Chapter 17
Seb hauled me to my feet. He was wiry but strong and I was weak, pathetic.
He wrenched my arms behind my back and shoved me into the pavilion wall. My cheek struck stone and I cried out as pain flared. Tears blurred my vision, choked my throat, but at least I could breathe now. If I could breathe, I could scream.
"Get off me!" I tried to shout, but it came out as a brittle squeak. I struggled, pushing back against him and against the pain in my wrists as he squeezed.
"That's it," he said, chuckling in my ear. "I like it when you fight." His tongue flicked out and licked my throat at my throbbing pulse, leaving behind a trail of sticky, hot saliva. "Delicious."
And then he was gone. Disappeared into thin air.
No, not vanished. He was there, on the ground, ripped off me by Dane. I had not heard him approach.
Dane's knee pressed down on Seb's chest, and his fist slammed into footman's face, over and over. Dane hadn't drawn his sword and it remained in its scabbard, strapped to his hip.
Seb tried to protect himself, but Dane batted his hands away as if they were no more threat than flies, and continued to pound him. Seb stopped struggling.
"Enough," I said, finding my voice. "Enough, Captain." I tried to pull him off Seb, but he didn't budge. "Stop, please!"
Dane eased back. He was breathing hard, his face damp with sweat. Seb's eyes were closed and blood smeared his mouth, nose and cheek. I went to check for a heartbeat, but Dane's arm whipped out, blocking me.
"Don't go near him," he growled in a voice I didn't recognize.
"I have to make sure he lives."
He looked at me, and despite the darkness, I could see the cold hatred in his eyes, or perhaps I could feel it. "Why?"
"Because…because I have to."
He continued to stare at me as if he was trying to see me, understand me. Could he? Or did his anger block him like his arm blocked me? The hand on the end of that arm was balled into a fist, as was the other.
This was not the man I'd come to know. Dane was kind, thoughtful, intelligent. Where was he?
I don't know why I touched his jaw. Perhaps it was instinct, or simply a desire to remove the mask and see the gentle man again.
He sucked in a roughened breath and his eyes fluttered closed. He turned his face into my hand and kissed my wrist, still sore from Seb's grip. His body seemed to sigh and his fists opened. He lowered his arm and circled it around me, holding me gingerly, as if I were fragile.
I pressed my forehead to his and clung to him, scrunching his doublet in my fingers. He was solid, strong, everything I needed in that moment.
"Thank you," I whispered, unable to say more with the tears once again clogging my throat. I hoped he understood that I wasn't just thanking him for rescuing me, but also for holding me like I was precious.
Seb groaned. He wasn't dead, and I wasn't as relieved about that as I thought I'd be.
Dane stood and helped me to my feet. Two guards walked past on patrol, oblivious to us in the pavilion's shadows.
"Tom, Rylan!" Dane called out.
Both men peered into the shadows. "Captain?" asked Tom. "That you?"
"Take this man to the cells."
The two guards followed his orders without question. They half-carried, half-dragged Seb between them. We stood side by side in silence and watched them go.
I was very aware of Dane and his presence. Very aware of everything. The evening air felt like feathers brushing my skin, cooling my hot neck. It smelled faintly of summer flowers, a far more pleasant scent than Seb's breath. I shivered, although I wasn't cold, but it seemed to be the signal Dane was waiting for.
He wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head under his chin. His fingers lightly massaged my neck as my silent tears soaked his doublet.
We stayed like that, neither of us moving, until my tears dried. I pulled back a little, and reluctantly released him. He touched my jaw, and lightly skimmed his thumb beneath my sore cheek.
"I should put something on it for the bruising," I said.
He took my hand. "I'll take you home." He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the garrison and prison.
"You should inform your men first."
He kept hold of my hand as we followed the wall of the northern wing, as if he knew I needed the comfort still.
"It's fortunate you walked past at that moment," I said.
His hand went to the sword at his hip. "Ruth came to see me. She said you'd urged her to do so. She told me about the other rape, and about the Deerhorn lordling accosting you behind the stables. I wanted to find you before you left and see if you were all right."
The incident with Lord Xavier seemed insignificant now. "He wanted to ask me again to spy on the duke of Gladstow for him. His mother interrupted us. I think she's furious that he tried to persuade me a second time."
Dane's fingers flexed around mine. "Did he hurt you?"
I blew out a ragged breath. "No."
He squeezed my hand. "Seb will claim innocence," he said. "Not for tonight, but for the rapes. He didn't hurt Ruth, yet I'd swear all three were committed by the same person."
