Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere

by Regina Jeffers

  Although Charters outweighed his attacker by some two stones, the Scot did not have the man’s training or his impetus. He had known his actions were reprehensible even as he had prepared to take the girl without her consent. He had never hurt a person who did not deserve it, and so he had accepted his assailant’s continued pounding. As the man straddled him, Charters instinctively, brought his arms up to protect his face, but he no longer fought the man who would come to the girl’s rescue.

  Cashé had followed Marcus through the door with no idea of what she might find on the other side. The sight of her lovely sister lying partially unclothed on the bed brought Cashé up short, and then she was on the mattress, draping herself over Satiné to hide her twin from the eyes of others. She was aware of the struggle going on not ten feet away, but all of Cashé’s energies went into protecting her sister. “Satiné,” she rasped as she pulled at her sister’s gown, trying to cover Satiné’s exposed breasts and legs. “Oh, Satiné, I am so sorry,” she wailed.

  The injustice took hold of Cashé’s heart. Her head snapped around to where Marcus pounded Charters’ head into the wooden floor. “Get off him,” she yelled as she slid from the bed and made her way to the tussling men. “Get off him, Marcus,” she urged as she pulled at Yardley’s arms. “I want to kill him myself.”

  Realizing belatedly that she was there, Marcus sent Cashé tumbling backwards to her rear, but she came storming back. “Let me kill him,” she begged as she crawled on all fours to where Marcus held Charters in place.

  Marcus said nothing as Cashé fisted her hands and began to pound Charters’ chest and face. “You, Bastard,” she hissed as she burst into tears and took her frustrations out on the man. “Give me the gun, Marcus,” she demanded. “I wish to shoot his sorry, arse.”

  Surprisingly, Charters accepted her anger, refusing to move as Cashé punched and slapped at him–simply staring upward at the ceiling. When her anger subsided, Marcus caught Cashé’s hands in mid strike and pulled her toward him. Taking her tear-stained countenance in his hands, he waited until Cashé’s eyes met his. “Go assist with Satiné,” he whispered hoarsely. “I will handle Charters.”

  A sob of realization caught in her chest, but Cashé gave him a slight nod and then staggered toward the bed.

  Meanwhile, Marcus rose to his feet and toed Charters with his boot in the man’s side. “Get up,” Marcus ordered solemnly. “You have an engagement with a British court.”

  Cashé’s nervous fingers retied Satiné’s chemise and worked the buttons of her sister’s bodice into place. Throughout, she whispered apologies to the unconscious Satiné, taking water and washing the powder residue from her twin’s mouth and nose, and then Charters’ semen from Satiné’s inside thigh. “Come on, Satiné,” she begged as she struggled to pull her twin to a seated position.

  “Leave her,” Marcus said softly from behind her. “You take the gun and hold it on Charters. I will carry Miss Satiné.”

  Cashé looked uncomprehendingly at Marcus, but she did what he said. Gritting her teeth, she aimed the gun at the man to whom her uncle had promised her. “Please give me a reason to pull this trigger,” she said coldly.

  “I never meant to hurt her,” Charters spoke softly, “but Lord Averette said it would be the only way that Lord Worthing would not prosecute me.”

  Cashé reacted immediately. “Uncle Samuel did what?”

  Marcus released his hold on Satiné’s limp body. “Worthing called on the viscount?” He realized Worthing must be close because of Hill’s appearance in Charters’ doorway, but he had not thought that Worthing would call on Averette.

  “Averette came to me home earlier today,” Charters now confessed freely. “He said that Worthing knew I took Cashémere.”

  “I am Cashémere,” Cashé interrupted.

  Charters dropped his eyes. “I knows that now, but not until today. I swear it. I found the gel in the English viscount’s arms.”

  Marcus confronted Charters. “Worthing knew that you had taken Miss Satiné, which means that Averette had to know that you did not hold Miss Aldridge as your prisoner. Are you telling us that Averette never told you otherwise?”

  “I swear that it be so.” Charters still refused to look at either of them. “The gel attempted to explain who she is, but I refused the truth. She was with the English viscount, and Averette never said anything about her not being me Cashémere. But when I sees no birthmark on the gel’s neck, I knew I had been duped.”

