Born for Thorton's Sake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  She watched as Harrison’s face went crimson with fury. “How dare you speak to me so!” he growled.

  “I shall speak to you in whatever manner I see fit!” she replied through clenched teeth.

  “A brother who never wronged me, you say?” he continued. “You foolish chit of a girl! Brockton wronged me at every turn. He was born to begin with! Father doted on him, though I was the eldest and heir.”

  “You were the bad seed, Harrison. Do not deny it,” Lady Thorton interjected.

  Harrison chuckled. “Ah yes! ‘The bad seed’…‘the black sheep.’ Be that as it may, I am the eldest. I chose to live my life as befitting an heir to a great title and estate. But Father was bent on morality and honor! Constantly, he tried to mold me, as it were, into what he had been. Into what dear brother Brock was becoming. But I would have none of it! High moral code, ah! Honor? What good is it, I ask you? If you’ve wealth and position, what necessitates honor…morality?”

  “You’re truly sickening,” Maria mumbled, unable to comprehend such thinking.

  Harrison burst into boisterous laughter. “Sickening, am I? Brock and I…we’re of the same blood and bone, Maria. How is it you found nothing vile and unattractive in my younger brother?”

  “You may be of similar physical ingredients. But you are not the same in mind. Nor in opinion, nor passion, nor—”

  “Passion, you say? Well, my little novice…what know you of passion? Please…do not try to intimate Brock was capable of passion! I know my brother too well. Straight as an arrow and far less lethal!”

  Maria was provoked. She raised her arm, intending to slap him squarely across the face. Realizing her intention, he caught her wrist in one hand.

  “Now, now, Maria. Let a true man of passion demonstrate the emotion,” he mumbled.

  Then, before she could move, he had captured her in his arms and was consuming her tender lips with his own. With every ounce of strength within her, Maria broke from him. She felt as if she might vomit as she looked up into his face that now appeared more hideous than before. She spat on the floor at his feet, attempting to rid her mouth of his memory.

  Rather calmly, Lady Thorton approached Harrison. Her eyes narrowed as she said, “If you ever dare to touch her again, Harrison, I will cut your throat myself.”

  Harrison chuckled. “Reconcile your mind to seeing such displays, Mother. I plan to have everything I deserve. Everything,” he said, lewdly smiling at Maria.

  “I would die before I let you lay a hand on me again. I will not be taken in surprise, in any manner ever again!” Maria snapped sharply.

  “Do not lay wager on it, my dear,” Harrison growled. He turned and left the room, calling to them as he went. “I’ll be in for dinner tomorrow, Mother. Please be sure the servants are notified and prepared.”

  “Maria, my darling! I…I am so very sorry! I had guessed his intentions were as much…but still I hoped…” Lady Thorton began.

  “He is mad, milady,” Maria whispered.

  “Yes, my darling. I believe so.”

  Maria looked at Lady Thorton then, surprised at her own ignorance. She had been drowning in such deep despair, had been so miserable, she never before inquired as to the reasons for Harrison’s disowning. “Was there one act…one deed in particular that caused Lord Thorton to abandon him? Or was it merely an all-encompassing character?” Maria asked.

  “He tried to kill his younger brother. Repeatedly,” Lady Thorton pronounced.

  Maria gasped, her mouth gaping open in astonishment as she looked at the grand lady.

  “Brock was always a good boy,” Lady Thorton continued. “He is seven years the junior to Harrison. Harrison was ever the disobedient, immoral, expectant heir. When he was the age of twenty and Brock thirteen, Harrison realized their father favored his younger son. What father would not, I ask you? I favored Brock as well. He was good, compassionate, and chaste. Harrison was not. The first instance occurred while they were out hunting together. Brock was accidentally shot in the leg. Or so Harrison related the story. Then Harrison endeavored to push Brock from a high cliff ledge. We were suspicious…but he was our son! It was inconceivable that…” Lady Thorton dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “One morning, Richard came upon them arguing in the stables. Harrison shouted to Brock he would see him dead, one way or the other. It was affirmation…horrid affirmation spoken from his own lips. Richard disinherited and disowned Harrison that very night. Brock’s life was threatened. Do you see? How could we permit Harrison to remain? He threatened, indeed he had tried…to murder his own brother,” Lady Thorton said, weeping.

