by Aliyah Burke
It was a miracle which showed him the sign. A sliver of moonlight broke through the clouds and struck the sign. Pierre’s. The friend of Jo’s father, perhaps. It had not registered when he first arrived in town.
“Here,” he said gruffly.
He pounded on the door. Repeatedly until it swung open, a single candle illuminating a tall, reed thin man with small tufts of hair over his ears.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man demanded.
“You Pierre?”
“Yes. You need to move on, son, to take your woman elsewhere.”
He hefted her in his arms. “You know Viscount Adrys?”
“Haywood? Of course. What has this to do with anything?”
“This is his daughter. She needs help.” He gestured with his head to the other girl. “Her too.”
Pierre frowned and looked harder at Jo. “Dear me. Come in.”
Ushered in, he stared out just to ensure no one had followed them. He trailed the man to a small room in the back where he laid an unconscious Jo upon a bed.
“Jo.” Trystan touched a portion of her cheek without any bruising. “Come on, look at me.” She barely moved.
“She will not speak for a while. What happened?”
Reluctantly, Trystan left her side. The other girl lay on the same bed under direction from Pierre.
“Water,” Trystan ordered.
The man returned briefly with both cloth and a basin of water. “It is not safe here.”
“She is in no condition to travel. Neither of them are.”
“I have a house on the outskirts of town. Safer there.”
Tryst wanted to argue but he knew the man had the right of it. The dead bodies would be found and alarms raised.
“Do you have a carriage?”
“Yes.”
“Ready it.” His words were ironclad even though his touch on Jo’s battered face was gentle. Not much later, he had settled her in the carriage, the girl beside her again. Then he faced Pierre. “Keep her safe.” He did not try to disguise the threat.
“Where are you going?”
“Make sure no one follows. I will be along.”
Pierre gave him a brief description of his house and, with a nod, Trystan ducked away and hastened to where Ptolemy remained. In the saddle, he returned to the house where Jo had been held. Assured no one had been discovered and therefore no pursuit, he skirted the town edge and set out for Pierre’s house, ignoring all the need within him to kill each and every one of them.
He stabled Ptolemy and went to the house. One light, which he had not seen while he was outside, beckoned him. He pushed open the door only to sigh in both relief and concern. The women were each on a bed. The candle rested on a table between them. Pierre cleaned up the smaller girl as Jo lay alone. However, Pierre paused and glanced up at his entry. Past Pierre, a skinny female watched him with uncertain eyes.
“I thought you would prefer to see to Jo.”
He thought right. “Has she spoken?” Tryst gestured to the girl with a hand.
“Yes. Only her name, but it is a start. Her name is Vittoria.”
Tryst gazed about the room. Dolls were here and there along with ruffles.
“My daughters grew up in this room.”
“Thank you for helping us.” Trystan bathed Jo’s face and hands.
“Hayworth is one of my oldest friends. Jo is a daughter in my eyes.” Pierre turned totally around to face him. “There is a bedroom at the end of the hall. Get some sleep.” At his hesitation, Pierre pointed. “Go. You do neither of them any good if you are tired. I will stay with the girls.”
Trystan went, reluctantly, and climbed into the bed after cleaning up a bit. The door, he left open, just in case.
A piercing scream woke him. Before he had come too fully, he thundered to Jo’s room and burst in. Vittoria sat huddled in the corner of her bed, shaking while Pierre tried to calm Jo. Her eyes were open and wild with fear as tears streamed from them. Pierre muttered to her but it did not work. Her cries increased along with her struggles.
As he replaced Pierre, Trystan scooped her up and held her tight in his lap. He recognized the language she called out in, the same dialect Najja spoke. In it, Jo begged for help, from anyone. Brushing back some of her sweaty hair, Trystan shook his head.
“Calm down, Jo,” he said in the same language. “You are safe now.”
It took a while before she ceased her struggles. He continued to talk to her in that language. Her cries softened as he told her things he seriously doubted he would have the confidence to say were she fully awake.
“She trusts you.”
Trystan glanced up at that statement. He had forgotten Pierre remained in the room. “I will stay here, you can sleep.”
“You have barely slept four hours.”
“I am fine.” He stared at the man until Pierre got the message. He was not leaving.
Pierre nodded and left. Trystan readjusted so he sat more comfortably on the bed. Vittoria, slowly relaxed. Frankly, he did not care about her feelings. The only reason he had brought her was because Jo asked him to.
While Jo alternated between sleep and panic, he tried to figure out how he was going to get them home. Hiding in plain sight would only work for so long. What could he do? He dozed before waking again to her fear-filled cries. He brushed his lips over her forehead.
