by Wolf, Bree
“Samantha!” Thorne called his daughter’s name, trying his best to remain calm. It would serve no one if he lost his head, least of all his daughter.
Remaining alert, he slowly moved along the forest’s edge, trying to spot anything that might give them a clue as to what had happened or where Samantha and Mrs. Miller had gone. Had they been attacked as well? Or had they been able to flee?
Thorne paused and looked back over his shoulder to where Owen still lay in the grass. He could not help but think that Mrs. Miller would not have left her son behind. Whatever else she might have lied about, he did not doubt that she loved her child dearly and would give anything to see him safe. Why then was she not here?
Chapter Forty-Two
A Little Boy’s Heart
Never in her life had Christina felt this kind of fear. She had been concerned, worried, fearful even. Yet nothing had ever compared to this feeling of dread, of panic that had settled in her stomach. On top of that, her heart hurt. It physically hurt whenever she thought of Samantha, and tears would well up in her eyes again and again. Still, tears were of no help, and so Christina brushed them away determinedly.
The moment her family saw her return, they had known that something was wrong. They rushed forward to meet her, barely allowing her to explain before they continued onward to the meadow where Thorne waited.
Her brother carried Owen back to the house while Phineas and Drake took turns carrying Mrs. Huxley. They all searched for further clues but found nothing.
“There’s nothing left for us to do here,” her father said to Thorne, putting a hand upon his shoulder. “We should return to the house and wait for Mrs. Huxley to wake. Perhaps she can tell us what happened.”
Thorne’s jaw tensed painfully, but he nodded.
Fortunately, Mrs. Huxley began to stir the moment Drake stepped back into the drawing room and set her down upon the settee. A low moan rose from her lips, and she pinched her eyes shut.
Christina squeezed her husband’s hand, then rushed forward. Juliet placed a wet linen cloth upon the woman’s forehead as Christina sat down next to her, gently taking her hand. “Mrs. Huxley? Can you hear me?”
The woman drew in a trembling breath and tried to open her eyes. “What happened?” she whispered weakly, her eyes blinking fiercely against the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Where am I?”
Christina squeezed the woman’s hand reassuringly. “You’re at Pinewood Manor, Mrs. Huxley. Do you remember what happened? Where is Samantha?” Christina could barely contain her anxiety; yet she knew it would do no good to rush the woman.
Mrs. Huxley blinked and looked up at her. For a moment, it seemed as though she had no notion of what Christina had spoken. Then, however, her face seemed to pale. “A man,” she gasped, and her hand tensed upon Christina’s. “There was a man.”
Thorne stepped forward. “Did you know him?”
Mrs. Huxley tried to shake her head but flinched at the movement. “No. But…But Mrs. Miller did.”
Cold dread settled in Christina’s stomach, and she looked up at her husband, knowing that he felt the same. She could see it in his eyes. His hand settled upon her shoulder, for comfort as much as support.
“How do you know?” Thorne asked gently, yet the pulse in his neck beat wildly. “Did she say his name?”
“No,” Mrs. Huxley moaned, her eyes closing once more.
“What did he look like?” Thorne inquired, and Christina could feel his hand upon her shoulder tighten.
Around them, the room had fallen deathly quiet, everyone watching and listening, afraid to breathe a single word.
“Tall,” Mrs. Huxley breathed weakly. “Scar on his forehead. Disheveled clothing. Called…her…Ellen.” A long breath left Mrs. Huxley’s lips, and she slipped back into unconsciousness.
For a moment, no one said a word. Then Drake stepped forward. “We need to speak to the boy. He may know who that man was.”
Rising to her feet, Christina nodded. “He is still unconscious,” she mumbled, looking across the room at the small child her brother had settled on the other settee. “We don’t know when he will wake. If he will awaken in time to—” Her words broke off as her heart clenched painfully.