  Maria could sense the grand lady felt a terrible guilt at having abandoned a child. “It was need be, my lady. A brother who would plot to murder? To murder in any regard! But to murder his own brother? There was no alternative,” she comforted.

  “Yes. I know. No alternative.”

  Maria embraced the woman, all the while her mind spinning with the horror of it all. She was more frightened than ever. Closing her eyes, she silently prayed for Brock’s swift return, for her safety and Lady Thorton’s until he did.

  “Hurry, my love,” she whispered. “Make haste…lest we are all of us lost to his evil intent.”

  FOR WHAT SAKE BORN

  There came no word. No message. Not one. Nothing from Brock. For three months there came nothing. Maria began to lose hope, to fear some terrible fate had befallen him—something worse than imprisonment in Bevary. Perhaps he had been ill at the time of escape and his condition had worsened. Perhaps thieves had set upon him. Perhaps Harrison had received news of his escape and finally succeeded in murdering him! Perhaps something had taken him, and he was lost—forever lost.

  In the dark, lonely hours of midnight, her mind plagued her with worry and anxiety and whisperings to her his heart had changed. Brock had found another in his travels since escaping Bevary; Brock had found comfort in the arms of someone else. Had a strange woman found him ill and beaten, nursed him to health, and won his heart? So many nightmares, waking and sleeping, began to plague Maria. She thought she might expire of their torment. Yet she rallied in the brightness of morning and sun. Each day she managed, somehow, to regain her hope, her courage, her knowledge that Brock was on his way to her rescue. Each day she managed to exist—exist in the hope of seeing him once more, of being held in his arms.

  Harrison was growing irritable and impatient. His solicitors had been unable to acquire the estate and title rights for him. Without sufficient proof of Brock’s demise, he could not inherit. He was anxious and, at times, violent.

  Apparently, Lady Thorton’s warning to Harrison so far as Maria was concerned had some effect on him. Even though he ogled her mercilessly, insinuating lewd improprieties with his glances and grins, he had not touched her again.

  Yet this day, something was wrong about the very air. This day, Maria was uneasy. This was to have been her wedding day—her eighteenth birthday. This was to have been the day she would be given to Brock and he to her. But now, as she walked about the garden where Brock had given her his ring the night of their official betrothal, she was filled with dread, fear, and an endless, empty loneliness.

  “Pondering what might have been, my sweet?” Maria turned to see Harrison standing just behind her.

  “Leave me be, Harrison. I’ve no desire to look at your hideous snout this evening,” she said.

  He chuckled and took several steps toward her. Usually Maria stood her ground firmly when he approached trying to intimidate her. This time, there was something about his expression—something frightening, unsettling.

  “Leave me be, Harrison,” she said as she felt an overpowering dread heightening within her bosom.

  He chuckled. “Your father meant for you to be married on this day, did he not?” he mocked.

  “To Brock,” she reminded.

  “To Lord Thorton’s son!” he bellowed. “And so you shall be. We would not want to ignore your father’s dying wishes, would we now, Mari
a?”

  She turned, intending to run, but he caught her around the waist. Then, lifting her, he dropped her over his shoulder.

  “Stop this!” she screamed. “Release me, Harrison!”

  He chuckled and began walking toward the house. Maria beat on his back with her fists, pinched him, and kicked him unceasingly, but he was too powerful. He had her. Panic caused her to lose rational thinking.

  As Harrison entered the house with his prisoner flung over his shoulder, Lady Thorton came running down the stairs.

  “Release her, Harrison! At once! Do you hear me? At once!” she shouted.

  Harrison strode to his mother and stood glaring down at her as Maria paused in her struggling. Surely Harrison would succumb to Lady Thorton’s command.

