The Charmer

by CJ Archer

Susanna saw Margaret arrive from her father's bedchamber window. She rode with purpose, bent low over the horse's neck, her skirts rippling around her legs. Susanna didn't rise to greet her, nor did she tell her father they had a visitor. Orlando had instructed her not to let anyone in the house while he was absent and had given the same instructions to the servants. Margaret would leave when no one answered.

  A few minutes later, Bessie peeked around the door. "Mistress Cowdrey's here to see you."

  "How pleasant," her father said from his bed where he was propped against pillows. Susanna had thought he was asleep.

  She gave him a smile then picked up her embroidery basket and followed Bessie out to the landing. "Mr. Holt said no visitors. Not until he returns."

  "Aye, but it's Mistress Cowdrey. Surely he meant only men."

  A shiver chilled Susanna's spine. She put her basket down but picked up the small knife she used for snipping threads. She tucked it up her sleeve. "Just in case," she said to a wide-eyed Bessie.

  "Oh, m'lady, you don't think..." Bessie gave a small yelp then covered her mouth with her hand. "I'll tell her to go."

  "No, it's all right. I'll talk to her." If she was the one trying to kill Susanna, then asking her to leave might only serve to enrage her and put the servants at risk.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the great hall just as Margaret emerged from the parlor adjoining it. She had her arms folded and her cloak draped over them, hiding her hands. Susanna kept her distance. Bessie remained at her back. "You may go," Susanna said to her maid.

  Bessie didn’t move.

  "Margaret," Susanna said, smoothly. "This is a surprise. What brings you to Stoneleigh?"

  Margaret's eyes were unblinking, yellow-green orbs. "My brother."

  "Is everything all right? He's not unwell, is he?"

  "Don't play the simpleton with me," she hissed.

  The hairs on the back of Susanna's neck rose. Behind her, Bessie drew in a sharp breath. "Bessie, go." To Margaret, she said, "State your business then leave."

  Margaret's upper lip lifted in a sneer. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

  "What does?"

  "Being mistress in your own house. You're even luckier than most. You are both master and mistress here at Stoneleigh." Her mouth flattened, her eyes sharpened as her gaze bored into Susanna. "Yet you want to take over Cowdrey Farm too."

  "Uh, no. I don't. I'm not going to marry your brother, if that's your fear. I don't love him."

  "Love? Ha! Did you love Phillip? Or your first husband?"

  "I was...drawn to them. Foolishly, as it turned out. They were not the best of husbands."

  Margaret spluttered out a laugh but it was harsh and cruel. "Perhaps if you'd been a better wife he would have treated you with more kindness. Phillip was a true gentleman." Her nostrils flared and the sheen of unshed tears covered her eyes. "He was a good man and you ruined him with your willfulness and your disregard for his needs. I told him so. I warned him he was making a mistake choosing you over me."

  Good lord! No wonder Margaret was so bitter. She had been in love with Phillip, but he had rejected her. "You think you would have been a better wife to him? You are less biddable than me, Margaret. Do not pretend otherwise."

  "I would have changed for Phillip's sake. I would have done whatever he needed of me. I would have been the best wife to him. He still chose you."

  "That is hardly my fault. Many, many times I've wished he hadn't."

  Margaret took a step forward. Her eyes were slits from which she watched Susanna the way a feral cat watches a mouse. "You lying witch. You set out to seduce him and you got what you wanted."

  "I did not—"

  "I've seen you, Susanna. The way you look at men with lustfulness, tempting them with your pretty face and the sway of your hips. You lure them as a siren lures her victims with her voice."

  "Nonsense."

  "You wanted to tie them to you so you could take over their estates. That's why you killed them, isn't it?"

  Susanna was prepared for the accusation, but it still came as a shock. It took her a moment to gather her wits.

  "She never did such a thing!" Bessie cried.

  "Hush, it's all right," Susanna murmured.

  "You tried to bend them to your will," Margaret went on, "but they would not bend so you ended their lives to earn your widow's portion."

  Good lord! Did she truly believe such madness? "If that were the case, I would have already accepted your brother's offer of marriage. He is the most docile of them all and Cowdrey Farm extensive. If I wanted a husband I could manipulate, I would choose Walter. But I have not."

  Susanna didn't see the hand coming until too late. The slap stung and sent her stumbling into the wall. Bessie steadied her and angled herself between Susanna and Margaret, but Susanna set her aside with a gentle nudge. Margaret's direct gaze looked straight past the maid as if she wasn't there.

