by Cheryl Holt
“We have to retrieve what belongs to him, what belongs to all of us.”
Michael had an intensity that matched Matthew’s own, and it was intriguing to see how similar they were. They were both tough and driven. Were the traits inherited? Had their father been the same? How could Matthew and his brother have grown up in completely different circumstances but be so much alike?
He gazed over at Michael, but the slight movement sent a wave of agony down his side. He winced and gripped the reins, forcing himself to stay in the saddle. He wouldn’t fall apart until Clarissa was safe and sound.
After Rafe and Michael had stumbled on him in the forest, they’d cleaned him up, then he and Michael had hit the road at a fast gallop. Before departing Greystone, he’d downed just enough laudanum to numb his senses, and he had a flask of brandy in his coat that he was sipping on to dampen the pain, but it remained excruciating. With each clop of the horse’s hooves, his misery was more acute.
Michael had wrapped Matthew’s ribs with a tight cloth, had bandaged his wound where he’d been shot, but they hadn’t dug out the ball. Matthew had been afraid he’d lose consciousness, so he constantly felt the ball grinding against the bones in his shoulder.
There would be a grueling surgery in his future, but it had to wait. He would continue on until they found Roland and killed him. Then he’d let himself collapse.
Roland’s path was easy to ascertain. His carriage had a nick in the wheel, so if he’d dropped bread crumbs to mark his route, it couldn’t have been any simpler to follow.
Michael had proved himself a very resourceful fellow, and with hardly any effort, he’d had Angela admitting that Roland was on his way to Scotland. The insane fiend actually assumed he could wed Clarissa and get his hands on Greystone. Michael and Matthew were hot on his trail, and they’d catch up to him before too long.
“Sissy is researching Mother’s journey,” Michael said, yanking Matthew out of his reverie. “She’s trying to uncover a passenger manifest that will tell us the name of the ship that took Mother away.”
“To what end?”
“She’s hoping Mother is still alive.”
Matthew scowled. “I don’t think she is, Michael. I saw her ghost at Fox Run.”
“Really? Where?”
“In a parlor. I was meeting with Lady Run”—Matthew couldn’t bring himself to call her Sissy—“and a ghost was sitting on the stool at the harpsichord. Scared the daylights out of me.”
“I don’t know if she survived or not, and I’ve never been the optimist Sissy is, but I can’t bear to disappoint her, so she’s searching and I encourage her.”
A flicker of excitement ignited in Matthew’s breast, and he let it flare. What could it hurt? He’d never had much to dream about. He’d hope—with Lady Run—that his mother was alive. Why not wish for it? Where was the harm?
“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Matthew mused. “To locate our mother after all this time?”
“It would definitely be something. It would be…be…” Michael stopped, unable to put into words what it would be. “She used to sing to us. Do you remember?”
“No.”
“I don’t either, but whenever I’m with Sissy, I make her sing. She’s about the same age Mother was when she was transported, and Sissy is possessed of all Mother’s charisma and flair.”
“Our mother was charismatic?”
“You have no idea, brother.”
Their horses galloped across a particularly rough patch, and each rock and stone seemed to travel up the animal’s leg to pummel Matthew’s innards. His bones ached, his teeth ached, his head ached. Sweat popped out on his brow.
“Are you all right?” Michael asked.
“No.”
“Shall we rein in? Shall we rest for a bit?”
“I’ll rest when Clarissa is safely away from Merrick.”
Yet Michael slowed his horse, Matthew’s slowing too. Gradually they trotted to a halt, and their standing still meant Matthew could feel how feverishly his pulse was hammering in his veins.
“Sip some of your brandy,” Michael said. “I can’t have you passing out on me at the most important moment.”
“I’ve been shot before. It won’t kill me.”
“It better not. I just found you. I’m not about to let you slip away that easily.”
“I’ll try to stay alive for you.”
“You make it sound like a threat.”
“Wait until you get to know me again. You’ll wish you didn’t.”
“Ha! I already know every fact about you that matters.”
Matthew nodded. “That’s probably correct.”
They grinned, and Matthew was reaching in his coat to pull out his flask, when suddenly a woman’s scream rent the air. They froze, hearing only the one, but it was enough. Matthew would recognize that voice anywhere.
“It’s Clarissa,” he told his brother. “It’s my wife.”
“Let’s murder that slimy bastard,” Michael said.
“Yes, let’s do.”
They kicked their horses into a canter and raced down the road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Clarissa jerked with her foot, but Roland’s grip on her ankle was like a vise, and he wouldn’t let go. He tugged very hard, and she tripped, falling to her knees, her palms scraping on the gravel. She tried to stand, to scamper away, but her legs tangled in her skirt.
He crawled on top of her, and with how she’d clobbered him she didn’t know how he’d remained conscious. She fought him with all her might, but despite her valiant exertions, he kept her pinned down. The wound on his scalp was deep and raw, blood oozing out, droplets spattering her chest and face.
His eyes scared her the most. They glowed bright red, as if he’d been possessed by demons, and she truly believed her life to be in peril. He was beyond reason, beyond sanity.
