Edward woke up early, kissed his sleeping wife on the head, got dressed, and made his way downstairs. He quite liked this unusual new routine of waking up and being productive. Funny, how the love of a young woman, and threats of death, kept at bay one’s desire to sleep all day.
He smiled to himself as he rounded the corner into the dining room. By Jove, he was the first one up, it seemed. Edward sat down and took a moment to enjoy the silence.
The moment only lasted a second before bickering voices filled the air and his two butlers entered the room. Both Truman and Boswell stalled at once. “My lord!” they spoke in perfect unison.
Edward nodded, hoping they would leave.
“My most trusted and exquisite master of the house, it is so good to see you on such a glorious day.”
No such luck!
“It has come to my astute attention that there seems to be a small matter with a tenant on the west side of the property,” Boswell continued.
Truman broke in, “Actually, I am the one who received the message this morning, my lord.”
Boswell puffed up, looking as if he were about to let Truman have it. Edward dropped his head and held up his hand. “Where is the letter?”
Truman produced a piece of paper as Boswell huffed.
“Thank you.” Edward took the message and quickly skimmed the note before sitting it back on the table. “Please have Elkinema saddled.”
Truman started out the door, obviously intent on beating Boswell to said task.
The older butler spoke up once again, “Would you not wish to eat first, my truly magnificent lord?”
Truman stopped, turned, and literally rolled his eyes.
“No, it shan’t take long to fix this problem.” Edward nodded for Truman to continue in his pursuit of the stable boy.
“Might I suggest you take someone along with you?” Boswell offered.
“Not necessary. It is a short ride.”
“Yes, sir, but with all the accidents…” Boswell let the sentence hang.
Edward looked up. It was the first time he had ever heard the man sound worried. “Why, Boswell!” He smirked. “Are you actually concerned for my wellbeing?”
Boswell sputtered, but before he could craft a condescending retort, Truman strode back in. “Your steed awaits, my lord.”
That was fast. Edward stood and made his way outside, eager to see how ready a horse could be made in less than five minutes. The sun was just cresting the hill. It was going to be another beautiful day.
He turned and headed to the stables where there were two horses saddled and waiting. Just as Edward was preparing to question the groom, Henry emerged from the barn and smiled.
“You are not going without me. Even if it is only to settle a tenant dispute.”
Morgan knew Richard had spoken, and she knew what he was asking. She simply could not fashion her words into any sort of response. The only image in her mind was of Edward and Henry, lying dead somewhere. And the only voice that was clear was Roderick’s. “I will kill everyone you hold dear.”
Except…that was only if she did not comply with his wishes. Had he changed his sick mind? Panic gripped her. She began to shake so violently she had to tighten her grip on the reins.
A hand shot out and took her horse by the bridle. She looked over to see Lord Ashlown staring down at her. “You are going back to the house now!” he stated for the fifth time.
This time he seemed intent on making her obey his command. Morgan shook her head no, even as he turned Serenade around and began trotting both horses back toward the stable.
Richard flanked her other side. “I will take her back.” He nodded to Dalton. “You focus on the search.”
Dalton spun his horse around and galloped back toward the group of men riding east. Morgan’s vision blurred, hot tears stinging her eyes. Around her torches burned like hundreds of stars drifting, mere inches off the ground, in the outlying woods and neighboring fields. Voices shouted out to one another across the expanse of the land. Men searching for her husband and his best friend.
Elkinema had returned hours ago, without a rider. At first, it was surmised that Edward must have gotten himself thrown and would surely come trotting up the lane at any moment, seated behind Henry. Perkin blew that theory right out of the water. Apparently, Edward never came off a horse, and Elkinema would never run far away from his master if he had.
It took less than a minute before the house turned upside down with apprehension. They started by checking at the tenant’s residence, where Edward had supposedly gone to handle some kind of issue. To their dismay, the family had no idea what they were talking about. There was not, nor had there been, a tenant squabble.
When Henry’s bay was found in a nearby field an hour later, everyone in the house joined the search party, even Lady Vandicamp. Now it was black outside and still, no sight of them. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.
Richard reached out and patted her hand in an effort to console. She felt the tremor in his touch, he was worried sick. The alarm that had flashed across his normally serene face the second that horse came back rider-less was chilling. He quickly schooled his expression, but she had seen it, and that memory would never fade.
