The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  Bloody hell, no.

  With a vicious growl she lunged, her hands landing on Molson’s back and shoving him with everything her body possessed.

  It sent Molson flying, tumbling over the side of the bridge. Except for his one hand.

  One hand that gripped the edge of the bridge, his knuckles popping.

  She stared at that hand, willing the pads of his fingers to slip, to slide, to send him down to the waters of hell below.

  One finger. Two.

  A grunt, and his other hand swung up, grasping—grasping for anything and finding the edge of her skirt.

  Molson’s hand on the bridge slipped off, but the grip on her skirt was secure. He fell and her body dragged down with him, his weight a brick pendulum she couldn’t shake.

  She fought it, clawing against the wood planks, but her feet went over the edge, her legs, her hips.

  Down. Down. Down so quickly she couldn’t even scream.

  Her waist. Her chest. Her head.

  Her body jerked, snapping to a stop in midair.

  A splash below.

  Molson gone.

  Her body swung, terrifying air surrounding her, vast nothingness below her feet.

  Air everywhere except around her left wrist.

  Her left wrist locked under her husband’s grip.

  She twisted, craning her neck to look up.

  Lachlan’s chest dangled fully off the edge of the bridge. His face contorted into a grimace and he slipped forward. Fingers straining, his left hand clutched the edge of the bridge, his knuckles white with the sheer force it took to hold them both from falling.

  Another slip.

  He growled.

  “Dammit, Dom—a little help,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  Onto his belly next to Lachlan and Domnall’s face appeared over the edge of the bridge, his hand extending down towards Evalyn.

  “I need her higher, Lach.”

  With a groan escaping from the depths of his might, Lachlan’s elbow bent and he lifted her with the sheer force of his arm.

  High enough. Domnall gripped her forearm with both of his hands just under her husband’s hold.

  “I got her,” Domnall grunted.

  His eyes locked with hers, Lachlan let her go and pulled himself up over the edge of the planks. His belly flat on the bridge, he threw both hands down to her. “Swing your arm up to me, Eva.”

  Praying Domnall didn’t lose his grip, she flung her right arm up to Lachlan with an awkward heave.

  He caught her wrist and within a second she was hauled upward and onto the bridge with such force it sent Lachlan flat onto his back and her splayed on top of him, her limbs tangling with his.

  He released her wrist and his arms wrapped around her, iron clamps about the jelly of her body.

  His breathing hard beneath her, she rode the panting of his chest, flattening herself as close as she could to his body. A vicious tremble ran through him and he yanked her upward, his left hand going to the back of her head, clasping her tight over his shoulder. He tucked his face into her hair, his manic breath through her hair hot on her scalp.

  “Heaven to hell, I wasn’t too late. I wasn’t too late.” He gasped the words into her hair.

  She managed to turn her face to him, her mouth next to his ear. “Lach—you were nowhere near late.”

  He nodded, his face burying back into her hair. Another shudder rolled through his body, shaking him from head to toe. “I couldn’t be late. Not again. I couldn’t lose you.”

  “You weren’t. You made it.” She wedged her hands upward, her hands clasping onto his face as she lifted herself enough to hover over him. “But how—how did you find me? After the note he made me write.”

  Lachlan’s lip curled, his head shaking. He had to draw a deep breath to steady the frenzy that had taken over his body. “The note. That idiot Molson sent to Vinehill with the note. He broke. He broke easy. Told us exactly where you’d been and where Molson was headed with you.”

  Her heart stilled. “You didn’t believe it? The note?”

  His bottom lip pushed up in a frown. “Of course I didn’t believe it, Eva. I’m not an imbecile. You may drive me to madness at times, but I’m not stupid enough to believe a half-scrawled note on crumpled paper as the end of us.”

  Her head dipped down, her brow landing on his chin as she exhaled, relief filling her chest. Several deep breaths passed, the sound of the churning water below filling the air. Her look popped up. “And I need to thank you.”

