by Lauren Smith
Once outside, she clutched her stomach, trying to catch her breath. She had not realized that during the entire discussion her body had tensed, to the point where she now bordered on exhaustion.
There was something frightening about Charles. Not that she was afraid he’d harm her, but it was as though he was haunted by his past. That pain lingered in his eyes, secrets that drove a man to desperate ends. A man like that would do anything to protect the people he loved. Like a hungry wolf among sheep, he required constant watching.
I must tread carefully.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brock Kincade stood at the edge of the cemetery, staring out at the freshly upturned dirt of his father’s grave. Moonlight washed the cemetery in pale cream and opalescent white. The carved headstones formed shadows almost as black as the night itself. But Brock was no longer afraid. The creature that had frightened him since he was a child was gone. Forever.
His horse gave an impatient huff and stamped his hooves, no doubt anxious to be back in the stables with a blanket on his back and fresh oats in his bucket.
“All right, you lazy beast,” Brock muttered and stroked a palm over the animal’s neck as he mounted up.
He departed the quiet churchyard and trotted back up the winding hill to Castle Kincade, the shallow moat filled with rainwater and the ancient wooden bridge lowered to allow passage into the keep.
It had been more than a hundred years since the castle had demanded defense, but like an old wolf, it was crouched and ready to do so at a moment’s notice. Soon it would be a happy place again, one of joy and life. The crumbling towers would be restored, and Rosalind could come home.
As Brock trotted over the bridge, Aiden rushed out to meet him.
“Thank God! We’ve been waiting for you. You must come!” Aiden waved a groom over to take the horse.
“What’s the matter?” He dismounted and followed Aiden inside the castle. His younger brother was paler than the night their father died.
“We have a visitor. Rosalind’s in trouble—”
“Trouble?” Brock growled. They’d had enough trouble as it was and didn’t need more, but he would do whatever was needed to help his sister.
“Aye, come inside.” Aiden led the way to the one of the few rooms in the castle still suitable for guests. It was a parlor with outdated furnishings, but it had a working fireplace and windows that weren’t broken. Their father hadn’t seen much point in doing anything but the most minimal and necessary of repairs. He’d kept what small fortune they had locked tight, and it cost a lot to keep a castle in working order.
Brodie was waiting for them inside with two men. One was tall with russet-brown hair and brown eyes, eyes too sharp to miss anything despite the warmth in them. He was handsome, Brock supposed, but he might forget what the man looked like the moment he left the room.
The other was dark-haired and his eyes were almost black. There was something about him that gave Brock a prickling sense of unease. Both men exuded a powerful presence, but the dark-eyed man was clearly in charge. He was English, judging by his dress, which was enough to make Brock uneasy. Perhaps that was it, simply nerves putting him on edge.
“Lord Kincade.” The dark-eyed man bowed to Brock. “I’m afraid I bear ill tidings.”
“My brother mentioned our sister,” Brock said.
“Yes. I am Sir Hugo Waverly, and this is Mr. Outis. I have been a business partner with Lady Melbourne for some time now. She had been engaging with common rival of ours for the last several months in business dealings, and it seems the man has gone to extreme and ungentlemanly measures.”
Brock continued to study the man. His fine but not extravagant clothes. His cultured voice that was smooth. Maybe he had misjudged the man. Distrust of the Sassenach was something every Scot was born with.
“What sort of measures?” Brodie stood behind the back of one of the chairs and leaned against it, his eyes narrowed.
“This other gentleman has every intention of gaining control of her money, her property and her life. He’s a vile brute and will most likely kill her after he’s married her and secured her fortune. She is at this moment trapped at his estate, waiting for him to arrange their marriage. Already he has procured a special license. I’m afraid the law is powerless to do anything to stop him, and as a friend of your sister, I knew I had to come and tell you at once.”
“A man is holding Rosalind against her will?” Aiden glanced in Brock’s direction.
The man named Hugo nodded. “He’s a baron by the name of Lennox. I can tell you everything I know about him, but it’s of the utmost importance that you rescue her before he does her any harm.”
“Even if we are too late and they’ve married?” Brodie asked.
Hugo met each of the three brothers’ stares. “Make no mistake. He will break her spirit as well as her body. You must do whatever is necessary to save her. You should bring her back here, where you can protect her. But I must warn you, he will come after her. And he won’t be alone. He will bring his friends with him.”
Brock and his brothers knew that the law could offer no protection to their sister, not from a husband and certainly not from a bloody noble. If she needed protection, they would have to be the ones to provide it.
“Thank you for coming to warn us.” Brock held out a hand to the man.
Waverly accepted it. “Your sister is a lovely woman. My only desire is to help save her. I don’t want that bastard Lennox doing her any harm.” He exchanged glances with the man beside him. “I would advise you to hire some more men in the local villages to help protect your sister until cooler heads can prevail, or until he is suitably discouraged. Lennox and his men will be fast on your heels.”
Brodie nudged Brock with his elbow. “I suppose we could use the help.”
Brock considered it. “This Lennox fellow… He’s truly a force to be reckoned with?”
Waverly bowed his head, visibly upset. “You have no idea. He’s killed several men over the last few years. Men who got in the way of his plans.”
