A dull throb pounded in her temples, forcing her to close her eye and sway as a wave of nausea roiled from the pit of her stomach. She fought off the sickening sensation, but when she was able to open her eye again, she saw her father’s face was fading along with his voice.
Come, Catherine. Hurry, child…. There isn’t much time….
The ghostly image in the water disappeared.
“No!” she shrieked hoarsely, not knowing if she spoke the word aloud or if it was nothing more than an echo inside her head. “Don’t leave me, Papa! Come back to me. Don’t leave me. Not again.”
Tears filled her eye, making the surface of the water swim before her, and as she struggled to focus on her father’s words she did not hear the approaching footsteps. One small step, her father had said, just one small step, and she would be released from the pain that now twisted itself around her heart. Free of the fire that burned her limbs. The peace she craved was a step away. It was all so easy, but as Catherine went to move forward, destiny placed its hand on her shoulder, and turned her away from a watery grave.
* * * *
Rian couldn’t have said what drew his attention to the figure standing at the far edge of the wharf. At first he thought it was the early morning light playing tricks. The remnants of morning fog producing a phantom in the mist. Something that wasn’t really there. But then some unfathomable sense tugged at him, and he began to walk toward it.
The figure was no phantom, but it was difficult to tell if it was male or female due to the folds of the cloak draped about its shoulders. Still, Rian’s curiosity was pricked, and as he grew closer a shift in movement revealed the outline of feminine curves. His brow wrinkled with concern. It was too early for a dockside whore to be plying her trade, and it made no sense to be so far away from the wharf-side taverns and inns. Paying customers did not stray this far at any time of the day or night, so what reason had brought her to this lonely place?
It struck him that perhaps the girl was in some trouble, and too frightened to return to whoever claimed responsibility for her. Perhaps she had been robbed, or a customer had refused to pay for her services. Generous by nature, Rian decided if a few coins could make the difference, then he would gladly give them. He was not ashamed to admit that as a young man he had eased his loneliness from time to time by taking comfort in her profession. It would be a small token of his appreciation for kindness received when he’d had need of it.
Going closer, Rian happened to glance down, noticing the paving stones were stained with blotches that looked remarkably like footprints. Bloody footprints. His frown deepened when he saw bare feet beneath the hem of the cloak the girl wore. And this was another curiosity, for even in the early morning light he could see that the quality of the garment was too fine to belong to a common streetwalker. Was this the source of the girl’s woes? Had she stolen the cloak? It would not be unheard of: Thievery and prostitution were more often than not two sides of the same coin.
He continued his approach, making no effort to disguise his footsteps, but the girl gave no indication she heard him. Whatever problem she wrestled with, it was weighty enough to render her oblivious to everything around her. Seeing how close she was to the edge of the wharf, Rian prayed he did not startle her. A sudden loss of balance would send her tumbling into the murky water, where she could easily be carried away by the river’s strong undercurrent.
The inexplicable sense that had tugged at him before now increased in intensity. Rian could almost smell the scent of despair clinging to the girl, and the thick, cloying perfume filled his nostrils. Intuition told him a handful of coins, no matter how generous or well intentioned, would not ease the girl’s misfortune. And that did not sit well with him.
He was behind her now, and yet she still seemed completely unaware of his presence, her attention firmly fixed on something in the water. She cried out, her words garbled and incoherent, but Rian had no difficulty in recognizing the anguish behind them. It was the most pitiful sound he had ever heard, and it set his course. Carefully he reached out a hand and grasped her shoulder. Keeping his hold firm and true in case she might still stumble, Rian slowly turned her toward him.
Very few things in life took Rian by surprise, but this was one of them, and he found himself uncharacteristically struck dumb. With one sweeping glance he took in the white blonde hair that tumbled about her face, the swollen, bruised mouth and the discolorations along either side of her jaw. But what troubled him most, set him back on his heels, was the fear, distrust and pain that were so clearly reflected in the one eye that gazed steadily at him. An orb of deep, infinite blue, it held him fast, refusing to look away despite the horror Rian could see there. But then she blinked, thick lashes sweeping downward, and this time when she looked at him, Rian saw something else.
