IF HE'S WICKED                                                                                                BACK      

PROLOGUE

England – fall 1785

            “Damn it, Tom, the woman is dying.”

            Tom scowled down at the pale woman lying so still on the tiny bed.   “She is still breathing.”

            “Barely.”

            “Just worn thin from birthing is all, Jake.”  Tom picked up the swaddled child that rested in the woman’s limp arm.   “Poor wee mite.  Throttled by the cord, it looks like.  Well, come on then, Jake, set that lad in this one’s place.”

            “I hate this, Tom.”  Jake gently settled the peacefully sleeping newborn he held next to the woman.   “T’ain’t right.  T’ain’t right at all.  The poor lass has no strength to care for the mite.  He will be dying right along with her.  Mayhap we could – “

            “You just stop right there, Jake Potter,” Tom snapped.   “You be forgetting what happened to old Melvin when he tried to say no to that bitch?   You want your bones tangled up with his in that pit?   ‘Course this ain’t right, but we got no choice.   No choice at all.   Better the wee lad dies than gets reared up by that woman, I says.   Or e’en murdered by his own mam.”

            “His lordship’d take good care of the lad.”

            “His lordship is blind to what that woman is and you be knowing that.   Now, let us be gone from here.   The bitch wants this poor dead babe in her arms ere his lordship returns and that could be soon as he was sent word that his wife had been brought to the birthing bed hours ago.    The fool who did that will be fair sorry, I can tell ye,” Tom muttered and shook his head.

            Jake started to follow Tom out of the tiny, crude cottage, but then hesitated.   “I will come with you in a blinking, Tom.  I just – “

            “Just what?   We have to go now!”

            “I just want to make ‘em warm and comfortable, give ‘em a fighting chance, or I will ne’er rest easy.”

            “Hurry then or soon we be both resting easy right alongside old Melvin.”

            After making a fire and covering the woman and child with another thin blanket, Jake looked around to make certain Tom was not watching him.   He took a sheath of papers from inside his old coat and hastily tucked them beneath the blankets.  When he looked at the woman again, he started in surprise.  She was watching him.

            “Your babe will have a fine resting place,” he whispered.  “I hate doing this, I surely do, but I got me a wife and five wee ones.   Aye, and I be a coward when all be said and done.   That vile woman would ne’er hesitate to kill me if I ruined her evil plans.   If ye can, take them papers and hide them well.   If his lordship survives all his wife’s plots, he will be wanting his son and them papers will be all the proof he will be aneeding from you.   Tis as much as I and a few others dared to do, sorry poor help that it is.   I will pray for you, missy.  You and the lad here.   Aye, and I will pray for meself as well for I have surely blackened my soul this day.”  He hurried out of the cottage.

            After waiting a few moments to be certain the men were gone, Chloe Wherlocke crept out of the niche by the fireplace where she had hidden herself when the men had ridden up to the door.   She moved to kneel by her sister Laurel’s bed and stared at the child she held, the living, breathing child.   Touching the baby’s soft, warm cheek, she looked at her sister, grief forming a tight knot in her throat.  Laurel was dying.   They both knew it.  Yet, her sister smiled at her.

            “Tis just as you foresaw it, Chloe,” Laurel whispered, weakness and not a need for secrecy robbing her of her voice.   “Life appearing in the midst of death is what you said.”

            Chloe nodded, not at all happy to be proven right.   “I am so sorry about your child.”

            “Do not be.  I will join him soon.”

            “Oh, Laurel,” Chloe began, her voice thick with tears.

            “Do not weep for me.   I am ready.   In truth, I ache to be with my love and our child.   My soul cries out for them.”   Laurel lifted one trembling, pale hand and brushed a tear from Chloe’s cheek.    “This is why I lingered on this earth, why I did not die soon after my dear Henry did.   This child needed us to be here, needed my son’s body to be here.   I recovered form that deadly fever because fate required it of me.   My little Charles Henry will have a proper burial.   A blessing, too, mayhaps.”

            “He should not be placed in the wrong grave.”

            “It matters little, Chloe.   He is already with his father, waiting for me.   Now, remember, you must make it look as if this child died.   Be sure to mark the cross with both names.   Wrap the bones we collected most carefully.   Ah, do not look so aggrieved, sister.   Instead of being tossed upon a pile as so many others dug out of the London graveyards are that poor child we gathered will have fine resting place, too.   Here in the country we are not so callous with our dead, do not have to keep moving the old out of the ground to make room for the new.   Tis a fine gift we give that long dead babe.”

            “I know.  Yet, throughout all our careful preparations I kept praying that we were wrong.”

            “I always knew we were right, that this was a fate that could not be changed by any amount of forewarning.   I will miss you, but, truly, do not grieve o’er me.  I will be happy.”

            “How could a mother do this to her only child?” Chloe lightly touched the baby’ surprisingly abundant hair.

            “She cannot bear his lordship a healthy heir, can she?  That would ruin all of her plans.”

            When Laurel said nothing more for several moments, Chloe murmured, “Rest now.   There is no need to speak now.”

            “There is every need,” whispered Laurel.  “My time draws nigh.   As soon as I am gone, see to the burial, and then go straight to our cousin Leopold.   He will be waiting, ready to begin the game.   He will help you watch over this child and his father, and he will help you know when the time is right to act against that evil woman and her lover.”  Laurel turned her head and pressed a kiss upon the baby’s head.   “This child needs you.   He and his poor love-blind father.   We both know that this boy will do great things some day.   It gives me peace to know that my sorrows are not completely in vain, that some good will come out of all this grief.”

            Chloe kissed her sister’s ice-cold cheek and then wept as she felt the last flicker of life flee Laurel’s bone-thin body.   Pushing aside the grief weighing upon her heart like a stone, she prepared Laurel for burial.   The sun was barely rising on a new day when she stood by her sister’s grave, her sturdy little mare packed with her meager belongings, a goat tethered to the patient mount, and the baby settled snugly against her chest in a crude blanket sling.   One wind-contorted tree was all that marked Laurel’s grave upon the desolate moors.   Chloe doubted the wooden cross she had made would last long and the rocks she had piled upon Laurel’s grave to deter scavengers would soon be indistinguishable from many another one dotted about the moors.

            “I will come back for you, Laurel,” Chloe swore.   “I will see you and little Charles Henry buried properly.  And this wee pauper child you hold will also have a proper burial right beside you.   It deserves such an honor.”  She said a silent prayer for her sister and then turned away, fixing her mind upon the long journey ahead of her.