A thousand emotions had raced through her very soul with that singular look, but the one that had taken root was the one of premonition. Richard Kingston knew something tragic was happening too. There was absolutely no doubt in Morgan’s heart that the next morning would be met with darkness and despair. Their futures were about to be shaped in a great and irreversible fashion.
Edward started to open his eyes and quickly slammed them shut. The pain that lanced through his head was blinding. His eyes snapped back open. Henry! There had been a shot. Right before Edward’s world had gone black.
He narrowed his gaze in the dimly lit room, trying to adjust his vision. Where the hell was he? Where was Henry? Edward quickly surveyed the room, categorizing its details. It was small. Dirt floor. No widows. The familiar smell of horse and hay. The boarded walls, weathered. Clearly a barn, but by the hint of mold in the fetid air, not a well-kept one.
A sick dread began to scratch its way up his spine as his gaze landed on the mound in the corner. “Henry!”
Edward quickly scrambled to the crumpled form of a man, his fear confirmed. Henry was covered in blood, his breathing coming in ragged slow rasps, barely audible. Edward gently turned his friend’s head to face him. Henry’s eyes cracked open just under the lash line and he violently jerked away.
“Henry, it is me,” Edward rushed to calm him.
“Ed?”
The frantic look in his friend’s eyes began to subside, realization setting in. He drew in a labored breath and clutched his ribs. “Where are we?”
“We have to get you out of here.” Edward quickly began searching his injuries.
Henry’s rib was clearly broken. He had been severely beaten, but the gunshot to the left shoulder concerned Edward the most. He ripped off his own jacket and began wrapping it tightly over the wound.
“De Montrey,” Henry wheezed, attempting to move.
Edward froze. “Is going to die!” he growled.
A low chuckle echoed through the small space, bouncing off the tattered walls. Edward whirled around to find the shadow of a man standing in the opposite corner. “Is that so?”
De Montrey! He would know that smug voice anywhere. Edward was on his feet in a flash, but the baron produced a pistol with equal speed and aimed it at his head.
“Is this how you operate, coward? Shoot a man when his back is turned and then beat him when he is defenseless?” Edward spat.
The barrel of the gun preceded Lord De Montrey out of the shadow. “Your friend used me for information and then stole from me,” he hissed. “I would have beaten you to near death as well, if I had not been instructed to do bring you back alive. They have better plans for you and that little whore of yours.”
“Who has plans?” Edward demanded as he took a step forward.
“Stay where you are!” De Montrey ordered.
“Are you not confident in your single shot?” Edward knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he also knew that the amount of anger residing in the baron was fragile and emotion driven. His pride was wounded over Henry’s use of him, and likely embarrassed that his secret was now out.
“Tell me Martin, did you really think Lord Rockafetch had any true feelings for you?” Edward took another step closer. “I bet it is hard to live with that. Being used by someone with nary an interest in you to begin with.”
“Shut up!”
“Ah, I have hit a nerve,” Edward mocked, pityingly. “It must be difficult not being successful at anything. Unable to secure a wife for appearance sake. Never obtaining the affections you wanted so badly returned from Lord Rockafetch. And of course, losing your title.”
The baron’s face contorted. “I have not lost my title.”
“Oh! They did not tell you?” Edward clucked. “The Queen knows everything. Henry told her right before he came here. He has not only used you, he has destroyed you.”
“Why you!” De Montrey swiveled the gun towards Henry.
It was all the time Edward needed. He lunged, knocking him backwards and off his feet just as the pistol struck a spark, firing into the rafters. Edward was on him, raining down punches before the man’s back even hit the floor. All his pent-up hostility resolving itself with each new blow, the sounds and smells of fresh blood filling the air.
Henry shouted, but it sounded as if it were coming from somewhere far off in the distance. Edward kept slamming his fist into the baron. Over and over his knuckles met with muscle and bone. He hit him for what he had done to his best friend. He hit him for Morgan. He hit him for liberating the beasts that Edward had so tightly tried to corral within himself.
“Damn you!” Edward yelled.
Someone pulled hard on his shoulder, but still he attacked until blood ran down his fingers and dripped from his face. Only then did he fall back, releasing the lifeless body to collapse in the dirt. Henry’s voice grew closer, penetrating the fog of Edward’s rage.
Edward shook his head to clear the blackness from his eyes and looked down at his hands. He felt nothing. He felt no anger, no anxiety, no fear…nothing.
