"Well, boy, you're damned well perishing to say something. Might as well spit it out before you explode."
"Late last night, before the fire, Elise came up to my chamber in the attic. She told me what you did—how all of you banded together and mocked Miss Juliet, made her feel foolish and naive, as if Angel's Fall was nothing but a brainless child's game."
Adam swallowed hard. He'd hurt Juliet on purpose then, hoping to save her even greater pain, hoping to shelter her from the evil that had stalked her for so long. He hadn't known then that even greater pain was to come.
"I respected you, Sabrehawk. But now, I know the truth. Any decent man would fight for Miss Juliet, shed his last drop of blood before he'd abandon her."
"I never said I was a decent man." The boy's scorn shouldn't hurt so much. Damnation, Adam hadn't asked for the hero-worship that had shone in Fletcher's gaze. He'd tried time and again to force the lad to see him as he really was—hopelessly flawed, fighting his way through life with his sword because he didn't know anything but battles and blood, championing other men's quests for hard coin because he had no dreams of his own.
"I did what I had to do," Adam ground out. It was a miserable excuse. One that knotted in Adam's gut.
Fletcher snorted in disgust. "Those are the words of a coward. I understand everything now. You never gave a damn about me. Only endured my bumblings for pay. You betrayed the women in Angel's Fall. Were willing to turn them all out onto the street because it wasn't convenient for you to stand by Juliet and fight for what you know is right."
"Damn it, the women went along with the scheme to drive Juliet away from here."
"It was the only thing they could do to keep her safe. But you—you're strong enough, skilled enough to defend her. Defend them all from anyone who would try to hurt them."
"Blast it, boy—"
"But you turned your back on them. God forbid you bestir yourself to guard them. It might have taken some effort. It might have taken some heart. Something you don't have."
Bloody hell, if he didn't have a heart why was his chest burning like fire? "Fletcher—"
"Don't! You sicken me! I know you think me a reckless fool, but I'll tell you something, Sabrehawk. I'd rather die in a good cause before I turn twenty than to become what you are." It was the voice of a boy suddenly tempered into the steel of a man.
Adam's hand clenched on the snifter of brandy. "You're already a hundred times the man I could ever be, Fletcher. My brother—I'll speak to him. I'm certain he can see to your future as I never could."
Fletcher turned, started to stalk away. Adam waited for the silence. Instead, the youth paused at the door, his voice suddenly low, rough. "I never knew my father. But when I was a boy, I tried a hundred times to imagine what he'd been like. When I met you, I hoped... I wanted to believe my father had been like you. Now—I'm ashamed to have ridden at your side."
Adam stood, silent, still, alone. For over a year, Fletcher had been his cross to bear. Adam had been dogged by the young Irish fool, the clomp of Fletcher's eager footsteps trailing behind him as common as the sound of his own breathing.
He'd imagined the blissful quiet once Fletcher was disposed of. Anticipated riding the countryside alone, as he had for so long. All that time, Adam couldn't wait to be rid of his troublesome young charge. But now...
Adam drove his fingers back through the tangled waves of his ebony mane. Blast and damn. This was a hell of a time to realize just how much he'd miss the lad when he was gone.
Candle in hand, Adam wandered the hallway of the townhouse where he'd never belonged, stalked by ghosts of the boy he had been and the man he had been destined to become before he took his first breath, his first step.
A man without even an honorable name. A man not worthy to kiss the sole of Juliet's slipper.
He flattened his palm on the door of his father's study, and entered the room he'd avoided for so many years. It was filled with books about wars other men had fought, lined with weapons the old earl had wielded only in practice for battles he'd never fight, littered with pictures of heroic charges other men had led.
It had always felt like a tomb to Adam, only one image within it not a testament to the old earl's unrealized dreams. The portrait that hung above the mantel visible from the desk where the earl had spent so many hours.
Adam held up the taper until its glow spilled on the gold-framed image. Adam's mother perched on a swing, a gown of sky-blue satin billowing about her, her flame-hued hair woven with lush Stuart roses. Barely sixteen, her eyes brimmed with girlish hopes, her lips curved in a smile of indescribable beauty, as if she held the sweetest of secrets in her heart.
