“They said they’d meet us over there,” Ainsley said, pointing so Priscilla could understand. She gave a quick nod but said nothing.
They came out of the woods at the opposite side of the clearing but saw no sign of the other hunters. Ainsley stopped his horse as they reached the trees to listen.
“Where could they—?” Priscilla began to speak but Ainsley hushed her.
Ainsley placed a finger over his mouth and inched his horse closer to the line of trees.
Just to the left Ainsley heard a horse exhaling and when he scanned the tress he saw a shadow gliding through the mist between the trees.
Margaret brought her horse alongside Ainsley’s. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw something.” Whether what he saw was rooted in reality remained to be seen. His heart quickened at the thought of it, realizing this was his worst fear realized. What was real and what was imagined, even Ainsley could not rightly say.
A faint series of barks could be heard down the hill in front of them but any visual evidence of their partners was marred by a thick stand of trees.
“This way.” Ainsley kicked his horse and urged it forward, away from the shadow that unnerved him. They took the downhill slowly, inching toward the thick mist that hugged the low-lying areas of the woods. The dogs grew silent and Ainsley struggled to find his bearings.
“We’re losing the hunt,” Priscilla said from behind Margaret.
“We’ll stick to the path,” Ainsley said decisively. He picked up his pace slightly, urging his horse through the dim woods, zigzagging between tree trunks that popped out suddenly from the fog. As they went, Ainsley could hear a horse keeping pace alongside them, farther into the trees at their right and away from the path.
“Margaret, are Miss Priscilla and Nathaniel with you?” Ainsley stopped and the horse to his right stopped as well.
“We’re here, behind you,” Margaret said.
Turning slightly in his saddle, he noticed they were directly behind him, looking at him curiously. It was clear to him then that they were being shadowed. Whoever followed them remained hidden in the fog.
Margaret’s face fell as she looked at him. “Peter, what’s wrong?”
He saw her glance apprehensively into the mist around them. Whatever it was, she felt its presence too and he wasn’t imagining things.
A hound let out a throaty howl not too far ahead of them and the unknown horse crashed through the trees, charging them before veering right and galloping ahead on the path. Ainsley only caught a glimpse of the rider but it was enough for him to see who it was who had been following them.
Margaret must have recognized him as well. “Was that Garret?” she asked.
A chorus of howls erupted just ahead of them, followed by shouts from the other hunters.
“Let’s go,” Ainsley said. Kicking his heels, he urged his horse forward and hoped Margaret was able to keep pace with him.
The red coat of another horseman came into view as the fog thinned slightly and Ainsley realized it was Blair, stopped and surveying his surroundings. Brandon was two paces from him, replacing a silver flask to his breast coat pocket. Ainsley brought his horse alongside them and stopped. “I think we should call off the hunt,” Ainsley said, out of breath.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blair scoffed.
“We’re being—”
A single gunshot, within ten feet of the gathering, rang out, silencing everyone instantly, except Priscilla, who screamed. Garret appeared briefly through the fog before kicking the sides of his horse and taking off through the trees.
Blood trickled from Brandon’s mouth as he jerked slightly in his saddle. A second later, he slumped over and then fell from his horse, crashing into the undergrowth, blood and alcohol seeping into the fabric of his jacket.
Within seconds, Ainsley was at his side. “Stay with us,” Ainsley said. “Keep breathing.”
Blair collapsed into the ground beside his brother. The shock was evident on the man’s face as he cradled Brandon’s head in his arms. “Brandon?” Blair struggled to find any words as he cried.
Margaret appeared and knelt down beside Brandon as Ainsley pulled apart Brandon’s red jacket and shirt to look at the wound. The single shot had penetrated his left abdomen, just below the rib, and exited out his back.
Ainsley pulled at his jacket, preparing to use it to stop the bleeding before Margaret presented him with a wad of linen. Without thought, he bunched it and pressed it into the wound tightly. A yelp escaped Brandon, who until then hadn’t made any sound.