"It was him. I'm certain of it. A conversation with Kitty tonight got me thinking. She can't tell the palace footmen apart. They're too similar, she says. What if the duke of Buxton thinks as she does? What if it wasn't Seb with him, at the time of Ruth's rape, but another footman?"
"I'll question the duke again tomorrow. Even if Seb isn't guilty, he's not going free."
"Will he stand trial?"
He didn't respond until we reached the garrison door. "I can't risk it, not until we know more about ourselves. If he talks about his memory loss…"
There was no need to finish the sentence. He was right, and I knew it. A public trial would expose too many secrets, not only about the memory loss but also the names of the women he'd raped. Ingrid wanted secrecy, and Ruth preferred it too. While I believed in a fair trial for all, my desire to protect those women was stronger.
"It's the right thing to do," I told him.
He blinked, as if he hadn't expected me to agree with him. Then he let go of my hand and pushed open the door.
I was glad to see there were only four guards inside. The rest would be either on patrol at the palace or in the village, or perhaps sleeping before they returned to duty. I was doubly glad that Brant wasn't among them.
"Josie?" Quentin's severe frown cut a deep line across his forehead. "What happened to you?" He indicated my cheek.
"A run-in with a footman." I gently felt the bone beneath the swelling. The pain was fierce but I expected that and managed to school my reaction. Even so, Quentin and Dane both winced.
"Pour Josie a drink," Dane told Quentin. "Something strong."
"Is the bone broken?" Quentin asked.
"I don't think so," I said.
"There's blood," Dane said simply.
"It has stopped."
Quentin removed the stops from three different bottles on the sideboard and sniffed the contents of each before settling on the third. He poured a good amount into a cup and handed it to me.
The spirit smelled strong and burned my throat as it went down. I coughed and tried to pass the cup back but Dane ordered Quentin not to take it.
"It'll help," he said.
"Help me get drunk."
"And numb the pain," Quentin added. "But you should still put something on that cheek."
"Thank you, Doctor." I smiled. He tried to look nonchalant but his smile gave him away.
"There's a new prisoner in the cells," Dane said to his men. "See that he gets food and water."
"A servant?" one of the guards asked.
"The footman who attacked Josie," Dane said.
The men exchanged glances. Quentin swore under his breath. "That's four prisoners now," he muttered.
Dane told me to drink the rest of the spirit. We were about to leave when he marched to the sideboard, grabbed the bottle, and escorted me out.
He roused a groom at the stables and ordered a horse be saddled. Just the one. He did not suggest I ride Sky, but seemed to want me on his horse with him this time.
The groom brought out Lightning, and Dane tucked the bottle into the bag strapped to the saddle. He assisted me up then settled in front of me and steered Lightning out of the stable yard to Grand Avenue.
He rode stiffly, both hands on the reins, and didn't speak. After the intimacy of earlier, I wanted more. I leaned into his back and wrapped both arms around his waist. His body relaxed.
We didn't speak all the way to Mull, but the silence didn't feel strained. It was peaceful in the dark, with only the stars and a crescent moon lighting our way. By the time we reached the edge of the village, Dane had relaxed enough to hold the reins with only one hand. His other rested on his thigh. It felt like an invitation for me to hold it, but I refrained. I liked having him circled in both my arms.
Once home, I dipped a clean cloth into a jar of salve and dabbed it on my cheek. Dane ordered me to sit and poured me a cup of the strong spirit. He didn't pour one for himself but he joined me at the kitchen table.
"Drink it all," he said when I merely sipped.
"It's very strong."
"It'll help you sleep."
He was right. It would help. Without it, I'd replay the events over and over in my mind. When I closed my eyes, I'd see Seb's face in the darkness, smell his stinking breath, feel his wet tongue on my neck.
I drank the entire contents in a single gulp and held the cup out for more. "Just one," I said as he poured. "And just for tonight. I can't block it out forever."
He eyed the bottle.
"I won't drink to forget, Dane. Not after tonight. I've seen what happens to those who do."
"I wish I could make you forget."
The irony of his words wasn't lost on either of us. We exchanged small smiles. It helped a little. The spirit helped a lot.
After the next cup, I could no longer keep my eyes open. I could feel myself slumping in the chair, my head nodding.
"Come on," came Dane's voice, very close. Next thing I knew, I was being scooped up and carried up the stairs.
"You can't come into my room." My voice slurred, and sounded distant.
"I'm just putting you to bed."
"My room…it's a mess. You can't see it." I struggled but it was pathetic and his step didn't even falter. I gave up and snuggled into him. I didn't care if it was wrong or that my father wouldn't have approved.