  Cashé’s quiet voice told it all. “Uncle Samuel wanted revenge on the baron. What better way than permitting Charters to ruin Satiné?” The realization shook her. “He killed our parents, and now he has destroyed my sister’s reputation.”

  Marcus caught her hand. “Let us see your sister to safety, and then we can deal with your uncles.” Cashé nodded her head in agreement, but Marcus knew that she would not readily let her anger subside. She would brood over how she could not control all that had happened.

  *

  Eleanor had no idea how her brother had known that she had needed him, but when he rode into the circle at Chesterfield Manor, she was out the door and in his arms as soon as he had dismounted. “I cannot believe that you are here,” she sobbed. “I only sent word yesterday that I required your assistance.”

  Bran looked closely at her countenance. “You are exhausted. Why has Kerrington not ordered you to bed?” he said.

  “My husband chases Satiné’s kidnapper,” she confided.

  Bran exclaimed, “Satiné’s what?”

  Eleanor caught his arm. “Let us go inside. Obviously, you have no idea what has happened.”

  “Shepherd sent word that he had questioned Ashton extensively, but he was unable to break His Lordship’s resolve. He asked that Worthing and I seek the truth. Because of our family connections to the baron, Shepherd thought that Ashton might confide in us. When I arrived at Linton Park, the countess informed me that both you and Kerrington were here.”

  “Then you are in for a surprise,” Eleanor said. “The world as we have known it has turned itself upside down.”

  It had taken Eleanor more than an hour to bring him up to snuff with all the changes occurring in the last week. Then he did what her husband could not. Bran had ordered her to bed before he took her place in Lexford’s room. The viscount had awakened with the changing of his compress, and Bran prepared to meet his long-time friend’s confusion.

  “Fowler.” Lexford recognized him immediately. “When did you arrive?”

  “A couple hours ago. I came looking for my sister. If I had realized your state, I would have come sooner.”

  “Although I did not see it at first, your sister appears the perfect match for Kerrington.”

  It bothered Bran to hear the viscount speak with no knowledge of recent occurrences. “Eleanor tells me that you wish to converse on events of which she possessed no knowledge. Are there questions you would like for me to address?”

  Lexford closed his eyes, and Bran waited for his friend to compose his thoughts. “Would you tell me about Susan?” Lexford opened his eyes slowly. “I think I know, but I need for someone to confirm my suspicions. Did I cause Susan’s death?”

  Fowler schooled his expression. He knew how Lexford had suffered when he could not save his young wife. The duke did not want his friend to revisit the pain. “Not directly.”

  *

  Marcus carried Satiné’s limp body as they exited the cottage. Charters had come next, followed by Cashé, who still carried the gun firmly in her grip. They started toward the main house, but they had taken no more than a dozen steps when Jamot stepped from the cottage’s right side and pointed a gun at Cashé’s head, effectively bringing their little “party” into the jaws of danger. Marcus silently cursed himself for allowing them to fall into the Baloch’s hands.

  “I will take the gun, pretty one.” As Marcus watched, Jamot sardonically took pleasure in his success. He reached around Cashé’s shoulder and removed the gu
n, placing it in his waistband. “Well, Lord Yardley,” the Baloch taunted, “which one is yours? The one in your arms? Or the one who dresses as a man? I suppose that is one way to tell them apart.”

  Marcus’s wrathful focus rested purely on the Realm’s enemy. “Let the ladies go, Jamot, and I will freely go with you. You want the emerald. I will take you to it, but only if you leave the women alone.”

  “No!” Cashé reacted to his offer.

  Jamot nudged her temple with the gun. “Ah, but you have no idea of the emerald. I know because you are not the type of man to betray your friends, but you are the type to give up your own life for someone you love.”

  “Unlike you,” Marcus accused. “You left Ashmita to suffer.”

  Jamot’s gaze lowered. “It is not so easy to be a hero when one follows a man like Mir.”

  “You give yourself forgiveness, Jamot; yet, you will find the world less willing to do so. How could a man call himself a man if allows the woman he loves to be used repeatedly.”

  Jamot cocked the trigger. “Will you think yourself a hero if I kill this one before your eyes, my Lord?”