Henry was struggling to stand, his limbs uncooperative. That’s when the anger returned. Looking into Henry’s bruised and battered face, Edward felt the darkness assembling anew. He scrambled over to his friend.
Henry coughed up a spattering of blood. “Listen, I can barely stand, my rib is broken, and I have been shot. Can you calm down long enough to get us out of here?” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We have bigger problems.”
His friend’s words, combined with his efforts to move, injected just the right dose of logic into Edward’s mutinous emotions. “What do you remember?” Taking Henry under the arm and supporting most of his weight, Edward helped him limp toward the door. “Are there others?”
“Yes, Morgan’s stepbrother was with him.” Henry stopped moving and turned his head, looking Edward directly in the eyes and vocalizing Edward’s greatest fears. “He has gone after her.”
Richard surveyed the edge of the tree line as they approached. The estate was just on the other side of the small grove they needed to ride though. He did not know why, but the hairs on the back of his arms stood on end as they drew closer.
Something was not right. He lifted his hand, a silent command for Morgan to still her horse. She did so immediately.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“We are going a different direction.” He began to turn the horses.
A branch snapped.
“I don’t think ye are,” a low, sinister voice with a strong Irish accent called from the darkness of the grove.
Without a second thought Richard slapped his hand down hard on the rump of Morgan’s horse. It was all the prompting the mare needed. She shot off at a full gallop, just as a bullet buried itself deep in Richard’s chest.
His horse shied, but he managed to stay on long enough to look down at the crimson staining his shirt. He found the wound with his fingers. A perfect shot.
His head became light, the landscape started spinning, and his limbs grew heavy with sleep. Richard slipped over his horse’s shoulder, his body succumbing to the pull of gravity. He landed hard on the ground, but did not feel it. Not far away he heard Morgan scream.
Colin McGreggor’s face came into view, floating in the night sky above him. “I have been looking forward to this day for a long time, Kingston.”
“Leave the girl alone,” Richard managed to get the words out, over the strangling blood now flooding his throat. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Colin chuckled. “I have no need of her, but my informant does.” He knelt down. “He is quite eager to get his hands on the lass, it seems.”
The Irishman looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. “And by the look on his face, he is glad to have her in his possession now. Although he may want to wait until she regains consciousness.”
Footfall crunched the fall grass not far from where Richard lay. He could just make out the back of a man, carrying a woman’s limp body. Morgan! Richard cursed, which caused him to cough up more blood. Colin threw his head back and laughed.
Taking advantage of his opponent’s momentary distraction, Richard’s hand located the blade he always kept hidden inside his jacket. He was going to die tonight, but so was Colin McGreggor.
The Irishman looked back down at Richard with a smug grin and leaned in closer. “You see, when you failed to give Greyland to me, you sealed your family’s fate. However, we still need that heir to gain our claim to the throne of England. Once that child is born, all of Ireland will join our pursuit.”
“You are truly deranged if you think either of my sons will bed anyone in your family,” Richard ground out.
“They will when I threaten to tell the world that The Queen is carrying Perkin Kingston’s child.”
Richard felt his strength fading quickly. He clutched at the hole in his chest. He was not long left for this world.
“Is this how our families will continue it then?” Richard’s voice quavered. “Our intersecting paths forever bent on revenge, a knife at each other’s throat, fingers sweaty on the handle.”
Colin guffawed, “No, for I intend to kill off every last one of your lineage. Starting with you.” He moved to stand. “Melbrooke will pay a handsome reward for your death. Your reign is over, Richard Kingston.”
Richard’s head rolled to the side, blood continuing to fill his mouth. He was drowning in it. “Albus Draco,” the words came out thinly veiled, a riddle unlocking a curse.
Colin froze. “What did you say?”
“Wrath is its own jailer, you fool.”
“Enough with the tiresome limericks, old man.” McGreggor dropped back down and grabbed Richard by his jackets lapels. “What did you say before that?” He shook him hard.
Richard coughed, speckling the Irishman’s face with blood. Colin angrily swiped it away. Richard grinned. “Your traitorous father never told you?
“Speak the words old man!” Colin leaned in close, eyes blazing, spittle frothing at the edges of his mouth.
“Albus Draco!” Richard spit the words, coated in death.
