Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Pain flared behind his eyes, but he willed himself to stay conscious.
Almost there. He shoved aside the fog that clouded his mind, the heat in his lungs burning like the fire itself.
One foot in front of the other, he kept moving across the room, dragging her toward the faint outline of the window.
His chest was tight, the weight of her in his arms almost unbearable, but he couldn’t stop. Not when they were so close.
He leaned his head out, taking a gulp of precious air. “Samantha!” His voice came out in nothing more than a croak.
But blessedly, she answered. “I’m here.”
He braced himself and heaved the suddenly heavy cage over the windowsill. “Catch.”
It slipped from his weak fingers, falling into the darkness below. With a strangled grunt, he lifted Josephine into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her weight slack and terrifying in his grasp.
He climbed over the sill, smoke curling thick around them like a noose.
The fire shrieked behind them in an otherworldly scream.
Rough twigs scraped his palms as he reached for the nearest limb.
He braced one foot onto a lower branch, then the next, easing down.
Vision swimming, his boot slipped. He slammed into the trunk, gritting his teeth as the bark tore at his side.
He hit the ground hard, knees buckling as he collapsed.
Josephine fell from his arms and he pressed his forehead into the damp grass next to her.
The night air hit like ice, too cold, too sharp.
His chest heaved as he tried to draw breath.
Bile surged up, and he doubled over, retching onto the earth.
The earth swayed beneath him as his stomach clenched, his throat raw.
Samantha’s voice broke through the haze, sharp with worry, and he jerked his head around to find her beside him, leaning over Josephine’s prone form.
She lay still and motionless. Too still.
His hands trembled as they reached for her face, the soot and grime of the fire smearing beneath his fingertips as he cupped her cheeks.
“Josephine. No.” He gave her a gentle shake, his fingers sliding down her neck, searching for any sign of life. Nothing. She didn’t stir. Didn’t breathe.
“Please.” His voice cracked, the plea escaping in a raw whisper. The burn of tears stung his eyes as a tremor of something unspeakable surged through him.
Unable to stop himself, he dropped his head to her chest. The silence was deafening, his own raging pulse the only sound in the suffocating stillness. He held his breath, praying, begging for any sign. There. He pressed his eyes together as the faint beat of her heart fluttered against his cheek.
“Isaac?” Her eyes fluttered open, glazed. “Where am I?” A violent round of coughing overtook her and she curled forward with the force.
“Shhh.” He held a finger to her lips. “You breathed in a lot of smoke. It’s best if you don’t talk right now. Try to take deep breaths.”
She shook her head. “I thought… I thought I died—thought we died.”
He dropped his head and pressed his lips to her sooty forehead. “You’re safe.”
She tried to sit, clawing at Isaac’s shoulders for a grip as she struggled. “What about Lola?”
Samantha set the cage down next to them. “She’s right here. She’s alright. Though I’d say she’s not very happy.” More gray than green, the bird sat on a perch, feathers puffed out.
“Oh, thank goodness.” The viselike grip of her fingers loosened and she slid back to the ground. Isaac kept his eyes on her chest as it rose and fell with each breath.
He glanced at Samantha. “The pirates?”
She nodded toward the front. “The rest of our men showed up. I think Thorne was more interested in pursuing Ross than staying to fight.” She swiveled her gaze to the empty servant’s road behind them. “I hope they got enough of a head start.”
The thud of boots echoed around the corner of the burning house, and Christian emerged with a group of his men, still armed and on alert. He took one look at Isaac and grimaced. “Good God, you look like hell.”
Isaac gave a hoarse laugh. “Thanks. I’ve just returned from it.”
Christian crouched beside them, eyes scanning Josephine and the smoke-streaked bird in the cage. “Is everyone in one piece?”
“More or less,” Samantha muttered, wiping a damp rag across Josephine’s soot-streaked face. She met Isaac’s eyes. “Why don’t you come stay at our home tonight? Get cleaned up and you men can talk it out.”
It.
As in, what happened between Christian and Thorne. And what would they do next with the new information they had.
