Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

  The door opened, one of the lads came out, the same lad as came to Hawksmoor.

  “Get over there and fetch that satchel”

  As Leland ordered, the lad approached. Archard handed him the bag. He watched the lad heft it and then soon reach the side of Leland’s horse.

  Leland leaned down a hand, the other having the pistol trained on Val, and took it from him. The lad dashed in the house.

  A smile lit Leland’s face. The hammer went back on the pistol. “Although you really deserve the bitch, I regret that a reunion just isn’t possible.”

  “I wouldn’t.’ Archard said calm enough. “Kill her and you’ll never get out of the country alive.”

  Leland sighed and released the hammer. “What a pity. Not that she is worth the shot, but I suppose you are right. I prettied her up for you, cousin. Just like old times. It felt good to land a few blows on the cow’s body. Better than sex.”

  Leland spent the next few moments insulting Archard, throwing his accusations, and calling Val vile names.

  Yes, Archard thought. Keep it going, Leland. His cousin could not resist.

  Somewhere in the middle of the tirade, Archard said clearly—to Val, “Drop to the ground.”

  That split second that Leland needed to register what Archard said, was the second Archard needed when Val dropped. Reaching in his boot, he lifted the pistol, fired, and with the other hand extracted the other weapon.

  Leland’s horse reared. His cousin fired wildly, trying to turn the mount. However, Archard fired again, seeing it strike Leland’s shoulder, and his hold on the pistol was lost.

  The now panicked mount bunched its muscles and turned, tossing Leland over the side of the saddle.

  “Get out of the way,” Archard warned Val as Leland fell not far from her. Archard was running toward the pair, distantly aware that the Marquis and Aric, Edmund and Auvary, were thundering down the lane with torches lit. They would catch that mount.

  Archard reached a half standing, staggering Val and grabbed her by the arm, shoving her behind him as he made three steps and kicked Leland back to the ground.

  “You sonofabitch. You filthy bastard.” Archard felt icy fury bathe his whole body. “I should have killed you and be done with it years ago.”

  Leland, bloody hand clutched to his shoulder glared up, but his mouth twisted into a smile. “You’ve too much honor to do murder, cousin, too much, bloody family honor. That is what makes you such a weak fool, Van Wyc. You were my fool.” Leland laughed and laughed.

  The shot spent, Archard drew his short sword. As the Marquis and others reached them, spreading light from the torches, the blade glinted. He told Leland, “I’m not going to kill you swiftly. I’m going to do it, very, slow.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Leland spat toward him on a laugh, “You don’t have the balls. Murder is—”

  “—Justified in this instance,” the Marquis cut in. He got off his horse and handed the torch over to Aric. Walking to his daughter, Alexander hugged her and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to his mount and putting her on it.

  “Leave the spare mount,” he said to Edmund. “Get her home. Archard and I will be along.”

  This time, Archard saw the spark of fear in Leland’s eyes. The horses were turning. The others were leaving, even as everyone heard Val call out desperately for them to let her down. It was dawning on Leland, that he was weaponless too.

  The Marquis put his polished boot on Leland’s groin, his voice as calm as ice. “I claim the right to castrate him. You can have him, when I’m done.”

  Archard watched sweat pop out on Leland’s skin. “Very well.” He reached down and grabbed his cousin by the arm. “I’ll find somewhere to string him up. I think I saw a meat hook—”

  “No. Nooo!” Leland struggled. “This is murder. It’s torture and…”

  “You’d know about that,” The Marquis said coldly. He looked around. “Where’s the child?”

  “What child?’ Leland was confused in his panic.

  “The girl you took from here.”

  “Here, milord.” From the shadows came a barefoot Annie, having been hiding behind the house. “The Lady came for me…the Lady…she got away and he was raging’ and tied me up to go look for her. I do not know how, but she must have seen me. She comes and cuts me loose. Run, she says, run.” The girl pushed her wavy blond hair back, her face streaked with sweat, dust and tears. “She ran with me but couldn’t go no further. I looked back and she was walking back to the road.” The girl swallowed. “I didn’t mean to leave her. I thought if I could get to mum, to the farm—”

  “It’s all right, child.” Alexander said. “Go inside to your mother.”

