A/N - This chapter gave me trouble, but I think I've conquered it. As always, please let me know if I've screwed anything up. I hope you enjoy...
Chapter 9
'Home' was still many furlongs away, but Rebecca didn't notice. Wrapped in Alistair's great coat with his arms securely around her, she was aware only of him—every breath, every tightening of muscle and sinew. She'd intended to ride her own mount, but he'd taken one look at her and nixed that idea. After securing Caleb to his ride, he lifted her atop Chameleon's back like she was nothing. And once again she knew the cocooning warmth of the man and his horse. Only now that man was a greater mystery than ever before.
Yes, he'd killed those men—the thieves. He hadn't denied it. Not that he would have told her the truth if she hadn't accidentally found out. But he'd done it to protect her—them—that much she knew. And strangely, she felt no fear—at least, in her mind. Her body was having a different reaction.
Rebecca looked behind them at Caleb's still form. Alistair could have killed him, too, but he hadn't. Thank God the jerk was still unconscious! If he knew who was responsible for his condition, and how—he could make big trouble. If the whole truth became known, it was Alistair who would be in real peril.
Her desire to protect him was overwhelming. She searched his face. Moonlight reflected in his eyes, but the strange yellow glow that had emanated from them only minutes before he attacked had completely disappeared. Unfortunately, her memory of them had not. She involuntarily shivered.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice dark and clipped.
Meaning, are you okay with being held by a fearsome beast? Rebecca nodded. It was all she could do. Heart still thumping wildly, she had to clamp down on her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling audibly. All right? What did that even mean, anymore? In the space of a moment, he'd tipped the world on end. Are you the same man who'd sought the peacefulness of wind chimes at twilight? The one who'd tenderly cared for my sister? The same who'd tried to push me away for my own good?
As if he heard her unspoken questions, he looked down to answer.
It wasn't to be. Before he could speak, lights shown in the distance.
"Bridgewood," was all he said and kneed his mount in that direction.
"Charles!" Alistair yelled as soon as the trio of horses passed through the outer gates.
Moments later, a rumpled Charlie ran out the front door tucking his shirt into his pant waist. "Aye! I'm here!" he grumbled. "What be the—" He stumbled to a halt when he saw Rebecca and the other rider laid across his horse.
"Are the Millhouses on the property?" Alistair asked urgently.
"Nay. I sent 'em home after ye left. Figured we wouldn't be needin' 'em 'til morning."
"Good. Lock the outer gates then see to the horses."
Alistair dismounted and started untying Caleb.
"Alistair?" Rebecca implored.
"Not now."
"Blimey. What 'appened to 'im?" Charlie asked, yanking Caleb's head up by his hair to get a better look. Fresh blood stained his fingers. "Hey. Ain't he the bloke—?"
"Yes," the others answered in unison.
"Is he dead?"
"Unfortunately not," Alistair growled.
"He just hit his head," Rebecca added.
"Another one? Blimey!" As Charlie tugged the iron gate closed behind them, she watched him stop and peer down the empty lane. "Iffin' anyone else be knocked in the head and needin' assistance out there," he called, "you'll just 'ave to wait. We're full up." With that, he clanked the gate shut and latched it.
Rebecca couldn't help it—she smiled. Charlie's Cockney accent appeared to be stronger when he was tired—along with his wit. She expected to see Alistair roll his eyes, but when she looked at him, his demeanor said he was anything but amused. He was angry.
"Help me get him onto the table," he directed as the two men carried Caleb's unconscious form into the manor. She followed close behind. "Rag." Alistair ordered and cleaned the blood from Caleb's temple as he examined him.
"Alistair—"
"Other than the bump on his head, he appears uninjured," he said, ignoring her.
"After what I saw back there—"
Charlie looked up. "Eh? What did ye see?"
"—you can't just shut me out!"
Charlie's eyes swung back and forth between the two of them.
At Alistair's forbidding look, Rebecca tugged the jacket tighter around herself and hesitated. "I-I saw . . ."
"—me," Alistair finished for her.
"Ye?"
Alistair grimaced. "She saw me. I did this!" He turned to his friend. "She knows." Turning his back to them, he walked to the wash basin, rinsed his hands in the tepid water, then threw the towel down in disgust.
Charlie looked at Caleb, then at Rebecca and Alistair. "She—you—?"
