Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

S ophia still struggled, but she had found an unlikely ally in this whole ridiculous debacle. She had started sweating, and combined with the horrible cold water from outside, she had become slippery. With a slightly bigger push, she might get herself loose. If only her hands were just slightly longer?—

Suddenly, she heard a gunshot.

Her head snapped up, trying to trace it. The violent, loud sound was accompanied by two sets of screams, one significantly longer than the other. Then, a roar, different from the other two.

Who is fighting? What is the meaning of this?

Shuddering at the thought that, perhaps, there was another enemy inside the walls of her prison that she didn’t yet know about, she picked up her pace and sucked in her stomach, making her body as small as possible.

Finally, with a satisfying squelching sound and a slide, she managed to pull her hands right underneath her feet and in front of her.

She immediately pulled the sack off her head, followed by the gag that had been blocking her mouth for so long she had forgotten what it was like to breathe that way, and pushed herself right side up again. She took several quick breaths, promising herself she would never take breathing for granted again.

Only one small victory.

The screams from upstairs had stopped, but she had no idea what the outcome was or what had happened. Surely, it must have been a fight, but the question remained—between whom and who had won? She could only guess that she had heard her uncle scream at one point, but that was the extent of it.

Whatever was the case, now, she had a fighting chance. Her hands were in front of her, still bound, but at least she could use them now, somehow. She could swing them like a hammer and hit something. Or someone.

She mentally prepared herself. The thought of hitting someone violently was foreign to her, but she was stirring it around in her mind. She had to be ready. No matter who came through that door?—

“—ia! Where are you?!”

The voice was distorted, but it set her senses alight, hauling her out of her fatigue and into sharp clarity. It definitely wasn’t Frederick.

She stood up and shambled over to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The handle, when she tried it, wouldn’t budge. Of course, Frederick had locked her in.

“Sophia! Sophia! If you can hear me, shout, scream, say something! Please!”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Was she asleep? Had she fallen asleep and fantasized about Thomas coming to save her? That was the only explanation.

How pathetic of you, Sophia, that you’d leave your rescue to someone like that, instead of earning it ? —

“Sophia!”

“I’m here!” she screamed. Her voice felt weak and dry, doubtless due to her mouth being stuffed with the gag for so long. “I’m here! In here! Thomas!”

She cleared her throat, coughed multiple times, and tried to scream again, but she heard the footsteps come close.

She heard steel clang against wood and loose metal being jingled around. She tried in vain to push the door open and help him, but it was, of course, pointless.

She heard his footsteps retreating for a second and panicked. “Where are you going?”

“I need to get something heavy!”

The answer calmed her as she heard the sounds of wood and metal breaking and crunching, and the footsteps returned.

“Stand back!” Thomas urged.

She backed away and watched as the door shuddered, bombarded with violent, loud thuds and crunches that cracked the wooden panels. Clasping her hands together, she prayed it would be enough to break the door.

With one last rumble, the cellar door flew off its hinges, and she instinctively pulled up her hands to protect her face.

“Sophia?”

The sound of her name on his lips made her lower her hands again, her eyes squinting at the opening.

The tall figure of Thomas could barely fit through, but it was unmistakably him. He was towering, imposing, and in the faintest silver hue of the moonlight, she could see his usually perfect hair absolutely drenched in water.

“Thomas…” She smiled and dragged herself towards him.

He leaned forward and extended a hand, grabbing her by her bonds and pulling her closer to him and out of her underground prison.

He hugged her as if it had been years since they last saw each other, and she clung to him as if she had been lost in the wilderness and had finally found her way back to his safe embrace.

They were both soaked to the bone and splattered with mud, but it was the warmest she had ever felt, knowing he had come to rescue her. It didn’t feel like weakness at all, now.

“Sophia… your hair…” he said, stroking his fingertips over her sodden locks.

“A canvas sack will do that to you,” she said with a soft giggle as she hid her face in his chest. “You aren’t that well put together yourself.”

He hugged her even tighter, pressing a kiss to those dirty locks of hers.

“I apologize for my appearance,” he managed to utter, a hint of humor in his voice.

Sophia pulled back slightly to look at him. “Don’t. I actually prefer you like this.” She raised her hand and played with his messy wet hair.

“Sounds like we could have avoided a lot of trouble if I had looked bedraggled from the start.”

“Not bedraggled, but rugged. Honestly, I could see it.” She laughed, but she ended up coughing.

Thomas quickly released her and undid his coat buttons, a look of fervent worry on his face. Sophia tried to protest, but something caught her attention, and she quickly realized what she was looking at.

“Thomas! Your shoulder!”

The usually pristine white shirt he wore was marred by splotches of deep crimson, and there was a hole in his waistcoat from which more blood was seeping. Sophia wanted to believe he had spilled claret on himself, but she knew better.

