Evan shook his head and stood up from the edge of the table.
“You’ve lain with her, haven’t ye? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Miss Thomson is a lady, through and through.” Evan stepped past his brother to set himself in place behind the line. “A fact I think you would do well to remember.”
Gilroy’s lips pulled back into a terse line. “How long before you send her on her way back to London?”
“I told her a week was all that was needed to convince grandfather.” He turned away from his brother and lifted his bow.
Gilroy grunted behind him and there was the distinct clink of the decanter against the rim of a tumbler.
How many more days would Gilroy be out of control, swimming in the whisky, before Evan would have to intervene? Gilroy usually pulled himself out of raging misery like this within days, but according to grandfather, he’d been soused for four days now.
Closing his left eye for aim, Evan let his arrow fly. Black paint again.
“Have another drink, it may improve your aim.” Gilroy lifted his full glass to Evan as he turned around.
“Whilst I’d like to, I have to keep a clear head.”
“Why?”
“You ruined the sale of the Planthroup land. It should have gone for triple the price and now we’ll have to refigure the heads of Cheviot that we were going to purchase to keep on the North Oaks land.”
Gilroy lifted his shoulders. “So we have a few less sheep. Clean it up. You always do.”
“I shouldn’t have to clean it up, Gil.” Evan tossed his bow onto the table. “If you weren’t about to bargain for the price of it, you should have just left it for me when I was back.”
“Except I didn’t know when you’d be back, brother. And Lord Colton wanted the land sooner rather than later. You can’t expect everything to run as perfectly as you like when you decide to gallivant about the country—in southern lands, no less—for this imbecilic trick you’re attempting to play on grandfather.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed at his brother. “You know exactly why I’m doing it.”
“Aye. And I’ll never hear the end of it from your mouth.”
Evan exhaled a sigh, shaking his head as he grabbed his drink and stomped out of the great hall.
Leave Gilroy to his arrows and his soused head. He had work to do.
{ Chapter 13 }
Juliet stood to slip out the door of Ness’s room.
Two days spent with her and Juliet had celebrated a brief moment of victory an hour ago. Ness had looked at her directly, her amber eyes clear and focused, and said, “You are kind, Juliet. Your voice tethers me to this world. Call me, Ness, please. Everyone does.”
It had made sitting in Ness’s room, talking nonstop for hours both days about every topic Juliet could think of, worthwhile. A small grace that most of what Juliet did in London consisted of listening to men talk about whatever they were currently obsessed with—horses, politics, the latest agricultural practices, ships in port, trading routes, accounting, books, dog breeding, gambling, the drama of the ton. The list of tepid topics she had at hand to pontificate about was staggering.
Ness hadn’t seemed to mind that the topics ranged from boring to mildly interesting. She’d seemed content just to have Juliet’s voice fill the room.
That had been the only thing Ness had asked of her the first morning Juliet went back into her room. To keep talking. Her face buried in a pillow, Ness had lifted her head just high enough to see Juliet out of her right eye. “Your voice sounds like my mother’s, please just talk, I don’t care what about.”
Juliet’s heart had flipped in her chest at the words.
To be with child and then lose a babe—not once, but twice, according to Gertie—must have been devastating for Ness. She could imagine how she would want the comfort of her own mother in just the same situation. Though not the angry, bitter mother she was at the end before Juliet left with the viscount.
Her mother from her childhood.
The mother that would hug her and pull her onto her lap and hold her as she read out loud from a book. Juliet would lay her head against her mother’s chest, soaking in the warmth of it, listening to her heartbeat, her cheek tickled by the vibration of her mother’s chest as she spoke. A sweep of her mother’s auburn hair was always loose about her shoulders, and would send whiffs of lemon into her nose. There hadn’t been a righter place in the world than on her mother’s lap.
To hear Ness want that one thing—her mother’s voice—had made Juliet pine for the past like never before. A past that was long gone, only wisps of memories left to torment her.
