Chapter Eleven

She gave Blair the remainder of the morphine dose, and after Simmons delivered a tray of food and left with only a nod, she undressed, glad she hadn’t worn a corset today. She was about to again disobey Blair’s demand that she not sleep with him.

Her skirts fell into a puddle around her feet. In only her pantaloons and camisole, she stepped over them, circled the bed, and sat on the edge to remove her shoes and stockings. Tonight she wouldn’t bother to braid her hair, for she was so very weary. The pins came out easily, and she laid them on the bedside table, then ran her fingers through her hair so it tumbled down her back. She turned down the bedcovers and crawled under them. His arm lay stretched out toward her, and she took his hand in both hers, placed his knuckles against her heart, lowered her head to the pillow, and curled her knees.

For a long while she lay very still, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, then closed her eyes and let weariness overtake her.

Blair clawed his way out of the depths of sleep, pursued by a ragged-jawed monster chewing away at his leg. He lay for a moment, tensed against the fierce agony. Something trapped one arm, and he reached out blindly to free it, opened his eyes. Rowena lay curled beside him, holding his hand against her breast. Her heart beat steadily under his fingers.

Her hair, loosened from its usual pinning, spread around her on the pillow. In the glow from the lamp her features were indistinct, but he knew them so well he imagined the blue eyes The silken skin was slightly flushed. She was truly there, and his heart slowed to match the rhythm of hers.

My God, how could that be? But it was. Their hearts beat as one.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, bent her head, and kissed his hand.

“Are you in pain? If you’ll let me go, I’ll get your morphine.”

For a moment, he didn’t comprehend what she’d said. Where was Simmons? Was this one of his dreams?

“Rowena?”

“Yes, darling. It’s me. It’s okay to let go. I won’t go anywhere.”

“I can’t.” Pain mixed with panic seized him, and he gritted his teeth against groaning.

“Why?”

“You’re keeping me safe. From the darkness. If I let you go, you’ll leave. They will return. Dear God. Please help me!”

“Blair, listen to me. You’re safe and I’m here. I’m here to help you, and I’m not going anywhere. But I have to get your medicine. To help with the pain.” She gently worked her fingers loose from his grip. “I won’t leave. I’ll just reach over you and get the glass.” To prove what she said, rather than trying to pull away she inched closer. On her knees, she leaned across his chest.

Her warm body touched his, reassuring him she was really there. He turned her loose. Unable yet to believe her, he shut his eyes and clenched both fists against the agony creeping in waves up his leg. She would be gone when he looked. It was best, that way he would not hurt her in the midst of a nightmare. But the pain, oh, God, the pain. Like a fire consuming him.

“Got it,” she said, and knelt at his side on the mattress, lifted his head from the pillow, and offered the glass of liquid.

He drank greedily. When the glass was empty, he sank back with a sigh. “Don’t go away, please. Stay with me. Don’t let them return. I know it’s wrong. You should go away, but…” His voice trailed away.

His body went limp as if sinking into a featherbed. For as long as he could, he watched her beautiful face, until it disappeared into a wavering pit, a world of flashing lights, darkness, and echoes of her fading words, “I’m not leaving you. I won’t, so don’t ask.”

He awoke with a start from a dreamless sleep. Sunlight poured into the room. All the drapes were open, a tray sat on the nightstand, and Rowena was seated in a chair by the windows, watching him. As soon as his eyes opened, she rose and crossed the carpet on bare feet to lean down, take his hand, and kiss him on the cheek. The warmth of her soft body soaked through to his. She had not yet dressed for the day, but wore a morning frock, a simple dress without a corset or underskirts. The pale fabric hugged the long line of her legs. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes, but she smiled, bringing a sparkle to their sky-blue color.

“Good morning. Do you have any pain?”

“A little, but it’s not bad yet.”

“Good, then perhaps you can eat something. You are too thin. Put your arms around my neck.” She leaned over him. The soft mound of her loose breasts pressed against him, and he embraced the passion that overcame the pain. “Come on, arms around my neck.”

He did as she asked, and she cupped a hand behind his head and pulled him to a sitting position, then propped pillows at his back. “There, better, hmmm?”