*
The blessed slip of cool water ran over Isaac’s face.
Again.
And again.
Long gone murky and dark, the basin water swirled like ink—smoke and blood and ash clinging to every ripple.
He leaned in and scrubbed harder. As if he could scour the soot from his skin.
As if he could wipe away the memory of Thorne’s blade flashing far too close, of fire licking at the walls. Of Josephine going limp in his arms.
Water splashed over the rim, pooling on the floor.
More frenzied scrubbing.
But the smell of smoke still clung to him.
He closed his eyes. All he saw was Josephine, motionless on the ground.
With a growl, he plunged his face into the basin, welcoming the deadening weight of water against his ears. Counted to ten. Twenty. Lost count and let the world go quiet around him.
He came up gasping, water streaming from his face. For a moment, he stayed there, hands gripping the basin, shoulders heaving. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror.
“Get yourself together.” He wasn’t sure who spoke, himself—or the reflection.
He dragged a towel across his face and grabbed the fresh shirt draped over the chair. The rest of his bathing could wait.
For now, there were questions to answer. Decisions to be made.
Once buttoned up, he strode from the room and descended the stairs. Light spilled from beneath Christian’s study door, warm and steady. A thread of tension pulled tight in his chest as he pushed the door open.
His friend sat at his desk, feet propped up. He didn’t look up, but picked up a bottle of bourbon and poured two glasses. Wordlessly, Isaac picked one up.
Christian took a hearty drink. “Hell of a night.”
An understatement.
Isaac took a small sip, the warmth trailing down his raw throat. The burn didn’t hurt, instead, it grounded him. A reminder he was still alive. He sank into the other chair. Took another drink.
Finally, he looked up. “Thanks.”
Christian lifted a dark brow. “For what?”
“You know exactly what. For saving me.”
The whisper of a smile played across Christian’s face. “Well, I guess we can call ourselves even then.”
“What happened?” Isaac glanced back at the closed door. “With Thorne? You two were fighting. And then—”
Christian met his eyes, unreadable. “He got away.”
A fist of frustration twisted in Isaac’s gut. He dragged a hand through his hair. “He was right there, Christian. We could’ve ended this.”
“I know.”
“We—you had him.”
“I know.”
Isaac ground his teeth together, frustration building. “Yet he slipped through our fingers. Again.”
Christian’s gaze darkened. “You think I don’t know that?” He poured another drink. “We’ll get him.” His voice had gone quiet. “One way or another.”
Would they?
Isaac wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that after everything—after almost losing Josephine, after everything that had gone wrong—they could still bring Thorne down. But for the first time, doubt clung to him like the smoke in his clothes, and he didn’t know how to shake it off.
Christian’s soft voice brought him back. “I need to know what you found in Norfolk, Isaac.”
He stared out the window. “What did Samantha tell you?”
“That it was an inside job. That the government is responsible for my mother’s death.”
Isaac nodded, his throat going dry.
Forest eyes found his, intense and searching. “Why? Why is Thorne after Ross?”
Isaac pressed his eyes closed for the space of a breath before turning to his friend. “Ross is the one who gave the orders for your mother to be kidnapped.”
Christian stood and leaned over the desk, jaw tightened. “And we let him leave? Why?”
“Because Thorne would have killed him and his daughter. Would have tortured them.”
Christian’s eyes flickered with something sharp, something cold. “Maybe he deserved it.”
Isaac pressed two fingers to his pounding temple. “I’m not willing to see a man cut down based on one sheet of paper. Even if guilty, the law must be upheld.”
Christian began to pace. “I don’t understand. Ross worked with my father. Why would he betray him like that?”
“Thorne said… He said Ross approached him and tried to convince him to take part in a lucrative deal. He wouldn’t tell him what, only that he would need to agree to look the other way and keep his mouth shut.
He was offered a large sum of money. He declined.
” He took a slow breath. “Ross mentioned something about an investigation led by your father in the order.”
