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Cardigan laughed. “She is a whore. She will go like a lamb to the slaughter to the highest bidder. That is the way of the world. Once you are disposed of, I shall seduce her, and she will come to me willingly. We shall laugh upon your grave together.”
Jackson’s head was still spinning but his heart was filled with the blackest rage he had ever felt. Even stronger than what he had felt that day on the battlefield, and that was saying a lot.
“I should have killed you that day,” he spat, his eyes thunderous. “I should have sliced into your black heart and ended you…”
“But you did not,” said Cardigan contemptuously. “And you have lived to rue the day. Now I shall triumph on your ashes. You leave no heir. Once I marry the delectable Lady Patricia, I shall take over your duchy and your business. All that you possess shall be mine.”
“Traitor,” hissed Jackson. “If the world knew you for what you are…”
“But it does not,” said Cardigan grimly. “And I intend to keep it that way. The secret you keep dies with you.” He smiled suddenly. “But not quite yet. I think I shall have some fun.”
He stepped back, nodding to the weasel faced man, whose eyes were glowing manically. The man swiftly approached Jackson and punched him hard in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, completely winded.
And then Cardigan landed a blow of his own in the middle of Jackson’s face.
He felt a flash of pure pain as the fist connected with his nose. He screamed in agony. The ogre held him tighter as the weasel faced man and Cardigan landed blow after blow upon him as if he were a punching bag.
He slid to the floor, smeared in blood and barely conscious. And then Cardigan slammed him hard on the back of his head. He keeled over, clawing the floor. All he could think about was Patricia.
* * *
The small boy led them to a derelict house. Patricia’s heart was slamming hard in her chest. Jackson was in there somewhere. At least, the boy had seen him being taken there last night.
“Go for the Watch,” barked Lord Reynolds, turning to her. “The boy will lead you. Reading and I shall deal with what is inside.”
“No!” gasped Patricia. “I must accompany you…”
“That is not going to happen,” said Lord Reading, his face grim. “We have no idea what we shall find nor what we are dealing with. And we must get law enforcement. They know that Merriweather has been kidnapped and will come immediately.”
Patricia nodded reluctantly, gazing up at the house. Her eyes filled with helpless tears.
“Come, lady,” said the boy, pulling at her sleeve. “I shall lead you well. I promise.”
Patricia smiled tremulously at him. “I trust you.” She took a deep, ragged breath, turning back to the gentlemen. “Please be careful. I would never forgive myself if something happened to the both of you as well.”
“Never fear, your Grace,” said Lord Reynold, smiling slightly. “We are made of stern stuff.”
She nodded. And then with a silent prayer she let the boy lead her off into the dark night to find the Watch. The whole way her heart was beating an entreaty that they would not be too late and her husband was safe and whole.
* * *
Jackson’s head slumped against the floor. He groaned. They had retreated for now. He had heard footsteps leaving the room and the closing of the door. He was alone again.
He couldn’t move a muscle; everything hurt. They had worked him over to within an inch of his life. He knew now that it was over. He was going to die in this filthy house on some back street in the sewers of London.
He clawed the floor with tears in his eyes. And suddenly this nightmare was merging with the one that had always haunted him. The reason that he was here and that Cardigan wanted him gone. That terrible day on the battlefield, when his life had changed forever…
The smell of cannon fire surrounded him. Muskets pounding from all sides. The enemy ahead in a tight formation. His fellow soldiers alongside him about to charge.
He knew that it could not end well for them. But his superior in rank, Lord Cardigan, had insisted they attack. Jackson knew that it was the wrong decision. They were too exposed, like ducklings in the line of hunters.
“We should retreat,” he yelled to him over the noise. “We do not stand a chance. We will lose too many men.”
Cardigan glared at him. “You have your orders, Fisher. Do you want to be court martialled after all this is over? The command stands.” He raised a hand over his head. “Attack.”
The English soldiers rushed forward, bellowing. The enemy stood their ground, raising their muskets almost casually. And then they started firing. Jackson saw his comrades fall down one after another, flailing in the mud.
Jackson gasped in horror. There was simply no way they could get the upper hand. And Cardigan knew it. Why had he given the order to attack when they were so exposed? It simply made no sense. It was almost as if he wanted them to be decimated.
