“What the hell do you mean?” he roared.
He had never been so enraged in his life. The six words he had bellowed at the top of his lungs brought his father, Lord Jamie, Jasper and four guards running to the garden. They were greeted with the sight of him standing in front of his chair with his fists doubled and his face no doubt infused with fury.
“Explain yourself,” he yelled at Althea.
“What’s going on here?” his father demanded.
“This is between me and her,” Declan snarled. “Stay out of it.” He was so angry he was shaking.
“You have made it between all of us with your disgraceful shouting,” his father stated. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You do not raise your voice to your wife, Declan,” Lord James had the nerve to say.
Declan rounded on him and would have lost his balance if Althea hadn’t shot up from her chair and grabbed him.
“Get your gods-be-damned hands off me,” he hissed.
“Calm down or you are going to have a stroke,” she said evenly but she released him, holding her hands up to show she would not touch him again.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he spat. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do.” He turned the full force of his rage on Jamie. “And she’s not my wife.”
“She is your betrothed,” his father said. “You will treat her with the respect she is due.”
He ignored those words and turned back to Althea. “Who told you?”
“Jack.”
That was no surprise, but it hurt like hell to hear her say it.
“How the hell does he know?”
“He went to Richter’s Creek and talked to someone there.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. I don’t suppose he thought it important.”
“The person could have been lying.”
“He doesn’t believe that is the case.”
“Because?”
“There are too many extenuating circumstances, too many clues.”
His father and Jamie might as well have been at a wiffle match for they were switching their stares back and forth between him and Althea. In any other situation, he might have found humor in their perplexed, confused looks and the way their heads swung from him to her and back again. At that moment, all he could find was fury. He ground his teeth, speaking around the constriction.
“How long has he known?”
“Known what?” his father asked. “What is this all about?”
She hesitated then raised her chin. “A month now.”
That stunned him so badly he staggered back from her, knocking aside Lord James’s outstretched hand. All he could do was stare at her. To give her her due, she did not look away. Did not flinch. She just stood there with her hands clasped in front of her.
“A month,” he repeated, his voice as soft as mist on a rose.
“He didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell him what?” his father demanded.
“So he told you instead and between the two of you, you decided to keep it from me until now?” he snapped.
“We thought it best, aye.”
“You thought it…”
That was the last straw. The betrayal he was feeling was scalding him alive.
“You gods-be-damned bitch,” he whispered.
“Declan!” his father said with a gasp of outrage.
“You lying, conniving, deceitful bitch.”
“That is quite enough, young man,” his father warned. “Get your ass to your room and stay there until…”
“I am not a gods-be-damned teenager for you to order about,” Declan shouted.
“You’re acting like one,” Lord Jamie told him.
Declan pointed a shaking finger at his godfather. “You keep the hell out of this. It doesn’t concern you.”
“Declan, listen to me,” Althea said. “We don’t know where he is. Where he took her. As soon as Jack told me what he had found out in Richter’s Creek I hired a private investigator. All the investigator was able to find out was that he was last seen on the docks at Carbondale with a woman in a wheelchair. There were two dozen ships anchored in the harbor that day. He’s been tracking down the passenger manifests for each of them but it is taking time. Those ships sailed to the four corners of our world. Trust me; we have not been idle in this.”
“Trust you?” Declan sneered. “Woman, I no longer trust either you or my so-called friend Jack.”
“We are trying to find her for you, Declan,” she said. “You must believe that.”
“Who in the name of the Father God are you talking about?” his father bellowed.
“Bess,” Declan answered.
The shocked looks that replaced the perplexed and confused ones on his father’s and godfather’s faces were priceless.
“The tavern girl is alive?” his father questioned.
Althea nodded. “Jack believes so.”
“And apparently with Penry,” Lord James put in.
“That appears to be the case, aye,” she replied.
“And they’ve known for a month and never said one word to me,” Declan accused.
“We were…” she began but he literally growled at her and pushed past her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” his father snapped.
“Let him go, Ned,” Lord James advised. “Now is not the time to press the issue. He’s just had a terrific blow.”