  “Do not interfere with me any longer, Mother!” he shouted.

  “You will unhand her, Harrison. You will unhand her, or there will be consequence,” Lady Thorton said.

  Harrison sighed with irritation as he growled, “Very well then. The both of you will learn this day who is to be obeyed in this house!” Maria gasped when she witnessed the beast strike his own mother with the back of his hand, knocking her to the floor.

  “Stop him!” Lady Thorton cried, trying to stand. “Stop him!”

  Several male housemen entered upon hearing the outburst. Reaching into his coat pocket, Harrison Thorton produced a pistol and threateningly aimed it at the men.

  “Now…pursue this no further…or it will answer,” he commanded. The men were undaunted until Harrison pressed the muzzle of the gun into Maria’s rib. “It will answer,” Harrison repeated as he continued ascending the staircase carrying Maria.

  “Help me!” Maria screamed as she looked at the bewildered and helpless faces below.

  Harrison laughed as he reached the door to one of the upstairs chambers.

  “You realize what this is, do you not, Maria?” he said. “It is the bedchamber shared by the lord and lady of Thorton Manor.” Maria tightly closed her eyes and struggled with all her might as Harrison fumbled with a large iron key produced from his pocket.

  She was successful! She fell to the floor. She was free from his hold! She opened her eyes, glancing about to discern which direction would ensure her escape. It was then she realized why Harrison had released her.

  “Brock!” she cried, looking up to see Brock struggling with his brother.

  “You shall pay with your life for touching her, Harrison!” Brock growled, ripping the pistol from his brother’s hands.

  “No, little brother. You shall pay with yours for ever bringing her here,” Harrison retorted.

  “Miss Holt!” Jacob Peterson exclaimed, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Has he hurt you?”

  Maria could only shake her head in response. She was overcome with the scene unfolding in her wake. She watched as Brock’s fist repeatedly struck Harrison’s body. The blows were powerful and devastating, and the villain soon crumpled to his knees.

  Harrison knelt on the floor at the feet of his brother, gasping for breath, his face a mass of blood and quick swelling. He looked up at Brock, who stood over him drawing angry breath.

  “You’ve broken bones here, brother!” Harrison accused.

  Brockton shook his head, and Maria thought of his weeks and weeks of incarceration at the hand of his elder brother.

  “Better it would have been for you if I had broken your neck, Harrison,” Brock growled.

  Maria watched as the constable and two other men came forward and bound Harrison’s hands. The men pulled him to his feet. He winced as one of them jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Answer me one question, Brock. You owe it to me,” Harrison panted.

  “I do not owe you anything,” Brock growled.

  “How did you escape? You must have had help. You could not have escaped Bevary alone. How?”

  Brock stood silent for a moment. Then he said, “You should have paid less notice to Father’s wealth and position and more to the daughters of his dear friends.”

  Harrison looked to Maria, his eyes flaming with anger and indignation.

  “You!” he breathed. “That…that infernal holiday mother allowed you to take.”

  Maria looked to Brock, but his eyes stayed fixed on his brother.

  “Mother?” Harrison said in a pitiful voice as the men began dragging him down the stairway. Lady Thorton straightened, turning her back on her eldest son. Maria’s heart ached for the woman. The pain and guilt evident on her face were agonizing to witness.

  The moment they had gone, Brock went to his mother. She fell into his arms, sobbing. Maria watched for a moment but felt as an intruder eavesdropping on something very private. She quietly walked to her own chambers, closing the door behind her as tears blinded her. Weakened, she leaned against the door, still stunned by what had occurred and Brock’s timely appearance.

  Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. Maria startled as the vibration of the knocking rattled against her back. Her heart began to hammer, perspiration gathered at her temples, and her knees and arms felt weak. She managed to brush the tears from her cheeks, overcome by the certain knowledge it was Brock’s fist against oak.

  “Y-yes?” she stammered.

  “May I enter?”

