by Fiona Faris
“Oh, did ye?” Ethan narrowed his eyes, “Ye’re saying ye dinna ken what was transpiring here?”
Barclays raised an eyebrow. “And what was it exactly? My tenants reported tha’ one o’ the cottages was falling doon.”
“Oh, aye? Weel it was more than tha’. Ye’re son had taken my wife hostage and was torturing her.”
Barclays’ blanched, his face paling as he alighted from his horse. “Where is he?” he asked.
Ethan shrugged. “My wife is injured. I need to get her somewhere where she can be seen to.”
Barclays turned to his men. “Take them to the hoose.” He inclined his head at Ethan and his entourage.
Ethan barked a laugh. “Ye think I’d put my wife under yer mercy, ye scoundrel?”
Barclays turned to face him, a solemn expression on his suddenly old-looking face. “I dinna have a thing tae dae with all this. Ye think I’d hurt my own son?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
His father sighed, rolling his eyes. “See here, ye’re wife looks like she’s in a bad way. Why dinna ye let Mrs. McDonald have a look at her. Ye always trusted her, did ye no?”
“I have my own doctor.”
“Well, it canna hurt for him tae have somewhere to work, no? I’m offerin’ ye shelter. It’s getting late. Dinna ye want her safe inside?”
“I want her safe fer sure.”
“Weel, she is safe wi’ us. And ye have all these swords and these men wi’ ye. I’m sure ye can fight yer way out if I try anything.”
Fergus rode up to Ethan’s side. “Mebbe we ought to take the offer. Yer wife isna looking weel.”
Ethan glanced down at Georgina, whose eyes were fluttering. “Alright. But I’ll be watching ye.”
“Aye.” Barclays nodded, moving aside so that Ethan could pass. His men turned and began to lead them to the manor house at Daltern.
Georgiana lay against Ethan’s chest, the movement of the horse over the rough roads making her hurt too much to actually sleep. Her body twanged like a guitar string, nerves firing as she ran the last two days through her mind, the unnecessary pain inflicted upon her, the humiliation of not being able to fight back. The repellent touch and drag of her captor's hands over her body as she dangled helplessly at the end of a rope.
The impotent rage that had filled her at the thought of those bastards leaving Ethan dead on the cold ground...
"Georgiana? Are ye alright?" Ethan whispered into her ear as he heard Georgiana's breathing became heavier.
Georgiana's eyes rolled up, and she grabbed the hand Ethan had stretched around her middle, reassuring herself this was real. Ethan was there.
Alive.
She swallowed and nodded. "I'm fine," she croaked, her hand falling back down.
Ethan reached out and gripped Georgiana's shoulder gently, his eyes glistening suspiciously. "We'll be there soon."
Georgiana's mouth twitched to smile, and she nodded again, missing Ethan's hand as soon as it was withdrawn. Her gaze fell on the wooden stock of the pistol Ethan had dropped in the saddlebag swaying below her, the barrel gleaming dully.
Her hand went down to the weapon, her fingers curling around the cool wood, nestling behind the trigger guard, feeling some of the tension easing from her trembling form.
She managed to fall into a light doze that made the voices around her nothing more than wordless noises, like sound underwater.
She jerked back with a pained cry as fingers touched her.
"Oh! Shite...Georgiana, ah'm sorry..."
Ethan's contrite voice did little to slow the jerky pound of Georgiana's heart, but it relaxed her mind's sudden panic.
"Yer eyes were open; I dinna mean to startle ye." Ethan squatted down, painfully, so Georgiana could see him. "We're here, at Daltern manor," Ethan gestured behind him. "Oh..." Georgiana blinked, her eyes looking past Fergus to the hulking building that seemed to loom over them. Somebody was standing on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. A woman. Georgiana squinted, trying to see better, but the figure remained indistinct. All she was sure of was that the figure was a woman, judging by her gown.
Grimacing, she tried to push herself up. Just the short time in a prone position had stiffened her abused body, and every movement was a study in aches as torn skin was pulled, and bruised muscles stretched.
"I... I can't..." It was mortifying to admit she couldn't get down from the horse without help, but there it was.
Ethan alighted from the horse, gently reaching for Georgiana and inching her all the way until she was standing on the ground. Her feet buckled, and he grabbed for her arm, wondering how to bring her to the house in the least painful way.
He settled for just pulling a groaning Georgiana bodily away from the horse until they could get her in a standing position with her bare feet more or less on the ground. Her knees wobbled as she tried to bear her own weight, clutching ineffectually at Ethan, then realizing she still gripped the pistol in one hand.
"Jesus..." she gasped, the muscles in her calves screaming as she tried to straighten her legs.
"Georgiana, gi’ me the pistol," Ethan said, tugging on it.
Georgiana tightened her grip, head shaking, "No."
Ethan started to protest, then shook his head. If it made Georgiana feel better, what the hell?
