by Lauren Smith
Ashton followed her out into the hall. All of the Scotsmen were waiting, hands on weapons, albeit loosely. But there was still an undeniable tension in the room. Brock was the first to notice them, and he glared at Ashton.
“So, did you tell him off?” he demanded.
“Shouldn’t you already know?” she countered.
“We cannae hear a thing through those oak doors,” said Brodie. “Just a bunch of spirited mutters.”
Rosalind glanced at Ashton. “Then I should be the one to tell you. I’m going to marry Lord Lennox.”
“But he’s a damned woman beater!” Aiden shouted, raising his pistol at Ashton. “We should drown him in the loch!”
“Stop!” Rosalind snapped, stepping in front of him.
“Out of the way, woman,” said Aiden. “He’s filled your head with nonsense.”
“Heads have been filled with nonsense, but not mine. Lord Lennox has never raised a hand to any woman. My first husband may have taken me in out of pity, but he taught me strength. I would not throw that strength away by running into the arms of a man no better than our father.”
Rosalind’s words gave the trio pause for thought, as they looked at one another as if asking what they should do next.
“Are you sure, Rosalind?” Brock asked. “Does he not have some hold over you? If he’s forcing you in any way, we will drag him out of this house and dunk him in the loch.”
Still weakened from his bout with influenza, Ashton knew he could fight, but he doubted very much he could stand against three very angry older brothers, or even one of them. He now understood Godric’s hesitation whenever he spoke of these men. The eldest, Brock, was as tall as Ashton and with hands that could tear a tree trunk in half.
Rosalind leaned against Ashton, tucking her arm into his. “Yes. I’m sure. Our arrangement was a matter of honor before, but…” Her cheeks blossomed. “But I do love him. So much so it frightens me.”
Aiden stared at her. “But does he love you back?” Ashton knew he had but one moment to convince Rosalind’s brothers of his intentions.
“You have no reason to believe me, given what you were told by Waverly, but I love Rosalind with every breath in me. I would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.” He looked down into her face, startled by the love in her eyes. “She’s everything to me.”
Brodie tucked his pistol into his trousers. “This means you are returning to England, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. But once Ashton and I have settled some business there, we shall return here to visit, if you’ll have us.” She dropped her head a little, and the smile about her lips wilted.
Rosalind’s brothers looked stricken at the news their sister was leaving them again, but Ashton had an idea.
He cleared his throat. “We should like you to attend the wedding. We shall set it for a week from now at my country estate in Hampshire. My home is yours so long as you’d like to stay.”
Brodie and Aiden started to protest, but Brock held up a hand, silencing them.
“We’ll come. And we thank you for your hospitality. We would like to attend the wedding and make sure you make our wee sister happy.”
The two younger brothers stared at Brock in shock.
He glared back at them. “Close your mouths. We are going. End of discussion.” His two younger brothers both stiffened their spines and nodded, as though agreeing to whatever silent command he’d just given them. “And you are more than welcome to come home, Rosalind, anytime. Even bring your Englishman if you wish.” Brock smirked at Ashton, but there was no venom in it.
“Thank you, Brock,” said Rosalind. “I couldn’t imagine you all not being there. Not now that we’ve been reunited.” Ashton couldn’t miss the little catch in her voice. She recovered and sniffed. “Now, Ashton and I must make plans to return to his estate and then to London.”
Ashton nodded, clutching the letters that would condemn Waverly, and he held on to Rosalind with his other hand.
The group of guards in the foyer started to shift as though ready to leave, but one man, half hidden in shadow, stepped more clearly into the light.
“I would offer congratulations, Lady Melbourne, but I’m afraid I have my orders. Where are the letters?” The man’s Welsh accent was unfamiliar and put Ashton on edge.
Everyone tensed and no one else moved. The man was thin and muscular, with a face cut from stone and dark eyes.
“The letters. Give them to me.” The man’s voice was dispassionate, reminding Ashton of another man, one from his nightmares.
