AUDEAMUS
Chapter 14
She paced back and forth in her chamber, reprimanding every minuscule word she had uttered to Jacob. It had been done in anger—during the heat of the moment. She had not even asked after his health! And her stupid pride had made her demand that…Cullen now come for the note himself. She still remembered the feeling of dread and terror his presence had provoked at Wilson's estate and then in her rooms.
Bella directed a small slap to her forehead and growled through gritted teeth. She was a silly young girl that was getting deeper and deeper involved in affairs she oughtn't. Damnation! she thought.
She had not been able to redress into her nightgown for fear he would come and surprise her like last time. The maids, Lorraine and Sara in particular, couldn't ignore their young mistress' strange behavior.
Bella stared at the closed windows. Would Jacob have time to divulge what she had said to him? Would he come tonight? Or maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe Jacob was not in cohorts with the bandit. Yet, he had done nothing to speak against her accusations.
Her hand went instantly to the suicide note, the source for all her worries. Cullen wanted it—at least that was what she suspected; she could not be entirely certain. And if Cullen had managed to break into the garrison, he would find a way into her rooms again.
Unless…
She walked over to the window. It was still night, hours away from the sun to rise in the sky and bring about a new dawn. The more she thought more about it, the more she realized that this might be a perfect opportunity to stifle her curiosity. During both their encounters, he had not lifted a finger to harm her. And despite the fear he invoked in her, he did not seem to actually be dangerous toward her. Maybe this was an apt opportunity to truly figure out who he was once and for all. A mask could only hide as much. He was from Hayes, that much she agreed on Emmett with. Maybe she could find more clues about the stranger while simultaneously unearthing Lucas Ridge's strange death.
She decided then and there as she sat on her bed with folded arms, staring intently at the window. And as the clock ticked by with no one appearing before her, Bella Swan grew dismayed. Maybe he wasn't coming after all. Mayhap Jacob was not in league with him.
The young woman never noticed herself fall asleep, only that the rays of the young sun awoke her. She groaned as she sat up from her made bed, the stays digging into her ribs, her hair disheveled, her face puffy from sleep.
The window was still firmly shut. Her hand went frantically to her pocket. The note was still here.
He had not come after all.
She snickered, of course Jacob wasn't in league with him. Then why insinuate such a thing? Could it be Jacob had taken it upon himself to investigate Lucas' death as well? Was it possible that Jacob wished he was in league with the ghost of Cullen? The stranger had saved his father Billy twice, after all.
Sgt. Thompson had his big hands folded before him as he listened to Collins pace around in his office. The bandits from Raven's Grove had just presented them with a major problem. Two of them were dead in their cells. The third was nowhere to be found.
A scuffle had been the first guess. But Collins knew better. He suspected it now, that Forster must've had them taken care of. Which meant Forster was in league with highwaymen and bandits. It made Collins fear Hayes and Forster for the first time.
He knew that the only soldier he could truly trust in—because of his genuine innocence—was Sgt. Thompson. Not that Collins would share any vital information with him, of course.
The major had brought the sergeant to his office as soon as the dead bandits had been discovered. They had been sitting in tense silence until the officer started pacing. Thompson had never seen the dashing major so worried before.
"Maybe, sir, it is as the others say. They managed to get ahold of the keys, a scuffle somehow emerged and one of the bandits killed his two colleagues to get away faster?" Thompson added in a strangled voice.
Collins shook his head. "Who was on duty to guard them last night?"
Thompson had still not deciphered the true occurrences that were taking place in Hayes. "Galdo and Corporal Jack," he said. "They were posted right by the cells." A smile etched its way onto the sergeant's pudgy features. "Well, after that rascal Cullen got to speak to those bandits, Forster felt it necessary to increase security—"
Collins turned around hastily, with eyes as wide as saucers. He rushed over to Thompson and placed his hands on the armrests of the chair the sergeant was currently seating. The large man grew uncomfortable having his superior officer in such close proximity. Indeed, Collins' face was mere inches from Thompson's. His unshaven chins jiggled slightly as he swallowed forcefully.
"Cullen spoke with them?" the major asked in a shaking voice that could not contain his surprise and curiosity.
"Y-yes," Thompson stammered. After this little interrogation, he would seek out The Laughing Goose for a nice cup of wine…or two. His nerves needed calming! "That is where Captain Forster found him and charged at him—after Cullen had set lose the horses of course. He had the whole garrison set out after them. Very clever, come to think of it." A cloudy look invaded the small dark eyes of Thompson, as he drifted off into thought.