“Rowena? What are you doing? You’re not my nursemaid. This is Simmons’ job.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can care for you just as well as he can. Besides,” she added, kissing him playfully on the tip of his chin, “you asked me to stay, and so I shall.”

She turned back the covers and slid the chamber pot from under the bed.

“I’m not… You’re not… No, call Simmons. I was not in my right mind.” He could not allow this. Not this. “I should not have asked you.”

“Too late for that. Why are you embarrassed? We are married. I’ve seen all of you, touched you, bathed you, for goodness’ sake.” The fair complexion of her cheeks flushed at the memory.

“Then that was real, not a dream. But all the same, it was different.”

“Don’t be silly. I will not look, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, you have done the same for me.” Resolutely, she went back to the window and stood with her back to him until he finished.

“You can’t lift me into the chair.”

She smiled, brought a washcloth for him, and when he was finished scrubbing his hands and face, set the tray on his lap. “Now eat. Every bite.”

He picked up his fork and speared some cold potatoes, then eyed her. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, don’t be dense. I’m trying to make myself indispensable, what else? Why? Don’t you like it?”

Damn her, how could she be the one who was so dense? This was no life for her, caring for a man who might well be a cripple the remainder of his life. If they were truly married, it could be annulled. What about all that other mad behavior? Trouble was, he liked having her around just fine. He especially liked her in his bed, and he tried not to think of that. She kept him sane, but that was not her job, and he could not allow it. Simply could not allow her to ruin her life caring for him.

“Well? You haven’t answered me.” She smiled, an attempt at winning him over.

He wolfed down the remainder of the meal from the night before and leaned back. “You may go, and take my tray now, please. Send Simmons and Grady in. I need some morphine and I’ll want to get out of bed before the damned stuff knocks me out.”

His sharp tone changed her pleased expression to one of disappointment. But he had to give it to her, she did not back down. Picking up the tray, she looked him in the eye, held his gaze for a long while.

“It does not matter what you say to me, you know. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re going to keep your promises.”

“What? I didn’t promise you anything but a roof over your head.”

“Yes, yes, you did. Besides our wedding vows, you promised to dance with me at the Thanksgiving celebration, and you promised to buy me a horse and teach me to ride. I’m holding you to both of them.”

In a movement so swift he couldn’t anticipate it, she kissed him full on the mouth. Her tongue darted out swiftly and her eyes sparkled. She swept from the room before he could say a word. He still did not remember the wedding vows, certainly not the horse thing, and the other, whatever Thanksgiving was, and Christmas on the way. He could not keep such foolish promises, and surely she couldn’t expect him to. The idea saddened him. He stared down at his splinted leg. A hell of a thing, surviving the worst the war could hand him only to be run over by a damned dray and crippled.

It would not be permanent. He would not allow it. He would ask Grady to get him some of those sticks, they called them crutches, and as soon as he could, he’d be back on his feet. Be damned if he’d let life choose when he gave up. He would pick the time and place, by God, not some damned doctor. One more thing. He had to stop loving that beautiful woman, convince her to stop loving him. Desire trickled through him at the thought of her. He wanted her, and she wanted him. When he held her, anything seemed possible. But what a fool he was to think that way. It was only romantic nonsense.

A knock sounded on the door, then Simmons came in with Grady in tow.

“Lady Rowena sent us. Said you wanted in your chair. Have you had your morphine this morning?”

“I don’t want any yet. Just help me into that damned contraption and then leave me alone. And stop calling her Lady Rowena.”

“Reckon you had a rough night, huh, Captain? She said to let her know when you were settled. Seems she wants to read to you, or some such.”

Blair snorted. “My robe’s at the foot of the bed.”

After helping him into the robe, the men moved to each side, slipped his arms across their shoulders, then walked him to the chair. Each step brought a renewed jag of pain, which he tried to ignore. By the time Simmons pushed him to his favorite spot near the windows, the pain had burned its way deep into the damaged leg.

Without comment, Simmons prepared a dose of the morphine and injected it into his arm.

“Thank you, and you too, Grady,” Blair said by way of apologizing for being such an ass. It was all he could do.

The morphine shot through his bloodstream, and he put his head back, allowed the floating sensation to take over and lift him away, ease the pain.

When he began to come out of it a bit, she sat beside him, reading softly from The Woman in White:

Let Walter Hartright, teacher of drawing, aged twenty-eight years, be heard first.

