Chapter Nineteen
Ewan burst through the door of Griffin’s Emporium, Matthew and Baldwin at his heels, and scanned the shop for Charlotte. She was nowhere to be found, but the Duchess of Sheffield was there, standing at the front of the shop, arguing with the owner.
“You make no sense, Mr. Griffin,” she said, fisting her hands at her sides. “I have been waiting for three-quarters of an hour!”
Ewan charged forward, pushing aside displays as he did so. Griffin’s eyes went wide and he staggered back flat against the shelves behind the counter. The duchess turned, and she jolted at the sight of her son, Matthew and Ewan.
“What is going on?” she asked.
Ewan ignored her, tearing the notebook from his pocked. On it he wrote, “Where is Charlotte?”
He threw the pad at Griffin, who stammered as he read it. “Your Grace, Your Grace…”
“Where is my sister?” Baldwin repeated, his voice shaking the shop.
“That is what I’ve been asking!” the duchess said. “They left me almost forty-five minutes ago, to check on a gift. Then this man returned without Charlotte. He’s been trying to tell me she left from the back to do other errands, which is patently ridiculous.”
Griffin lifted his hands, now surrounded by three dukes whose rage was very obvious. “I—he made me, Your Grace. He forced me.”
Ewan nearly buckled. He’d had hope that his mother was wrong about Josiah’s wild rage. That when he rode into town he’d find Charlotte and her mother peacefully shopping. That she would be confused when he strode up to her and embraced her, when he vowed never to ever let her go again.
But now it was clear from Griffin’s face that all his worst nightmares were real.
“Josiah took her,” Matthew said, likely the calmest of the three.
“Josiah? Ewan’s brother?” the duchess cried. “Took her—what are you talking about?”
Baldwin took her arm, guiding her away gently to explain what was happening to her. As he did so, Matthew leaned in to Griffin. “You tell us the truth. Now.”
Behind them, the Duchess of Sheffield let out a horrified cry that was like an animal being injured. Ewan flinched as she collapsed, sobbing against her son. “Not my daughter! You mustn’t let him do something to Charlotte!”
Griffin gaped like a fish, then burst out, “He’s mad, Your Grace. Like a wild dog. I didn’t know he wanted to kill anyone. I swear to you, I didn’t!”
That only made the duchess’s weeping worse and the sound filled the room. Ewan slammed his hands down on the glass displays so hard that they cracked. It seemed he got his point across without having to write anything, for Griffin squealed like the cornered pig he was.
“She didn’t want him to hurt her mother,” he all but sobbed. “So she convinced him to take her somewhere else.”
“Where?” Baldwin shouted as he fought to keep his mother upright.
“The hunting lodge on the hill,” Griffin choked out. “She convinced him to take her there.”
Ewan shook his head. She had convinced him, to protect her mother—and perhaps to give Ewan an upper hand. After all, there had just been a lot of activity at the lodge lately, with the tenants staying there until the thread of flood faded. He’d just been there, thanks to that, while his brother had not visited that place in…years. Decades, perhaps, Ewan would wager.
He drew in a deep breath and turned to his friends. He scribbled, “Someone must take the duchess back to the estate.”
Matthew moved forward and gently took over from Baldwin. “I’ll take her,” he said softly. “Her brother should be with you, Ewan.”
Ewan spun on Griffin and wrote, “And you. If I come back here later and you are still in my village, I will make certain you suffer greatly for your part in this.”
Griffin swallowed and jerked out a nod.
Ewan motioned to Baldwin, and they raced out to mount their waiting horses and thundered off toward the hunting lodge just over the bridge and up a long hill. He could only hope that they wouldn’t be too late.
Charlotte winced as Roger tied her hands tightly with her fingers laced together. He had been waiting in the carriage when Josiah dragged her from the shop half an hour earlier. While Josiah prattled on and threatened, Roger had been silent on the long ride up the hill to the hunting lodge. She had hope then, but once they arrived he’d done everything Josiah had directed, including tied her to a chair, and now binding her hands.
She examined him as he leaned in to do his work. Roger didn’t look quite as driven by madness as his elder brother did. Of course, he’d never had the illusion that the title belonged to him. That could play in her favor if she were careful.
If she could convince him not to do everything he was told.
“You don’t have to be his lackey,” she said softly.
Roger turned his face and pulled the ropes tight enough that they dug into her skin. She sucked in a breath and glared at the now-grinning Josiah.
“I don’t want you talking to Ewan,” he said, “in that secret little language of yours.” He shook his head like he was disgusted. “You were a lady. Whatever possessed you to put so much time into a dullard like him?”
She held his stare as she tried to find calm enough to speak. “That will be your downfall, you know. That you judge his silence to mean he is not smarter than you. That he isn’t stronger. That he isn’t better in every way.”