            When, a few hours later, Chloe had to pause in her journey to tend to the baby’s needs, she looked across the rutted road at the huge stone pillars that marked the road to Collinsmoor, the home of the child she held.   She was tempted to go there to try to find out exactly what was happening.   The village had been rife with rumors.   Chloe knew it would be foolish, however, and remained where she was, sheltered among the thick grove of trees on the opposite side of the road which would lead her to London and her cousin Leopold.

            Just as she was ready to resume her journey, she heard the sound of a horse rapidly approaching.   She watched as a man recklessly galloped down the London road and then turned up the road to Collinsmoor to continue his headlong race.   He made quite a show, she mused.   Tall and lean, dressed all in black, and riding a huge black gelding, he was an imposing sight.  The only color showing was that of his long, golden brown hair, his queue having obviously come undone during his wild ride.   His lean aristocratic face had been pale, his features set in the harsh lines of deep concern.   He was the perfect portrait of the doting husband rushing to join his wife and welcome their child.   Chloe thought of the grief the man would soon suffer believing that his child was dead and the grief yet to come when he discovered the ugly truth about the woman he loved. And wondered how it might change the man. 

            She looked down at the infant in her arms.  “That was your Papa, laddie.  He looked to be a fine man.  And up the road lies your heritage.   Soon you will be able to lay claim to both.  On that I do swear.”

            With one last look toward Collinsmoor, she mounted her horse and started to ride toward London.   She fought the strange compelling urge to follow that man and save him from the pain he faced.   That, she knew, would be utter folly.   Fate demanded that the man go through this trial.   Until his lordship saw the truth, until he saw his lady wife for exactly what she was, Chloe knew that her duty, her only duty, was to keep this child alive.

            A fortnight later she knocked upon the door of her cousin Leopold’s elegant London home, not really surprised when he opened the door himself.   He looked down at the baby in her arms.

            “Welcome, Anthony,” he said.

            “A good name,” Chloe murmured.

            “Tis but one of many.  The notice of his death was in the papers.”

            Chloe sighed and entered the house.  “And so it begins.”

            “Aye, child.   And so it begins.”

CHAPTER ONE

London – three years later.

            Struggling to remain upright, Julian Anthony Charles Kenwood, ninth earl of Collinsmoor walked out of the brothel into the damp, foul London night.   Reminding himself of who he was was not having its usual stabilizing effect, however.   His consequence did not stiffen his spine, steady his legs, or clear the thick fog of too much drink from his mind.   He prayed he could make it to his carriage parked a discreet distance away.   While it was true that he had been too drunk to indulge himself with any of Mrs. Button’s fillies, he had felt that he could at least manage the walk to his carriage.   He was not so confident of that any more.

            Step by careful step he began to walk toward where his carriage awaited him.   A noise to his right drew his attention but, even as he turned to peer into the shadows, he felt a sharp pain in his side.   Blindly, he struck out, gratified to hear a cry of pain and a curse.   Julian struggled to pull his pistol from his pocket as he caught sight of a hulking shadowy form moving toward him.   He saw the glint of a blade sweeping down toward his chest and stumbled to the left, crying out as the knife cut deep into his right shoulder.   A stack of rotting barrels that smelled strongly of fish painfully halted his fall backward.

            Just as he thought that this time whoever sought to kill him would actually succeed another shadowy form appeared.   This one was much smaller.  It leapt out of the thick dark to land squarely upon his attacker’s back.   As Julian felt himself grow weaker, he finally got his pistol out of his pocket only to realize that he could not see clearly enough to shoot the man who had stabbed him.  Even now the pistol was proving too heavy for him to hold.   If this was a rescue, he feared it had come too late.

            Chloe held on tight as the man who had stabbed the earl did his best to shake her off his back.   She punched him in the head again and again, ignoring his attempts to grab hold of her, as she waited for Todd and Wynn to catch up with her.   The moment they arrived she flung herself from the man’s back and let Leo’s burly men take over the fight.   She winced at the sounds of fists hitting flesh, something that sounded a lot more painful than her fist hitting a very hard head, and hurried to the earl’s side.

            He did not look much like the elegant gentleman she had seen from time to time over the last three years.   Not only were his fine clothes a mess, but also he stank of cheap liquor, cheap women, fish, and blood.   Chloe took his pistol from his limp hand, set it aside, and then, with strips torn from her petticoats and his cravat, bound his wounds as best she could.   She prayed she could slow his bleeding until she could get him to Leo’s house and tend to his injuries properly.

            “Need him alive,” Julian said, his voice weak and hoarse with pain.   “Need to ask questions.”

            Glancing behind her, Chloe saw the man sprawled on the ground, Todd and Wynn looking satisfied as they idly rubbed their knuckles.  “Did you kill him?”

            “Nay, lass, just put him in a deep sleep,” replied Wynn.

            “Good.  His lordship wants to ask him a few questions.”

            “Well enough then.  We will tie him up and take him with us.”

            “My carriage – “ began Julian.

            “Gone, m’lord,” replied Chloe.   “Your coachman still lives and we have him safe.”

            “Wynn’s got the other man,” said Todd as he stepped up to Chloe.   “I will be toting his lordship.”

            Julian tried to protest as he was picked up and carried like a child by the big man, but no one heeded him.   He looked at the small figure leading them out of the alley and suddenly realized that one of his rescuers was a woman.   This has to be some delusion brought on by too much drink, he thought.

            When he was settled on a plush carriage seat, he looked across at his coachman.   Danny’s head was bloody but his chest rose and fell evenly proving that he still lived.   The small woman climbed into the carriage and knelt on the floor between the seats, placing a hand on him and the other on Danny to hold them steady as the carriage began to move.

            “Who are you?” he asked, struggling to remain conscious and wondering why he even bothered.

            “Hold your questions for now, m’lord,” she replied.   “Best they wait until we can sew you up and some of that foul brew you wallowed in tonight is cleared out of your head and belly.”

            His rescuer obviously had little respect for his consequence, Julian thought as he finally gave into the blackness that had been pulling at him.

Chloe sat in a chair by the bed and sipped her coffee as she studied the earl of Collinsmoor.   He smelled better now that he had been cleaned up but his elegant features held signs of the deep dissipation he had sunk himself in for the last year.   She had been disappointed in him and a little disgusted when he had begin to wallow in drink and whores, but Leopold had told her that men tended to do such things when they had suffered a betrayal at a woman’s hands.   Chloe supposed that, if her heart had been shattered so brutally, she too might have done something foolish.   Yet, rutting like a goat and drinking oneself blind seemed a little excessive.