Instantly, her husband’s arms came around her, holding her tightly. “We’ll find her,” he whispered, his jaw set determinedly. “We will get her back.”
Her father stepped forward then. “Troy, can you take Mrs. Huxley upstairs? Juliet, see to her, please. I’ve already sent for a doctor.” Troy and Juliet nodded. “Where could they have gone?” His gaze moved to Thorne. “Is there a place near here where he could’ve taken them?”
Silently, Troy and Juliet moved. While Troy picked up Mrs. Huxley, Juliet held open the doors for him. Then they were gone.
Christina looked up at her husband and saw him hang his head. “I’m afraid I do not know these lands.” Indeed, they had only just moved to Pinewood Manor, hoping to find a home here for their family. It was a beautiful place, but they had yet to meet neighbors and acquaint themselves with the lay of the land.
Suddenly, Harriet jumped to her feet. “I know someone to ask!” she exclaimed, then rushed toward the door, barely sidestepping Grandma Edie as she hobbled back inside.
“What else is there to do?” Leonora mumbled, moving closer to Drake, who slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. “We have to do something.”
“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Thorne sighed tensely, casting an impatient look at Owen. “Perhaps when the boy wakes, we shall find out more.”
Phineas took a step forward. “Should we not search the surrounding area?”
“Yes, I believe that would—” Louisa began, but broke off when Grandma Edie suddenly rapped her walking cane onto the floor repeatedly.
Everyone stilled and turned to look at her.
“I just thought you’d like to know,” she began, lifting her cane and pointing it toward the settee where Owen lay, “that the boy’s awake.”
Everyone whirled around, only to see that Owen lay as still as before, not even a muscle twitching.
“How do you know?” Louisa inquired as she stepped closer, slightly squinting her eyes as she observed the boy. “He looks as before.”
“Are you saying he’s pretending to be unconscious?” Phineas inquired as he stepped up to look over his wife’s shoulder.
Christina stilled as she looked across the room at the little boy. She remembered the hard look in his eyes the day they had arrived. He had learned to protect himself, always fearful, always distrustful. Who knew what had happened today? Was he afraid that he would be blamed? That his mother would be blamed?
“Would you give me a moment alone with him?” Christina said gently, looking from her husband to her siblings and parents. “I wish to speak with him.”
Although reluctantly, they all nodded and then one by one took their leave. “We shall be right outside,” Thorne said loud enough for the boy to hear. He squeezed her hand and gave her a nod of encouragement.
When the door finally closed behind all of them, Christina moved over to the settee and pulled up a chair. “Owen? Would you please look at me? I promise you have nothing to fear. All we want is to find Samantha and your mother.”
For a long moment, the boy lay completely still. Yet Christina thought to see a slight tremble go through him.
“I know you must be afraid,” she whispered, gently placing her hand upon his frail shoulder. “Did you know that man? Do you think he would hurt your mother?”
His eyes were pinched shut, but a single tear forced its way out and rolled down along the bridge of his nose. Then a soft sob escaped his lips.
Christina moved to sit on the settee with him and reached out to brush her hand over his head, careful not to come too close to his bruise. “Please, tell us what you know, and I promise you that we shall do everything we can to protect your mother.”
His teeth sank into h
is bottom lip, and then he finally blinked his eyes open and looked at her. “You promise?”
Christina nodded. “I promise. You have my word. Whatever happens, I will do what I can to ensure that she is safe.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Owen then pushed himself into a sitting position. The movement brought pain to his head and he flinched. Christina rose and brought over the bowl of water, then dipped a small cloth in and placed it upon his head.
Owen sighed when the cool cloth touched his forehead. “His name is Sullivan,” he said quietly, lifting up his hand to keep the cloth from sliding from his forehead.
“How does your mother know him?” Christina asked gently, torn between obtaining the answer she needed as quickly as possible and treating this boy with a kindness he had never known but deserved. “He’s not your father, is he?”
