“That is good advice,” Henry nodded.
“I will go and speak with Fergus and Malcolm in the stables to let them know our intentions. Fergus was quite concerned upon our arrival and he will wish to know all that has transpired since we last parted,” Jonathan informed them, turning toward the stairs leading down to the kitchen. It was clear that he did not wish the Viscount to know of his intentions in order to avoid further argument.
“Shall I go with you?” Henry offered, turning to follow.
Jonathan took his arm and spoke low so that Amelia would not hear his words, but she heard them anyway in spite of his efforts. “I would prefer that you remain here with Amelia and ensure that no further words of disagreement are spoken between her and our father. It would be best if there was a man of superior rank standing between them. They will both say things that they do not mean, and it will end badly for all concerned. I do not wish to risk Amelia running again, for the next time she does so I fear she will not return.”
“Of course, my friend.” Henry bowed in deferment to Jonathan’s request, then turned and followed Amelia up the stairs to retire to one of the guestrooms.
Amelia wished that she could reassure Jonathan that she would not leave him to bear the burden of their family alone, but she could not. She had already made her decision, once Grace was home safe and married to Henry, Amelia planned to leave and never return. Jonathan would be fine without her. As he had pointed out, he was the heir to Canterley and had no choice but to remain. Amelia had no other ties and wished nothing more than to disappear from society altogether.
Perhaps I could live in the north as Malcolm does. An image of the beautiful lake that Malcolm’s family lived on rippled through her mind. She could gladly live in such a place. I could ride to visit Grace without Father ever knowing where I was. Amelia glanced at Henry from the corner of her eye and prayed that her face did not warn of her intentions. If any of them knew what she planned they would stop her.
Her thoughts turned to Tristan and what he would make of her plan, but she shoved him to the back of her mind unable to bear the ache in her chest that their last encounter had left her with. She missed his presence. She had gotten used to having his steady mind and devoted heart by her side nearly day and night since Grace was taken. She remembered the feel of his kiss and absently reached up to touch her lips with her fingertips. She moved to the window and looked east toward London.
As if he read her thoughts, Henry came up behind her and gazed in the same direction. “He will return.”
“I know,” she whispered, “but as what?”
“Whatever you will have him as,” Henry answered, smiling softly in sympathy. He laid his hand on her shoulder for the briefest of moments, then walked away.
Whatever I shall have him as? Friend… Neighbor… Lover… Nothing…
She knew that there was no way that he would run away with her. He had his own responsibilities as the Earl of Aylesbury. It was not possible for him to abandon everything to be with her in the wilderness, just as it had not been possible for her to abandon Grace to wed Tristan when they were younger. Now that she had no choice but to surrender Grace to wedded bliss upon her return, could she let go of what little control she had over her own life and accept love, accept marriage?
Amelia had never been and would never be anyone’s ideal notion of an English lady. She had been born to it no doubt, but she had fought its social strictures at every possible turn. She had seen such things as pointless vanity. She of course had been forced to teach such things to Grace in order that she might survive in society and it had served her well, but Amelia could not bring herself to walk the same line. She could not surrender herself to such an extent that she disappeared altogether.
Would Tristan be able to accept such a thing? Would he want me to change to suit the role that I must undoubtedly play as the wife of an Earl? Or would he allow me the freedom to remain myself, no matter the repercussions to his reputation and life? Do I love him enough to forgo all else? Does he love me enough not to make me do so?
In her search for Grace, Amelia had tasted freedom in its truest form and having tasted it she could not just let it go. Shaking her head, she straightened her shoulders. Nothing else mattered until Grace was back in the loving embrace of her family and betrothed. Turning, she followed Henry down the hall calling out to a maid to see that the Duke was properly cared for, then retired to her own room. Collapsing onto her own bed, Amelia prayed for the strength to do what must be done.
Either the kidnappers will return Grace alive and whole, or I will hunt them down and kill them all.
Chapter 26
Tristan rode toward Canterley, a myriad of emotions tumbling through his heart and mind. In spite of his anger when they had last parted, he could not bring himself to abandon Amelia in her time of need, whether she wanted him there or not. He had considered waiting for word from Jacob at his own estate, but he could not settle, pacing back and forth worrying.
We cannot be sure that there are not those who wish further harm upon Amelia, and there is no certainty that Jonathan is also not in danger. I cannot leave them to fend for themselves no matter the pain it causes me to look upon her face and know that Amelia will never love me as I have always loved her, but once this is all over and Grace is safely returned and the kidnappers are brought to justice, I think it would be best if I faded from view. I cannot go on as I have, as things were before, after holding her in my arms, after tasting her lips, after holding her life in the palm of my hand.
Tristan urged his steed to move a bit faster. The thought of something horrible befalling any of those he cared for in his absence when he could have been there to prevent it was unbearable. He had needed to speak with Jacob and so had left, but he had also left out of anger and an ache in his heart that had threatened to drown him in its intensity. He would never forgive himself if his leaving had left his fellow traveling companions vulnerable to further misfortune. Heaven forfend.