Josiah marched forward, hands shaking. He caught her cheeks in his fist and squeezed until her jaw hurt. “You shut your fucking mouth,” he growled. “Or I’ll find something else for you to do with it before I kill you.”
She shuddered, for his meaning was more than clear. She pressed her lips together as he walked away to stir the fire he’d built upon their arrival. She had to think. Plan.
She couldn’t sign to Ewan when he arrived, and she had no illusions that he wouldn’t arrive. Josiah had sent a message up to the house just a few minutes before. In an hour or so, Ewan would come thundering up. Alone, if he followed instruction.
And walk into a nightmare.
She shifted, trying her binds, but Roger had tied them tight. “Gag her,” Josiah said.
“No, wait,” she gasped. “You don’t want me to sign to him, yes?”
He glared at her, silent and dead-eyed. “Gag her,” he repeated.
“No!” she shouted, turning her head as Roger approached with a dirty strip of fabric to stuff into her mouth. “Listen to me, damn it. If you truly want to hurt him, you’ll listen!”
Josiah straightened and raised a hand to halt his brother. He moved toward her, examining her. “You want to hurt him?”
“Of course not,” she panted, glaring up at him. “But you do. To do that, you need to be able to let him communicate with you. You have two choices for that. You can have him write everything on his notebook.”
Josiah let out a sound of disgust. “God, the notebook. Writing, writing, writing. No.”
“Then your other option is to let him sign what he has to say and let me translate.” She swallowed, hating this. All of it. “You want to hear his pain, don’t you? To really feel it? Well, you need me as a mouthpiece to make that happen.”
She held her breath as she waited for his decision. She could only hope it would be the one that left her ungagged. Otherwise, she had no chance to tell Ewan what he needed to know. To help him through this and get them both out alive.
“It’s risky,” Josiah mused. He looked at his brother, but she could tell he didn’t give a damn what Roger thought. The youngest of their set was as much of a pawn in this game as Griffin had been. She wondered if he knew that.
Certainly, Roger didn’t look happy about any of this.
“It would be useful to be able to communicate with that idiot, though.” Josiah rubbed his chin as he mulled it over. “Roger will stand at your side, my lady. If you do anything foolish, I’ll have him put a slug in your skull.”
Roger stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m not shooting her.”
Josiah lifted his gaze, his face twisting. “What?”
“I said I’d help you with Ewan,” Roger said, folding his arms. “Not kill her.”
“You coward!” Josiah sneered as he moved toward Roger in what could only be seen as a threatening pose. Charlotte held her breath. If they fought, perhaps the situation would take care of itself before Ewan even arrived.
But just as Josiah swung on Roger, the younger man cried out, “A rider!”
Josiah turned toward the window that overlooked the front of the house and bit back a curse. “Bloody hell, it looks like Ewan. What is he doing here? My message shouldn’t have even reached him yet!”
Charlotte strained in her seat, trying to see the rider. She caught just a glimpse of him but knew immediately that it was, indeed, Ewan. Which meant he had come looking for her, likely at the shop and Griffin had told the truth about her whereabouts. She was torn between relief and horror.
Relief because he was here and he was coming for her. Horror because Josiah was so unpredictable that this change to his plans might very well cause him to just shoot Ewan on sight.
She shuffled in her chair, making the legs drag on the wooden floor with a squeak. That drew Josiah’s attention to her, just as she’d hoped, and he came toward her, gun lifted to level between her eyes.
She squeezed them shut as he pressed the barrel right to her forehead. “This is a two-shot pistol, my lady. One for you, one for him. Don’t make me use the first one before he even gets to be part of the fun.”
She shook her head. “I-I won’t.”
“Open the door for our brother, Roger,” Josiah called over his shoulder without looking away from Charlotte. “Invite him in to the party.”
Ewan swung down from his horse slowly, never removing his gaze from the house. It was a fine lodge, built four generations ago. He’d always rather liked the place, for it was where he’d gone to hide as a little boy when his father dragged the family to the country.
But now he stared at it and it only caused him fear. If Charlotte was inside, she might already be dead. If she wasn’t, he had no idea how he would find her or what his brother’s treachery would entail. Josiah could hurt Charlotte in so many ways before Ewan even found them, and his heart ached at the thought of not being able to save her.
But to his relief, the door opened and it was Roger who stood there, pointing a pistol at Ewan as he said, “Come in now. Slowly.”
Ewan held up his hands, proving he had no weapon, at least not one he could get to easily. He moved up the stairs, keeping his gaze locked on Roger, and eased past him into the main room of the lodge. He nearly buckled at what he saw. Charlotte was tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room. Josiah stood beside her, a gun pressed to her temple. Her hands bound cruelly. He could see the pink strain of her flesh between the rough ropes.
But she was alive and seemingly unharmed, and she let out a sob as she looked at him.
“Should I search him?” Roger asked.
