the bandages,” she instructed. Her uncle passed the rolled strips of muslin to her. Lucinda cut a section from the end of one roll and folded it several times to pack the opening and to staunch the blood flow. Next, she drizzled more of the brandy over the wound. “Permit me to wrap the baron’s shoulder so he cannot move it, and then we should set a course for Blake’s Run.”

  “I will see to the horses and the wagon,” Kerrington announced as he stood. Lucinda thought it miraculous Sir Carter’s associates–all men of the aristocracy–possessed skills of the common man. She had seen more than one aristocratic military officer without even the ability to mount his steed unless his batman gave him a boost.

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” the baron said through dry lips.

  Lucinda nodded her acceptance. “Rest now, Baron. We shall return you to the baroness’s care as quickly as possible.” Lucinda stood and rotated her shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached. “I mean to find a private setting,” she whispered to the earl.

  “Not too far, my Dear,” he warned.

  Lucinda smiled easily at the man–her natural father. He was truly a good man. She had lost everyone for whom she cared, and it was wonderful to discover Lord Charleton would risk everything for her. “Just a moment to compose my emotions,” she said lamely. She squeezed the earl’s hand and wandered off into the wood line. Dutifully, Lucinda tended to her personal needs and straightened her clothing. It had been nearly four and twenty hours since she had agreed to share the colonel’s papers with her uncle. In that short time, her life had taken another drastic turn.