Even so, she had to wonder if the earl was lacking in wits.   Three times before this he had nearly been killed yet he had continued to do things that left him vulnerable, just as he had done two nights ago.   Did he think he was simply a very unlucky man?   She had hoped he knew he was marked for death and at least had some idea of the who and the why.  Chloe did not look forward to trying to get the man to heed her warnings, but Leopold felt they could no longer just keep watch over the man, that it was time to act.

For little Anthony’s sake she had agreed.   The boy saw her and Leo as his family.  The longer that was allowed to continue, the harder it would be to reunite him with his father.   Her heart would break when that happened but she was determined to see that Anthony did not suffer unduly.   The boy also needed his father alive to help him claim his heritage and hold fast to it.   Between the earl’s increasingly dissipated ways and his mother’s greed, Anthony would not have much heritage left to claim unless this game was ended very soon.   That was unacceptable to her.   Anthony was innocent in all of this and did not deserve to suffer for the follies of his parents.

She smiled at her cousin Leopold when he ambled into the room.   Leopold never seemed to move fast, appeared permanently languid in his every action, but it suited his tall, almost lanky, body.   Those who did not know him well thought him an amiable but useless fellow living off the wealth of his forefathers.   Appearances could be deceptive, however.   Leopold had been indefatigable in his surveillance of the Kenwoods, had gathered up reams of information, had assembled a large group of associates who were all dedicated to keeping the earl alive and getting proof of who was trying to kill him, and was himself responsible for saving the man’s life three times.   England also benefited from dear Leopold’s many skills for he was one of their most dedicated and successful agents.  Chloe wondered at times if there was something about the earl’s enemies that made Leopold think they might be a threat to England as well but she never asked.  Leopold held fast to the country’s secrets.

“He will live,” Leopold said after carefully examining Lord Kenwood’s wounds.

“Again.   The man has more lives than a cat,” Chloe drawled.

“His enemies are certainly persistent.”  Leopold lounged at the end of the bed, his back against the thick ornately carved post.   “Clever, too.   If not for us they would have won this game long ago, even after his lordship discovered the ugly truth about his wife.”

“Ah, but not all the ugly truth.”

“I think he suspects most of it.   He already strongly suspects that that babe was not his get.   And that his wife was never faithful to him, never much cared for him at all.”

“How do you know all that?”

“His best friend has become mine.   Do not look so uneasy, love.   I truly like the fellow.  Met him the first time I saved this poor sot’s hide.   Thought he could be useful, but quickly saw that he was a man I could call friend.  Even more important – he was a man I could trust.”

Chloe nodded and set aside her empty cup.   “How much does this friend know?”

“Nearly all.  Guessed most of it himself.  Since I was already disinclined to lie to the man, I implied that I had begun to look into the business after the second attempt on the earl’s life.   He told me that was exactly when Lord Kenwood himself had begun to believe that his wife wanted him dead, that she was no longer happy just cuckolding him.”

“Who is this friend?”

“The honorable Sir Edgar Dramfield.”

“Oh, I know him.   I have met him at Lady Millicent’s on occasion.   She is his godmother.  A very good fellow.  He is kinder to Lady Millicent than her own daughter is.”

“He is a good man and he is very concerned about his friend.  That is why I sent word to him this morning about Lord Kenwood’s injuries, asking him to keep it quiet.   Very quiet.   He will undoubtedly arrive soon.”

“Are you sure that is wise?   Lord Kenwood may not wish others to hear what we have to tell him.”

Leopold sighed.   “It was a hard decision.  Yet, the earl does not know us at all, does he?   He has, however, known Edgar all his life, trusts him, and has bared his soul to the man on a few occasions.”

“Whilst deep in his cups, I suspect.”

“That is usually when a man bares his soul,” Leopold drawled and then smiled at Chloe when she rolled her eyes.  “I felt the earl would need a friend, Chloe, and Edgar is the only close one he has.   We will be telling his lordship some very ugly truths and he needs to believe us.”

“You said he already has his own suspicions,” Chloe began.

“Suspicions do not carry the same weight, or wield the same blow to one’s heart.   We will be filling in a lot of holes he may have concerning his suspicions and giving him proof.   There is also one hard, cold fact we must present to him, one that would bring many a man to his knees.   It would certainly cut me more deeply than I care to think about.   We may also need Edgar to help us keep this fool from going off half-cocked and to convince him to allow us to stay in the game.”

“What game?”

Chloe joined Leopold in staring at Lord Kenwood in surprise.   There had been no warning that he was about to wake up, no movements, not even a faint sound.   When he attempted to sit up he gasped with pain and grew alarmingly pale.  Chloe quickly moved to plump up the pillows behind him even as Leopold helped the man sit up and drink some cider doctored with herbs meant to stave off infection and strengthen the blood.

“I know you,” Julian said after taking several slow, deep breaths to push aside his pain.   “Lord Sir Leopold Wherlocke of Starkley.”  He looked at Chloe.   “I do not know you.”

“Chloe Wherlocke.  Leo’s cousin,” Chloe said.

There was definitely a similarity in looks, Julian decided.   Chloe was also slender, although a great deal shorter than her cousin.   Julian doubted Chloe stood much higher than five feet, if that.   She had the same color hair, a brown so dark it was nearly black, but her hair appeared to be bone straight whereas Leopold’s was an unruly mass of thick curls and waves.   Chloe was also cute more than pretty with her wide inky blue eyes.   Julian nearly started in surprise when he suddenly realized where he had heard that low, faintly lilting voice before.

 “You were there,” he said.  “When I was attacked.”

“Ah, aye, I was.”   Chloe decided it would be best not to tell the man just how she had known he needed her help.   People often found her visions a little difficult to understand, or tolerate.   “Me and Leo’s men Todd and Wynn.”

With his left hand Julian touched the bandages at his waist and shoulder.  “How bad?”

“You will live.   The wounds were deep enough to need stitching but are not mortal.   They also cleaned up well, the bleeding was stopped fair quickly, and you continue to reveal no sign or a fever or an infection.   You have also slept most peacefully for nearly two full days.  All good.”

He nodded faintly.   “I should go home.   I can have my man care for me and relieve you of this burden.”

