Chapter 31

"Tracks," Sebastian murmured as he knelt on the sodden earth, his fingers tracing the impressions in the muddied road. "Here. And here. Footprints." His gaze was sharp, analyzing the patterns with a precision honed during his years at war.

"So?" Lord Prescott stood a distance away, dismissive. "There are tracks all over."

"No." He shook his head intently. "Not like these..." Sebastian studied the tracks with the precision of a veteran soldier—observing their spacing, the depth of their indentations in the mud, and the direction they pointed. Every detail painted a picture only he could read clearly.

"I still contend we should inspect the house first. It is, by all accounts, the most secure structure—if your suspicions are founded, surely they will be holding her captive within its walls," Prescott suggested.

Sebastian clicked his tongue in frustration, loath to divert time to explanations when every moment counted. Yet, he understood the necessity of convincing his makeshift troop of his reasoning. They must see he was not leading them on a fool's errand.

"Look here." He beckoned Prescott closer, and then, noticing Justine hanging back, looking distinctly uncomfortable, Sebastian shot him a stern glare. It did little to get the man to join them, but Prescott would suffice for now. "Notice carriage tracks heading down that direction and another set returning. Fresh mud, soft, kicked up by hooves. Loose grass in the indents too. There are not many houses down this way, so leading to a stables or barn, perhaps?"

"Marvelous. Carriage tracks that may lead to a stables or barn. What are the chances?" Prescott added wryly. "Perhaps we'll find a carriage or two to accompany them."

Sebastian shot the lordling a glare. "Do you have any better ideas?" he hissed.

Prescott rolled his eyes, pointing a short distance away. "As I have stated innumerable times, we should check the house first."

"A house that belongs to neither Wellington nor Ralph."

"But seemingly the only structure in a five-hundred-yard radius. But no, instead, you would rather have us prancing about for the last three hours based on intuition, and the chance we may come across a—"

"Found it!" Justine's voice abruptly perked up from a distance away.

Sebastian spun to face the man who had trodden a couple hundred yards or so ahead. "Found what?" he yelled back.

"The carriage. And a barn too!"

The two of them rushed to join the man, and indeed, as they turned a corner a little lengths away from the house, they came across a carriage and a diminutive barn.

"Perhaps you did not have us prancing about after all. Fresh footprints to the barn and the house…" Prescott whispered. Without a moment's pause, Sebastian made to beeline straight for the structure, until the lordling hastened toward him and held him back at the last second. "Now hold on a moment. This could be a trap. Besides, if they indeed had Virtue with them, should there not be three sets of footprints to accompany the carriage?'

"By the carriage, there were three," Sebastian explained impatiently, indicating behind him where the carriage had been abandoned. "But from the way the heather and gorse were flattened, it looks as if Virtue fell to the ground. That is where her trail ends. But here—" Again, he crouched as he gestured to the sets of footprints. "See how these sit lower in the mud than these. That implies one of two things. One, that whoever made them was larger than the other. Heavier—"

"And you deduced all that in a few moments?" Prescott murmured in awe.

"More or less."

"Maybe he was?" Prescott added.

"Maybe he was what?"

"Maybe the man was… heavier?"

"Wellington?" Sebastian scoffed. "No. The man was as slender as a sapling. The footprints match his size, but not the weight. My guess? He was carrying something heavy. Or someone..."

"Ah..." Lord Prescott nodded slowly, a flicker of realization crossing his face. "He carried Virtue to the barn?"

"It appears so. And if that is indeed the case… it would imply Ralph too is involved." Sebastian pushed his hands into his knees and stood, turning his body to follow the tracks and pointing down the path. "Whether she remains there now, we shall soon discover. But he carried her there, I am certain of it."

"So we skip the house then?" Justine asked nervously.

"No. The two of you should take the house, lest they have been camping out for us and set up a trap. A set of footprints lead there too. I'll follow these tracks. We will cover much more ground that way and allow room for error." A nod of confirmation. "And I'll also see where the rest of these tracks lead. There is a chance that they go beyond the barn, into the surrounding forest. But somehow, I deem it unlikely."

"And why would that be?"

