“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”
Sophie froze on the seat next to him and he called himself a dozen different kinds of idiot. He hadn’t meant for the words to actually be said. Or had he?
It was the first question he would have asked his mother had she ever returned for him.
Even the horses felt Sophie’s sudden panic as she gripped the edges of her seat. They strained at the bit and tugged on the reins. He applied a little more backward pressure on the straps until the ancient pair fell into a smooth rhythm on the dilapidated road.
“This is neither the time nor place to have this discussion, Blake.”
“You’re wrong. This is the perfect time and the perfect place.” She had nowhere to hide.
“Why do you want to rehash this? It was so long ago now. No good can come from going over it again and again.”
That’s where she was mistaken. He had never rehashed anything. He’d never gone over the truth again and again, because he’d never had it. All he did have were the stories his mind conjured to reason why she had left without a word. He needed this confrontation.
It wasn’t even the fact that she had left that now infuriated him, because nothing could change what she had done or what she had become. He knew that as well as she did. But there were things he needed to know. Why hadn’t she said goodbye? Why hadn’t she come to him for help and most of all why had he never rated a mention in any of her brief missives to Matthew?
It was never Matthew saying, “Sophie sends greetings and asked how you are.” No, the only reason Matthew spoke of the letters at all was because he knew Blake fretted just the same as he did. The worry ate at Blake, sometimes so much so he couldn’t function with her in his thoughts.
The silence lengthened, stretched, widened the emotional distance until he wanted to draw the cart to the side of the road and shake the truth from her.
“Perhaps you don’t remember?” Immediately he regretted his snide tone, the sarcasm in his voice.
When her hands and fingers ceased their fidgeting, Blake worried she wouldn’t speak. But then she surprised him. “I wanted to say goodbye to both of you. I really, truly wanted to tell you where I was going, but I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” It was easy for her to say that now. He would not make this easy for her.
“Because you would have done everything in your power to try to aid my stay rather than see me escape.”
There seemed to be so much pain in her words. Or was it regret? “We were sick with worry. All of us.”
The wry chuckle that slipped through her lips held disbelief. “My father lost no sleep with worry over me,” she assured him.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“How long after I went missing did he begin the search?”
“The very next morning. When you didn’t come home he searched high and low. He paid men to dredge creeks and look under rocks for your body.”
He saw from the corner of his eye what appeared to be a huge sigh before she replied. “He paid men to find me and bring me home, Blake. I was of no use to him dead and even less disappeared.”
“I still don’t understand. You have to tell me why you left.”
“You won’t believe me. No one would have.”
“I may not have understood, but I would have listened.” He spoke softly even though he wanted to roar and shake her. He had been more in love with her than any other person dead or alive. She had been the anchor in the storm his life had become. Each time his uncle beat him, he’d closed his eyes and dreamed of Sophie, of the comfort she provided by simply being there. It had made her betrayal that much harder to bear.
“Do you remember the Mason farm?” Sophie asked.
“I do, right over the creek from your father’s. Matthew owns the rights to it now.”
For the first time since they had started to converse, her head snapped up, her gaze searched his face. “When did he buy the rights?”
“He didn’t. Your father did. About two years after you left.”
He thought he heard her curse, but he might have been mistaken. “Why is that so significant?”
She sighed, drew a deep breath and then told him the one thing he hadn’t wanted to hear. Ever.
“My father was to sell me to Blakiston.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me correctly.”
“I don’t believe it.”
She laughed that same humorless chuckle that said so much more than her words. “I told you, you wouldn’t. No one would have.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard them making the deal. Father had asked a few questions in the weeks before that seemed rather innocent fatherly questions: was I seeing any local boys, did I plan to marry and who. All odd enough when strung together but on their own hadn’t struck me as nefarious.”
“A father would ask questions like that, Sophie. He had the right to know if you were thinking of boys.”
“One night I was still awake when Blakiston’s man came to the house. It was late, very late, and I snuck out to see what the commotion was. I thought perhaps the duke had died or had an accident or some such thing. But no. He came to seal the bargain. To make my father sign a contract detailing that he would hand me over in return for use of the Mason land.”
“Are you sure?” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. Mason had no sons, no family, and it wasn’t as though fathers didn’t regularly bargain their daughters away in marriage, but she had been so young. Fourteen years old was too little to have been just given away. Although not to a powerful duke who got everything he demanded.
He just didn’t understand why. The old duke was charming enough that he had women falling over themselves to be his duchess without even considering his monetary worth. Blake imagined it was that charm that also first attracted his mother. She was not the type of woman to marry for anything less than a man who would treat her right.
So if his sire could have had anyone, why would he need a fourteen-year-old girl who wasn’t willing? Then again, his father’s problem had never been in attracting women, his problem had always been keeping them once they discovered his temper. His mother had left the estate because she had been beaten. His memories of her bruises would never fade in his mind no matter the time that passed.
