Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The sound of a cocking pistol woke Zeke with a start. He jerked up, moving on pure instinct and white hot adrenaline, shifting his body between the barrel and Evangelina. She woke jerkily as Zeke moved her, hearing her small, desperate gasp that shattered his heart as she skittered back until she was crouched behind him. It was hardly safe, hardly better, but at least he was between her and the danger.

“Little whore, just like your mother,” snarled the Earl of Claymore, who was standing on the other side of the gun and looked worse than Zeke had ever seen him. And angrier, too.

Zeke cursed himself for falling asleep, cursed himself for letting them stop, cursed Claymore and every inch of the damn world.

“Tell me, Marston,” the Earl drawled. “Have you stretched her out yet? Will my associate be able to tell the difference of her tightness when he fucks her?”

Zeke knew the words were designed to get a rise, but they’d hit their mark. The idea of it, that anyone could speak of her in such vulgar terms, let alone of anyone else having Evangelina, of her being pushed into such a position, turned his vision red. Rage, fury, coursed through him, but he knew that would not do either of them any good. He had to be calm, collected, to descalate the situation if they had any chance of getting out there.

“You can’t marry her to anyone else, Claymore,” said Zeke levelly. “She’s my wife.”

The word echoed in the barn through the early morning light, surrounding them. Zeke felt Evangelina cling tighter to him. It was brutal, the injustice of it all, that he’d finally found her and now they were to be ripped apart.

Claymore chuckled. “Maybe so, maybe not. But one very easy way to fix that would be to kill you.”

Zeke gulped. The Earl wouldn’t really shoot him; the bullet could go through him and hit Evangelina. And the Earl’s daughter would be no good to him with a bullet wound. Still, Zeke balked at using Evangelina as a shield, even if his body was in front of hers. Her fingers coiled into his shirt at the back, and he felt her shifting. He laid his hand on her shin, touching her bare flesh that escaped the edge of the coat as a kind of reassurance, a totem of something beautiful and pure as death glowered at him, as present and volatile as the Earl himself.

Plainly, the man had been riding all night. He was sweaty and red-faced, eyes bloodshot and expression furious. It was barely light enough to see the details of the pistol despite being only a few feet from Zeke’s face, but it was unmistakable.

“Listen,” said Zeke, trying to sound very calm when every instinct in him was screaming to scoop up Evangelina and make a run for it. “This isn’t the way to go about this. If you need money, my wife has a dowry. I’d be happy to cede it to you in exchange for your letting her go free and clear.”

The Earl scoffed. “Foolish boy. I need more than whatever paltry dowry she got scraped together for her.”

Zeke clenched his jaw. “My brother gave her a good dowry when he married her sister. And I am sure that he will gladly pay whatever else you ask in order to make sure she is safe as a member of the Marston family.”

Claymore sneered. “This isn’t just about money. Do you think, after everything, I would let your brother get away with stealing another jewel from my grasp?”

Zeke’s grip on Evangelina’s leg tightened. “He wouldn’t be getting away with it; he’d be paying a ransom for a ruined girl with a whore for a mother.”

He felt Evangelina wince, but he promised himself he would apologize to her and to Patrice a thousand times for anything he said. If he could make the Earl see things his way, then at least he would get the chance to make up for anything he said. And if he could convince Claymore they saw things the same way, that their vision of the world was a shared one, that was a good start.

“Did you really marry her, Marston?” the Earl narrowed his eyes.

“I did,” Zeke confirmed.

At the same moment, Evangelina spoke. “No.”

Zeke turned sharply, and the Earl’s eyes flicked to his daughter.

“What?” Zeke demanded of his wife.

His wife. She was his wife, dammit, and with the sealing of the night before, it was true in every way it could be. Zeke’s body burned with the knowledge, his soul on fire with the truth that Evangelina Marston was his to every fiber of her being, and that he was hers just as truly. He felt remade in her arms, so why now was she denying what they both knew? What protected her?

Evangelina’s eyes went wide in a kind of pleading as she looked at the man holding them at gunpoint. “I am sorry I lied to you, your lordship, but I did not want to be married off to whomever you had in mind. But I now see the error now that Mr. Marston has taken my virtue and still refused to wed me.”

Zeke couldn’t help his face screwing up at that. Well, she was plainly playing her own odds here, the odds that she could protect him by offering up herself. And he did not like it one bit. Her eyes met his and seemed to recognize the determination in his gaze, the certainty that he would not let the Earl walk out of that barn with Evangelina, not if it was indeed the last thing he did.