Collins pursed his lips together until Thompson spoke up again in his pleasant baritone voice.
"Sir, I have always wondered—" he commenced, unsure if to continue.
"Speak up, sergeant," Collins allowed as he straightened up, embarrassed at his show of eagerness.
"If this is truly General Cullen, should we not extend a welcome to him? The poor fellow has been in that blasted grave for three hundred years and he is a general. He holds the superior rank above any officer in this garrison. Technically," Thompson added slowly. "He is in charge here."
Maybe with Forster, the fat soldier would have earned himself a kick on his hide. But with Collins it provoked such booming laughter that it made the sergeant join in, not truly understanding what was so funny. Major Collins found the sergeant's innocence a true breath of fresh air.
"It would surely ease our lives considerably, sergeant. You are dismissed," Collins said and allowed his soldier to stand.
When Thompson had shut the door, Collins stroked his chin and leaned against his desk. During his campaigning, one of his superior officers had once told him that—during war—one might be forced to use unconventional methods against the enemy. For every intent and purpose, they were truly at war in Hayes, although a hidden one. And while the man who was said to be Cullen was not his ally, he had not truly proven to be his enemy like Forster had.
Collins chuckled as the old proverb worked its way into his mind. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Maybe this Cullen was willing to help him take down Forster if Collins could first decide what it was the supposedly resurrected general truly fought for.
Sgt. Thompson watched the Laughing Goose in the heat of the afternoon as he scratched his head and felt in his pockets. Little Lucy would kick him out if he showed up again without any money. There was no sight of Miss Swan and he wondered how else he would have a taste of the mead or ale that the tavern owner served to quench his rising thirst. The mead they served in the tavern was the best, coming from the small church and its gardens outside of Hayes; St. Nicholas.
But destiny would have it that Sgt. Thompson would find a way. And that way was none other than Mr. Edward Masen, who just happened to pass him with his carriage. The pompous peacock dressed to impress as always. His powdered and rouged visage regarded Thompson haughtily from his vis-à-vis carriage.
"Sgt. Thompson!" the thin voice drawled as it was carried by the wind. The carriage stopped and Edward got off, walking up to the bigger and burlier man. "What has you standing like a buffoon before this establishment. Pray tell, I must know," Edward urged with little actual interest. He made the whole affair seem tiresome, bothering; like he was doing Thompson a grand favor even stopping in the first place.
But, of course, Thompson never noticed that. His stomach rumbled at the opportune time and a sad look plastered over his face. Some men left the tavern and upon opening the door, the waft of a hearty stew was carried to their nostrils. Mr. Masen had to stifle a laugh as he saw the dreamy look in the sergeant's eyes.
"Well, Mr. Masen, I am a hard-working soldier. And I was on my way to Little Lucy's see, but found that my pockets are empty. Some mouse must have chewed holes in them and caused the money I kept therein to have fallen out." Edward knew, of course, that there was no truth to Thompson's words. But the silly little lie was proper of a child, and he found it endearing in a way.
But Thompson was, despite it all, a rather proud man. And to simply invite him to dinner and wine would not work…unless one insisted, of course.
"Well," Edward said as he blotted his nose, the thing as always reaching for the sky. "I much like the food this establishment has, however poorly they present it. You know, sergeant, I really must have a word with the owner over the whole presentation of her inn. It could fare so much better if she put effort into it." He blotted his nose again with the perfumed lace handkerchief and looked deep in contemplation.
"If Lucy hears you, she will throw you into the pigsty, Mr. Masen," Thompson whispered with a horrid look of childish fear present in his features. He must have been witness to such a thing before. "She is a very determined woman," he added matter-of-factly.
"Aren't they all in this blasted town," Edward concurred. He turned to the fat sergeant and placed his closed fist determinedly on his hip. "But I could not possibly go in there alone, Sgt. Thompson. Will you not join me?"
Thompson's face lit up with joy. But he quickly and indiscreetly subdued his emotions. "Oh, Mr. Masen, I could never…" he trailed off. Yet, the big sergeant hoped Mr. Masen would offer again. The sergeant had learned that one should always decline on the first invite for it was only wanting!
Edward sighed. "Well, if you insist," he smirked and popped his hat back on, took his walking cane and moved for the inn.