“I am so sorry, Jo. This is all my fault. I will fix it, I swear.”
He meant every word. Blood would spill.
Chapter Ten
Today was another boring outing. Lord Collins is a bore. And a Boor. He tried to steal a kiss and instead found himself acquainted with my knee. Do I fear he will tell? Yes. But my virtue is more important than any rumor he can manufacture.
~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys
Jo opened her eyes. Something was different. She was no longer cold. Thick blankets covered her from feet to chin. A bed? Last she recalled she had been kept in a dank, cold cell. Almost no food and then there was the other.
Her tremors could not be contained and she lay there as they racked her. After a while, she got them to cease and she sat up. She did not take too long before the realization of where she was sunk in.
Pierre de Sauveterre’s house. But how? Who?
Could her vision of seeing Trystan not have been a figment of her imagination? She breathed in relief as she saw Vittoria sound asleep on the other bed in the room. Part of her wanted to get up but she was still so tired. So, she lay back down and returned to the land of slumber.
Next time she woke, Pierre stood in the room. He faced her almost immediately. Tears sprang to her eyes as he placed the tray down and moved to her side.
“Josephine, what did they do to you?” he asked in French.
Her chin wobbled as the memories were refreshed.
He hastened to console her.
“No more tears. Your man brought you here. He will keep you safe. Allow me to get him.”
Her man? “No.” She shook her head, desperate to not have to face Trystan. Not now. Not like this.
“Are you sure, little one?”
Definitely. “Tell him I am sleeping if he asks.” Her French was a bit rusty but she figured he got it.
Pierre watched her a bit before nodding, his expression one of deep sympathy. Pierre gave her some water then left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Sure enough, a short time later, the door opened only this time it was Trystan who stepped through. She lowered her lids and feigned sleep. Even so, she could see him as he moved toward her. Tanned breeches hugged muscular thighs. They were tucked in top boots, which had seen better days. They were no longer shiny and polished as they had undoubtedly been at one time. Her heart rate accelerated when her gaze lingered over the bulge in his crotch. She could only move a bit higher without alerting him she did not actually sleep. His shirt was dirty and torn. He looked wonderful to her.
“Jo?” he asked softly.
&nb
sp; She ensured to barely move and maintain her relaxed breathing. He took two more steps in her direction before halting. The hand nearest her clenched and unclenched a few times. He had large hands, cuts and scrapes were on the back. She had done it before and she did it now; compared him to the men she dealt with in London. Milksops. Milquetoast. Dandy. Many other very unattractive things to call them. Then there was Trystan. Big and hard all over, calluses on his hands.
A flash of him sawing with her, sweaty and incredible, hit her. Pulsing began in her lower core and she struggled not to moan aloud at the recollections of their kisses. Mistake, hell.
Tears welled up and a solo sob escaped as the first one escaped. She loved him and he never would reciprocate.
“Jo?”
She completely closed her eyes as he sank beside her. His touch offered her so much and she nearly burrowed into it. He brushed some of her hair back as he murmured to her. Much like Najja used to do when she was younger. Moreover, it soothed but there was still the knife in her heart, which continually turned when he was around.
Stop it! She demanded of herself. Would it work? She had not a clue. Still, she had to try.
Eventually she truly did fall asleep with the scent of Trystan in her nostrils. The next day, she had just sat down on the bed after taking care of her morning ablutions when the door opened without a precursory knock.
Vittoria stared at Trystan as he strode in but his attention was on her, not the girl. Immediately she turned the battered side—the worst one—from him.
“You should knock.”
“And give you another chance to pretend you are asleep?” He frowned. “No, I do not think so. You cannot avoid me, Jo.”
Sure, she could. “I am tired, Trystan.”
“So lay back and we will talk. But we are talking.”
Always with the talking. She knew she would not get out of this one so she crawled back in bed, despite the fact a man—who was not her husband—sat there. Once the covers were drawn up to her neck, she rotated so her back was to him.
“Will you not do me the courtesy of looking at me?”
His voice was not angry. It was kind and she did not want that. She did not respond, just lay there, lifeless.
“Very well.” He vaulted over her to and on the other side. “I will move.”
Trystan stared at her until she became uncomfortable beneath the intensity of it. However, instead of moving away, she continued to lay there. Nothing mattered.
“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“I could get you some toast. Or tea.”
“No.”
“Pierre says you have not eaten.”
She shrugged and stared straight out at the wall. Pierre still had this room the same from when his children were here.