Juliet tried to lift the heavy ancient door of Ness’s room as she opened it, as it tended to scrape against the stone floor and she didn’t want to wake Ness. As the door opened halfway, Gertie slid into the room, giving her a bright smile and a nod as she balanced a tray of broth and tea in her hands. Gertie had been happier than anyone to see her mistress sitting up in bed and taking the slightest sips of broth earlier that day.
Gently closing the door to Ness’s room, Juliet looked to her left. The dressmaker was due to arrive back at the castle with two new dresses and warmer wear for the chill in the air. Welcome additions to the simple dark grey wool dress Juliet currently wore that the woman had altered rather quickly that first day without ever setting eyes on her—Evan must have given the dressmaker an admirable description of her body.
Evan had mentioned to her when he’d left her naked, wrapped in a sheet in his bed this morning, that he had to meet with a number of associates today, and would be busy for most of the daylight hours. Something about cleaning up a mess that he didn’t delve into.
But that gave her a few hours to wander about the castle and grounds, something she’d been excited to do since arriving. She’d always adored old structures such as these—especially ones set upon windy ridges—and there seemed to be an abundance of nooks to discover at Whetland. She’d truly only been in the dining room, her room, Evan’s room, Ness’s room, and the library since arriving.
“Miss, miss.” A little boy ran around the corner of the corridor, his hand waving at her. His cheeks and hands were dirty—sooty—and she guessed he was a stable boy corralled into cleaning the fireplaces.
“Hello.”
“Miss Thomson, is that ye, ma’am?” He pulled to stop in front of her.
“Yes?”
“Yer to come with me—I was sent up to fetch ye.”
Or apparently Evan had other plans for her.
She motioned forward, palm up. “Lead the way, little sir.”
He gave her a wide smile and turned around, his little legs quick through the corridors. He was a runner and she was surely slowing him down, for the way he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still behind him.
Through four twisting corridors, he then sped them down the tight walls of a spiral stone staircase, his hand dragging along the well-worn stones that supported the middle of the staircase.
They emerged from the staircase on what she guessed was the main level—it was hard to discern as the view out the only skinny window in the nook they were in merely peeked at the vast forest that surrounded Whetland.
“Here, Miss Thomson.” After a few steps to his left, the boy grabbed the black iron ring of a heavy oak plank door and yanked on it, the hinges screeching against the movement. “Master is inside.” He waved her inward.
She smiled brightly at him, his enthusiasm at his task in fetching her infectious. “Thank you for your speedy service. You are a champion at getting us through the castle quickly.”
He grinned, and the spots where his skin showed on his face through the dirt turned red with the compliment. “Thank ye, Miss Thomson.” He bowed his head to her and turned and ran, disappearing back up into the staircase before she could blink.
A chuckle on her lips, she pushed the door open a pinch farther and walked into what looked to be a very tall room from this angle. Three ste
ps into the room and she realized this was the great hall, though it was void of any furniture, just an odd pile of hay piled up high along the wall by where she entered.
Just as she turned to take in the rest of the hall, a flash of silver flew by her, sending instant pain into her arm.
With a scream, she grasped at the agony on her upper arm, turning toward the hay, confused at what had just happened.
An arrow.
An arrow embedded in the hay. A blasted arrow.
She glanced down at her arm, blood already seeping through her fingers that held the wound.
Spinning around, her look frantic, she found Gilroy standing at the far end of the great hall, a bow in his hand.
Still. Staring at her. No apology at his lips. No rushing forth to see if she was hurt.
He just stared.
The door to his left swung open and Evan charged into the room. He looked at Gilroy and then turned, finding her.
“Juliet!” His face crumpled, and in the next instant he was running, flying across the hall to her. By the time he reached her, a ferocious rage had taken over his eyes.
“Juliet, what the hell happened—the blood?” His hand went over her bloody fingers, pulling her grip from the slice across her arm as he searched for the source of the blood. He looked from the wound across her upper arm to her face. “What happened?”
