Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  Will looked like he so desperately wanted to believe her but was afraid to put any stock in her words. She felt a spark of hope. But he was a man who had survived alone for so long by protecting his heart, and she watched Will decathect, retreating into that familiar shell of self-preservation and withdrawing his feelings to avoid potential hurt.

  “Sarah,” he said slowly, and with a sinking heart, she sensed his answer. “We’ve had this conversation before, and I know my answer will only upset you.”

  Sighing, Sarah rested her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just want you to know you’re loved by Him. I care about you too much to remain silent like I did with Damien.” She wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’m not giving up on you.”

  “I didn’t imagine you would.” He sounded like he was smiling.

  Will held her for a while longer before Thomas came back in, stomping his boots on the entry floor. Sarah jumped and tried to struggle out of his lap, but Will held her tight even when she jabbed her elbow into his ribs in her attempt to free herself. She had just hastily swiped the back of her hand over her cheeks when Thomas turned, and she felt her face flame at how this must look.

  “We were just, uh—” She tried to subtly pry Will’s hands from around her waist, but he had pinned her against him, his hold unrelenting for such a battered man. She shot him a stern glare, but he avoided her gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  Thomas’ serious expression melted into a grin when he caught their embrace. “It’s a pleasure to have you conscious in my home this time around, Miss Matthews. I believe it’s been lacking a woman’s touch.”

  Feeling a chuckle rattling inside Will’s chest, her face heated anew.

  “Everything go all right?” he asked his uncle, saving her the trouble of stumbling through a reply.

  All signs of mirth left Thomas’ face as he removed his gloves. “With the one man’s testimony—Lewis—we assumed it would be rather simple to convict Lisandro of the murders.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “However, it appears that he took extreme caution in staying away from the scene of the crime for the most part. He instead sent the men under his employ to do his bidding, and they went to fulfill orders that were verbal and undocumented. So now we have an ‘innocent’ man with power locked away in solitary confinement in the tower.”

  Sarah shook her head. “But what about the bloody cloth or the letter I gave the captain? It’s in his handwriting, and it’s obvious he sealed it.”

  “Lisandro must have destroyed the cloth he used to wipe Dunlivey’s blood away, because we were unable to locate it. And as for the letter, all we have are a few lines asking a man whose identity we cannot prove to dress a certain way. And who’s to say that someone didn’t pilfer the seal to draw suspicion to the Spaniard? From the Law’s perspective, it’s all speculation.” Thomas looked genuinely aggrieved by this fact.

  Sarah’s shoulders sank. “So we have nothing?”

  “Not exactly,” Thomas said slowly. His hesitation caused Will’s body to stiffen.

  Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  Thomas edged closer, his expression pinched. “You told me that you recognized the voice of Gabriel Dunlivey and that Lisandro admitted his guilt to you right out. There’s no written evidence depicting that particular murder, so from where I stand, it will be your testimony that locks him away for good.”

  Sarah gaped at him. She had to send Damien to the gallows—again? She bowed her head as the weight of his conviction fell heavily upon her once more. “Spectacular.”

  Will’s arms tightened about her waist. “There has to be some other way.”

  But Thomas was already shaking his head. He watched Sarah with keen eyes, sensing her distress. “If we could get him to confess outright, I wouldn’t be here to ask you to do this. But Lisandro hasn’t said a word since we apprehended him.” His brow furrowed, as though he disliked his own thoughts.

  “What?” Will asked lowly.

  Heaving a breath, Thomas said to Sarah, “He hasn’t spoken—except to ask to see you, that is. Alone.”

  “What?!” Sarah couldn’t believe Damien was still using her, even from behind bars. She shook her head, eyes wide as she struggled to rise. Will didn’t fight her this time, and she shot to her feet in surprised outrage. “N-no!”

  Thomas nodded. “I knew you would feel that way, but you seem to hold some kind of power over him. Right now, you are the only leverage we have over the criminal.”