It was the last day of July. The long hot summer was drawing to a close; and we, the weary pilgrims of the London pavement, were beginning to think of the cloud shadows on the corn fields, and the autumn breezes on the sea-shore.

For my own poor past, the fading summer left me out of health, out of spirits, and if the truth must be told, out of money as well. During the past year I had not managed my professional resources as carefully as usual and my extravagance now limited me to the prospect of spending the autumn economically between my mother’s cottage at Hampstead and my own chambers in town.

He let the words drift through his senses, the sound of her voice gentling his soul, and after a while he reached out and laid his hand on her knee. He was weak, a lost soul, and could not give her up, no matter how hard he tried.

Rowena’s voice caught at his touch, and she swallowed hard, throat burning with unshed tears. She continued to read until she reached a stopping point, then marked the page and set the book aside. Rising, she dropped to her knees beside him, and he cupped her chin in his palm, gazed at her with those incredibly dark eyes.

“No matter what I say, do not leave me. But please, do be careful when I am sleeping. I promise I’ll be on my feet in no time. In time to dance with you and teach you to ride. And I promise I will see this woman—what’s her name?—the one who reads bumps on heads and does her magic cure. And I have not had a drink since the accident. I will not touch it again.”

At that moment she loved him so much she could scarcely speak. A great sob tore from her throat, and she buried her face in his lap, crying, even though all she wanted to do was laugh.

“Please stop. I thought you would be happy.”

“I am,” she managed between heart-wrenching sobs.

“Then show me.”

“In a minute.” She drew a huge sigh, hiccoughed a few times, and raised her head. “I’m a real mess now, I suppose. But here I am trying to show you I’m happy.” She managed a smile.

He dug in the pocket of his robe, came up with a white handkerchief, and mopped her face, then tented it over her nose. “Blow.”

She did, and he made a big production of wiping and folding and wiping some more. Then he handed the kerchief to her. “I think it’s soiled.”

The smile spread, and she tossed the proffered ball of cloth, tossed it in the trash receptacle near the bed. “I trust you have more?”

“Yes, indeed, I do. However, I would prefer that you didn’t require them.” He stared out the window at a new mantle of snow, the sun reflecting off it so bright it hurt one’s eyes to look at it. “Know what I would like to do?”

“No, what?”

“Go outside. Get the stink blowed off me. There’s very little wind today, though.”

She climbed to her feet, laughing along with him. “I think we can manage that. Shall I call Simmons or Grady?”

He took her hand. “No, just you and I. Can you manage?”

“Yes, I can manage. Let’s see, we’ll need heavy coats, I’ll need boots. A blanket to wrap around your legs.”

“Ask Annie to pack us a picnic lunch. We can sit in the sun and eat together.”

She could scarcely contain her excitement at such an adventure. But even more exciting was the reversal of his attitude and his desire to do something normal with her.

“You wait. Right here. Don’t go anywhere.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try.”

“I’ll get everything arranged and be right back. Blair?”

“What?”

“You’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back, will you? It might start to snow and ruin our plans.”

“The way weather is around here, that wouldn’t surprise me.” She hurried out the door and down the hallway to the kitchen, skipping like a child and singing a little tune under her breath.

After instructing Annie on including cheese, bread, wine, and apples from the storeroom, she raced to the closet to fetch coats and hats, and boots for herself. She had never dressed from her morning frock, but they would see no one, and she did not want to take the extra time to get into all the folderol women were supposed to wear.

Staggering under the weight of winter garments, she trotted back to Blair’s room. The door was closed. She was sure she had left it open, but maybe not. It was a struggle to uncover a hand enough to turn the knob and push the door open.

“I’m back, darling,” she sang, dumped the head-high pile on the bed, and turned. His chair was empty.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Blair? Where are you?” Frantic, she checked the bed—but he could not have moved out of that chair alone.

“Get away from me, dammit,” his voice shouted.

On the floor, somewhere on the floor. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawled closer to the chair, because if he’d fallen out he would be right there, on the floor.

He shouted again, this time something indistinct and panic ridden. Muffled.

“Blair, where are you?”

The long green drapes moved, and she crawled toward them, pulled the heavy panel aside. He lay in a ball, arms fastened around his knees, face buried. She reached out and touched him. He flinched, hugged himself tighter.