"Please give us a minute, Charlie."
"No." Alistair said without turning. "There isn't time. I don't know how long he'll be out. We must get you both back to your aunt's before he rouses."
"What? I'm not going anywhere with him!" She tugged on his sleeve. "Alistair, you know what he's capable of. And he never even saw you."
That made him turn. Alistair sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. But you did, he said with his eyes, and she saw the defeat in them.
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going back with him."
"Rebecca . . . ."
She shook her head. "I-I don't know what's going through your head right now, but I need . . . an explanation. Something."
He stalked over to her. "The explanation is simple, my lady. We've crossed a line and there's no turning back."
"Fine," she said, refusing to be intimidated. "I don't want to. But there's something you should know. There's a London detective looking for you—for him, I mean—the other one."
"What?" two heads swiveled together.
"He questioned me at Aunt Helen's. Detective . . . Billings, I believe it was. I was actually headed here to warn you. He asked me questions, Alistair. And he knew your name."
"How?"
"When I mentioned that you saved us from those marauders . . . ."
Charlie swore.
"I didn't know! I just wanted to assure him you were the good guy, but I . . . probably made things worse by calling attention to you, didn't I?" She put a hand to her mouth. "What have I done?"
"Gor! Let's get movin'!" Charlie cried. "Iffin' we follow the coast to the north, it'll cover our tracks—"
"No," Alistair said firmly. "We're not running. I'm too close. I have a killer to catch, and I need the answers I may find here."
"If that detective be followin' the same trail, ye could get caught in his trap, too, Doc!"
Rebecca gasped.
Rather than reply, Alistair set his jaw. "Get me a rope!" he ordered.
"Why? What—"
"We'll have to tie him in the saddle."
"Wait! Caleb? How can you worry about him at a time like this?"
Alistair spun toward her. "There is no time, my lady! We have to get you both back to your aunt's before the sun rises."
"Did you not hear me? I can't go back!"
"You can, and you will. I'll escort you. You won't be in any danger, I promise."
From him or from me, she heard him say without putting voice to it.
"I can't go back like this!" she cried, clutching at the jacket, and it finally got both men's attention.
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh. How am I going to explain . . . my dress?" She blushed and avoided Charlie's curious gaze. "Alistair, I'll go to my home. I can sneak in, change my clothes before anyone is the wiser—"
"Wait." He ran from the room.
Charlie shrugged then he took a step closer. "Miss, when ye say that ye saw 'im—"
"I saw him change, Charlie. He . . . he protected me from Caleb. I won't tell anyone, I swear. His secret is safe with me. Just . . . please help him believe that. He said that there's another . . . ."
"Aye. The bad'un. He's been chasin' the bastard for a while now. Beggin' your pardon, ma'am."
She put a hand on his arm. "I can help. I want to—"
"Here." Alistair reappeared out of nowhere, a piece of green silk in his hands.
She took it, realized it was a dress, and looked up at him.
"Bridgewood's wife's, no doubt. It may be out of fashion, but it should fit you well enough."
When she merely continued to stare at it, he moved her bodily out of the room. "Quickly!"
Under the canopy of darkness, Rebecca waited on the stoop at the two men once again secured Caleb to his mount.
"Are you certain we can't go to my father's house? It's not so very far."
"How would you explain it? No, we'll ride for your aunt's, but we'll be lucky to get there before daybreak."
"No one in my aunt's household will be awake before noon. Her parties go on until the wee hours of the morning."
"Nevertheless, if we wait—"
"If we wait until morning and someone sees me arrive with Caleb, there will be hell to pay," she conceded. "My aunt may be a dear, but she's a stickler for convention. She'll realize we've been out all night together and insist on a wedding. Not even my father would be able to talk her out of it."
"That isn't going to happen."
The vehemence in his voice ran a shiver up her spine. But Rebecca was a realist. "What could you do?" And there were other pressures. "Caleb's father wants the marriage," she admitted. "It's been his plan all along, although I can hardly countenance it. There are any number of more eligible, wealthy, and willing young women—"
"None more beautiful or intelligent, I assure you."
She blushed and ducked her head, allowing him to lift her to Chameleon.
A little while later she couldn't hold her tongue any longer.
"Are you going to tell me about it, or not?"
Alistair looked back at Caleb—he was still out—then set his jaw and looked toward the empty road ahead of them. "It was a long time ago."
