“There is no time now for such laments. We must make haste,” Jonathan answered as he assisted the boatman with breaking camp and loading the boat. “We can take heart in the fact that we did not find Grace’s body. If they had intended to kill her as they have threatened, they would have done so and left her there for us to find instead of taking her with them. It is clear to me that they intend to go on with the ransom.”
“It is possible then that they did not know of our coming and have simply returned to the mainland in preparation of making the exchange,” Henry remarked hopefully.
“Yes, it is possible,” Jonathan encouraged his friend.
Henry’s face lightened a bit as they loaded into the boat and set sail. Amelia wished that she could take similar heart from the thought, but her mind would not turn from Tristan’s words and actions of the night before. In her single-minded foolishness, she had said the most heartless of things to him and it had been the breaking point for them both.
His kiss had awakened something within her that she had not known existed and which now would not leave her alone. She feared that her words had broken something within him that may have pushed him away from her forever. I have lost him before ever truly knowing what I had all along.
“How quickly things can change between a lad and a lass,” Malcolm noted quietly coming to sit down next to her in the boat.
“Indeed,” Amelia murmured.
“Ye have hurt him deeply.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “I have.”
“Beyond forgiveness?”
“I fear it may be so.”
Malcolm slowly nodded his head in understanding. “Yer disinterest has finally turned tae love, and yet ye fear his love for ye has turned tae hate, but hear me lass, such love as that felt for so long as he has loved ye does nae fade with mere words exchanged. It beats in the heart o’ a man so fiercely as tae consume his entire bein’. That sort o’ love does nae die, nae matter what is tae follow in deed or word. It can be bruised, it can be damaged, but it cannae be destroyed.”
“I do not believe that he will return, but if he does it will not be for me.”
“Aye, lass. He will return in time.”
“But to what end?”
“Only ye and he can decide that.”
“I know nothing of romantic love.”
“But ye ken love, as ye have risked all for the love o’ yer sister.”
“That is different.”
“Aye, it is, but then it is nae. Ye ken what it is tae risk all for another, tae suffer for another, tae put their needs above yer own. From what I ken, ye have been doin’ such a thing for the full o’ yer life. Could ye, would ye, do the same for the lad, as he has done for ye?”
Amelia considered his words carefully. “Yes, I would.”
“Then there is yer answer.”
Chapter 24
Tristan rode hard for London. The feel and taste of Amelia’s lips upon his own driving him ever forward with equal longing and fury. He could have had any woman in England and yet he had fallen for the one woman who was incapable of loving anyone but her family. It was a quality that he had long admired and still did in spite of everything, but it was also the quality that had shattered his heart leaving him bereft of any hope.
The journey south was long, made all the more difficult by the sudden swath of storms that thundered across the Scottish Highlands. When he finally reached London after so long a time of travel, he did not even take time to stop at his estate but rode straight for his friend’s home in the East End. It was a rough sort of place, and as a nobleman he stood out greatly among the throngs of poor and homeless, but the dirt and wear of the journey did help to lessen the stares.
Tristan pushed through and dismounted in front of the tavern. He entered and found Jacob Cohen sitting in the corner drinking cheap wine as was his usual evening routine before retiring for the night. To anyone who might take note of him, he was just another patron, but he was not. His eyes scanned the room over the top of his cup and his ears turned this way and that ever so slightly to pick out the various bits of information being discussed around the room.
“Jacob,” Tristan greeted as he came to sit across from his friend.
“My Lord,” Jacob answered taking in Tristan’s appearance. “Something is amiss. What has happened?”
“More than even your discerning eye could estimate. Is there a place where we can talk in private away from prying eyes and ears?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me.” Jacob led Tristan from the tavern and up a flight of stairs to his room. He pulled another chair over in front of the fire across from his own and poured Tristan a cup of wine. “Now tell me your troubles and how I might be of help.”
Tristan went on to tell Jacob of all that had transpired from Grace’s abduction to leaving Amelia at Mousa. “I need you to look into this for me, my friend, discreetly.”
“Of course. You should have come to me sooner, but I understand why you did not. It is a delicate matter to be sure. Will you be returning to this Canterley that you spoke of?”
“Yes, you will be able to reach me there in future; however, tonight I will sleep in my own bed before I set out again upon the morrow.”
“After such a journey it would be wise to allow yourself some time to rest and restore yourself.”
“There is no time, my friend.”
“You are a good man. I hope this Lady Amelia knows how fortunate she is to be held in your affections.”
“I think that is a subject upon which she would greatly disagree.”
“Then she is foolish and not worth your time, my friend. You should settle down with a nice Jewish girl who will take care of you. You can marry my sister, and grow fat together making babies. We could be brothers, you and I.” Jacob had long jested with Tristan on the subject. He had often said that it was a true shame that Tristan had not been born a Jew.