Years ago, she had told Adam that the portrait had been started on the day the earl's son had first said he loved her. A glorious betrothal ring, a magnificent wedding, and a passion like those whispered in legends were forever possible in that frozen moment in time. Before greed and weakness had stripped it away and left Lydia Slade only a terrible choice. A life of shame, or one without the man she loved.
From the time Adam had been old enough to understand the heartbreak that blossom-cheeked girl would face, the sight of the portrait had closed like a fist about his heart.
What on earth had induced him to come here now?
"It's easy to see why he loved her." The voice from the corridor should have startled him, but it didn't. Gavin had always had a positive genius for tracking anything wounded to its lair, intending to heal it. Adam cast a glare over his shoulder, saw his half-brother standing there, peering up at Lydia Slade's face with affection and understanding. "There was such a vibrancy about her, so much laughter. I remember as a boy I couldn't take my eyes off of her whenever she entered the room. Father said it was always that way. The first time she swept into a ballroom—"
"Did father tell you what she looked like the last time she swept into a ballroom?" Adam said bitterly. "The last time she was welcomed into polite society? Or how about the last time her mother spoke to her before pretending that she was dead."
"She loved father. Was willing to sacrifice—"
"And what was he willing to sacrifice for her, Gavin? He didn't have the courage to defy his father, nor the decency to let her go, perhaps find another man who would give her his name. And then, after your mother was finally out of the way—" Adam swore, sickened by himself. "Damn, I didn't mean it that way, Gav. Forgive me."
"I know," Gavin said, no censure in his eyes, only the shadow of an old pain.
"It's just that, when she died, I thought... I was certain... I know she had to be as well..." Bloody hell, how could it hurt so much even now, years later? Hurt so much he couldn't even form it into words.
"Certain of what?" Gavin prodded.
"That father would wed her. Make her his wife. He loved her. She'd borne seven children for him. With your mother dead, there was no impediment in his way."
"I wondered about that myself. Maybe by that time they didn't need any vows to bind their love. They'd already said them in their hearts."
"Blast it, still spouting your romantic rubbish." Adam grimaced. "Do you know why he didn't marry her? Because of what he'd made her when he took her to his bed. A courtesan. A mistress. From that moment she could never be a fit bride for an earl. God forbid that he dishonor the Carstareses' name. Of course, my mother—she'd sacrificed her honor, her life, everything out of love for him."
"That was her choice, Adam. It's not for us to judge."
"How can I judge him when I was the most reprehensible of all?" Adam's chest felt torn open, wide.
"What could you possibly have done that was so terrible? You were father's pride. He loved you above all the rest of us."
"And that love was so damned important to me that I dared not risk losing it. No, I couldn't confront the selfish son of a bitch, demand that he marry my mother, that he stop tormenting you."
"Adam, don't blame—"
"I didn't blame him. No, that would have been honest. Brave.
I rode off to play soldier, to fulfill his dream for me, his wish. That's what I told myself. Do you want to know the truth, Gav, after all this time?"
"If you want to tell me."
"I ran away from Strawberry Grove so I wouldn't have to look at my mother's face, see the hurt she tried to hide. I fled so I wouldn't have to see my sisters grow up."
"They're beautiful. All of them," Gavin said, pain and pride mingling bittersweet in his voice. "You should go home, Adam, see them—"
"I can't." Adam squeezed the words past the lump in his throat. "When I left, they had the same look in their eyes as mother did when the portrait was done—as if a thousand glorious possibilities danced just within their grasp. They'd been raised like princesses, their tiniest wish fulfilled from the time they were laid in the cradle. But it was all a lie, a cruel charade. There were no ballrooms for them to conquer, no admirers who would flock to the door with betrothal rings tucked in their sweaty palms."
He glanced at Gavin, saw the sorrow shading his features, knew that his brother felt the same helplessness to aid the sisters they both adored. "In time, they'll find a man worthy of their love. Someone who won't care about the circumstances of their birth."
