by Dayna Quince
“Luckfeld, maybe?” Bernie mouthed.
Violet shrugged. She couldn’t tell which gentleman it was.
“So how is it your brother plans for you to inherit, Roderick? Is he going to kiss his pistol like that poor chap Benedict, who gave him the scars?”
Bernie grabbed Violet’s hand and squeezed. They were as frozen as statues.
“Luckfeld, you’re as delicate as a hog in heat.”
“He refuses to ever marry. Can you blame him? But alas, the Selbourne line must continue, so it is I who will play the sacrificial lamb. Maybe he’s been gelded in one of those heathen places he’s dying to return to. I don’t really care, either way.”
“Such brotherly affection,” Chester mumbled.
“We’re all better off without him. It’s the only reason I agreed to this farce. He wants to see me married, so he won’t have to worry about Mother and I. As if a wife can keep this family from falling apart.”
Violet could hear the scorn in his voice.
“We all have to marry sometime.” This from Chester.
“Especially you, old boy. You’ve got nine to pick from. So, who will it be?”
“It will be this pool cue down your gullet, or perhaps I’ll make you marry Bernie.”
There was a chorus of grunts and laughter. This time it was Violet who squeezed Bernie’s hand.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Violet whispered.
“Yes, he does.”
By unspoken agreement, they withdrew and it wasn’t long before the gentlemen filed out.
“So who is your brother going to fight?”
This time Violet could see who spoke. It was Luckfeld.
“You’ll see. He brought the man back with him from god knows where. When you see him, you won’t think it’s my brother that’s the monster. He found something worse than himself, if you can believe it.”
Bernie pulled Violet out of the dark alcove they had hidden in, following the gentlemen from far enough they wouldn’t be detected. They left the house through the terrace and headed down to the stables. Violet and Bernie huddled in their cloaks while the men mounted and rode out into the night.
“Hurry!” Bernie pulled Violet into the stable.
“A horse, now, and don’t bother with a bloody side saddle,” Bernie said to the sleepy stable hand.
“Bernie.” Violet looked around in dismay. This was far out of her usual brand of mischief.
“Do you want to see your duke or not?” Bernie asked as they waited.
“This is crazy.”
“That it is, but so is love.” Bernie climbed into the saddle astride. “Are you going to give up so easily?”
Violet hesitated. The stable hand stood by, rubbing his eyes. “A guinea for your silence,” Violet said to him. He nodded eagerly.
“Tomorrow.” Violet took Bernie’s hand and the stable hand lifted her behind Bernie. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Gregory, miss.”
“Thank you, Gregory.”
Bernie clicked the reins and they were off into the night.
Chapter 7
A ring of small fires circled the square of ropes. This was a secret location on Farmer Kramer’s field that only gentlemen knew about. Farmer Kramer readily accepted a heavy purse for its use for prize fights, but tonight was a private affair. Sonam had readily agreed to the match. Weirick knew he was probably bored here in England, living alone on the outskirts of Berwick upon Tweed. Sonam liked action, he liked moving from city to city. He wasn’t suited to country life, no matter how charming and peaceful.
The moon was full and the air cold and still. It was a perfect night for a fight, and Weirick desperately needed the action. He felt more like himself as he shed his hat, coat, waistcoat, and shirt, leaving them piled on a bale of hay. Sonam was there, quiet as the night, sitting peacefully on the opposite side of the square ring with his eyes closed.
Communing with the night is what he would say he was doing, merging his energy to the cool and the calm. Weirick was the opposite. He wanted the fire, he wanted heat, he wanted to sweat and move, to bleed and feel pain. It was then that he truly felt alive.
He could hear the rumble of hooves coming; his illustrious guests had arrived. It was good to see some of his old friends, the ones he regretted turning his back on when he left long ago, but it was obvious he didn’t belong here. They would understand what he was now, that he was not one of them anymore, not a gentleman, not a civilized man. His mother and brother still refused to see that.
