by Joyce Alec
“No, indeed,” Lady Johnston shouted, drawing closer to Isabella. “It will not happen. I will not allow it. Your life, your stain on the world, and on my family, is to come to an end.”
Isabella caught sight of a flash of metal and did the only thing she could. Slamming herself hard into Lady Johnston, she knocked her into the burly man and, terror screaming in her mind, she ran past her and further into the woods. No thundering of feet sounded behind her, and no strong hand came out to grasp at her. Although, she could hear Lady Johnston’s screams of frustration echoing behind her.
She had no idea where she was going, aware that the light was already starting to fade and that the cold air was nipping at her fingers and nose. It was only then that she felt something warm at her side and, pressing her hand to her gown, discovered that her fingers were bright red with blood.
Chapter Thirteen
Charles frowned to himself, pausing in his steps as the smallest of sounds met his ears. His guests had created a fuss at being asked to leave, even though he had tried to explain as best he could. It appeared that they were all caught up with just how poorly they were being treated, as opposed to how desperate a situation Isabella was in. The shame of it was that he knew he would have reacted in much the same way before Isabella had shown him the depths of his selfishness.
The sound came again, and Charles felt a ripple of fear run down his neck. Was that a cry?
“My lord.”
The butler, on seeing him, rushed towards him with a look of worry etched on his features.
“What is it?” Charles asked, surprised to see his butler in such a state. “Has something happened with one of the guests?”
The butler shook his head. “Miss Docherty, my lord, she was seen out walking in the gardens, going towards the forest.”
Charles frowned. “I told her to stay indoors.”
“On top of which, there was a lady seen walking in the grounds,” the butler continued. “The gardener was to go after her, but the large gentleman with her gave him something of a beating.”
Charles felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. “Is the gardener all right?”
“It seems that nothing was broken,” the butler replied with a wince. “But Miss Docherty has not returned. What do you want us to do?”
Hurrying down the hallway towards the front door, Charles felt his anxiety rise with each step. “I will deal with this myself,” he called back to the worried looking butler. “Take care of the gardener and, if you can, send Lord Walton out after me.”
He did not wait to hear the butler’s reply, but hurried outside into the freezing air. Thankfully, the frost had still not melted away, and Miss Docherty’s footsteps could be clearly seen across the frosty grass. Breaking into a run, he followed her steps towards the wooded area, only to stop short at the sight of his aunt coming out of the woods, followed by one of the largest men he had ever seen.
Marching towards her, he glared at her. “What are you doing here, Aunt?”
“A fine way to greet your family,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “I just came for a visit, that is all. The woods seemed like they would provide a pleasant little walk, and after my long carriage ride here, I simply had to take a stroll.”
“I did not know you intended to call on me,” he stated, not believing her for a moment. “Is my uncle not with you?”
The flash of anger in her eyes told him that all was not well. “Your uncle and I have decided to spend the Yuletide festivities apart, and since I knew you were here, I thought I might beg to stay here with you instead of being entirely alone.” She put on a somewhat morose expression, as though intending to tug at his heartstrings.
“I see,” Charles murmured placatingly.
His mind worked furiously as his aunt continued to discuss her woes with him, wondering how best to get her into the house without alerting her to the fact that he intended to keep her under lock and key until he could send for his uncle. She was clearly mad, laughing one moment and looking close to tears the next. And, over and over, all he could think about was where Isabella might be and what his aunt had done to her.
“Well, let us not stand out here in the freezing cold,” he said pleasantly, as Lord Walton came to join them. “Aunt, this is my dear friend Lord Walton. Walton, might you escort my aunt inside? I have had a report about an injured gardener that I must investigate. I will join you very soon.” He saw Walton nod at once and murmur something to the lady who, to Charles’ relief, began to walk towards the house. Her large manservant appeared to hesitate, as if aware what Charles’ true intentions were, but eventually he followed his mistress.
“Walton,” Charles called, stepping closer as his aunt continued to walk with her manservant beside her. “I forgot to tell you in which room to place my aunt.”
Walton turned back at once. “Whatever is going on, Charles?” he asked in a low voice. “The butler said something about Miss Docherty?”
“Please take my aunt to the blue room, and ensure the butler locks the door from the outside. Dispatch a man to fetch my father and my uncle. The butler will know their addresses.”
Walton goggled at him for a moment, but gave a swift nod of his head. “And what of that oaf?”
Charles lifted one shoulder. “I leave him to you. I must go in search of Miss Docherty. I thank you, Walton.”
The light was fading fast. Charles had to find Isabella before the sun set, for then he could become lost within the woods. Running into the dense trees, he followed the path as best he could, glad that the coldness of the day allowed their footprints to remain visible.
“Where are you, Isabella?” he murmured, still moving forward. “Where are you?”
Something glinted, catching his eye. Frowning, he looked a little more closely, discovering to his horror that a small dagger was lying on the ground, as though thrown away. Streaks of red adorned the blade, making his breath catch. His aunt and manservant had shown no signs of injury, which could mean only one thing: Isabella was hurt.