  “She isn’t leverage.” Will rose and placed his hands on her shoulders. The familiar weight offered her some comfort. “And both sides need to stop treating her as though she is a bargaining chip.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Will,” he said tiredly. Then he turned his gaze to Sarah. “If there were any other options, I would never ask this of you. You know I wouldn’t have come if we hadn’t exhausted every other option we can think of. But the choice is, ultimately, yours.” His earnest gaze bore into hers, and she knew he truly would accept her answer either way.

  Sarah bit her lip, staring at her red skirt. “He’ll talk to me,” she mused aloud, knowing it was true. Damien wouldn’t have asked for her otherwise. She looked up at Thomas, praying for her courage to be bolstered to do what she knew was right. “Maybe I can trick him into confessing. I know Cadius was the one pulling the strings all along, though Damien never admitted it outright. But maybe since there’s nothing left for him, I can convince him to turn Cadius in. Will a verbal statement against him be enough to convict Cadius of the crimes?”

  Thomas pursed his lips, thoughtful. “It would be a step in the right direction, but if Lisandro has any physical evidence that we can confiscate, that would be preferable. If he identifies Cadius as the mastermind, I can more than likely sway the guard from a death sentence and get it reduced to life in solitary confinement.”

  “Death or a life sentence,” Sarah muttered dryly. Sucking in a resolute breath, she said, “Okay. I can try.”

  “I’ll go.”

  Her head jerked around, eyes widening at Will’s firm resolve. “No way! Damien’s completely off his rocker if he thinks he can manipulate either of us into going.”

  “Yet you are.” His brow rose in challenge.

  “Because I am going of my own free will to trick him,” she corrected, then winced over her choice of words. It wasn’t necessarily trickery, but Sarah knew she would do what needed to be done in order to get the truth from him.

  “Do you honestly think you can get him to confess?” She turned, but Thomas wasn’t looking at her. He actually appeared to be considering Will’s offer. They were both insane!

  Will hesitated, then nodded resolutely at his uncle. “Yes, I do.” Then he turned his gaze on her, all at once probing and searching for her support. “I am not going to stand by and give him the opportunity to get you alone. It could all be part of some diabolical scheme to steal you away.”

  She bit her lip, wanting to refute the fact that Damien could be diabolical. But as they unraveled his presence in these schemes, Sarah realized that she had misjudged his capabilities. As much as she had been dreading seeing Damien again, she was terrified of what might happen if Will did. She didn’t think both men would survive another encounter.

  “What can you possibly say to get him to confess?” she asked at last.

  Will gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “The truth. Hopefully, he still recognizes what that looks like.”

  ~Chapter 49~

  Though his wound had stopped bleeding long ago and was hardly life threatening, when Thomas volunteered to patch it up before he left, Will readily agreed. Let the Spaniard have a few hours of silence where he imagined his bleak, and possibly brief, future.

  Thomas escorted him to the back room and ordered him to remove his shirt. The gash was long and nasty looking, but Will didn’t think the blade had gone overly deep. That was, at least, until his uncle set about scraping and cleaning and pressin
g the skin together to force it to heal properly.

  Will’s face paled during his uncle’s probing, and he felt beads of perspiration collecting at his temples. Already, he was tempted to tell Thomas that the wound wasn’t a bother and just to leave it alone. He felt ill, and the man had yet to pull a single stitch.

  “Most of it will mend on its own, but you’ll need a few threads. Here, drink this, Son.” Thomas handed him a small vile, and Will accepted it gratefully, swigging back the contents. He grimaced as the unpleasant spirits burned down his throat, and he hoped it would do the trick.

  Giving the alcohol a few minutes to enter his system, Thomas went about swabbing a thin anodyne liquid—made up of a combination of healing herbs—over Will’s brow to ensure the cut didn’t become infected. The older man’s face was professional and intent as he swiped the same goopy substance over the gash on Will’s chest, years of practice in medicine having lent him accuracy and confidence whenever he was called to heal.