"Know your enemy," Sebastian replied with a steely tone. "Wellington and Ralph would prefer a secure location—a forest presents too many variables, too many chances for escape. It offers concealment and shelter, ideal for someone fleeing. No, they would choose the barn or the house. They are sheltered from the elements, secluded, with one-way exits, and suitable places to detain someone while they…" He swallowed the lump in his throat, not daring to finish the sentence. Not even wanting to think it.

"Right." Lord Prescott drew his pistol with resolve, glancing at Justine. "To the house, then?"

"And for myself, the barn," confirmed Sebastian, drawing his saber and fixing his gaze on Justine and Prescott.

But then, something happened. A flash of a memory. From a decade ago at war. Sebastian had been in this precise spot. He had scouted ahead alone. Only for everything to backfire as he found himself strolling headfirst into an enemy ambush. His gut twisted, and before Prescott and Justine could walk away, he heaved the men back. "No. No, something is off. Abandon the house. I will approach the stables from the front. Wait precisely two minutes, then follow. Be prepared for anything."

"A change of plans?" Justine whispered apprehensively.

"I'm glad you said it," Prescott concurred. "The stables do seem a more likely holdout. But why the delay? Would we not benefit from numbers?"

"We do not know what awaits us inside. It is plausible they are expecting me. They are not, however, expecting the two of you. If I am to walk into a trap, I need to know that you two are still free to act." He looked at both men, making sure to meet their eyes so he could confirm they were with him. Lord Prescott nodded firmly, his resolve clear; his readiness was beyond question. Justine was less giving, offering a vague scowl and a nod of the head; nowhere near as keen to be here but knowing that if he ran off, he would have to deal with Sebastian come tomorrow. "And remember, whatever happens, Virtue's safety is paramount."

Justine opened his mouth. "What if—"

"Virtue's safety is paramount," Sebastian interrupted sternly. "That is your primary concern. No matter what befalls me, ensure her safety first. Understood?"

Justine sighed but nodded his understanding. Lord Prescott offered a firm, commanding nod which told Sebastian that at the very least, he would heed his orders. The man's face was still bruised from the thrashing he had received just hours earlier, and Sebastian almost felt a twinge of guilt at it.

"Good. Now, gentleman, I shall see you on the other side."

With those parting words, Sebastian turned and began his cautious approach along the path, melding into the shadows cast by the night's dense darkness. His knees were slightly bent, his steps meticulously silent. If he was lucky, he would be in and out before either Simon or Ralph knew what was happening. But if luck was not on his side, and they were expecting him...

The betrayal by Simon was now undeniable. Why he had chosen such a vile course of action, Sebastian could not fully comprehend. He had believed Simon and Ralph to be his comrades. They had shared battles, had been inseparable for over a decade. And Jasper—Sebastian had considered him akin to a brother. Did that not mean anything to Simon? Evidently, it did not.

The reason behind their treachery didn't concern him for now. Sebastian's sole focus was the safety of Virtue.

It was a moonlit night, which made his approach to the lone-standing barn rather simple. Sticking to the trees and shrubs for cover, he considered rounding the front but decided instead to veer towards the rear at the last moment. Crouching low, he moved swiftly to a window on the back wall, his saber ready in hand, his heartbeat steady. It was a strange thing, feeling as calm as he did. The rage was gone. The anger too. He was back on the front lines, his mission clear, his goal singular.

But that calm was quickly shattered by a scream.

Virtue's voice, fraught with despair and pleading, cut through the stillness of the night.

"Please!" he heard her cry from inside the barn. "You needn't do this!"

The sound of Virtue's voice, laced with unmistakable fear, shattered the last remnants of Sebastian's forced composure. Right then, he nearly surged to his feet to jump through the window in a reckless attempt to save her. But the chilling sound of laughter halted him—the laughter of Simon Wellington, a man he once considered a dear friend.

"We are well past begging," Wellington's muffled chuckles reached him from within the barn. "I suggest you make peace, Your Grace. It would not do for you to die in such a state."

"I hope you perish!" she screamed at him. "I hope Sebastian finds you and tears your throat out with his—argh!" Her cry of pain echoed sharply through the night, the sound of a harsh slap driving Sebastian to clench his fists in rage and strike them against the ground.

