Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Fortunately, Aaron could take a punch.

The skipper of the crude river barge, a small boat named The Good Hope, thumped Aaron in the gut to ensure he was subdued from the opium. He delivered a jab to Aaron's chin, an uppercut too weak to floor a gnat. Once satisfied his prisoner had downed enough opium to dull the pain, the thug frisked him, a hapless pat of Aaron's body and thighs to search for a weapon.

Aaron swayed and mumbled a few words, pretended his knee had buckled and let the skipper lay him down beneath the canvas canopy. The cove stank of stale sweat and rotten fish. Anyone who caught a whiff of his breath would retch.

"Where are you taking him?" Mrs Lowry asked, pretending to be friendly. "It's too cold to be out on the river tonight."

"I've sailed the North Sea in the dead of winter," the stout Scotsman mocked. "I think I can manage a barge on the Thames."

The fellow snatched a rope from inside a barrel and secured Aaron's hands behind his back. Then he pulled a knife from a sheath, threatened Mrs Lowry and told her to climb aboard .

"That's not the plan," she said, fear creeping into her voice. "I'm to wait in the house. I'll not leave Lucia there alone."

"Dinnae fret. They'll bring the lass to the meeting place."

Mrs Lowry would be dead once they reached their destination—as would the skipper. Natasha would dispose of the witnesses. It's why Aaron had swallowed half the dose of laudanum, spitting some into his hand when pretending to cough, and wiping the excess on his trousers.

One thing troubled Aaron as he closed his eyes and listened to the skipper wrestle Mrs Lowry onto the boat. Joanna was right. He couldn't kill a woman, not even a witch like Natasha. Which begged the question: how would he free himself from his captor and finish her for good?

"Keep yer mouth shut." The skipper threw Mrs Lowry to the boards and told her to sit still. "Cause trouble, and I'll toss ye overboard."

Another man joined them, a muscled brute named Pike. He'd come to help row the boat but mentioned his friends couldn't find Lucia.

"I left them searching the street," he said, his accent as coarse as a Covent Garden hawker. "She can't have gone far, not on foot."

Mrs Lowry grinned, the news bringing a subtle sigh of relief.

"The girl's nae our problem. We've got our orders and will only get paid if we stick to the plan."

The skipper released the line and cast off, digging his pole into the bank and pushing the barge out onto the murky river. His friend sat beside him and they took up an oar each, both heaving with the force of each stroke.

Aaron peered through half-closed eyes. They were heading downriver, leaving St Peter's and Westminster Hall behind them, moving towards the Palace of Whitehall and the Privy Gardens.

It would help to know their intended destination .

He recalled the snippet of information Mrs Lowry remembered.

A woman would destroy him where strong men failed.

It alluded to Aaron's many fights.

Needing to remain alert as the drug draped his mind in a hazy mist, he trawled through the memory of every battle. The hundreds he'd won, those he'd lost as a boy, too naive to think a grown man wouldn't hit him.

They passed beneath Waterloo Bridge, the men stopping for a brief rest before gripping the oars and propelling them through the water again.

Mrs Lowry tapped his arm and whispered, "Are you awake?"

Aaron met her gaze and nodded. "Hush."

The men were talking as they rowed.

Any information might prove invaluable.

Pike complained about hunger pangs. "Mrs Boyd at The Anchor serves the best rabbit pie for miles around."

"We'll nae stay at The Anchor," replied the Scotsman. "We're to lie low for a while and cannae remain in London. I've a friend in Berkhamsted."

There were five taverns named The Anchor along the Thames. One in Greenwich, a brief ride across the river to a place fighting men called the Dog Pit.

Aaron was fourteen the first time his father dragged him there. Beating four brutes wasn't the problem. He was fast like lightning, they said, with knuckles of steel. But his last opponent was a woman, a skilled fighter with a face so pretty Aaron's conscience stopped him from hitting her.

Did Natasha know he could not hit her, either?

Is that why she'd chosen his old battleground?

He'd know the answer soon. If the rowers kept their current pace, they would reach the Dog Pit in forty minutes, which explained why Natasha wanted him drugged.

The time passed slowly .

Mrs Lowry whimpered as the murmur of the city dulled and the barge slipped through the black water, gliding around the hulls of moored vessels like a giant eel. They reached the Isle of Dogs. The barge banged against the narrow jetty as the Scotsman dropped his oar and moored the boat.