  She drew in her breath and held it, undone by the mere sound of his voice. She could hear the lack of confidence in his words, and she knew the moment had arrived—the single moment of truth when all her fears would be vanquished or realized. Had nothing changed between them? Or had everything changed between them?

  “Yes,” she managed to answer.

  She turned, stepping away from the door. As it opened, Brock stepped into the room. Her eyes beheld him, strong, healthy, and brutally beautiful once again. His strength and health had returned. Maria’s heart began beating wildly. She fought with all she was to restrain herself from flying at him, begging for his embrace.

  “It has been unspeakable for you, has it not?” he stated. “Living with Harrison’s presence…his threats, no doubt?”

  She could only cast her gaze to the floor and nod. He came and stood directly before her, and she could feel his stare at the top of her head. Still, she could not look at him again. For all her courage at Bevary, for all her bravery, what now found her so weak and fearful in his presence?

  “I’ve come to apologize, Maria. For failing you,” he whispered.

  She looked up quickly, questioningly. “What?”

  “You know I have failed you,” he said, frowning. “I was not here to be your protector. I left you to the wolf, so to speak.”

  “You were imprisoned, Brock,” she said. Had he gone mad and forgotten?

  “That is what I speak of. I was truly pathetic. Weak to fall into such a trap.”

  “He had you put into Bevary Prison, Brock,” she reminded.

  He nodded. “Perhaps. Yet I should have anticipated such an act of treachery. I know Harrison well enough.”

  Maria could only shake her head. What was he saying? That it was his fault alone he had to endure such atrocity? She looked away as he took one of her hands in his own. His touch was stimulating to her senses, and she shivered with delight from it.

  “I…I am giving you the choice, Maria,” he whispered. “You are free. You have no obligation to marry me…the pathetic weakling you had to deliver.”

  “Brock!” Maria gasped as panic began to wash over her. Was he ridding himself of her just as her nightmares had caused her to fear? Would he leave her?

  “Or,” he continued, his eyes smoldering with emotion, “or I have brought the curate, and he waits downstairs.”

  “What?” Maria whispered, confusion mingling with hope in her bosom and brain.

  “Today was to have been our wedding day, was it not?” he asked. “I leave the choice to you—your freedom…or the curate.”

  Maria looked deep into his eyes. His chest rose and fell with the labored breathing of restrained emotion. He yet wanted her! She could
see it in his eyes! It was only his guilt, his feelings of failure, keeping him from embracing her—keeping him from embracing her and more. He loved her as much as ever he did! It was there, blatant on his face, in the set of his clenched jaw, in the sweet syrup of his eyes. He was only doubting his own worthiness of her, not his love for her.

  She smiled, and a perplexed frown puckered his brow. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his chestnut and gold flecked hair. He closed his eyes a moment, breathing a heavy sigh. She raised herself, kissing him tenderly on the chin. For a moment, he clenched his eyes shut more tightly.

  Maria let her small hands caress his powerful arms, feeling the smooth and solid contours of his muscles. She was pleased he wore a short-sleeved riding shirt, so she had this opportunity to caress him thus. In an instant, his arms went around her, pulling her body against his own. His mouth found her throat, and she felt she might melt into nothingness at the satisfying sensation.

  “You are coming downstairs this minute, girl, and we will be married at once! You will be mine, and I will have you at every turn! Do not resist, or it will go badly for you,” he mumbled as his mouth took hers in a fierce and driven, eager and licentious kiss.

  “Maria? Brockton? What is going on in that room?” Lady Thorton asked from beyond the door.

  “Lord Thorton?” Maria whispered after he had enraptured her mouth with impassioned kisses for several moments more.

  Brock sighed heavily, and she marveled at the relieved expression now dominating his features as he looked at her.

  “What is it, milady?” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

  “I think you had better answer your mother. She sounds a bit unsettled,” Maria whispered, smiling up at him. He chuckled. “And then,” she continued, “I think it would be wise for us to meet with the curate forthwith.”

  “And why is that, Maria?” he said, placing a heated kiss on her neck.