“You must forgive Mrs. Marston,” Zeke turned back to the Earl. “She thinks she can protect me by sacrificing herself, but she is mistaken. You cannot marry her to anyone else for she is my wife, and what God has joined together, no man may put asunder.”

The Earl took half a step forward, bringing the gun level with Zeke’s forehead. “Is that so?”

“Let us go,” said Zeke curtly. “And we will make sure you are compensated to the same level you would have been if the marriage had gone through. Beyond.”

Slowly, the Earl began to lower his arm, almost as though he was considering this. Zeke’s body relaxed from sheer relief, but he felt Eva coiling up behind him, her defenses raised even as his relaxed. Before he could even think of it, the Earl’s hand jerked up and his finger moved to squeeze the trigger. Time slowed to an impossible degree as the next seconds played out before Zeke’s eyes. At the same moment, Evangelina launched forward, the knife in her hand glinting in the earliest bits of sunlight. She collided with the Earl, her small body slamming against his larger one. The rapport of the pistol echoed in the room and a searing pain tore through Zeke, colliding with him so hard it knocked him back against the dirt. He registered that he ought to get up, ought to move, but the pain was so impossibly acute, so overwhelming, he could do nothing but lie there, as everything went black.

Evangelina had known from the moment she’d laid eyes upon the Earl that morning that the only way this would end would be bloodshed, and she wanted it to be the Earl’s rather than her husband’s. Zeke’s plan would have been a good one for a reasonable man, a man who wanted money, but the Earl of Claymore wanted revenge, too. He was bitter at the Marstons for taking Callista, and as soon as Evangelina had caught sight of the emotion in his eyes, she had known nothing would stop him from killing Zeke except a killing blow dealt to him first.

As the two men had spoken, Evangelina had cast about for some sort of weapon until she remembered the knife Zeke had given her and had her drop in the pocket of the coat. With as little movement as she could manage, Evangelina fought with the coat around her to find it. When she felt the weight in the pocket, she left her hand drift down and took hold of the knife. With blade in hand, Evangelina readied to launch herself at the man who sired her. She tried to steady herself and knew she would never be truly prepared for such a thing, but it was their only option. Still, she had to wait, to bide her time until the moment was right. Evangelina had seen the Earl move, gun in hand, and she’d known what he was about to do. It hadn’t been thought, hadn’t been a question, but instead was pure instinct driving her forward.

Evangelina wasn’t sure if she shrieked when she did it, but she felt her throat straining as her body collided with his. The sound of the shot echoed in her ears, but she couldn’t turn away, couldn’t recoil, as she sank the knife into flesh. Evangelina hoped she hit something vital, but the jarring of the stab made her feel like her arm might fall off. Raising her hand, she tried to stab again, but her wrist was caught.

Evangelina was sure she was screaming then, when she was hauled off the Earl and dragged backward.

“Stop fighting!” came Magnus’s voice, curt and gruff.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. Evangelina wailed, flinging herself away and slicing the knife through the air in a wicked arc. Mangus caught her wrist again as she did, twisting until a pain shot up her arm and she was forced to drop the knife. As her brother caught her by the waist and hauled her up, Evangelina looked back to where Zeke lay on the hay, the place where they had made love the night before, stained with his crimson lifeblood. A cry of despair deeper than the sea bellowed from her lungs. Magnus hauled her up over his shoulder.

“Shut the bitch up,” snapped the Earl. “I’ll make sure her little Don Juan is good and dead.”

“Horses!” Magnus cried. “Others are coming. Leave the man to bleed out and let’s go.”

The Earl grunted but turned to follow Magnus. Evangelina kicked and thrashed and cried, her fists beating Magnus’s back as he stalked away, Zeke’s body limp on the ground behind her. Tears blurred her eyes as her feet kicked and her lungs burned. Magnus dropped her off his shoulder and practically tossed her over the front of his saddle. The edge of it dug into her stomach as Magnus swung up behind her and took off at a gallop that nearly launched her from the precarious perch. But Magnus had tight hold of her.

She had to get away, to get back to Zeke, and Evangelina attempted to slip backward off the horse.

“Quit,” Magnus grabbed a fistful of the coat. “If you drop, you’ll end up under my horse’s hooves.”

“That’s better than this!” Evangelina shouted up to him, the jolt of the horse knocking the breath from her body.

Magnus ignored her as they raced across the landscape. The betrayal stung deep, but it hardly cut in comparison to the waves of grief that surged through her. Zeke was shot, probably dead, and it was all because of her. The terror, the pain, all ebbed away in favor of the frigid depths of grief. Her heart had been ripped from her body, and it no longer beat inside her. Evangelina fought, clawed for some kind of feeling, for some emotion. She wanted to cry, to rage, to hope, anything, but the valve with which she’d closed off every feeling for days now seemed welded shut. Evangelina doubted she’d ever feel anything again.