“Isabella!” His cry rang out through the trees as he hurried forward, his heart in his throat.
His aunt had done something terrible, and he only hoped that Isabella was not gravely injured. He paused in his steps, wondering whether to go back to the house and demand that his aunt show him where Isabella had gone, but one glance at the darkening sky told him that he had no time to do anything of the sort. He simply had to find her.
Continuing to search, his eyes struggling to see through the ever-growing shadows, Charles tried not to allow regret to fill him, as though Isabella had already died. He had to believe that she was still alive and that, even if she was injured, she would recover.
How much of an influence she had already had on him, even though she had only been with him for a few days. She refused to back down, speaking to him in the way she always had, telling him truths that had hit him squarely between the eyes. He had been forced to consider what she said, only for his father’s letter to prove her words. Only that very afternoon had he seen himself as he truly was, the black stain of his behavior spreading out in front of him. He needed her to be there beside him, needed her to guide him through this new path he was determined to make for himself.
“Isabella!” he cried, again and again, his voice growing hoarse as he called her name. He had to find her.
“Please,” he whispered, as he looked to the heavens. “I have to find her. I need her.”
A quiet sound made him pause, his heart hammering in his chest. “Isabella?” he asked softly, hoping to hear the noise again. “Isabella, is that you?”
“Charles,” came a breathy whisper. “Charles, I am here.”
Charles moved forward at once, his steps slow as he tried to find her in the gloom. To his horror, he saw her leaning heavily against a thick tree trunk, her cloak pulled around her as she gripped it. Her face was pale in the dim light, her eyes huge and filled with fear.
“Thank goodness, thank goo
dness,” he whispered, hurrying to her and pulling her into his arms. “I have been so worried.”
Her cry was muffled as he held her tightly, forcing him to step back with concern.
“I think I am injured,” she whispered, her face contorted with pain. “Your aunt…”
“I found her,” Charles replied grimly, bending down to look at where she pressed her hand. His stomach swirled as he saw the dark stain on her dress, suddenly terrified that she might yet die. “I have to get you back, Isabella.” He put one arm under her knees and, even though she cried out, hoisted her into his arms. “You will permit me?”
She tried to smile despite her pain. “Of course. Thank you for coming to find me.”
He brushed a kiss to her brow, alarmed at how her head rolled against his shoulder almost immediately, her eyes closing. “I am sure I swore that I would always be able to find you,” he said, making his way back through the trees. “Do you not remember, Isabella? As children, we would play hide and go seek, and you were always so easy to find.”
She did not respond, but a small smile crossed her face.
“Do not leave me now,” he said softly. “Do not run away to a place where I cannot yet follow.”
The smile drifted from her face, and Charles felt her go suddenly limp, overcome with the pain and exhaustion of being out in the woods alone. Fear clutched at his heart as he moved towards the entrance of the woods, relieved that he knew the forest so well. He hoped that Walton had managed to secure his aunt in her room, as well as taken care of the oaf that accompanied her. He did not want to risk Isabella’s safety upon entering the house.
However, the house was eerily quiet as he entered, staggering now with the strain of hurrying with Isabella in his arms.
“Quickly,” he said, as the butler stared at her prone form in alarm. “Send for the doctor and have the maids send up hot water and rags. She will be in my room.”
“A…at once,” the butler stammered, looking horrified at the sight of Isabella.
“Where is my aunt?” Charles called, as he began to make his way up the staircase.
“In the blue room,” the butler replied. “However, she is making something of a racket. I believe Lord Walton is dealing with the situation.”
Charles did not respond, but continued carrying Isabella up the staircase, a maid catching up with him with clean sheets in her hand.
“Put those on the bed at once, and place a towel on the left side,” Charles instructed as he managed to discard Isabella’s cloak. “Go and fetch Lord Walton. Bring him here.”
The maid scurried away, and Charles was left alone with Isabella, placing her down gently on the bed. Her eyes remained closed with dark rings encircling them. The red stain on her dress was even more obvious now, although he did not think it had grown since he had first picked her up in the woods.
He did not know what to do. Should he try to remove her dress to see to the wound, or should he leave that to the maids and the doctor? Should he try to wake her? Should he leave her sleeping?
Brushing his hand down her cheek, he lifted one errant strand of golden hair and placed it behind her ear. Such a feeling of tenderness rose in his heart that it almost overwhelmed him, suddenly feeling quite desperate.
“Do not leave me,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “My dear friend, Isabella. I do not think I can be without you now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Walton, the maids, and the housekeeper all arrived at once, and Charles found himself ushered from the room by his friend.
“Best to leave the maids to clean up,” Walton said, firmly taking Charles by the arm. “The doctor has only just arrived and the butler is to show him up.”
“She might wake,” Charles protested, the urge to stay by her side pushing his steps back towards her. “I need to be with her.”
Walton shook his head. “No, Sutherland. You must leave them to do their work. I am sure they will come to find you once she is recovered. The doctor will not want to be disturbed.” He gazed at Charles with an inscrutable look on his face. “I must say, I have never seen you this way before.”
“What way?” Charles asked, frowning.