“I had to flee. I had no choices then, Blake. No way to say no. To beg my father to see what he did was wrong. You and I both know how he coveted those lands. When old Mr. Mason was found hanging in his barn, the magistrate came to ask my father the first questions. No one actually accused him, but there were whispers that he tied the knot that killed that kind old man.”
“You put too much stock in whispers. Mr. Mason was riddled with disease, dying a slow and agonizing death. Your dad didn’t hang the man and if he did, Mr. Mason would have begged him to do it. There are two sides to every tale, and I think you’ve put all your faith in the only ones to reach your ears.”
Her body stiffened, her chin rose and her eyes flashed fire. “Is that a kind way of telling me I overreacted?”
“That is not what I’m saying. And you haven’t really answered the original question. You say you didn’t want us to stop you. But that is not what I asked. In your first note, your hastily scrawled note to your brother, you didn’t even mention my name. I never warranted a how-do-you-do in your second either.” By the time the words flowed from his mouth like a flood of spring rain, he longed to take them back. At least ask them without a boy’s insecurities driving them. But it was too late.
“I... I...don’t know what to say. All of those letters were for Matthew. I had to let him know I was all right.”
“The second letter came to me. Inside an empty envelope with my name on it was a letter to Matthew, but what of me?” Where did this all come from? And how could he dam the flow?
Chapter Six
The only sound for a full five minutes was the clip clop and squelch of the horses’ hooves agai
nst the dirt road, only slightly muffled by the slippery mud. Their rhythmic pace was a better distraction than Sophia’s nervous fidgeting. Each time she opened her mouth to say something she just snapped it shut again.
What was she supposed to tell him? That she had sent the letters to him because she feared her father would intercept them at home, but knew Blake’s uncle would be too drunk to notice the mail? That she hadn’t fled until after she had been raped and beaten and locked in a dark room with only her own cries of help to let her know she was still alive, still there. Rationality had no place in her actions in those early days.
Or that’s what she remembered. Thinking back was dangerous. All the pain, the fear. For two days she had traveled by foot, no shoes or stockings. Each step caused pain in so many places on her battered body, but still she didn’t stop. Her hastily packed satchel held only one borrowed dress, a comb for her hair and a spare set of underthings that were far too big. She had nothing to sell if it came to it. All she could lay claim to in the world had been left behind. She dared not return to her father’s house. She dared not tarry lest she be found and returned to Blakiston’s home.
It was becoming more than apparent that while Matthew and Blake feared for her welfare, thinking she had disappeared, she had been in the area the whole time. Locked in a damp room without even a tiny window for fresh air or a sense of time. Screaming hadn’t worked. Sobbing, begging, pleading to be set free hadn’t worked either.
Every noise she heard behind and around her that first night in the open could have been the sound of pursuit: her father come to beat her for her insubordination, the duke come to take again what she hadn’t freely given. She should have followed her initial instincts and run before the wax had a chance to dry on the documents.
Shaking her head, Sophia tried to dispel the memories that came unwanted to the forefront of her mind. She had no desire to rehash the past.
She stared at Blake, his eyes on the rough surface of the road ahead, his attention seemingly on the pair pulling the cart. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
“Never mind.” His answer was gruff, his gaze still on the road, but his shoulders seemed to drop a full three inches and the reins were somewhat released from the death grip he held on them.
Sophia resettled her skirts on the bench and hoped for a change of subject. She wanted no more attention to be paid to the night of her flight and there was something she still wanted to know, desperately. She half turned toward him and got ready for his anger.
“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” he said upon seeing the intention in hers.
“Why do you despise dukes so much? You almost could have been one.” Only a few words exchanged before God made the difference between a bastard and an heir. Between legal and illegal.
“Apart from the obvious reasons?” he replied. “Would you tolerate me better? What would you have done if you’d arrived in the tavern yard only to be told that your old playmate was now a duke?”
“Well, for one, I’m sure I would have known before now. The old duke has been where he belongs for some good time has he not?”
Blake nodded and was silent for only a moment before speaking again. “If I were a duke, we wouldn’t be sitting like this.”
“We wouldn’t argue so either.” She laughed. He skirted around the question but then she’d changed her mind when he’d asked if she would tolerate him better. She knew what he meant with those words and she wasn’t sure how to answer.
The real puzzle wasn’t if he would be a duke worthy of her bed, it was whether or not he would be a man worthy of her bed.
“I would like you just the same if you were a duke or a stable lad.” They might battle with one another but she did respect him when he wasn’t calling her names, even if they were mostly deserved.
“So you like me? Even as a bastard?” Blake leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his. It was the first glimpse she’d had of her childhood friend. Playful, fun, happy.
Sophia drew a theatrical sigh. “I suppose I must. It is still a long journey home.”
Before he could catch her on her slip of an admission—home—the reins pulled sharply in his hands cutting into his skin as he attempted to bring Misty and Monster in hand.