Thompson stared after him in panic and rushed up to Edward. "Of course, Mr. Masen, how could I so blatantly refuse and leave you to supper alone?" he added with a hint of fear that he may not eat at Lucy's after all.
The gentleman turned his way and hid the tugging in his lips. "Indeed, not, Sgt. Thompson. I am thrilled you would deem it fit to join me, after all." There was no thrilling evocation whatsoever to the young dandy's thin voice. But Thompson did not notice, as always.
They both moved to walk into the inn, on one of its liveliest hours. Lucy shook her head as she saw the fop waltz in with his cane and his nose high in the air. She could not comprehend whatsoever what he was doing in her tavern. But, then again, it was the only acceptable establishment the town offered. There were no good tea salons that he could frequent…yet.
Lucy, like so many others, stared in silent amusement as the peacock and soldier moved to an empty table and the richer man proceeded to order for them.
As soon as Thompson had gotten the mead from S.t Nicholas into his system, Edward started questioning him, as casually as he could.
"I saw you come from Collins' office," he dropped in casual conversation. "I also heard about the deaths of those bandits in their cell." An expression of disgust and fear swept over the handsome but proud features of the young man.
Thompson downed the entire cup of mead in one swig and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Collins was furious such a thing should have happened," he added. "But good sir, I told him that those soldiers were being cared for by excellent lancers. Forster made sure of it."
Edward held his tongue at the mention of Forster. "You mention him, yet I have not seen him today while passing through town."
Thompson took a big bite of his stew and spoke while chewing, making the contents of his mouth splatter all over. Edward leaned back, as not to come in the crossfire. "Well," the sergeant began. "I think he keeps away from Collins, Mr. Masen. After this whole affair. He seemed upset about the bandits."
Edward Masen arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he asked, leaning forward, risking his impeccable emerald stripped coat to become dirtied by Thompson's stew.
"Well, if I understand it correctly, one of the bandits acquired a weapon to pick the lock and then turned on his friends to kill them before escaping the garrison himself." Thompson sighed in defeat, with his mouth still full. "Tis all very strange, Mr. Masen. And I think it is wearing the major down. He looked near a madman when I mentioned that—" Thompson stopped himself; as if he realized he was saying too much.
"Mentioned what?" Edward asked, trying to keep the air of indifference. But he saw Thompson hesitate. "Surely such an esteemed soldier as yourself wouldn't mind letting this poor and bored gentleman know. I wish to keep myself as secure as possible, sergeant."
The words seemed to have calmed Thompson, for he nodded eagerly. "Remember when the ghost of Cullen entered the garrison and bested Captain Forster with the blade?" Thompson asked as a haunted look plastered over his features. An involuntary shiver passed him. No one noticed the smirk as Edward pressed his cup of wine to his lips, urging the sergeant to continue.
"Indeed, scandalous!" the dandy cried out in his thin voice.
"I mentioned to the major that Cullen—that rascal—had spoken with the prisoners and it suddenly got the major riled up. I have never seen the like in him. He is always so collected."
The words got Edward thinking as he settled back and let his slouchy posture relax. Thompson found that the dandy was not truly affected by his words, clearly only indifferent to them. But Edward had secretly grown pensive.
He looked down at his full plate of stew and at the almost full bottle of wine. Edward gathered his hat and cane and proceeded to stand up. "It has been a pleasant conversation, Sgt. Thompson. But I fear I cannot eat more lest I get reprimanded at supper back home," the young man explained. "I hope you will not be troubled if I ask you to finish the rest?"
For the second time that evening, Thompson's eyes lit up with joy as he reached for the plate enthusiastically. "Not at all!" he exclaimed.
"I trust you to finish the wine as well," Edward added with a small wink before going to Lucy to pay.
Thompson rose his cup high in the air. "To your health, Mr. Masen!" he shouted across the music and chatter of the tavern. Little Lucy eyed the dandy as he cast a few coins on the countertop. She held her tongue, nonetheless.
He wasn't coming and she was assured by his lack of showing that Jacob Black was not in league with Edward Cullen. Truth be told, it calmed Bella to some degree. She would not have to be stressed wondering if a bandit would sneak into her room in the wee hours of the night.
But she was also disappointed.
She needed to reveal the circumstances of Lucas Ridge's death.
Two days had passed since she stumbled upon Jacob. She had frequented Alice at her house and had the good fortune of not stumbling upon either her brother or older sister. Bella had not yet shared with anyone who had entered her room. It was her own treasured secret. And while her first encounter with the blackguard at Wilson's estate had been more than traumatizing, the second one in her chamber had been almost exciting.
