Chapter 23 #2
“I wish you were here to help with the tangles, though,” she said.
“Would you want me to keep Wenscote for the child? I don’t think so.
You were as troubled as I was by bringing a stranger’s blood into it.
” One hand still on his, she put her other hand over her womb.
“It is the child of your heart, though, Digby. Be a special angel for it. It will need you.”
A feeling of such sweet peace came over her that it was like a blessing, one that made her weep. He’d always made her feel this way. Safe, warm, protected. She knew now he’d do the same for another needy child.
Smiling sadly, she rested her head on the mattress and let her thoughts wander over eight years of a special kind of love….
When the clock struck one, Edward tiptoed in. Rosamunde rose, stiff and tired, glad to be going to her bed, but sad to be taking a final farewell of her husband. This wasn’t him, however. He’d moved on. It didn’t seem wrong to leave Edward with this empty shell.
She nodded to him as she passed.
Then was caught, hand over her mouth, an arm shackling her.
She’d never have imagined he was so strong! She writhed and kicked, but could not break free. His grip switched so he had his arm tight around her neck. She tried to claw it down or scream, but he tightened his lock, almost throttling her.
“Try to call out again, and I’ll really throttle you,” he whispered. Then something cold pressed against her neck.
“Yes, a pistol, Aunt. One of Uncle’s. How kind of him to insist that I learn to use it.”
He slowly released her neck, and she gasped for breath, putting a hand to her aching throat. “You won’t shoot me. Everyone would know.”
“Perhaps I can make it appear suicide. But I don’t want to kill you. Just to get rid of that devil’s spawn in your womb.” He presented a small glass bottle before her eyes. “Drink.”
Teeth and lips clamped shut, she desperately shook her head.
“It won’t be too unpleasant, and it will cleanse you of your sins.
” He sounded as if he believed he could persuade her!
“Otherwise, I will kill you, and your babe will die, too. Come, come. Your life will be easier without a child. You’ll be able to find a young, handsome husband then.
Perhaps the one who planted the unrighteous seed. ”
All Rosamunde could do was shake her head, and keep her mouth clamped shut. She was afraid even to scream for he might manage to tip the stuff down her throat.
He suddenly jammed the pistol into the base of her skull, jerking a cry from her, but she sealed her mouth again before he could act. “Open up!” he snarled, mashing the cold bottle against her lips. “Swallow your medicine, you foul trollop. Purge yourself of your abomination!”
He kicked the back of her leg and she went down on her knees. He hit her with the pistol barrel so she couldn’t help but gasp. Some liquid splashed into her mouth.
She spat it out and tried to twist away.
He grabbed her hair in his pistol hand and pulled back, trying to jam the neck of the bottle between her lips….
Diana came suddenly awake. The house lay silent, but something was wrong. She and Rosa were sharing a bed, but Rosa wasn’t here yet, so it couldn’t even be one. She felt around on the table for her watch then held it into a beam of moonlight. Surely it said ten past one.
Then she heard something. A bang? Not on a door, but as if someone had stumbled against a piece of furniture in the dark. Downstairs?
Heart pounding, she eased out of bed, took her pistol out of her valise, and crept toward the door, more afraid of making a fool of herself than of real danger.
She opened the door and peered out. They didn’t have housebreakers up in the dales.
It had to be a servant moving about below.
Yes, there were footsteps in the hall below.
She relaxed, but then she tensed again. Was that a noise from Sir Digby’s room?
Where was Rosa?
Then, shocking after silence, steps pounded up the stairs, preceded by a candle’s wild flare. A man appeared, rushing for the master bedroom.
Brand Malloren!
Diana raised the pistol in both hands. “Halt!”
He charged through the doorway as if deaf, and true to her training, she pulled the trigger. The flame from the barrel blinded her. The detonation deafened her and rocked her backward.
Then she heard screams.
She stood, frozen in ice. No, she hadn’t prepared herself. She’d not prepared herself to hear that sobbing agony that went on and on….
As people called and doors opened, she dropped the pistol and staggered into the room. Rosa sprawled on the floor. She hadn’t hit Rosa had she? A man crouched over her. Another jerked and cried on the floor, blood spreading.
Not Brand Malloren.
Edward Overton!
She looked back at Rosa, and saw Brand was the man with her, supporting her unconscious form.
She fell to her knees by them. “Is she dead?”
“Fainted.” He held her closer. “Rosa, love. It’s all right. Wake up …”
Potts ran in. “Saints preserve us!” He went to Overton, who weakly begged for something. Help, death, mercy …
Mrs. Monkton appeared at the door and began to scream. Short, repetitive, high-pitched screams.
Rosamunde’s mother arrived, slapped the housekeeper, and went to Rosa, who had come around. In moments, she was taking her daughter away.
Diana just knelt there, still hearing the explosion of the pistol mixed with whimpered pleas. A gaggle of servants in all stages of dress stood wide-eyed in the doorway now, while the housekeeper sat collapsed in a chair. Blood was pooling on the floor. Voices were blending to a dizzying buzz.
This would never do.
Diana forced her weak legs to support her. “Now,” she said, proud of her level tone, “would someone tell me what is going on here?”
Unfortunately, at that point the buzzing drowned her thoughts and dark rushed in.