Perhaps that was better. Then she could never feel the pain, the guilt, the all consuming grief, of having lost the man she loved. She couldn’t even, in that moment, remember what it felt like to love him. Evangelina believed she had, but she was turned into a hollow imitation of the woman who had lain with Zeke the night before, who had been his wife. Now, she was nothing. She didn’t even have her freedom, about to be married off to man who would do God knew what to her, and she could not even conjure the fury to be angry about it. It had been too long, too many years, too many things, she’d sealed up behind that valve, and now, it was stuck fast, never to be opened again.

Evangelina focused out on the world around her. Her soul was barren wasteland, but the situation she was in had changed. After not too long a ride, they came upon a carriage. Magnus stopped the horse, hopped down, and dragged Evangelina with him. He picked her up bodily once more and nearly threw her inside. Evangelina sagged against the wall as the Earl clambered in after her. She gasped, trying to bring in air as her world collapsed around her. Magnus snapped the door shut behind them, sealing them all in, with Magnus on the other side. Mrs. Jenkins was inside with them, and she turned to the Earl.

“You’re bleeding!” she cried.

“Yes, I’m aware!” snapped the Earl, pressing a half-soaked cloth to his chest.

Evangelina finally saw where she had hit him, a glancing blow off his collarbone that was nonetheless bleeding profusely. The scent of blood filled the confines of the carriage, and Evangelina wanted to wretch. She felt sick. She couldn’t be in there a second longer, couldn’t smell the blood and see it, reminding her far too much of the man who had come to rescue her, whom she’d tried to save, and whom she’d failed. The sounds outside were of horses being harnessed, and Evangelina made a desperate lunge for the door, a last ditch effort to throw herself free of these violent confines. She only had the door halfway open before a gigantic, beefy hand flew out and slammed her backward, snapping her head against the wooden back of the carriage.

Pain radiated from the back of her skull, and Evangelina felt slightly dazed as the Earl yanked the door shut once more.

“Stay put ye little bitch,” snapped the Earl. “Ye’re lucky I dinna kill ye for stabbing me.”

“Do it then,” Evangelina taunted, even through the haze the blow to her head had given her. “You won’t. Then you wouldn’t have your little bargaining chip. Tell me, sir; how does it feel that the most valuable thing you have is the bastard you sired with a Desi woman?”

The back of the Earl’s hand slammed across Evangelina’s face, flowers of pain blooming on her cheek and behind her eye.

“Shut the fuck up ye cheap slattern,” he scowled.

Evangelina dropped back against the wall and all she could do was smile. It didn’t penetrate deeper than her lips; she could feel nothing except a small satisfaction at his fury, his discomfort, his injury.

“Let me look at that wound, sir,” said Mrs. Jenkins, reaching up for the cloth the Earl clutched to him.

“Get yer hands off me!” he bellowed, his hand shooting out to clasp her around the neck. “If I want yer hands or any other part of yers near me, I will ask, and rest assured, I willna be asking. Understand?”

Mrs. Jenkins nodded as best she could as she grasped at his hand. He let her go and turned, fuming out the window. Evangelina closed her eyes, begging to every god she knew that Ezekiel was all right.

Zeke felt a fog around him with only one clear thing in the world. Evangelina. He had to get her, to find her, to protect her.

“Easy,” came a voice. “You’ve been shot.”

Zeke grunted, trying to open his eyes.

“Don’t thrash about,” said the man who Zeke was beginning to realize was Nathaniel.

“Eva…” Zeke whispered.

“We’ll get her,” Nathaniel hissed, clamping his hands on the wound in Zeke’s arm, sending stabs of pain all through Zeke’s body. “Claymore needs her alive, and he very badly wants you dead. So shut the hell up so he doesn’t come back here thinking you’re alive and he needs to finish you off, and we’ll get her.”

“Where have they gone?” demanded Zeke, blinking against the light. There was definitely more of it than there had been the last time he’d seen Evangelina, when the Earl had shot him and taken her.

“Sidney and Cutler are following him,” said Nathaniel, and Zeke heard something like fabric tearing as his eyes fluttered shut again. “We heard the shot and came as fast as we could. When we didn’t see you, I figured you were still inside, and when the Earl and his crony and your girl came out, they stayed back to follow them. I came here for you.”

“Thanks,” Zeke murmured. “But hurry. We have to go.”