Beyond the terror he saw a need that called to him. A want that awakened an unexpected impulse, inflaming a need of his own. This one more basic, more primal, shocking Rian with the sudden protective impulse he felt. Whoever she was, she was no dockside whore, but as he opened his mouth to reassure her, that disturbing blue eye rolled back in her head, and she slumped against him.
Chapter 12
Lettie sat on the edge of her bed nervously twisting the sash on her robe over and over until the smooth material resembled a piece of coarse string instead of fine silk. Her nerves were on edge and she jumped at every sound, both real and imagined. It was almost a relief when her bedroom door was finally thrown open to reveal her husband standing on the other side. He had dressed in a hurry and his clothing was askew, the waistcoat open and his shirt buttoned incorrectly. Lettie was thankful that he had managed to fasten his breeches but she frowned at seeing him barefoot. Dried blood matted his hair and the ugly purple bruise above his temple was hard to miss. His nose had been bleeding and it now possessed a crooked appearance.
“Bitch,” Phillip said in a voice that was oddly thick but nevertheless calm.
Lettie’s fear escalated. If her husband had been raging and screaming, she would have stood a chance, but she knew from experience his ice-cold demeanor meant he was at his worst. She had no doubt that if Phillip were ever to commit murder, and at this moment she could not state with any degree of certainty that he had not, it would be as the chilling figure now standing before her. Unable to move, she watched as he went to the washstand and poured water from the ewer into the basin. After soaking a linen cloth, he proceeded to wipe away most of the dried blood from his temple before sitting next to her on the bed.
“Did you plan this?” he asked with no change to his tone. “With her?”
Lettie clutched at her throat, barely able to breathe, much less speak. “P-p-plan w-w-what?”
“That whore’s escape,” Phillip said. His voice may have been calm, but his eyes were murderous. “I know you helped her find her way out of this house tonight. She could not have managed it alone.”
Lettie’s throat constricted, rendering her unable to utter a word. She stared at her husband like a mouse hypnotized by a snake, knowing it was in imminent danger, but completely powerless to save itself.
“There is no one else who would dare defy my authority, although”—Phillip reached out and caught a lock of her hair, idly twisting it in his fingers—“this act of rebellion on your part has quite surprised me.” He jerked his hand suddenly, pulling her hair tight and forcing her face closer to his. “I really didn’t think you had it in you,” he whispered as a cruel smile twisted his mouth. “But such disobedience will, of course, require punishment.” And loosening her hair, he gripped her upper arm and pulled her from the bed.
“I hate you!” Lettie screamed, finding her voice and surprising both of them as years of pent up fear and revulsion were released with those three words.
“I had no idea you were capable of such passion,” Phillip sneered, “but I would ask you not to flatter yourself, madam, by presuming I share th
e sentiment. Believe me when I say you mean nothing to me.”
Phillip punched his wife in the face, smiling in satisfaction as she dropped to the floor, gagging and retching on the blood that gushed from her nose. Reaching down, he grabbed her by the arm once more, and jerked her to her feet.
Shrieking, Lettie tried to pull away, but Phillip’s grip was strong, and he easily ignored her feeble efforts. All she could do was try to keep up as he marched her down the hall to Catherine’s room. Opening the door, he flung her to the floor, where she barely missed the puddle of vomit on the carpet. Tears streamed down Lettie’s face, mixing with the blood and mucus that ran from her nose, and forcing her to spit out the contents of her mouth with each breath she tried to take, lest she choke. She struggled to her knees, only to be sent sprawling by a vicious kick.
“She was mine,” Phillip snarled, standing over his prostrate wife. “Mine! To do with as I pleased, for as long as I wanted.”
“You’re mad!” Lettie said thickly, turning her head and spraying him as she spoke.