“As tempting as such an offer might be, unfortunately for us both, my heart beats for only one.”
“Pity,” Jacob shrugged his shoulders.
“Why do you not take your own advice and settle down?”
“Then who would protect my people from harm? Is a wife going to tolerate my staying out at all hours of the day and night? Would a nice Jewess consider marrying a man as I am? Nay, she would not. In order to protect my people from the criminal element that surrounds us here in the East End, I must also be a criminal. I would not curse a wife or children to such a fate.”
“You are the good man among us, Jacob, not I. For you sacrifice that which I would or could not.”
“You would if you needed to. If it were I that was the nobleman and you the poor Jew, you would do the same as I have done, just as you have done for your Lady Amelia.”
Tristan studied Jacob’s face. “You know that you and your family will always have a place at Ayle Manor.”
“And when I am old and grey, I might just take you up on it.”
Tristan smiled and nodded. “Very well. I will anxiously await to hear from you. Be careful. These men are dangerous. They have already killed someone, and I do not believe for one moment that they would hesitate to kill you.”
“They will know nothing of my involvement or yours.”
“Thank you, my friend. As always I am in your debt.”
“There is never a debt between friends.”
Tristan left Jacob’s rooms and mounted his horse turning toward home. When he arrived, there was a great stir among his family and servants, but he waved them all away falling into bed and not rising until the morning. His last thoughts in spite of himself were of Amelia.
* * *
Grace lay on the cold stone floor of the broch shivering as she had done every night since her arrival. The men outside of the door were up in arms about something, shouting and running to and fro. She knew nothing of what had them in such a state, but she lacked the energy to do anything to find out.
Between the cold and damp, the lonel
iness and fear, combined with poor food and sleep, she had fallen ill. She was feverish and every part of her body cried out in discomfort. She had expelled what little she had eaten hours before and her stomach seized within her as if by some unholy punishment. It felt as if perhaps God himself had found her in disfavor and seen fit to smite her down with his mighty wrath. She had heard the parish minister speak of such things often enough in her youth.
She had long since given up praying for deliverance and death had somehow become less frightening when compared with her current state. When two of the men burst through the broch door and lifted her up from the ground, she could barely manage to mumble out, “Where are you taking me?” They did not answer her, but instead carried her down to a waiting boat laying her down in its center.
The men climbed in and the boat began to move. She was greatly surprised that they had set sail in the night, but she supposed that it was their desire not to be seen leaving the island. She knew not whether she was being taken home to ransom or further away to avoid detection. She could barely summon the energy to care either way, but a dim glimmer of hope ignited within her heart and she clung to it as fiercely as she was able.
The boat rocked back and forth as they crossed the sea and Grace felt her stomach turn over, but there was nothing within it to expel so she lay still in the bottom of the boat and prayed for it to end whether by drowning or landing she did not care. Gone was the young carefree girl she had once been, and in its place was nothing but a shell of bitter despair. The journey seemed to drag on for an eternity and Grace felt as if she might die before they arrived at their destination.
She reached up and grabbed the side of the boat, attempting to heft her herself up enough to see over the side. She stared out over the ink black rippling expanse and contemplated throwing herself overboard, the internal screaming to end her misery overwhelming the still small voice of hope that glimmered so low as to nearly be extinguished.
Grace extended her arm and touched the water flowing past the bow of the boat, its cold caress a balm to her shattered soul. She leaned further reaching out for the eternally comforting embrace of the deep, too weary to contemplate anything else but the peace and stillness of the oblivion it would bring.
“Get away from there!” one of the men shouted at her and pulled her back away from the boat’s edge.
“Nay!” Grace jerked her arm free and summoning every last bit of energy she had remaining, she pitched herself forward and over the side, the cold water instantly depriving her of air, cooling her fevered body. She closed her eyes and let herself sink below the waves. It is done...
Chapter 25
Grace felt her heart sink as she awakened to find herself back within the boat. She groaned and coughed rolling over to expel the salt of the sea from her lungs. It burned something terrible. Her eyes streamed with tears, her nose dripped with snot. I am alive.
“Did you think that we would not go in after you?” one of the kidnappers growled, his clothing soaked through, his hair streaming with sea water. “You are not about to escape us that easily. You are worth a fortune and we will not allow you to foil our plans.”
Grace continued coughing unable to answer his question even if she had wanted to. She collapsed back against the bottom of the boat too weak and exhausted to be able to do otherwise. “Where are you taking me?” she managed to croak out. The mere action of speech was too painful to do so again.
