The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  Simmons turned to Lachlan. “Lach, you said very specifically to find you and interrupt whatever you were doing instantly and immediately once there was word.”

  Lachlan froze. “You have word?”

  “We do.” Simmons nodded. “Verified. It is as you suspected.”

  “It is? You are positive?”

  Simmons continued his nod, his eyes grave.

  Lachlan’s fist pummeled into his thigh. “Blast it all to Hades.”

  “What? What is verified?” Lachlan’s grandfather jerked forward in his chair, working to gain his feet. “Simmons, you tell me this instant what Lach is about.”

  “Not a word to him on this.” Lachlan pinned Simmons with a look threatening the man’s future here at Vinehill.

  Simmons inclined his head.

  Lachlan turned back to his grandfather. “You can sit. For all the damn mess you just made, you can sit, Grandfather.”

  Without another word, Lachlan spun from the two men and stormed out of the room.

  He had to find Evalyn.

  ~~~

  She had to make this easy on Lachlan. Stop this before it escalated into the unimaginable. Stop this before she was turned back over to her stepfather.

  Before this turned brutal.

  Words from his own mouth.

  Evalyn’s fingers wrapped along the top rail of the half-wall of the stall, holding her balance steady as she watched the stable boy strapping the sidesaddle to the gentle horse he’d chosen for her.

  She hadn’t even made it to their bedroom before she turned left instead of right, her feet bringing her outside and down to the stables without even a plan in place.

  Not that even now, minutes later, she had the slightest inkling of a plan. She knew she was panicking. Knew that the terror in her gut at seeing her stepfather had set her feet in this direction. Set her onto a path of escape.

  But she couldn’t turn her toes back toward the castle. Couldn’t believe that there could be any future for her at Vinehill. And if she wasn’t safe at Vinehill, then she needed to disappear. Disappear into the obscurity of a remote village far from most people, never to be thought of again.

  Disappear, just as she had originally intended.

  The saddle secure, the stable boy stroked the white speckled mare’s nose and then looked to her. “Roseheart has been lookin’ fer a ride fer days now. Shall I help ye mount ‘er, m’lady?”

  “No, it is fine. I will use the block. Please go back to the hay you were moving, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”

  “Ain’t no interruption, m’lady. It be my job.” He strapped the horse’s reins to the hook on the half-wall and tilted his head to Evalyn as he moved past her.

  Her look didn’t leave the mare as she listened to the boy walk down the main aisle of the stable, his boots rustling in the dirt as he exited out the front to the hay pile where he’d left his pitchfork.

  This stable was now empty, except for her, thank goodness.

  As much as the shaking in her limbs and the churning in her gut hadn’t subsided, Evalyn couldn’t step toward the horse.

  She knew it was time to escape. Escape before her stepfather took possession of her again. Lachlan had said he would stop that and for as much as she wanted to believe him, he’d never faced her stepfather.

  He didn’t know the depth of cruelty in the man. She did.

  It was time to leave. The only thing keeping her here was what she felt for Lachlan. And that, she’d always known would end. Knew it the moment Lachlan had filled her heart. Nothing good ever came of her happiness.

  Once his grandfather and her stepfather had their way, what she felt for Lachlan wouldn’t matter. Not in the slightest.

  She had to set her feet forward. Had to face the reality of what was about to happen.

  They were never destined to be together. Lachlan had wanted her for revenge and then he’d felt sorry for her. That was the extent of his feelings.

  It had to be the extent of his feelings.

  This was her one chance to leave before her stepfather got his tentacles back about her.

  Yet her feet couldn’t shuffle forward. Her fingers couldn’t crawl to the reins.

  Damn him.

  Damn Lachlan.

  Damn her feelings for him.

  He was the whole bloody reason she wasn’t miles away from Vinehill already.

  Her head bowed and she concentrated on the blood pounding in her ears, her chest lifting and falling in short rapid breaths.

  Trapped.

  Trapped like she’d never been before. Damned if she stayed. Damned if she left.

  “I’ll not give you up, Eva.” Lachlan’s panting growl filled the air behind her. Breathless as though he’d just run a hundred miles. “Not ever. You’re not going to run.”

  She jumped at his words—at the air about him swallowing her whole—but she couldn’t lift her head, couldn’t look at him.

  If she did she would break. She would stay when she knew she shouldn’t—when she couldn’t trust what the future held for her.

  But what if she could be sure? Sure of her trust in Lachlan?

  The thought bubbled up from her roiling gut, taking a hold of her mind. There was a way to be sure. Sure that leaving was the right thing to do.

  Determination skittered down her spine and bled to her fingers and toes, stopping the tremble that had taken a hold of her ever since her stepfather had appeared.