In time, they would come to understand that he wasn’t fit to be duke, and maybe he never had been. He’d always love fighting, but it wasn’t until that night five years ago, when he almost died, that he was reborn. His father had given him up for dead, and that’s exactly what Weirick did. The man that he was had died, and the monster inside him survived, released upon the world. Weirick’s only regret was that Benedict had known sooner. He took his own life thinking he’d killed Weirick, and for that Weirick would always blame himself. But he also blamed his father. His father could have done something sooner, but he’d chosen not to. Weirick had set up a yearly allowance for Benedict’s family as soon as he became duke. His mother knew where Benedict’s mother and young brothers lived in a boarding house in Newmarket.
Dark shapes rumbled closer, revealing themselves as horses and men. They dismounted, their eyes glowing in the firelight.
“I remember this square.” Roderick stepped toward Weirick cautiously. “You’re even bigger up close and shirtless. How is that possible?.”
“That’s what the ladies always say about me.” Luckfeld was right behind him. He clapped Weirick on the shoulder and chuckled.
“Come meet my friend. Sonam!” Weirick waved at the monk. His eyes opened slowly, and Weirick bit back a smile. He was going to toy with these men, as he toyed with all spectators. Sonam slowly rose with the grace of a tiger, lethal and slow. The gentlemen quieted as Sonam approached, stepping into the square and stopping so they could marvel at him.
“Come closer, Sonam,” Weirick bid.
“Th—that’s close enough.” A man’s voice said from the back of the group.
“Sonam is an exiled monk.” Weirick was enjoying the fear that wafted off the gentlemen in waves. “We met in Tibet in the tiny village of Jungney.”
The gentlemen remained silent, staring in unmasked awe. Sonam was a sight to behold by firelight. If Weirick didn’t know the man personally, he might be a bit afraid too. But he knew Sonam. The ex-monk loved dogs, though he never kept one for himself. He attracted strays wherever they went, befriending them for a time before moving on to the next village, the next country, the next fight.
“You’re going to fight him, brother?” Roderick stepped close to Weirick’s side.
Weirick feigned confusion. “You don’t think I can win?”
“I think he looks like a cannibal.”
Weirick chuckled. “You’ve never seen a cannibal.” Weirick was enjoying himself now. “I’ve never fought him, but I think I can make a go of it.” He looked to the gentlemen, to his old friends. They looked pale in the moonlight.
“It’s a small crowd,” Sonam said, his voice grating in the air. The group of gentlemen shuffled back.
“He wants your money,” Weirick said.
There was a flurry of movement as purses were plucked from inside jackets and tossed on the ground.
“Is that enough, Sonam?”
Sonam nodded.
“Good. Let’s get started.” Weirick entered the ring, and he and Sonam circled each other.
Weirick paused and addressed the gentlemen. “Whatever you do, don’t try to stop us. A pistol won’t take him down. It will only anger him.”
“Christ, Weirick, this is mad. Is this how you mean to give your brother the title?” Chester broke from the group. “A fight to the death?”
Weirick grinned and faced his opponent. “Try not to kill me, Sonam.”
“I’ll try,”
Sonam returned.
The gentlemen spread out around the bales of hay and fidgeted nervously.
Bernie slowed the horse as they approached the circle of fires.
“I can’t get too close or they will spot us.”
“I think we’re close enough.” Violet watched as the two men circled each together in the roped off square. “What is this?”
“It’s a fighting ring. Mr. Kramer hosts prize fights for money. It’s been very lucrative for him.”
“And the duke is fighting?” Violet couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was bared to the waist, the muscles in his back and arms flexing as he circled his opponent. As they spun around again, Violet looked carefully at his back. Her breath caught in her chest. A tattoo covered his upper back in a strange design too intricate to recognize from a distance. His opponent had many more, covering his back and skull.