“You will see. Now, lay there and be silent. If you attempt to run again, I will tie you to me. Who knows we might even like being bound together, our bodies…”
Grace hissed savagely cutting him off before he could finish the disgustingly-horrific thought. The man chuckled, hissed back at her, laughed at his own sense of humor, then went back to concentrating on steering the boat. If Grace had had the energy she would have leapt up and bit off a piece of the man’s face.
The idea of such a violent action revolted her and her stomach turned at the thought, but she could not escape the desire to harm the man. Unable to bear the torment of the sea tossing the small boat about, Grace sunk back into the oblivion of unconsciousness, surrendering to the fever that raged through her body.
* * *
Amelia, Henry, Jonathan, and Malcolm rode toward Canterley with single-minded purpose. Every day and night of their journey homeward had been fraught with fear, guilt, and heartbreaking silence as everyone imagined the worst. Amelia wished that Tristan rode with them but, prayed that his friend in London would be able to help them.
When they reached Canterley, Fergus met them out in front of the manor house. He took Amelia’s horse as she dismounted. “The Viscount is here,” he informed them all, “and he is less than pleased.” The look on Fergus’ face was one of warning.
Amelia’s heart constricted in her chest. “Should I go? Should I run?”
“Nay,” Jonathan answered without giving Fergus a chance to do so. “You will remain. I am here with you. We will face him together.” He turned to Fergus. “How much does he know?”
“I attempted tae keep everythin’ I could from him. I did nae wish for the lass tae suffer any more than she already has.”
“Good man,” Jonathan clapped a hand on the Scotsman’s shoulder. “Has any further word of the ransom come yet?”
“Nae, it has nae, but there is somethin’ else ye should ken afore ye go inside.”
“What is it?”
“Yer faither killed Martin Ives. He shot him right through the head in the library. He was angrier than I have e’er seen him afore. He is nae takin’ the loss o’ Lady Grace well at all. If he keened all we have done tae save her and how Lady Amelia put her own life in danger tae do it, I would nae put it past the man tae kill us all in his grief.”
Amelia slipped her hand into her brother’s and squeezed it in reassurance. Jonathan met her eyes, squeezed her hand in return, then turned to enter the house, his shoulders and back straight as a sword, ready for battle. Amelia walked beside him, her heart beating as a military drum urging its soldiers onward into the fray.
Henry came up beside them as they paused in the doorway. They met each other’s eyes, turned back to nod at Fergus and Malcolm, then stepped into the house, its shadow falling across their faces as a portent of coming doom. They entered the library where they found the Viscount standing in front of the fireplace, the iron poker in one hand, a snifter of brandy in the other. He turned to see them standing before him and his eyes flashed in anger, but he said nothing.
“Father,” Jonathan spoke first, the only other sound in the room was the crackling of the fire.
“What have you done?” the Viscount ground out through his teeth.
“What we thought was right,” Jonathan answered.
“What you thought was right?” The Viscount took a step forward, the muscles in his neck straining his skin with tension. “What you thought was right…” he repeated nodding his head in an unnaturally-stiff manner. “What you thought was right!” he screamed his face turning red then purple in his rage. “It has become quite clear to me that you do not think at all, none of you!”
Henry stepped forward and stared into the eyes of the lesser nobleman before him, his stature every bit the Duke. “I will let your manner pass because I know that you are grieving, Viscount Canterley,” the use of title reminding everyone in the room that he outranked them all, “but I will thank you to never speak thusly to me or in my presence ever again.” The Viscount looked as if he wanted to run Henry through with the iron poker.
“It has been a long journey and we are in need of rest. Perhaps it would be best if we speak further on the matter once we have done so. We would not want our shared grief to lead us to rash words,” Jonathan suggested.
“Yes,” Amelia agreed. “That would be best. Come, Henry, and we will find you suitable accommodations.”
“Yes, thank you.” Henry nodded briskly and turned to follow them from the library leaving the Viscount trembling in his rage, alo
ne.
Once they were out of hearing, Amelia let out an audible sigh of relief that they had made it out of the library without further incident. She had been holding her breath since she had spoken in agreement with Jonathan. “’Tis my fault that he is angry. ‘Tis my burden to bear. There is no need for either of you to take abuse on my behalf. I will face Father on my own. If Grace is to stand a chance at being exchanged safely the three of you need to be on amenable terms with one another.”
“We will not let you take the blame alone,” Jonathan argued, taking his sister’s arm in the intensity of his feelings on the matter. “I am his heir. There is nothing that he can do to me, nor would he. He is angry, heartbroken, and quite frankly terrified, as are we all. Give him time to see reason. When the ransom letter comes, all else will fall away but Grace’s safe return. Until then, stay away from Father as much as is possible. Rest, we have none of us slept well in a very long time.”
The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley Page 20