  “For?”

  “For reminding me not to make stupid choices?”

  His eyebrows arched.

  “I make stupid choices when I’m trapped and you reminded of that.”

  “You were going to jump, weren’t you?”

  “I was.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t think and it was death. You made me think.”

  “And you reminded me not to let blind rage get the better of me and saved me from sending us all over the edge. Not to mention you saved me from that bullet.” He kissed her forehead.

  “But hell, Eva.” His fingers tangled in the back of her hair tightened to her head as his eyes closed for a long moment. His look pained, it took seconds for him to crack his eyes open to her. “I cannot lose you. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “Be coerced to leave you?” Her fingers alongside his face ran upward, diving into his brown hair, her palms along his temples. “He threatened to kill them, Lach—kill the children—I had to leave. I had to write the note.”

  “I know. But blast it, Eva.” His eyes opened fully, his look piercing hers. “Those days without you—without knowing where you were, what was happening to you. It was utter madness.” He paused, swallowing hard, his head shaking. “I love you, Eva. More than my own life. More than any man has a right to love.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. His words—so raw, so vehement—surged into her heart and sent a pang across her chest. “You…”

  “Yes. I love you, Eva.” He said the words with such simple conviction, the depth of feeling behind it vibrated his chest under her.

  “Lachlan, you’re not weak. I need you to know that. I never truly thought it of you. I was stupid and I said those things when I didn’t believe any of them and I—”

  His fingers untangled from her hair and went to her lips, silencing her words. “I know. I know what you were doing. I knew it five steps from the stable. But I was going to let you stew in it—stew in your words for hours. When what I should have done was storm back in there and make you see reality.”

  “Reality?”

  “That you love me. But more than that, you trust me.”

  Her eyes widening, she smiled. “I do love you. And it is something that I never thought I could do, but I trust you. I trust you with everything I am.”

  “Lach.” Domnall’s voice cut into the thick air around them.

  Both of their heads turned to Domnall standing at the end of the bridge.

  “We should move. We dragged the other two bodies to the river and set them into the current. But we don’t need to be seen in the area.”

  “And Molson?”

  “We looked, but these waters are angry—they won’t give him up for days.”

  Lachlan nodded, then sighed. “He’s right.” His look went to her face, concern surging in his hazel eyes. “Are you harmed? What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t survive.”

  Though the concern in his eyes told her he didn’t like her half answer, he nodded. “I need to get you back to Vinehill.”

  She exhaled, relief flooding her. “There is no place I would rather be—ever again.”

  His eyes pinned her, a grin lifting his lips. “Deal.”

  { Chapter 22 }

  Lachlan’s arms about his wife tightened, just as they’d done every five minutes during the last day of riding.

  She was still in front of him, her body long and warm against his torso. Whole and solid
and safe. He hadn’t lost her. Hadn’t been late.

  His hands shifted on the leather of the reins, pulling his horse to the crossroad on the right and stopping it. Rory and Finley continued straight, each with a nod of his head as they passed, parting ways.

  Domnall pulled his horse next to Lachlan’s.

  “Go on ahead, Dom. We’ll catch up.”

  Domnall clicked his horse into motion and started on the last five miles to Vinehill.

  Lachlan waited until Domnall crested the upcoming hill and disappeared beyond craggy rocks before he set his horse in motion.

  Evalyn tensed, her back going rigid and she pulled slightly away from him. Her neck craned so she could look at him over her shoulder. “Why are we waiting?”

  “I wanted you in private.”

  “That, I already deduced. It’s the why I’m worried on.”

  Lachlan waited until his horse fell into an easy, smooth gait before clearing his throat. “There is one more thing we need to deal with.”

  Her eyebrow cocked at him. “What?”

  “Your stepfather is still at Vinehill.”

  “He’s what?” She jerked forward, twisting as fully toward him as she could without falling from the saddle.