The letters were still in his hand, half hidden by his hip, but he knew if he dared to move, the man would sense it and spot them immediately.
“Letters? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rosalind’s tone was perfectly innocent, but she moved a step closer to Ashton.
The man raised his pistol, his dark hair threatening to fall into his eyes. In unison the other men in the hall raised their weapons, training them on Rosalind, her brothers and Ashton. This time it was Ashton’s turn to stand in front of Rosalind.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Aiden growled. “You work for us. We hired you to protect us and our sister.”
The leader of the men smiled, but it was one of cruel amusement. “And we’d have served you faithfully. But it seems she no longer wishes to be protected, and we have higher orders. Now, Lady Melbourne, the letters, if you please.”
Ashton considered the odds, and they were not good. He was certain that more than a few would die if he and Rosalind’s brothers chose to fight. Those were odds he was not interested in.
He held up the packet bound by twine. “I have the letters.”
Rosalind stiffened beside him, her hand squeezing his.
The man grinned. “Well, hand them over, Lord Lennox.”
“And let you shoot all of us afterward? I’m not a fool.”
The man’s smile turned into a sneer. “What’s to stop me from shooting all of you and taking the letters?”
Ashton raised his chin, his voice taking on that commanding business tone that he was well known for. “Because you’re a smart man. Hugo wouldn’t have trusted such a task to a fool. Murdering Lord Kincade, his sister and brothers in their own hall, as well as myself, will bring forth such an outcry for justice that Hugo will abandon you to the law and let you all hang.” He finished this last word with such force that no man in the room dared to breathe for a moment.
Hugo’s man considered this, his eyes darting from Rosalind’s brothers to Ashton and finally the letters. He nodded.
“What do you propose?”
It took much of Ashton’s willpower not to sag with relief. Any sign of weakness could still get them all killed.
“I will walk with you outside. Once there, once I am assured of the lady’s safety and that of her brothers, you may take the letters from me.”
“Ashton, no!” Rosalind cried out, but he kept her behind him. He would do his best to stay between her and any pistols. He turned toward her, wishing he could steal one last kiss before he went outside to an unknown fate.
“Stay here. I need to know you’re safe.”
“We are in this together, remember?” Her sweet defiance warmed his heart.
“I remember. But you must learn to trust me. Now is one of those times.” He stared meaningfully at her.
Rosalind narrowed her eyes, a hint of tears glinting in them. “Be careful. If you get hurt, I will wring your bloody neck.”
Lord, he loved this woman.
“Understood, madam,” he teased her before he turned back to Hugo’s man, and all merriment vanished from him.
The man jerked the muzzle of his pistol from Ashton to the doorway. “This way.”
The hired men formed a ring around Ashton as they headed for the door. As they backed out into the sunlight, Ashton raised a hand against the glaring sun. They were alone except for a wagon of hay and two goats that meandered past them grazing light
ly on the grass leading up to the road. A pleasant day…and here he was facing a grim defeat. Not only would he lose the letters, but odds were his life as well.
The leader pointed at Ashton. “Hand the letters to me.”
Ashton stared at the letters, sighed, then passed the packet to the man with a curse.
A shout from the wagon made Ashton jump. Jonathan and Charles leapt out of wagon, pistols raised.
“What were you doing?” Ashton said loudly enough so that only they could hear.
“The guards all disappeared once you went inside. We used the wagon as cover while we worked out how to get in. We were planning to gain entrance, but clearly you need us more here.”
Cedric, Lucien and Godric came around the side of the castle at a brisk pace and flanked the hired men from behind. The other men glanced around, their fingers twitching on their pistols.
“Hand the letters back,” Godric ordered.
Hugo’s man shook his head. “Never.”
“We will shoot you,” Lucien warned.
“And we outnumber you,” the man countered.
Ashton saw the determination in the other man’s eyes. He knew the man would die to get the letters away.
