Chapter Sixteen
Selina lost herself in the rhythmic sonata, feeling her cares diminish. She strummed the chords, quickly, then slowly, fleshing out the melody with its staccato pitch and fluid transitions, feeling her body sway forward and back as she played for Wolf. Never before had she performed with so much emotion. Conflicting tears of joy and sadness filled her eyes until the keys and sheet music were lost in a haze. Was it the trauma she’d experienced, the danger, fear, and hopelessness that gave sway? Or was it the passion she’d captured in Wolf’s arms on board the Sea Wolf that brought music to her life?
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the sheet music. She knew the piece by heart and gave herself over to the pain she’d recently experienced, her regrets and despair over both her inability to save Owen and failure to persuade Wolf to rescue him. She played on and on until at last the sonata came to an end. Her fingers dallied on the last notes, hungering for the sustenance the music fed her soul, feeling its loss now that the keys went silent.
Applause erupted in the room. Selina wiped an errant tear from her cheek and glanced up. Papa sat with his mouth agape, staring at her as if seeing her for the very first time. He nodded and then stood, clapping his hands, a lone tear cascading down his face.
Oh, Papa . . . Why couldn’t you have allowed yourself to feel Mama’s spirit sooner? Why did you make me carry the guilt of her death every day of my life?
Papa moved toward her slowly. “Moira, where have you been?” he asked, speaking her mother’s name for the first time in twenty-one years. “You were here before me all this time, and I did not recognize you.”
She closed her eyes and fought back tears. There had once been a time when she’d yearned for Papa’s love. Days when she was to be seen, not heard, and nights when she cried out in her sleep, only to be comforted by Owen, the only person who had ever truly loved her. And now he was gone.
“I thought I’d lost you forever.” Papa moved a stray curl out of her face. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Herding, what kind of foolishness is this? That is Selina, your daughter,” Lord Gariland said.
Papa blinked, and then blinked again. He dropped his hands and turned away, placing his palm on his forehead. “Get out!” he shouted.
“Papa, we have guests,” she reminded him gently.
“I said get out!” He grabbed fistfuls of his hair as his mining partners and their wives scurried from the room. “Velly! Velly!”
Velly rushed in as Selina looked for Wolf. “May I help you, sir?”
“Destroy this devil’s instrument. I never want to see it again!” he cried.
“No!” Selina stepped back. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t destroy her mother’s pianoforte.
Velly didn’t move but looked at Selina for assistance as Papa lifted a bust from the bookcase and beat it against the instrument’s keyboard. The keys screeched in agony.
She grabbed her mouth, hands shaking, her heart breaking as an anguish she’d never known assaulted her. Tears flooded down her face. She could no longer see. Her mouth quivered. Someone grabbed her, spinning her around to face him. It was Lord Gariland.
“If you think that by making a mockery of me with your captain, you can shame me into crying off, you are mistaken. You will marry me, and I will inherit your father’s money if it’s the last thing you do.”
“Where’s Wolf?” she asked with a glare, not caring if she used his given name. “What have you done with him?”
“Nothing.” Lord Gariland laughed wickedly as he grabbed one of her injured wrists. She winced. “Apparently he didn’t appreciate your performance as much as you hoped he would.” He wrenched her painstakingly close and hissed in her face. “Is that what you were up to? Was it your plan to seduce him right before my eyes?”
“Where is he?” she cried, ignoring his accusations. She pummeled Lord Gariland’s chest with her fists. “Wolf would not leave me without saying goodbye.”
“He’s gone. Ran off and left you, Selina, like the filthy, misbegotten pirate he is. And I will never let you forget it.”
When Wolf stormed out of the drawing room, he’d made his way to the front door. There, he found Polke standing with his overcoat and hat in hand. “Will you be needing anything else for your journey, Captain?”
“No,” he said, anxious to flee the music infiltrating the house.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having Worden ready your horse, sir. You will find him at the stables.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, bloke.”
“It’s Polke, sir. And it’s been my pleasure.”
He held Wolf’s coat up and insisted on easing his overcoat onto his shoulders. He handed Wolf the hat. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
He nodded. “Watch over her,” he said. “Tell her . . .” He shook his head. Nothing anyone could say would erase the fact that he was leaving Selina without saying goodbye.
Polke waited several seconds more, then asked, “Tell her what, sir?”