McGreggor faltered, his fists releasing their hold on Richard as his pupils grew round with shock, his mind turning desperately on end inside his head, his whole being paralyzed by the two words delivered in their native Latin dialect.
“One last piece of advice, boy.” Richard smiled sagaciously and drove the blade up and into Colin’s heart. “Revenge is only for patient men.”
Two words. Two words that had been etched into Edward’s memory since birth. Two words to represent a secret order created hundreds of years ago in support of his Plantagenet ancestors.
His father’s voice echoed in his ears, a proverb repeated from childhood. “To shape history, we must live beyond our lifetime.” Albus Draco…White Dragon.
No!
The ancestral blade sunk with a quiet resolve. The Irishman had only one breath left in which to make a gurgled gasp before falling into the grass, the weapon imbedded deep in his chest. Edward knew his feet were moving, sprinting him to his father’s side, but time seemed suspended, hung in the air.
He reached his father’s side and fell to his knees. There was blood everywhere. Too much blood! Edward frantically pushed aside his father’s thick jacket, searching past the saturated material of his shirt for the bullet’s entry point.
His father took his hand, halting the investigation. “Son.”
“No,” Edward said stubbornly, locating the wound and pressing his hand firmly to the gaping hole. “We need to get you to the house.”
“Edward.” His father covered his hand with his own. “It is too late.”
Tears blurred his vision. “No.” Denial ripped from his throat.
“You have to save her,” Richard said, locking his eyes on Edward’s.
Edward’s head shot up, his eyes franticly scanning the night. “Which way did he go?”
“East. Through the grove.”
A battle like no other raged inside Edward’s heart. “Father.” His voice shook on the word.
“I need you to take over the safekeeping of a secret. You will find all you need to know hidden in my ledgers.” His father gasped as another cough racked his body.
Edward nodded, his throat closing up on his reply. His father gently squeezed his hand. “Go get her.”
“Father please.” Edward leaned in, placing a trembling kiss atop his father’s forehead. “I love you.” His voice shook as he looked back into the soft grey eyes he had known for a lifetime. “I need you.”
His father wheezed. “They need you now.”
Barely breathing he rolled his head to the side, unshed tears glistening in eyes that were diming, growing distant. “I love you, son.” His grip loosened. “I am proud of you.”
His hand fell away, last words fading, carried away on the breeze as nature claimed its inevitable debt.
Morgan came to with a jolt as the horse she had been thrown across leapt a small creek. Unprepared for the landing, it felt as if she had been hurled from the sky onto a bolder. Morgan gasped, her ribs burning as if they had splintered inside her chest. She struggled for oxygen, and for clarity.
Richard had sent her horse into a gallop without warning. There had been a gunshot. Roderick had appeared out of nowhere, chasing her down. Morgan had kicked her horse as hard as she could, but his was faster. The last image she had was of him gaining on her.
The horse, whose withers she was slung over, slowed. “Enjoying the view?” Roderick bent over her and hissed into her ear.
Morgan jerked at his nearness. He pressed his elbow into the middle of her back, caging her between his chest and the horse. “I would not dream of it, sister dear.”
“Please Roderick. I will do anything; just leave my family alone.”
He loosened his grip on her and in one swift move, threw her over the edge of the horse. The next thing Morgan knew she was hitting the ground and gasping for oxygen anew. He was on her, straddling her and pinning her back to the ground.
“I am your family!” he ground out. “Not them. You belong to me!”
Morgan felt a tear escape the corner of her eye.
“That’s a good girl.” He smirked sadistically. “I love it when you cry; it makes me desire you all the more.”
He bent quickly and bit down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. She cried out and bucked beneath him, trying futilely to dislodge him. Between the physical pain, and the threat of agony yet to come, she had to get control of the situation. Anyway she could.
What would Edward instruct her to do? Panicking would not be in the tutorial. She sealed her eyes shut.
Feel the dance. Let it lead you.
She was no match for Roderick’s strength. Not if she continued to fight him. He would only work harder to break her. To make her bend to his will. She had to be smarter than his brute strength. Which meant becoming compliant.
With that singular thought, she forced her muscles to uncoil. If he was intent on taking her here, in the woods, she would lure him into the weakness of his physical desires. Morgan relaxed, compelling her mind out of its current prison.
As soon as she stopped struggling, he loosened his grip on her and became more focused on his end goal. Dragging his tongue along the edge of her bodice he adjusted his position above her. He moved one of his legs between hers. She allowed it without resistance, but when he made the slight shift of weight to do the same with the other leg, she seized her only chance to topple him.