"Agree with whatever I say," Aaron whispered to Mrs Lowry. "Your life depends on it."

"Wakey-wakey!" Pike loomed over Aaron, dragging him up by his waistcoat. "Reckon you wished you'd worn a coat tonight." The lout chuckled as he cracked Aaron across the cheek, knocking his head sideways.

"Take him to the Pit," the skipper said as Pike hauled Aaron onto the jetty. "I'll deal with the problem here."

Aaron opened his eyes and swayed as he pointed at the trembling Mrs Lowry. "She's hidden Lucia as security," he said, speaking like the drunken lords who frequent the Den. "Your mistress will want to question her before you dump her in the Thames."

The skipper waved his hunting knife at Mrs Lowry and beckoned her ashore. "Tell me where the lass is, or ye'll nae keep yer tongue."

Mrs Lowry drew her shoulders back. "I'll only speak to Natasha."

Aaron let his head flop forward. "Throw her overboard. It will scupper the plans and save me killing her myself once I'm free of these bonds."

Pike laughed. "You ain't leaving the Pit alive."

"Don't laugh," Aaron slurred. "I can beat you with my hands bound and while high on laudanum. Kill the woman." He stumbled for dramatic effect. "I'll enjoy watching Natasha put a lead ball between your brows."

The brutes exchanged wary glances.

While lighting their lamps, they spoke about the risks of not getting paid, before the Scot said, "Aye, best bring the woman to Mrs Chance. Let her decide."

Natasha wasn't waiting at the Ferry House Inn as the men expected. According to the stable hand, she left the tavern when a grey-haired nabob arrived. It was obvious the lad referred to the devious Earl of Berridge.

The two lackeys guarding the path behind the tavern stepped aside for the skipper. Aaron made a mental note of their faces, though few men in London would dare challenge the Chance brothers.

They cut through the fields, the marsh fog obscuring their vision, the ground squelching beneath their boots. Pike shoved Aaron in the back, wanting him to trip, as they followed the track across the boggy terrain to an area of raised ground near a row of alder trees.

The Dog Pit.

Aaron recalled the amber glow of twenty lit braziers, not the measly light from the lamps now hanging from metal crooks. He imagined the crowd gathered around the wooden platform where men fought for a heavy purse, the shouting and shoving, the thud when his opponent hit the boards. The stench of blood and sweat.

The Dog Pit was aptly named. It's where men howled and whined and battled to be named pack leader. Tonight, it was a bleak and barren wilderness, where a corpse might remain undiscovered for months.

He saw Natasha, dressed in a green hooded cloak, her ebony ringlets framing a face of harsh angles and bitter lines. He remembered her cackle, the ugly laugh that followed every cruel jibe.

"You brought him." Natasha rubbed her hands like he was a beef supper. She stopped a foot away, a predatory glint in her eyes, and stroked his bristled cheek. "Goodness, what a handsome devil you are. It almost makes me wish I had kept you as a pet."

"You're too old for me, Natasha," he stuttered, maintaining the facade. Her hair was grey at the temples, the corners of her mouth drooped with the gravity of age. "I prefer a woman with a heart."

"Like Miss Lovelace?" Natasha tapped her finger to her lips. "What will become of your little concubine when she's living all alone at The Burnished Jade? Poor Lord Howard cannot rescue her now he's dead. There's always Mr Parker. He would warm anyone's bed."

It took Hercules' strength not to react. Joanna lived in his heart and mind, but he could not afford to let sentiment make him weak.

"What do you want?" Aaron said though knew full well.

"What any mother wants for her daughter. Stability." Natasha's arrogant gaze shifted to Mrs Lowry, then to the Scot. "Why is she still breathing? I told you. I can't afford mistakes."

The burly fellow squirmed. "She has the girl hidden somewhere. The men cannae find the young lass and are scouring the streets."

Natasha's eyes blazed. "What have you done with Lucia?"

"I'll die before I tell you," came Mrs Lowry's brave reply.

"You'll not be so brazen when Murray puts a blade to your throat." Natasha glared at Pike. "Tie her up. We'll dispose of her when we find my daughter."

Mrs Lowry's eyes widened. "You'd kill me? After years of faithful service?"