  She had to risk this—risk it if she was ever to truly trust Lachlan. A broken nose. A broken arm. Painful, yes. But wounds would heal and then she would know. Know if she truly needed to escape.

  If she stayed, she would have to trust Lachlan. Trust him implicitly.

  Trust him through anything.

  Trust him when he was angry. When he was truly, brutally, furious. Raging at her.

  Her look lifted and she turned her head slightly, facing the already brewing storm in Lachlan’s eyes.

  “I’m leaving, Lachlan.” The lie left her lips easily, her words far more controlled than she could’ve imagined them.

  “What?” His head shook slightly, her words not making sense in his mind.

  “I’m leaving. I have to.”

  “You’re not, Evalyn. Your mind is not right at the moment—how you reacted when you saw your stepfather…” He shook his head. “There is no place that is safer for you than here—here by my side.”

  “Except it’s safer for me to leave.” She swallowed hard. “I needed safety, but you cannot offer me that, Lachlan. He walked right in here. Welcomed.” She forced her look to hold his, unwavering even though all she wanted to do was collapse into him, hide in his chest with his arms wrapping her.

  “You think I’m weak?” The deadly growl in his voice resurfaced, his hands itching at his sides, his fingers curling into fists.

  He was so close. So close to exploding.

  She just had to push him past the edge.

  A deep breath and then the lie tore up her throat. “I think you cannot protect me, Lachlan. I am sure of it. My stepfather and Mr. Molson are too much for you.”

  The air between them stilled, died.

  One heartbeat. Two. Three.

  Lachlan spun from her, his foot and his fist connecting with a thick wooden post that separated stalls. Horses around them whinnied, startled, and the force of it shook the walls, dirt and dust floating down from the open rafters above.

  He hit the post again, an agonized growl filling the cavernous space.

  The third time he rammed into the post with his shoulder, threatening to take the whole structure down.

  Just as brutally as his fury exploded, his body stilled, his hands wrapping around the rough-hewn wood. Gripping it, blood ran down his knuckles.

  He leaned forward, clunking his head onto the wood, his eyes closed.

  Her heart shattered, scattering into a thousand fragments that cut through her body. Pain in every nerve. That she could do this to him. Make him react s
o violently with just her words.

  His forehead tilted to the side against the wood, his hazel eyes opening to her.

  For a torturously long moment, he stared at her, his chest heaving.

  Her breath nothing but a heavy stone lodged in her chest, she couldn’t move, couldn’t flex a muscle.

  Lachlan shoved himself from the wood, stalking over to her.

  He didn’t slow when he reached her and she stumbled a step backward. Another. Another.

  Her back hit wood and she was trapped in a corner, Lachlan hovering over her, every seethed breath of his a spike to her chest.

  “Tell me you don’t believe that, Eva.” The growl gone, his voice had dipped raw, ragged.

  “I—”

  “Are you trying to leave me? You want to go back to your stepfather?”

  Her eyes flew wide. “No—I—”

  “Or the dower house—you want to hide away from life and all that it can offer you—all I can offer you.” His hand lifted and went along her neck, cupping the base of her head as he leaned in, his breath hot on her skin, his mouth almost touching hers. “My hand running up your thigh, dipping inward to make you gasp. My lips caressing your neck, hungry. My cock sliding into you, thick and pulsating. Do you want to hide from that?”

  “No—I—”

  He jerked away from her, his hand ripping from her neck, a sneer twisting his lips “For if you believe your own words, Evalyn, then there is no room for you in my bed and you should go. Go to your stepfather. Go to the dower house. Get on that damn horse and ride off to wherever you thought you could escape to.”

  He spun from her and stormed toward the front entrance of the stables.

  He was halfway to the barn door before Evalyn found her breath, found her courage. She shoved herself from the corner. “Lachlan—wait.”

  His stride didn’t slow. If anything it sped.

  Sped away from her.

  Sped away from her hateful words.

  He stomped through the wide opening and into the daylight, turning the corner, disappearing.

  Her feet shuffled to a stop and she stood, silence pounding in her ears.

  Stunned.

  Stunned he didn’t strike her. Hadn’t even made a motion to do so. And she had pushed him so far. Too far.

  He’d proved himself to be the man she knew he was.

  He wouldn’t hurt her, no matter what she did or what she said.

  She loved him.

  Completely and wholly and without doubt.

  A breath seeped from her lips. Long and slow and painful. The reality of how her world had just truly crumbled around her came into brutal focus.

  She had delved too deep into a lie that went beyond the pale. Told him he was unworthy. Told him he was weak.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She hadn’t considered this, coming back from her words. How they would wound him.