The night was still young. She did not ride as much as she used to into Raven's Grove with the bandits now haunting it. The death of the bandits in the garrison circulated the town and hung low over it. Alice had mentioned it, having heard more gossip from Jessica Stanley and Angela Webber.
She gazed at the gardens from her balcony and decided to venture out to them. August was reaching its end and with its passing, would come the beautiful colors of fall. But she could still delight in the fresh nights of summer before they completely passed.
Her footsteps echoed as they contacted with the gravel and she passed the flowery bushes and purple lilacs and took in their scent.
By the end of her path was the weeping willow adjoined to the pond. In spring, it would bloom beautifully, and she'd sit underneath it and take in the sounds and perfumes of the early morning.
But now its pendulous branches swayed gently in the summer breeze, like nature's own curtains dancing by her will. It produced a smile in her. She picked up her lavender skirts and started walking the tour by the small pond, passing the tree. There was a carved marble bench there that her father had placed for her thirteenth birthday—so that she would not soil her skirts by sitting on the ground. But she much preferred the grass over the marble.
Bella Swan walked in darkness, the only light the millions of stars painting the night sky as they illuminated her way. She saw the branches sway and pushed past the green canopy, letting them caress her brow. She had forgotten how wonderful it could be to be so close to nature. She found the small slope that led to the pond and sat down. The young woman closed her eyes and rested her head against the fragrant grass, letting the scent of the earth burrow into her nostrils.
Even here she could hear the chimes her mother had hung by the back of their mansion. On the façade, she spotted her Juliet balcony, the green vines of the ivy twisting up the wall and around the swirling metal, her doors open, making the white curtains dance in and out of her chamber.
She never suspected it was there she'd meet him again, leaning casually against a tree, so early in the evening. The sun had set an hour or so earlier, at any moment a servant could happen upon them. Yet, he was there.
But she had yet to notice, of course.
He took her in as she reveled under the weeping willow, laying directly on the grass and disregarding the bench. The dancing branches swayed around her and it was a picture he was almost reprimanding himself for interrupting.
As the moment passed, she sensed another presence, for its aura enveloped her in its darkness. Bella sat up immediately and froze, a shiver passing through her spine. Just like in her chamber, she knew she was not alone there—that she was being watched. Yet, this time, the fear was not as prevalent. She would not let her basic and primitive instincts rule over her.
She hastened to stand up and turn around, spotting him leaning casually against the trunk of the tree, partly obscured by the many branches that hung from the willow.
Bella Swan stifled another shiver as she felt the intensity of his eyes burn her. She took a step back, despite herself and swallowed hard. She wondered if he had heard it.
The shadow—Cullen, for lack of a better word—contemplated her and she wondered if he would step toward her. Was she meant to break the tense silence that now passed between them? The casual air and contemplation in his stance were eerily familiar. This nagging feeling that she had, in fact, met this man before Wilson's estate was still present. But she could not pinpoint from where it stemmed.
Her resolve augmented once she realized he was letting her make the first move. The lavender skirts of her gown swayed as she stood her ground. She would not near that thing, for he seemingly towered over her, even from a distance.
"I expect an apology." The beauty and tranquility of the night grew disturbed by her sudden speech. She had stifled her nerves before speaking, making sure her tone was even and calm.
An apology. What on earth was she thinking? Who in their right mind would demand anything from this man?
A subdued laugh rumbled from the depths of his throat and it caused her to jump in place. One short sentence and he was already amused by her. He uncrossed his arms and started moving toward her.
Bella put up her hand in defense. She had not expected it to be here that he'd seek her out and she was not ready. This time, there was no porcelain vase to use as a weapon. "Stay where you are, sir!" she demanded. And he noted the fear ever present in her voice.
He tilted his head to the side and did as she bade, not wanting to scare her further. A part of her wanted to hear that voice again. A part of her wanted to know if it would induce the same blush and mesmerizing fascination as it had last time—or if such a thing had merely been her imagination. Yet, her pride would not allow her to accept such feelings.
"How am I to apologize, my lady, if I cannot stand before you?" the deep voice rumbled.
Indeed, the blush crept up and her knees buckled slightly.
Her hands turned into fists. "You will be fine where you are, good sir." Then she arched an eyebrow despite her situation. "And I am not your lady," she added.