"You're still dreaming, Gav. The ugly fact is that I betrayed them. Christianne and Maria and the others. I had to keep father's love at any cost. Be his favorite. That exalted position mattered so much to me that I didn't defend them, force him to see what he'd condemned them to. Hell, they couldn't even take up a sword—"
"And ride off to die a glorious death in battle?"
"Yes, damn it! I always assumed I'd die on the battlefield. Hell, with the chances I took it's a miracle I didn't."
"Maybe it was Juliet's love that kept the musketballs from piercing you, the swords from driving home. Maybe your shield was a love yet to be born."
The possibility was too painfully sweet. It couldn't be real. "No, Gavin—"
"Why not? You love her. She's in love with you."
The words lanced through him, spilling devastating yearning in their wake. "Was in love with me," Adam confessed, his voice raw. He hated himself for that weakness. "She came to me, Gavin, there in the garden. She'd wandered into the night to ask me to make love to her."
"I see."
"Damn it, it was wrong for me to take her! Maybe for a moment I thought there was a chance for us—but it was a dream, Gavin. Look at me! Look at her!"
"You look miserable as a bear with its paw in a trap. Love feels that way sometimes."
"If she did love me, she doesn't any longer. She blames me for the fire. She blames herself. She thinks that if she hadn't come to me that night she could have prevented it."
"She's had a terrible shock."
"No. She's come to her senses and so have I. Damn you, one more word about Juliet, and I swear, I'll walk away and never come back. I can't endure your damn prying."
"All right. All right." Gavin held up his hands. But Adam knew his brother too well to be fooled. The dread Glenlyon might have surrendered this skirmish, but the war wasn't over yet.
Gavin turned, thrusting his hands in the pockets of the frockcoat he'd dragged on sometime during this interminable day. He paced to a shelf, laden with their father's cherished collection, miniature soldiers cast of lead. Adam was surprised he hadn't swept every reminder of the old earl's obsession with battle out of this room, this house, after what it had almost cost him.
"I always wondered what is was you were seeking as you traveled the world over, restless and wandering and full of anger and fight," Gavin said after a long moment. "You were fighting Father, just like I was."
"Only you defeated him. You always stood up to him with such quiet courage. From the time you were a boy."
"It was easy for me. I had nothing to lose. From the start he had a kind of quiet contempt for me. I could only remind him of the forced marriage that had ruined his life. But in the end I did the same as you. I picked up a sword and fought in his name. Traded all my high principles for a chance to see pride in his eyes just one time before he died. Ironic that the last word he received was that I'd been branded a coward at Prestonpans."
"You proved your courage a hundred times over since that battle. Fought like a thousand demons to save life, not take it. And I thank God every day that the fates rewarded you with the love of a woman like Rachel."
"That love is the most precious thing in my life, Adam. Waking up with her in my arms every morning, I'm still awed by the miracle, the wonder that came after so much darkness and blood and death. Sometimes, I still have nightmares—wake up drenched in cold sweat, believing that I sent her away from me in Scotland, to protect her from the fate I'd chosen. She risked exile with me, the possibility of never seeing England again. When she walked into my prison cell to break me free—God, I was so terrified."
"Juliet tried to go back into the fire, wanted to find what was left of a necklace that had belonged to her mother." Why the hell was he telling Gavin this? It hurt far too much. "When I realized she was still inside, I nearly lost my mind I was so damned afraid—"
" 'He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune...'" Gavin quoted gently. "Bacon said that so many years ago. If I were to write it, I'd say that any man who loves gives hostages to fortune. The need to protect, to defend is so fierce. The only thing worth killing for."
Adam's face set, grim. "I'll find whoever set that fire, Gav. Stake my life on it. And they'll pay for what they've done to Juliet."
"Ah, you'll deal out vengeance, exact retribution. I think your lady will find them cold comfort once you've left her alone."