  How horrible, horrible, horrible she’d just acted.

  She had to find him.

  Her feet flying, she started down the main aisle of the stable, the only thing pulsating in her mind the need to catch Lachlan, to fall at his feet and beg for forgiveness for her monstrous lies.

  She ran six steps when an arm flew out of nowhere, cutting her at the waist, knocking the wind out of her. She fell flat onto her back, sprawling into the dirt and hay.

  Shock clouding her mind, she rolled in the dirt, trying to force air into her hemorrhaging gut.

  Her eyes cracked open and shiny brown boots, the tips of them lined with steel, appeared in front of her eyes.

  “He abandoned you, didn’t he? Abandoned you like the coward he is.”

  Her eyes lifted, the face hazy above her.

  But she knew the voice. Knew it all too well.

  Mr. Molson.

  { Chapter 20 }

  “Y—you?” She gasped, still trying to force air into her lungs. “Wh—what are you doing here?” Ice seeped into Evalyn’s veins, shriveling her from the inside out.

  “Who do you think brought your stepfather here, Evalyn? You think I didn’t see you in that courtroom in Stirling?”

  She blinked, his face coming into hideous, undeniable focus. Same wide nose that took up half his face. Same meaty neck that fell straight from his chin. Same soulless brown eyes that pinched at the edges. Same greasy brown hair tied back with a snatch of leather.

  Mr. Molson leaned down and grabbed her arm, ripping her from the ground to her feet. “And now I get a nice surprise as my reward. The little mousey ready to leave.”

  Evalyn twisted her arm, trying to free herself. “What? No—”

  “Oh, I heard you, Evalyn. And you’re right about that fool you married. He’s no match for me, so better he not even try.” Mr. Molson started to drag her deep into the stables. “Come with me, mousey, I have something to show you.”

  She hit at his arm, digging her heels into the dirt, dragging them. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He jerked her so viciously it made her head snap back.

  “No?” His hand was quick and in the next instant the silver of a dagger flashed in front of her face. Polished to a shine, with a pattern of flames engraved along the high ridge of the blade. Evalyn had seen this knife before. The very one he’d promised to cut her with in that corridor at Wolfbridge.

  “No, I think you’ll ride with me.” He pressed the length of the blade to her cheek, the tip of it digging into the flesh at the corner of her eye. “You recognize this? This is the blade that is going to carve your flesh, Evalyn. It can be deep, or it can be shallow. It’s up to you. You’ll ride with me or this blade will find your flesh the second you try to escape me.” He leaned in, his putrid breath invading her pores. “But I won’t kill you. Of that, you can be assured.” He pulled away from her, his head shaking. “Your father was always too easy on you. Things will be different, now.”

  “Stepfather.” The word mumbled past her lips. For all that she was in desperate danger, she needed to speak it. To correct that blasphemous slip.

  Snorting a laugh, he slid the dagger back into the sheath at his waist. His dull brown eyes lifted to her and without warning the back of his hand flew, slamming against her cheek. “Did I ask you to speak?”

  Everything inside her shriveled. Not again. She couldn’t be at the mercy of this soulless beast.

  Her look flew frantically around as he dragged her toward the back of the stable. She had to get out of here. Had to yell. Where was that stable boy? Or Lachlan—he hadn’t truly meant to leave her—had he?

  For the things she’d said to him, for the speed with which he stalked away from her, he was surely back up at the main castle by now.

  A scream was her only chance. She tripped over her feet and Mr. Molson yanked her upright.

  Her look landed at him. If she screamed and the stable boy came, Mr. Molson would gut the boy without blinking. There was no doubt. She’d overheard him laud his own kills with her stepfather—it was clear what little respect he had for the lives of those beneath him.

  Mr. Molson spun her into the last stall in the stable, stopping for a stretch of raw rope. He wrapped it around her wrists, then lifted her onto the already saddled horse.

  He heaved himself up behind her and the tip of the dagger pressed into her side just above her hip bone. “You only get one warning, mousey—make a word and this blade will be deep into your side and I will shove you from this horse. It’s a slow way to die, bleeding out, your back broken—painful—so be a dove and keep your trap shut.”

  He sent the horse through the narrow back entrance of the stable and pushed the mare quickly into the adjoining woods. They disappeared into the thick of trees until they hit a trail that snaked away from Vinehill.

  Her head craned, desperate, she kept the castle in view, praying for someone—anyone to see her—to see her being hauled away by this madman.

  The last breath of hope exhaled from her lungs as the final glimpse of the top grey stones of the east turret
vanished.

  She was on her own.