He could feel their eyes on him as he hobbled his way back into the keep. All he wanted to do was get to his father’s study and into the passageway that would take him far from Arlington Castle. It wasn’t until his bare feet touched the cold stone of the steps that he realized that wasn’t such a good idea. He wasn’t dressed to go streaking across the countryside—which had been his intent.
Cursing bitterly, he limped to the stairs, stopped before lifting his foot to the first step and let his shoulders drop. He stood there with his eyes closed, steeling himself to make the climb.
“Do you need help getting up the stairs, Your Grace?”
It was Iverson—helpful as ever—whose gentle voice spoke to him.
“No,” he said, opening his eyes. “But thank you, Iverson.”
The older man bowed. “You are most welcome, Lord Declan. Would it be all right with you if I walked with you to the top of the stairs?”
Polite, helpful and concerned about him, he thought. He turned to look at the servant. “I would like the company,” he said and was rewarded by a crinkling of the wrinkled face of George Iverson.
* * * * *
He should have known someone would come to bother him. The soft knock on the door told him precisely who it was. For a moment he stood there glaring at the portal, not wanting company, not inclined to talk to anyone but when that gentle knock came again, he growled.
“What?” he called out.
“May I come in?”
It was her, the gods-be-damn it, and she was the last of the bunch he wanted to see at that moment and he sure as hell didn’t want to talk to her.
“Declan, please,” Althea said. “I need to explain to you why Jack and I did not tell you. What he found out in Richter’s Creek.”
Well, he thought that should prove interesting.
“Come,” he barked.
The door opened slowly as though she expected him to throw something at her.
“Close the door,” he ordered.
She nodded and did as he asked then took a deep breath before turning to face him where he stood at the window. “May I sit?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Will you sit with me?”
Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned his hip against the window sill. “I’m fine right where I am.”
She pursed her lips and he knew she wanted to argue the matter but obviously thought better of it. She lifted her chin.
“When Jack rode with Tim back to the inn, he spent quite a bit of time speaking with the landlord. He learned something that made him begin to question the sequence of events that happened that night,” she said.
“Such as?”
“First the landlord told him after the young woman…”
“Her name is Bess,” he interrupted.
“After Bess shot herself to warn you, Penry sent all his men save one to ride after you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he ordered.
“That soldier would have been the one to dig the grave,” she said.
Declan snorted. “Penry sure as hell didn’t do it.”
“The landlord says he heard a shot in front of the inn and that when Tim woke and untied him, the two of them followed a blood trail down the stairs. Jack believes that was Bess’s blood.”
“Who was shot outside the inn?”
“Jack thinks it must have been the soldier who dug the grave. He said the landlord told him there was more blood leading from the front door, around the side of the inn and to the grave. If Penry shot the man to keep him from talking then it would make sense that he then dragged the poor man to the grave and tossed him inside.”
“And where does Jack think Bess was all this time?”
“The landlord said a wagon was taken from the stable. He heard the rattle of it and Jack said when he and your friend Daniel arrived at the inn they noticed wheel ruts in the mud.”
“So Penry placed Bess in the wagon and took off with her,” he said. “Ostensibly to Richter’s Creek.”
“And to a healer there.”
“So it was the healer to whom Jack spoke.”
She shook her head. “No, Penry cut the healer’s throat. We believe to keep him from telling anyone he had seen him. Whoever it was that Jack spoke to there told him he saw a soldier wearing a private’s uniform carrying a young woman into the healer’s cottage.”
“A private’s uniform?” Declan questioned.
“Most likely the coat belonging to the man Penry buried at the inn.”
“And this witness saw Penry leaving the healer’s with the woman?”
“He did.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Does the new captain at Gilhaven know this?”
“I imagine he does. The day he was here he hinted that there was more to Penry’s disappearance that he was not at liberty to discuss. It would stand to reason that might well be what he meant. If so, he has kept the knowledge to himself.”
“And you and Jack did the same gods-be-damned thing to me,” he accused.
“We didn’t want to tell you until we knew something for sure. To get your hopes up. Until we had unimpeachable information about their whereabouts. You were in such a foul mood; we didn’t want to make it any worse.”
“And you think by keeping that knowledge from me it was going to make my mood any less foul?” he demanded.