As Ainsley held the fabric in place he realized it had been Margaret’s scarf, religiously worn to hide her wound. He looked to her and finally saw the long, bubbled scar at her collarbone. Although healed, the injury remained purple in colour and rose where the stitches had pinched her flesh.
Brandon’s hand snatched Margaret’s wrist and he pulled her in closer to him. “Help Ivy,” he sputtered, sending beads of blood into the air. “Get her out of that place.”
Margaret nodded furiously. “Yes,” she said, “yes.”
“What do we do?” Blair yelled. “Help! Help!”
“Peter?” Margaret looked to Ainsley imploringly.
Struggling for his own breath, Ainsley had nothing with him that could help. Even if by some miracle he could stop the bleeding, there was no telling how he bled on the inside. He lowered his ear to Brandon’s mouth and listened. “His lung is punctured,” he said. “He’ll die before we get him back to the house.”
“We have to get him home,” Blair demanded between tears.
Brandon raised a bloody hand toward his brother and clasped onto the sleeve of his jacket. He gestured for his horse, who during the entire ordeal remained close by. Margaret stood and drew in the reins. She brought the horse closer still and watched as Brandon ran his hand over the mare’s nose.
Brandon smiled as the horse exhaled in his face. A single tear trailed down the side of his face to the ground. And then a fit of coughing began, sending spatters of blood into the air all around them. Ainsley rolled him to the side in an effort to keep him from drowning in his own blood, but it was clear the lungs were already flooded. Brandon drew in one final breath before his body stopped all movement. A stream of blood slid down from his mouth and pooled on the ground, and that is when Ainsley knew Brandon was dead.
“Brandon?” Priscilla inched forward and stopped herself. She had been hanging back the entire time and even now she hesitated to come close. Nathaniel looked on uneasily, unsure what to say or who to comfort.
A throaty wail escaped Blair, who still held his brother’s head in his hands. “Whoever did this is a dead man!” he growled. He looked over the body of his brother. “I’ll track him down, and do him in myself.”
Blair stood and went for his horse. Seconds later, he kicked his horse into a gallop, retracing Garret’s escape through the woods.
“Peter?”
“I’m going after him,” Ainsley said, marching for his horse. “You, Priscilla, and Nathaniel go back to Breaside!” Ainsley hoisted himself into the saddle.
Ainsley found it difficult to catch up to Blair, who rode with abandon through the shrouded woods. At one point, Blair looked back and saw Ainsley following him. But he rode on, slowing periodically to inspect the ground for evidence of Garret’s direction. They changed direction frequently but only caught sight of him once the woods gave way to meadow, an overgrown pasture that had fallen into disuse in recent years. A fast-flowing river, swollen by weeks of rain, circled the meadow on the far side while a steep escarpment of sand eroded away on the other side.
They had been there before.
Blair charged ahead, driving his horse straight for his brother’s murderer, who skirted the edge of the meadow near the river. Ainsley could just see a weathered footbridge traversing the water where the cliff wasn’t nearly so steep on the opposite side. Garret looked back once, no doubt hearing the pounding of Blair’s horse behind him.
Ainsley struggled to keep up but knew he must get to them before Blair was able to extract his revenge.
Chapter 34
And when my toil is blest
Priscilla’s lips trembled as she knelt down at Brandon’s side. “He can’t be dead,” she said, looking to Margaret.
Margaret felt the forest spin around them as the realization of what happened hit her. Garret had killed Brandon. In retribution, she thought, for disgracing Ivy and giving her a child. Had Garret known the entire time? Margaret pushed a tear from her cheek and tried to steady her breathing as her heart thundered in her chest. Garret believed he had avenged his sister, and now he would assuredly get himself killed.
“What do we do?” Priscilla’s tiny voice penetrated Margaret’s thoughts, bringing the spinning world to a dead stop.
“I must get Samuel,” she said. She turned to her horse and gathered the reins. “He can help Peter.” Margaret hoisted herself into the saddle and looked down at Priscilla, who resembled a lost kitten, delicate and tiny. Nathaniel swallowed nervously as he stood over her. “Stay here with her,” Margaret told him. “Tell the others where I have gone if they come back.”