"I am done with you," Wellington sighed wearily. "Ralph. Gag her, please. Her floundering is sapping all the joy from this."

Slowly, and with great effort, Sebastian steadied himself and peered through the window, mastering his impulses so he did not rush in unprepared. Inside the barn, the scene was grim. Virtue was bound to a chair in the center, terror evident even from a distance. Simon loomed over her, a grotesque smile of satisfaction on his face, while Ralph moved quickly to silence her cries with a rag.

"Why, you ought to be thanking me," Wellington's voice carried clearly as he addressed Virtue. "If I were truly the monster you so accuse, I might indulge in prolonging the affair. However, I choose instead to grant you a small kindness—a swift, merciless end. It is the least you deserve." In his hand, he brandished a pistol, methodically loading it as he spoke. "You shan't feel any pain, I promise you. A shame I cannot promise the same for your husband."

Time seemed to slow as Sebastian's old battlefield instincts reawakened. A mere fifteen feet lay between him and where Wellington and Ralph stood. Ralph was without a firearm, yet a knife hung from his belt. Loose, easy to dispatch of if necessary. Wellington, engaged in the precise task of loading his own pistol, needed only a few more moments—a commodity of which there was little left. For now, he was unarmed for all intents and purposes. If only Sebastian could delay them a little longer for the arrival of Prescott and Justine... But time was a luxury he no longer possessed.

The decision was upon him: it was now or never. So Sebastian acted.

With a burst of energy, he leaped to his feet and hurled himself through the window. He landed hard on his shoulder, but skillfully broke the fall into a roll, springing to his feet in one graceful motion. Even before he stood fully, he noticed Ralph and Wellington—both former soldiers with equally sharp instincts—acknowledging his sudden entrance.

"You!" Wellington called out in surprise but not shock. His hands never once faltered—they continued their methodical work on loading the pistol.

In that crucial moment, Sebastian made his choice. To his left, Ralph reached for the knife at his belt. To his right, Wellington had almost finished loading his pistol. Braced for impact, Sebastian let out a roar, reminiscent of a lion prepared to pounce upon a gazelle, and charged full tilt at Simon. Wellington, taking a quick step backward, lowered his pistol, aimed, and—

But Sebastian collided with Wellington an instant before the trigger could be pulled. The pistol was sent flying, as was Wellington, who seemed to weigh next to nothing—his body hurled through the air and crashed against a beam with such force that it reverberated through the barn. However, Sebastian did not pursue him. Instead, he executed a fluid turn, saber on guard, just in time to intercept Ralph's incoming knife.

The clash of sharp metal rang out as Sebastian, employing both his strength and his fencing prowess, parried Ralph's shorter blade, throwing him off balance. The man faltered only briefly—a brief yet sufficient window for Sebastian to seize him by the knife-arm and deliver a bone-snapping blow with his elbow onto the man's forearm.

"Argh!" Ralph's outcry filled the air as his arm fractured, the knife clattering to the ground, followed swiftly by a punishing strike from the pommel of Sebastian's saber to his face. He dropped to the floor in a heap.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Sebastian's senses only sharpened. He spared not a glance at Ralph's passed out form as he pivoted once more, his gaze sweeping the area for Wellington, who he was sure would still be flat on the ground. Only... he was gone.

"Not so fast, old boy..." Wellington had somehow managed to reclaim his pistol and step around the scene, putting both Sebastian and Virtue in his eyeline. He stood back by ten feet—ten feet to Sebastian's left, ten feet from Virtue's right. "That was a narrow escape," he chuckled nervously. "I had almost forgotten your swiftness, Greystone. For a man of your stature... remarkably agile."

"Lower your weapon, and I'll be happy to demonstrate further," Sebastian retorted, his gaze locked unwaveringly on the pistol.

"No, I don't think I will."

"Virtue?" Sebastian whispered, directing his attention to his wife.

Her mouth was poorly gagged, and she managed to spit out the rag, her smile so bright it was a beacon in the gloom. "You came?" Even tied up the way she was, a pistol pointed at her savior, the look in her eyes was as if she knew everything would be alright.

"Of course I did. I am just sorry it took so—"

"This is no time for a reunion!" Wellington snapped. "Utter another word. I dare you! One more word and I'll put a bullet through her cranium!"

