Chapter 25
“Apologies for the intrusion,” Charles said with a smirk. “But I believe you have something that belongs to me. Bring her out, and you can continue with your… little festival at your leisure.”
Victoria felt nothing but terror, as she practically clung to Arran’s arm.
He was no longer the soft and reassuring Laird that she had begun to care for very much but had transformed into the snarling brute who had seen more battlefields than she had had hot suppers: exactly what she wanted him to be in that moment, with the Earl standing right there in the main entrance of the Great Hall, calling for her.
She wanted the violent beast that might rip Charles limb from limb, not the tender lover who might risk his own life just to keep her safe.
They were all right. There is no other outcome. It was a sobering realization, though she was not sorry that she had at least tried to propose an alternative, even if that had been born of foolish naivety.
Charles did not move, his hand on the pommel of a sword she doubted he had ever swung, as if he truly meant to draw. He had often regaled her with tales of his love for hunting with a rifle, and how it thrilled him to watch something die.
That was after she had learned his true nature, his passion for bloodsport making her wonder during her time shackled and alone if she was just the fox or pheasant of the next hunt.
“Do not keep me waiting, Victoria,” the Earl declared, searching the room but not yet finding her. “I am not as patient as I once was.”
“He may have a pistol,” she warned Arran tremulously. “He… favors such things.”
Arran did not indicate that he had heard her; his head twisted back to glare at the Earl.
Meanwhile, Charles continued to scan the room with his glinting eyes, as if he wanted Victoria to feel every second until he found her.
As he turned his attention in her direction at last, it felt as if the Great Hall itself were closing in on her as his eyes found hers, freezing her in place.
Her stomach lurched, her heart threatening to beat so hard that it might escape her entirely.
Charles’ eyes narrowed the moment he saw her half hidden behind Arran, and then he looked positively venomous the moment that he realized that her hands were wrapped around Arran’s forearm.
The larger man was just about the only thing keeping her upright, if she was being wholly honest. Her fingers were likely digging holes into Arran’s skin, but she could not breathe long enough to compose herself.
What if this did not work? What if she had to go back to that room in his manor, to be shackled and hurt…
and probably worse? If he touched her… her skin was crawling already.
“I’ve got ye lass; daenae fash,” Arran muttered, and the air returned to her lungs in one big whoosh.
If only the relief were longer-lived.
From the entrance, Charles smirked and snapped his fingers. The shuffling of feet in the hallway came closer, and the next thing she knew, she was clamping her jaw shut so that she did not vomit right there on the floor by her feet.
He had brought her father and, by the looks of him, he had already endured some of Charles’ brand of hospitality.
The older man was in the custody of two other men whom Victoria did not recognize, and was spitting nettles about it. “Unhand me!” the man groused loudly, scanning the party until he found his daughter as well. “Victoria! What is the meaning of this? Get over here!”
What has he told you, Father? What has he threatened you with? She would have asked that aloud if she could get her frozen jaw to move.
Charles’ smirk grew. “Yes, Victoria. If you know what is good for you, you will obey.”
The Earl glanced at the spot between his feet and clicked his fingers again, ordering her to come closer like she was no better than a dog. She supposed that in his eyes, she had never been much better than a dog.
“Your rebellion ends now, Victoria,” the Earl continued in a snarl when she did not immediately jump at his command. “You cannot possibly be so selfish as to put the lives of everybody in the room in danger because you want to pretend like you do not belong to me. Come. Here. Now.”
Victoria’s fingernails must have been drawing blood by now; she had forgotten how to breathe entirely, and Arran was the only thing keeping her standing.
Of course, the man expected instant obedience, but she could not seem to get her legs to work.
She did not wish to be back in that… prison of his again.
She could not have the chains weighing down her wrists; she could not be anywhere near him again.
She felt her vision starting to tunnel, the air starting to feel thinner in the room, like she could not fill her lungs deeply enough.