“Too much blood. Too much. Bastards. Get away. Get away.”

“Blair, stop it. Now.” She grabbed his wrists, wrestled them away from the iron-hard grasp. “I’m here. Oh, please listen to me.”

“I think he’s dead. I meant… I tried.” He collapsed.

Lifting him by the shoulders, she slid down so she could place his head in her lap. With trembling fingers she rubbed his temples, then brushed his hair back. His eyes were squeezed shut. He had obviously crawled to the door, shut it, then made his way behind the drapes.

Lips close to his ear, she whispered, “You’re safe. We are together. Everything is all right. I love you. Listen to me, you are safe.”

He stirred then, and appeared to come to himself.

Annie hurried into the room carrying a basket. “Here’s your food. How exciting. A winter picnic.” She stopped midway, gaze sliding from the empty wheelchair to Rowena sitting on the floor rocking Blair. “Oh, no. What happened? Shall I get Grady? Simmons?”

“Yes, both, if you please. Tell them he is fine, we just need help getting him back into the chair.”

The girl dropped the basket and headed for the door.

“Annie?” Rowena called. Blair moved, this time said her name.

“Please, don’t alarm them. He is fine. Right?”

“Fine. Yes’m. He is fine.” She was gone.

“I am fine, you know,” he said in a normal tone. “However, my damned leg hurts. I guess I fell out of the chair.”

She hugged him, kissed him, hugged him some more. “Yes, I guess that is what happened. Just lie still until Simmons gets here to help you up.”

Simmons came into the room, long strides all that revealed his concern. “Oh, my, mum. Whatever happened?”

“It wasn’t her, it was me. I thought I could stand, and it didn’t work out so well. If you could just help me back into the chair, I would appreciate it.”

At his side immediately, Simmons helped him to sit, and Rowena rolled out of the way to stand beside them. “Shall we wait for Grady?”

“He’s not here. I sent him to town.” Simmons turned Blair around, positioned himself so he could get behind him, and lifted him to a standing position. “Just lend us a shoulder, mum,” he said.

Rowena nodded and stepped under Blair’s right arm. “Don’t put any weight on your leg.”

“I know.” Blair sounded angry, but she knew it was more at himself than at her. “Just get me back in the chair. We have a picnic to go to.”

“What’s that, sir?” Simmons grunted and maneuvered Blair so he could be lowered into the chair. “Would you like some morphine?”

“No. Not now. After we have our picnic,” he said, catching her hand and holding it tight, while glaring up at Simmons.

“Blair, we can do it another day.”

“No, we cannot. We will do it today. Now.”

“Shall I help, mum?” Simmons stood a distance back from the two of them.

“No, you shall not,” Blair said, then more softly, “Thank you, Simmons. It’s all right. You may go now.”

She smiled when Simmons glanced at her for approval before leaving the room.

Blair caught the look, frowned, then grinned. “Well, I see you have him under your thumb.”

“We talked.” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

He turned, captured her mouth with his. Held her there for a long moment. Her touch drove away his earlier relapse, so brief yet so painful. And irritating as hell. When would it stop? This returning to the bloody battlefields and the memories of killing. It was not like a memory but more like he’d been transported back and dropped in the middle of the fighting. If he could only forget those he’d killed with bayonets and rifles. Up close so he had to watch their faces as the life bled out of them. Shaking away the thoughts, he deepened the kiss until their tongues met and his desire stirred. All he wanted to think of was this beautiful woman and how very much he cared for her. How much she appeared to love him.

Even as they parted, the doubts returned. Doubts that she would remain. Fear that something would happen to snatch her away from him. He had to stop this, yet when the doubts came he fell prey to them.

“Well, that was nice,” she said. “Let’s get into our coats and get outside before our picnic goes stale. You sure you’re okay to go?”

“I’m very sure. Give me my coat.”

“I brought a heavy cape for you. It will be easier for you to slip into.” She draped it over his shoulders. “Lean forward, and I’ll tuck it in.”

Once both were all bundled up against the cold, she set the basket in his lap and together they maneuvered the heavy wheelchair through the doors and outside. Someone, probably Grady, had shoveled snow away from the front portico and made a path to the barn. Out of the shadows of the castle and into the sunlight, she stopped the chair and took the basket from his lap. The snow on either side of the path was almost three feet high, so she set it there and made a table with the cloth Annie had spread over the food.