  "Fetch Hendricks and Cook," Susanna said quietly to the maid.

  "I'm not leaving you with her."

  "You have to. Go. Now."

  Bessie rushed off, glancing over her shoulder until she reached the end of the hall and had to turn the corner. Susanna let the handle of her knife drop down into her palm.

  "My brother would be perfect for your needs," Margaret said, her words twisted with bitterness, "except for one thing. He has me." She tapped her chest. "I would not let you get the better of him. I would not let you overrun Cowdrey Farm with your ridiculous orange trees and your wanton ways. It's my place as much as his and you know that. You know you can't control Walter while I'm there, that's why you've rejected him thus far. But I know your kind. You bewitch men to the point where they're soon begging and will do anything to have you. Walter is on the verge of marrying me off because of you. Me! His beloved sister, the mistress of Cowdrey Farm. The one who spent years experimenting with new techniques, planting different crops, striking deals with merchants as far as London. I am the reason for Cowdrey Farm's success, not him, and you will not take it away from me with your simpering prettiness and whoring. I'm not going to marry. I am not leaving. Ever."

  Susanna let the insults roll off her. Margaret had bottled up her anger for so long, she needed to let it escape. Perhaps this outpouring would help her. Perhaps she would not try to kill Susanna after all.

  "The farmer Walter has been meeting with in the village...is that who he wants you to wed?"

  "His lands are half the size of Cowdrey. I'll not accept him, and you will not force Walter on the matter."

  "I've rejected Walter time and again," Susanna said. She had to keep using logic, keep Margaret thinking and not acting on violent impulse. "Why would I change my mind now?"

  "He's not a complete fool, my brother. He's been slowly thwarting your plans for financial freedom to make you need him more. I admire him for his fortitude and cleverness, if not his tastes in women."

  "You mean by tricking me into thinking I'd written to London shopkeepers when I hadn't?"

  "That is the final touch, and a deft one, but there were others. Withholding his men so that you couldn't make repairs on Stoneleigh, not giving you the tools necessary for such tasks or giving you faulty ones. He made sure you suffered setback after setback and that they were costly ones."

  It was a relief to hear the admission, just as much as it had been when Orlando told her about the merchants. Susanna had always thought the delayed repairs on Stoneleigh were in some way her fault, but now she knew they were not and it lightened her heart.

  "I can assure you," she said, "that you have just made marrying Walter even less appealing. I certainly won't wed him now."

  Margaret stepped closer to Susanna, backing her into the wall. "Yet he will persist and persist and persist because that's the sort of fool he is."

  "Then confront him, not me."

  "Oh I will. But first, I have something to take care of. Something I've wanted to do in a very long time." Before the last words were ou
t of her mouth, she lunged. The cloak fell away and the blade Susanna suspected she'd hidden all along thrust up.

  Susanna darted aside, lost her balance and fell. The knife struck the wood paneling behind her. She called out to alert her staff. Footsteps came running. Her name was shouted from somewhere deeper in the house. Margaret heard them too. She pulled the knife out of the wall and struck before Susanna could regain her balance.

  The blade sliced through the forearm Susanna put up to shield herself. She screamed. White hot pain tore up her arm. She scuttled across the wooden floor on her rear, kicking at Margaret's feet and feeling for the handle of her own knife.

  Her back smacked against another wall. Trapped.

  Margaret stood over her, knife raised, cold fury glinting in her eyes.

  "Susanna!" Orlando. The desperate cry ripped from his throat as he took in the scene. But he was at the other end of the large room. Too far.

  He ran, blade in hand, fierce determination etched into every line on his face.

  But he would not reach them in time.

  With a shrill cry, Margaret plunged. Susanna struck upward with her own knife at the same time. It caught Margaret in the chest just below her shoulder, not close enough or deep enough to strike her heart.

  Yet Margaret's eyes widened in shock. Her grip loosened on her blade's handle, dropping it. She fell forward as her hands scrabbled at her back. Orlando was there now and he caught her before she could fall on Susanna. He lowered Margaret to the ground. A knife protruded from her back. Blood oozed from the wound.