“Whatever he’s paying you, we’ll triple it,” Ashton said.
The man laughed. “If only it were that simple.”
“Name your price then,” Ashton offered, holding up a hand when the man took a step back.
“Not everything is about price, my lord. I have my orders.”
He fired his pistol.
Ashton staggered back. At first he felt nothing; then he saw red blossom around his left shoulder. The pain soon hit as he clutched his now limp arm.
The world descended into chaos. Pistols fired and men shouted, calling for retreat, but his or theirs he couldn’t tell. Ashton couldn’t focus on any of that as he slumped to the ground. His head grew foggy, and the agony of his arm was a distraction he couldn’t ignore.
“Ash!” Cedric’s voice cut through the battle. Most of the pistols were on the ground as the men now attacked with swords and knives. But Ashton’s mind still struggled to focus.
“Cedric?” he whispered, breathless.
Must get back inside… He struggled back up, his legs buckling before he fell again to his knees. The road rose up to meet him, hitting his knees and making him groan. Must find…
“Rosalind…” he said as the pain overtook him and blackness swallowed him whole.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sound of pistols made Rosalind jump. She clutched her skirts and ran for the door, her brothers at her heels.
“Rosalind, stay behind us!” Brock ordered, but she wasn’t listening. If Hugo’s men were shooting out there, seven against one…
“Ashton!” she cried out as she grasped the iron handle of the wooden door that led outside. Her brothers all now held their slender but lethal blades in one hand and pistols in the other.
Brodie helped her pull the door open, and a scene of wild ferocity halted her in her tracks. Ashton’s friends were fighting men left and right. The clash of blades and fists made her sick. She was a strong woman, but no one handled bloodshed well when it was with those she’d come to care about. Her brothers dove into the fray, bellowing out ancient battle cries that echoed off the castle walls. Brock grabbed a man and swung him hard toward the moat, the man shouting as he hit the water with a mighty splash.
“Ashton!” she cried, looking around. It was then she saw Cedric, holding a man on the ground. A crown of blond hair was all she could make out clearly.
No… No… No…
When she reached Cedric, he was pressing his hands into Ashton’s shoulder. Blood oozed between Cedric’s fingers as he struggled to keep hold of Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton’s eyes were wide open but unseeing, and his face white as marble. The battle seemed to have ended, and the men were collecting themselves and checking on one another.
“We need a doctor.” Cedric gasped as he tried to lift Ashton up.
“Doctor?” Brock was suddenly kneeling beside her and Cedric. “I can fetch him. You have a horse?” he asked Cedric.
Cedric nodded toward the spot of woods a bit of the way down the road. “Behind the thicket.”
Without another word, Brock sprinted toward the trees.
An unsettling hush overtook the dusty road. Godric and Cedric were hunched over, tying up two wounded men. Godric’s leg was badly wounded, and he limped as he walked. Jonathan leaned over Lucien, who was resting against the castle wall, a slash from a sword deep across his chest, blood dripping down his stomach.
“Where’s the one with the letters?” Charles asked, glancing around. His breath was heavy as he clutched at one arm, red seeping between his fingers. “He’s not here.”
“I count two others missing,” said Godric.
Rosalind and Cedric shared glances. She couldn’t erase the sight of Ashton’s blood out of her mind.
Ride fast, Brock, she silently prayed. Every one of these men needed a doctor. Her brothers too were scraped and cut in places, the battle leaving no man unharmed.
“Let’s lift him up,” Godric said as he and Jonathan helped Cedric and Rosalind carry Ashton back inside. “He needs a bed.”
Aiden rushed ahead of them. “There’s an empty bedchamber this way.” It was one of the many empty rooms that had been furnished years ago but left unoccupied. Aiden tore down the white sheets, and a cloud of dust billowed up, making everyone cough. They got Ashton settled, and Rosalind instructed her brother to fetch clean cloths and hot water.
