Chapter 5 #2
Her hands worked automatically. Cleaning the wound, binding it with torn linen. Something familiar in a world that had become terrifyingly unfamiliar.
When she finished, she sat back on her heels, aware of how exposed she was. Barefoot, wearing only a borrowed shirt and blanket, attending to the wounds of strange men in an isolated hut.
This is madness. I’ve traded one prison for another.
“Who are you?” The question burst out of her, sharp with fear and exhaustion. “Really? Why help me? Why did you take me?”
Oliver met her eyes across the fire. “My name is Oliver Sommerset. I’m the Marquess of Astor, heir to the Duke of Saxton.”
A marquess. Megan’s mind reeled. Was he like Penharrow? She’d expected a criminal, perhaps. Someone who stole women for profit. Not another peer of the realm.
“Why?” she demanded. “Why would a marquess come to Penharrow’s lodge and take me?”
“I didn’t take you. I freed you.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes.” Oliver’s voice was firm. “Kidnapping implies taking you against your will for my own purposes. I came to save you from a monster.”
“You don’t know what he is—”
“I know exactly what he is.” His hands clenched briefly. “He murdered my closest friend. Captain James Hartley, and made it look like a riding accident, but James sent me a letter before he died. Told me the truth.”
Megan stared at him. “James is dead?” She felt tears well. “I suspected as much. I told him to escape, but he didn’t understand how dangerous Penharrow was until it was too late.”
“He sent me a letter before going to the lodge. He knew his chances of coming out alive were slim.”
“Then why did he come at all if he knew?”
“He was investigating Penharrow, and saw something he shouldn’t have. Saw you, I suspect, and tried to do something about it.” Oliver paused. “In his letter, James told me about you, said you were a prisoner, and asked me to free you if I could do nothing else.”
The words struck Megan like a physical blow. James had promised to help her and he’d meant it. She’d thought him just another man who only wanted her company in the dark, but he’d died trying to save her. Just like Daniel.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Was he a close friend?”
“Yes,” Oliver and Webb said in unison.
Oliver’s voice, when he continued, was rough at the edges in a way she suspected he would not have permitted if he’d caught it in time. “I intend to ensure his death wasn’t in vain. Which means getting you safely to London, where Penharrow’s influence doesn’t reach.”
“Penharrow has influence everywhere.”
“Not in London. Not over me.” Oliver leaned forward. “Megan, I’m heir to a dukedom. My family name carries weight. I’m well known at the Home Office. Once we reach London, once you’re under my protection, Penharrow can’t touch you, and you can help me destroy him.”
She wanted to believe him. Desperately wanted to believe that there was somewhere safe, someone strong enough to stand against Penharrow.
But she’d learned not to hope.
“He’ll find us,” she said, her voice flat. “He always finds me. I’ve tried to escape four times before. Each time—”
“Each time you were alone,” Oliver interrupted. “This time you have help. Professional help.” He gestured to Webb. “We’re both cavalry. We know how to move through hostile territory, how to evade pursuit. We’ll get you to London.”
“And then what?” Megan pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “What happens to me in London? I’m…” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say out loud what she was.
Ruined. Used. Penharrow’s whore.
“You’re free,” Oliver said quietly. “Whatever you were to Penharrow, whatever he did to you, that’s over. In London you can choose your own life.”
“Can I?” The bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. “A woman with no family, no references, no prospects, no money? What choices do I have?”
“More than you think.” Oliver stood and moved closer, not threateningly. “When we reach London, I’ll ensure you have money. Enough to live independently if you choose. You can go wherever you want, be whoever you want to be.”
“I don’t know who I want to be.” The admission came out broken. “I don’t know who I am. Who my family are. Whether they even searched for me.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Outside, the rain had started again, a steady drumming on the slate roof.
“You’re someone who survived,” Webb said quietly from his spot by the fire. “That’s who you are. Someone strong enough to endure the unsurvivable and still be standing.”
Megan looked at the older man, surprised by the kindness in his voice.
“You’re also someone brave enough to run when given the chance,” Oliver added. “You could have screamed when I came into your room. Alerted the guards. But you didn’t. You chose to take a risk.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” She met his eyes. “But I warn you, if Penharrow catches us before we leave Wales, you’re both dead.”
“Then best we make sure that doesn’t happen. Now you’ve chosen, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
Megan wasn’t sure it was a choice. It felt more like trading one nightmare for another. At least with Penharrow she’d known what to expect, known the rules, the punishments, the boundaries of her cage.
These men were unknown variables. Oliver claimed to be honorable but so had Penharrow in the beginning. Webb seemed kind but so had the servants until they weren’t.
She couldn’t trust them. Couldn’t trust anyone.
But you trusted Mrs. Griffiths...
And yet she was still here. Still fleeing with them rather than waiting for Penharrow’s men to find her.
Because anything is better than going back. Anything.
Webb had been working while she thought. He’d arranged bread and cheese on the table by the fire. “After you’ve eaten, drink some whiskey, girl. It’ll warm you up and help you sleep.”
She tentatively took the flask and sipped. The liquid burned her throat, but she felt the warmth settle in her stomach almost immediately.
They ate in silence, and soon she could barely keep her eyes open.
“You should rest. Take the cot here by the fire.” Oliver settled back against the wall. “We’ll move again at dawn. Until then, try to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep.” The thought of closing her eyes, of being vulnerable while these strange men were awake, was impossible.
“Then just rest. Close your eyes.”
“How do I know that’s safe?”
“This again?” Oliver’s honesty was almost jarring. “You have to choose to trust us. Or at least, choose to believe that we’re better than Penharrow. Which, frankly, is a very low bar.”
Despite everything, Megan felt something that might have been the beginning of a smile. “That’s true. Penharrow is many things, but gentlemanly isn’t one of them.”
“Then choose to believe we’re not Penharrow,” Oliver said. “And rest. You’ll need your strength for the journey ahead.”
Megan wrapped herself more tightly in the blanket and settled on the cot near the fire, though not close enough to either man to feel threatened.
She watched them through half-closed eyes as Oliver cleaned his weapons with military precision and Webb’s breathing deepened into something close to sleep despite his injury.
They didn’t look like villains. They looked exhausted. Worried. Human.
But Penharrow had looked human too, in the beginning.
Megan found herself watching Oliver. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, she told herself. She was assessing. Calculating. She had spent fourteen years learning to read the men around her as a matter of survival, and this was simply more of the same.
She kept her eyes mostly closed and watched him through her lashes.