"Faithful service?" Natasha's frigid chuckle could freeze hell's flames. "Oh, please. I know about your failed attempts to run away with Lucia. Roberto told me he caught you trying to escape the villa. You can't be trusted and have outlived your purpose."

"So, you throw children to the wolves and murder helpless women." Aaron didn't bother altering his voice. "When you've established yourself at Fortune's Den, I suspect Lucia will suffer a terrible accident and you'll be the sole beneficiary."

Natasha grinned. "Children are useful to a point. What a shame you reminded Ignatius of your mother. He enjoyed watching other men beat you. He couldn't quite rouse the strength to thrash you himself."

Aaron flinched. Hatred for his father lived in the marrow of his bones, but he'd be lying if he said Natasha's comment didn't hurt. It cut deep.

"He must be turning in his grave at your betrayal," he said in this war of words. "Berridge as good as murdered my mother. Now you're working with him to destroy what's left of her memory."

Natasha raised her hands as if exasperated. "All those punches to the head must account for your stupidity. I'm representing your father in his absence. He would have taken your gaming hell, as I mean to do."

Yes, jealous of Aaron's success, Ignatius would have made him suffer. "My brothers will fight you to the death."

Looking bored, Natasha examined her hands. "You know what happens to the hive when the queen dies. The tiny insignificant bees perish."

"My brothers are a damn sight more dangerous than bees." It annoyed him to think his father would be proud.

"Men in love are easy to overthrow. A wife heavy with child is like a chink in their armour."

This vixen knew how to manipulate Aaron's thoughts. She knew where to fire the arrow. "Don't pretend you cared for my father. You let our neighbour bed you while Ignatius was still alive."

Natasha found his retort amusing. "It was your father's idea, a way of protecting me from Berridge when he was gone. Miss Lovelace knows what it's like when wolves come knocking. When you're dead, they'll tear her to shreds."

Aaron didn't dare think about Joanna.

He didn't let his mind invent stories.

He didn't acknowledge the ache in his heart.

"Where is Berridge? The lad at the Ferry House said he accompanied you here. Will you kill him to avenge my father?"

The notion was ludicrous.

What made her believe she could escape punishment?

"Me? Good Lord, no. You'll kill him when you've signed the documents naming Lucia your heir. It will look like you agreed to meet here to fight."

It was Aaron's turn to laugh. "You underestimate me, Natasha. I'll never sign the documents. Besides, there's a flaw in your plan. As Mrs Lowry will attest, I did not come to Lambeth alone tonight. By now, my brothers will know of your treachery."

Natasha didn't believe him. "You'd never risk the lives of those you love. Aaron Chance, the lone hero, fights everyone's battles."

Mrs Lowry begged to differ. "The lady came in the carriage and left Lambeth before I brought Mr Chance to the boat."

With a fleeting look of unease, Natasha scanned her surroundings. Satisfied they were alone, she drew a double-barrelled pistol from the deep pocket of her cloak, cocked one hammer and aimed at Aaron.

"No one knows we're at the Dog Pit," Natasha said, confident his brothers wouldn't think to visit marshland in the dead of night. "They'll be out scouring every back alley, storming the earl's house, hounding that simpleton Miss Stowe. I knew not to trust Lucia or Mrs Lowry with the information." She glanced at the alder trees—ghostly sentinels in the foggy haze—and yelled for her lackey to fetch the Earl of Berridge.

Amid a grumble of voices and gruff shouts, Berridge appeared, shuffling through the boggy grassland, his hands and ankles shackled, the cloth gag sagging beneath his chin.

"Release me at once." Berridge's enraged eyes bored down on Natasha. "You agreed to let me kill him. I've given you the money. Now have these miscreants untie me, and hand me that pistol."

Natasha giggled like she was at the Olympic watching Madame Vestris' farcical play. "Neither of you will leave here alive. How could I honour my dear Ignatius' memory when the two people he hated most are still breathing?"

For a moment, Aaron was back in his childhood home, wondering what he'd done to earn his father's wrath, longing for his parent's love, believing he was undeserving.

"The master didn't hate his son," Mrs Lowry protested. "You poisoned his mind. You made him believe the boy was weak and wouldn't survive if left to fend for himself."

Natasha motioned to Pike. "Gag that woman. If I hear another word from her, I'll shoot you in the foot."