“Was anyone else shot?” Rosalind glanced at the ragged group of men, bleeding and limping as they joined her in the bedroom.
“Just a few scrapes,” Godric said, but Rosalind noticed his complexion was ashen. Pain lined his face as he shifted his weight off his injured leg. “Ashton was the only one who caught a bullet, luckily.” The Duke of Essex’s green eyes glinted with fury.
“Where is Brodie?” she asked. She tried to assess the rest of their injuries. A gash across Lucien’s chest, Charles’s pierced arm, Jonathan’s brow was bleeding… They would all need seeing to.
Lucien cleared his throat. “He is securing the two men still alive. I’m afraid we’re facing a bit of a situation.”
“What do you mean?” She looked back at Ashton, brushing the hair out of his closed eyes. He didn’t stir. Her heart beat as though each pulse cost her a second of Ashton’s life, and she wished she could slow the pendulum of time so she wouldn’t lose him.
“We will need to have a word with the local magistrate regarding the two who died,” Lucien explained.
“Well, my brother Brock is the local magistrate.”
Jonathan gave an obvious sigh of relief. “Well that’s a small miracle. Explaining this to someone else would have been difficult.”
Aidan returned then, carrying a stack of white cloths and a pail of hot water.
“Bring them here.”
She dabbed the cloth in the water and pressed it to Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton suddenly moaned softly. The blood was starting to thicken on his shirt. She’d never been a squeamish creature, but this… She swallowed down a wave of nausea and applied more pressure to the wound.
“Stay with me,” she said, cupping Ashton’s cheek.
His lips moved. “Rosalind…”
“I’m here.” Her voice broke as she spoke. Charles bent over the bed beside her and took Ashton’s hand, gripping it. Rosalind froze as she saw the tortured look in his eyes. If she had ever doubted the love between Ashton and his friends, the doubts were now long removed. She covered Charles’s hand, which in turn held Ashton’s.
“He’s too stubborn,” Cedric muttered. “Ash has been shot before. This isn’t new to him.” Cedric looked around the room as though seeking for the others to agree with him.
“That doesn’t mean he should be making a habit of it,” said Rosalind, frustrated with her inability to do more.
“
Come on, old boy,” said Lucien. “You can pull through this.” He and the others formed a silent vigil around Ashton. Godric gave Rosalind a sympathetic gaze, as though he knew what it was like to sit at the bedside of someone he loved and fear they would never wake.
I suppose I am one of them now.
Charles laid his other hand over hers and gave her a gentle squeeze as they clung to Ashton. She silently prayed as she stared at Ashton’s pale face. If only Brock would hurry and fetch the doctor…
*****
Ashton couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. His body burned.
Flashes… Pieces of his life were scattered upon a fitful burst of wind, and his soul drifted away bit by bit.
His eyes flew open, and he gasped. Every muscle, every bone felt light, almost weightless. He was lying on a settee, light pouring through the bay windows of a room he recognized. He was in one of the old drawing rooms in his home in the country.
But things were different. The carpets were old, faded, the patterns more than twenty years old, and the draperies letting in sunlight were out of fashion.
I had those draperies changed ten years ago…
Ashton shook his head, trying to dislodge his confused, muddled stream of thoughts. Where was he? Home…but it was the home he’d had as a child.
The door to the drawing room suddenly opened, and he saw a younger form of himself walk inside. It was him as a boy of seven years, and he wasn’t alone. Behind him came his father, a broad grin on his lips as he approached one of the cherry wood tables beside the fireplace, where a gleaming chess set waited to be played.
“If you win, Ashton, we will take breakfast up to your mother. And if I win, we shall go fishing, just the two of us, after we’ve given your mother her breakfast.” Malcolm winked at the little boy.
Ashton stared at the scene in fascination, his heart aching. I remember this day…
It was one of a thousand such days he’d had as a child, full of warmth, sunlight and love. One that was full of endless possibilities and no urgency. The sort of day a fortunate child in a loving house would have.