Josiah pushed the gun harder against her, causing her skin to go white around the barrel. “No need. He’s not going to pull a gun. He knows what will happen if he does. Don’t you, fool?”
Ewan lifted his chin slightly and nodded. “Your brother is coming around the back,” he signed to Charlotte. “And Matthew will be coming with the guard soon.”
She nodded, though her face showed no relief or fear or anything else. She was perfectly serene and unreadable now, calm in the face of a horrible storm. She said, “He’s asking after my well-being. I’m fine, Ewan. I’m not hurt.”
“Yet,” Josiah corrected, and smiled.
Ewan jolted, for in that moment his brother looked exactly like their father. He had the same cruel bent to his lips, the same spark of anger in his eyes. It almost brought Ewan back to a long-ago time when he’d had no power. Almost. Charlotte kept him grounded.
“It’s all yet at this point, you see.” Josiah sneered. “So, welcome to hell, Ewan.”
Ewan glared at his brother. “Is he letting you translate then?” he signed.
“Ewan wants to know what you’re doing,” she lied. She kept her gaze focused firmly on Ewan’s. The message in her eyes was clear.
“Very well,” Ewan signed. “I’ll speak to him and you be my voice. We’ll stall him as long as possible.”
“He wants to know what you want,” she added.
“I’ve no idea what secret little messages you are sending the great love of your life,” Josiah said. “But I assume her questions are what are truly in your head. You want to know what I want?”
Ewan nodded.
“You know what I want,” Josiah hissed. “You know what I deserve.”
Ewan turned his attention on Josiah fully and signed, “The title.”
When Charlotte had translated, Josiah sneered. “My title,” he corrected. “It’s always been my damned title.”
Ewan let out a breath and tried to recall what this man had gone through as a child. To try to appeal to the pain in his heart rather than the hate. “That’s what Father told you,” he signed. “What he taught you to believe through his violence. That you were entitled to it. That I was trying to rob you.”
“Yes.”
Ewan glanced at Roger. “And what about you? What did he tell you?”
Roger seemed confused to be included in their conversation, but he slowly said, “He—he told me that you were a usurper. That my job was to help my brother get what was his.”
“And what was yours?” Ewan asked, meeting Roger’s eyes as Charlotte translated. “Was anything yours?”
Roger swallowed and the answer flitted across his face. “No,” he admitted softly.
“Enough,” Josiah snapped, and he grabbed Charlotte’s hair, tilting her head back. “This is between you and me.”
“Yes,” Ewan signed with a nod. “You and me. You ought not to bring Roger into it, nor Charlotte. Let them both go and it can be between you and me.”
Charlotte hesitated. “No,” she said, addressing him rather than the others. “No, I won’t let you do that.”
He tilted his head and signed, “Sacrificing yourself for me is not an option.”
“You tell me what he said!” Josiah roared, and swung on Charlotte. The back of his hand hit her face, and Ewan jumped forward as she turned away with a gasp of pain. Redness rose to her cheek immediately.
She slowly repeated what Ewan had signed, her eyes welling with tears that he believed had more to do with him than with her own pain or fear. Because she was Charlotte, and she loved him like no one else had ever loved him.
“I’m not letting her go,” Josiah sneered. “The problem exists with both of you now. A child, even a bastard one, could ruin my plans if she fought it. And she would, wouldn’t you?” He turned his attention on her. “Because you love him so very, very much.”
“I do,” she admitted. “Has no one ever loved you?”
Ewan saw his brother’s face convulse, a mask of pain and even more rage. He wished he could scream more than he ever had in his entire life, to tell her to stop. She was kicking a hornet’s nest right now, and if she played it wrong, she would be dead before he could do anything.
“That man, that duke, that bastard who sired you all,” she continued softly, gently even. “He taught you to hate each other. To compete. That your bond was one of destruction. But did he ever teach you love? Or acceptance? Forgiveness?” She swallowed. “You deserved that, just as Ewan did. Perhaps what you really hate about him is that he escaped the house when you could not. That he was given the love you so wanted.”
“Stop,” Ewan signed desperately. “Look at his face, Charlotte. Stop!”
She ignored him. “You still have time to change this, Josiah. To redefine your life. You and Roger both.”
“I’m redefining my life, my lady. I’m going to shoot you between the eyes and watch him wrestle with his silence as you bleed out on the floor. I’m going to make him feel your very last breath. And then I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to make it look like he killed you and then himself.”
She stiffened and her gaze flitted to Ewan. The expression on her face tore his heart in two. She was calm. Accepting. Filled with love that washed over him and made every effort to make what was about to happen all right for him.
It wasn’t. It never could be.
“Watch me,” Josiah whispered. Then he depressed the trigger of his pistol.
Ewan braced for the end of his life, the end of everything that had ever mattered to him. But to his surprise, it didn’t come. The trigger depressed, but nothing happened.