Phillip looked down at himself, curling his lip in distaste at the globules of bloody mucus splattered on his clothes. “Mad, am I?” It wasn’t a real question, and he leaned closer, making his wife cringe in terror as his voice dropped to an icy calm. “You forget yourself, my dear. The state of my mind is of no consequence because, regardless, I am still your husband, which means I can do with you as I will.”
The look in his eyes was pure evil. A malevolence so deep that Lettie, fearing for her life, curled into a ball. She covered her head with her arms, and so did not see Phillip fetch the iron poker from the fireplace. The first blow carried all the weight of his frustration and rage, and she was unable to stifle the scream of agony as she felt the bone in her thigh break. The years of abuse at her husband’s hands had taught Lettie to hold her tongue, knowing Phillip took pleasure in hearing evidence of his mistreatment. Screams, whimpers, even a stifled sob would only guarantee a continuation of the torment. So though he rained down blow after blow on her unprotected body, Lettie kept silent, almost biting through her lower lip in order to do so.
Finally the events of the night caught up to Phillip, and the ache in his arm forced him to drop the heavy poker and stagger out of the room. Uncovering her head with her arms, Lettie fought the lightheadedness trying to suck her down and take her to a place she didn’t want to go. She was in acute physical distress. Phillip had hit her before, but he had never before shown such savagery. She had been certain he meant to kill her, and for the life of her, had no idea what had stopped him.
Excruciating pain ripped through her shattered leg. The throbbing, fiery ache spread from her foot to her hip, and halfway up her back. Raising her head slightly, she caught sight of the bed, and the bloodstained sheets half pulled off, and the strips of fabric still wrapped around the bedposts. She stared in horror as she realized what they had been used for. Too weak to move, Lettie was unable to prevent the vile images that filled her head, revealing all too clearly what Phillip had done to Catherine, reminding her what she herself had experienced at his hands.
But never this, oh dear God, it had never been as bad as this!
As the bed began to swim before her, Lettie allowed a brief moment of satisfaction to fill her. It blossomed like a flower in her chest, infusing her with a sense of rightness, knowing she had helped Catherine escape.
“God lead you to a safe haven, Catherine, and keep you in his hands,” she whispered just before she plummeted into the realms of darkness where only agony waited.
Chapter 13
It was early enough that most of the household staff were still enjoying their breakfast, and had not yet set about their daily chores. As luck would have it, one of the housemaids had been sent to fetch the housekeeper’s shawl. Not expecting any of the family to be awake at such an hour, the girl had taken the liberty of using the main staircase instead of the one at the back of the house. She was crossing the tiled lobby when the sound of Rian’s boot kicking loudly against the front door startled her. Her mouth fell open as he strode past her, carrying an unconscious woman in his arms.
“Tell Mrs. Hatch to send for a doctor immediately,” Rian barked as he continued up the staircase. Too surprised to curtsey, the girl ran to do as he had ordered.
Once in the master suite, Rian carefully placed his burden on the bed. His release drew a reflexive moan from the insentient girl as he carefully rolled her out of his arms. The room’s interior was still dark enough to warrant lighting a candle, which he did before taking off his coat, throwing it carelessly over a chair. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Rian went to the washstand and poured water into the basin. He picked up a wash cloth and returned to the bed, where he began to gently wipe the girl’s face.
Always the more volatile of the two brothers, Rian was having a difficult time keeping his anger from spilling over as he saw the ugly discolorations that mottled her pale skin. Her lower lip was swollen, and he dabbed carefully at the dried blood that clung stubbornly to the corner of her mouth. With a practiced eye he assessed the swelling and bruising along the edge of her face and, after probing cautiously with his fingertips, he determined her jaw did not appear to be broken or dislocated. But the bluish-purple shade that now colored the delicate skin of her right eye made him seethe. He knew from experience that a blow of some force was necessary to produce such bruising and make the skin swell closed.