  Marcus watched Cashé’s eyes grow in size, but she did not move. Finally, Marcus said softly, “You hold the upper hand, Jamot. How will this one play out?”

  Jamot’s mouth curled in a satisfying sneer. “Put the lady down, Yardley.” Marcus gently laid Satiné Aldridge in a grassy patch and then stood waiting the Baloch’s next order. Jamot tossed a rope to a docile Charters. “Tie His Lordship to that tree.”

  Charters looked anxiously at the earl. “Just do as he asks,” Marcus warned and then placed himself before a nearly bare hawthorn tree. Charters obediently laced the rope around and around the tree, lashing Marcus to the trunk.

  “Be sure it is tight,” Jamot instructed.

  Charters pulled on the lines to demonstrate that he did not risk Jamot’s anger by leaving the binding loose enough for Wellston to escape.

  Content, Jamot caught Cashé by the arm, keeping the gun pressed tightly to her head and her body before his. “You may leave,” Jamot told Charters.

  “What?” The man looked confused.

  Jamot countenanced an intimidating glare. “From what I observed, Yardley and his pretty accomplice had taken you their prisoner. I am releasing you. Leave and do not look back.”

  Charters stared at Jamot for a long moment. “I kin’t allow ye to hurt the lasses,” he declared. “I have done enough harm.”

  Jamot barked out a short, bitter laugh. “You wish me to shoot you in cold blood?”

  “I dinnae want to die, but I will not desert the lasses,” Charters hoarsely confirmed.

  “Then bring the other one,” Jamot said tersely before shoving Cashé forward.

  Charters bent and picked up Satiné’s body and fell into step before the gunman. Jamot turned them toward the rocky shore; yet, before they were out of sight, Cashé defiantly called out, “I love you, Marcus Wellston!”

  Marcus struggled against the ropes as Charters picked up Satiné and walked away. He noted how Cashé had set her shoulders–as if she were a royal princess. She would make him a wonderful countess. Northumberland was a rough land, and it took a special type of person to survive there. Cashé Aldridge would not only survive; she would thrive.

  “I love you, Marcus Wellston!” she had suddenly yelled in defiance.

  “Do what you must to stay alive,” he called to her retreating form. “I will come for you, Cashémere.”

  Chapter 17

  Cashé was no more out of sight before Marcus began to maneuver his way from his bindings. Charters had wrapped the rope across Marcus’s chest several times, but Marcus had learned a lesson from the woman he loved. When Cashé related her escape from the two drunken youths, he had marveled at her ingenuity and forethought. Even in a crisis, she had the good sense to find a way out of her dilemma. Cashé had told him of swallowing a deep breath to force the man’s hold on her. Marcus had done the same with Charters’ attempts to secure him to the tree.

  When Charters bound him, Marcus had purposely expanded his chest and leaned forward at a slight angle to make his bindings appear tight. Now, with no one around, he faced a slackened rope. Maybe an inch–but it would be his liberation. Marcus began to work the layers down the tree and his body, gathering them at his waistline. He twisted and scooted up and down the tree trunk, and, the hold gave way little by little. When the lowest strap reached his hand, Marcus laced his wrist through the binding and freed it. Then bending at the knees, he slid down far enough for his fingers to touch the top of his boot, where he kept a small knife hidden in a special pocket.

  Slowly and carefully, working it carefully between his thumb and his index finger, his fingers touched the tip of the folded blade.

  Having the handle in his tentative grasp, he stood again before using the tree’s trunk to brace the small knife with his upper thigh. Finally, it was his, and Marcus allowed himself a breath of triumph.

  Palming the weapon, he brought it to his other hand, using his fingertips of the still bound hand to hold the handle in place while the other released the blade. With his freed hand, Marcus used the small blade to cut the hempen strands. Sawing at the twisted threads, the cord frayed and finally fell in two. Pulling frantically at the ends, Marcus unwound the line–fighting to chase after Cashé. The thought of her being under Jamot’s control nearly sent him into a panic, but Marcus made himself concentrate on one step at a time.

  Finally free, he took the knife in hand. “Protect her, God,” he whispered. He turned toward the trail Jamot had taken with the others. “Protect Cashémere.”