“That might not be wise,” said Leopold.   “This is the fourth time someone has tried to murder you, m’lord.   The ones who want you dead nearly succeeded this time.   Indeed, they came closer than ever before.   I think you might wish to consider letting them think that they have succeeded.  The rumors of your sad fate have already begun to slip through the ranks of the ton.”

Before Julian could ask just how Lord Sir Leopold knew this was the fourth attack on him he was surprised by the arrival of Edgar Dramfield.  He watched his old friend greet Lord Leopold with obvious warmth and wondered when the two men had become such good friends.   It surprised Julian even more when Edgar created Miss Wherlocke as if he had known her for quite a while as well.   Finally Edgar stepped up to the side of the bed and studied him.

“Either the ones trying to kill you are completely inept or you are one very lucky man, Julian,” said Edgar.

“Tis a bit of both, I think,” replied Julian.  “Have you come to take me home?”  He frowned when Edgar looked at Leopold before answering and that man slowly shook his head.

“Nay,” replied Edgar.

“What is going on here?”

Edgar sat in the chair Leopold brought to the edge of the bed.   “We have decided that it is time this deadly game was ended, Julian.   You have been attacked four times.   Four times someone has tried to kill you.   Your luck simply cannot hold.   Do you really wish to continue to give them the chance to succeed?  To win?”

Julian closed his eyes and softly cursed.   He was in pain although he wondered what had been in that drink he had been given for his pain was definitely less sharp than it had been when he had first woken up.   Nevertheless, he was not in the mood to discuss this matter.   And, yet, Edgar was right.   He had been lucky so far but this time, if not for the Wherlockes, he would be lying dead in a foul alley outside a brothel.   And what the Wherlockes had to do with his troubles he did not know.   He looked at Edgar again.

“No, I do not want them to win, whoever they are,” he said.

“I think you know exactly who is behind it all, Julian,” Edgar said quietly, his eyes soft with sympathy.

Not ready to say the name Julian turned his attention to the Wherlockes and frowned.   “Just what do you have to do with all of this?”

Chloe felt a pang of sympathy for the man.  She knew the pain in his jade green eyes was not all due to his injuries.   Even if he had lost all love for his wife the betrayal still had to cut deep and she was soon to add to his wounds.   As her cousin retook his seat at the foot of the bed, she clasped her hands in her lap and tried to think of just what to say and how best to say it.

“I believe we can leave the explanations as to how we stumbled into this until later,” Leopold said.

“That might be best,” Chloe agreed and then smiled faintly at Julian.   “We have been involved in your difficulties for quite some time, m’lord.”

Edgar nodded.   “Leopold was the one who brought you to my house the last time you were attacked.”

“But did not stay until I could offer my gratitude for his aid?” Julian asked.

“Nay,” Leopold replied.   “You were not as sorely injured as you were this time and I felt we still had time.”

“Time for what?”

“To gather the proof you will need to end this deadly game.”  Leopold cursed softly.   “It is time to be blunt, m’lord.   You know who wants you dead.   Edgar knows.  We know.   I can understand your reluctance to speak the ugly truth aloud.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, aye, most assuredly.   Our family is no stranger to betrayal.”

“Fine,” Julian said between tightly gritted teeth.  “My wife wants me dead.”

“Your wife and her lover.”

“Which one?”  The bitterness in his voice was so sharp Julian nearly winced, embarrassed by the display of emotion.

“The only one who could possibly gain from your death – your uncle Arthur Kenton.”

Chloe clenched her hands together tightly as she fought the urge to touch Lord Julian, to try to soothe the anger and hurt he felt.   She was relieved when Wynn arrived with tea and food, including a bowl of hearty broth for his lordship.   It was best if the harsh truth was allowed to settle in a little before they continued.   She proceeded to feed Lord Julian the broth, oddly relieved by the way he grimaced over such weak fare in the normal manner of most patients.   Edgar and Leopold moved to the table set near the fireplace to sip tea, eat a little food, and talk quietly while she tended to Lord Julian.

“What are they talking about?” Julian asked between mouthfuls of the surprisingly tasty broth.

“You, I suppose,” Chloe replied.   “They are probably making plans to keep you alive and bring down your enemies.”

“Edgar’s interest I can understand, but I still have to wonder what you and your cousin have to do with this.”

“What sort of people would we be if, upon knowing someone was in danger, we just turned our backs simply because we did not know him?”

“Quite normal people.”

“Ah, well, very few people have ever accused the Wherlockes of being normal.”  After feeding him the last of the broth, Chloe set the bowl aside and retook her seat by the bed.   “Perhaps we just feel that one cannot allow people to dispose of the gentry whenever the mood takes them.   Tsk, think of the chaos that would result.”

“Enough of your sauce,” said Leopold as he and Edgar rejoined them.   “Shall we plot our plots, m’lord? He asked Lord Julian as he sat down at the end of the bed again.  “Unless, of course, you enjoy indulging in a slow, catch-me-if-you-can sort of suicide.”

“And you reprimand me for sauce,” Chloe muttered but everyone ignored her.

“No, curse you, I do not enjoy this game,” snapped Lord Julian, and then he sighed.   “I but wished to ignore the harsh truth staring me in the face.   It is bad enough knowing one’s wife is cuckolding one – repeatedly.   To think one’s own uncle is not only doing the cuckolding but that he and said wife want one dead is a bitter draught to swallow.  I am not a complete idiot, however.   You are all right.   They nearly succeeded this time.   I am just not certain what can be done about it.   Did the man you caught say anything useful?”

“Nay, I fear not,” Leopold replied.   “He says the man who hired him was well hidden in a large coat, a hat, and a scarf.   All he is certain of is that the man was gentry.   Fine clothes, fine speech, smelled clean.  All the usual clues.   He also said that he was paid a crown to follow you about until an opportunity to kill you arose and then grasp that opportunity.”

“A crown?  Is that all?”  Julian felt strangely insulted by that.   “An earl’s life ought to be worth more than that.”

“To that man a crown is a small fortune and he was promised more if he could prove that you were dead.   And, nay, there is no hope of catching anyone red-handed.   A very convoluted way was set up to deliver the extra payment.  One that easily allows your enemy every chance to slip free of any trap set for him.   Also, proof of your death must be shown and we cannot feign that.   I am assuming that you are rather fond of your right hand.”

“You could say that.”  Julian frowned at his right hand, at the scar that ran raggedly over the back of it.  “It was a near miracle that I did not lose it to this wound.  A duel,” he said when he noticed the curiosity the Wherlockes could not hide.  “The first and last I fought in the name of my wife’s honor.”