As he moved the cloth across her skin, she began to make fretful, mewling sounds and attempted to bat his hands away. It was a feeble protest which Rian ignored. Having seen the damage to her face, and also noting the condition of her feet, he made the prudent decision to see if these were the extent of her injuries. Unhooking the decorative clasp that held the cloak closed, he pulled the garment open, only to let out a particularly unsavory curse as he quickly closed it again.
From the moment he’d scooped her up in his arms, Rian had known she wore no gown or even a petticoat, but he had supposed that she was wearing something. He was shocked to find she was completely naked, and his brain began to conjure up scenarios to account for her nudity. All of them highly disturbing. Knowing the image he had seen would be forever branded in his mind, he got up from the bed and turned away.
“Master Rian?” The housekeeper stood in the open doorway, hands folded before her as she addressed him in a quiet voice. “The doctor has been sent for.”
Rian motioned for her to enter, and as she did so he was struck by the notion that no matter the hour, Mrs. Hatch was always properly dressed, with her hair neatly tucked beneath a starched white cap. He could not recall a time, even as a boy, when she was not impeccably turned out. Liam had been convinced she didn’t sleep. Instead, he informed his older brother, she rested in an upright position, propped against the wall and fully dressed in order to be ready for any eventuality.
“Prepare yourself,” Rian murmured. “She is wearing no clothes.”
The unflappable woman said nothing, except to ask Rian to send the maid waiting in the hallway for hot water. He had just dispatched the young girl when the housekeeper’s gasp filled him with concern.
“Oh, my Lord!” the matronly woman exclaimed, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the bed. “What monster could do such a thing?”
It was not the girl’s nakedness that prompted the housekeeper’s reaction. Though she appreciated Rian’s warning, it had been unnecessary. Having borne eight children of her own, and prepared three, along with her husband, to meet their maker, the human body, male or female, did not offend her. It also held very little mystery. But she had not been prepared for the shocking brutality inflicted on the still form lying before her.
In her semiconscious state, the girl had sought to ease her discomfort by rolling onto her stomach. Mrs. Hatch, seeing the girl’s arm entangled in the folds of the cloak, gently pulled it away from her shoulder and, in doing so, revealed the girl’s upper b
ack. The welts that marked her skin had made the housekeeper roll the cloak further down, and the sight of ripped and bleeding flesh had been responsible for the older woman’s audible reaction. She turned her head to look at Rian, and he saw anguish etched in every line of her face. As he returned to the bed, his own anger quickly turned to a furious rage.
“A hand if you please, Master Rian,” Mrs. Hatch whispered, once more in control of her emotions.
With his help, she carefully slid the cloak away, freeing it until she was able to drop it to the floor. Seeing the housemaid return, Mrs. Hatch moved quickly to the door, where she relieved the girl of the kettle of hot water she carried while issuing further instructions in a low voice. Unable to tear his eyes away, Rian simply stared at the naked figure lying face down on the bed. She was still insensible, for which he was grateful, but he now had an idea of what had driven her to the water’s edge. He made a silent promise that when he found the person responsible for such a heinous act, he would make sure they paid dearly for it. Turning to face his housekeeper, he watched as she swallowed a couple of times before finding her voice.
“Master Rian, I must ask, sir. Do you know the lass?”
He shook his head, not at all offended by her question. “I have no idea who she is.”
She paused for a moment. “Then how is it that you have brought her here?”
He quickly told the housekeeper how he had come across the girl down at the docks. It took no more than a few sentences, and if the older woman was curious to know what cause he had to be there, she did not ask. “I think she meant to throw herself in,” Rian told her.
“Good Lord, no!”
Unable to continue looking at the figure on the bed, Rian went to the dresser, poured himself a brandy, and tossed it off in one go. He grimaced as the liquid burned a fiery path down to his belly, but the alcohol did its job. It enabled him to push his anger to one side, where it could be dealt with later. Right now he needed to remain objective, and as calm as possible. The low voices coming from beyond the open door made him turn his head in time to see Mrs. Hatch pulling a sheet over the girl.
Mischance Page 9