Still, he neared her more, causing young Miss Swan to take a few steps back. "I do wonder why you wish for me to apologize, my lady," he insisted. She saw the whites of his teeth as he bared them in a smile.
The arrogance! she thought.
"You do not know?" Once her anger took hold, her fear subsided as she commenced in chastising him. "Maybe you have not been taught the proper ways this society works, sir. But men do not enter young women's chamber masked and unchaperoned." Her words made him laugh—as if it would have been completely acceptable if he had been there in his guise had a chaperone been present.
"You do make your priorities very clear, miss." He took another step toward her. "But why should I apologize for that?"
"If you do not, I will not hand you the note," she sneered, taking another step back. "That is why you have come, right?" She had given away more than she should have. Before speaking, Bella had held the advantage, for the shadow had not known if she had the note on her person. But he, of course, did not make that known to her in return. He played along charmingly.
"Ah, yes, the note," he nodded. As always there was an undertone of amusement to his velvety and smooth voice. She hated how well it caressed her ears, how it ran like honey.
"I do not know why you wish it, but before we have settled this score, I shall give you nothing!"
"I could simply take it. I searched your rooms rather well before you came back from that soirée. You must be wearing it on your person, aren't you?"
He knew she had gone to Ridge to clean out the apartment, for that same night he had gone as well, finding nothing of use. If Ridge had discovered something that had caused his death, it was gone—either taken by Forster or found by Isabella Swan.
The color drained from her face. "You wouldn't dare," she hissed.
Another step brought him closer to her. "Oh, I don't know. I've dared a lot of things these past few months," he remarked casually. His eyes trailed over her form, wondering how she would react. Thus far she had completely surprised him with her actions, and he had enjoyed their encounters very much. Especially the last one.
Bella could not pinpoint anything about him. His accent was neutral. He spoke casually; not too refined for a gentleman, yet not too rough for a common farmer. He could be anyone. Her eyes darted to his person, for want of finding a weapon. Yet he was bared, completely unarmed. How foolish, or arrogant, that he did not even carry a minuscule knife on him.
For the first time, she took a step toward him. "I seek answers as well."
"Do not get involved, Swan." His voice darkened now and held such a terrifying undertone that Bella jumped back.
"I know Mr. Ridge was murdered."
Oh, she should not have said that. From the distance, she could practically feel his eyes darken as he squinted them. She could feel his lips tighten and Bella gulped. She had spoken without thinking—said something Little Lucy had warned her about keeping to herself.
"Never utter that to anyone else, ever again," he growled. His voice caused the ground to rumble, the wind to shy away and the stars to hide. Bella knew ghosts were not real, but right then it truly felt as if she was in the presence of one terrifying specter.
The young woman stood as if rooted, completely frozen after his command. Yet, she did not reach for the note. She no longer found the courage to ask what he would do with it.
"Y-you aim to take down whoever murdered him, do you not?" she whispered, daring again to break the tension. The shadow loomed over her and closed in. Bella could not ignore the frantic beating of her heart as he inched closer. He was only a few meters away and her eyes widened once she realized this.
Another step back was taken on her part, steadily descending the slope.
"Give me the note, miss, and I shall not bother you again."
"Would you even know what it meant?" she dared. When he remained silent, Bella straightened her posture. "Would you be able to find a message hidden in it? Or read between the lines?"
One meter was all that separated them now as he approached, and Bella was stunned at how tall and imposing this man was. She stood her ground, yet she shivered at his frightening figure. She saw the brilliant twinkle in his eye, the stiff line of his lips, the starlight dancing across his exposed skin.
The primitive part of her brain took charge just as it had done in her chamber and Bella wished to flee away from him; the broad-shouldered bandit, the ghost of General Cullen that towered before her. And she was about to take another step to run away from him when her slipper found nothing but air behind her. It was only then that Bella noted that behind her was the pond and that she was about to fall into it.
It would cause a humiliating scene and her chocolate orbs widened in panic as she started falling back. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her arms flailed. When she was sure she was about to hit the water—painting an undignified picture for the man before her—a gloved hand reached out and caught her right arm by the elbow, preventing her from tumbling into the water.
She was dumbfounded for a second in the vice of his grip, hovering over the pond. His face was more illuminated by the stars, and she saw the starlight flash across the black mask, and his enigmatic eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught sight of the dark orbs, how they regarded her with electric intensity.