“All right,” Nathaniel tied something tightly around Zeke’s arm. “You’re not going to die; the bullet went right through the muscle and didn’t hit anything vital or a bone, thank God. But that thing could get infected if you aren’t careful. We need to get you somewhere safe and get that clean.”

Zeke attempted to sit up, but fell back.

“Man, listen to me,” Nathaniel pressed.

Zeke forced his eyes open and met the piercing, amber glare of Nathaniel Blake.

“You’ve been shot, Zeke. You need to rest,” Nathaniel said. “You need to clean the wound and eat something, and sleep.”

Zeke shook his head, the fog slowly clearing from him. “He has my wife.”

His voice broke on the last word, his life shattering around him, suddenly wholly meaningless without her.

“I know,” said Nathaniel. “We’ll get her. I’ll catch up with them and send Sidney back to look after you. Cutler and I will–”

“No,” Zeke forced himself to sit up, his arm screaming in protest. “I’m going with you.”

Nathaniel cursed brutally. “This is ridiculous.”

“I cannot sit by while God knows what happens to her,” snapped Zeke, feeling strength return to him with his anger.

Nathaniel rubbed the short hair on his head. “Dammit. What if you slow us down?”

Zeke felt a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow. “Then you can leave me where I am. But I have to try.”

Nathaniel cursed again. “Fine. I can make you a sling as long as you can ride one-handed.”

“I’ll manage,” Zeke responded.

Nathaniel stood up, hauling Zeke to his feet by his good arm, and their eyes met. “This is a horrible idea.”

“I don’t care,” Zeke said flatly.

“Clearly,” mumbled Nathaniel as he began to work.

In a few minutes, Nathaniel had fashioned Zeke a sling for his right arm, thankfully not Zeke’s dominant. With the half-dazed state that had settled over Zeke, he remembered being a little boy when his tutors had first taught him to write. He remembered being all of five years old and standing at the door to his father’s study, listening to what Mr. Blankenship was saying to Lord Marston about his second son’s progress.

It hadn’t been good. Oh, there was praise to soften the blow. Good with colors, exceptional at spatial relations, excellent at abstract concepts, the things that didn’t matter to Viscount Marston. But then it was words like “deviance” and “stupidity,” even “devilry” that were bandied about. Zeke felt them sink into his soul, then as now.

“There,” said Nathaniel. “You’re ready as you’ll ever be.”

Zeke hesitated as they stepped outside. There was no sign of Bacchus, but Nathaniel had a second horse with him. Zeke felt a stab at his heart for his horse – where was the poor animal? He prayed the Earl hadn’t hurt him, hopefully just scared him away in the hopes that no one would be able to ride him.

“Any sign of my horse?” asked Zeke.

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. I brought this one in case Evangelina could ride.”

Zeke nodded curtly but didn’t expand. Nathaniel had to help boost Zeke into the saddle of the small, sleek beast he’d brought. They took off in the direction the cousins had gone to follow the trail of the Earl. Zeke clung hard to the reins, trying to keep his mind focused and sharp, conjuring the image of Evangelina in his arms to stay sane, but that did not work. Recalling the sensation of her skin on his, the sweet slide of her heat welcoming him, it was too much. It made him dizzier than the blood loss.

It could not be, not when he had finally got his head on straight and taken her for his own, not when they’d only had one night to hold each other in the embrace of man and wife, that she would be taken from him forever. Not when he had just discovered there was another way to live, to exist, to be. Not when he had realized why everyone turned themselves inside-out for the person in their bed, when he realized that it was not just a euphemism, but that there was something different when one made love.

“Up ahead,” Nathaniel called out.

Zeke’s head jerked, snapping him of his revelry, as they came upon the cousins.

“We lost them,” said Lord Cartwright.

Zeke could hardly even process the words. “Well let’s find them again.”

“Jesus man, should you be riding?” Lieutenant Cartwright eyed Zeke with a mix of concern and horror.

Zeke leveled him with a look that shut the man up directly.

“They have to be planning for the same destination as they wouldn’t have a way to change rendezvous points,” reasoned Nathaniel. “We’ll continue North toward Gretna, and there’s no reason to think they’d be going elsewhere.”

“Allons-y,” nodded Lord Cartwright.

They took off at a trot that Zeke found at once leisurely and an immense relief. He was at war with himself; should he let them go? Was he slowing them down, or could he help? An injured man was better than no man, but if he couldn’t even get there, he should just let them go on without him. They were only some twenty miles from the Scottish border – if they went fast, it might only be a couple of hours, and a carriage couldn’t make that same pace. They would catch them; they had to. He would hold on with all he had until they did. There was no choice but to save Evangelina, to keep her from whatever fate awaited her.