  The girl went up the steps. She turned and looked at them, at Leland. “She saved me life, your Lady. He’s the devil e is. A right nasty ole devil.” She sobbed, turned and ran inside.

  Archard looked at Leland. “Not the devil, merely a coward and bruit, who has spent every day of his life bringing pain and misery to others.” Archard spat on Leland’s boot.

  “You won’t kill me.” Leland set his teeth in a grim smile, his wild eyes going back and forth between them. “You won’t.”

  Archard dragged him into the shadows.

  Leland screamed and kicked, he fought and wept and cursed insanely the whole time Archard tied him to a post. Blood soaked his clothing. He screamed and ranted garbled madness, and went from weeping to laughing in a blink. He began to tell a most foul account of raping Val at some point and then giving her the drought to kill the babe. He laughed at that.

  Through it all, the Marquis lit a cheroot, watched him, and coolly smoked.

  When Archard raised the knife though, Leland began to scream, “Shoot me! Shoot me! I will rip her bloody guts out and eat them for breakfast. Shoot me!” Repeatedly.

  Both Van Wyc and the Marquis were startled when a flash came and Leland jerked. His eyes round and staring down, at the red spread of blood on his chest.

  Archard turned as the Marquis did.

  Aric held a still smoking pistol. He looked at his brother with cold silver eyes. “Be it on my head and not yours.” He lowered the pistol and grit roughly, “Go, go home to your wife.”

  Archard was stunned, “Aric.”

  Striding forward Aric grabbed his arm. “Go. Go home.” He glanced at the Marquis. “Get out of here. He is my kin, too. I’ll deal with this.” Aric was undoing the ropes. When Leland fell, he dragged him to his horse. “The magistrate—where?’ He looked at an equally stunned Marquis again.

  Alexander gave him directions. As Aric rode out, Alexander touched Archard’s arm. “Let’s go to Hawksmoor. Your wife needs you.”

  Archard walked to his horse and mounted. As they were riding down the dark road, lightening flashing, he uttered, “Would you have really castrated him?”

  “He abused my daughter, almost killed her. He murdered my grandchild,” was all Alexander answered.

  Archard watched the fog roll in. rain would come soon. He shuddered but murmured, “God willing, I’ll give you another.”

  “It is enough,” Alexander’s tone still held bitterness, “That you’ve given her a meaningful life.”

  They spurred their horses and rode amid the foggy darkness to Hawksmoor.

  Chapter Twelve

  Val was coming out of the numbness, her third day abed, having been bathed and tended by her sisters; she barely remembered reaching the house and Edmund carrying her inside.

  She knew her hair was shorn to the nape, and remembered Jo and Alex sitting by her bed through the night. Nevertheless, her body was tired and sleep was a long blank of hours, where time was marked by semi awakenings, but never fully emerging.

  This third day however, she heard the rattle of the tray and smelled pungent coffee. Though sore, she scooted herself up in the bed.

  “How are you feeling?” Alex glanced at her and sat beside her on the bed, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Sore and heavy
.” Val licked her lips. Her hand shook a bit as she took the coffee.

  “Can you eat?”

  “Yes.”

  It was hushed in the chamber, but past noon Val thought. She let Alex feed her, drinking two cups of the coffee.

  “We had to cut your hair.” Alex said when done, taking the tray to a small table. Coming back, she leaned down and kissed Val’s brow. “Rest, please.”

  “I need to get up.” Val shoved the covers down, seeing herself dressed in a linen night rail. She held her hand to Alex, “Help me.”

  Alex helped her to the side of the bed.

  Val put her hands by her hips, her feet on the floor while she drew in deep breaths. “I want to bate and dress. Whilst I do, tell me…what happened?”