With his weight canted more to one side than the other, and his legs still spread, she brought her knee up hard and fast. At the same time, she rolled to the side and shoved him off balance. The combined effort worked, and he fell to the side on a sharp intake of air.
Morgan scrambled to her feet. The blasted horse had shied away when both its riders left its back. She took off on foot through the woods. She heard Roderick’s pursuit as he screamed out her name from somewhere behind her. Morgan pulled the material of her dress higher and ran as fast as she could through the night, thankful for the moon light’s well-lit path.
She glanced down to check her footing as she jumped a small brook. Landing hard on the other side of the muddy bank, she scrambled up its steep incline. Morgan reached the top, breathing heavy, and screamed.
A hand shot out and grabbed her before she could fall back down the embankment. “You are safe.” Perkin stared down at her, eyes like daggers.
Morgan began to sob. He shoved her behind him and into another pair of uncompromising arms just as the foliage on the other side of the creek snapped and separated under the weight of a large animal.
She looked up to find Dalton, glaring over her head at whatever had just broken through the bushes. Morgan did not need to turn to know who it was. She heard Perkin cock a revolver.
“She is mine!” Roderick, winded and crazed sounding, shouted.
She felt Dalton tense at the implication. “He is lying,” Morgan whimpered. “I never—” Dalton put his hand to the back of her head, drawing her protectively to his chest.
“That is a very disturbing accusation,” Perkin said flatly. “Especially considering she is married to my brother.”
“He stole her from me,” Roderick ground out, sounding closer.
“She was supposed to marry that simpleton, De Montrey, who had no stomach for preforming his husbandly duties.” Closer still. Roderick was advancing. “Had they wed, he would have allowed constant access to her.”
“Why would a man share his wife with another man?” Perkin’s question was calm and steady, as if he were dealing with a coiled snake. He was deliberately keeping Roderick talking.
Roderick scoffed. “He likes cock, you fool! He would gain our name in marriage and improve his standing in society. That is why. And he would be repaying a—”
The sudden and thundering sound of something trampling the earth silenced him. Before Morgan could look back over her shoulder, Dalton spun them both in place to face the opposite direction. Startled, she craned her neck to see around him.
Roderick had turned, and was running back into the woods. Everything was happening so fast. Only Perkin seemed unaffected. He held the pistol, sites trained on Roderick’s retreating back.
“I would not run, if I were you,” her brother-in-law yelled out.
Before Roderick could stop, or even reply, another man leveled him flat. Morgan gasped as the other man proceeded to pummel Roderick, delivering blow after bone-crushing blow. It was not a fight. It was not meant to simply subdue. It was intended to kill.
“Do not look,” Dalton warned as he walked her backward, farther away from the violence.
But Morgan could not stop looking. Not when the other man was her husband. She pushed out of Dalton’s arms and flew toward the creek, only to meet up with Perkin’s unyielding grasp.
He snatched hold of her and yanked her to him. Morgan fought him with all her strength. She had to stop Edward.
This was why Ocman had regarded him so after that day in the parlor, when Edward had put his fist through the glass. The lifetime servant had been giving him the only comfort he knew how to give…the gentle understanding of silence.
This was his secret.
This blinding, all-consumptive rage that plagued him.
He could not take Roderick’s life. To do so would only validate his demons, reinforcing the fear that they were unescapable. She could not allow hatred to consume him.
“Edward, no!” she shouted as Perkin walled her in, prohibiting her from going to him.
She looked up at her brother-in-law, pleadingly. “You have to stop him.”
He did nothing. How could he not see that this would destroy Edward? She franticly looked at Dalton for assistance. He stood stock still, also unwilling to interfere.
Morgan made another attempt to escape Perkin’s hold, screaming as loud as she could, begging for the love of her life to hear her.
A distant bell rang out from somewhere in the dark, then faded into the black nothingness that surrounded him.
The singsong chime lit the cave once more, this time bringing a light that illuminated the edges, like a star burning brightly. The call was soft, yet demanding. Edward felt himself following its calming encouragement.
Slowly he drifted toward it until the edges of the cave dissolved and the outer fringe of the surrounding woods began to take shape.
Suddenly, the bell became a terror-riddled scream and the whole picture painted itself clear, shaking him to the bone.