“No.” A shadow passed over his face. “Father died not long after I was born.”
A soft whooshing sound suddenly drew Christina’s attention, and she turned to see Biscuit fly across the room and then settle upon the back rest of the settee.
Owen flinched in fright, his eyes wide as he stared at the bird seated so close to him. “What’s that?”
Christina smiled at him reassuringly. “He is Samantha’s pet. You do not need to worry. He is very friendly.” She swallowed and turned back to the boy. “How does your mother know this man? Can you tell me—”
“Not her mother!” Biscuit squawked. “Not her mother!”
Christina stared at the bird, remembering the many instances when Biscuit had repeated words before, words he had heard someone say. Slowly, she turned her head to Owen, and the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. “Samantha is not her daughter, is she?”
Owen’s head sank. “She did not mean to lie, but she did not know what to do.” He swallowed, and another tear snaked down his cheek. “I’m old enough to help, yet I cannot do anything. I’m a burden to her. Because of me, she is forced to accept Mr. Sullivan’s help so we can survive.” His little hands balled into fists. “And he…he demands something in return.”
Christina gritted her teeth, wishing she were unable to imagine what precisely Mr. Sullivan demanded of Owen’s mother. The little boy’s misery broke her heart, and she understood that it had been nothing short of desperation that had brought Mrs. Miller to their door.
If only they had known the truth.
“What does he want with Samantha?” she asked, placing her hand upon the little boy’s clenched fists. “Do you know where he could’ve taken them?”
Owen shrugged. “I do not know. Mother came here to get away from him, but he followed us. The other day, she saw him at the edge of the forest, but bade me not to say anything. She talked to him and asked him to leave, but he would not.” Shy eyes rose to meet hers. “He said he had an idea, one that would make us all rich.”
Christina tensed, disgusted with people who were only out for money. She knew that once she had thought her own husband to be such a man. She could not have been more wrong!
But what were they to do now?
“She pleaded with him not to take Sam,” Owen continued, tears now running freely down his cheeks. “He wouldn’t listen. He wanted her to come, too, but she refused.” Christina moved to sit beside Owen, gently pulling him into her arms. “He said he would kill me if she did not.”
Christina could barely suppress the curse words that were at the tip of her tongue. Anger burned in her veins, and she held the boy tighter, willing herself to remain calm. “Thank you for telling me all this. Thank you, Owen.”
If only it would do any good.
Chapter Forty-Three
Unexpected Help
Always had Thorne thought of himself as a patient man. Now, he knew that that was not the case. Like a caged lion, he paced the front hall, his hands balled into fists, his mind restless. His thoughts continuously strayed to Samantha, trying to picture her, where she was, what she was doing…what was being done to her.
“Do you believe all this is part of some kind of elaborate plan?” Troy said to everybody around. “Is it possible that she planned this from the beginning?”
Thorne stopped his pacing. “I do not believe so.”
“Why?” Louisa inquired, her eyes narrowed as she leaned into her husband’s side.
Thorne shook his head. “I do not believe she would leave her son behind. It doesn’t make any sense. Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing for him.” Again, he shook his head. “She would not leave him behind.”
Drake cleared his throat. “If that is the case, then we are waiting here for nothing. If Mrs. Miller was not part of the plan, then I doubt her son knows anything of worth.”
Phineas nodded. “I agree. We should be out there looking for them.”
“Looking for them where?” Leonora threw in, her gaze moving from one to the next. “They could be anywhere. We don’t even know which direction they went.”
Again, silence fell over the hall, all their faces taut. Each one of them felt the crushing weight of this immobility forced upon them. They needed to act. They wanted to act; only they could not. What were they to do?
An eternity seemed to pass until the door to the drawing room finally opened, and Christina stepped out. One look at her face told Thorne that whatever she had learned from the boy would not help them in recovering Samantha.
Still, he was relieved to hear that Mrs. Miller had not betrayed them. At least, Samantha was not alone with that man. With Mr. Sullivan. At least, someone was with her.