“It’s nothing.” He swung his coat around and draped it over her shoulders, covering her. “You are in a more dire situation right now.”

“You are bleeding!” she cried. “Don’t be so foolish!”

“I found the keys! I found—” James interrupted their conversation as he stomped down the steps and saw the two of them. “Oh… you found her? How did you open the cellar door?”

Thomas gestured towards all the wood splinters around him. “I asked it very nicely.”

“I’m sure it deserved it.” James flashed a smile at Sophia. “I’m glad you’re in one piece, dear sister.”

She smiled back. “As am I, though I wish the same could be said for my husband.”

“Ah, about that.” James pointed up the stairs. “I didn’t find bandages, so we should probably hurry you both to a physician.”

Thomas tried to move her towards the steps, but she dug in her heels. “What about Frederick? Is he still up there?”

“He’s unconscious, but he’s all right. I don’t think he’ll be getting up anytime soon,” James replied.

Thomas felt a burden he hadn’t known he was carrying being lifted off his shoulders. No matter what, he didn’t want to have murder on his conscience, even a justified one.

He started undoing Sophia’s bonds as James watched, presumably not to crowd the already cramped subterranean space. The rope left clear marks on her skin, and Thomas cursed her brother’s presence, for if James hadn’t been there, he would have kissed each one better.

“What happened?” Sophia asked quietly.

“He shot me, I knocked him down,” Thomas replied, though it was far more complicated than that.

In his head, visions of two shadows—his and Frederick’s—clashing in the darkness swirled. The lantern had shattered on impact with the roof, spilling hot oil on Sophia’s wicked uncle, giving Thomas the distraction he needed to gain the upper hand.

Despite the pain in his shoulder and the weakness it had created in his dominant hand, he somehow managed to grab Frederick and land three solid punches, knocking the bastard out. The upstairs room had filled with the scent of rusting iron and whale oil—a vile perfume that Thomas wouldn’t soon forget. Nor would he forget the image of Frederick lying there on the slick floor, coughing and groaning in agony, writhing feebly as his skin blistered from the burning oil.

And all I thought while staring at him was… how utterly pointless.

He shook the memory away; it could plague him later.

“Are you in a position to ride a horse, my love?”

They both looked at each other for a second and blinked.

I just called her that, of my own free will. And I meant it.

He could see in her eyes that she had read through it, and she gave him a soft smile.

“I think so,” she replied.

Thomas put his arms around her and tried to lift her, ignoring the searing pain that splintered across his shoulder. Sophia, however, couldn’t seem to suppress hers.

“Ow, ow, ow… oh no…” Her legs seemed to not respond to her commands. “I… might need a while…”

Thomas’s face hardened, thinking of what to do, when he heard an unusual sound from outside the lodge.

“What is that?”

Below the dull hiss of the rain and the creak of the old lodge, the clatter of something like bells grew louder, coming closer at a swift pace.

Thomas put his arms under Sophia’s knees and lifted her effortlessly bridal style. Sophia raised her tired hands and wrapped them around his neck, apparently forgetting her pain. Even though he was wet all over, had lost blood, was aching everywhere, and had gone through several days with barely any sleep, including this one, he didn’t feel weary at all. He felt right.

This felt right.

He carried her up the steps and out into the miserable night, James just ahead of them. Two full carts of constables had just arrived in the clearing, the discordant clamor of the bells like a heavenly symphony to Thomas’s ears.

Gregory and Charles hopped down from one of the carts and ran towards them.

“Sophia!” Charlie cried, his arms outstretched. “My beloved daughter!”

Meanwhile, the constables leaped out and ran towards the lodge, and James went back inside with them, urging them to hurry.

“I’m all right, Father,” Sophia said, her head leaning against Thomas’s uninjured shoulder. “Please get my fool of a husband to a physician. Otherwise, he’s going to keel over while carrying me, and we’ll both be the worse for it.”

There was only the brightest and most mischievous of smiles on her face as she looked up at the husband in question.

Thomas looked back at her and felt her smile coax his own.

This woman is my wife… Lord, what a fool I was to treat her as if she was anything but the greatest gift. At the end of the day, she’s right—I am a fool of a husband.

“Sophia.”

“Thomas.”

“I love you,” he whispered, his heart full.

She beamed from ear to ear. “Well, if you must know…” She leaned close to his ear, hugging him around the neck. “I love you, too.”

Away from them, above the thick trees, glorious moonlight peeked out from behind the clouds and draped the woodland in an ethereal silver glow that seemed to catch each bead of rain, transforming that dismal corner of the world into something truly spectacular.

Not least because they were there together, safe in each other’s presence, confessing what they had not dared to speak aloud until that moment. A moment that signaled, at long last, the end of a dark past and the beginning of a bright future.

One that Thomas could not wait to discover with her.