  "Susanna!" Orlando picked her up and drew her to his chest. It pounded furiously, matching the beat of her own. "Susanna." He held her against him as he inspected her injured arm. It hurt like the devil but the cut wasn't deep and had already stopped bleeding. "I couldn't get to you," he muttered into her hair. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I shouldn't have—" A shudder cut him short and he never finished the sentence.

  "I'm all right, Orlando. Is she...?"

  "Yes."

  Susanna closed her eyes and wept into his chest. He settled on the floor and cradled her in his lap. She was vaguely aware of others surrounding them, covering Margaret's body, wrapping something around Susanna's injured arm, but she lost track of time and place. It became just her and Orlando, his hands lightly skimming her, checking for other injuries, his lips pressed to her forehead and the pulse of life throbbing in her veins.

  She didn't want the moment to end.

  "What in God's name happened here?" The voice belonged to Jeffrey, and it shattered Susanna's cocoon. She extricated herself from Orlando although he kept hold of her hand as they both rose.

  Jeffrey and Monk stood at the far end of the great hall. Cook, Bessie and Hendricks hovered nearby, looking uncertain and anxious.

  "Who's under there?" Monk asked, nodding at the blanket.

  "Margaret Cowdrey," Orlando said.

  Monk merely nodded while Jeffrey went white. "Margaret? What happened to her?"

  "I killed her," Orlando said.

  Jeffrey took a small step back and hid partially behind Monk.

  "She was going to kill me," Susanna said, showing him her injured arm. It had stopped bleeding, but it still hurt. Some of Widow Dawson's salve should soothe it.

  "Aye," Hendricks said. "Mr. Holt saved her." He gave Orlando a firm nod.

  "Dear God," Jeffrey muttered. He must have realized he was in no danger because he crossed the length of the hall and lifted the edge of the blanket. He pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth and nose. "Where's Farley? I need to speak to your father, Susanna, and find out what really happened."

  "Father wasn't here. He's asleep and knows nothing of this. We'll tell you what happened." She did, leaving nothing out.

  "Can anyone confirm your story?" Jeffrey asked.

  Susanna stretched out her arms, indicating Orlando, her staff. "All of them can. You doubt me, Jeffrey?"

  "No, no," he said quickly. "But as justice of the peace, it's my duty to gather all the facts, and not from Mr. Holt himself but an independent witness."

  "We can vouch for what occurred here," Cook said. "Saw it with our own eyes, we did. All of us."

  Jeffrey turned his back on her. "Anyone of standing, Susanna? Or is it just yourself? Because I'm not sure your account is all that independent since you clearly...like the killer."

  "Jeffrey, you are being ridiculous. Margaret Cowdrey came at me with that knife there." She pointed to Margaret's weapon.

  Monk came up behind Jeffrey, fists at his sides, his level gaze on Orlando. Orlando appeared still, calm, but she could feel the ripple of pent-up emotion in their linked hands. He let go and dread filled her.

  "Susanna," Jeffrey said on a huff, oblivious to Orlando's dangerous mood, "I have to do this properly. The witness account of mere servants is not as weighty as—"

  Orlando's hand whipped out and he grasped Jeffrey's jaw. Jeffrey yelped and struggled to get away but failed. "Hear this. I killed Margaret Cowdrey because she was going to kill Susanna. That is how you'll record it. Only after that will we release the plans for the orange tree shelter to you. Do you understand me, Lord Lynden?"

  "Plans for the orange tree shelter?" Cook echoed.

  "Hush," Hendricks said. "He knows what he's doing."

  "I'd agree if I were you," Monk said to Jeffrey, rubbing the shadowy bruise on the left side of his jaw. "Mr. Holt is not someone you'd like as your enemy."

  "Yeth, yeth!" Jeffrey said through lips squashed together by Orlando's grip. "I agwee."

  Orlando let him go. "There is no need to investigate this further, no matter what Mr. Cowdrey says when he finds out."

  Jeffrey shifted his jaw from side to side, checking if it still worked. "Agreed. As long as you give me the plans."

  "I'll ride out to see Walter," Susanna said quietly.

  "But your arm, m'lady," Bessie said.

  "It's all right. It's not too deep."

  "I'll go with you," Orlando said.

  "And I," Monk said.

  "We don't need you." Orlando took Susanna's hand. It was big and solid and she gratefully closed her fingers around his.

  "Nevertheless, two thugs are better than one."

  "I'm capable of taking care of myself and Susanna against Cowdrey."