  “Still at Vinehill. Domnall learned it from one of our servants traveling through at the inn last night. Falsted knew I took off after you and he’s waiting to see who I arrive back with.”

  Evalyn’s gold-green eyes clouded, her look drifting off of him to stare at the hillsides dotted with rocky outcroppings. Her shoulders slumped, her face growing pale.

  It sent his stomach churning, a storm of rage brewing. “You’re scared?”

  “I…” She didn’t look to him, her chest lifting, then falling with a deep sigh. “How I reacted when I last saw him…”

  Her head shook and her gaze shifted back to him. “I never wanted to be weak, Lachlan. I thought I had no other choice when I was under his roof. I thought I had left that behind when I escaped with you.” She paused, her lips drawing inward for a long moment. “I wasn’t prepared at Vinehill. I saw him and I just reacted—I just shrank and I was trapped again by him. I was weak.”

  Lachlan nodded, taking care to keep his words even. “And you’re still scared?”

  “I am, and it doesn’t have anything to do with how I trust you—how I trust you to keep me safe, for I know you will.” Her hands twisted together in her lap. “If we’re together, then we lose everything—he will stop at nothing to ruin us and now that Molson’s dead he’ll do it out of pure spite. He’ll do it with malice just to ruin me for the pleasure of seeing me suffer. He’ll try to take away all of your land—he’ll file with the courts and he’ll win—he has so many connections.”

  “He doesn’t have that much power, Eva.”

  “He does. I’ve watched it again and again with others—heard him gleefully gloat about crushing one poor soul after another. He doesn’t lose, Lachlan. He doesn’t.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “Maybe not. Or maybe you just need the right sword to stand up against him with.”

  “The right sword?”