"We have a long ride ahead of us."
He grit his teeth, but eventually started speaking. "I was fresh from medical school and eager to learn."
As he related the narrative in his deep, rumbly voice, Rebecca leaned back into his warmth and listened.
"After a year in the field as a corpsman, I won a coveted spot—an opportunity to be mentored by one of England's most innovative and ground-breaking medical researchers, Dr. Avery—"
"—Bridgewood."
"Yes."
She twisted to look at him more fully.
"He told me the years he'd spent in the army, himself, had set his path. He'd been overwhelmed by the tragedy and loss of life, and was certain there was a way to assist the human body to fight disease and injury more effectively. But what began as a noble project eventually became an obsession."
"One that could have turned the tide of war and saved hundreds of lives," she offered.
"If only that had been the case. He started out experimenting on animals. Then he got bolder, scouring the back alleys for homeless and desperate men. Most of them didn't survive."
She gasped. "But surely you were not so desperate?"
"Me? Nay. After about a year working for him, I had the misfortune to come down with a form of bubonic plague while tending the sick in an isolated village. I guess he felt this would be better than death."
"You were dying and he experimented on you?!"
"I think he believed he was trying to save me. And at first, it appeared he had. After only one injection, I not only survived, but I rallied very quickly. It was a year before I started noticing the other changes. By that time, we had parted ways. I later heard he'd retreated to his estate here. It's where his wife is buried."
"There's a painting in the upper hall. What happened to her?"
"She apparently died quite young. There is a grave marker on the hillside behind the house."
"The wind chimes?"
He looked down at her and nodded. "Now that I look back on it, that may have been the beginning of his madness. I suspect his experiments grew as much from his frustration at not being able to cure her wasting disease as his desire to strengthen soldiers in battle."
"What about their sons?"
He shrugged. "He once admitted to me that his wife was unable to bear children. The boys in the picture were fostered."
"Ah." The painting made more sense. "They must be men now. I wonder where they are? But he left his estate to you."
He shook his head. "I confronted him, once, after I began to change. At first he denied having given me anything, but later broke down and confessed." His gaze touched hers again. "I . . . persuaded him."
"Y-you—"
"I transformed in front of him. It was the wrong tack. Once he saw the consequence of his actions, he was fascinated, and became even more consumed with perfecting it. But I believe he felt a measure of guilt. He and I had once been friends."
"He should have! And the estate was his way of paying you off! Friends don't experiment on friends!" she said heatedly.
He pressed his lips together. "It would have been better had I died."
"No! You can't think that! Alistair, what was done to you was wrong, but as long as you're alive there's a chance it can be reversed—"
"Not if I can't figure it out! I'm searching through his notes for anything that might give a clue as to what exactly I'd been injected with—but I'm only grasping at straws. The man bordered on genius. His notes are not easy to comprehend."
"Perhaps if you had help—"
"I can't risk anyone else knowing. They'd hunt me down, lock me up. God knows what else."
"But you're not a murderer! Surely they can see the dif—"
"Can you?" He leaned intimidatingly close until they were nearly touching noses.
She pressed him back, unimpressed. "There's only one monster here." She glanced over at the other horse. "And his name is Darrington."
Alistair forgot to breathe. Cloaked in darkness but for moonshine and scattered starlight, he nevertheless could see her clearly. And she didn't lie. "God." He leaned his head against hers. "Where have you been the last five years?"
Rebecca felt the weight of that question in the deepest part. As Chameleon slowed to a stop, she reached up and ran a finger over his brow, down his dimpled cheek, then across his lips. They parted. "Waiting for you."
They shared breath for a space of a few long moments until a groan behind them jerked them both around. Caleb grunted again and tried to lift his head. Alistair quickly backhanded him and he fell silent once more.
But it brought them both back to reality. He straightened and nudged the horses forward again. "The animal I'm after—that may be my fate, too." He looked her in the eyes. "I believe my condition is progressing. Not only must I find a way to stop him before he kills again, I need to find a way to stop myself before it's too late."
She gasped.
"Now how comfortable do you feel in my arms?"
Said with such a bitter tone, she ached for him. "You're not him, and it's not too late. We'll do it together. We'll find a cure."
"No. It's too dangerous."
"But Charlie—"
"Charlie understands the danger. And he feels indebted to me. I've tried, but I can't make him leave my side."