“Brock, we have to save Rosalind,” Aiden said.
Brock waved a hand. “Aye, we will.” He faced Waverly. “Tell me where to find this baron and my sister.”
Waverly nodded grimly. “I have a man stationed at his residence and will notify him to expect you.”
Brock was puzzled. “You have someone working for him?”
“Fearing the worst, I’ve been keeping an eye on Lennox since your sister and I began to compete with him. My man will be able to assist you in gaining access to the house and your sister. I suggest you remove her under the cover of darkness and bring her back to Scotland.”
“Thank you,” Brodie said.
Waverly nodded. “Lennox must pay for what he’s done, and I am willing to lend my services to bring him down.”
*****
Rosalind barely slept that night alone in Ashton’s bed. She missed the man, his warmth, his laugh, his touch. The scent of him clung to the sheets like a ghost lover. An empty bed had never bothered her before, but it did now because she knew what she was longing for. Her sweet and seductive baron.
As dawn peeped in through the windows, Rosalind crawled out of bed and pulled the cord for Claire. It was going to be a long day if she continued to feel this way. She jumped when the door opened, far too soon for it to have been Claire.
Ashton stood there, looking as bad as she felt.
“Rosalind?” He blinked, keeping his distance by remaining in the doorway. He was pale, his blue eyes heavy with shadows. “What are you doing here?”
“You said I was to stay in your chambers…” Had she done something wrong?
He walked a step farther into the room, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought perhaps you’d take advantage and leave while I was seeing to Rafe.”
She bristled. “I made a promise to you, my lord. I would not leave unless you broke our agreement first. Besides, someone has to look after you while you l
ook after Rafe.”
Ashton gave a half smile. “I’d kiss you for that, but I’m afraid you mustn’t come any closer. I don’t wish to endanger you…” His voice drifted off, and he braced himself against the wall with one hand.
“Ashton…”
“I’m fine. Just a lack of sleep. Please, just a moment.” He drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps a…chair.” He took another few steps forward, and Rosalind saw his body listing to one side.
She leapt toward him without thinking, catching him by the waist as he collapsed. They both toppled to the ground. Panicking, she rolled him over and gasped. He was unconscious.
“My lady!” Claire gasped from the doorway.
“Claire, please fetch Lady Lennox at once! He’s ill!”
“What about you? You shouldn’t be so close.”
“Someone needs to tend to him. Can you help me lift him onto the bed?”
“Of course I can.” But Rosalind didn’t miss the concern in her voice as she aided Rosalind in lifting Ashton up onto the bed. This malady was striking fast enough to discourage anyone from getting too close.
“Fetch me a bowl of water, clean cloths and some clothes to wear. And have that doctor brought back to the house at once.”
Rosalind was barely aware of her lady’s maid running off; she was focused completely on Ashton. She perched on the edge of his bed and brushed his hair out of his eyes. His dark-gold lashes fluttered, and he shifted restlessly on the sheets.
“Rosalind…” He breathed her name in such a desperate tone that her heart ached.
She stroked his face with a gentle hand. “I’m here.”
Ashton’s eyes opened. He stared up at her through pain-fogged pupils. “Rafe. I need to—” He tried to sit up, but she gently pressed him down onto the bed again.
“You must rest, my lord. I will tend to Rafe.”
Ashton chuckled, but it turned into a cough. “Why does the thought of that make me worried?”
Rosalind laughed, though she couldn’t hide the strain in her voice. “Because I’ll be tempted to prod his injured arm to pay him back for robbing my coach?” she suggested.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” Ashton’s lips formed a weary smile before his eyes closed once again.
Claire returned and set a washbasin on the table beside the bed and handed her a set of cloths.
“Thank you, Claire. Please tell Mr. Lowell I can tend to his master if he’s worried about catching the grippe.”
Ashton stirred again at the name. “Don’t be too hard on Lowell. His mother died from influenza when he was a boy. He’s frightened of it. You ought to be too, Rosalind. I don’t want anyone else falling ill.”
She dampened a cloth and laid it upon his brow. “It’s too late to argue with me, my lord. You should know by now that I do as I please.”
He sighed, his eyelids dropping again, and soon his breathing deepened with sleep.
Rosalind shifted her position so she could lean against the back of the bed and watch him. It would be so easy to run away back to London. But she couldn’t abandon him, not when he needed her most. But it was more than that. She wanted to stay because, against her better judgment, she’d come to care for the bloody Englishman. All his arrogance, pride, stubbornness and pragmatism she’d despised were traits she possessed as well. They were cut from the same cloth.
She curled her fingers around his and gave his hand a squeeze.
“Be strong, Ashton,” she said softly. “I wish for you to fulfill our wager. As silly as it is, I believe we just might find a measure of happiness together. When we aren’t quarrelling, that is.” Rosalind smiled and caressed his cheek. He turned his face into her touch. His lips moved but no words came out. His skin burned her to the touch. Such a fever…
“Please, Ashton. You must get through this.” You must.
*****
The dreams born of a fever were always those of a nightmare. Ashton struggled to escape the clawing darkness, but the illness was too powerful. The fever swept him away, into memories that haunted him even when he was awake.