Morgan!
His wife was screaming his name with a desperation that was physically painful. He froze mid swing, comprehension dragging him back to the present. He looked down and realized he was probably three blows shy of killing the man lying bloody beneath him.
Edward swiveled his head to the right. Morgan was clawing at his brother in an attempt to extract herself from his hold. Perkin did not budge, just shielded her, using his body to protect her from the grizzly scene. The horror Edward was creating.
He stumbled backward. Something in his heart splintered. She had seen him, born witness to what kind of blind, raging monster he could become.
She would hate him now. She would leave him. She would disappear from his life. Just as his mother, and now his father, had done. He looked up to the sky and cried out.
“Edward, please,” she called out again, but this time, the tone was different.
He turned back to where they were standing. Both Perkin and Dalton were watching him carefully, as if they were waiting to see the animal in him return. Morgan made one last attempt, and broke free of his brother’s hold.
She bolted to the edge of the rushing creek and reached out toward him, tears glistening on her cheeks, her face an echo of his own pain.
She was the bell…
Edward pushed to his shaky feet.
Morgan had been the light.
He stumbled toward her.
She had fought off the demons.
He sloshed through the creek bed and she flung herself into his arms. He held her tight, suddenly aware that she was his savior. She was his soul. She was his, and he was forever hers.
Edward had been her teacher. And now, she had become his. He fell to his knees with her in his arms. All hatred erased, all rage beaten back. A quietude he had never known wrapped around them like a cloak.
He knew something else as well. Without a shadow of a doubt, as Perkin and Dalton stepped back, giving them their space, someone else moved in. His father was here.
In this moment.
In this peace. In spirit…
He was with them.
The manor was abuzz with activity when Edward and Morgan stepped over the threshold. Perkin and Dalton had done as Edward had instructed back at the creek; Dalton taking Roderick to the house for jailing, and Perkin riding to the village to collect the physician for Henry.
This provided Edward the time needed to relay the news of his father to Morgan. She was devastated, but managed to collect herself before they arrived at the house some time later, allowing Edward to speak with Perkin in private. Thankfully, his brother was busy with the physician, tending to Henry, and did not see them enter.
Edward helped Morgan to their bedchamber and took the servant stairs back down. How could he bring himself to tell his brother? Edward rounded the steps to the kitchen and took a hard right toward the back door. He couldn’t. Not yet.
He slipped outside, summoning two footmen standing guard to follow. He needed a little more time to arrange the words. And he certainly did not need Perkin riding off to exact revenge on their remaining enemies tonight, which was exactly what he would do. No, Edward would retrieve their father’s body, and confide all when he returned.
He was just turning into the stable to collect the horses when Perkin stepped out of the shadows and right into his path.
“Where are you going? And where is father?” he demanded, a brittle accusatory tone in his voice.
Edward held up a hand to halt the others. “Leave us.”
The servants retreated back to the house.
“Where is he?” His brother advanced, eyes like chips of ice.
Edward shook his head, dolorously. “Perkin...”
A sharp flash of fear lit in Perkin’s eyes, but he stood his ground, needing the words. “Tell me!”
“He is no longer with us brother.”
Perkin staggered back as if he had been physically struck. “No.”
Edward reached out, but his brother shook him off and took a suspicious step away.
“Colin McGreggor shot him,” Edward rushed to explain. “He was working with Morgan’s stepbrother and Lord De Montrey.”
“You left him?” Perkin ground out.
“No!”
Edward felt like he was circling a drain. He focused on his love for Morgan, he focused on his father’s last words, he focused on the man standing accusatorily in front of him now…the brother who had always been the solid one.
A horrific fear nestled into Edward’s chest. It was his turn to be the strong one. He challenged Perkin’s mounting fear and stepped closer, his eyes locking on those of his older brother.
He stripped his soul bare and fed it into the next words. “I was with him right up to the very end. He passed in my arms. He was not alone. I was there for him, Perkin. I was strong for him,” Edward choked back the strangling lump in his throat. “I tried to be…you.”
Unbidden tears glistened in his brother’s eyes as he reached out and pulled Edward into a labored hug, weighted with loss. They cried, shrouded in the night, mourning the loss together. As their father would have wanted. As family did.
“Thank you,” Perkin murmured, his voice harrowed with a despair Edward had never heard before. “Take me to him. Let us bring him home, together.”