  ~~~

  They rode for six hours straight, almost to dusk.

  Lachlan would think she’d stupidly run. Think she’d left him. That fact alone crushed her soul more than anything. More than the stench of Mr. Molson behind her. More than what he planned to do with her.

  Lachlan would believe she didn’t trust him. Didn’t believe in him.

  Didn’t love him.

  The first three hours on the horse she sat, collapsing upon herself while inner pieces of her broke off shard by shard, dying, leaving in their wake only a barren cavern of emptiness.

  The last three hours she was left with nothing but numbness.

  Happiness wasn’t for her.

  She never should have longed for more. Never should have hoped for more. Never should have tried to escape her life.

  With her eyes downcast, moored deep in the cold stupor that had overtaken her body, it wasn’t until Mr. Molson pulled the reins of the horse to a stop that she realized they approached a set of four small cottages set along a grassy hillside.

  Mr. Molson poked her back and her eyes lifted slowly.

  A group of three families. Two husbands standing in front of their wives and children. Two elderly ladies, both leaning heavily on canes. One lone mother with two children clinging to her skirts.

  The group stood in the center of the four cottages, huddled into one spot, fear striking their features.

  Six men, burly and dirty, stood around them. Two of the brutes held pistols, one a club, and the other three held swords.

  She’d thought her insides were dead, but her heart burst alive, pounding, while her stomach found way to plummet further. Her gaze flew across the families. Nine children. None more than ten years old.

  Mr. Molson’s voice filled her ear. “I wanted you to see what I’ve been doing for you—the wealth I’ve been creating.”

  Her forehead scrunched and her head turned to him, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the children in the middle of the circle. “W—wealth? What do you mean?”

  “These lands, they’re mine, or they will be. I’ve been making them profitable.”

  “Profitable?” Instant understanding made her chest tighten. “You’re forcing these people from their homes?”