  Gritting his teeth, Will allowed his uncle to go to work sewing the deepest portion of the wound closed. The once-physician was quick and precise with each tug and pull of his thick needle, but Will still felt his stomach roil at the sensation of thread slipping through his skin and had to close his eyes against the desire to be sick. He felt blood pool around the edges of the prodded wound, though his uncle’s competence kept the overflow to a minimum.

  Thomas snipped the thread and set his needle aside. “Try to keep it as dry as possible,” he cautioned, then shot his nephew a look. His gaze was entirely perceptive, always seeing everything. Lips tipping in sympathy, he added, “I’ll tell her you’re dressing. Take your time.” Will nodded in gratitude, and the older man closed the door behind him.

  He released a pent-up breath, shoulders sagging as he slumped over in relief. The sickening pain during his uncle’s ministrations had faded to a dull ache, though leaning over in the chair sent all the blood straight to the wound, causing it to throb uncomfortably.

  With a grimace, he rose, gingerly rotating the shoulder the Spaniard’s blade had caught to test its mobility. The wound felt worse after his uncle’s prodding, and the ache in his shoulder along with the sensation of freshly mended skin pulled tight was enough to keep him from lifting his arm over his head. But he would live, though he’d have a nasty scar to tell of his escapades.

  Will shrugged the tunic back over his head, and his chest muscles constricted with the movement, tugging on the stitches. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to slip his arms through the shirtsleeves. It took him a moment to catch his breath before he could rejoin the others with a schooled expression, though he was sure his stiff gate and the sweat around his brow would telegraph his discomfort.

  Sarah was leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest, gnawing on her thumbnail. When she looked up, she broke away from the wall and was quickly at his side.

  Jaw tightening, he fought a wave of dizziness as she gently moved his poor arm over her shoulders for support. Her grimace let him know that he was doing a poor job of concealing the pain.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, slowly putting his arm back down. She eyed him with pursed lips. “Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

  “I believe I’ll rally the horses.” Thomas shot his nephew a meaningful look before exiting through the front door.

  Will turned to her, summoning a smirk. “Surely by now you must know that it will take more than a scratch to keep me down.” He felt the cut on his lip stretch, which hardly helped his case.

  Worrying her lip, Sarah nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, and he could tell she was reluctant to let him go. “If you feel it’s something you need to do, then I won’t stop you.”

  His heart swelled painfully in his chest. Her trust and faith in him, her acceptance of the duty he felt to protect her—even when she seemed set against it—caused warmth to flood his entire being.

  Unable to resist, Will leaned down, gently brushing his lips against her cheek. When he pulled back, Sarah stared up at him in glassy-eyed surprise, mouth slightly agape.

  “Sorry,” he said, though his grin undermined his apology. “Sometimes I’m reminded of just how much I love you and can’t help myself.” Will hesitated when she continued to stare. “But I can stop.”

  Sarah was nodding, dazed, and then she shook her head quickly. He grinned at her vehemence, and her cheeks turned pink. However, she said nothing in reply, nor did he expect her to say those three words he longed to hear. It had been the truth when he’d said he would patiently wait for her to come to the same conclusion he had . . . Or not.

  A muscle in Will’s chest twisted painfully at the thought that she might never feel the same way for him, but he would accept it if things came to that. He would have to.

  “Why don’t you stay here for now?” he said, knowing his uncle wouldn’t mind. And he didn’t want her to go back to the castle unsupervised, even with Lisandro behind bars.

  But Sarah looked uncertain. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  Chuckling, Will said, “Don’t worry. My uncle will more than likely put you to work while we’re away.” That wasn’t true, but he knew it would make her feel better to be of use.

  She nodded, agreeing to stay. With a quick, crushing hug that sent pain through his wound but that he wouldn’t give up for anything, Sarah whispered, “And, Will?”