  “Are you sure, you’re strong enough?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Later, helping her in the bath, Alex moaned, “Oh, Val, the bruises…”

  “They’ll heal.” Val sat in the tub and leaned back. The water felt good, the ease seeped into bone and sore muscle. After Alex washed her hair, they sat with the water trickling, and Alex told her what happened.

  “There will be a formal inquest. We’ve all submitted our statements, and father insisted that Aric not be held, but placed under his protection.”

  “Aric…” Val shook her head.

  Alex’s sherry eyes turned toward the door as they heard a maid enter the room. She said in quiet tones, “He didn’t want a kinsman’s blood on Archard’s hands. As strange as it all seems to us, it is the way Aric sees it. It’s how much he loves Archard and knows Archard has been the head of the family…”

  “Would they have…father I mean and…”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s better we do not. Edmund says, 'tis like divine intervention, because neither man, deserving that revenge or not, should have that choice to carry. I do not know if Aric thought Archard capable—obviously, he did—but whatever the questions remain, there will be others who will come forward with horrors that Leland did.”

  Val told her about the murder in New York.

  Alex shivered and stood, fetching toweling and holding it out for her. “You were fortunate to escape him alive. Either time.”

  “I know.”

  In the rooms, Val spoke to the maid and then allowed Alex to help her dress in a summer gown of violet and white. She put on slippers and Alex combed her hair, allowing the natural waves to settle, against her ears and nape.

  “May we come in?”

  Val looked toward the door at Jo. “Yes. Do.”

  Jo rushed in and came to her, mussing her hair as she hugged her, and kissed her. “I’m so glad you’re up and about.”

  Smiling, Val said, “Me too.” She looked behind her at the fair haired woman. “You’re Ingrid?”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Jo snorted. Alex laughed. Val reached out her hand. “I’m your cousin. Valerie Van Wyc.” When Ingrid took that hand Val added, “And if you’re going to be anywhere around me, call me Val.”

  A smile bloomed on that handsome face. “Very well.” She squeezed Val’s hands. “I’m happy to see you are better, Val.”

  Jo told Val Ingrid’s part in the whole episode.

  Val stood and hugged her. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome, although, things did not go as planned. I am glad to be a part of it. Our cousin was a blight.” The woman hugged her back.

  “It’s over.” Jo said bluntly. “Let’s put it behind us.”

  “Yes.” Val sighed and looked at all of them. “I want that, more than anything. I survived. And, I promised myself that if I did, I would not give him a day more.”

  “Archard’s been down at the woodcutter’s cottage all day,” Alex told her as they left. “He came to check on you several times and sat by the bed the whole of the first night. Father was here too.”

  “He must be worried about Aric.”

  “No. I believe between the Earls, a Marquis, and my rich family,” Ingrid commented dryly. “Aric will be acquitted.”

  “Is father in his study?” Val asked as they went down the stairs.

  “Yes. Edmund and Auvary are outside. Aric is too.”

  Val glanced at Jo. “Auvary is here?”

  Jo shrugged and smiled dryly. She kissed her cheek and then asked Ingrid if she would like to join her for a ride. The woman agreed and they departed with conversation about England and Switzerland, and Ingrid saying, despite the terrible incident, she was going to like it here. She admired the women she had met at Hawksmoor. All of the men, too.

  Alex left Val in the foyer, to join Edmund for lunch.

  Val walked to the library, pushing open the door and seeing her father standing by the open French doors, smoking a cheroot. He turned, silver hair glinting, handsome face smoothing from his frown as he took her in.

  Crossing to him, Val took the hand he offered her, the following kiss on her brow also.

  “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

  “Me too.” Val leaned her head on his shoulder, his arm around her and hers likewise. “I love you, father. I love you.”

  Tossing the cheroot, Alexander gathered her in an embrace, his voice gruff. “Each of you own a piece of my heart. I never felt as if I did my best with you, Valerie. You were a long time opening up.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you, daughter. I am so sorry for what you have gone through in your life. But, I am always, always, here for you.”

  Her eyes damp she managed, “I know. I know that.”