She opened her mouth to scream again, but he clamped a palm over it and hissed, “You stupid shrew. You suppose you can hit me and there will be no consequence?”
She bit him, her teeth digging into his skin. He yelped in pain and slapped her, and she was stunned by the blow, completely intimidated and disoriented by his physical aggression.
“You don’t have to live through this,” he said. “I can kill you and falsify a marriage certificate.” He pondered the idea for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I can kill you right now. Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Stop it, Roland! I’ll marry you,” she lied. “I’ll do it. I will! Just take me to Scotland. Please!”
“No, I’d rather drown in the Thames than marry you. And I don’t need to, really. I can simply say I wed you. I’ll claim we held the ceremony, then I’ll forge the paperwork. Who is there to contradict me?”
“Me! I’ll say you forged it.”
“Well, you won’t be available to tell the truth, will you?”
“Roland!”
“Silence!” he bellowed so loudly her ears rang. “Greystone will be mine again, without my having to bother with you for a single second.”
He wrapped his hands around her neck and started to choke her. Would he murder her? Would he dump her body in the creek? Who would know what had happened? Who would know where to look? Who would realize they should look?
When he’d spirited her away from the Dower House, no one had witnessed her kidnapping. She’d vanished without a trace, and with Eddie, Rafe, and Captain Harlow in London, who was there to figure out she was missing? Would anyone notice? If they did, would anyone care?
It was the saddest conclusion she could imagine, dying in a strange place and not being missed. The unfairness ignited a flame that filled her with rage.
She struggled with all her might, prying at his fingers, desperate to pull them away from her throat, but he was in more of a frenzy than she was. She couldn’t deter him, couldn’t ease his grip. Very quickly it became difficult to breathe. Black dots swarmed in her vision. Her pulse pounded in her veins as i
f counting off her last minutes on Earth.
Then…suddenly Roland was yanked away, his heavy weight disappearing in an instant. There was a scuffle, some punches thrown, a body landing in the dirt with a muted thump, but she didn’t glance up to discover who had ended the assault.
She rolled away and curled into a ball, her arms over her head, as if more blows might rain down. She was trying to draw air into her lungs, but retching at the same time. She felt battered and defiled, and she wanted to jump up and run away, but if someone had offered her a hundred pounds she couldn’t have staggered to her feet.
“Clarissa, Clarissa…”
On hearing her name, she frowned. She knew that voice. It seemed to be Matthew. It seemed to be her captain. But that couldn’t be. He was in London with his mistress. Or—if Roland was to be believed—he was dead and buried at Greystone.
She was afraid to look up. What if she was hallucinating? What if he’d passed away, and it was his ghost calling from the other side? Was she about to perish too? Was she about to join him?
“Clarissa,” he said again, and he rested his palm on her back. His touch was real and tangible.
She peeked up, and there he was, huddled over her. Even though she was still furious with him, even though he’d broken her heart and dashed her hopes, she’d never been happier to see a person in her entire life.
Her throat was raw and bruised, but she managed, “Matthew?”
“Clarissa, you scared me to death.” He cradled her to his chest.
“Matthew! You’re here!”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m roughed up, but I’m fine.”
He studied her, noting her throbbing cheek where Roland had slapped her.
“He hit you?”
“Just once, but I hit him back. I bashed in his head with a rock.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured.
“He’s much worse off than me.”
With a grim finality, he proclaimed, “I will absolutely murder him for this.”
“You’re not dead! Why aren’t you? Roland said he killed you.”
“He tried his damnedest, but I’m too tough to die.”
“How did you find me? Why were you searching? I didn’t think anyone knew he’d made off with me.”
“I was returning to Greystone, but Roland shot me before I arrived.”
She gasped. “He shot you! Really? He bragged about it, but I didn’t believe him.”
“His aim was very good too.”
She looked for a bandage, for a wound, but couldn’t locate any. But when she laid a hand on his waist, he winced.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted, but he eased her away.
She peered closer and could see he was in pain, that he was struggling with the effort to appear unfazed. He couldn’t hide it from her.
“We forced Angela to tell us where you were,” he said. “We came at once.”
“Even though you were injured?”
“A scratch is all.” He waved away her concern.
She glanced behind Matthew, where Roland was face down in the dirt and being trussed with a rope as if he were a Christmas goose. She’d expected Rafe to be occupied with the trussing, but when the man shifted around, Clarissa was bewildered.
Had Roland’s strangulation impaired her eyesight? Had his fierce slap damaged her vision? She was seeing double. She was seeing two of Matthew. He was on the ground next to her, but he was hovered over Roland too. She blinked and blinked, but the two Matthews were still there.
The Matthew who was by her side pushed himself to his feet, and she noticed that much of his usual vigor was absent. He wasn’t nearly as limber or agile as normal. He extended his hand to her, and she grabbed it, using his arm to lever herself up. She might have let him lift her, but she wasn’t certain he had the strength to accomplish it.
Her knees were weak, and she yearned to lean into him, but she was afraid to touch him, afraid to have him wincing in pain again. He was uncharacteristically reticent too, as if he didn’t know if he should support her or not, as if he wasn’t sure she would welcome his assistance.