He was touching her. And she felt his grip tighten. This man could be no ghost, for his touch was very real. She expected him to drag her up to safety from splashing into the water but saw that infuriating smirk spread on his lips.
"Now, my lady," he whispered deliciously to her, enough to make her shiver. "The note or my grip will falter."
The words caused her eyes to narrow. "Bastard," she growled, taking a look behind her back. There was no way to save her dignity. Would she rather fall into the water than hand him the note? Bella did not know why, but she could not bear him seeing her in such a humiliating situation.
"My, my," he mused. "Quite the temper you have, for such a distinguished lady."
"I am a gentleman's daughter and not your lady."
He tilted his head to the side again. "Yet you share your name with Lady Isabella Swan, Countess of Cadherra."
She arched an eyebrow. "Aye, but only a name. Surely, you do not truly expect me to still believe you are Edward Cullen, the Lion of the North and Field Marshal of Angloa—the same Edward Cullen who perished in Raven's Grove and who was betrothed to Lady Swan of Cadherra three hundred years ago? Do you take me for a fool?" Bella now in turn snickered.
He loosened the grip on her elbow and let her fall before catching her by her wrist. The action caused her to gasp. "I don't know, my lady." He looked her up and down. "But what I do know is that the situation is not exactly in your favor.
She was resolved to hate that smile, however charming it was. "Pull me to safety!" she demanded.
"The note first," he demanded back. "Or my grip shall falter."
Bella had never truly been so vexed. She needed to know where she had encountered this man before! There was a way about him that was too familiar.
"We have met before," she tried, steering the conversation away from the note.
He nodded. "Indeed, we have. Now, the note."
"I am not speaking about Wilson's estate."
She felt his grip on her wrist loosen and panic spread across her features. "Do not try to change the conversation, Swan," he threatened.
She pursed her lips, still unwilling to believe he'd let her fall.
"I will eventually find out who hides beneath that mask." His nearness had unexpectedly given her more courage. And the more vexing he grew toward her, the more her fear subsided, for now, she was truly infuriated by his tiering behavior. He would not give her any answers.
"Mayhap you will," he agreed. His other hand came up to her skirts and her eyes widened.
"Unhand me, sir!" she screamed at him in ire.
He found her pocket and Mr. Ridge's note within it. He took it out and she saw the triumphant expression flash across his eyes as the charming smile spread his lips once more. A look of mischievousness now danced across his eyes as he redirected his attention to her.
"With pleasure, my lady," he said and let go of her hand.
Bella felt herself fall and a look of betrayal etched its way into her features. She waited for the splash as she saw him disappear.
Yet, no splash ever came. Unbeknownst to her, he had tilted her away from the pond without her ever noticing. She fell into the soft grass, mere centimeters away from the water with a hard "ouf" as she hit the ground.
She heard his incessant laughter echo between the branches of the weeping willow and it was only then that Bella realized who this man was. She recognized that amused laughter all too well. It was the hermit she had stumbled upon on her rides within Raven's Grove. The same bastard who had deemed to call her little April fat.
"Infernal man!" she shouted into the darkness. A final chuckle followed until he was gone.
Bella stood up in anger and brushed her gown. How could she ever have been afraid of that pathetic man? At least he had not been an entire brute. He had not allowed her to fall into the water.
She looked at the darkness and felt lost. He had taken Lucas' note, there was nothing else she could do. He, like Lucy, had warned her to stay out of it. Which only made her want to dig even deeper.
The young woman turned around. There was no point in standing under that tree anymore and look like an idiot. The only question she'd had answered that night was that Jacob Black was, after all, in league with this man. If she could find Jacob, she might find Cullen.
And now she knew something more about him. Finding out that he had been the poor wanderer from the forest settled any doubt she'd had to him truly being Cullen. It was a wretched soul that, for some reason or another, had decided to masquerade as the dead general. She could not ignore the results of such a masquerade, or its effectiveness. But now that she knew, he did not frighten her as much. She was resolved that they'd meet again, and she would give him a piece of her mind.
Bella muttered as she started heading for the mansion again, only to find a terrified and blushing Sara in the middle of the gardens.
The young woman paled when she realized her maid must have witnessed most of the ordeal.
Collins looked at the flickering candle, watching the lonesome flame dance at the edge of his desk. Unconventional as it was, what other choice was there? If he could speak with this Cullen fellow, he might be ready to reveal to the major why he was committing such actions. Collins had a feeling that the man beneath the mask acted out of goodwill. He had saved Billy Black twice and delivered several bandits to them, after all.
