by Jenna Brandt
Witherton laughed sadistically. “Mayhap you are right, but all those things you despised me for doing made me capable of getting to this point, where in one fatal swoop I am going to destroy not only my troublesome bastard broth, but also destroy what is left of Henry Rolantry’s contemptible family. I started with Henry, you see, but I will finish with his sister and son.”
“You’re disgusting. Do you think I will ever let you harm my son?” Margaret asked in a shaky voice, suspecting she already knew the dark, nasty truths he planned to spill out.
“You should know by now, I do whatever I want and no one gets in my way. It was easy enough to do with your first husband. I had never been so happy as when I got the report that the men I hired did their job and ended Rolantry’s life. I had hoped you would meet me with greater gratitude for freeing you of the burden of being married to him, but it seemed your sense of loyalty outweighed your own desires. You could not see the gift I gave you, but perhaps now you can.”
Was he completely delusional? Did he honestly think she had any feelings for him other than hate?
“You may have killed Henry, but you did not succeed in killing the love or the memories we shared. You could not erase them no matter how hard you tried.”
Witherton growled and retorted, “Yes, but I robbed you of your life together, and that is really all that matters. And I am going to take his son. I have not quite decided what I will do with him. My first instinct, before I met the spirited boy, was to have him meet with an accident on the way back to England, but now, I wonder if I should keep him around to find a way to use that spirit in a way that pleases me.”
She could not let him get his hands on her son. The idea of him raising him, turned her stomach. Realizing that he did not know the truth about his own wife, Margaret decided it would be best to reveal it, hoping it would distract him enough that she could get away.
“I am quite surprised that you decided to marry Catherine, knowing the truth of her lineage.”
The duke shrugged at Margaret’s veiled hint. “I do not see what you find so surprising. She is rather striking, she has the right connections, and even though she was related to Rolantry, her breeding is not completely atrocious.”
“I find it more than ironic that the very thing you condemned your brother for is what you married. Let me be blunt. Catherine is not legitimate. Her mother was one of Henry’s father’s servants. We fooled everyone—including you, apparently—into believing and accepting her as his full, legitimate sister, which means your heir back in England, is no more legitimate than your brother.”
“You lie.”
“I do not need to lie. The truth is far more potent. Why do you think you never heard of Henry having a sister until after we were married? She had been away at boarding school, to keep her away from Henry’s mother who hated the girl. I was the one who came up with the idea to introduce her as his legitimate sister; a decision I have regretted every day since Henry died. The next time you are with her, ask her. And when you do, look her in the eyes. You will see I am telling the truth.”
Growling again, Witherton roughly grabbed Margaret by her forearms. Rage beyond anything Margaret had ever seen filled Witherton’s eyes as he yanked her into his sinister hold.
“I told you, I do not care about her. Despite what it might appear, I never have been able to get your taste, your scent, your feel out of my mind. And I think, for old time’s sake, I will drench myself in you one final time.”
Margaret tried to pull away, but they both knew that he was stronger. Instead of being able to defend herself, she was forced once more to feel the onslaught of someone else’s will upon her own.
Margaret jerked her head back and forth, trying to avoid his violation, but only managed to get him angry enough for him to slam her backward into the wall.
“Get away from my wife or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”
Witherton slunk back slowly and turned to face his hated brother. Pulling Margaret alongside him, he wrapped his forearm around her neck.
Witherton turned around to find Catherine being held at gunpoint by Cort. However, barely acknowledging his wife’s predicament, he stated blandly, “I was expecting you, brother. Although I must say, you are a bit earlier than I would have liked.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Your wife is a bewitching creature, but I am guessing that does not come as a surprise to you. She enticed you into marrying her after her long list of admirers in both England and France.”
“You should stop talking about my wife, Richard, before I make you stop talking about her.”
“Same empty threats as always, it seems. When will you learn that you will never be able to make me do anything.”
Trying to distract the duke, Margaret asked, “How did you find me?”
“We found out that you used to have an investigator by the name of Mulchere who worked for you back in France, and when we paid him a visit, we found a file on you by an admirer of yours—Pierre, I think—who had been checking into all sorts of things regarding both of you. Once we obtained the information we needed—rather roughly, I am afraid—we disposed him to make sure he did not have word sent that we were on your trail.”
Poor Mulchere. He did not deserve what happened to him.
Witherton asked his wife, “Catherine, where is the boy? He is what I told you to fetch, is he not?”
In a quivering voice, Catherine replied, “It was a deception, my lord. The boy is staying somewhere else.”
“I suggest a trade, Witherton—my wife for yours.”
Witherton glanced at Margaret and then shook his head. “No, I think I like the way things are currently. You can keep her.”
Cort glared at the duke in disgust. “I am talking about your wife, Witherton.”
“Yes, well, like all wives, she is merely a possession, and an expendable one at that.”