Wolf struggled to form the words that would ease his pride and bring any consolation to Selina. He was certain she cared for him as he did for her, but he couldn’t allow his emotions to disrupt his duty to Wellington and the Legion. Not after he’d remembered the monster he truly was. “Tell her I am sorry for my hasty departure, but I must go.”
And put her out of my life forever.
Polke bowed his head. “Safe journey, sir.”
“Thank you, Polke,” he said, saying the man’s name out loud for the first time.
Wolf placed his hat on his head and adjusted it. He inhaled a deep breath and left Trethewey House, putting every good thing that had stumbled into his life behind him. He ambled down the drive, gravel crunching beneath his feet, to the stable where he suspected he’d find Worden with the horses.
Lantern light beckoned him closer to the half-light where a man led a horse out by its reins.
“Be ye ready to make way, Cap’n?” Worden asked.
“Aye.” He cleared his throat. “I need to sail with the tide.”
“Mind the weather, sir. Air smells fishy. Could be a gale comin’.”
“Thank you, Worden.” Wolf wasted no time mounting the animal.
“Will Miss Herding be joinin’ ye?”
Wolf glanced down at Worden, horrible images flashing through his mind. He’d broken his mother’s heart. He’d run away without knowing what had ever truly happened to her.
“No,” he said. “She is safer here than with me.” He’d killed his own father. He was responsible for the deaths of his wife and lover. No. Selina would never be safe with him. He would not let her be hurt, or worse, killed.
He veered his mount away from Worden and the stables. He headed for the open grassland, riding swiftly across the green lawn to the hedgerow trees that separated Trethewey House from the pitted mines that dotted the landscape. They led from what he wanted most to Portreath.
A deep pain pierced his heart, one unlike any he’d ever experienced. He slapped the reins against the horse’s flanks, urging it into a faster gallop, longing to burn off steam, to try to forget he’d forged his path to destruction by killing his own flesh and blood.
Moonlight guided his journey along the sweeping landscape. Distant sounds of thunder rent the air, and still, he rode faster, harder, desiring to put Selina, music, memories, and everything connected to her out of his mind. The beat of his horse’s hooves hit the uneven ground.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
Clippety-clop. An offbeat canter answered.
Wolf glanced over his shoulder at the darkening path behind him. He didn’t know this landscape, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t accustomed to the sounds found when riding at night.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
Clippety-clop.
Ambush! Several men were riding hard to catch up to him.
He veered to the right through the wood, slipped nimbly out of his saddle, and tethered the animal to a tree, then circled back to discover who was chasing after him.
Three riders broke through the clearing, slapping their mounts’ flanks, pell-mell. As they drew near, the center rider shouted, “Halt!”
Dust plumed about the skittish horses’ legs. The leader dismounted, cautiously walking toward the point where Wolf had left the trail. “He’s on foot. Burnes, take the left. Reedie, the right. You know what to do.”
Bollocks. It was an ambush. Damned if he wouldn’t find out who was after him.
Wolf flicked out his blades and eased back, creeping toward a thicket. He didn’t want to use his pistols. Sound would disclose his exact location and attract attention he didn’t want. No, he’d wait for the one called Reedie, gut him clean through to his bones, and then work his way over to Burnes. The leader he’d keep alive long enough to find out who sent them.
A twig snapped, warning him that Reedie was near. Quietly, Wolf emerged from his hiding place and crept behind the man, grabbing his mouth to silence his protests and burying his blade in the man’s back between his ribs. Reedie struggled a moment before releasing a hissing breath that told Wolf he was dead.
He removed his blade from the man’s body, the sickening sound of steel leaving flesh fracturing the night. He lowered the man silently to the ground before slipping out to the wooded thicket to flank Burnes. Larger than Reedie, this opponent seemed to exist on luck as he shoved branches out of his way, announcing his presence to game, fowl, and the wrong man—Wolf. The fool exhaled, appearing to plot his next line of attack.
Wolf lunged for Burnes, this time embedding his blades into the man’s back, severing his spine. Burnes shuddered. His body stiffened just before he collapsed onto his belly, his pistol still gripped in his fist. It had been fired, and it told the others where they were located.
Bollocks! Wolf removed his blades and knelt. Crouching low on his heels, he searched the area around him. Nothing stirred. Nature absorbed the presence of man, the sulphuric scent of gunpowder the only remnant left to betray their presence.