  A scheming smile broached his lips. “Yes. And I, my love, have the sharpest sword in the world. Let me tell you about it.”

  ~~~

  “I am here, by your side, ready to catch you.” Standing next to her, Lachlan leaned down, his words a reassuring whisper in her ear. “But I know you, Eva, and you aren’t going to need it.”

  Evalyn forced a wobbly smile, her hands smoothing the front of her cerulean woolen dress as she stared at the ancient door that closed off Lachlan’s grandfather to the world. Lachlan’s confidence in her was possibly misplaced, but she appreciated his words nonetheless.

  Her hands lifted to her right temple, fingering the line of her hair that was lifted far higher than she ever dared wear it. Her ragged scar was showing, open to the world.

  Her stepfather had never wanted to see it. He’d always come after her if the slightest hint of it was showing.

  But it was time for it to see the light of day.

  Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes for a long moment to draw a deep breath into her lungs. She nodded.

  Lachlan opened the door, sending the heavy wood creaking on its hinges.

  The marquess sat by the fire talking, chuckling. Her stepfather sat opposite him, a tumbler of brandy lifting to his lips as he joined in with his own laugh.

  The sound scratched down her spine, sending all her nerves to a cringe. Of course. Of course the monster had made friends with Lachlan’s grandfather. That was how he worked. Pander to the powerful, punish the weak.

  At the sound of the hinges creaking closed, both men looked to the door and watched in silence as she and Lachlan walked to the center of the room.

  “You.” The smile slid from her stepfather’s face. “Where’s my man—Molson?”

  “Met with an unfortunate accident.” The edge of Lachlan’s mouth pulled back in a terse line as he skewered Falsted with a glare. “Slipped off the side of a bridge.”

  Falsted’s upper lip snarled. “I’ll have you stripped of your title, Dunhaven. Sent to rot in Newgate.”

  Lachlan shrugged, his look impenetrable granite. “You can try, though all the witnesses to his death will testify to the unfortunate stumble he took.”

  Falsted sprang to his feet, storming toward Lachlan. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  Steeling herself, Evalyn stepped in front of Lachlan, intercepting him. “On the contrary, stepfather. It appears as though it is you that doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”

  His feet skidding to a halt, her stepfather’s look dragged away from Lachlan and his face contorted as his morose grey eyes sliced into Evalyn. “What is this insolence? That divorce decree should arrive any day, child, and you will pay for your impudence once I drag you away from here.”

  For the merest second, his threat struck to the heart of her, sending a tremble into her limbs. With a move so slight, Lachlan’s fingers gently pressed into the small of her back.

  Strength.

  All of his strength behind her. Strength that buoyed her. Centered her.

  She focused her gaze on her stepfather’s pinched eyes. “Who is my father?”

  “I’m your father, you impertinent child.”

  She shook her head. “I am no child and I am no daughter of yours.”

  “What?” His arm flew up, his hand whipping into the air and his fingers only missing her chin by the space of a feather.

  She didn’t flinch.

  “After all the years I raised you by myself after your mother died? Clothes, food, shelter. All that and this is what you bring to me?”

  “It was kind of you.” Evalyn didn’t blink. “Now tell me who my father is.”

  He took a step closer to her, the veins on his forehead throbbing as he went to his toes to lean over her. “You don’t need to know that. Your mother wanted me to be your father. And be your father I have, for all the ingrate that you are now.”

  “I doubt that. I doubt my mother wanted me to grow up in the vile household you created for me. And I would ask you to be so kind as to not bring my mother’s soul into this.” She held her feet, her spine in place, refusing to cower away at his noxious overbearingness. Her voice went hard, her words vehement. “Now tell me who my father is.”

  His lips twisting in rage, Falsted’s hand lifted, ready to strike her.

  Behind her, Lachlan growled.

  Falsted’s look shifted to her husband and his arm stilled in midair. For eternal seconds, his forehead throbbed, blotching red as his hand swayed.

  His hand dropped to his side and his head turned as he spat on the floor. Thick droplets landed on her skirts. “I don’t have to take this from an ungrateful chit like you. Not after all I’ve done for you.” He turned from Evalyn and started to stomp toward the door.

  Lachlan moved quick, stepping in front of him, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. “You’re
not allowed to leave yet, my lord.”

  “How dare you? Step aside, Dunhaven.”

  Lachlan stared at him in silence, the line of his jaw flexing.

  “Who is my father?” Evalyn asked, not moving from the spot she had rooted herself in.

  Falsted kept his eyes trained on Lachlan. “He was no one of consequence.”

  “Truly? No one of consequence?” Evalyn spun on her heel, facing him fully. “What was his given name?”

  Falsted shook his head, his words sputtering. “I don’t even remember, not after all these years.”

  “You don’t?” She took two steps toward her stepfather. “That is so peculiar, for you’ve been managing his estate—my estate—for years.”

  “What?” Falsted’s look jerked toward her. “What lies have you been told?”

  “I have only been told the truth.” Her hands went to her hips and she took a final step toward him, meeting him square on. “Edward Montclair, Viscount of Jaggerfall, owner of Swallowford lands. That is my father. I am his only heir. And you, stepfather, have used that estate for your own purposes for the last twenty years. For your own amusement. For your own sick desires.” Her lips pulled back, the words vibrating from her chest. “That ends today.”

  Falsted turned fully to her, his hands lifting to grip her arms. “You have this all wrong, Evalyn. I never—”

  She swatted his hands away before they made contact. “You never what? Never meant to do wrong by me? Never meant to steal every penny I was due so you could fill your own coffers? Never meant to sell me to Mr. Molson so he would then own the lands and you would still reap the rewards?” Her arms crossed over her chest and her head cocked to the side. “Never what, stepfather?”

  “You little wretched ingrate.” He charged her.

  She held her ground, her toes not twitching. Her resolve steel. Let him come. He could never harm her again.

  His hands lifted to choke her and a breath before his long fingers reached her, a fist swung into his face, sending him flying.

  He fell, sprawling out on the floor.

  The fury on Lachlan’s face scared her. Scared her for the one moment it took to realize it was rage on her behalf.