Julian was beginning to feel very tired and he knew it was not just because of his wounds.   It was his own emotional turmoil that stole his strength, a heaviness of the spirit and the heart.   Not only had his pride been lacerated by his wife’s betrayal, but his confidence in himself and his own judgment.  However, he had wallowed in self-pity long enough.   Painful though it was to face the truth, he could no longer try to ignore it, not if he wished to stay alive.   Soaking himself in drink and whores might have looked like a slow suicide to others, but that had never been his intent.   He was certainly miserable, but not so much that he was ready to welcome the cold oblivion of the grave.

“Edgar and I think you should play dead for a while,” said Leopold.  “Aside from us, the only one who knows you are alive is the man who attacked you.  He will very soon be too far away to tell anyone the truth.”

“Your servants – “

“Will keep the secret.”  Leopold smiled faintly at Julian’s look of doubt.   “You must accept my word on that, m’lord.  Our family and our cousins the Vaughns have servants whose loyalty and silence is absolute.”

“Something many would pay a fortune for.   So, I remain dead.  Do I hide here then?”

“Do you trust your servants to be silent?”

“Not all of them, no.”  Julian sighed.   “I still do not understand how you became involved in this mess.”

“We have been involved from the beginning, m’lord,” said Chloe.   “From the night your wife gave birth – “

“To someone else’s child,” he snapped.   “That was not my child.”

“I know, m’lord.  It was my sister’s.”

Julian was shocked speechless.   As he slowly recovered his wits enough to start asking a few questions, he became acutely aware of a new, very pressing need.  He tried to will it away, but reluctantly accepted that his body was not willing to wait until he got the answers he needed.

“Damnation,” he muttered.  “We need to talk about that, but, right now,” he hesitated then said, “I need some privacy.”

“Ah, I understand.”  Chloe stood up, quickly guessing what he needed and moved to ward the door.  “I will have the answers to your questions when I return.”

“How can she know what my questions will even be?” he asked Leopold the moment Chloe was gone and Edgar quickly moved to help him tend to his personal needs.

“Oh, she can easily guess,” replied Leopold.

Julian fought down a sense of humiliation as the two men helped him, washed him down, and put him in a clean nightshirt.   He hated being so weak and helpless but had to accept that he was both at the moment and that he needed all the help he could get.   Once settled back in his bed, he needed a few moments to still the trembling in his body and will his pain to recede.   When he finally opened his eyes again, he gave the two men watching him with concern a weak smile.   Then he recalled what Chloe had said and frowned.   Julian decided he must have misheard her.

“Did she really say that the child was her sister’s?” he asked.  “That I have interred her sister’s child in my family crypt?”

Leopold sighed and nodded.   “Her sister Laurel’s child.  Laurel married a poor man who died whilst out fishing.   She knew she would not survive the birth of her child, that she was too weakened by a recurring fever and grief.   Two men came whilst Laurel lay dying on her childbed, her babe born dead, and they took the child away.”

“But why?   Was Beatrice feigning that she was with child?   Was it all a lie?”

“Oh, nay, not all,” said Chloe as she entered the room and walked to the side of his bed, allowing little Anthony to remain hidden behind her skirts for the moment.   “Your wife was indeed with child.   She and Laurel took to their birthing beds at the same time, something your wife was well aware of as she held the midwife in her power.  S’truth, I think the midwife made certain that both women birthed their children at the same moment.”

“That makes no sense,” Julian muttered.   “If Beatrice was with child, what happened to it?  Where is it buried?”

“It is not buried, m’lord, although Laurel and I worked very hard to make your wife believe the child lies in a grave with Laurel.  A trade was made.  Lady Beatrice’s live child for my sister’s dead one.”

“Again – why?  To what purpose?”
            “Why?   Because the very last thing your wife and uncle wanted was for you to have an heir.”

“If the child was even mine.  That woman was never faithful.”

Chloe stared at him for a moment and then smiled.  “Then it seems you won the luck of the draw, m’lord.   The child is yours.”

“You have seen the child?   You know what happened to the baby?”

“The baby has been well cared for.”  Chloe tugged Anthony out from behind her until he stood in front of her.   “The child is the very image of his father.  My lord, meet Anthony Peter Chadwick Kenton – your son and heir.”

Julian stared into eyes the same verdant green as his own.  Thick golden curls topped the boy’s head, sharply reminding Julian of his own boyish curls.   Julian looked at the three adults all watching him intently and then looked into those eyes that marked the child as his own.   Even as he opened his mouth to speak, he felt himself tumble into blackness.

CHAPTER TWO

            “What happened?”

            Chloe turned from tending the fire the instant she heard those softly croaked words and walked back to stand by the bed.  “You swooned, m’lord,” she replied.

            It took Julian a moment to recall where he was and who this delicate woman was.  “I never swoon.”

            “I fear you have blotted your copy book this time.   You have been out cold for three hours.”

            “Where is Edgar?  And Lord Sir Leopold?”
            She noticed he did not ask after little Anthony.  “They are in the parlor playing with your son.”

            Lord Julian turned so pale that Chloe reached for him.   It startled her when he grabbed her hand in a tight hold and looked around the room a little frantically.   When he finally looked at her again it was a struggle to keep her own expression one of gentle concern.   For the moment, he was not the earl, or even that lecherous debaucher of the last year.   He was simply a man trying desperately to cope with the pain of an enormous betrayal.   She cautiously returned his tight grasp.

            “Tell me exactly how you came to have the boy,” Julian asked, thinking it odd that holding her small hand should bring him a measure of comfort, but reluctant to give that up.

            “If you will be patient, I shall begin at the very beginning,” Chloe said.   “When my sister’s husband died, she grew ill with grief.   She was already several months gone with child and that also sapped her strength.   We both knew she would not survive the birthing and soon doubted that her child would, either.  We knew your wife was also carrying a child and soon knew her plans for it.”

            “How?”

            “Let me explain that later, please.   So, knowing what was to come, we gathered the bones of an infant.   As is custom, London graveyards are often cleared of the long dead to make room for the newly dead.  During one of the times that Laurel felt somewhat stronger, we went to London and gathered the bones we needed.   We then returned to our cottage on the moors that stretch between Collinsmoor and the baron of Darkvale’s property.   And then we waited.   My sister grew weaker and the birthing was hard, the bleeding – “ Chloe took a deep breath to push aside a lingering grief.   “Two men arrived and so I hid myself away.   They took poor little Charles Henry, who was stillborn, and set Anthony in my sister’s arms.   One man, Jake Potter, could not just walk away.   He tried to make my dying sister and the baby comfortable and warm, even building a fire.   Then he slipped some papers beneath her covers, telling her that he and a few others had gathered what proof they could for the boy so that, if he survived, he could prove who he was.”

