Page 82 of A Tale of Two Dukes

Unfortunately, even having my sight robbed of me doesn’t drown out the sounds of them growling, the zinging of metal as it slides over the other, or the heart-wrenching clangs as they attack. Keeping my eyes shut, I turn my attention to Mr. Beaumont’s thoughts.

The longer they duel, the more erratic his thinking becomes. It’s almost as if it’s more animalistic than human. But one word stands out amongst the fray. Dagger.

My eyes fly open as I watch, helpless, as they continue to circle each other. Unbidden, Mr. Elijah pops into my mind, his body curled into itself as blood seeped into his clothes. Mr. Beaumont slides his hand into his breeches pocket, keeping his movements slow, controlled.

No one else seems to see it but me. Glancing over at William, I note the exhaustion in his face. His movements are slower now as blood continues to cover his arm. If the bastard catches him off guard, it will be the end. In my heart, I know it.

Shouting through the bond, I do my best to alert William, screaming at him about the dagger. Again, they come together in a loud clash. When they pull apart, more blood stains my mate. He staggers a bit, swaying from side to side.

Heart in my throat, I’m helpless as I watch him sway. Inside my mind, Mr. Beaumont crows, his thoughts taking a far more sinister turn. The dagger is in his grasp, and come the next clash, he’ll drive it in between William’s ribs.

Tears stream down my face as I convey this, not sure if anything is getting through or not. He keeps the shield up, not allowing me to feel or know anything from his end. I’m blind in this way, and its effects are devastating.

Frantic, I tug at Whiteport’s coat, dragging his attention away. “Mr. Beaumont has a dagger. It’s hidden in his pocket. He will use it on Birchleigh, I’m sure of it.”

He turns his studious gaze back to the melee, his eyes narrowing. “I see nothing.”

“He has a bond with me,” I nearly shriek. “I can see it. I know his thoughts.”

The two come together again, and this time, I grip Whiteport’s coat and hold on. I need something to anchor myself. He says nothing but doesn’t rebuff me either. It’s an uneasy truce between us as the duel rages on.

After a moment or two, he steps forward, hopefully to end this thing, to save William from Mr. Beaumont’s nefarious plans, but the two are locked in a battle of wills with no space to intervene. Again, William dips, his body nearly collapsing. Whiteport’s muscles bunch as if to move, to grab him out of harm’s way. But since the duel is to the death, it seems as if he cannot interfere.

A flash of metal is the only sign that Mr. Beaumont palms the dagger. Before I can cry out, to verbally warn my mate, William falls to one knee. Thinking victory is nigh, the blackguard rushes forward to deliver the final blow.

Sobs catch in my throat as my heart squeezes. This cannot be happening. Fear, terror, and sorrow lance through me as I’m forced to watch the only man I’ve ever truly loved kneel there, as if awaiting his death.

But just as Mr. Beaumont strikes, William moves to the side, his rapier sliding up to catch him in the middle. His mouth drops open as blood spreads across his abdomen. Both the rapier and dagger fall to the ground as his hands go slack, just moments before he clutches his midsection.

His steps are faulting, staggering as he makes his way toward me. Madness lurks in his eyes as he reaches out, his bloody hand trembling as he falls to his knees. Coming up behind, William takes his rapier and holds it at Mr. Beaumont’s throat as he grabs the man by the hair.

My mate and I lock eyes as he draws the blade across, spraying his life’s blood across the grass before tossing his lifeless body down. A moment of relief and elation floods my system, driving me to my knees.

However, in an instant, all of that changes. A searing pain rips through my heart, as if William’s rapier stabbed me instead of that monster. Doubling over, my insides heave as the last contents of my stomach race up my throat and onto the grass.

My vision wavers as my head aches as if splitting in two. So much pain. So much agony. As if someone is picking apart Mr. Beaumont’s bond strand by strand, I feel the separation, the agony of his loss.

It doesn’t matter that I never loved or desired him. My body responds keenly as an emptiness takes over everything. William shouts, falling to his knees to scoop me into his arms. I feel him envelop me, but the scalding heat of his body never reaches me.

I will never be warm again. Despair floods me, overwhelming me until tears flow freely from my eyes. Though I detest the man, my body doesn’t understand why he’s gone. It’s as if my soul is rent in two and will never be repaired.

William scoops me up, his growled words strange and fuzzy to my ears. I turn about, seeking comfort in the strength of his chest as sobs wrack my body. He’s at least a solace, a place of refuge as everything falls apart.

CHAPTER 35

William

I clutch Catherine close to me, forcing her head into my chest. Hopefully, the sound of my heartbeat can bring her some sort of comfort. I knew this would happen, but knowing and feeling it are two different things. Despair floods my system, rooting me to the spot.

All I can do is rock back and forth, absorbing as much of her pain as possible. But despite how much I leech from her, it continues to well up, spilling out. Her anguish slams into my insides, robbing me of precious air.

Helpless, all I can do is continue to whisper to her from my side of the bond. It’s like she doesn’t hear it. Nothing seems to register. Frantic, I look up at Whiteport, desperate for help, for answers… For anything, really.

He stands there, shifting about, clearly uncomfortable. That doesn’t surprise me, though. He’s always been one to refrain from any large show of emotions.

As I kneel there, cradling my love, the sense of movement pricks my senses. From all around, people close in, cutting off the very air around us. Whiteport does his best to push them away, but the concern bleeds off of them, drowning us.

“Get back,” a loud voice booms, scattering people. “Dinnae you ever see a woman in distress before? Move.” The blacksmith forces his way through, grabbing men and flinging them behind.