Christian’s hand tightened around the glass, the flickering light from the fire catching in his eyes. He didn’t speak at first, his jaw set as he stared down into his drink, swirling it absentmindedly. Then he let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly.
“Ironic, isn’t it? That such an honest man could become the monster he is today.”
Isaac curled his hands into fists. “He had a choice. We all do. He could’ve stayed the honest man. But he chose the wrong path. He chose revenge.”
“I didn’t understand before.” His friend’s voice came whisper soft as he stared out the window. “But now that I have Samantha, it all makes sense. How losing my mother broke him, changed him.”
“It’s not the loss that makes a man a monster—it’s what he does in response to it.” Isaac pressed his lips together. “How deep do your sympathies go, exactly?”
Christian leaned forward, sharpness tightening his eyes. “It’s easy to judge someone when you’re not in their shoes. Easy to say you’d never let grief turn you into that monster. But you don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything.”
Isaac set his jaw, thoughts racing as he fixed his eyes on Christian, trying to make sense of the words that didn’t quite sit right. The pressure in his chest grew, each breath thinner than the last as his pulse quickened.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Christian raised his hands. “I’m not on his side.”
Not yet.
Isaac exhaled sharply, shaking his head to clear the cloud of frustration. This wasn’t the time to argue. He had bigger things to focus on. “I need to get to Washington and brief them about what happened.”
“No.”
Isaac pushed to his feet. “What do you mean, no?”
“If you tell them, you’ll be in danger.” Christian strode over and jabbed a finger toward the darkness outside. “Those men—Ross and whoever he was working with—think my father died. They think their secret is safe. If they find out you know, what makes you think they won’t try to silence you?”
Isaac let out a growl. “They are not above the law. If we can find out who they are, we can have them arrested for treason.”
His friend’s gaze slid back to him. “And how high does it go? God only knows how many were involved, and who. Ross was a high-ranking commander.”
“So, what would you have me do? I already might not have a job after all of this. I can’t keep lying for your sake.”
Christian shook his head. “You won’t lose your job.”
“I got a navy patrol schooner destroyed.”
Christian snorted. “Not as bad as me getting a brand-new frigate sunk.”
“You didn’t abandon your own ship with half your men and steal it, after throwing a commander into the water.”
His friend whistled. “Alright, you got me beat.”
They shared a brief, reluctant grin, the weight of everything else still hanging between them. Isaac let out a long breath, the humor fading as reality settled back in.
“I’ll hold off. Write a letter explaining what happened. Without bringing up Ross.” He gave a nod, half to himself, half to Christian. His mind already poured through the next steps. It was all too much, but he had to keep moving forward.
Christian’s voice broke through the silence. “What about Miss Montclair?”
Isaac froze for a beat, then glanced at his friend. “What do you mean?”
Christian held his gaze, unwavering. “Are you going to marry her?”
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.
It seemed so long ago when he had so candidly thrown out similar words to Christian regarding Samantha.
He’d thought it such a simple concept—a solution to a problem.
He bit back a chuckle at how quickly things had changed.
Christian’s reaction back then made sense now.
“It’s complicated.”
Christian snorted. “You’ve ruined her. It’s not that complicated.”
Isaac’s jaw clenched as his friends put it into words.
“I care about her,” he admitted, voice low. “More than I should. But that doesn’t matter.” He raked a hand through his damp hair. “I have my entire career in front of me. I’ll be at sea for most of it. She deserves better than that.”
Christian shook his head. “And what about you, Isaac? What do you deserve?”
He didn’t answer.
The fire cracked low in the hearth as he stared into the shadows, jaw tight.
What did he deserve? A ship. A commission. Orders that would take him farther from her with every tide. He’d always known the shape of his future. Had built his life around it—without softness, without entanglement.
Without her.
Now, suddenly, that future felt hollow.
“I chose this path a long time ago,” he said at last.
“That doesn’t mean you have to walk it alone.” Christian tipped back the rest of his bourbon before locking eyes with him. “Duty and loneliness needn’t go hand in hand.”