"Attempt that, and you might just find your blasted head severed from your shoulders," Sebastian muttered lowly, his tone deadly serious.

Wellington's grin was spiteful. "Ever the beast, weren't you? The Royal Butcher."

"What in the devil do you seek to gain from this madness, Wellington?" Sebastian asked the obvious question. His eyes flicked to Virtue, just long enough to meet her own—a passing conversation, letting him know he was here, that she would be alright.

"You really have not pieced it together…" Simon Wellington sneered, a question hanging on his words.

"Pieced what together?" Sebastian said coolly, taking a slow, deliberate step to his left. Predictably, Wellington mirrored the movement. "The two of you were considered my closest companions. When have I ever wronged the either of you? When haven't I been there when you needed me?"

"Is that what you think this is all about?" His laughter was cold, that pistol still pointed into Sebastian's chest. "Ah. Sebastian Foxworth. What am I to do with you..."

"It is what I hold to be true." Sebastian's heart raced but he forced himself to ignore it, to stay calm. To his left, Ralph lay unconscious on the floor. That bought him at least another minute. To his right, Virtue sat watching, expression pained with worry. And behind her, fifteen feet away, was the window that Sebastian had climbed through, which right about now, his reinforcements should be peering into…

"You understand nothing!" Wellington screamed suddenly. "Nothing!"

"I know full well that Jasper would never condone this. I know he would never—"

"Don't you—!" The man's body trembled with unbridled rage—face glowing red as spittle flew from his mouth. But he took a deep breath and composed himself. "Don't sully his name with your tongue, please."

Sebastian frowned. "Jasper?"

"What did I just say!" Wellington advanced on them, his arm trembling as he aimed the gun more deliberately. Sebastian inhaled sharply, sidestepping to his left, forcing Simon to mirror his movement once more.

"This is about Jasper?" Sebastian asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Oh! Look who has finally decided to wake up from his decade-old slumber!"

"I don't..." He faltered, at a loss for words.

"Jasper is dead because of you," Wellington accused fiercely. "Dead! Because of your arrogance! Because of your ego! Because you led him directly into an ambush! Don't you deny it! Don't you dare say otherwise!"

It was peculiar, really. Wellington seemed fully prepared for Sebastian to retaliate with justifications, to parry the blame with excuses. This grief had been festering in the man for years, evolving into such bitter resentment that he simply assumed Sebastian was indifferent—as if empathy was a trait Sebastian lacked entirely. All this while, he had maintained a facade of friendship, convinced that the man opposite him harbored no remorse over his brother's death.

Wellington could not have been more mistaken.

"I don't intend to deny it," Sebastian responded slowly, his voice steady.

"So, you confess! It was indeed your fault!"

"Of course it was my fault," Sebastian conceded, shifting subtly to his left once more.

Wellington's face contorted with rage. "What?"

"I affirm it was my fault," Sebastian reiterated, having maneuvered enough such that Wellington now found his back to the window. Unbeknownst to him, and so concentrated on Sebastian was he that he did not notice Lord Prescott and Justine dropping into the barn. "And I have never shirked this truth."

"You were our commander!" Simon cried out. "The responsibility of what transpired that night rests squarely upon your shoulders!"

"And I live with that every day," Sebastian finished. "What did you think? That I reveled in Jasper's demise? He was as a brother to me!"

"He was my brother! He raised me after our parents passed. He took care of me ever since I was a young boy, and he would still be here, were it not for your actions!"

"And do you truly believe I am unaware of that? Do you think I never considered how much his death must have affected you? It grieved us all—myself most profoundly! He died because of my mistake, Simon. I know that."

"You never cared!"

Sebastian let out a hollow laugh. "Is that what this is? Some demented reality where you have managed to convince yourself I do not care? My every waking moment is consumed by care! Why else do you suppose I led such a solitary, joyless existence? It was never solitude I sought, but penance! It was the guilt—the unrelenting guilt of what happened that blasted night!"

Wellington sneered. "You... you think this confession changes anything? You believe it should absolve you?" he uttered in disgust.