“And Lord Thornton?” Nathaniel asked.
Margaret scanned the woods around them but saw no reason to avoid it. “Tell him the truth.”
Her horse sped on with little coaxing. As if sensing the urgency of their task, the gelding took off through the trees, scrambled up each hill and volleyed over fallen logs and dips in the terrain. They had been closer to Summer Hill Farm than she originally thought and was thankful to see the pasture fence and side of the house though the trees.
No one loitered in the nearby fields, and there was no sign of life by the shed. She didn’t even attempt to knock. “Samuel!” She first found the parlour, a sad excuse for a room, empty of anything save a threadbare sofa and two thoroughly stained arms chairs. “Samuel! It’s Garret. He needs our help!” She zigzagged the hallway, going room to room, while shouting for Ivy’s brother.
If Margaret hadn’t seen the bustling activity in the fields the week prior, she’d have thought the farmhouse had been abandoned years prior. The kitchen turned up empty. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the bannister for strength and looked up, eyeing the darkness.
“Samuel, please help me.” Her throat was dry and she couldn’t yell so her words came out as a whimper. She was about to leave when she spied a door she hadn’t noticed before on the other side of the parlour.
The glow of the mist-veiled sun cast a grey aura on the floorboards beneath the door. As she looked at it she saw a shadow, a brief movement that temporarily blocked the line of sunshine.
“Samuel?”
She went for the door and knocked daintily. “Samuel, it’s me, Margaret. Please, come help. Your brother has done something awful but something worse is going to happen.” She spoke to the door, directing her mouth to the crack. “Samuel?”
Trying the knob, Margaret was surprised when she found the door locked. She looked down at the knob and spied a slender, iron key. Without any thought to what she might find she turned the key in place and pushed forward.
A cloud of flies erupted from the room, rushing toward Margaret, who screeched while covering her face. Once certain the throng had clear, Margaret lowered her arms and found a long dining room table centred in the room with ten chairs and a dark, leathery corpse positioned in each. Three chairs, however, sat empty.
She fought to keep the bile in her stomach as she took in the tableau, which had clearly been there for a long while. There were three women and four men, including the newly added Mr. Owen, propped up with a large aluminum bucket beneath his chair, collecting the liquid that seeped from his decaying mass. Next to him a petite female was placed, nearly all bone with patches of skin and hair clinging helplessly to what remained. Ivy’s mother.
The body of one man sat the head of the table, a bony arm positioned on the edge of the table, a fork in its grasp. His spectacles gave the illusion of life, while the sun reflected off the glass, forcing Margaret to look, even though all parts of her begged her to flee. Ivy’s grandfather.
Her fear gave way to confusion as Margaret’s mind scrambled to put the pieces together.
My friends won’t visit me here, Ivy had said.
We are a very close family, aren’t we Ivy? Garret had said during their first meal together.
Gasping for air, Margaret turned on her heels, covering her convulsing stomach with her hand. She needed out. The smell permeated and the sight sickened her.
At the door she collided with Samuel, his ax balanced on his shoulder while a hand held the long, wooden handle. “You shouldn’t have come, Lady Margaret,” he said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her to look at him. “Grandfather doesn’t like unannounced guests.”
Chapter 35
And I find a maid possest
Fifty yards behind, Ainsley watched as Blair brought his racehorse alongside Garret’s. The men kept a reckless pace across the meadow, no longer seated in their saddles. “Come on. Come on.” Ainsley gritted his teeth as he pushed his horse faster. There was no way the two men could tackle the narrow bridge riding abreast. One would have to give way to the other or risk falling into the swift current. Before they got so far, however, Blair left his saddle and sprung at Garret, pushing him from the saddle and clinging to him as they both fell from their horses.
Any pain from the impact was ignored as they wrestled on the ground. Ainsley saw Blair give two hard blows to Garret’s face before Garret was able to land a punch of his own.