“Victoria…” Frustration thrummed in Charles’ voice, matching the twist of his mouth and the deep creases of annoyed confusion on his brow. He was used to getting what he wanted; he was not used to being ignored.
To her dismay, her father piped up. “Dear girl, come away from that brute. Come to your betrothed. Your true betrothed. It is not too late to undo this, my daughter, so do not disappoint me.”
Confusion rippled around the room, the guests looking to their laird for an explanation. Or, perhaps, a command.
“All of this happened because I was trying not to disappoint you,” Victoria whispered, too quietly for her father to hear. Not that it would have mattered; he had clearly chosen his side, and it was not hers. It was never hers.
Charles cleared his throat and drew an inch or two of his sword from its sheath in a performative gesture. “Victoria, I insist that you do not misbehave any longer. I will forgive you if you come and apologize right now. Or else, I do not think that you will like what will happen next.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
If she did not go over there, he might harm her father. For as much as she resented him for selling her off to Charles in the first place, he was still her father. She did not wish for harm to come to him, nor for anyone else to be caught up in this awful mess.
“Say the word and I move, lass,” Arran muttered, meant in a voice that was only for her to hear.
But the Earl was so far away. Charles would have plenty of time to hurt her father or worse before Arran crossed the room, and though other soldiers would move at Arran’s command, no one was quite near enough for her comfort.
If Charles thought his end was coming, he might use his last breath to kill her father.
“Very well,” Charles hummed. “You have until the count of three, and I shall have your father’s throat slit, and just have to marry your sister instead.”
Her father gasped at the same time as Victoria, the older man shooting a startled stare at Charles. Evidently, this wasn’t part of what they had agreed on.
But Victoria’s gasp was as much for the fate of her father as for the fate of her sister.
Did Charles have Melody, too? She stared at the entrance until her eyes began to blur, raw panic filling her entire body with ice as she waited for the dreadful sight of her sister being dragged along by paid brutes.
She could not move, could not speak, could not do anything to help anyone, or so it seemed… but someone else had decided that they could.
Kristin stepped out of the crowd of interrupted revelers, Ruby on her hip, sucking on her small fist. “I see that ye’re nae afraid to let everyone here finally see yer true colors, ye pathetic bastard.”
Charles laughed then, full and hearty. It was the only sound that echoed around the hall, somehow each reverberation growing more sinister. His gaze was not fixed upon Victoria or Kristin, but on the child in her arms: Ruby, who should not have been down there in the Great Hall at all.
If he had not known he was a father before, he almost certainly did now.
No, Kristin! You should run. You should leave this room. Yet, it appeared that the woman had changed her mind about facing the man who had broken her heart and abandoned her. Maybe, she was just that confident that he would never leave this hall alive.
“And I see that you still have no shame,” he replied with a wicked grin. “As for pathetic, is that not a little rich, coming from you?”
If looks could kill, Kristin would have caused the Earl to wither on the very spot.
When she spoke again, her voice was a snarl.
“Me only shame is that I didnae smother ye with a pillow while I had the chance. Ye’re a disgrace, and if ye come a little closer, I’ll do what I should have done back then. ”
Charles clearly did not feel threatened by her in the slightest. “You sound a little sore, Miss—goodness, I cannot quite remember your name. Might you remind me?” He smirked. “And who is that in your arms? Your bastard? Poor thing, having such a desperate woman for a mother.”
Arran bristled, the vibration of his fury trembling into Victoria’s palm as she continued to grip his arm. He would explode soon if Charles said another word, and when he did, there was no telling what might happen… or who might be lost in the detonation.
He was not the only one bursting with rage.
Across the room, Kristin had turned a livid shade of red. “There’s nae a speck of honor in ye! I curse ye, Charles Rowley!” she spat, the hiss of her voice making it sound like a true hex. “I curse ye and yer tiny bollocks! And the only bastard here is ye!”
Charles’ eye twitched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the pommel of his sword. To have his pride and his manhood brought into question in front of so many people; that was not something he would tolerate well, not at all.