“Does that mean we are to expect a ransom note soon?” Troy asked looking from Thorne to his father. “If he wants money, he will not harm the girl.”
They all nodded; yet Thorne could see that they all knew that sometimes things went wrong. Not every plan panned out. Sometimes someone got hurt.
At the sound of horses approaching, Thorne turned to look over his shoulder and out the window. He stilled when he saw Harriet pull up short and jump off her mount, closely followed by an unknown man. He was dressed well and had the bearing of a lord.
A moment later, the door flew open, and Harriet rushed inside. “Have you learned anything new?” she asked, looking from one to the next.
“Nothing that would lead us to Samantha,” her father replied, stepping forward, a slight frown upon his face that deepened when his gaze moved beyond his daughter to the man entering after her. “May I ask where you have been?” His brows rose before his gaze once more traveled to their visitor.
Harriet offered her father a soft smile. “I went to fetch someone who can help.” She looked over her shoulder at her companion and waved him forward. “Jack.”
Thorne could not help but think that Jack—whoever he was—was a most unlikely man to be found at Harriet’s side. In everything she did, she was wild and untamed, always ready to break with convention, an easy smile upon her lips and her cheeks flushed by the many adventures that seemed to continuously cross her path. Jack, on the other hand, appeared rather stoic and serious and proper in the way he stood in the hall, his shoulders squared and his chin lifted in an almost haughty way. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a true aristocrat, someone who could not be bothered to care for anything or anyone outside of his own personal sphere.
Yet he was here.
Harriet’s parents turned their attention to the newcomer, and Thorne could see her father’s gaze sweep cautiously over the unknown man in their midst. “May I ask your name, Sir?” A hint of displeasure swung in his voice, and Thorne could imagine that once all this would be resolved—successfully!—Harriet would find many questions put to her by her parents.
Their visitor’s brows drew down, in part in confusion; nevertheless, a hint of anger momentarily lit up his eyes as they moved to Harriet, a question there as well as a hint of reproach. Then he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Lord Whickerton. “I apologize. I was under the impression that your daughter had informed you of our acquain
tance.” Again, his dark gaze moved back to Harriet, that same hint of reproach in them as before.
Completely unperturbed by the dark look in the man’s eyes, Harriet shrugged, a wickedly teasing smile upon her lips. “A girl has to have her secrets,” was all she said to that.
Shifting rather uncomfortably upon his feet, their visitor decided to ignore his acquaintance’s inappropriate behavior and proceeded to introduce himself. “I am Bradley Jackson, Duke of Clements. My ancestral home is less than half an hour’s ride from here.”
Thorne could not recall ever having heard of the Duke of Clements; however, the Whickertons seemed to be familiar with the name, a hint of intrigue coming to their faces.
“I do not wish to be rude,” Thorne began as the fear that lingered in his bones began to grow more painful with each moment that passed; “however, there is a most dire situation that requires our attention.” He looked from his father-in-law to the Duke of Clements. “Is there any way you can help us locate my daughter?”
The duke nodded. “I believe I can.”
Thorne drew in a sharp breath, and he could feel his wife’s hands tensing upon his arm. “How?” he asked, striding forward.
Clearing his throat, the duke turned to him. “Over the past few days, I have repeatedly discovered tracks of someone slinking through the forest between Pinewood Manor and Clements Park. Judging from the damage the man has inflicted upon the vegetation, I assume it is someone not used to maneuvering through the countryside.”
Thorne exchanged a quick look with his wife, her eyes as wide as his own. “Do you know where he is now?”
The duke nodded. “Provided he has not yet moved on, I assume you will find him in a small rundown hut not far from here. However, I suspect he will move on in the morning. It is not a place one lingers.”
Thorne felt his heart almost beat out of his chest. “Can you lead us there?”
The duke gave a quick nod. “Of course.”
