by CJ Archer
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 tur
ned 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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A Message From The Author
I hope you enjoyed reading THE ECHO OF BROKEN DREAMS as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. If you would like to be contacted when I release a new book, subscribe to my newsletter at http://cjarcher.com/contact-cj/newsletter/.
Also by C.J. Archer
SERIES WITH 2 OR MORE BOOKS
After The Rift
Glass and Steele
The Ministry of Curiosities Series
The Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy
The 1st Freak House Trilogy
The 2nd Freak House Trilogy
The 3rd Freak House Trilogy
The Assassins Guild Series
Lord Hawkesbury's Players Series
The Witchblade Chronicles
SINGLE TITLES NOT IN A SERIES
Courting His Countess
Surrender
Redemption
The Mercenary's Price
About the Author
C.J. Archer has loved history and books for as long as she can remember and feels fortunate that she found a way to combine the two. She spent her early childhood in the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, Australia, but now lives in suburban Melbourne with her husband, two children and a mischievous black & white cat named Coco.
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