As Violet watched, the two men grabbed each other, jostling for hold. Violet pinched her eyes shut and hugged herself as she turned her head away from the awful sight. This wasn’t what she expected to find. Drinking yes, a prize fight, sure. But this? He was the fighter, engaging in it for sport while gentlemen cheered him from the sidelines. She tried to picture the boy he was when they’d met, but the memory was so vague now in her mind. How had that happened?
She forced herself to watch, unfamiliar with the type of fighting that seemed more like wrestling than the fisticuffs she’d seen in passing when leaving the theatre or a late party.
“This is fascinating. I wish we could move closer,” Bernie said with wonder.
“I…don’t like it,” Violet admitted.
“We can return if you wish.”
“Yes, I want to go back.” She didn’t want to see him like this; it frightened her. They began to hit each other, the blunt meaty sound of fists pounding flesh horrific to Violet’s ears.
Bernie turned the horse away, and Violet sighed with relief. She lifted her face to the cool air as the horse galloped over the hills toward the castle. As they crested a hill, she had a spectacular view of the full moon over the water. They descended into the valley where the stable was located. Bernie slowed as they approached, and the stable boy threw open the door. They rode straight in. Violet slid off the horse and staggered away to lean on a stall wall. Bernie dismounted and approached as the stable hand led the horse away.
“I’m sorry,” Bernie said.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I pushed you into this.”
Violet chewed her lip and played with the pointer finger of her leather glove. “No one makes me do anything I don’t want to do.”
“It’s my special gift.” Bernie stepped forward. She tipped up Violet’s chin with one finger. “Was that the first fight you’d ever seen?”
“I’ve seen men square off, but not like that, not someone I know.” Violet shook her head in dismay.
“Men are beasts.”
“Have you lots of experience with men?” Violet asked.
“Only a select few, but your Weirick is one of them.” Bernie turned and strode to the stable door. “We should go inside before they come back. Men are…strange after a fight.”
Violet nodded and followed. They reached Violet’s room without being caught, and when Violet checked on her mother, she was sound asleep. They changed into nightgowns, and Bernie climbed into the bed, sighing with pleasure.
“This mattress is heaven. My bed at home feels like it’s filled with sticks.”
Violet smiled as she watched Bernie settle in and close her eyes. She made a mental note to invite the Northumberland Nine to Ablehill Castle and give them each their own room as a treat.
“Are you coming to bed?” Bernie asked.
“In a moment. Feel free to blow out the candle.”
Bernie did and the room grew quiet and dark. Violet wandered to the window and opened it. The cool air brushed against her cheeks as she looked out over the view of the water. It was lovely, serenely peaceful with the gentle swoosh of the waves crashing far below. Scenes of the fight replayed in her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to see them in a different light. Men loved fighting, she didn’t understand why but it was true. Violet understood the urge to hunt, the thrill of shooting a weapon, but inflicting physical pain for enjoyment? That one was lost on her. She struggled to rationalize Weirick’s actions, but the image of him wild and bare-chested, throwing himself at the other man, horrified her.
She looked back to Bernie, but by the looks of it, she was fast asleep. That was good. Violet needed to be alone with her thoughts. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon with flashes of the fight still in her head.
The sound of laughter carried on the wind. From her position, she could see the opening of the path that led down to the stables. The gentlemen must be returning. Would Weirick be among them? Was he hurt? A cascade of terrifying scenarios tumbled through her mind. She bolted to her feet from the window bench and put on her wrapper.
“What is it?” Bernie sat up and rubbed their eyes.
“They’re back.” Violet stood by the door. “I have to see if he’s all right.”
“I’m coming with you.’ Bernie hopped out of bed and threw on her cloak. They snuck downstairs as close as they dared to where the gentlemen made a noisy entrance through the back door. They filed past the closet where Violet and Bernie waited with the door cracked. “I don’t see him,” Violet whispered.