Josiah stared at the pistol in his hand, shook it and pressed the trigger again. But still nothing. Ewan lunged forward to take advantage of his distraction and hit his brother with his full weight. They slid across the floor together, the gun rattling out of the way.
“What is going on?” Josiah bellowed as he struggled with Ewan, caught in a death grapple as they each tried to overcome the other.
“He unloaded it,” Charlotte sobbed as she began to struggle against the ropes. “When you went to get the carriage, I convinced Mr. Griffin to unload the pistol.”
“You shoot her!” Josiah screamed at Roger as he pushed hard against Ewan. “You shoot her and you shoot him!”
Roger had been standing at the door, and now Ewan watched in horror as he swung his gun at Charlotte. Her eyes went wide, real fear in them now. She’d prepared for one contingency, but not the other, it seemed.
At that moment, one of the doors that led from the main room flung open. Baldwin rushed through, gun drawn, and skidded to a halt, his weapon pointed at Roger, but he didn’t fire. Of course he couldn’t. One wrong move and Charlotte would die.
“Please don’t,” he panted. “Please don’t kill my sister.”
Roger flinched and his gaze slid to Ewan. Then Josiah. His hands shook as he lowered the gun. Everything in the room slowed and then stopped.
“No,” he said. “No, Josiah, I won’t.”
“What?” Josiah roared. “What are you bloody talking about?”
“I told you I’d help you get what you were owed,” Roger said, swallowing hard. “But I never said I’d shoot an innocent woman. Or my own…my own brother.”
“You coward!” Josiah screeched, and threw an elbow that took Ewan off guard. It connected with his temple, and his vision blurred and his grip relaxed a fraction. Josiah threw him off, lunging toward Roger in an obvious bid to take the gun.
Roger lifted the weapon again. “Don’t make me!” he shouted.
But Josiah ignored him, still sweeping forward in flat-footed rage. Ewan rushed for Charlotte as Baldwin lifted his weapon. There was the sharp, heavy blast of a pistol being fired, and Josiah froze. He looked down at the spreading circle of blood staining his dandified shirt.
“You,” Josiah coughed as he fell to his knees, and then flat on his face, dead before he hit the wooden planks below.
For a long moment, no one moved. Roger continued to train the gun straight forward as he stared at Josiah’s body. Sobbing breaths wracked his body. Slowly, Baldwin edged over to him.
“Put the gun down,” he said softly, gently.
Roger stared at it in his hand, then down again at his dead brother. With a shake of his head, he set the weapon on the floor, sat down beside it and began to weep.
As Baldwin rushed to move the weapon out of his reach, Ewan reached Charlotte. He knelt before her, cupped her cheeks and kissed her. She lifted her chin, making tiny sounds, little sobs as she returned every kiss.
“Here, my hands,” she said, and he managed to stop kissing her long enough to begin working on the knots that bound her poor fingers so tightly together.
“Is she well?” Baldwin asked as he stepped away from Roger and stuffed both guns in his waist.
“I’m fine,” she said, looking at her brother. “Thanks to your heroism and Ewan’s.”
Baldwin sagged a moment, relief all over his face. From the floor, Roger began to gag and Baldwin stooped to help him to his feet. “Outside, boy, it’s all right. You can cast up your accounts in the bushes.”
Ewan watched as one of the men he had considered his brother all his life helped the one of his blood from the room with a gentleness Roger likely didn’t deserve. There would be much to handle with the family of his birth, but right now all he cared about was Charlotte.
He got her fingers free and she flexed them, pushing blood back to them as he struggled with the ropes that bound her to the chair. In seconds she was free, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her entire body shook as she clung to him, smoothing her hands over his hair and his shoulders, as if to check that he was unharmed.
She was murmuring endless, soft words of love, sweet nothings that were everything as he gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the lodge, away from the dead body of the brother who had been raised to hate him so deeply. Out into the fresh air where Roger lay on the grass, an arm over his eyes.
Baldwin rushed to them as Ewan set Charlotte’s feet back on the ground. The siblings embraced just as Matthew thundered up the hill with a cadre of people at his back, including the constable and a few men who seemed to have been conscripted into service.
Ewan sighed. What he wanted more than anything was to gather Charlotte up and take her home to his bed, where he could prove to himself that she wasn’t hurt. And prove to her, without the words that evaded him, how much he adored her. But there was work to be done. Work only the duke could do.
He dug into his pocket to find his notebook, but Charlotte detached herself from her brother and moved up beside him. “I’ll help,” she whispered.
“You’ve had too trying a day,” he signed in protest.
She shook her head. “You’ve had too trying a day. But we are doing this together. That’s all there is to it.”
He stared down at her, this love of his life. A woman he had lost once. Had almost lost twice and this time permanently. He nodded, taking her hand, and they moved to the milling group of newcomers to face whatever would come together.