"No." His eyes flicked over Wellington's shoulder to where Prescott and Justine stealthily advanced. Prescott had his pistol out, and Justine, his knife. "I harbor no illusions of absolution. And indeed, for my sins, perhaps I merit death." Virtue gasped at that. "All I ask is if you must end my life, let my wife be spared—"

"No!" Virtue cried. "Sebastian!"

He held out a hand to silence her, not for a second breaking eye contact with Wellington. "I have relinquished any hope of salvation long ago, Simon. What I seek now is your assurance—promise me you will not harm Virtue. Grant me that, and I will kneel before you and gladly meet my end."

Wellington laughed scornfully. "You truly have transformed, haven't you? The mask is removed, and suddenly, he plays the hero."

"No," Sebastian said simply. "Mask or not, I am no hero."

"Well, you seem to be forgetting one crucial detail," Wellington retorted, lifting his pistol to aim directly at Sebastian's face. "You possess no bargaining chip here—nothing. Whether you kneel or not, I intend to shoot you. Perhaps I shall even dispatch your wife first, so you might witness her demise? Today, you both shall perish." He cackled wildly. "Yes, that would be the most suitable outcome."

"I erred gravely with Jasper," Sebastian admitted, his expression steely, his tone chilling. "I ventured into hostile territory unaided… But that is a mistake I will not repeat."

Wellington frowned. "What?"

It happened all too quickly.

Justine moved first, wrapping his arms around Virtue's waist and pulling her back and out of the way. Lord Prescott then attempted to push Simon's arms down, neutralizing the firearm as Sebastian charged for him and took him out completely.

At least that was the plan.

Bang! The sound of the bullet was deafening as it exploded from the end of the pistol. Sebastian closed his eyes as he charged, ignoring the sound the same way that he ignored the piercing hot sensation of lead tearing through his gut.

One hand grabbed Wellington around the scruff of the neck as the hilt of the saber bludgeoned his face. Once. Twice. The third time, and he collapsed to the ground at Sebastian's feet.

"Christ," Prescott exhaled, chuckling nervously, as he doubled over from the exertion. "Now that… that was something."

"It seemed only fitting..." Sebastian's words trailed off. A wave of nausea as the pain seared through his muscles. "Deserved." His hand pressed against the wound, plugging it as he turned to find Virtue—just in time to see her leaping from the chair and running for him.

"Sebastian!" she cried as she threw her arms tightly around him. "I knew you would—"

"Argh!" he groaned when her body slammed against his, the agony of the bullet wound crippling him such that he nearly collapsed. But he did not—he could not. He forced himself to stay standing, ignoring the anguish as he wrapped her in his embrace. "I should… should not have left you," he breathed quietly. "I shouldn't have—argh."

"You're hurt!" she gasped, eyes widening as she noticed the grievous wound. "The bullet!"

"It's… I'll be fine."

"You require a physician!" she cried out.

"I assure you, I'll survi—" The strength in Sebastian's legs dropped out from under him suddenly and he stumbled forward, clutching Virtue by the shoulder to steady himself.

Prescott swept in hastily to help. "She is correct, Your Grace. You must receive medical attention forthwith!"

"Lord Prescott!" Virtue gasped. "What are you doing here? And your face… what happened to your face!"

"A tale for another time," he chuckled, before turning his gaze sternly at the short man still lingering a few yards back. "Mendoza! Make yourself useful for Christ's sake! Fetch something with which to stem the blood flow!"

"I'll be fine..." Sebastian whispered—the frailty in his voice, the paling of his skin, and the way his body began to tremble all clear arguments against the point. He tried to support himself but could scarcely feel his legs. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a blood-drenched cough.

"Sebastian!" Virtue's tears began to flow as she embraced him fiercely. "No! You cannot leave me behind! I refuse to accept it!"

"Ever stubborn..." he murmured before he collapsed onto the ground, lying in a pool of his blood for the wound was far worse than he thought. "You've always been so stubborn."

"You cannot die!" she punched his chest as she wept. "You cannot!"

"V..." His vision began to blur, his consciousness waning. But before he let himself drift, not knowing if he would ever wake, there was one thing he still had to say. Something he should have said a long time ago. "Should I not make it—"

"Don't you dare!"

"You must know that I... that I... that I love..." His eyes shut and darkness claimed him.