“We’ll wait a moment more and then return. Perhaps he isn’t coming back, perhaps he—”
The door swung open violently, and a hulking shadow entered that revealed itself to be not one, but two men.
“I can carry my own weight, Chester.” Weirick shoved away and fell back against the closet door, slamming it closed. Both girls screamed.
“What the bloody hell was that?” a muffled voice asked.
The closet door was wrenched open, and Violet and Bernie clutched each other.
“I should have known the two of you would stir up trouble together.” The duke’s face was shadowed, but his voice covered Violet with goose bumps. She straightened, and she and Bernie stepped out. Chester folded his arms and waited behind the duke’s shoulder.
“Bernadette, what is the meaning of this?” Chester demanded.
“I’m making trouble, Chester, just as you say I do. Whatever will you do with me?”
“I know what I’d do with you.” Weirick’s voice was dark as he took hold of Bernie’s arm and shoved her toward Chester. “Take care of your problem, and I’ll take care of mine.”
Chester caught Bernie. “This is a terrible idea all around. I’ll escort both to their room.”
“Oh no. I mean to have a word with Miss Everly.”
“It’s quite all right, Lord Chester. We are well acquainted with each other.” Violet said, though she shivered under her robe.
Bernie tugged on his arm. “Come on, Chester. I’m troublesome enough alone, don’t you think?”
His eyes narrowed at her. “What are you two up to?”
“Trouble, obviously. Come scold me and tuck me into bed.” She tugged again and he grudgingly moved. They disappeared up the stairs and into darkness.
Violet tried to see Weirick’s eyes, but it was too dim for that. “And what will you do with me?”
“What will I do with you…” He stepped around her and grabbed a towel from the closet. “I’d certainly like to find out, wouldn’t you?”
She could hear the challenge in his voice. “Yes.”
She imagined his eyes roving over her. What could he see that she couldn’t? He took her hand, tingles shooting up her arm as he led her away from the back stair. “Are you afraid of the dark, Miss Everly?”
“It depends on what is lurking there.”
He chuckled. “Indeed. What if I told you that men like me lurk in the dark?”
“Men like you, or specifically you?”
He led her through hall after hall, and she couldn’t tell the d
ifference between any of them, up one floor and down another hall into a study.
He led her straight to a narrow bookcase and pushed the right edge of it. It moved, or more accurately, it spun open, revealing darkness so thick it looked solid. She could feel him watching her, daring her to cross the threshold.
“What is this?”
“It’s a priest’s hole. An escape if the castle is under siege, or a convenient way to move bodies without being seen.”
“And where does it lead?”
He smiled; she could feel it. How was that possible?
“Directly to my chamber. There are no turns, no doors, only a handful of windows for light and narrow steps.”
Violet held her breath. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Why do you think?”
“To tease me.”
“I don’t tease, Miss Everly. I’m inviting you, should you feel the least bit curious, to come join me in my chamber whenever you wish.”
Violet licked her lips, her mouth felt as dry as toast. “Join you? For what exactly?”
“For whatever you wish. I’ll leave the details up to you. Feel free to use your imagination.” He stepped closer. She could feel his breath on her cheek. His proximity should have scared her, but it didn’t. What scared her was her own urge to get even closer.
“Tell me you remember me,” she pleaded.
“I can’t.” His voice was as deep and dark as the hall that beckoned. “But I can promise you delights you’ve never imagined, should you come to my room.”
“Right now?”
“I think not tonight. My eye is swelling shut the longer I stand here.”
Violet gasped, her hand immediately rising to inspect his face. “Which eye?”
He dodged her touch. “Never mind the eye, Violet. You should return to bed.”
“Where else are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”
“Damn it, Violet, go to bed.”
Violet touched his cheek, swiftly pulling her hand away and testing the tacky substance between her fingertips. “Blood?”
He didn’t respond.
“Take me to your room, and I will see to these wounds,” Violet demanded.