  "Madmen can be stronger than they appear," Monk said with a shrug. "And I suspect he'll be very mad."

  "Then we'll all go," Susanna said before Orlando could argue. She led them both out the front door while the others remained behind, but stopped on the front porch. A chopping sound came from the east. "Do you hear that?"

  Orlando let go of her hand and ran in the direction of the sound. Monk was on his heels and Susanna followed. As soon as she rounded the house, she realized it came from the walled garden. Her heart plunged into her stomach.

  Her trees!

  "No! No!"

  She ran, but Orlando and Monk reached the archway first. What she saw cut her deeper than any blade could. Walter Cowdrey swung an axe at the trunk of one of her oldest, strongest orange trees. Wood cracked and groaned. The tree toppled, scattering unripe oranges and leaves onto the ground as it hit. Nine other trees lay beside it. Only two remained standing.

  Susanna's knees buckled. She fell to the ground. "No!"

  Orlando tackled Walter before he swung the axe at the next trunk. Walter grunted as his face slammed into the dirt and Orlando forced his arms behind his back. The axe lay out of reach. Monk must have taken over after that because Orlando was at Susanna's side in a heartbeat, holding her.

  A terrible shrill cry spewed from the depths of her. "My trees!" All Mama's years of hard work, gone in moments. The planting, pruning, fertilizing, harvesting, loving, and the nights spent covering them, worrying if they'd made it through the frost. All gone. "Mama."

  She shut her eyes, bent over and sobbed into the earth. It felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and smashed by Walter's axe
. The pain was so immense it pushed her down and finally buried her altogether. Not even Orlando's arms holding her made a difference.

  Her beautiful trees were dead.

  Eventually, when there were no more tears inside her, she looked up and fixed a glare on Walter. He stood beside Monk. Dried blood smeared his nose and mouth and fresh blood dripped from a graze above his eye. His gaze focused entirely on Orlando and he snarled like a wild dog. He looked like a man who didn't yet know he'd lost.

  "You filthy, heartless wretch," she said, swiping at her wet cheeks. "How could you do this to me?"

  Slowly he turned to her. There was very little of the Walter Cowdrey she knew in his eyes and a lot of Margaret. "How could I do this to you? What about what you have done to me? I have loved you forever, Susanna. I have waited and waited. I have given you every kindness, offered you a comfortable life at Cowdrey Farm, and you have repaid me by humiliating me and whoring yourself with...him."

  Susanna's limbs weighed her down but she hauled herself to her feet with Orlando's help. There would be no reasoning with Walter in his current state. She turned to leave, Orlando supporting her.

  "Come back here!" Walter shouted. "I haven't finished! Do not walk away from me, woman."

  She didn't have the heart to argue with him. She just left. At the archway, her three trusted servants waited silently, their weary brows furrowed in concern. Orlando passed her into Bessie's arms, and the three servants steered her away from the walled garden. She didn't realize Orlando hadn't followed until she heard Walter shout.

  "She's mine!" It was followed by a blood-curdling scream like an ancient tribal battle cry.

  Then nothing.

  "Orlando?" she called.

  No answer.

  She pulled free of Bessie and ran back to the garden. "Orlando!"

  He caught her beneath the arch, lifting her off the ground, and she buried her face in his neck. Her body shook uncontrollably. She couldn't stop crying. "I thought he hurt you," she said, clutching at his jerkin.

  "No." His voice sounded thick and unnatural, not at all like his usual deep, self-assured one. "He's gone, Susanna."

  She peered past him. Walter lay on the ground beside the last tree he'd felled. Monk stood beside him, a blood-soaked knife in his hand. He looked up, and she was surprised to see so many naked emotions in his eyes, from shock and horror to disgust. He swallowed hard, blinked, and they were gone. His gray eyes were clear once more.

  Orlando lowered her to the ground and clasped her face in his hands. He gently kissed her. It was excruciating in its sweetness because it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She craved him and the comfort only he could offer.

  "You need to go inside and warm up," he said. "Cook, some broth for everyone if you can. Bessie, see to Susanna's needs. Hendricks...take the ladies inside while I help Monk here."

  Susanna wiped her cheeks. She was still crying. She couldn't seem to stop. Where before her heart felt like it had been ripped out, now it was a pulpy mess. Her trees were gone. Margaret and Walter were dead after trying to do her harm. And above it all was the knowledge that it was time for Orlando to leave.