“I…I…” She blinked hard with a slight shake of her head, trying to make her mind catch up to what had just happened.
“Your betrothed walked into the room just as I let an arrow loose.” Gilroy’s voice echoed across the cavernous expanse of the great hall. “She could’ve gotten herself killed if she’d had a longer stride.”
“What the hell were you thinking—walking into the blasted practice area?” Evan’s hand clamped over the slash on her arm and he threw his other arm behind her, dragging her toward the door she’d come in and out into the corridor.
“I—I didn’t know what was in the there—I thought you were in there.”
His feet didn’t stop and he pulled her down a long corridor, took a left, and then ushered her into the library.
“What is it?” At his chair by the fireplace, Evan’s grandfather looked up from the book in his lap. “What is the matter with the lass?”
“I don’t know yet.” He plopped her down onto a wooden chair by one of the long tables and looked down at her. “Don’t move.”
Evan disappeared out the door of the library, only to reappear less than a minute later with a white linen shirt he was biting the edge of, tearing a strip from it. By then the earl had managed to gain his feet with a wheeze, and had grabbed his cane and started to shuffle across the room toward her.
Evan spit the cloth from his teeth. “Grandfather, sit down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, whelp.”
His eyes rolling to the ceiling, Evan strode over to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter. He came back to her, throwing the shirt and strips of linen onto the table. Keeping one strip, he doused it with whisky.
“This will sting.”
She held her upper arm out to him, looking away from the bloody tear in the sleeve of her dress. She’d nursed plenty of wounds at the Den, but she’d never been able to stomach the sight of her own blood.
Evan tore wide the rip on her sleeve and set the whisky-soaked cloth to her skin.
She gasped. Sting was an understatement.
“Sorry.” Evan glanced at her face.
“Ye got to get in there, deep, Ev. Ye ken that.” Both hands leaning against his cane, the earl’s head bobbed over Evan’s shoulder, the frown on his face setting all his wrinkles deeper than they already were.
“I ken.” Evan gave her an apologetic half-smile. “And sorry for this next part, but I need to pull the skin apart to make certain nothing is stuck in the wound.”
She nodded and looked away from him, staring at the low flames in the fireplace across the room.
Using the tips of his fingers, he pulled apart the gash and swiped the cloth deeper into the wound.
She sucked in a breath, steeling herself against the stabs of pain from his prodding.
“Good. It’s not too deep.” His fingers left her arm and then tore away the bottom part of her sleeve. “Let me wrap it.”
She exhaled her held breath, the throbbing of the wound still making her stomach curdle.
“How the hell did this happen?” With those words, the earl sounded exactly like his grandson.
Evan shook his head. “I don’t exactly know other than she walked into the wrong end of the great hall just as Gilroy let an arrow fly.” He started to wrap a clean strip of the linen around her arm.
The earl looked to her. “Why would ye do that, lass?”
She winced as the linen pulled across the wound. “I didn’t know it was the practice grounds for archery. It’s inside. A boy showed me to the door to meet with Evan.”
“Ah, well, ye cannot go poking about an old castle like this and not run afoul of some trouble, lass.” He lifted his right hand from his cane and pointed to her upper arm that was quickly disappearing beneath the many overlapping wraps of cloth. “That’ll heal fine, keep moving the arm. Ye take pain well, lass.”
With a nod to himself, Evan’s grandfather shuffled his feet in a tight circle and moved back across the room to his chair.
Her head tilted down, she looked up at the back of the earl, trying to keep the glare out of her eyes. His dismissal of an arrow going through her arm was infuriating. An arrow. Through her arm.
Hell, what did she know? Maybe this was an everyday occurrence here at Whetland.
Her glare shifted to Evan. Even if it was an everyday occurrence for them, the pain coursing through her body from the gash wasn’t an everyday occurrence for her.