"I've already seen your room and you're right, it is a mess. Even Quentin's tidier than you." His rich, melodic voice vibrated through me. I tightened my grip on him, wanting to capture that voice and hold it.
"That's because he's scared of you," I said.
"Quentin? I doubt it."
We must have reached the landing because we no longer climbed. I cracked open an eye then closed it again as he carried me into my bedchamber.
"You need a maid to free your time for making medicines," he said. "Why not ask your friend from The Row, the one with the boy?"
"Can't," I said around a yawn. "No money." I was vaguely aware that I hadn't wanted to tell him that, then I promptly forgot as he placed me on the bed.
I ought to pose seductively, but I didn't know how, and in truth, I didn't want to be seductive tonight. I sighed deeply.
I felt my shoes being removed and the blanket settle over me. "Josie?" he murmured.
"Hmmm?"
"Sleep well."
"And you."
I was so tired I couldn't even open my eyes when he kissed my forehead, couldn't even cherish the kiss. Couldn't ask him to stay.
I had to face the palace sooner or later. It wasn't the memory of the attack that worried me but the questions and the looks on everyone's faces when they saw my cheek. It was bad enough that Quentin and the other guards who'd been in the garrison last night knew, but for some reason, I didn't want to explain to Miranda and Kitty. And I certainly didn't want to see Brant or any of the Deerhorns. Dealing with them would only shatter my still fragile nerves. I did, however, want to deliver some of the salve to Seb. I didn't think it would be enough for his wounds, but it was something.
Dane came to see me, however, saving me the journey.
"I can't stay long," he said, following me into the kitchen.
"Long enough for tea?"
"Tea will be nice." He unstrapped his sword and leaned it by the door. "How do you feel?"
"Like I drank too much of that awful spirit. How do your men do it?"
"They've got strong constitutions. Except Quentin. He learned early to avoid it. I meant how is your cheek?"
"Better, thanks. And your hands? I forgot to ask you last night."
He wore gloves, as he had done the night before. They would have protected his knuckles while allowing him to inflict damage to Seb. "Fine." He didn't remove the gloves and I didn't ask to see his hands.
I poured tea from the pot simmering over the hot coals and handed him a cup. "Are you here to see me or patrol the village?" I asked, sitting too.
"Both, but mostly to see you."
I sipped my tea to hide my smile of satisfaction. He sipped too and avoided my gaze.
"It's calmer in Mull," he said. "There's been no further trouble."
"For now. Ned Perkin won't stand down that easily. He'll still be scheming, drumming up support for his cause. I'm sure Lord Barborough will poke Ned if he thinks he gets too quiet."
"Are you sure you don't have spies at the palace?" he asked with a crooked smile.
"Why?"
"Barborough is sending coded messages back to Vytill stating that he's doing exactly that to Ned. I've been intercepting them. Some I let through to their destination, some I don't."
"You deciphered the code?"
"Balthazar did."
"A man of many talents."
"A man of many years. He seems to be familiar with codes."
Now that was interesting. "What do you think that means about Balthazar's past?" I asked, more to myself than Dane. "What sort of profession would require a code breaker?"
"Spy," he said, his answer quick and ready, proving they'd already discussed it among themselves.
"Perhaps," I said. "But sea captains use codes in their log books, and traders in their ledgers. Smugglers certainly use them in their messages."
"I can see him being captain of a ship, ordering sailors about." He drank the rest of his tea then got up to leave. "I have to go, but I wanted you to know that I spoke to the duke of Buxton this morning. He agrees that he might have mixed Seb up with one of the other footmen. It turns out that Seb was the one who planted the idea in his head, telling the duke that he was with him at that time. Seb must have heard I was asking all the male servants where they were at the time of Ruth's rape, and he secured himself a false witness."
"The duke of Buxton ought to face some sort of consequence too. He needs to know how much his mistake cost. Two women would not have been raped if he'd paid more attention to the servants."
"To be fair, his eyesight is poor."
"Then he ought to wear spectacles."
"I'll give him the name of the man who made Balthazar's."
I thought he was mocking me, but he looked utterly serious.
"I've also just come from the Swinsons'," he said. "I told Ingrid her attacker has been caught and is locked in the palace cells, never to be released."
Never. He said it with such certainty and finality that I didn't question him. But to be locked away without a trial, or the possibility of one, seemed wrong. Yet Seb had raped those women and attacked me. There was no doubt of his guilt. Perhaps he was precisely where he ought to be, where he couldn't harm anyone again.
"Ingrid was pleased," he said. "Although she asked if she could visit him. I refused."
"Why does she want to visit him?"