Once again she placed her hands on either side of his face. "And neither will I. Accept it. Once I get back home, I'll persuade my father to let me be your assistant. Together, we'll find an answer, I promise you. I only worry that this detective might mistake you for the villain. Perhaps you should leave the area for a while, just until the real killer is caught."
He sighed. "I can't leave the good people of Hillshire in danger. And I may be the only one who can stop him."
"But you could be caught, as well!"
"It's a risk I have to take."
As they turned the last corner, they were within sight of the brightly lit estate when Caleb began to rouse again. It was time. Alistair sidled up to Cerus, and set her back upon him.
She grabbed his jacket when he started to lean away.
"I'll be right here," he promised.
"But—"
He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, then nodded for her to proceed to the house. When she didn't move, he nudged her horse forward. As soon as he did, he regretted it. Looking toward the quiet house, he listened for movement. None.
"Wait."
Coming out of the shadows, he came up alongside her again, pushed a hand through her luxurious hair, and pulled her face to his. "I don't know why God sent me such a gift, but thank you." He touched his lips to hers. Heaven, in every form of the word.
As soon as Rebecca started to respond and open her mouth, he had to force himself to pull back. He dare not linger.
"You're secret is safe with me, Alistair," she whispered.
If only you were safe with me. He held her eyes a long moment, then bowed his head and took a pace back. "Stay away from Bridgewood, Rebecca. Please." One last effort to persuade her. It was the last thing he wanted, but all he could do for her.
"But why?" She grabbed for his hand and held it until the natural pull of the horses forced them apart. He shook his head one last time and faded back into the woods.
Caleb made another noise and she turned to him, angry at the interruption. When she looked back, the shadows revealed nothing, even in the early morning light. She searched the tree line, knowing he must still be there. A blanket of fog filled the space between heaven and earth making her wonder if he'd ever really been there. The dress she wore confirmed it. Finally, she frowned and walked the horses to the front of the house and dismounted.
"What the hell?" Caleb groaned, his words slurred. He frowned and looked about him.
Rebecca smoothed her hair more firmly in place and put on her best disgusted face. "Can you dismount, or do you require assistance?"
He discovered the rope tied around his middle and looked askance at her.
"I went out for an early morning ride and found you on the side of the road. You must have fallen off your horse and hit your head. I apologize for the rope. It was difficult enough getting you back on in the first place. I didn't want to bother with it again. You don't remember?"
"I've never fallen off a horse in my life! And that isn't right. We were—" He looked at her dress—not the one from the night before—and frowned.
She didn't like his insulting perusal. "What is it?"
"You—I followed you to Bridgewood in the middle of the night—"
Rebecca put a hand to her chest in alarm. "I beg your pardon! I left the party early and went to bed with a megrim. My sister can vouch for that." A small lie, but one he wouldn't question. "I suppose that's why I awakened so early this morning. I went nowhere in the night, I assure you. Especially not with the likes of you!"
"The hell you did!"
A growl came from the woods and they both turned. It was a stupid move. "Stay right there, I'll get someone to help you," she said, pulling his attention back toward her. Then they heard the rumble of a carriage and horses approaching. She looked up, expecting to see Alistair. Instead, her father came into view riding alongside a coach.
Rebecca ran forward to greet him. "Papa!"
Eldon Reynolds tossed his reigns to the ground and dismounted. "Thanks be to God, you're safe, daughter! How fares Isabella? I came as quickly as I heard."
"Oh, papa, we're well. You needn't have worried."
"Helen sent word that your coach had been attacked."
"Yes. I'm afraid we fared better than it. Had it not been for our newest neighbor, Doctor MacGregor, we'd not be so hale. He saw to our well-being."
"Then I owe him a debt of gratitude."
Caleb laughed next to her and spat on the ground.
Eldon looked over at him and nodded. "Mr. Darrington?"
"Sir."
The elder Reynolds looked between them and squinted. "What brings the two of you out so early in the morning?"
When Caleb started to respond, she spoke over him. "Poor Caleb, Papa. I went for an early morning ride and found him on the ground. He fell off his horse."
"I did not fall—" Caleb started to say, then must have thought better than to argue with Rebecca in front of her father. He touched a hand to his sore temple instead.
"That's quite a bruise you've got there, son. As long as twasn't my daughter's doing."