            “But he did no more?   He just left her and the child alone and helpless?”

            “He was afraid.   They are all afraid at Collinsmoor.   People who disobey do not live long.   Jake’s partner reminded him of that sad truth.   Something about a man named Melvin and a pit.  Leopold knows more about all that than I do.   The moment Jake left, I rejoined my sister.   She soon died, but she was at peace with it.   I buried her and that poor babe’s bones near the cottage.  Then I took Anthony and headed for London to join Leopold who was expecting me.   For the last three years we have waited for you to learn the truth about your wife.”

            “I have known most of it for a year now.”

            “True, but you did not take it well, did you?   The way you behaved made Leopold feel that you were not really prepared to hear all the truth.  We cannot wait any longer.   You came too close to being murdered this time and, even now, Anthony sees Leopold and I as his family.   And, to be blunt, his heritage needs protecting – now.”

            Julian let go of her hand and covered his eyes, softly reciting every curse he knew.    He sought to stir up anger and resolve, to overcome the urge to weep like some broken-hearted child.   The crimes against him were almost too great to comprehend, especially since his wife and his uncle had committed them.   Yet he did believe and the grief, the pain, he fought to control formed a hard knot in his chest.   Worse, this wide-eyed innocent miss knew it all, even knew of the depths he had sunk into over the last year.

            As he began to regain control of his emotions, he realized something else.   This small, delicate woman and her dying sister had planned, very cleverly, a way to save his child.   This stranger had buried her sister and, despite the grief she must have been suffering, had taken his child out of danger.   She had made her way to London and cared for his child for three years as she waited for him to be able to take on the responsibility.  What he owed this woman and Lord Sir Leopold was beyond calculating and the debt was bound to grow as they helped him defeat his enemies.   It humbled him and he found that an uncomfortable feeling.   When he took his hand from his eyes, he stared at the bedclothes as he tried to conquer that feeling as well.

            “I still do not understand how you knew to do all you did,” he finally said.

            “Ah, well, I suspect you have heard a few rumors about the Wherlockes and our cousins the Vaughns,” she said.

            “Foolish things about spirits and gifts.   Even sorcery and witchcraft.   There have always been such rumors about your family.  One should pay no heed to rumors.”

            “Nay?   Not even when those same rumors have been whispered throughout the ton for generations?   True, many rumors are to be doubted, but I believe one should at least listen to them.  In our case, these rumors have caused wives to leave our men and husbands to leave our women.   And most leave the children they have bred together as well.   Time and time again.   In the past, those rumors have caused Vaughns and Wherlockes to be burned at the stake or hanged or hunted down like wild beasts.”

            He frowned at her.   “Are you claiming to be a witch?”

            “Nay, m’lord,” she replied as she plumped up his pillows again and helped him sit up more comfortably.  “Oh, there have been some of us who have dabbled in what many call the dark arts but, nay, we are not evil witches or warlocks or worshippers of Satan.”  She held out a goblet of cider enriched with healing herbs.   “Drink.”

            After sniffing the drink she held under his nose, Julian asked, “What is in this?”

            “A few herbs to gentle the pain you feel and to enrich your blood, build up your strength, and hasten your healing.  No eye of newt or even a pinch of magic.”

            Ignoring that, he drank it down with a little assistance from her.   “Why remind me of what is whispered about your family?” he asked as she set the goblet aside.

            “Because of how Laurel and I, and even Leo, knew what was to come and what needed to be done.   I had a dream, or vision if you will.”   She held up her hand when he started to speak.  “Hear me out first, if you would be so kind.”  When he pressed his lips together and curtly nodded, she continued.  “Laurel married beneath her as far as my mother and society was concerned, a good but very common man.   My mother cast her out.   Laurel and I had kept in touch through letters I smuggled out to her and which my aunt smuggled to me.   That is how I knew when Laurel suspected she was with child.   Shortly after learning that I had a dream.  In that dream I saw poor Henry, her husband, swallowed by the sea.   I saw laurel upon a bed, her body swollen with child, but there was little life there and it was rapidly fading.”

            Chloe sat down in the chair by the bed and tightly gripped the arms as she continued, “Lurking about outside the small cottage where my sister lay dying was a beautiful woman, also great with child.   She wore flowing white robes decorated with bleeding hearts and skulls.  The dream quickly grew very dark and frightening.   The woman turned frightening as well and yet remained beautiful.   She tore the dead child from my sister’s womb and then fled toward a mist-shrouded castle.  Other figures, shadowy ones, flitted about and all the while the glow of life within Laurel continued to fade.   I saw Henry weeping and reaching out for his wife and child.  Then, suddenly, life appeared again, settling itself in the crook of Laurel’s arm.”

            “And you could make sense of that?” Julian asked when Chloe fell silent for a moment, intrigued despite his lingering doubts.

            “Some.  I did know that I had to get to Laurel.  My mother said that if I left I was not to return.”   She shrugged.   “I have not.   When I reached laurel, she had just received news of Henry’s death.  I had to help her bury him and then nurse her.   She recovered a little, enough to give me false hope.   I also discovered who the beautiful woman was and gathered all the information on her that I could.   Laurel did as well.  Soon the plot was clear and we began to spin our own plots, to prepare ourselves to thwart the woman.   It all transpired as my dream foretold,” she whispered.  “Anthony was the life brought into the midst of death and grief.”

            Although Julian was still not sure he believed any of the talk about visions, he asked, “You discovered the plot so quickly?”

            Chloe smiled faintly.   “I was but the sister of a poor widow.  People would say things to me or near me that they would never even whisper within a mile of you.   Also, mayhaps, I had a natural, feminine tendency to immediately distrust such a beautiful woman.   It matters not.   When I first had the dream I thought I was needed to save laurel.   It did not take me so very long to see that I was drawn into that tragedy to save Anthony.”

            She watched him struggle with the tale she told.   There was the hint of belief in his expression, but reluctance as well, and Chloe understood that.   Few people wanted to believe in such gifts.   She was pleased to see no fear.   Doubts were something she could deal with, but, for reasons she could not fully comprehend, she knew it would hurt if he feared her.