She laid out the cheese and biscuits, apples and wine. After she fashioned a seat for herself on the shelf of snow, padding it with a small buggy rug she’d included in their wraps, they both helped themselves.

“I’ve never had a picnic in the snow.” She took a bite of cheese and sipped at the wine.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a picnic at all,” he said.

“No? My goodness. I remember, before Mama and Papa were killed, we used to go on a picnic almost every Sunday when the weather allowed.”

“How old were you when they died?”

“Eleven. Wilda was ten. Tyra’s parents were with them. She was only five. It was a family tragedy. They all died, and my grandmother passed soon after. She couldn’t bear the loss of both her girls. They had been cast out of the family because they married out of their faith. So that made it doubly difficult for Grandmother.”

“It must have been very difficult for you to lose your parents that way. Were you close?”

She chewed up a cracker and washed it down with more wine. Nodded her head. “Yes, very. All of us. Mama and her sister being ostracized by the family brought us all closer, I think.”

He studied her face, a remembered sadness in her eyes, skin flushed by the cold. How very beautiful she was, a beauty so different from Wilda’s, yet so striking. And Tyra, the freckled tomboy, but with features much like her cousins’.

“I shall never forget seeing you all for the first time,” he said, and reached to take her hand. “Like three gorgeous flowers, more beautiful than all the roses in the garden. Yet so different from one another. Until I arrived at St. Ann’s, I thought Marguerite must be exaggerating about those three stunning Duncan girls. She just wouldn’t shut up, or leave me alone until I paid you a visit. And as I had to return to England to get business settled for the permanent move to America, I was determined to find out just how much our dear Marguerite may have exaggerated.” He laughed. “As it turned out, even her words of praise did not prepare me for you three.”

The wind stirred around the corner, catching a strand of her golden hair and tugging it from the muffler she’d draped over her head. He eased the strip of blue wool away, so the sun gleamed on the pale locks.

She smiled. “And I remember that day well, too. The moment I set eyes on you. You kissed our hands one by one, then gazed up into our eyes and greeted us. I fell in love with you. My heart, my soul, my mind, all fell under your spell.”

He kissed her palm, then the inner spot of her wrist where her heart beat. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to explain why I chose your sister to marry, rather than you. Not so you will believe me. But I swear, Rowena, I swear from that moment I knew it was you. And I also knew whoever I chose would have to be tough, hard, that I would hurt that one in so many ways it would be impossible to count them.”

“And so you chose to hurt Wilda, rather than me?”

“That’s not really fair. I saw in Wilda a toughness that would rebuff me. I wanted to bring you all here, give you a chance at having a decent life. Marguerite had told me you were having it hard there, and once I got you to America, then you could all make your own choices. Wilda’s turned out to be someone other than me. Want to know a secret? I would not have married her, even if she had agreed to go through with it. I made sure she would not. And now she is happy.”

She might never believe him, but he had wanted for so long to tell her this. And now that she professed to love him, it should be safe to do so. He watched her closely, seeing her expression go from doubt to pleasure.

“Odd thing is, I find you to be tougher than either of them.”

“I don’t want you ever to lie to me, but I know sometimes small lies are necessary to prevent hurting someone you love. You’re not lying to me now, are you?”

He raised a hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “I swear I’m not lying. I’m so sorry for making you feel so bad. I never thought to have you, never dreamed we would be together. But I’ve loved you since that day in the garden, and I’ve so feared hurting you.”

“Well, you did. You hurt me when you chose Wilda, but I guess I understand. What was it you saw in her that you didn’t see in me? I’m tough, too, as you say. Both of us survived our parents’ death, and the terrible life at St. Ann’s. That made us tough.”

“Something in your eyes. It’s there yet today. Something that told me you had been hurt so badly by so much more than their death. I didn’t want to add to your pain. And now that I’ve seen your back, I know I was right. Can you tell me who did that to you? And why?”

She lowered her head and stared down at the snow. His heart hammered for fear he had pushed her too far. That now she would turn away.

