“Are we to celebrate my nuptials today while his fate is not even known? Is he to slip away and die while we pass around little plates of wedding cake? Or worse, recover fully and demand to know why he was excluded from the day of bliss?”
“Son, that is of no matter right now,” his mother began, but Peter shot her a look of rage.
“I rather think it is, considering that Father is the one who shot him.” Peter turned his attention back to his father, who was now a ghostly pale. “Yes, I managed to learn as much from a stable hand before we departed from Bellton. And if Father does not wish for me to explain this urgency to the Duke, then perhaps he will enlighten me as to what he was arguing about when he fired that pistol.”
“Peter! How dare you even suggest—” Lady Marjorie began, but her son silenced her with a single look.
“Suggest? I’m notsuggestinganything, Mother. I’m stating it rather plainly,” he said, returning his accusing glare at his father. “I’m saying that Father shot Lord Bellton in his attempt to silence another man, and I would love to know why that is. Moreover, you can guarantee that I shall not be riding anywhere near the Duke of Edmonton’s house until we have returned to Bellton, ensured that my closest friend is all right, and then sought to right the wrongs of another man being accused.”
Peter walked with purpose across the drawing room, then turned at the door to add, “I know you both must think me rather simple. Do not bother protesting, Mother, it is plain in the way I’m spoken to. But I assure you, there is far more going on in my mind than attending balls and going on hunts. I am a person who cares a great deal for others, and I do not take kindly to having anyone—least of all myself—used to further this family’s cause.”
“You will watch your tongue,” his father shouted, “or I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Father? What is it you think you can do in your position now that your conniving and backstabbing have made me a duke? No, I fear that I’m now the only responsible party in this house,” Peter said almost sadly. “I will marry Lady Annemarie only because it is the right thing to do, and I will strive to be a good husband to her despite what must be her extreme reluctance to marry me. But that is only if the pair of you get a move on, we have a stop to make at Bellton along the way.”
* * *
Somehow, the light of day did not feel any more hopeful than the shroud of darkness had the night before. Still, Beatrix was determined to plead her father’s case to whomever it required. She crawled from the hay where she and her fellow riders had spent the night behind a small church, being careful to avoid making a sound.
After climbing down from the loft, Beatrix sought a fresh pail of water, grateful for the nearby well. She drew a pail and slathered her face and hands as best she could after drinking her fill. She startled briefly when an old woman emerged from the side of the stone church, but the woman only waved to her.
“Here, I saw the three of ya come in during the night,” the woman said, moving her broom to the other hand and holding out a tied parcel. “The vicar said to tie you up some bread and cheese.”
“I am most grateful to you!” Beatrix said, her shoulders sagging in relief. “But I have no means to pay you for your trouble.”
“Tsk! We wouldn’t hear of it. After all, there’s been talk all over the village since yesterday, so I know what ya must be here for. You’ll need that coin for yer task!” The woman smiled sympathetically. “The judge is naw known for mercy, after all, but he is known to commute a sentence if the price is right.”
“Oh dear. That is unwelcome news,” Beatrix replied. “But I thank you all the same.”
She hurried back to the small barn and woke Pencot and Cooke. “Here, I’ve got something for us to eat and a pail of fresh water. We must hurry.”
“Lady Beatrix, we must not be out at this hour,” Pencot said, looking out through a space between two boards. Cooke nodded sagely. “There are too many people about, too many who might recognize us as belonging to Prince Aaron.”
“So? I’m not ashamed of my father!” she retorted, giving in to her feelings for the moment.
“Aye, but ‘twill be better for him if we wait a while. Look, see how there are already people coming to church? Besides, the judge might as well be one of those parishioners. We’d not find him no ways.”
“And maybe a good sermon on showing the mercy a’ God would be better before he hears us!” Cooke added, smiling hopefully.
In the end, Beatrix was persuaded. She felt useless just pacing the darkened barn, but she had to admit that Pencot’s logic was sound. As she fumed, her mind returned to Callum again and again, no matter how much she tried to push him from her thoughts.
“I shall not cry over that which I never had,” she decided silently. “I’ve learned that a great many men are prone to bouts of waxing poetic when the romantic mood strikes them, but then bearing only a cold shoulder when they realize their own folly. Callum is no different, and I am but another young lady whose heart was ill-used for a time.”
Before too much of the day had passed, the three of them heard the church bells rings in the tower overhead. Pencot declared it to be safe to venture out and see to their errand. They readied in silence then left their horses in the barn for safekeeping. Heading in search of the constable, Beatrix made note of their steps in case they had to flee in a hurry.
“Pencot, look!” Beatrix cried softly as they entered the town square. She stifled a cry with a hand pressed to her mouth, and the older man’s hand instantly went to her elbow to hold her up.
“It does naw mean anything,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned as he stared at the gallows that was still in the midst of being erected. “Perhaps the judge had a good deal of cases to address, and ‘tis meant for some other convict.”
Beatrix smiled gratefully at his attempt at being optimistic, but she shook her head. “No, the woman at the church… she knew why we were here. That structure is for my father, I know it! We must hurry!”
“Take care, child!” Pencot said, soothing her fear. “They would naw do such a thing on a Sunday. We will find this judge in plenty o’ time to intervene.”
They continued to walk along, hesitant to inquire for help for fear of showing their identities. The sound of hoofbeats behind them made Beatrix turn, and she narrowly pulled Pencot and Cooke out of the way of a looming open carriage.
They stepped back as it passed, a driver and three passengers, but Beatrix nearly cried out in a mixture of horror and joy.
“I know that man! Both of them!” she cried. “Hurry, we must follow!”
