“To what purpose?” Tavis asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.
“As I said, Jeremy is obsessed with having Amelia, and he was furious she ran off with you. He will want to wed her. Then he…he’ll rape her.” Westby gulped and Lady Anne gasped, shaking her head as tears filled her eyes. “And then,” Westby continued, his voice no more than a harsh whisper, “he’ll kill her.”
Tavis closed his eyes on a silent prayer for his beloved wife, and without a word more to anyone he turned and walked out the door.
****
It took several hours of hard riding, but Tavis and Wickes arrived in Oban as faint streaks of pale blue colored the sky behind them, signaling the dawn of a new day. Finding Henry’s cottage was easy, as the town was still so small that not many cottages dotted the shoreline. They tied their horses to some trees fifty yards or so from the cottage and snuck up to the western side of the building nearest the water.
There was a feeble light coming through one of the windows, and Tavis poked his head up to look through it. What he saw instantly relieved him, for tied to a chair in the middle of the room was Amelia. Although a black cloth covered her head, which caused him to fear they had arrived too late, he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest indicating she still lived.
Beckoning to Wickes, he managed to tell him through hand motions Amelia was within and alive. While he hadn’t seen anyone in the room with Amelia, he didn’t want to risk endangering her further by attempting to rescue her now, in case there was someone inside he didn’t see. The two men worked out a plan, and Wickes crept off to take his position on higher ground. Tavis was preparing to move away from the window also when he heard movement from inside the cottage.
“It’s time to wake up, my beloved,” Jeremy’s unmistakable voice came through the open window to Tavis, who still lurked below.
“Wha—? Whaz goin’ on?” Amelia asked foggily.
Had she been drugged?
“Dawn is upon us, and soon we shall be wed.”
“I don’t wanna marry you. Jus’ kill me now.”
“Now, now, my dear,” Jeremy soothed, “is that any way to talk to your bridegroom?”
“Get your hands off me, Jeremy!” Amelia yelled, her voice loud and clear as the fog of whatever drug affected her wore off. Tavis tensed, his hand poised over his gun, ready to fire if need be.
“Just a little preview of our wedding night, Amelia.” Jeremy laughed.
“I’d rather die!”
“Oh, you will.”
“Now?” she pleaded.
“And ruin my fun? I’ll kill you, my dear, but only when your husband has arrived. I want him to watch me do it.” A dark tone crept into Jeremy’s voice. “Might even make him watch as I spread your legs apart and plunge my cock inside of you. Now, won’t that be fun, hmmm?”
Tavis ground his teeth together in absolute fury, but as long as Jeremy was in there with Amelia, he needed to stick to the plan.
“He won’t come.”
“Of course he’ll come,” Jeremy replied. “I know him. He loves you, so he’ll have to come to save you.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
Tavis’s jaw dropped at Amelia’s blatant lie. She knew he loved her. It was only yesterday he’d told her so in front of her parents. Why did she say something so untrue? Did she honestly believe it?
“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked. “I thought the reason you ran off with him in the first place was because it was love at first sight.”
Amelia snorted. “He may have told me that, but really he wanted his horses, the ones my father had taken from him. I just happened to come along and spoil his plans.”
What is going on?
She was still conscious, so she wasn’t lying; otherwise she would have fainted. Had she somehow found out what he had really been doing at the ball when they first met?
“So if you are planning to take revenge against my husband by killing me, Jeremy, you are wasting your time. I tell you, he will not come. Even if he did, he doesn’t care.”
There were several long minutes of silence in which Tavis heard rapid pacing across the floorboards. “Regardless,” Jeremy said, “with or without McGuire present, we will proceed as planned.” He heard Jeremy’s footsteps fade, and then a door slammed, leaving the room once again silent.
“Tavis…” Amelia’s whispered voice came to him through the window. “Please hurry and find me.”