"I can't say for sure, but she had a murderous look in her eye. Seb's lucky I refused her. If she wanted revenge, I might not be able to hold her back."
There was that dark side again, the one lurking beneath the surface, the one Brant had warned me about. Now that I'd seen Dane's anger for myself, I wasn't sure what to make of it. Was it borne from his fear of what might have happened if he hadn't come along at the right time last night? Perhaps it was a release of the built-up pressure he felt over not knowing what had happened to him and of being responsible for the servants and the palace guards in particular.
Or was it simply madness, a violent side that was a part of him? Without knowing his past, it was impossible to be sure.
I fetched a jar of salve from the larder and handed it to him. "Seb should use this on his injuries." It wouldn't be enough. He would have broken bones after such a beating but only time could heal those.
Dane simply looked at the jar in my hand. "He doesn't deserve it."
"I have to give it to him, Dane. If there's something I can do then I have to do it, or I won't forgive myself. Do you understand?"
He hesitated then nodded. "You're a better person than I am."
"A better person would want to give it to him. I'm doing it out of a sense of obligation to my profession."
"I'm not so sure." He took the jar and trapped my hand at the same time. Hope rose in my chest and fluttered, only to die when he lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes had that haunted look again, the one I'd seen when he worried about his past, about who he was. And the worry that he couldn't have a future until he knew the answers.
He let me go and turned away. "I can't be anything more to you than a friend," he said without facing me.
"It's not a betrayal if you don't remember a loved one," I said, my voice small.
"You can't let Seb rot in prison knowing you can help him, and I can't be with a woman until I know what and who I've left behind. It's just the way I am. It wouldn't be fair to you, either."
He was right and I knew it, although it pained me to admit it. He could never entirely relax with me, couldn't give all of him himself to me, without knowing he was free to do so.
I stared at him and tried to suppress the ache in my chest. Last night, I'd pressed myself into that broad back and wrapped my arms around him when we'd ridden home. It had been a comfort for me, and I thought it had been a comfort for him too, that he'd needed the contact just as much. I hoped he would want to feel me close again, that he might set aside his convictions and allow himself to be intimate with me.
But this was a man with strong convictions, and I admired him greatly for upholding them. I would not make it difficult for him to keep those convictions. I couldn't do that to him.
I saw him out and watched him mount Lightning. He was about to ride off when Remy called out from the end of the street. Dane waited for him as the boy ran toward us. He slowed when he neared the horse.
"Can I pat him?" Remy asked.
"Of course." Dane fished an apple out of his saddlebag. "Hold this flat on your palm."
"I could have brought one myself, you know," Remy said proudly.
"An apple?" I asked.
The boy giggled as Lightning ate the apple off his palm. "We got some fruit, pastries, cakes, and meat today. It came on carts. Lots of 'em, one after the other. Palace men drove 'em."
That explained the pastries and cake.
"My Ma says she'll come and thank you herself later," Remy told me. "But I couldn't wait."
"It's not my doing." I looked at Dane. Last night, I'd told him I couldn't afford to pay for help. I might have told him I couldn't even afford to feed another mouth, but my memory was hazy. "This is the man you have to thank, Remy."
"Thank the ladies and their desire for small waists," Dane said. "If it weren't for them, there wouldn't be extra for the servants, and if there wasn't extra for the servants there wouldn't be extra for you, Remy."
The boy looked from Dane to me then back to Dane. "But the ladies aren't here."
Dane leaned down and ruffled the boy's hair. "Perhaps one day I'll take you to the palace and introduce you to a duchess."
"What's a duchess?"
"A pretty lady," I said.
"A lady with fine jewels," Dane shot back. "Do you want a ride home, Remy? It's the least I can do since you fed Lightning for me."
"With your apple," Remy said, as if Dane were stupid for forgetting.
Dane laughed and reached down, easily lifting the boy onto the saddle with one arm. Remy beamed, until the horse moved. He grabbed hold of Lightning's mane and sat as stiff as a board.
Dane waited until the boy got used to the horse beneath him before clicking his tongue for Lightning to walk on. Remy's smile returned.
"Goodbye, Josie," he called out. "I can't let go to wave or I'll fall off."
"Goodbye, Remy. Don't be afraid. The captain won't let anything bad happen to you. He's very good at protecting people," I added, quieter.
Remy faced forward again, but Dane turned in the saddle. He gave me a small, sad smile that sent my heart into my throat. He mouthed "goodbye," then he too faced forward.
I watched them until they turned the corner before heading inside to nurse my bruised cheek and sore heart.
Coming Soon:
THE WHISPER OF SILENCED VOICES
The 3rd After The Rift novel by C.J. Archer.
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