Seeing that the bandage around Ethan's waist was spotted with blood, the doctor pulled Georgiana's arm over his shoulder and put his other arm carefully around her waist, as far below the crisscrossed slashes as he could. "I have her, Mr. Buchanan," he grunted. "Open the doors and let's get her inside. She’s getting dangerously cold.”
He was saved from having to move when one of the men hastened to the door and held it open. Together, he and the doctor propelled Georgiana slowly through it, where Mrs. McDonald stood, wringing her hands in worry.
“Bring her this a-way,” she urged.
Pulling them both up the steps, Ethan bit back a groan. His own body felt like he'd been hit by a horse, he couldn't imagine what Georgiana must be feeling like. He followed Mrs. McDonald to the guest room on the ground floor.
After pausing to close the door behind him, he stumbled to the bed and slumped onto the stool next to Georgiana, who had collapsed on the bed, the pistol lying next to her on the bedside table.
Ethan pressed a hand against the dull ache in his temple. Fergus had vanished. The doctor busied himself, tending to Georgiana.
Ethan's mouth tightened as he looked at Georgiana's lacerated back, the bruises he could see-
"Georgiana…" Ethan began, strangling on 'what if,' unable to fully voice the fact that Georgiana had been closer to death than either of them wanted to face.
"I didn't die," Georgiana said, anticipating his words and cutting him off. "So let's just leave it at that." While she could understand her husband's horror at how close it had been, she lacked the energy to fully appreciate it. She spoke without lifting her head, her voice muffled in the pillows. "You got there in time."
* * *
Viscount Ashness arrived at Bellingwick, a smile splitting his face in two as he looked up at the structure. If he played his cards right, he would strip the duke of everything he valued. His daughter, his reputation, and hopefully, a good chunk of his fortune.
He strode to the front door and rang the bell. After an interminable time, the butler appeared.
“May I help you?”
Viscount Ashness laughed. “I am here to see His Grace. Please announce me.”
“His Grace is not home.” The butler’s tone remained impassive and emotionless, but the viscount could see the contempt in his eyes. He sneered.
“Is that so? Because I have it on good authority that the Duke is home. And if he cares at all about his daughter’s welfare, he will see me, right away.”
He saw the butler’s eyes widen slightly with alarm before the mask of impassivity was back. “I will check on His Grace.” He said with a bow and left Ashness standing at the door. The viscount noticed the rud
eness but decided to bide his time. After all, pretty soon, the duke would be rueing the day he treated him with anything but the utmost civility.
He tapped his cane on the checkered marble, turning up his nose at the apparent opulence on display. The butler made him wait a full ten minutes, but then he was back and ushering the viscount into the parlor.
“The duke will be down shortly,” and left without offering the viscount refreshment. Ashness shook his head and tsked, making a note of every slight.
It took another twenty minutes for the duke to appear in the doorway. He stopped, staring at the viscount with narrowed eyes. “Forgive my tardiness, but I was not expecting visitors this morning.”
“Apologies for my unannounced visit, but I thought you might want to hear this news as fast as possible.”
The duke lifted an elegant eyebrow as if he could not possibly imagine what news the viscount might have that would interest him.
“Your dear daughter. You realize she married the wrong man, do you not?”
The duke merely stared impassively at him.
Ashness sighed. “Well, it just so happens I spoke to her rightful groom while in London. He was complaining quite loudly about your duplicity in a tavern I happen to frequent. He was not at all bothering to be quiet about it.”
The duke sighed, leaning back on the sofa as if nothing Ashness said surprised him. And perhaps it didn’t… No doubt he had his spies in London.
“Well, the man seemed very…disgruntled. And as any good gentleman should, I sought to uncover his intentions.”
The duke snorted at the word gentleman, looking away from the viscount in disgust.
Ashness soldiered bravely on. “What I learned was quite disconcerting, to say the least. The Scotsman planned to find your daughter and take her dowry out of her flesh if that was the only way he could get it. You know the brother is a bastard. There is no way he can protect Lady Georgiana. He has no means, no connexions. Your daughter is doomed.”
The duke was looking at him, glaring daggers. Ashness suppressed a smile. “You’d best act quickly if you expect to save her. Otherwise she shall be a disgrace not just in England, but Scotland as well.”
“What do you know?” the duke was almost snarling. Ashness examined his nails.
“Oh. I happen to know just where he plans to take her once he has kidnapped her. That information will be available to you…” he turned to look the duke in the eye, “at a price.”
Bellingwick sneered. “Of course, a bottom feeder such as yourself would ask for compensation at a time like this. Name your price then, knave, and be damned for it.”
The viscount smiled. “I want the manor and all its attendant properties back. I want what is mine.”
“Your estate belongs to the Crown. Did you think that I kept it? I was merely carrying out the king’s edict.”
Ashness’ eyes darkened. “Well, I suggest you get it back if you wish to be in time to save your daughter. Otherwise I fear all that will be returned to you is a mangled corpse.”
The duke shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Get your blackened soul out of my house!”
Ashness lifted a hand in a quelling gesture. “Ah, ah, not so fast. You think I am bluffing about your daughter? I assure you, I am not.”