Tavis didn’t know what to think. First she said he didn’t love her and wouldn’t come for her, and now she was wishing he would. Had she been lying before? But if so, why wasn’t she ill?
After peering through the window once more, Tavis hoisted himself over the ledge and into the room. Stepping quietly over to his wife, he placed his hand over her mouth and, in a low voice, cautioned her to be silent. “Shh, Wife. It’s me.”
She struggled against her bonds and twisted her head to stare up at him in burning hope. He released the bonds about her wrists and at her legs. When she was free, she launched herself into his arms. “Oh, Tavis!” she sobbed into his chest. “I knew you’d find me! I knew it!”
He held her to him and breathed deeply of her familiar scent, taking comfort in her words and in the feel of her body warm and alive in his arms. “Then why did you say otherwise? Why did you lie?”
Amelia sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I knew Jeremy was obsessed with taking his revenge in front of you, and I thought to buy myself some time if I said you didn’t care about me. I thought maybe if he believed you weren’t coming he’d keep me alive for a little bit longer, at least until you found me.”
“You lied?” Tavis asked. “How is that possible?”
“I broke my curse, Tavis. On my own.” she whispered, her face beaming at her accomplishment. “I discovered if I have to I can lie to protect myself or those that I love.”
“You broke your curse?” Tavis leaned in to kiss his wife on the lips. “You’re amazing! I love you so much, Amelia.”
“I love you, too, Tavis.”
“We need to get out of here,” he said, changing the subject. “Is there another way out besides that door?” he asked scanning the room for another exit.
“Why can’t we leave through the window you came in through?”
“I barely made it through myself.” He tapped her nose with his finger and shook his head in dismissal. “No, we can’t go out that way.”
“What about…” But her words died in her throat at the sound of approaching footsteps.
****
“Quick! Hide, Tavis! He can’t find you here!”
“Sit in the chair and pretend to still be tied. I’ll take care of the rest.” Tavis hid behind a tall bureau in the corner of the room, the shadows helping to conceal him. Amelia did as she was told and resumed her position in the chair with her arms behind her back and her ankles crossed. Lowering her head so Jeremy didn’t see the excited fervor in her eyes, she waited.
“The priest has been delayed. Father has gone to look for him,” Jeremy announced, “so I decided why wait until after we’re married to get on with it?”
Amelia watched with mounting horror as Jeremy started to unbutton the flap of his breeches. “I want to enjoy you more than once before I have to kill you, after all.” He reached into his breeches and then stopped, laughing with good humor. “How foolish of me. You’re still tied. Can’t spread those plump thighs if you’re strapped to the chair.” As he bent over to release her ankles, Amelia acted. Raising her leg in a sharp upward motion, she slammed her knee into Jeremy’s nose. A satisfying crunch echoed throughout the room.
“You bitch!” he screamed, holding onto his nose, blood streaming down his face. “You broke my nose!”
Amelia stood and walked up to Jeremy, who continued to writhe and moan in pain. She grasped his shoulders and thrust her knee into his groin. He screamed and fell to the floor doubled over in pain. “That’s for trying to rape me, you bastard!” She had r
eared her leg back to kick him in the stomach when strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her trembling frame back into the solid strength of her husband. Turning her easily, Tavis cradled her head on his chest.
“That’s enough, lass,” Tavis’s whispered voice said in her ear. “You defended yourself well, but that’s enough. It’s not in you to be violent, love. He’s not worth it, Amelia. Let go of your anger.” He continued whispering soothing words into her ear while stroking her back in long sweeping motions. Amelia sobbed, her body shaking from the shock of the last several hours. Under Tavis’s tender ministrations, her tears soon stopped, though her eyes still glistened with moisture when she lifted her head from her husband’s chest. “I want to go home, Tavis.”
“As soon as I’ve taken care of him, we can go home. I promise.”
She closed her eyes to block out the sight of Jeremy’s beaten body so she could regain control of her nerves. All too soon, though, the image of his cold, sneering face as it had loomed above her floated into her mind’s eye, and she feared these events were not going to be easily erased from her memory.