While Pike saw to the task, the earl's temper raged. "You promised me vengeance. You said we'd rid the world of this filthy scourge. You promised me half of Fortune's Den."

"More fool you for trusting a woman," Natasha countered. "Vengeance is mine tonight. Pike, untie the earl's hands but keep his feet bound. Let's watch the men battle it out, just as Ignatius would have wanted."

Joanna hugged herself for the duration of the five-mile journey to the Isle of Dogs. Time was against them. She wished the carriage could sprout wings and cover the distance in seconds, not a painstaking forty minutes .

She looked out of the window as the vehicle charged along the Deptford and Greenwich Road, one of few byways on the Isle. The carriages belonging to Mr Daventry's men stopped near the windmill to allow them to alight. The agents cut across the marshland on foot before disappearing into the foggy blackness.

Everyone else headed to the Ferry House Inn and parked in the deserted yard.

There was no sign of Gabriel's elegant coach, though that didn't worry Mr Daventry, who was quick to reassure Aaron's brothers. "Rothley may have followed by boat. It's easy to find an empty vessel moored at this time of night."

Aramis adopted Aaron's role, insisting everyone remain in the yard while he searched for his brother. "We can't all go charging across the marshland. It's best I go alone. Natasha won't hear me coming."

His wife Naomi disagreed. "We should remain together. We're safer in numbers and your stepmother may have gathered an army."

While Joanna grew tired of waiting, Mr Daventry saw the merit of both plans. "Aramis can have a five-minute advantage and we'll follow behind. There is strength in numbers."

"Let me go," Joanna said, trying to think of a logical reason why Aramis might agree. "I heard Lucia's story and can use it to stall Natasha. She won't see me as a threat. I'll say I never left Lambeth and followed the boat."

"Saving him is my responsibility," Aramis countered.

"We all want to save him." Joanna gestured to Christian and Theo and a determined Mrs Maloney, who clutched the antique musket like she would fire without warning. "But I have a better chance of getting close to Natasha. I'll distract her while you surround the area."

Mr Daventry raised his lamp aloft and looked out over the marshland. "If Natasha runs, it will be impossible to find her in the fog. Miss Lovelace is right. She can approach quietly. We will split into small groups with the aim of surrounding the area. We'll move in on my signal."

Like his elder brother, Aramis vented his frustration. "I'll not follow behind like a hapless sheep."

Joanna touched Aramis' upper arms, arms too muscular to grip. "I love Aaron. If we have any hope of finding the happiness you and Naomi share, let me go. Don't let history repeat itself. Don't shut us all out and tackle this problem alone. Don't treat your brothers like children."

The comment hit a nerve.

After a tussle with his conscience, Aramis exhaled sharply. "You'll need a weapon. Something easily concealed." He beckoned his wife to give Joanna the muff pistol she carried in her reticule. "Leave it uncocked. The slightest bump may cause it to discharge."

"I'll only use it in an emergency," she said, slipping the pistol into her pocket. She still wore Aaron's coat. His scent enveloped her, bringing the calm reassurance needed to complete her mission.

"Go now," Aramis urged her. "We won't be far behind."

Mr Daventry pointed to a path heading into the distance. "It's not far to the Dog Pit. We'll surround the area. Have confidence help is at hand. Aramis will accompany you as far as the gate. Natasha may have posted men there to ensure no one uses the track. You'll need him to dispose of them."

Aramis grinned, relishing the chance to use his fists.

Joanna followed him, circling the stables to the rear of the tavern and heading towards the track. The fog lingered, dense and unmoving, always ten feet ahead. While their next steps were visible, the future remained unclear.

"Aaron is in love with you," Aramis whispered.

"Yes, he told me." She would never forget the warmth in Aaron's eyes when he made the confession, the way his smile stole her breath. It was a moment of bliss. She would walk through fire to see him that happy again.

"He did?" Aramis sounded surprised.

"If we survive tonight, we have difficult decisions to make."

"You mean how he'll commit to you when he made a vow to us?" Aramis didn't wait for an answer. "The role of family patriarch is all Aaron knows. We didn't challenge him because it gave him a purpose, a reason to keep his demons locked in a cage."

"I know life together won't be easy. He lives under the constant threat of attack." From the lofty lords who owed him a fortune. From memories worse than nightmares.