“I do not need your help to get my daughter. I am the Duke of Bellingwick. It is but the thing of a moment to get his majesty’s forces mobilized. The nearest garrison to Eastcairn fortress is less than a day’s march. Shorter on horseback!”
Ashness sneered. “You would gamble your daughter’s life on the possibility of the cavalry arriving in time?”
They stared at each other, each unblinking for several moments. The viscount was determined not to be the first to break. The duke, however, did not blink, and Ashness looked away, his cheeks coloring slightly.
“You’re not getting back your property. If you wish to get it back, petition the crown and outline the reasons why you think you are deserving of the honor of overseeing his majesty’s subjects when your father murdered three of his crofters in an attempt to cover up-”
Ashness smashed the clay bust that stood on a plinth by the door, the loud sound echoing loudly through the room and bringing the butler and two footmen running. “You shall not talk of my father in such a way!” he growled.
“Leave my house,” the duke said coldly, and the footmen each took a flank as the butler led him from the house. He shook them off in the courtyard, but as his carriage drove off, he noticed that a footman was following on horseback as if to ensure that he left the district.
Ashness sneered. It was no matter.
By the time you find her, she will be dead, and you will have lost your pride and joy.
He sneered, and then laughed out loud. Even if he had failed to retrieve his land, he would still be able to go to London and ruin Lady Georgiana’s reputation even further. Bellingwick would not be able to hold his head up in Society.
Chapter Thirty
The fever dreams had begun, and Georgiana moaned, tossing and turning on the sheets, shivering despite her shockingly high temperature. She was safely ensconced in the sick room with Ethan and the doctor watching over her. She knew he was not happy to be here, but with everything that had happened, she needed it. Her hand covered her stomach as she tried to feel for any movement. The doctor had said that as far as he could tell, she was still pregnant. She could not shake the cold though, and that was worrying.
Agony… infernos... tumbling… sweltering… gloom…
The fury, malevolence, and lunacy in those eyes held her, and she could not look away. Suddenly she felt the pain of the belt on her back, and she screamed. Tears of blood raked her cheeks, but she could not look away. Her captors laughed and said, “You will tell us what we want to know, whore…”
Georgiana cried out, and Ethan winced, taking and wringing out the cloth from her forehead. The cloth was icy cold and wet as he tried to bring down her temperature. A bitter irony since it was cold that made her sick. That and the welts on her back, the hunger, the thirst, the beatings…Ethan gritted his teeth, feeling that he might grind them to dust before Georgiana was well again. Her color was high again. He wiped her forehead and laid a cool hand on her, trying to bring down the temperature. The doctor came by with yet another tisane, which he poured down her throat. Ethan was afraid she would not keep it down. She was liable to be sick without so much as a moment’s notice.
Georgiana suddenly shot up off the sheets, a torturous scream rending the room, Ethan's features twisted, as though he too felt her pain. He bent over Georgiana, murmuring soothingly in a mix of English and Gaelic, and she quieted, sighing.
Pain and darkness, and suddenly there is a light, warm and soothing and comforting, and a familiar voice.
Her eyes fluttered open, and Ethan shuddered at her gaze.
"Baby," Georgiana murmured.
"Dinna fash aboot the baby, he’s doing just fine," and Ethan began to turn down the sheet in case she was hot, but Georgiana moaned, shaking her head. Ethan blinked.
"Oh. You want me to leave it?"
Georgiana nodded weakly, trying to lick her dry lips, and Ethan held a cup of warm water to them, tucking the sheet around her again.
* * *
Bellingwick finished the letter to the admiral of the Scottish watch in no time and entrusted it to his steward, who took the fastest horse they had to London. The duchess was wringing her fingers as she paced in his office. “Will we just sit here, wringing our hands while we wait?” she asked shooting him anxious glances.
Bellingwick shook his head. “No. Pack what you can quickly. We are going to Scotland.” He got to his feet, walked to his wife, and kissed her cheek before exiting the office to do his own packing.
The duchess sighed, closed her eyes, and then hurried away to prepare for the journey.
* * *
On the fifth day, the fever broke, and Georgiana retched into a bucket that Ethan held, her cheeks flami
ng in embarrassment as if he had not bathed her body and cleaned her every day.
Soft bread and steaming soup were brought on a tray by one of Mrs. McDonald’s serving girls. Ethan helped his still weak wife sit up, ignoring the proud glare she shot him. He would probably have fed her if Georgiana hadn't slapped his hand away weakly. Ethan sighed, but let Georgiana feed herself.
She finished surprisingly fast and shivered. "Cold."
And indeed, it was cold; torrential rain whipped through the countryside, and great gusts of wind shook the window-panes. Ethan was glad they had not attempted to get back to Daltern, for they should have definitely been caught in the inclement weather. He had not seen his father since their talk and did not know if Barclays had collected Lachie’s body. He still did not feel safe here, but Fergus and his men were standing guard, and Georgiana needed the rest.