  They stood that way for a long time, Val breathing in the comforting scent of him, feeling the love and protection in his arms.

  After some time, he kissed her brow again and they went to the sofa. They talked quietly, holding hands; of the past, of things unsaid—that needed said, and before the dinner hour, Alexander urged her, if she was up to it, to seek out Archard.

  On her way out of the study, Val told him, “Don’t hold dinner for us.”

  “Valerie. Are you sure you’re up to that?” He laughed, teasing her gruffly.

  “Why father.” Val chuckled. “Whatever are you thinking? I only meant we’d likely talk and forget the time.” She could hear his laughter behind the door when it closed.

  Oh, God, but she was ready for laughter. She was so very, very tired, of shadows plaguing her life.

  * * * *

  Having spent those long hours in the dark—watching Val sleep, thinking, mulling over the fact that she had in essence, escaped Leland, helped save the girl Annie— and endured the long march to the farm with a gun to her head—held by a man she knew too well was capable of using it, Archard had come to many new insights and conclusions about a woman he would have beforehand, sworn he already knew. This time, that Ramsey passion and spirit, that strength, had come through. Val was an amazingly strong and brave woman.

  On the dawn, he had kissed her forehead and left the rooms, returning on and off to assure himself she was going to be all right. In the background, the marquis was dealing with the Magistrate, and after things were ironed out, he had sought out his brother.

  It had been around midnight, a bit foggy when he packed his pipe, and stepped outside the manor house. He found Aric sitting on a knoll just above the dark moonlit lake. His shirt open, wearing dark trousers and boots, his brother was half through a bottle of Irish whiskey.

  Sitting silently beside him, he had lit his pipe and released smoke whilst watching the fog float over the water. Eventually he had said, “You shouldn’t have done it.”

  After a silence, Aric returned, “Whether the Marquis believed you’d skin him or not—I saw everything in your face from the moment you arrived from London.” He took another drink and added, “Justified or not, torture was Leland’s twisted game. And, even if you’d not have gone that far and simply put a bullet in him, it would just be one more thing to shadow your and Valerie’s life.”

  Gazing at the glow in the pipe bowl, his knees up and elbows on them, Archa
rd murmured, “It is no better that you’ve a kinsman’s blood on your hands.”

  “He was our blood, no matter how diluted.” Aric agreed and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, the bottom of the whiskey bottle resting on his thigh. “A devil someone—perhaps we ourselves—created.” He turned and Archard could feel his gaze before he directed it back to the lake. “He would have been hanged had you turned him in.”

  Musing a moment, Archard offered quietly, “Even if we—and everyone knowing the facts, agree that it was just. You will never escape the talk and speculation. You killed a man. Whereas, as her husband, I would have been excused.”

  “That bothers me, not at all.” Aric snorted but drank again, before rasping, “We should have had him locked up years ago, Archard. There would be a few females still alive had we done so. Do you know—he likely murdered or took to workhouses, his own bastard children?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Wiping his mouth against his shoulder, Aric then said, “It is bad enough you and your woman were wed and brought together with his treatment of her overshadowing all else…”

  “Aric…” Archard looked at him, sighing. “I was but hours ago thinking of how she saved herself. How she saved that young lass…”

  His brother almost smiled. “She suits you, brother. And yes, I believe she would have killed him to save herself.” He met Archard’s gaze again with steady gray eyes. “Stop feeling guilty that you didn’t put that ball in him. Stop feeling guilty that I did instead. It is over, and there’s no one mourning him.”

  “You’re my little brother.” Archard reached over, his hand on Aric’s strong upper arm. He searched those gray eyes.

  “And a grown man,” Aric reminded him.

  “Yes.” Archard’s fingers flexed before he dropped his hand. Soon, they were again watching the fog, Aric silently drinking, and Archard smoking.

  “I want to take her away for awhile.”

  “You should.”

  “Perhaps, next year, I’ll take her to meet the family.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  “You can oversee the holdings here and check on the estate, and Roth will be here…?”