Caleb looked at her. She warned him with a look. "Of course not, sir."
Rebecca hid a grin.
"Is your father about?" Eldon asked grimly. "I heard he was here."
"He left last night, sir. Had some business at home."
"I see."
"If you'll excuse me." Caleb sniffed in her direction then bowed perfunctorily and turned his horse toward the stables without a by-your-leave.
Her father frowned after him but Rebecca sighed in relief. "Oh, Papa! I'm so happy you've come. And so soon! We weren't expecting you for another several days."
He grimaced. "Yes, well, I'm afraid things were pretty much decided before I even got to court. There wasn't much I could do."
"What do you mean?"
"Finnegan's claim was going to be denied. I got a temporary stay in order to gather more evidence, but chances are he's going to lose his property. I wish I weren't the one to have to tell him."
"Oh, no! But why?"
He shook his head. "The court upheld Royce's prior claim. It makes no sense. That property has been in George's family for generations. If you ask me, it would appear someone has been paid off."
"The Darrington's have no need for more land!" she said heatedly. "What on earth could they be thinking? Surely there is something you can do."
"I'm working on it. But I need to make some inquiries." He smiled at her. "But enough of that. How fares my girl? New dress?"
"Oh, uh, just something I borrowed."
"Nice color for your eyes."
She looked down at the deep emerald fabric and blushed. The neckline was a bit lower than she normally wore. The fact that Alistair MacGregor had seen her thus made the heat bloom even more quickly in her face. "Thank you, Papa."
"Is Isabella up?"
"Not yet. Aunt Helen threw a soiree last night—you know how she can be."
He grimaced. "Indeed."
"I'll awaken Isabella for you."
He grabbed her arm. "No need, daughter. As long as she is well, let her rest. She'll awaken soon enough."
Rebecca smiled and linked her arm in his. "The good news is, it should be very quiet around here today!"
He laughed. "From your mouth to God's ears."
Isabella talked his ear off at breakfast.
"And Jonathan showed up at the party, Papa."
"Indeed?"
"And we even danced a waltz!"
"Over Aunt Helen's objections—" Rebecca added.
"But she's the one who organized it. She can hardly expect us to ignore such a thing."
Rebecca tsked and Isabella looked over at her. And frowned. "Where on earth did you find that dress?"
Rebecca put a hand to her chest. "Oh. This one? What? You don't like it?"
"I saw your blue one in the corner torn to shreds."
Their father looked up.
"Yes, I-I tripped over a twig in the garden and ripped it. You know me, clumsy as always. I thought I'd make rags of it."
"Silk doesn't work for rags," Isabella said. "Too bad. I really liked that blue dress."
"But not this one?"
Isabella studied it. "It's not bad. A little dated. Good color for you, though. Brings out your eyes."
"Did Jonathan stay the night?" their father asked.
Izzy frowned. "He had to get back. Oh, but the good news is, he wants me to meet his family. He said he will be returning in a week and will come to Hillshire with his sister, of all people!"
"Why, of all people?" Rebecca asked.
Isabella leaned over to whisper. "His sister is a bit of a recluse, I understand. Never goes out. He thinks I can help her come out of her shell."
"Is she shy?"
"Suffered some kind of trauma a few years back." Isabella waved her hand. "He said she just needs to get her sea legs again and she'll be right as rain. And I'm the perfect one to do it!"
Rebecca smiled. Her sister was a bubbly sort with a kindhearted spirit about her, especially for broken things. Just the type of person to bring out an awkward turtle.
"Then I'll expect your help in preparing for the dinner, my dear," Rebecca said.
"Oh, Papa, can't we hire that French chef from town? It's an important occasion!"
"I'm perfectly capable of overseeing the meal. That would be wasteful, Izzy. We can hardly afford—"
"Perhaps there is a trade we can work out," her father said, patting Isabella's hand. Doting as always.
Isabella laughed in delight. Rebecca just rolled her eyes.
Caleb slowed as he neared his family home. As it was still relatively early, he hoped to slip in unnoticed and catch a few hours sleep before confronting his father. It wasn't to be. Royce stalked down the steps as soon as he approached
"Well?" he demanded without preamble.
Caleb shrugged. "I'm not sure what happened. She outwitted me."
Royce backhanded him. As it was to the same tender spot, it knocked him out and off of his horse again.