Wolf eased away from Burnes.
A blow pelted him from behind. He recoiled, and then dodged to his left, slashing his blade to the left to ward off another blow. His attacker danced backward, escaping injury.
He and the third man faced off, sizing each other up. Wolf glowered at the large, dark figure, unable to see the man’s face clearly in the shadows. The smell of tobacco, whisky, and . . .
Wolf backed off. “Do I know you?”
Wicked laughter met his ears.
Wolf mimicked the man’s movements, step for step. When he moved left, Wolf moved right, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His pulse raced, and blood rushed through his veins, flooding to his extremities. He ground his teeth as sweat beaded on his brow.
The moonlight filtered down, reflecting off a stream nearby. Flashes of memories darted through his mind, obscuring his vision. He remembered his mother at the pianoforte, smiling, leaning her head into his father’s hand. The door bursting open. Gunfire. Blood. The happy imagery flooded with pain, deceit, and a demoralizing rage that smoldered out of control.
Wolf clasped his head, screaming in agony, and fell to his knees. No, he couldn’t face the horrific memory his subconscious had clearly suppressed out of self-preservation.
Footsteps neared. He fought his way back from the depths to stand, fighting back tears, trying with all his might to purge his father’s bloody body from his mind.
Then a knife sank into his shoulder. Wolf howled, the pain cutting through the memories cluttering his mind. He spied his enemy and growled, gritting his teeth as he yanked the blade out of his flesh. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
“A good piece of coin will persuade a man to do almost anything,” the assassin said, working his way to Wolf’s left and moving out of sight into the thicket.
“You won’t succeed,” Wolf said.
But the man might if Wolf didn’t keep him talking. He needed to ferret out the assassin’s location in order to take him by surprise. Untrained killers like these liked to boast. Not so with Fouché’s or Typhon’s men, or those who’d entered the Legion. That knowledge gave Wolf a decided edge.
“I’m better than them.” The man laughed and nodded at his dead fellows. “Been at this longer.”
Wolf weighed the blade in his hand, judging it for balance and speed. “How did you know where I’d be?”
“Got the word to be watchin’ this road. Lay in wait, we did.”
The man was five feet behind Wolf now. He listened. No movement. “I’ve only been here for several hours. How did you know?”
“Aye. Lucky for us, our purse hails from these parts.”
Got you. Wolf spun on his knee and aimed the blade just four feet away from the man’s last location. He heard a grunt, then a moan before charging forward, his blades leading the way.
A scream of agony filled the air, and the force of Wolf’s forward movement knocked them both to the ground. “Who sent you?” Wolf shouted. “Who wants to kill me and why?”
“To get you out of the w-way,” the killer struggled to say. “Kept the money H-Herding paid for the s-son.” The man choked, then got control. “Told the others t-to let the girl go.”
“Why?” he shouted, getting no response. He knelt by the man and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. “Tell me!”
“Plans to keep you from b-bringing Herding home. Needs the b-blunt.” The man coughed up more blood and produced a waning smile.
“The bilge-sucking . . .” Wolf lifted the man by his collar. “Where have they taken Owen?” No response. “Where?” he asked again, shaking the man.
The man blinked, his eyes glazing. “Cadiz.”
“I know that already,” he growled. “Where in Cadiz?”
“Your b-brother . . .” His throat bobbed as he mouthed, Con-stric-tor.
“What about my brother?” Wolf asked, yanking the man by the scruff of his neck again. None of this made sense. “Who kidnapped them? A name. Give me a name.”
“Lord . . . G-gar—” Blood curdled from the man’s mouth. He pulled Wolf toward him, began confessing his sins, and then convulsed.
“Bollocks!” Wolf ground his teeth together. He’d known Gariland was up to something, but he hadn’t expected this. The mealy-mouthed lord had made every effort to convey that he adored Selina.
The jab to his pride cut deep. He’d had ample opportunity to delve into Gariland’s motivations, but he’d cried off instead. He could not change the past, his father’s death and his hand in it, the wasted years, his mother’s anguish, Selina’s captivity, but he could—and would—do something now. He’d make sure Selina didn’t suffer any further abuse, and he’d stop Lord Gariland from infiltrating Trethewey House and causing Selina any more heartache. Or he’d die trying.