Cort shoved Catherine to the side, saying, “Then let’s get this over with. This has been a long time coming.”
“I would not be so hasty if I were you. Have you forgotten what an excellent marksman I am? That scar on your shoulder should remind you of that.”
Margaret had always wondered where that mark had come from. Cort would periodically rub it from soreness that would sometimes creep up in it, and he said it was from an old war wound. She had always thought he had meant from the military, but now she realized it was from a different type of war altogether—a bitter one that had raged on through most of his life and had driven him from his home.
“Yes, well, I have learned a few things in your absence. I am not the same little boy you used to pick on back on your father’s estate. And remember, you do not have your money to hide behind anymore. Out here in the West, we are all equal.”
Quickly, without any warning, Witherton threw Margaret to the ground, hard enough to knock the air out of her. Then he pulled out a revolver and, with no hesitation, fired his first shot.
Scarcely having time to dive out of the way, Cort ducked behind the bottom part of the porch.
“Come out, my bastard brother. Where are you hiding? I only need one more shot, and then this will all be over,” Witherton taunted.
Cort raised his hand to try to block out the sun but shook his head in frustration. Moving quickly, he headed around the house.
Witherton rushed to the side and looked over the railing before whipping around with his back against the wall.
Catherine pulled a gun from her pocket and yelled as she pulled the trigger. “I should have known never to trust you, Witherton.” Her aim was off and the bullet completely missed him.
Enraged by her defiance, the duke turned and fired one shot directly into Catherine’s chest.
She crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.
Regaining her breath, Margaret pushed herself up off the porch and ran toward Catherine while Witherton was momentarily distracted, looking for Cort.
She placed her hand on the th
roat of her once dearly loved sister-in-law and realized she still loved her, despite everything. Not feeling a pulse, she realized Henry’s sister was no longer breathing. Margaret reached out and gently closed her eyes. Even after all Catherine had done to her, she did not wish to see her dead.
Witherton hollered out over the railing, “I have tied up one loose end. Why don’t you face me and let me tie up one more?” Witherton paused for a moment and then said in a goading voice, “What is the matter, Harring? Afraid to face me?”
“Not at all.”
Witherton turned around, shocked to find his brother standing behind him with a long candlestick in hand. Before he could react, Cort swung the candlestick down hard on Witherton’s hand, forcing him to drop the gun in response.
Growling, Witherton lunged forward and tackled Cort. For several seconds, the two were one tangled bunch on the ground. Cort emerged on top first with his hands around Witherton’s throat. From a hidden pocket in his jacket, Witherton pulled out a small, slick dagger and struck up with it. The gash in Cort’s chest sent him reeling backward. Before he could recover, Witherton pounced on him and began to choke the life from him.
As Cort struggled to stay conscious, he groped for anything nearby to aid him. But Cort’s help came from an unexpected source. Margaret had rushed back to the porch in the middle of the fight. It seemed that God was with them, for when Cort had knocked the gun from his brother’s hand, it had slid across the porch, unnoticed by either man.
Picking up the gun, Margaret stood and aimed the sights at Witherton. She thought she could do it, but she realized, she did not want to deal with the guilt of any more killing. Instead, she decided she would rather knock him out with the butt of the revolver and let him face the gallows.
Margaret ran over to where they were fighting and lifted the gun high in the air, but before she could bring it down on his head, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed her ankle, yanking her roughly to the ground. Not only did the impact of the ground knock the air out of her, but it also knocked the gun from her hand.
Cort was almost dead. Margaret could see she had only mere moments before it would be too late to save him. The thought of losing Cort pushed any moral dilemma out of her mind. Hurriedly, she fumbled for the gun but could not find it.
Dear God, please help me! I need you to help me so I can save my husband’s life.
Miraculously, her hand touched the cool steel. Margaret reflexively picked it up, aimed it at Witherton’s head, and fired. His lifeless body slumped forward onto her husband’s chest. Cort began to cough as air rushed back into his lungs.
Stumbling to her knees, Margaret scooted across the porch and over to her husband. She pushed Witherton’s body off Cort’s torso, giving a fleeting glance to the man she once thought she loved, and who subsequently terrorized eight years of her life.
It was finally over. They were finally free from their past, and they no longer had to be afraid of anyone destroying the life they had built.
Margaret leaned down and gently kissed her husband as he wrapped his arms around her. She was eternally grateful God had given her Cort, a man worth fighting and living for.
Epilogue
Margaret looked out the window at her husband, son, and daughter standing next to her brother, best friend, and their two daughters. She felt a peace and love that exceeded anything she had ever felt before. For the first time in her life, Margaret was able to look out a window and find herself looking at something, not looking for something. God had given her a beautiful family, and they were right outside that window waiting for her to share her life with them.
The past was behind them and only good things lay ahead. There would be trials undoubtedly, but they would persevere through it together as a family and come out conquering.