  “Mmm?” He felt a breath shudder through her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

  “Let him know that the easiest thing and the right thing don’t always look the same.” She pulled back, brows furrowing and rising in sadness as she held her tears at bay. She added in a small voice, “And, please, tell him I know there’s some good inside of him, even if he doesn’t think so anymore. I have a feeling he’s got at least one good deed left in him, and I hope that’s turning over Cadius.”

  “I’ll do my best to convince him of that,” Will answered.

  She dipped her head, nodding once. “I’ll see you soon, then, okay?”

  He gave her a tender smile that held the promise of his return. Snatching up the cloak tossed over the back of a chair, he stepped outside. Snow continued to fall, covering the ground in a fresh layer of untouched powder. His uncle was stroking the nose of his only horse, murmuring incoherently to the gray animal. It tossed its head contentedly beside the horse Thomas had ridden from the castle, which was ornamented in a gilded saddle and the purple-and-gold sash of the royal guard.

  When he looked over, Will held up the garment. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

  Thomas shook his head and guided the horse over. “You’ll need it in this cold, though I believe this should clear up fairly soon.” He shot a discerning look up at the gray clouds releasing a shower of cottony fluff over their small world.

  Will tied the cloak about his shoulders as he went around to mount the darker animal and was reminded of his own horse; he would have to check on the stallion after this business was settled, and also return the Joneses’ mare to their home, if Seth hadn’t collected her already.

  “Will?” He glanced at his uncle over the horse’s back. “Either I am entirely daft or things have changed between you and Sarah.”

  He didn’t understand the older man’s serious gaze. Will had thought he’d be pleased. “Yes, they have. But what you entered upon was entirely innocent,” he felt the need to add.

  Thomas nodded. “I sensed that. But, son, I must encourage you to be careful with her.”

  Will’s brow turned down in a scowl of displeasure and confusion. “I don’t believe anyone has ever suspected me of being careless, Uncle.”

  “I know, I know,” Thomas said quickly to cool his nephew’s temper before it arose. “It’s plain to see that you care for her and will do your utmost to keep her safe from outside harm, but what about from yourself?”

  Will had a sardonic reply at the ready, but he hesitated when the other man’s meaning sank in. “I won’t force her feelings, and I w
ould certainly never put her in a . . . compromising situation, if that is what you’re implying.”

  “It’s not your intentions that concern me, Son. I know you would never mar her reputation.” The stormy bay shook its head, nickering softly. Thomas placed a hand on its neck to quiet the animal and stared at his nephew with a pained expression. “But you might not have to twist her arm as hard as you think to turn her affection your way.”

  Will frowned. “What are you saying.”

  Thomas sighed, seeming to search for the right words. “Think about the situation from her perspective: You are a young, strong, and handsome man who rescues her from danger and constantly professes his love for her in deed and word.” He raised a brow, as though his point were quite obvious. “That kind of dedication is appealing to women and can convince them of anything, especially in the midst of such romantic and perilous circumstances. She will have no choice but to fall in love.”

  Will felt his heart quicken in anticipation at the words, but he wondered at his uncle’s displeasure. “I don’t understand why this concerns you.”

  After a brief hesitation, Thomas rested his arms on the bay’s saddle, leaning closer to Will. “I don’t want either of you to find yourselves in a match where you are unequally yoked.” Will frowned, wondering what ox had to do with he and Sarah. He said so to his uncle.

  “She believes in God with her whole being; it’s ingrained into who she is.” Thomas smiled sadly. “Even if you didn’t mean to draw her away, and even if Sarah wasn’t aware, she would slowly drift from her faith, either to please you or because it became easier to forget than to fight. You would both wake up one day and realize she had lost her identity.”

  His smile faded, the typical lines of mirth around his eyes softening. He looked away, but not before Will saw the ancient ache in his eyes. “You know what happened to me, and I don’t want that kind of future for either of you.”