Chapter 29 #2
“Oh, I have not? I am an excellent planner you see.”
“What do ye mean, Lamfort?”
“You have you failed to see? It was I who spread the rumor about the Duke… and your little sister!”
“What?” She screamed, tears prickling behind her eyes. “Why would ye do that?
“It makes perfect sense!”
“Nay! It makes nay sense,” Isla rasped. “Ye are mad!”
“I hoped that foolish Highlander, Lord Dalrigh, would do the job for me and kill Ealdwick in a duel.” He spat on the ground. “But you had to go and mess that up for me, dressing up as a boy and somehow seducing him for yourself.”
“Stop it! How do ye even ken that?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” he spat at her.
“This is madness!”
“But I think that this all will be better in the end. I will take the last piece of what he loved, and then he will be left with nothing. Just like me.”
Isla clutched Oliver tightly then, pulling the boy behind her skirt. “Oliver is not a piece of anythin’! He is Cecilia’s son! She would have wanted him safe, loved, and raised in light! Not dragged into the dark by a madman! What is wrong with ye?”
Lamfort waved the pistol, his breath catching in putrid, ragged gasps. “You will only corrupt him, Scot! He is of noble blood!”
“Ye have no right!”
“I do; he must be protected! From you and that blasted Duke! He must be pure, like Cecilia. Yes…yes… I will take him far away, where Ealdwick’s taint will never reach him!” He gestured to the river, the water looking impossibly cold and deep.
“Please, I am beggin’ ye… ye can still walk away. Ye havenae hurt anyone,” Isla pleaded, inching toward him and her arm outstretched for the gun. “We can pretend this never happened…”
“Try to take him from me, and I swear on Cecilia’s grave, I will throw the boy into the river first.”
“Cecilia would never want this!”
“He is better off spared from your corruption if I cannot have him. I swear it.”
“She would want her son to live!”
“Stop!” Lamfort snared, his grip on the pistol suddenly unsteady, his eyes darting frantically. “Be silent!”
Then, his gaze snapped to the swirling, foggy water, and his voice cracked, losing its menace.
“Cecilia?” he whispered, his eyes wide and vacant, as if he saw her standing there in the mist, her form shimmering above the black tide like a specter.
“What is it that ye see?” Isla asked.
“Cecilia, my love… Is that you?” He beckoned, his arms outstretched awkwardly.
Suddenly, a horse thundered around the corner of the lane, pulling up in a shower of sparks from its furious hooves as it approached the dock with a furious whinny.
Oh, it is Benedict! Me prayer has been answered!
He was breathless, his shirt damp with sweat, and his face contorted by pure rage.
“Lamfort!” Benedict roared, his voice cut through the mist like a knife as the man’s eyes reached him. “What in the devil are you doing?”
Lamfort whirled toward the sound, his face wild, the pistol shaking in his hand. “She’s here!” he screamed. “Don’t you see?”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Cecilia is here for him! She told me that she wants Oliver to be safe with me! I have been watching over your house,” he said in a grating tone.
“So, it was you looking up at the house, skulking in the shadows like some creature! You make no sense-”
“We are off into the river, Your Grace,” he said, in a trancelike state. “There is nothing you can do to stop fate. Cecelia has foreseen it, and I will see it through! The boy is mine!”
“There is no such thing as ghosts! There is no reason to get hurt,” Benedict yelled.
“She was never supposed to be yours! I will make this right with her son! Cecelia, do you see?” The man cried aloud, his arms outstretched, and the gun dangling precariously from his fingertips.
Benedict moved, ignoring the gun, walking slowly with purpose toward the edge of the wharf. “There’s nothing there, Lamfort.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Put the weapon down. This ends. Now.”
Lamfort’s eyes bulged, and he screamed a torrent of blame at the Duke. “You killed her! This is all your fault.”
“I did nothing of the sort…I…”
“You broke her with your cold ambition! Your house was a mess without her good name!”
“I will always be grateful for Cecelia, but she is gone, Lamfort. Listen to me!”
“She deserves justice, and I will give it to her!”
As Lamfort raised the pistol to fire at Isla.
Benedict closed the distance between them in a desperate, final charge.
Benedict slammed into Lamfort, not bothering to avoid the pistol, but striking him hard and low in the groin.
The impact sent them both staggering, and with a metallic clatter, the weapon skittered across the wet cobblestones, landing just by the water’s edge.
Lamfort fell to his knees, not fighting the man who held him, but staring past him. His eyes locked on the misty river once more as he continued to call Cecilia’s name, utterly consumed by delusion.
“Cecilia!” He sobbed, tears pouring down his face. “Do not forsake me now!”
“Over here!” Constables shouted as they approached the scene, clearly alerted by the frantic Mrs. Darst as they reached them finally. “There he is! Get him!”
“The gun is over there,” Benedict pointed, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his brow.
“We will take him right in, Your Grace,” one constable said with a small salute. “You did well, Your Grace.”
“See justice is served for this, and he is cared for.”
“Of course, Your Grace! We will follow up later, once this mongrel has been locked away,” he said with one last bow.
“Throw away the key,” Benedict ordered as they pinned the raving Lord Lamfort down, securing his wrists in heavy cuffs behind his back. They dragged the screaming man away into the back of a carriage and rode off into the dark night.