When she looked up, tears stood in her eyes. “You were right. But let’s not discuss it today. Let’s make this a happy day. Our first picnic. And every day will be happy from now on.” She grinned at him. “Please stop trying to send me away. It is useless, for I’ll not go, you know.”

Satisfied, he nodded. Could it be that he had at last found someone he could be happy with? Someone who could accept him and his mad wanderings? Maybe help him put all that behind him? Other men went to war and came home to lead normal lives. What was different about him that he had to go through all this torment? Perhaps his father was right and he was weak, not really a man. He would strive to prove him wrong. For her and for himself.

They remained outside until their toes and fingers were quite cold. Her nose grew red, and he cupped his hand over it to warm it. She re-tucked the blankets around his legs since he was not able to pull on breeches over the cumbersome splint on his leg. The pain grew worse, begging for morphine, but he did his best to ignore it. At last, they agreed it was time to gather up the remnants of their picnic, including an empty wine bottle, and go back inside.

A worried Simmons greeted them before they closed the front door. He insisted on wheeling Blair back into his room and helping the couple peel off their outdoor clothing.

“You should be in bed, sir,” he told Blair. “And it’s past time for your medicine.”

“Thank you. I believe you’re right. Is Grady back?”

“No.”

“What do you suppose is taking him so long?” Blair asked.

“It has been a long while.” Simmons went to the window and gazed out. “I think I see a wagon coming now. It must be him. He had to pick up feed, and Annie had a long list. Seems she’s wanting to do some Christmas baking. Hmm, there’s someone following them on horseback.”

“Perhaps it’s Tyra,” Blair said.

Rowena beamed. “Oh, how fun. Annie’s teaching me how to cook, so perhaps she’ll let Tyra and me help with the baking.”

“Preparing yourself to be a wife?” Blair teased, tensing against the increasing pain.

“Why, yes, come to think of it. For the lucky man I married.”

How odd that he had asked her to be his wife when he had vowed to wait until he was back on his feet and the darkness that so often crept into his life had vanished. He would ask her soon what had brought the wedding about. But he had to be careful not to hurt her. If only he could remember those few days before the accident. If only he could believe that creature she spoke of, who sounded like nothing more than a gypsy fortuneteller, could actually help him heal. But he would see her, for Rowena, and he would do his best.

After he fell asleep under the influence of the morphine, she hurried to the kitchen to talk to Annie about the Christmas baking. Grady was there, unloading crates of kitchen supplies through the back door. He glanced at Rowena.

“How is our captain?”

“He’s asleep now, but we had a grand time today.”

“Yes,” Annie said. “I forgot to tell you. They had a picnic in the snow. What fun that must’ve been.”

“In the snow? Wonder you didn’t freeze your arses off.”

“Grady,” Annie scolded, but she laughed.

Easy to see these two were growing closer by the day.

“Who was following you when you arrived?” Rowena asked, helping Annie restock the pantry shelves with flour and sugar, spices and condiments.

“Oh, that’s Sheriff Calumet of Hays City. He wanted to talk to Simmons and the captain about the shooting.”

“Where is he now? Blair is sleeping. I’d better see to it he doesn’t disturb him.” She started across the kitchen.

“Simmons will see to that, I’m sure. They were talking at the door, and it appeared the captain’s guardian was not about to allow him inside.”

Rowena smiled. She should have known Simmons would take care of his charge. From down the hall came voices raised in argument, and then Simmons hustled toward them, eyes large in his thin face. “He says he has to speak to Mr. Blair and will not take no for an answer. Grady, can’t you do something? The ruffian pulled a gun on me.”

“What?” Grady pushed past Simmons, followed by Rowena and Annie.

The sheriff had moved into Blair’s room and stood in the center of the floor, hands on his hips staring at a sleeping Blair. At least he had holstered his gun.

“Say, Sheriff,” Grady said, voice low but firm. “He’s not well and was just given his morphine. You’ll not get anything out of him for hours.”

“Will if I chose to arrest him and take him to town.”

“You can’t do that,” Rowena and Annie both said in unison.

“I expect I can. He’s going to be charged with the murder of Barton Crouch.”

Heart hammering in her temples till the room spun, Rowena grabbed Grady’s arm. “You have to stop him. Please. Blair didn’t murder anyone. And he must not be dragged off to jail.”