“We knew you were in no condition to go after Penry. By the gods, Declan, you could barely stand a month ago.” She swept a hand toward him. “You’re not that much better now. Do you really believe yourself capable of going up against a trained military man as you are now?”
“I was a trained military man as well, or have you forgotten that?” he snapped.
“Aye you are but I know how hard it is for you to sit astride horse. To walk. To stand for very long. How could you possibly fight Penry and hope to win?”
“Who says I was going to fight him?” he challenged.
“What were you going to do?” she asked. “Shoot him in the back?”
“You know better than that,” he said, stung by such a question.
“Ten paces at dawn, then?” she queried. “You turn, lose your balance and his shot hits you in the chest as you go down?”
She took a few steps closer to him.
“Or were you planning on using rapiers instead? That would work equally well, would it not? You clumsily parrying his thrusts. Hobbling along the floor. I’m sure he would wait for you to right yourself before he ran you through the heart.”
“I didn’t think you had a mean bone in your body, Thea, but I can see I misjudged you,” he replied.
“We were trying to protect you. Don’t you see that?”
“This is my life you are trifling with,” he shouted.
“My life, too,” she shot back.
Exasperated, he uncrossed his arms and raised them to his shoulders, flexing his fingers into fists as he spoke. “Will you please, please stop thinking we are going to be married? We are not. Not now, not ever. Especially not now.”
“I refuse to accept that,” she said.
“You’d better, for I have no intention of ever Joining with you, Althea,” he told her.
“What of the marriage contracts?” she asked.
“Let them put me in jail for breach of contract. What the hell do I care?”
“And Bess?” she asked. “If you are locked in prison will you allow her to remain with Penry?”
It was a low blow and one that made him itch to slap her beautiful face. Instead, he did the next best thing.
“I want you gone from here. Go back to Standfield Hall. Go to hell; I don’t care which. I want you out of my home. Out of my life. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”
She was stricken by his words. “Does it matter at all to you that I love you?”
“No.”
That one word seemed to hurt her more than any blow could have. He watched a single tear fall slowly down her cheek.
“Then I am sorry I bothered you,” she said. She turned to the door.
“And don’t come back,” he told her.
She didn’t look around, didn’t stop as she opened the door.
“You need have no fear on that account, Lord Declan,” she said.
After she was gone he expected his father to come annoy him, but he didn’t. No one came. He stood at the window until his leg would not allow him to remain upright so he wove his way over to the chair and sat down. He was hungry but had no desire to go downstairs for he didn’t want to see anyone or argue with them. He half expected to have his door thrown open and Jack stomp in to confront him, but that didn’t happen, either. As the sun began to lower in the sky, he remained in his chair with his face turned toward the window.
“She’s alive,” he said.
Aye, he thought. Alive and with his mortal enemy. Which raised the question: who the hell was buried in the grave at the Hound and Stag?
And why was he not overjoyed to learn Bess had not died that night at the inn? Shouldn’t he be shouting his happiness to his rooftops? Falling about the room trying to dance a jig over the news?
Of course he was happy to know she was alive, although just thinking of her with Penry made his blood run cold.
Then a brutal, wicked thought slithered its way through his mind.
Why was she with Penry? Why had he taken her from the inn in the first place? Had the bastard staged the whole scenario to make him think his lover was dead? Surely that wasn’t the case else the soldier who had reported what had happened that night would have been privy to the deception. How could he not have been? That soldier had believed the landlord’s daughter had shot herself to warn the highwayman he was riding into a trap. There was blood pooled on the floor at the foot of her bed. Tim had spoken to her and knew she had been shot. He had seen the blood himself.
So why pretend she was buried behind it?
Two reasons, that mean little inner voice whispered. To hurt you and to make you think she was dead. For what purpose?
So she could disappear with Penry?
Had Bess played him for a fool? Been stringing him along the whole time? Had she been in league with Penry? Had she been the bait in his trap and when the trap backfired had the gun at her breast accidentally discharged, wounding her? If that were the case, it would make sense that he took her from the inn, made it look as though she had died and was buried there then taken her to a healer.
And the healer had to die lest he betray the fact she wasn’t dead.