“So caught up with a lady before,” Walton explained. “Yes, I am aware that you have never before had a lady injured as she has been, but prior to that, you have been taken up with her. And to send all but me home is extraordinary.”
Charles shrugged. The other guests and their feelings on the subject no longer seemed to matter. “She needed me.”
Walton lifted one eyebrow.
“Very well, I care about her,” Charles replied, sighing. “She is an old friend, and I treated her abominably. I want to make every effort to show her just how wrong I was.”
“So, she has shown you the error of your ways, then?”
“Very much so,” Charles repeated firmly. “I am afraid I shall end up being a very different man to the one you know, Walton.”
To his surprise, Walton chuckled. “That is probably for the best, Sutherland. After all, we all must take steps towards a maturity that has been sorely lacking in our lives for some time, has it not? For what it is worth, as surprised as I was at your actions, I cannot disagree with them. There are those in our lives whom we must care for, no matter the circumstances.”
Charles nodded. “I am just sorry it took me so long to see how important she is to me.”
They walked along the hallway for some time, until the sound of shrieking suddenly met Charles’ ears.
“Not to interrupt your thoughts, but that is your aunt, by the way,” Walton said helpfully. “Two men were sent to fetch your father and your uncle, as you requested.”
Charles cringed at the sounds that came from his aunt’s room. “Clearly, she is not that impressed with her current circumstances.”
“I ensured the windows were all locked, and there is no other door but this,” Walton replied with a lopsided smile.
Charles nodded, wondering whether to speak to his aunt or not. “Thank you, Walton.” Curiosity over what had happened to the stocky manservant overtook him, and he lifted one eye questioningly towards Walton. “What of the man?”
“Gregor, apparently,” Walton replied amiably. “The cook’s cast iron skillet took care of him. The staff does not take kindly to one of their own being so badly beaten, so I believe two of the footmen took pleasure in knocking him to the ground. He is locked in the pantry, bound hand and foot. The constable has been sent for.”
Relived that he was not going to have to deal with the man himself, Charles slapped Walton on the shoulder. “You have really come through for me when I needed you, Walton. I cannot adequately express my gratitude.”
“Not in the least,” Walton replied with a seriousness that Charles had not often seen. “I know you will have a lot on your plate now, Charles, with the constable, your aunt, and the doctor, but I am more than happy to deal with anything you wish to give me. You do not have to struggle with this alone.”
More grateful than he could express, Charles could only nod, his thoughts turning back to Isabella. “I shall speak to my aunt,” he said quietly. “Although, be at the door, would you? I am not sure she will not try to make her escape. Although she does not have the dagger anymore, thank goodness.”
A look of horror passed over Walton’s face. “You mean it was your aunt and not her manservant who hurt Isabella?”
“Precisely that,” Charles replied, his face grave. “I believe her mad, Walton, blaming Isabella and her mother for the fact that she was never able to provide my uncle with children.” He shook his head. “It seems so strange to blame the woman who was forced to bear my uncle’s child and sent from the house in disgrace.”
“And that has affected her mind,” Walton said slowly. “What are you intending to do with her?”
Charles shook his head. “She is not my responsibility. My uncle and father can deal with her. My only focus is Isabella. I will try to speak to
my aunt to quieten her, but that is all I intend to do.”
“Then I will guard the door,” Walton said helpfully. “She might have more strength than you know.”
Grimacing, Charles turned the heavy key in the lock and walked into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. His aunt stared at him with wild eyes, her hair in disarray and the room in a complete state behind her. It was evident she had been hurling whatever she could get her hands on in her fit of rage.
“Aunt,” he said calmly. “What did you do to Isabella?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean that wench?”
“Please do not refer to Isabella so disrespectfully. She came to me for help after what you did to her home,” Charles replied, making sure that he kept one hand on the door handle.
His aunt’s face grew dark. “That woman stole my husband!” She launched into a stream of insults and attacks, her hatred for Isabella’s mother more than evident.
Charles held up one hand, stopping her tirade. “Aunt, Isabella’s mother was set upon by my uncle. She came here out of sheer desperation, and your attacks on her are untenable.”
She glared at him, her eyes filled with a wildness that frightened Charles. “You are under the same spell that her mother cast over my husband. You believe you have affections for her.” Stepping closer, her aunt grasped Charles’ lapels, as though she could somehow convince him to turn his back on Isabella. “It is wrong, Charles. So very wrong. You need to stay away from her.”
Charles knew it would do no good to explain to his aunt that since his uncle was only his uncle by marriage, that there was no wrong in his affection for Isabella. She was not able to listen and understand, so fixed on her vehemence over Isabella. Slowly, trying to extricate himself from his aunt’s grip, he gave her a placating smile.
“Now, Aunt, you just rest here and—”
“You’re on her side!” his aunt screeched, stepping back and raising her hand. “There is a sickness in this family, and it all stems from her.” Her hand slammed across his face, her nails digging into his skin, and Charles felt a strong hand grab his arm and pull him, bodily, out of the door before Lord Walton slammed the door shut behind him.