Margaret was no longer angry about her past. She no longer dwelled on it, but rather thanked God for the good. He only wanted the best for them; she saw that every time she looked at her family.
Things were different now. She was different now. The emptiness inside her was gone. And because of that, she could look to God differently as well.
Margaret smiled and picked up her bonnet. It was a good day for a picnic. She looked out the window and waved to her waiting family.
As she made her way out of her house with a picnic basket in hand, she greeted them. “Good afternoon, everyone.”
All of them returned her warm wishes.
“You ready for a wonderful day in the meadow?” Cort asked.
Margaret smiled. “I am indeed.”
“How is my newest niece doing today?” Margaret asked Jackie as she looked at the infant daughter in her sister-in-law’s arms.
“She’s doing good; finally sleeping through the nights, which means we are finally getting some sleep as well.”
“And let me assure you, it is a welcome relief,” Randall added.
As they made their way down the path, the children ran ahead of them, laughing and playing tag.
“Have I told all of you how much I love you lately?” Margaret asked.
“Every day,” Cort answered.
“And twice on Sundays,” Randall added in jest.
“Well, I do. I have never been happier in my life. I am so grateful for how my life has turned out.”
“Who would have thought we would end up here? Living as Americans in the frontier?” Jackie mused.
“I guess most of these Yanks are not so bad after all,” Randall chuckled, as he patted Cort on the back.
“All I know, is that I’m grateful that God saw fit to bring all of you into my life.”
Not being able to keep her news to herself, Margaret stopped Cort, and asked, “Can I speak with you a moment alone?”
Nodding, he said over his shoulder to Randall and Jackie, “We will catch up with you in a few minutes.” Then turning his attention back to his wife, he asked, “What is it?”
She took her husband’s hand and placed it on her belly. “I have something wonderful to share with you.” Tears of joy christened the corners of her eyes as she beamed a smile at him. “I am with child again.”
A large grin spread across Cort’s face as he shouted, “That is the best news ever!”
Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the lips. “I love you, Margaret.”
“I love you, too, Cort,” she said, giving him a kiss of her own.
“What is all this commotion about?” Randall asked.
Apparently, Cort’s reaction had grabbed everyone else’s attention, bringing the rest of the family to gather around them.
“Can I tell them?” Cort inquired.
Margaret nodded.
“We are having another baby,” Cort revealed.
“Oh, what wonderful news,” Jackie exclaimed.
Randall hugged his sister, then Cort. “We are so happy for the both of you.”
Henry came up next and smiled. “I hope I get a brother this time. It would be nice to not have to play tea or dolls all the time.”
Everyone began to laugh.
As Margaret placed her hand on her belly, she was grateful for the new life God saw fit to give them. Looking around her family, Margaret felt her life was complete.
Preview of The Oregon Pursuit
1870 West Linn, Oregon
America
Pierre Girald, the Vidame of Demoulin, looked outside the window of the carriage he shared with his friend, Lord William Almonbury, the son of an English viscount. William had talked Pierre into leaving Paris to join him on his trip to visit his holdings in West Linn, a thriving frontier town in the Pacific Northwest part of America. Hoping to entice Pierre into investing in some of the exciting and new ventures the area had to offer, the grueling trip had been presented as an adventure.
Pierre had welcomed the distraction from the concern over the sudden disappearance of the people he loved. Several years prior, he had left Paris to take care of business, as well as to avoid watching the woman, who held
his heart, become engaged to another man. When he returned, he found Margaret had vanished along with his cousin, Jackie, and childhood friend, Randall.
He suspected their sudden disappearance had been spurred by the Duke of Witherton, who had been hunting Margaret along with her young son, believing he fathered the child during an illicit night. The duke had been the reason Margaret had fled to Paris and stayed with Pierre while she was hiding.
Pierre had loved Margaret since they were children but their time together in France solidified his feelings for her. He made his intentions known, wanting to court her, but she told him his lack of faith in God made it impossible for her to accept him as a suitor. The rejection wounded him deeply but to watch her quickly become involved with another man made it impossible for him to stay in Paris.
When he returned to find them gone, he immediately hired an investigator to track down their possible location. When some loose leads pointed to America, Pierre agreed to travel with William, with the hope of finding them as he made his way out west. As luck would have it, their common friend, whose family had relocated to Boulder, Colorado, invited them to stay with him before they made their way up north. A chance meeting at a ball led Pierre to finally track his cousin, the woman he had loved for a decade, and his childhood friend down.
It had been devastating to realize that they had moved on without him. Pierre had half hoped when he had left for England after Margaret’s first rejection, his absence would have made her realize how much she loved him. But when Pierre saw the love between Margaret and her new American husband, he knew she would never be his to have.
Several weeks had passed since he last saw Margaret, and yet, he still was unable to shake the melancholy from his heart. Maybe another new adventure was just what Pierre needed to heal his soul.