"I have no doubt he will be an exceptional husband and father. It's time he buried the ghosts of the past."

If they survived the night, there was still one obstacle to overcome. "Aaron insists I watch him fight. He thinks I will despise that man. That I couldn't possibly love a beast."

"I'll not lie," Aramis said, his tone grave. "Aaron is savage in the ring. When you watch him, remember how it began and what it means for him to be invincible. Then, he may not appear quite so monstrous."

Aramis spoke like they would win tonight's battle and leave the field undefeated. The possibility grew more likely when they found two unconscious louts near the gate, their hands bound and fastened to the wooden post.

Aramis kicked a lackey but he lay like a lump of stone. "Daventry's agents must have sprinted here."

"I don't think that was the plan." Joanna caught whiff of an exotic cologne, the aromatic smell of myrrh, a deeply complex scent belonging to one man in particular. "Gabriel is here." Relief flooded through her. "He won't let anything happen to Aaron."

Aramis wasn't so sure. "If Rothley kills Aaron, he can marry you."

"Don't be absurd. Gabriel is not a murderer." She gestured to the rogues on the floor. "He bound these blackguards with rope instead of killing them."

Doubt crept into her mind.

She had been wrong about Lord Howard and Lucia.

Was she wrong about Gabriel?

"I can't take the risk. I'm fetching my brothers." Aramis was already making his way along the path. "You'd better hurry if you want to reach Natasha before I do," he called, breaking into a sprint.

Joanna didn't waste a second. She stepped over the men, raised her skirts and hurried along the miry track. Despite hearing a woman's voice heckling men to fight, she crept slowly into the fray.

An older man, who she believed was the Earl of Berridge, stood with his feet in iron shackles, his clothes muddy, a cut to his left cheek. Aaron's hands were bound but his feet were untethered.

The earl threw punches at Aaron, a series of poorly-timed blows.

Aaron dodged them with ease, kicking the earl to the ground.

"Get up you old oaf." A woman in a cloak cackled, then turned to the three thugs watching the bout. "Perhaps we should give Berridge a blade."

Mrs Lowry saw Joanna first. The poor woman sat on soggy moss, a filthy rag fastened around her mouth. Her eyes widened and she shook her head, warning Joanna to retreat.

Joanna cleared her throat. "Stop this!"

Everyone turned in her direction, united in shock.

Aaron met her gaze, cold hard fear flaring in his eyes.

"Miss Lovelace," the woman said, her insidious tone confirming she was Natasha. She was also a member of The Burnished Jade who went by the alias Miss Goswell. "What a delightful surprise." She raised her hand, revealing the double-barrelled pistol .

Joanna did not flinch or exchange pleasantries. "I followed the boat. I have Lucia imprisoned in a secure location. If I fail to return within two hours, she will be taken to the Thames Police Station and charged as an accessory to murder."

Natasha appeared unconcerned. "That is unfortunate. I suppose you want to make a trade. My handsome stepson for my darling daughter. Lucia is quite remarkable isn't she? So innocent yet so conniving. And entirely biddable when she's afraid."

How could a mother be so cruel?

Perhaps Lucia's lesson to learn was courage.

"You will accompany me to fetch Lucia," Joanna said, firming her stance. "Leave with me now and you will both walk free. If you refuse, I cannot be held responsible for what happens next."

In the tense silence, it was like the universe held its breath.

"There appears to be some confusion about who is in charge." Natasha motioned for her lackeys to grab Joanna, but Aaron tripped both men up and a fight ensued.

Even with his hands tied, Aaron fought like a champion.

One thug fell to the ground, blood spurting from his broken nose. A sharp kick to the knee had a Scottish brute collapsing and howling like a babe.

"Give me the bloody pistol," the irate earl said, lunging at Natasha. "I'll do what you're incapable of doing. I'll rid myself of this vermin for good."

Natasha moved, causing the earl to stumble. He grabbed her cloak to stop himself falling. That's when Natasha lost her temper and shot the earl in the chest.

The loud crack of pistol fire echoed across the barren land. The sharp acrid scent of sulphur mingled with the musty smell of sodden earth.

The wide-eyed earl dropped to his knees, gaping at the spot of blood on his mustard waistcoat as it spread like ink on parchment, darkening with each laboured breath .