“No,” he whispered. “That can’t be what happened.”
Such evil considerations cut into him so deeply his very soul was bleeding.
* * * * *
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
Jack’s unceremoniously invasion of his bedchamber didn’t surprise him. He’d been expecting it all day the day before but it hadn’t come. He’d gone to bed expecting to be dragged out of his sleep by the same irate man who was hovering in his doorway glowering at him this morn.
Eight days later than Declan had expected, but here now to fuck up his day.
“You are not welcome in my room, McGregor,” he said. “Leave.”
“You go to hell,” Jack snapped and slammed the door shut behind him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing a loaded pistol aimed at your crotch wouldn’t cure,” Declan replied dryly.
Jack snorted.
Ignoring Jack, he limped into the bathing chamber and to the porcelain bowl.
“Where’s the cane Tim whittled for you?” Jack demanded, stalking behind him.
“Most likely in the garden where I left it,” he replied as he pulled up his nightshirt and took hold of his cock to piss. He glanced around at Jack. “Tell you what. Why don’t you fetch it and I’ll shove it up your arse so you’ll know right where it is at all times.”
“Do you have any idea how badly you hurt Althea?” Jack countered.
“Do you have any idea how badly the two of you hurt me?” he asked, watching the stream of urine flowing into the bowl.
“If we did it was not intentional or done apurpose. You, my poggleheaded friend, cannot say the same,” Jack stated. “You meant to hurt her and you did.”
“Such is life,” Declan said. He shook his cock then stepped back, letting the nightshirt fall over his nakedness.
“If you weren’t a fucking invalid, I’d make you one for what you did to her,” Jack said through his teeth.
Turning to the vanity, Declan poured water into the ewer then washed his hands. “Why let that stop you?”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jack questioned, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, blocking exit.
Declan dried his hands then faced Jack. “You think I enjoy being crippled, McGregor?”
Jack kicked his chin up. “I think you are playing it to the hilt is what I think. Hiding up here in your room like a mole in its tunnel prevents you from living life, don’t it?”
“You call this living?” he asked. “Not hardly.” He stepped forward. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”
“Or what?” Jack challenged, not moving. “Stomp your good leg and hold your breath until you turn blue?” He raked his eyes down Declan. “That’s about all you’re good for at the moment.”
Declan felt that insult go through him like a sharp knife. It hurt. Gods, how it hurt, but he kept his mouth shut although he knew he couldn’t hide the deep wound those words caused for his eyes watered.
“You hurt her, Declan,” Jack said quietly, stepping back to allow him to leave the bathing chamber.
“Aye, well, it is what it is,” he replied.
“Do you know everyone in this keep adores her?” Jack asked. “They believe she walks on water. Especially Tim.”
Declan had guessed as much from things the maids said outside his door—things they intended for him to hear. The little bitches sang Thea’s praises every chance they got.
“From the moment she first laid eyes on Tim she never once flinched. She doesn’t see the horror the greasers made of his face. She reaches out and touches him when she speaks to him, hooks her arm through his and walks with him as though they’ve been friends for years. Makes him smile. Hell, she makes the bastard laugh.
“She sees him no differently, treats him no differently than she does any of the rest of us. She’s the first woman to show him such compassion since he fell into the Diabolusian’s hands. She is a good woman.”
“A woman you think I should have as my wife,” Declan accused.
“Aye, I do,” Jack agreed. “As does your father and Lord James, Tim, Fairling, Suz. Everyone here does. They were sorry to see her leave because they had come to gladly, happily accept her as the future mistress of Arlington Castle. They knew they could count on her. They love her. They respect her and now—thanks to you—they pity her.”
Declan flinched as he sat down on the bed to pull on his breeches.
“You told your father she didn’t deserve you?” Jack questioned. “Well you don’t deserve her.”
“Do you think Bess was working for Penry?” Declan asked.
Jack was about to say something else but that question made him snap his mouth shut. He stared at him as Dec pulled himself to his feet gripping the four-poster.
“Where the hell did that come from?” he asked.
“Could he have used her to keep me coming back to the inn so he knew where I would be in order to take me down?”