"Damn it, Gav—"
"I saw your Juliet's eyes, Adam. They're as deep and knowing as a highland loch, and as steadfast. A woman such as your Juliet loves but once, with all her heart, or not at all."
The truth of that resonated in Adam's very core and he buried his face in one hand. "What do I know about the ways of a woman's heart? I'm a soldier. A warrior. All I understand is how to fight. Hell, I never planned to marry, let alone..."
"Fall in love? You want to know the secret of loving? The secret is that loving shouldn't weaken you or chain you or hurt you. Loving makes you stronger than any sword ever forged by human hands.
"Adam, love isn't about valiant charges against impossible odds. It's not about revenge. Love is about healing. Redemption, even when we don't believe we deserve it."
Gavin reached out, grasping Adam's shoulder with fierce affection, an understanding so complete it was painful. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Adam alone.
Chapter 17
It was hours later when Adam knocked on Fletcher's bedchamber door. After a moment, the sleep-tousled youth, swimming in one of Gavin's nightshirts, glared at Adam with hard disillusioned eyes. "What do you want?"
Adam straightened, knowing what he had to do. Knowing how damned hard it would be. "What happened at Angel's Fall was so ugly, so evil, I wanted to believe that it was over. The fire had consumed everything. But I have this feeling in my gut that whoever is responsible for this is still out there. That Juliet's enemy might..." Adam swore, grinding his fist against the throbbing in his brow. "Damn it, can such sick hatred be satisfied by the destruction of a house? Mere brick and wood and stone? Or does it need something more tender to sate its appetite upon?"
"I don't know. I hope not. I pray not."
"The women are safe here, for the time being. A man would have to be mad to strike at the Earl of Glenlyon's townhouse. My brother may look half dazed most of the time, lost in a fog of books and poetry, but ask any English soldier who was in Scotland after Culloden Moor, and they will tell you that under that sleepy-lion appearance, Gavin Carstares can be dangerous as hell."
The boy only stared at Adam, stubborn as everyone who inhabited that misbegotten scrap of land across the Irish Sea. He wasn't going to make Adam's task any easier.
"What are you trying to do, Sabrehawk?" Fletcher scoffed. "Ease yo
ur conscience? Juliet and her ladies aren't your responsibility. You said that before. Remember? You don't give a damn what anyone thinks?"
The boy had claimed Adam was a coward. Now they'd both discover if it were true.
Adam paced over to the window, his gaze locking on the moon, awash in a sea of mist. "I've spent hours turning what you said over and over in my mind," Adam said, "and I've come to tell you that you were right, boy. About me. About everything. I didn't want to care about anything or anyone. When you fight as many battles as I have, you learn how fragile life is. The man you've been drinking with, laughing with, can be dead in the space of a heartbeat, and all you can do is watch him bleed."
Adam closed his eyes for a moment, remembering countless faces. Remembering how he'd deadened his own heart just so he could survive the endless string of destruction. But Juliet had brought that heart back to life, whether he'd willed it or not. And there could be no turning back.
"Fletcher, sometime between the night I nailed you into a barrel and tonight, when you flung the truth in my face, I realized that—" Adam drew a deep breath. "I didn't give a damn about your uncle's money anymore. I... cared about you."
Something sparked in Fletcher's gaze, as if the boy almost wanted to hope, but was afraid—afraid his hero would fail him again. Was it worth that risk?
"I just pray I haven't discovered the truth too late. For God knows how long, you've wanted to watch my back in battle. Now I'm asking you for something far more important. Will you help me build life instead of deal out death? I'm not even certain I know how to begin. You see, I haven't given a damn about anything for a very long time."
Adam held out his hand to the boy. Saw Fletcher's gaze flick down to that sword-scarred, battle-toughened hand. Then the boy grasped Adam's fingers, fiercely. Fletcher smiled, his eyes lighting as if he'd follow Sabrehawk to the halls of hell.
Neither of them saw the cloaked figure in the shadowy street beyond, watching, watching, hatred burning in the night. Fools. They thought it was over, but they were wrong. They would pay for their interference. And Juliet... her fate was as it had always been... in her own hands.