  *

  Jamot had kept a waiting wagon close by. He had ushered Cashé into the back and had instructed Charters to place Satiné beside her twin. “You drive,” he told the Scot, climbing in with the women. “If you try anything, I will kill His Lordship’s favorite.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Cashé demanded.

  Jamot smiled deviously. “Some place interesting.”

  *

  Kerrington, Crowden, and Swenton rode into the drive before Charters’ house. After Kerrington had questioned the groomsman, he had gathered his friends to see what Lucifer Hill had learned. Finding Hill missing from his hiding place and expecting trouble, the Realm members had approached the Scot’s home. “Be careful,” Kerrington warned as they dismounted. They each carried a gun.

  Swenton gestured toward three horses tied nearby. “Is that not Hill’s horse?”

  “And if I am not mistaken,” Crowden added, “that is Khan, Wellston’s mount.”

  “What is the earl doing here?” Kerrington remarked as they moved cautiously forward. However, before they could reach the door, it swung open to reveal Lucifer Hill.

  “Hill!” Kerrington expelled in relief. “Is Yardley here?”

  The man looked surprised. “I suspected you might be he. Yardley and Miss Aldridge called here earlier.”

  “What the bloody hell is Cashémere doing in Scotland? I thought that I left her in Manchester,” Kerrington remarked.

  “I cannot say, Sir,” Hill confided. “I saw Yardley and what I thought was his tiger ride in. I could not imagine what type of business the earl had with Charters so I came to see if His Lordship required my assistance. When I arrived, the earl questioned Charters staff.

  Kerrington demanded, “Why are you still here?”

  “Charters is missing...seems the Scot left the house through a wine cellar tunnel. Miss Cashémere thought that Charters sought a nearby cottage…supposed that was where the man held Miss Satiné. I stayed behind to assure that Charters staff offered their master no assistance.”

  Crowden asked the obvious. “Where is Miss Cashémere’s horse?”

  Hill smiled amusedly. “I said that Yardley rode in with what I thought was his tiger. Miss Cashémere wears a young man’s clothing. She rode astride.”

  “That girl,” Kerrington grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.
>
  Swenton looked behind him. “Which way to the cottage?”

  Hill gestured to the left side of the house. “Yardley and the girl went that way.”

  Kerrington was striding toward the horses. “Bring Yardley’s mount and the girl’s. Let us see this cottage.”

  *

  Fowler sat in silence as Kimbolt stared at the draped cover over the four-poster. He had answered as many of the viscount’s questions as he could. They had discussed their years serving together on the Continent and the years since their return to England. “Basically, I have lost three years of my life,” Kimbolt observed.

  “You remember nothing of the things we have discussed? Nothing of even the recent past?”

  “I believe everything that you have disclosed.” Kimbolt’s voice held real defeat. “But without your insights, I would have no knowledge of the events. The last I recall is coming home to the knowledge of Susan’s brush with Bedlam.”

  *

  “They have been here,” Kerrington said as they inspected the small bedroom which once held Satiné Aldridge. “There has been a struggle. See the blood stain.”

  Hill reentered the small cottage. “This rope has been cut.” He displayed the remnants of the bindings.

  “Let us see if we can pick up a trail. We need to discover whether Yardley and Miss Cashémere follow Charters and Miss Satiné or whether they are all together.” Kerrington led the way from the cottage.

  Swenton examined the tree. “It appears someone was tied here.” He pointed to the bent over grass. “Whoever it was took off in that direction.” He pointed to where the road turned sharply to the left.

  Kerrington nodded his understanding. “Let us discover what is happening.”

  *

  Marcus growled out several expletives when he realized that Jamot had made his escape in some sort of wagon or carriage. He and Cashé had foolishly left their horses at Charters’ home. Now, he would have to decide whether to follow on foot, dropping further behind or to lose valuable time by returning to the Scot’s home to retrieve their horses. Either way, he had allowed Jamot the advantage. He thought of Cashé’s defiance. She would be in danger in the Baloch’s grasp. Marcus did not expect Jamot to readily accept Cashémere’s impetuous spirit. Turning doggedly to retrace his steps, Marcus resigned himself to the fact that he had failed Cashé. Then a sight that he had not thought to see again appeared.