Jack blinked then his eyebrows drew together. He reached up to scrub his hand down his face. “Is that what you think?” he asked.
“I’ve considered it,” Declan said, relieved to push the topic of Althea and his treatment of her from the conversation. “How could I not?”
“Well, I hadn’t considered it,” Jack told him. “Not for a second.”
“Why not?”
“Because she loved you,” Jack said.
“Or pretended to,” Declan said softly. It hurt to speak the words but they needed to be said.
“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “She loved you. She pulled that trigger apurpose to warn you. I rode to Gilhaven to find that soldier who had confessed to Gunderson. As luck would have it I got to him a few days before he deserted.”
“A deserter? Not the kind of man who would be honest with you. So what did he tell you?” He peeled the nightshirt from his chest and tossed it aside.
“That he believed Bess was dead. She had shown nothing but contempt for Penry. This soldier, Belk, kept an eye on her much of the time and he said he could see her distress, her fear. She was terrified for you. The other soldier—Jonas—warned her the musket had a hair trigger. She knew it, so if you’re thinking it was an accident that the musket went off, that wasn’t the case.”
Declan leaned over to pick up his shirt, almost lost his balance, saw Jack start forward then stop.
“Penry faked the burial,” Jack said, staying where he was. “He killed the healer so no one would know he had Bess with him. He stole the money from his family home then went to Carbondale. He was seen with a woman in a wheelchair—a woman the witness told the investigator seemed either drugged or unconscious. Our man is trying to find which ship they boarded and where it went. He’s narrowed it down to five.”
Dragging the shirt over his head, he asked why it was taking so long to check manifests.
“Two of the ships have offices that are open only when the ship is in port. Their records are locked in safes to which our man has no access. The other three bring their offices with them aboard ship. The harbormaster recorded those ships leaving Carbondale for Ionary, Oceania and Necroman. We doubt Penry would go to Necroman so our investigator left for Ionary a week ago.”
“Then it could be another week—even two—before you hear from him,” Declan said.
“I imagine so.”
“I want to know as soon as you hear anything.” Jack didn’t reply so he looked over at him. “Did you hear me?”
“You hurt her,” Jack said. “Needlessly and cruelly.”
They were back to Althea, he thought and sat down on the bed.
“She is better off with me out of her life.”
“Arguably that’s true,” Jack acknowledged. “But the silly woman happens to be in love with you and you broke her heart.”
Declan looked down at his thigh. “She’ll get over it.”
“I’m sure she will since there’s been a development you should like,” Jack told him.
“What development?” he asked.
“Your father will tell you,” Jack said. He turned to go.
“Why don’t you save him the trouble and tell me?”
“Because I don’t want to see the look on your face when you hear the words,” Jack replied. He snatched open the door and stomped out, leaving the portal open behind him.
“What look?” he yelled after Jack. “What fucking look, Jack?”
* * * * *
Edward paused on his way up the stairs to wait for Jack to join him. “Did you tell him?” he asked.
“I’ll leave that honor to you,” Jack grumbled. “If I’d stayed in there much longer, I’d have smashed him in those pearly whites.”
“Wait for me in the study, if you will. Pay no attention to the workmen.”
“Workmen?” Jack questioned.
“That’s how the little bastard got out of the keep unnoticed,” Edward said. “Through that secret corridor behind the painting of his great-grandfather.”
“I had forgotten about that passageway,” Jack said.
“As had I, but I am having a lock placed on the postern gate.”
“Just one more way to tweak his nose, eh, Your Grace?” Jack asked with a laugh.
“If he weren’t grown, I’d take his ass over my knee, but what I have to tell him will be punishment enough.”
“You think he’ll consider it in that light?”
“Mayhap not when I tell him or even this day, but when it sinks in, he will,” Edward replied and continued up the stairs.
Not bothering with knocking, he opened his son’s bedchamber door and entered. Declan was sitting on the bed with his shoulders slumped and his head down.
“Come to the desk,” Edward ordered.
He expected a protest from his son but Declan surprised him. The boy put a hand on the four-poster and levered himself to his feet. He limped over to the desk and stood there silently.
“Sit,” Edward told him.
Declan pulled out the chair and sat with barely a wince as his knees bent.
Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Edward withdrew an envelope, opened it, unfolded its contents then slapped them down on the desktop. He leaned over, picked up a pen and extended it to his son.
“Sign.”
Declan glanced up at him, frowned then looked down at the papers.
“No need to read them,” Edward snapped. “Just sign and let us be done with this.”
Still looking at the papers but making no move to read them, Declan shook his head. “With all due respect, Father, I’m not signing anything until I know what it is.”
“It’s what you’ve wanted all these months,” Edward told him. “‘Tis the nullification of the marriage contract.” He shoved the pen into Declan’s hand. “Now sign.”
“Nullification?” Declan repeated.
“I’ve not all day to fool with you, Declan James,” Edward said. “Sign the bloody paper.”
He realized his son’s eyes were scanning the document before him. There were only two pages. The first was all the legal mumbo-jumbo the king’s solicitor had drawn up rendering the marriage contract null and void. The second contained the signatures of the parties involved: Lord Alastair Standfield, Duke of Oxmoor; Lord Edward Farrell, Duke of Arlington; Lady Althea Standfield, Countess of Edgerton. The only signature remaining to be penned was his son’s. At the bottom of the page was a place for His Majesty’s grandiose scrawl and seal. When Declan flipped the first page over and saw the signatures, he released a long breath. He laid the pen down.
“No,” he said. “I’m not signing this.”
“Aye, you will,” Edward told him. “Lord Alastair hiked himself to Boreas to have this paper drawn up and spent an hour groveling at the king’s feet before his petition to have the contract voided was granted. The poor man was humiliated, shamed when His Majesty asked him what was so wrong with his daughter that even a black sheep like you did not want her. You will sign it.”
“I’ll not sign it for I’ll not have anyone—including the king—think anything is wrong with Thea,” Declan said.
“You should have thought of that before you so carelessly discarded her,” Edward told him. “Sign the gods-be-damned papers, Declan.”
“If I do, she will have trouble finding a man who will vie for her hand and I can’t…”
“One has already asked for her hand and Lord Alastair has given his blessing,” Edward told him.
Declan looked up at him. “Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Aye, it does,” Declan said. “Who?”
“Captain Rand Gunderson—formerly of the Governmental Regiment Military Tribunal and now commandant of the garrison at Gilhaven,” Edward replied.
“A soldier?” Declan scoffed.
“Oh, he is far more than a mere soldier. His mother is the younger sister of High King Rolf of the Uigingeach Royal House of Bordine. The good captain bears the rank of Duke of Stybiorne, thus he outranks you.”
That stung him, Edward thought.
“Bully for him.”
“Jealous?”
“No.”
Edward smiled. “He will make her a good husband. One deserving of her.”
And that one cut.
“Althea is all right with this?” Declan questioned.
“It would seem so since she has received him at Standfield Hall and he is escorting her to the Harvest Ball at the palace tomorrow evening.”
“So much for there never being another man for her,” Declan grumbled.
“It is what it is,” Edward said and when his son glared at him, he shrugged. “One of your sayings I have adopted for my own.” He nudged his chin toward the paper. “Now sign. I will be attending the ball at Boreas and wish to be leaving shortly.”
“You didn’t think to ask me to join you?” Declan complained.
“What?” Edward asked, feigning shock. “You would want to leave your room and venture out with the other living beings in our world?”
“Mayhap I am tired of my room.”
“Then sign the paper and I will have Iverson come pack a weekend bag for you.”
“I’ll not sign that paper until I speak with Althea,” Declan stated.
“She has no desire to either speak to you or see you, Declan James. Sign the gods-be-damned papers.”
“No.”
Edward locked what he hoped was his sternest glower upon his son but Declan withstood it. The boy’s jaw was clenched, his fists doubled on the desk but he did not blink. His unwavering stare was a good sign.
“All right. Have it your way. If you wish for Althea and her father to embarrass you at court, so be it.” He snatched up the papers, refolded them and stuffed them back in the envelope. “I’ll send Iverson to see to your packing.”
That said, he spun on his heel and trying not to allow the triumphant grin from stretching across his lips, leaving his son to do the brooding at which the boy was so professionally good.