When he arrived at Canterley, Tristan was caught off guard by shouting and the sounds of breaking glass coming from inside the manor house. Dismounting before the horse had had a chance to come to a halt, Tristan threw the reins to a waiting groomsman and raced up the stairs, pushing past the butler, and into the library. The scene that greeted him was shocking in its intensity.
The Viscount, who appeared to be intoxicated beyond bearing, was stumbling about the room swinging an iron fire poker around his head, smashing down on whatever piece of unfortunate furniture happened to be within arm’s reach. The servants were all crowded in the hall, maids whimpering in fear, while the menservants eyed each other uncertainly. Jonathan and Henry were attempting to retrieve the iron poker from the Viscount’s hands, both looking as if they had been in a pub brawl.
A murmuring behind him signaled the approach of Malcolm and Fergus, rope in hand. “Good idea,” Tristan greeted, “but perhaps you had better let me do it. I would not wish to see either of you hang for assaulting a nobleman.”
“Aye,” Fergus nodded his head and handed the rope to Tristan. “That would be best.”
“Have ye e’er roped anythin’ afore, Yer Lairdship?” Malcolm asked, frowning at the scene before them.
“Nay, I have not, but I will risk it.”
Malcolm nodded his head in approval but hung on to his length of rope. “Aye.”
Tristan and Malcolm moved into the room spreading out, one man going one way, and the other man going the other. Tristan moved behind the settee and halted in shocked horror to find Amelia lying there, her head in Mrs. O’Boyle’s lap staining the cook’s apron crimson with blood from a cut on her head. “Amelia!” He sunk to his knees at her side. Amelia did not respond. “God have mercy,” he whispered inspecting the severity of the wound.
“I cannot move her, My Lord. Every time His Lordship sees her, he charges for her as if a man possessed,” the cook explained.
Tristan nodded, gritting his teeth. “I will see
to it. Remain hidden until it is over.”
The cook nodded at this and did as she was told. Tristan arose and nodded to Malcolm’s raised brow in question, then began to move forward once more. When they were close enough, Malcolm gestured with his hand to stop. He tossed his loop and expertly landed it around the waving poker. Cinching the loop closed, he jerked the poker from the Viscount’s hand. Roaring in rage at this, the Viscount plowed through Jonathan and Henry to charge at Malcolm.
Working as fast as he could, Tristan moved forward and dropped the looped rope over the Viscount’s torso and cinched it tight bringing him to a halt. The Viscount roared and changed directions turning toward his new attacker.
“Enough is enough,” Henry ground out and landed a punch on the Viscount’s jaw with such force that the Viscount stopped dead in his tracks and slid to the floor unconscious. A sickening crunch on impact announcing to one and all that Henry had surely broken at least two of his fingers if not all of them.
Jonathan gestured for Fergus to join them from the doorway. Jonathan lifted his father up from under the Viscount’s arms, while Fergus grabbed his lord’s feet. “We’ll carry him to his room. He will wake up sore but will not remember anything in the morning.”
“I do not remember ever seeing your father drunk,” Henry noted in surprise, panting and clutching his hand to his chest in pain.
“It is rare. I have only seen it but a few times in my life, but never like this. The strain of waiting for word about Grace was more than he could do without fortification,” Jonathan answered. He and Fergus left the library with the Viscount hefted between them.
“I believe His Lairdship passed fortification some time ago and was fast approachin’ oblivion, though I cannae say I blame the man. ‘Tis more than any father can bear tae lose a child.” Malcolm’s voice was that of experience. “He should nae have hurt the lass, Lady Amelia, as he did though.”
“Nay, he should not have,” Tristan agreed, moving over to kneel behind the settee. Lifting Amelia up into his arms, he carried her over to lie upon the nearby chaise lounge.
“How is she?” Henry asked, frowning in concern.
“I do not know,” Tristan answered, his heart clenching in worry.
Mrs. O’Boyle stood up from her place on the floor and immediately started issuing orders for hot water and bandages to be brought to the library. The head housekeeper likewise gave instructions for the cleaning up of the evidence of the Viscount’s rampage. Mrs. O’Boyle disappeared from sight for a moment, then returned with some form of herbal medicinal salve that she had brought up from the kitchen, what Tristan could not be sure.
After washing away the blood and soot from the impact of the poker on Amelia’s skull, Mrs. O’ Boyle covered the wound in the salve then bandaged it. “I do not think that she has any broken bones,” she announced rising to her feet. “I cannot say the same for you, Your Grace,” she noted, turning to examine Henry’s hand.
“It was regrettable, but necessary given the circumstances.”
“Aye, better ye than I tae do it,” Malcolm answered nodding in approval. “They cannae put ye in prison for it.”
Henry chuckled. “To do so would require the Viscount to admit to his ungentlemanly behavior. I do not see that happening.”