"Question is how I get a hold of him," he muttered to himself while stroking his chin.
A gust of wind snuffed out the light of his candle and a dark voice filled the room; as smooth as velvet, yet harsh enough to make his hairs stand on end.
"I assume you are speaking about me," the dark and smooth voice said from behind him. Collins' office was in complete darkness and he got up in a huff, taken by surprise.
The major acted based only on reflexes and instinct and reached for his sword. He heard a whoosh and the sound of a knife embedding itself into the hard wood of his desk. The warning had been struck and the officer slowly sat back down.
"Who goes there?" the major demanded in a shaken whisper as he turned around. He could not discern much in the darkness of his office, save the outline of a black shadow in one corner, and the flash of white teeth as it smiled.
"Why major, you wound me." Metal caught the glint of faint starlight as it found its way through his window. The man held more knives, more weapons that may harm him at his will. "I thought you wanted to speak with me," the shadow said in rough tones. The pleasant smoothness was gone now. Collins sat frozen before the very man his soldiers had been struggling to find and capture for the last few months. This was the fellow who had mindlessly slipped in and out of the garrison on several occasions.
"I haven't told anyone. How would you know?" Collins demanded. Could this man read minds? How had he possibly gotten such information?
The figure shrugged its shoulders, still leaning casually against the wall. But the keen and trained eyes of the military mind noticed that the stance was ready. If it came to a scuffle, he'd not doubt it a second that Cullen would be ready to strike.
"I have my ways," was all Collins received as answer to his question. Cullen continued speaking at his leisure. "We both know why I am here. The infestation of bandits increases each week and now you have two bandits dead in their cells, and the other disappeared."
"This is something left for the authorities," Collins said sternly. "I admire what you've done so far but enticing the people with notes of Audeamus is barely helping. We do not want to instigate a rebellion—"
"Then we must show the people some justice." The shadow sounded honestly irritated as it kept speaking. "The only show of caring the authorities did was when they sent you here, and what have you been able to do thus far?"
Collins held his tongue.
"I thought so," came the dark and ominous voice. "There is someone who steals and oppresses the people through Captain Forster. You yourself do not trust that man."
"Forster's mix-up in this is evident—"
"Forster was probably the one who had Ridge murdered," the shadow spoke.
Collins froze. There, it had been said. It was uttered so casually that the severity of its impact lessened. But the fact still remained that an officer of the Royal Guard had killed a lawyer to silence him for personal benefit. The thought alone scared Collins more than enough.
Cullen removed himself from the wall. "You need me, just as I need your help in this matter. I am not instigating the people to rebel for the sake of rebelling. But enough is enough. Before your arrival, the citizens of Hayes were bled dry from Forster's taxes. The money was never meant for Lord Newton, the captain has been filling his own purse for a long time. And now, he hires bandits to rob any merchants who pass through Raven's Grove and collects their loot for himself. Forster had those two men in your cell killed with poison."
Major Collins had to lean against the desk when a sudden burst of nausea made him weak. He had suspected it for a long time, but never truly dared to believe it. "How can you be so certain?" In any other circumstance, the proud major would never have trusted a masked man. But even before Cullen had sought him out, he had known—deep inside his heart—that much was amiss in Hayes.
"Because the third man escaped, and I found him."
Major Collins kept a mask of stoic silence on to hide the feeling of being utterly crushed.
"I see," was all he could say. He had yet come to realize that he had a bandit who had entered into the heart of the garrison with little effort.
The ghost of Cullen straightened before him and walked over to the opened window that Collins had not noticed opened before.
"I will gather the evidence and when the time comes, you will use it to take Forster and his benefactor down. You are a good man, Collins. This much I know. But know to be patient, if you strike too soon you as well may feel his knife in your back," the masked man warned.
The shadow leaped through the window before Collins could answer. He rushed up only to see that there was no trace left from the man. He had disappeared just like he had appeared, like another shadow in the night.
A/N: Thank you as always for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. I hope you will enjoy this one as well. A reminder that the music I use as inspiration for this fic can be found on my profile (I have compiled lists!) if that should interest you. Also, I post here and there to my Tumblr: isabellesumnerff tumblr com - pictures that inspire my writing etc.
Wishing you a pleasant week, (finally spring here in the northern hemisphere!)
Cheers,
Isabelle