Monster pulled hard and seemed to almost hit the ground but then a wild animal scream rent the air and the cart lurched violently. It happened so quick. He couldn’t let go of the leather straps pulled tight in his hands. He couldn’t even look to see if Sophie held on or if she was in trouble. Then she was gone. Her skirts didn’t fill the edge of his vision, her cry a distant sound behind as he fought the traces.
And then the cart stopped dead and Blake was thrown over the drive board to land hard on the horse’s warm flesh. The bones in his neck gave an almighty crack as his head snapped back. Beneath his shoulder and ribs, Monster screamed again and thrashed. The horse was down, but tried with every powerful muscle he had to right himself. Blake was once again launched through the air to land on the side of the road with an oomph, the impact knocking the breath from his body.
He jumped to his feet and ignored the sharp agony radiating from his left side. Monster still screamed in that way horses do when something is desperately wrong and only one glance told Blake he’d broken his leg, the bone visible through the blood and mud.
Damn Blakiston and his penny-pinching. The terrible state of the road was likely to blame for his horse’s injury.
It took but a second to take in the scene and decide what to do. Misty kept launching herself at the traces, kept trying to drag the cart forward to escape the smell of blood, the fear from her companion and driver, the noise that scraped at one’s ears. She was going to turn the cart and drag everything straight into a ditch.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, jerking this way and that with the horse’s movements, he reached beneath the rough timbers. Blake took out two linen wrapped bundles. The first, a loaded pistol which he gripped tightly in his right hand, the second, a short knife which he held in his left. He wasn’t sure what to do first. Put Monster out of his hysterical misery or cut Misty free.
Deciding it was more important for Misty to take off into the afternoon’s fading light, he tucked the gun into the back of his waistband and approached Misty with a hand out, muttering soothing murmurs that she would only just hear over the still screaming Monster.
“Easy there girl,” he said, trying to run his hand gently over the muscles rippling her hide. “I’m going to cut you loose.”
If he released Monster from his pain first, Misty would still try to break free and they would all be in more trouble. He would rather be stuck on the road with a cart for shelter than lose everything including his last horse.
Within minutes, he had the lead ropes cut, still murmuring to a horse with wild eyes and a tension that told him she would be dangerous when finally unfastened.
He’d concentrated so intently that he hadn’t noticed Monster’s screams diminishing, the big horse now shooting breath from his nostrils in heavy gushes of wet, hot air. Reaching over Misty’s back, he cut another rope. Only three left to do and she would be safe from the cart and ties. But not from her own terror. That could still undo her.
As he cut the rope stretching over her massive girth, he looped his fingers in the bit to keep her head still, but Misty wouldn’t have it. She rose up in the air, blocking out the sky and everything else as she loomed over his head.
But even as Blake covered his head, he felt the edge of her razor-sharp shoe skate over his shoulder, the pain immediate and searing, ripping through his shirt to graze down to his elbow. When she landed back on solid earth, he didn’t hesitate. Sawing the knife against the leather took only seconds, but it felt like hours, the motions seemingly slowed to a point where he didn’t think he even moved. Misty kept trying to thrash her head from side to side to dislodge the hand at her jaw. She was beyond help as she tried to bite, tried to dislodge the bit between her teeth so he would have no control.
And then he let her go, jumping back, landing heavily once again, Misty’s beating hooves sounding for only two heartbeats before she was gone from sight.
Blake said a little prayer for her that she didn’t find a hole in the deteriorated road or stumble in her haste.
Misty must have kicked Monster, either that or the big horse finally noticed he was dying, his screams of pain starting up again. Blake rolled to his feet, every inch of the pain inflicted on him by his own animals ached and throbbed at the same time.
There was nothing he could do for the other horse. He wasn’t going to dodge yet more deadly hooves just to see if given the chance the horse would right himself. Reaching for his pistol, he found only the fabric of his dirty trousers. When he glanced back to see where he’d dropped it, Sophie was there, blood dripping down her cheek from her head. Her once beautiful gown was covered in mud and God knew what else. In her outstretched palm was the pistol he needed to silence the big black beauty.
“You might want to turn away,” he warned as he took the gun from her shaking hand.
She nodded and turned her body, chin slumping to her chest.
“I’m sorry, boy,” he whispered as he kneeled on the horse’s neck. Monster renewed his struggle to stand as Blake’s weight bore down. Placing the muzzle against Monster’s head, Blake closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Seven
When Sophia saw Blake fall on his back, relief that he was alive warred with the panic that she didn’t know what was happening. As she neared, one of the big horses ran off down the road sending divots of rock and mud flying in its wake. Before she could reach Blake’s side, he was on his feet, resigned determination in the grim set of his lips.
Now one horse was dead, killed by Blake and his pistol, the other gone, terrified and panicked enough to never come back. Sophia felt...numb.
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