With a sinister grin, Natasha watched Lord Berridge die, kicking him to the ground once his chest stopped heaving. "Ignatius will be waiting for you in hell," she cried, then turned to Aaron, her face a mask of pure evil. "Now, you will sign the damned documents or I will shoot you where you stand."

Joanna's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Beads of panic moistened her brow. She had to find a way to stall Natasha. If she drew the muff pistol, the crazed woman might fire.

It was why Aaron's brothers hovered twenty feet away, hidden behind the wall of fog. Help was at hand. She sensed an army moving closer, paused on the brink of attack.

"I would rather die than let you take Fortune's Den," Aaron said with a snarl. "The truth will come to light and you'll hang."

Natasha aimed and cocked the hammer of the second barrel.

"Wait!" Joanna cried, beyond desperate now. "Let me talk to him privately. Let me convince him to sign the documents." Natasha would untie his hands, and then there'd be hell to pay.

Before Natasha could argue, Joanna flew at Aaron, wrapping her arms around his neck, shielding his body.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he hissed. "If she shoots, you'll die."

"You're the love of my life," Joanna whispered, kissing his lips. "I would rather die than live without you."

Despite their dire circumstances, he kissed her deeply, too. "You should not have come here. You should be safe at home, not risking your life for me."

"Clearly, you've not been paying attention. You're not fighting this battle alone. We're fighting it together. We're colleagues, friends and lovers. And I have no intention of letting you die."

"You've played right into my hands, Miss Lovelace," Natasha said, taunting her. "I did wonder how I might kill two people with one shot. Thank you for providing the solution."

"Wait!" Joanna called. "He has agreed to sign the documents." She looked at Aaron and mouthed. "I have a pistol in my pocket. When I turn and fire you must duck in case she shoots."

But Joanna didn't need to draw the small pistol. They didn't need to pray for a miracle because it came in the form of Lucia.

Joanna turned upon hearing the girl shout.

"Mother!" Lucia appeared from the fog, trying to march like a confident woman towards the virago who'd raised her. "Put down your weapon and surrender. I won't let you hurt my brother. You cannot win. You're outnumbered."

Natasha's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "You ungrateful wretch. I should have known you'd betray me. Your father would be ashamed."

"No. You're wrong." Lucia stood like David challenging Goliath. "My father needed strong children capable of fighting the Berridge family."

"What do you know, you're just a child? Choose your side, Lucia. Choose wisely because you won't get a second chance."

"I hate you," Lucia cried as a bird call echoed across the wasteland. "I belong here with Mrs Lowry and the family who might come to love me."

"Your brother can't love you if he's dead," Natasha said.

A sudden movement near the trees stole everyone's attention.

Gabriel strode through the fog, his greatcoat billowing, his rifle pointed at Natasha. "Lower your weapon. Don't force me to shoot."

He wouldn't shoot.

From every compass point, people appeared: Aaron's brothers and their wives, Delphine and Dorian Flynn, Mr Daventry and his athletic agents, Sigmund with his fists clenched like mallets, and Mrs Maloney who carried the old musket as well as Wellington's men.

Joanna turned to Aaron. "You see, my love. You've never been alone in your fight against the world. All these people have risked their lives to stand with you tonight. "

Aaron raised a stoic chin but water welled in his eyes.

"Spare me the melodrama," Natasha said.

Something in Natasha's tone had Joanna covertly reaching into her pocket and cocking the hammer on the pistol. She slipped her fingers around the handle and firmed her grip.

"Lower the weapon," Mr Daventry reiterated.

But Natasha laughed and aimed at Aaron's chest. "If I'm going to die, I'm taking that devil with me. His father needs some entertainment in hell."

As Natasha fired, a ball from the old musket hit her in the chest, causing her aim to falter and veer off target. A shot from the muff pistol hit her, too, and she dropped to the floor like a sack of sodden grain.

Lucia ran to Mrs Lowry and hugged her tightly.

Joanna turned to Aaron, patting his body, frantically searching for evidence of blood. "Are you hurt? Did she hit you?"

"I'm fine, love," he reassured her. "Natasha missed."

Mrs Maloney approached, tears glistening in her eyes as she hugged Aaron as any distraught mother would. "You gave us all a mighty scare." She brushed his hair from his brow and cupped his cheek. "But no one hurts my boy and lives to tell the tale."