“Nay,” Tristan agreed, kneeling down beside Amelia. He brushed the hair back from her face and ran a wet cloth over her face, cleaning it of the remaining dried blood.
“Ye will not suffer over much,” Mrs. O’Boyle informed Henry after examining his hand. “The bones are not out o’ place, but ye should not use that hand over much for a time.” She covered the broken skin of his knuckles in salve, then wrapped it in bandages for stability.
“I offer you my sincerest gratitude, Mrs. O’Boyle.” Henry bowed gallantly to the cook in thanks once she was done.
Mrs. O’ Boyle blushed then moved back over to Amelia. “She will be well, My Lord. She just needs a wee bit o’ rest is all.”
Tristan nodded in acknowledgement. “I will stay with her.”
Mrs. O’ Boyle nodded in sympathy. “I will bring ye a bite to eat and something to drink while ye wait.”
“Thank you,” Tristan murmured pulling a chair over next to the chaise lounge and lowering his fatigued frame into its cushioned embrace.
Jonathan rejoined them in the library and sat down in a chair across from Tristan. “How is she?” he asked peering into his sister’s sleeping face.
“Mrs. O’ Boyle seems to think that she will be well after some rest,” Tristan answered sighing. He rubbed his hands across his face and leaned forward onto his knees. “Where is Fergus?”
“He is helping my father’s valet to undress and bath him. They thought it best that there be no sign of what transpired here to remind Father.”
“The wound on your sister’s head will not disappear overnight,” Tristan remarked dryly. In his opinion the Viscount should be forced to face his actions, no matter the desperation the man had felt for his other daughter.
“Nay, it would be best if she remained in her room once Father wakes.”
“So, she must hide instead of your father facing and being held accountable for his actions?”
“It is not perfect, I know, but it is for her own wellbeing.”
“Unbelievable,” Tristan grumbled under his breath, shaking his head in disapproval.
“It is unfair, but it is for the best.”
“She should have married me long ago and been well rid of this place.”
“I know, but she would not leave Grace.”
Tristan and Jonathan sat for a moment, eyes locked in silent conversation, then sighing, Tristan rubbed his hands across his face once more. Jonathan arose and poured each of them a brandy. Malcolm’s face said he would have preferred whisky, but he chose not to voice it, instead joining the men sitting around Amelia’s unconscious form to keep watch. “Poor lass,” he murmured, shaking his head in disapproval of the entire ordeal. “She deserves better, ye ken.”
“Yes, she does,” Jonathan and Tristan agreed softly in unison. They glanced up at each other and nodded in acknowledgement.
“What can be done about it if she refuses to marry?” Jonathan asked hopelessly. “I have tried to encourage her to accept any of the many proposals that she has received to no avail.”
Henry stirred in his chair thoughtfully. “Do you think that your father would give her permission to come and live with Grace and I for a time?”
“I do not know,” Jonathan answered. “He is determined to see her married to a man of note. Perhaps if you promised to find her a husband, he might let her go with you.” He shot an apologetic look at Tristan.
“It would give you time to woo her, Tristan, after Grace is settled. It would give her time to come to terms with her new life,” Henry offered, meeting Tristan’s eyes. His offer was a reasonable, compassionate one.
Tristan nodded. “I see the wisdom in it, and she would be away from here. Even if she never chooses me, all I want is for her to be safe and happy.”
“You are both good men, my friends,” Jonathan murmured. He lifted his glass in a gesture of respect to Tristan and Henry, which they reciprocated, then downed the contents. None of them were in a brandy sipping mood. Jonathan arose to refill their glances. “Whisky, perhaps,” he mumbled as he did so.
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed heartily.
“Yes, please,” Henry answered enthusiastically. Tristan knew his hand had to be paining him fiercely.
“The thing will be getting Father to agree,” Jonathan remarked, returning to their previous conversation. “He will never cease in his attempts to change her. It is the only way he knows to express his love for her.”
“I say we do not give him a choice,” Tristan replied, angrily. If Henry had not hit the Viscount, Tristan would have gladly done so.
“Ye ken that if he does nae let her go she will run again,” Malcolm pointed out. “’Twas written all o’er her face when we brought
her home. She does nae wish tae be here any longer than is necessary tae see her wee sister home safe tae His Grace’s arms. The moment that that happens, Lady Amelia, will disappear in tae the mist. There is nae doubt in my mind about it.”
“If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking. In the meantime, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me,” Tristan murmured the quote from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing as he gazed in loving understanding at Amelia’s sleeping face.
“Aye,” Malcolm nodded in agreement. “She has seen the freedom tae be found in the mountains and forests. She is nae like tae return tae the bondage of this gilded cage.” He gestured about him with his free hand at the room around them. “If ye had seen the look on her face as she sat at the water’s edge where I live, ye would ken that her soul does nae belong here at all.”
The Haunted Knight 0f Lady Canterley Page 21