            “It is difficult to accept that a dream was what saved my,” Julian hesitated, “the boy.”

            “He is your son, m’lord.  I have the papers to prove it if you wish to see them.”

            “Later.”  He sighed.   “He has my eyes,” he whispered and then scowled at her.   “Why did you not come to me immediately?”

            “I doubted that you would believe me.   So did Leo.   She was your wife, your love, and we were strangers to you.   The cost of trusting in you too soon would have been Anthony’s life.  We dared not risk it.   We had to wait until we felt certain you had seen the truth about her or, at the very least, knew enough to heed what we had to tell you.”

            Julian nodded in reluctant agreement, accepting the distasteful fact that he had been so enthralled with Beatrice he probably would have believed her over the Wherlockes.   “I know the child she showed me was not mine.  In my heart, I knew, but I told myself many a lie until that doubt receded.   The child did not have the Kenton birthmark.”

            “Ah, aye, the little strawberry colored mark upon the right buttock.”

            “Exactly.  It was not there, but I convinced myself that its absence meant nothing.  Told myself that it would have shown itself later, if he had lived.  The boy has it?”

            “He does.”   Lord Julian closed his eyes and Chloe knew he was feeling swamped with emotion again.  “Anthony is such a pretty boy,” she said.  “Leo keeps sneaking about and cutting the child’s hair.   It grows into the most beautiful fat curls, you see.   Just perfect for a bow or two.   Green bows of course, to match his lovely eyes.”  She tsked and shook her head.   Leo even had his valet make some little manly clothes for Anthony even though the child looked adorable in his child’s petticoats.   Leo claims that, if I had my way, everyone would soon be calling the child Antonia.  Quite silly, of course.  Truly, most women would kill for curls such as Anthony has.   I see no harm in showing them off just a little.”

            Chloe babbled on about the exquisite lace adorning the child’s little gowns, ones Leo adamantly refused to allow her to put on the boy.  All the while she talked, she watched Lord Julian.  His rather beautiful mouth soon lost the faint tremor afflicting it and firmed into a frown.   By the time she began to complain about how Leo would not allow her to wash the child or his clothing in rose-scented soap, the man was glaring at her.

            “Enough,” Julian snapped.   “Your ploy has worked.   I am no longer feeling missish.   B’God, I bloody well hope that was all nonsense.”

            “Some of it,” she said and grinned.   “He really does have beautiful curls.”

            Julian grunted and then frowned at the door.  “I think I would like to see him again now that I have composed myself.”

            “No fear of swooning again?”

            “I did not swoon.  I merely succumbed, momentarily, to a lingering weakness due to my wounds.”

            “Of course you did.   Actually, I believe Leo will be bringing Anthony by in a moment or two.   He has brought the child here each hour on the hour since you, er, succumbed.  Poor child thought you had died.  Leo allows him to watch you breathe for a moment just to reassure him.   Also, Leo hopes to find you awake again for Anthony’s sake and so that you may begin to make further plans.   The clock has just struck the hour.”  She listened for a moment.   “Indeed, I believe I hear the pitter-patter of little feet coming up the stairs.   Anthony’s, of course.   Leo has rather large feet.”

            “You are a very strange woman,” Julian drawled, feeling an inexplicable urge to smile at her.

            “I know.  Tis a gift.”

            Before he could reply to that nonsense the door opened and Leo entered with Anthony, followed by Edgar, who looked uncertain.   Julian stared at the child who skipped up to the side of the bed.   He stared into those eyes that matched his to a shade and knew, without a doubt, that this boy was his son.   A quick study of the boy’s features, his hair, and even his long-fingered hands, reminded Julian strongly of the portrait of himself at that age.

            The depth of the betrayal he had suffered, still suffered, was almost overwhelming.   Beatrice had denied him his own child, and had fully intended that the boy die.    She had obviously not dared to kill the child herself but leaving a newly born baby with a dying woman, not knowing that Chloe was at hand, was murder nonetheless.   To know that his uncle had been part of that crime was even harder to bear.   Now this bright-eyed child looked at him as he would any stranger and that hurt.

            “You all bedda?” asked Anthony.

            “Yes.”   Julian hastily cleared his throat, a little embarrassed by the hoarse emotion in it.  “I am all better, or nearly so.”

            “Good.  Leo and Cohee said you would be.   Leo says you are my papa.”

            “Yes, I am.”

            “You gonna live with us now?”

            “For a while.”  He frowned when the child began to look a little distressed.

            “I stay here.  I live here.  Leo and Cohee are my fambly.”

            “Ah, I see.   Well, they always will be for they are your godparents.”  Julian ignored the looks of surprise the Wherlockes hastily hid.

            “Why did you go away?”

            It took Julian a moment to understand the question, to realize that the child had obviously been told some tale to explain his lack of parents.   “I fear I was lost for a while.”

            Anthony nodded.   “And Cohee founded you.”

            “Yes, she did.   She is also working very hard to make me better.”

            “She cannot find Mama.  Cohee said Mama was swallowed by the Pitahell monster.”

            Julian heard Edgar choke back a laugh.   He saw Leo scowl at Chloe.  Chancing a peek at her himself, Julian found her looking ridiculously innocent.  Yet again, he felt the oddest urge to laugh, something he had not felt like doing for a very long time.   The Pitahell Monster, indeed, he mused.  Chloe Wherlocke obviously did not temper her opinions much.

            “It made me sad for Mama,” Anthony said, “but I gots Cohee and that makes me happy.”

            “I am sure it does.”  The bond between his son and Chloe was going to cause a problem or two, Julian decided.   “She has taken very good care of you.”

            Anthony nodded.   “She lubs me e’en when I am naughty.  But I am a good boy.   I have pretty hair.”

            Chloe ignored the way all three men frowned at her and she smiled at Anthony.   “Very pretty hair indeed.”

            “Yes, well, I think this has been a long enough visit for now, young man,” Leo said.  “Your father needs his rest.”

            “I will take the boy to his nurse,” Edgar said.

            “I have to kiss Papa first,” Anthony said.

            “Careful.”  Leo quickly stopped the child from scrambling onto the bed, holding him up so that he could give Julian a kiss on the cheek.  “Very good.”