The haze of the cigar smoke in the gambling hell was thick enough that he could wave a hand through the air and disturb the clouds wafting about the men’s heads. The sickly sweet scent was overpowering, and it made Ashton’s eyes sting. They’d be red-rimmed by morning if he was forced to stay here much longer. But he had to find his father.
“Pardon me.” He coughed as he tapped the nearest man playing faro. “Have you seen Lord Lennox? Tall man, light hair, narrow moustache.”
The man shrugged off his hand but nodded at a distant door. “Aye, I know him. Through there, last I saw of him. But he’s not alone.”
Ashton expected that. The overdue notices and accounts his father owed had been piling up on his study desk at the townhouse for months.
“Thank you,” he said, but the man was already focused on his game again.
A woman with hair too red to be natural sauntered up to him. “Should you be in here, boy?” Her gown, a clashing maroon, was cut low enough that very little of her figure was left to the imagination.
“Pardon?” Ashton tried to step away from the woman. He was but fifteen, a young man still, but old enough to know a lightskirt was trouble and costly.
“Still a babe,” the woman cooed and brushed the edge of a lacy fan down his cheek.
He shoved the fan away. “Do not touch me like that again, madam,” he warned. “I’m not a child.”
For a moment the woman looked startled, and then she laughed. “A coy one. How charming. You like to be the master, dearie? That’s a game I can play, for the right price.” Her hand slid down to his hip, then attempted to move over to his groin.
Ashton caught her wrist. “My father, Lord Lennox, is with one of your women. I want to know where he is immediately.”
The prostitute cleared her throat and snatched her wrist back.
“Oh, fine. He’s in the farthest room on the left.” She jerked her head at a distant door.
Ashton squared his shoulders and crossed the crowded gambling area to where the private chambers were. When he reached the darkened back room on the left, his hand trembled as he lifted it to knock.
There was no answer from within.
“Father? It’s Ashton!” He hit the door again. He heard a groan as he tried the door handle. It opened and Ashton stared in agony at the scene. There was no woman in the room. Only his father, lying on the bed, clutching his head in pain.
“Father!” He rushed over to the bed, but when he tried to help his father sit up, Ashton was struck hard across the face.
“Leave me, boy!” the man snapped.
Ashton put a hand to his face; the skin burning where the back of his father’s hand had caught him off guard. His father had never hit him before.
“Father, please,” he begged. “Come home. Mother needs you. We all need you.”
Lord Lennox stumbled to his feet. “Damned whore took my coin purse.” He patted his pockets. “Pocket watch, too.”
“Father…”Ashton still touched his face where he’d been struck, but his father wasn’t listening. He left the room, tripping over his feet into the hall. Ashton hurried after him, dodging the gaming tables. His father, although clearly inebriated, was still moving faster than Ashton.
Several other men shouted and cursed as Ashton’s father bowled into them.
“Careful, man!” Someone shoved Lord Lennox toward the front door.
Ashton tripped and fell when a cane swung out and caught his boot tip. A young man with dark hair and black eyes laughed coldly. “Watch it, boy!”
“My apologies,” Ashton muttered, scrambling to get back to his feet. His father vanished out the door.
“Father!” He reached the door in time to see his father lose his footing on the sidewalk and tumble into the street.
Time seemed to slow down. A carriage raced through the dark street and struck Lord Lennox. The horse screamed, and it drowned out the shout
s of the man it trampled. Ashton’s legs were rooted to the ground. The breath rushed out of his lungs. He was unable to move or speak as chaos erupted around him. Men rushed out to aid the distressed driver of the carriage.
“Dead! The man is dead!” Someone’s cry cut through the fog of shock and horror that held Ashton prisoner. He raced down the steps and skidded to a stop a few feet away from his father’s crumpled body.
“Who is it?” the driver demanded.
Numb, Ashton stepped forward. “He’s my father.”
“He was your father,” the dark-haired young man with the cane said. “Drunken fool.” The man walked back into the club, leaving Ashton to stand there, lost, as his world crashed down around him.
“Ashton, please, be strong.” A sweet voice danced around the corners of the pain flooding his head and his heart.
Tears stained his cheeks, but he felt too weak to lift his limbs. Darkness captured him again, dragging him down to where even fevered nightmares could not reach him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sweat coated Ashton’s brow, and his fevered murmurs broke Rosalind’s heart. She held her breath each time Ashton’s chest rose and fell, fearing it would be his last.
The illness had claimed another three lives in the village since Ashton and Rafe had fallen ill three days ago. Terror had swept through Lennox House, but Rosalind had refused to leave Ashton’s side. Her heart lodged in her throat whenever he lay too still in his sheets.
He had tossed about restlessly for the last hour before sinking into another frightening silence. His breathing had become shallow and his skin clammy to the touch. Every muscle in Rosalind’s body tensed as she studied him, searching for any sign that he was slipping away from her.
You won’t leave me, Lennox. Not like this. I demand a fair fight with you, you coward. I want… She prayed he could hear her thoughts. She was too afraid to utter them aloud. I want to marry you.