Evan tied off the end of the strip of linen and looked to her. Seething an outward breath, he shook his head. “I know. I know it hurts. I know it never should have happened.”
The rage had rekindled back in his eyes now that he could see she wasn’t grievously injured. Obvious fury that was enough to ease the burden of her own rage from her shoulders.
“Stay in here.” Through gritted teeth, his words fumed. “After I go and beat my brother, I’ll be back to take you on a proper tour of the castle. Something I should have done the first morning after we arrived.”
Without waiting for an answer, Evan stormed out of the room, his fists clenched.
Uneasiness sank into the pit of her belly.
Neither Evan nor his grandfather had jumped to the thought that maybe it wasn’t an accident. That maybe Gilroy had meant to make her bleed. Meant to kill her.
That thought wasn’t in either of their heads.
So why was it so stuck in hers?
{ Chapter 14 }
“What in the bloody hell do ye think you’re doing?” His attack instant on his brother the second he set foot into the great hall, Evan had Gilroy pinned onto the oak table, his forearm against his brother’s throat before Gilroy could even drop the bow in his hand.
The ass had continued on with his practice after sending an arrow through Juliet’s arm. She wasn’t worthy of an apology—or even a second glance by his brother.
That fact alone enraged Evan more than anything.
His arm pressed down on the flesh of Gilroy’s neck. “She said a boy brought her down to the side door. What the hell did you do?”
The bow dropped to the floor and Gilroy shoved upward on Evan’s arm. No success.
He growled before words started to spit out of his mouth. “I don’t ken anything about it, brother. Maybe a maid wanted her and sent the boy. Maybe the dressmaker is here and the boy is confused. Maybe cook wanted to talk to her. How should I know? How many boys do we have running about here? Who knows why? Maybe there is no boy at all and she just concocted him so she wouldn’t seem like a snooping rat.”
“A snooping rat?” Evan leaned into his pin on Gilroy, making his brother cough and send
ing his nails to scratch at Evan’s arm. “Careful what you say about my betrothed, Gil, or your face will smash easily enough.”
“Your betrothed?” Gilroy’s eyebrows went high and his forehead scrunched. “Have ye forgotten she’s no such thing—or have you been lying to me since you stepped foot back in the castle?” His eyes pinned Evan. “Which is it?”
Shit.
The ass was right. He was acting like a besotted lover.
Evan eased up slightly on the hold he had on his brother. “Betrothed or not—she doesn’t deserve your scorn.”
“Scorn? She deserves everything I think of her, or your ruse won’t work. Grandfather won’t believe it if I go along with your impending marriage without plenty of scorn and sulking fits. Did ye even think this through, Ev?”
Evan’s eyes narrowed at his brother. “So you did mean to send an arrow through her?”
“Ye didnae hear me, brother.” Gilroy shoved at Evan’s arm one last time and he managed to snake out from under the hold. Onto his feet, he stepped away, leaning against the table and rubbing his neck as he glared at Evan. “The blasted woman walked into the room just as I let an arrow fly. I can’t control her actions. Maybe you should start doing so yourself.”
Evan stared at his brother, trying to read intention.
But that was the thing about Gilroy. Evan had never been able to read him. His own twin and he didn’t have a clue half the time what Gilroy was thinking.
While he wanted to smash his brother’s face into the table for making Juliet bleed, he couldn’t do it. He’d never been able to do it.
So he did the only thing he could.
He spun on his heel, unclenched his fists, and stormed out of the great hall.
{ Chapter 15 }
“Young Juliet, come.” Sitting in his chair by the fireplace, the earl flitted his gnarled fingers into the air to motion Juliet to him. “Come sit by an old man. It’s not yet time for my nap.”
“You flatter me with the designation of young.” Looking down at her arm, she poked at the bandage over the wound. She didn’t get a good look at it before Evan bandaged it—she had no idea how deep it truly was. “I think we both know I’m not a young chit fresh from her spring season.”
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