            The moment Leopold set Anthony back down, the boy hurried around the bed to Chloe.  He climbed up onto her lap, kissed her cheek, and wrapped his arms around her neck to hug her.   Julian caught the child looking at him and recognized a surprisingly adult look of challenge.  His pleasure over how easily Anthony had accepted him as his father dimmed just a little.   Anthony might not call Chloe Mother, but it was very clear that the bond was there and set hard.

            “Godparents?” both Wherlockes said the moment the door shut behind Anthony and Edgar.

            “Why not?  You have certainly fulfilled the role for these past three years,” Julian said.   “I might as well make it official.”  He scowled at Chloe.   “Of course, all this pretty hair nonsense must cease.”

            Chloe rolled her eyes.   “He is just a little boy.   Time enough to turn him into a manly man.”  She looked toward the fireplace and mumbled, “A manly man with pretty hair.”

            “Does she practice how to be irritating?” Julian asked Leopold.

            “Nay,” replied Leopold.   “It comes quite naturally, I fear.”

            Chloe gave both men a look of disgust and then asked, “Are we to plot our plots now?”

            “Ah, well, the foremost plot had already been set in motion,” said Leopold.  “His lordship remains hidden, giving rise to the belief that he is dead.   He needs to heal and regain his strength.”

            “A bit thin but what about his coachman?”

            “He was unconscious, if you recall, and too far away to see the attack.  We found the carriage, and put it and the coachman out on the heath.   My men stood watch to make sure no harm came to the man until he was discovered.   His lordship left enough blood in the carriage to cause the ones who found it to cry murder.”

            “A cry Beatrice and Arthur took up?” Julian asked even though he already knew the answer.

            “I fear so, and quite loudly as well,” replied Leopold.   “The first cast of the die has been made.  Now you must do your best to heal and get strong.”

            “I am not really capable of doing much else right now, am I.”

            “Do not sound so disgusted with yourself.  It was but three days ago that you were attacked and stabbed – twice.   You are capable of thinking, however, m’lord.   After another day or two of rest, I will put your mind to work on all the information I have gathered.”

            “Information but no proof?”

            “Proof has been a little difficult to grasp.   I have not been able to get too close or to search any of your properties.”  Leo made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed just as Edgar returned.   “Your servants provide only a rumor or two.  The most telling thing is that it is not loyalty that stills their tongues concerning lady Beatrice and Sir Arthur.  It is abject fear.”

            “And I have offered them no hope of freedom from that, have I.  First because I was so besotted and bewitched and then because I was so caught up in my own misery.”  Julian felt utterly disgusted with himself.  “Melvin worked in the stables at Collinsmoor,” he added softly.  “I was told that he quit, went to find his fortune in the Colonies.”

            “I believe it is called America now,” Leopold said and smiled briefly before growing serious again.  “Melvin is undoubtedly dead.  He probably found out something and they knew he would warn you.   Unfortunately, we cannot find this pit Chloe heard of or anyone to speak of it.   They do not speak openly of Melvin, either.”

            “The midwife also disappeared after the babies were exchanged,” said Chloe.

            “Are any of the rest of my family in danger?” asked Julian.

            “Your mother and sister are safe enough.” Leopold replied.   “Neither one is a threat to what your wife and uncle want.   Your younger brother Nigel is being protected.   Not so difficult as he is with our army in Canada.  I sent word to a relative there once this deadly game began and your brother is constantly guarded.  However, I recently got word that he tires of the military and foreign climes.  He is considering selling out and coming back home, something he will do when and if he gets news of your death.   That makes it even more imperative that we cease this waiting and act.”

            “You seem sure your relative can protect Nigel, yet, if my uncle believes I am dead – “

            “Do not worry.  My relative can still protect him and will continue to do so even if your brother decides to sell out and journey home.   Once he is here, we can watch out for him if my relative decides to return to Canada.   This particular Vaughn, a cousin, has a true skill for sensing who is a threat.”  Leopold shrugged when Julian looked skeptical.   “Tis the truth.  Trust me.   Even someone who is simply in a foul humor will have difficulty approaching your brother.”

            Julian did not argue but was not fully reassured, either.   Within a few moments he was too weary to participate in the conversation even though it concerned keeping him alive.   Soon the Wherlockes politely withdrew but Edgar lingered at his bedside.  Julian gave his old friend a tired smile.

            “You can trust them, you know,” Edgar said.

            “I would be a low churl if I did not,” Julian said.  “Not only do I owe them for the life of my child as well as my own, but they have watched o’er my family whilst I wallowed in drink and whores.”

            Edgar patted Julian on his uninjured shoulder.   “Do not flay yourself with guilt.   Such betrayal as you have suffered can make a man crazed.”

            “It made me a useless, self-pitying fool.  S’blood, but I am done with that.   As Leopold said, ‘tis time to end this game.”

            “Yes, for that child’s sake if naught else.  A bright lad.”  Edgar rubbed a hand over his slightly prominent chin.   “Anthony might call Miss Wherlocke Cohee, but, well, it will be difficult to part them, I fear.”

            “I know.”  Julian barely smothered a yawn.   “It will also be difficult to explain how it is I suddenly have an heir.”

            “Not when we defeat your enemies and the truth comes out.   It will, you know.  For the boy’s sake, it must.’

            “True.  The scandal will sorely hurt my mother and sister.  And, now, they will grieve for me, believing I am dead.”

            “Better that than you, Nigel, and that child dying.   Rest.   You will need all of your strength for the fight that lies ahead.   Soon Leopold and I will present you with all the man and I have discovered about Beatrice and your uncle.”

            “God help, how could I have been such an idiot, such a blind fool?”

            “Beatrice’s allure is the sort that utterly bewitches a man, blinding him to the evil in her heart.  Even I felt it.  And, no, I do not believe your uncle is so blinded.   In truth, I believe he and Beatrice are a mating of like souls.”   Edgar winked, his blue eyes bright with amusement as he stood up and headed out the door.   “Soon they will get what they so richly deserve – swallowed by the Pitahell Monster.”

            Julian was surprised to find himself smiling as he carefully shifted his body into a more comfortable position.   He realized he had not really lied to his son when he had told the boy he had been lost.  In many ways it was the cold, ugly truth.   Grief, bruised pride, and a deep sense of humiliation had taken him to a very dark place, but he was free of that now.   He bore scars, wounds he feared would never heal, but he was ready to face his troubles now.   He had a son to protect, a child to raise, and that gave him a sense of purpose he had not felt in a long, long time.  As sleep dragged him into its folds, he wondered why the image of an impudent woman with inky blue eyes lingered in his thoughts.

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