Their quarrel in London had left them in an awkward spot. Yes, they were wed, but the last time they’d spoken she’d assumed their marriage to be over.
Why had they fought in London? Why had they parted? After this disaster, how could it matter? It seemed so long ago and so far away, but she couldn’t figure out how to cross the bridge that separated them.
Her mind roiled with questions. Why had he been on his way to Greystone. Had he come to say goodbye? Was he leaving for the army? Was he about to announce he was splitting with Clarissa so he could stay with his mistress?
Whatever the reason, he’d nearly been slain for his trouble.
There were many issues unresolved between them, but he’d chased after Roland. He’d saved Clarissa. Right that very second, what else need she ponder? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The other man finished tying Roland, who’d been pummeled and was unconscious. Then he stood and turned toward them. He flashed a cocky grin that was an exact replica of Matthew’s.
There was not a single iota of difference. Not their height. Not their stature. Not their posture or attitude or manner. Even their hair was the same, dark black, pulled in a ponytail and bound with a strip of leather.
But it was those eyes…
They were a stunning sapphire blue Clarissa had never noted in another person. How could two people possess such magnificent, mesmerizing eyes?
“That was fun.” The man wiped his palms together as if dusting them off. “It’s been a least a week since I’ve had a chance to pound a brigand. I hate to let my skills get rusty.”
Matthew gestured to him. “Come here, you arrogant oaf.”
Clarissa scowled and peeked up at Matthew. “Who is he?”
“My twin brother.”
She blanched with astonishment. “Your…twin?”
“Yes. Remember Lady Run and her wild stories?”
“Yes, I remember,” Clarissa said.
“It seems they were true.” He pointed to his brother. “Clarissa, this is my long-lost brother, Michael Blair.” Matthew completed the introduction. “Michael, I’d like to present my wife, Clarissa Harlow.”
“Clarissa Harlow?” Mr. Blair glared at Matthew. “We have to have a discussion about that surname of yours.”
“Yes, yes,” Matthew griped, “and a thousand other topics besides.”
“Hello, Clarissa,” Michael Blair said. “May I call you Clarissa?”
“Yes, please.”
“And you must call me Michael.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Matthew sagged then, and she realized he was holding onto her, using her to keep his balance. She stared up at him, seeing his pinched expression, the sweat on his brow. Michael noticed too.
“Gad, look at you,” Michael chided. “You’re about to fall flat on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Matthew declared, though clearly he wasn’t. “I need to deal with Merrick.”
“I will deal with Merrick,” Michael said. “You’re in no condition to take care of it. Get in the carriage.”
The brothers glowered, and if it hadn’t been such a dire impasse, she’d have laughed at how exasperatingly similar they were.
Men!
Michael pulled away first and spun to Clarissa. “Your husband has a bullet in his back.”
“He what?”
“We were in such a hurry to find you that he wouldn’t let me remove it.”
“Oh, Matthew,” Clarissa scolded. “Must you always be a hero?”
“Some of his ribs are broken too,” Michael said.
“How were they broken?” Clarissa asked.
“Merrick kicked him when he was down.”
“I was unconscious!” Matthew huffed in his own defense. “If I hadn’t been, I would have killed him on the spot.”
“Nothing that a good whiskey can’t fix,” Matthew retorted.
“That’s what you think,” Michael mumbled. “Clarissa, can you drive him in the carriage?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t need to ride in a damn carriage,” Matthew complained.
“Take him to our sister at Fox Run,” Michael said. “I’ll meet you there to dig out that bullet.”
Clarissa was unnerved by the entire conversation. “Shouldn’t we…ah…call for a doctor? Wouldn’t that be best?”
Michael alarmed her by admitting, “I cut bullets from my men all the time. I’m an expert at it, so we don’t require a drunken sawbones. Now will you two go?”
“Yes, yes.” Clarissa slipped her fingers into Matthew’s. “Matthew, let’s climb in the carriage.”
“I can sit on a horse.”
“Sure you can,” Michael concurred, “but Clarissa is trembling like a leaf, and she can’t. You have to accompany her. Or would you like me to take her?”
“You take her,” Matthew said. “I have to finish speaking with Merrick. I have several issues to discuss with him that my wife shouldn’t hear.”
Michael studied Matthew, then nodded. “Fine. You fuss with Merrick. I’ll get Clarissa home safe and sound.”
“Can’t we all go together?” Clarissa suggested.
She was terrified over Matthew’s reduced condition. He was weak and hurt, and with all that had happened, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight. Her emotions were swinging from elation to despair, and she felt frightened as a little girl, as if she wouldn’t be protected unless Matthew was standing by her side.
The brothers ignored her, and Michael escorted her to the carriage. He helped her up, for which she was grateful. She was wobbly and dazed and couldn’t have clambered up on her own.
She settled herself and Michael joined her, and as he reached for the reins, she asked Matthew, “You’ll come immediately, won’t you? You’ll be right behind us?”
“Yes,” Matthew said. “This will just take a few minutes.”
“I’m afraid to leave you here.”
“I’m merely wounded, Clarissa. I’m not dead. I can manage.”