A loud commotion at the door startled her and had her husband spinning her behind his back. As she buried her face in his back, she felt his arm tense, heard the cock of the pistol, and…
“Jesus, Tavis! It’s me!” Wickes yelled. “Put the damn pistol down!”
Lowering his arm, Tavis inquired, “What took you so long?”
“Had I known you were going to storm the cottage, I would have been here sooner,” he said. “As it was, I simply sat and watched while Michelson Senior left the house, my pistol cocked and ready. I wanted to fire, but I didn’t know what was happening here, and I didn’t want to force his hand.” Wickes gestured to Meeks, who lay barely conscious on the ground. “I came rushing in when I heard a woman scream. I thought Amelia was in trouble.”
“That was Meeks you heard. Amelia incapacitated him when he tried to rape her yet again,” Tavis said.
Wickes whistled in appreciation. “You are quite a woman, Lady Stanton.”
She smiled in reply and studied Tavis’s elusive friend for the first time. Tall and broad-shouldered like her husband, he also had blue eyes, but where Tavis was dark, Mr. Wickes had light blond hair more like that of her sisters. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, she felt as if she had met Mr. Wickes before. It was something about his eyes. She had a fanciful idea that if he were angry, those eyes could turn a man to stone… Gently shaking her head, she nodded toward Mr. Wickes and acknowledged his words. “Thank you, Mr. Wickes. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
He bowed and smiled. “It’s my pleasure.” Amelia wasn’t sure, but he almost seemed relieved at her words. Surely not. She was just overly tired and reading into Mr. Wickes’s actions when really there was no reason to do so. After all, he was her husband’s friend and had ridden all night to rescue her. It was just her overactive imagination playing tricks on her. And if a nagging doubt persisted, she was too overwrought to pay much attention to it right now.
“I imagine you want to take your wife back home,” Mr. Wickes said, addressing Tavis and rousing Amelia out of her musings. “I’ll deal with Meeks here, while you tend to your wife.”
“Are you sure, Tom? Michelson is still out there. I don’t want to leave you outnumbered.”
“He’ll be no problem,” was the reply, accompanied by a sneer at Jeremy. “I’ll tie and gag him and then sit and wait for ‘father dear’ to come home,” Wickes said with a wicked grin on his rugged face. “We’ll have a nice, long chat, he and I.”
Amelia knew Tavis wanted to argue further, but Mr. Wickes waved them off. “Go! Take care of your wife. I’ll see you in a week or so, after this is all straightened out.”
Needing no further encouragement, Tavis wrapped his arm about Amelia’s waist to escort her out the door. Amelia was going home.
Chapter 23
“You’ve been avoiding me, Daughter,” Lord Westby said, startling Amelia out of her reverie.
In the fortnight since her abduction, Amelia had indeed avoided being in the same room with her father. At first, she was too tired and shocked from her ordeal to worry much about what she’d learned of her father’s activities. She spent several days healing, both physically and emotionally, in her chambers under the watchful care of her husband. After that, she reasoned her father was recovering himself, often sleeping most of the day away from heavy doses of laudanum for the pain in his shoulder. He had been insensible and unable to talk to her, or so she told herself. However, several days had passed since the doctor declared him well enough to leave his room and be in company.
During those times when he had enough strength to venture out into the house, Amelia was simply elsewhere. Sometimes she went into the garden or the kitchen, much to the annoyance of Mrs. Dowling who, having fully recovered from her own ordeal, was as commanding as ever. Amelia realized the futility of hiding from her father forever, but she had hoped to avoid this confrontation for a while longer, perhaps even until after he left her house.
Amelia turned and gave her father a chilly stare before glancing at the book she had been reading. It appeared her time was up; however, that didn’t mean she needed to make it easy on him. He had much to account for, after all.