“I am so sorry you were taken, Jo.”
“It happened.”
“It should not have happened. I was supposed to protect you.”
She should have done better at protecting herself. “I tried. The first day, I fought back. They were not pleased with that.” She swallowed and burrowed deeper in her covers.
“Did they…”
She did not make him be more specific with his inquiry. “No.”
His expelled breath told her of his relief. “Do you want to talk—”
“No,” she interrupted immediately. It was a lie of course. She did need to get it off her chest but not with him. Anyone but Viscount Trystan Wilkes.
“Jo.”
“Get me home, Lord Wilkes.” She closed her eyes and tried to shut him out.
It did not work. It never did. She should have known. He touched her shoulder and shook her lightly. Deep down she knew he would not hurt her but her recent experiences created an entirely different reaction. She tensed. Trystan released in quickly and cursed under his breath.
“You are safe, Jo. You need to talk about—”
“Monsieur!” Pierre burst into the room. “They come.”
Jo felt the change in Trystan as much as she saw it for her eyes had flown open at the intrusion. There remained no softness in Trystan at all. Cold. Calculating. Deadly.
“Get up.” He pushed to his feet, rushing for the door. “How many?”
“Fifteen.”
Trystan halted and looked back to her. “We need another way.”
“Come with me. I have a solution. Something I’ve been working on for a while.” Pierre stared at him.
“Go with Pierre, Jo. Take Vittoria with you and for God’s sake, do what he says.” He vanished past the door.
“Hurry child,” Pierre said, rousing them both.
Jo wanted a bath and something clean to wear. She had time for neither. Her dress might be dirt-caked but it was better than wearing a nightshift and she drew it on before following the older man out the door with Vittoria in tow.
The moment he opened a door on his first floor, she knew the destination. She and papa had gone to see his workshop before. Why that was where they were headed she had no clue. It opened from a hole in the cliff so he always had the sound of the ocean slamming the shore. She imagined it got very cold in winter.
Despite knowing the destination, Jo still hesitated. They would be cornered down there with no way out unless she jumped. She slowed.
“Josephine! Come, hurry.” Pierre demanded without reducing his speed.
She squinted over her shoulder in hopes of seeing Trystan. He was not there, she could pick up on the faint sounds of fighting.
“Josephine!”
She jumped and continued on her way until they spilled into the lab. Pulling up, she stared at the vision by the opening. A basket, which kept rising and falling based on the wind. If not for the ropes, which secured it to the cave, there was no doubt it would be gone.
“You stubborn woman, come on.” Pierre began to drag her toward it.
“Where is Trystan?” she asked, facing the stairs they had just descended from.
A man dressed in brown jumped into view. He had a sword in one hand and by his stance she could tell he had been taught fencing.
“Go!” Pierre commanded as he stepped in front of her.
Go? Go where? It was as she had feared. Trapped in a corner down here. She shoved Vittoria behind her and backed away. Hide, she needed to hide them both.
“Come on.”
She stored the girl behind a pile of crates and grabbed a heavy pipe. The assailant was engaged with Pierre. Tightening her grip, she made her way to the tussling duo.
Pierre bled onto the floor as the man twisted his blade deeper into him. She only had a moment’s hesitation before swinging the pipe, hard into his head. The crunch sickened her as he crumpled onto Pierre. Swallowing down her nausea, she helped the wounded man roll the boneless one off.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
She pressed her palm against the wound, Pierre’s blood warm and sticky. “I have to stop the bleeding.”
“Forget me, go.”
She shook her head in staunch refusal. “No.”
Noises on the stairwell had her scrambling for the metal pipe and waiting just out of view from the stairs. The hell she would be letting them take her or Vittoria back to where they had been held. The moment she saw the toe of a boot, she swung her pipe up with all her strength. She hit him so hard it reverberated up her arms and she lost her grip, the sweat and blood not helping her maintain her hold. It clattered to the floor, followed swiftly by the man collapsing into a pile as blood streamed from his face.
She trembled at the knowledge of what she had just done. She heard more footsteps and she slipped in the pooling blood in her dash to get the pipe again. She had just grabbed and lifted it when Trystan hurried into view.
“Shite! Jo, it is me. Are you okay?”
His sweat covered body also bled. She dropped the item and ran to him, uncaring if it was not the proper thing to do. His arms tightened around her and she felt
his strength slide into her. She could not explain it and did not care to. He was here and she felt so much better.
“I blocked the door but they will be coming soon. We need to go.”
“Go where? The only way out is the way you came. Pierre’s been hurt.”