Ainsley jumped from his horse before the animal had time to stop and ran for the brawling men, caught in an equal exchange of wallops. Growls escaped them as they punched and kicked, rolling in the tall grass. A swift kick sent Blair groaning in agony. Seeing his chance, Garret began to crawl away.
“You killed my brother,” Blair snarled as he pulled himself to stand. “Stop and face me like a man!”
Garret did not stop. He slinked through the grass, giving terrified glances over his shoulder as he went.
Ainsley went to Blair to look over his injuries but Blair acted as if Ainsley weren’t there. He kept his gaze trained on Garret, who continued to crawl away like an injured animal. Blair followed along behind, a scowl hardening on his features as he trailed his prey.
Garret began to cough, and spat out a considerable amount of blood onto the grass in front of him. He looked back over his shoulder, revealing a wide, slather of blood dripping over his chin.
No further fighting was necessary. Garret could barely crawl, let alone walk, and his horse had abandoned him by running from the scene. Ainsley saw that he held his arm over his chest as another fit of coughing ensued. With this knowledge, Ainsley wondered if Garret had broken a rib or two when he fell from his horse. The pain would have been immense and he wouldn’t get far. Given proper medical attention, he might live, though this far out in the woods, Ainsley highly doubted it.
Blair understood none of this. He could not read the signs of a broken man as Ainsley could. He followed closely, keeping pace slightly behind Garret as if teasing his prey, playing with it, and enjoying the view of his suffering. He gave a kick to Garret’s backside, pushing him into the ground.
“Blair, stop,” Ainsley commanded. He held a hand to Blair’s chest but Blair slapped it away.
Garret collapsed, rolling onto his back and lowering his head to the swath of grass beside him. Any terror had disappeared as he accepted his lot. Spitting out another mouthful of blood, Garret smiled. “I told him to leave her be, you know,” he said struggling for breath. “I warned him.”
“You killed him because of the baby,” Ainsley said.
Garret lowered his eyes. “No.” Garret spat into the grass. “I killed him because he defied me, and our grandfather. He believed himself to be better than us and refused to leave my sister alone. The baby was her punishment for not listening to her family.”
&
nbsp; “What baby?” Blair snarled, dividing his gaze between Ainsley and Garret.
Garret nearly smiled as he rose up slightly in the grass. “The one I had the good doctor rip out of her!”
Blair swung widely and landed a solid punch to Garret’s jaw. He grabbed Garret by the collar and readied his fist for another blow.
“Wait, wait!” Ainsley slid himself between Garret and Blair and held up his hands to halt the beating. “Stop!” Ainsley yelled. “You must stop.”
“He killed my brother and my brother’s child! He deserves no less than death.” Blair pushed against Ainsley’s body to get to his victim.
Ainsley grabbed Blair’s wrist. “Killing him will not ease that pain!”
Blair’s struggle lessened as he looked Ainsley in the eyes.
“It doesn’t help,” Ainsley said, nearly crying. “You wish it would but it doesn’t. That battle is in here.” Ainsley pointed to his chest with his free hand. “It cannot be won with force. It only subsides with time.”
Blair remained stone-faced for some time, staring at Ainsley and breathing heavily. Ainsley felt Blair’s need to strike diminish and the strength in his arm weakened. A second later, Blair shook off Ainsley’s grasp and turned. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked some paces away before collapsing in the grass to cry.
A laugh came from behind him. When Ainsley turned he saw Garret gathering himself to stand. “I was right about you,” Garret said with a chuckle as he wiped his bloodied chin with his forearm. “You’re too good.” He smiled as he came to his knees, keeping one arm cradled at his side. “You wouldn’t know the power that can be felt when you take another man’s life.”
Ainsley took one step toward him and swung hard. The impact sent Garret off his knees and back into the grass, a new gush of blood spraying from his mouth. “It’s not power,” he said, as he stood over Garret, “its fear.”
Sweet Asylum Page 24