Lord Westby sighed and pulled up a chair next to Amelia, who sat pretending to read yet, although now she was too agitated and the words swam around on the page. “Your husband tells me you broke your curse. I’m proud of you.”
She fumed at his praise and flipped another page. Amelia didn’t want him to be proud of her. In fact, she didn’t want anything more from him ever again. “Yes, it seems all those London doctors you dragged me to were wrong. The curse was breakable. I just needed sufficient motivation to do so.”
“May I ask what finally motivated you enough to overcome it?”
“I lied to protect my loved ones—Tavis, Mother, and even you.” Amelia laughed bitterly. “How lucky for you that I did not know of your duplicity before I was abducted. Otherwise I never would have been able to lie so convincingly to Jeremy, and you would most likely be dead. He was coming back to kill you, you know.”
She closed her mouth with a snap to contain the boiling rage threatening to burst free. There was more she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it without screaming, something she had never done to her father. These foreign emotions overwhelmed her normally calm and ordered existence, and Amelia disliked the lack of control they brought. For her own peace of mind, she had to maintain her composure, so she remained silent, ignored her father, and resumed turning the pages of her book.
A heavy silence followed her last statement before her father spoke again. “You were always one to pick up a book when you had a lot on your mind. Your mother and your sisters tend to become a bit hysterical when something bad happens, but not you. You take a book to a quiet spot and read until your mind can work through whatever is bothering it. I’ve always admired that about you, Amelia.”
With a crooked finger, Amelia continued turning the pages, trying not to listen to the soothing timbre of her father’s voice, a sound as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. How many times had they sat like this, Amelia curled up with a book and her father nearby talking calmly to her? He always did know how to untangle the jumble of emotions she felt, the gentle cadence of his speech smoothing the frayed edges of disappointment and pain until once more she was in control of herself. He was her hero, and she adored him.
All that had changed the moment Jeremy told her that her father, the man she respected and admired, was actually a traitor and a liar. Nothing he said to her now changed that fact, yet still she listened.
“I did that, too, when I was a boy. Took a book to read and think. I needed to immerse myself in someone else’s words until the ideas in my own head started to make sense. You first did that after you were cursed. I don’t recall the exact details now, but you told the truth to your mother about something, and it up
set her. She cried and called you the Devil’s own for having such a wicked tongue. While I comforted your mother, you ran from the room and went to the library. I found you hours later, curled up on the window seat much like you are now. I remember watching you read, your tiny head bent over the pages of the book, a line of concentration furrowing your brows, and thinking to myself how much you were like me.”
Slamming her book closed, Amelia jumped up and glared at her father. “I am nothing like you!” she hissed. “Nothing! I would never sacrifice my home and country for money, so do not think to compare my actions to yours ever again!” She stalked off and stood in front of a large, side window, leaning her head against the cool pane of glass.
“Amelia,” her father began, rising to follow her, “please, let me explain.”
“Explain what, Father?” Amelia whipped her head around and pinned her father with her hot, accusing stare. “What possible reason can you give to explain your actions?”
“I was young, Amelia, taken in by my older, more dynamic friend. I was a quiet boy, and my only real friends were found in the pages of a book. Henry’s family worked for mine, so he was often about. I used to envy how commanding he was, how all the other boys in the village looked up to him. When he took an interest in me, I was flattered. I would have done almost anything he asked of me.”
“Bollocks!” Amelia shouted, her tight rein on her temper snapping. “Don’t stand there and lie to me, Father! That story might have worked with Mother, but credit me with having enough sense to recognize when someone is lying to me!”
Lord Westby’s eyes flashed with the same fire as Amelia’s. He firmed his mouth and nodded. “Fine. You want the truth? The truth is, Amelia,” he said, advancing toward her until his face loomed over hers, “I was greedy and I was a coward. I knew exactly what I was doing, who I would be hurting, and I did it anyway. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Little White Lies Page 21
