“No.” Carlisle stared at her unflinching. “He is owed a life without shame. Whatever you think you know, you are mistaken.”
They continued their ride in silence.
Before long, lights in the distance caught their attention. They followed the main thoroughfare until it broke off down a longer, winding path. Margaret peered at the ground and saw the imprint of horseshoes on the dirt. At the end of the path, a sign read ’The Stone Lion’.
“This is where he went,” she said. “And that cottage must be the place.”
The front door was ajar as they approached. Margaret’s hands trembled as she guided Selene off the path, tying her reins to an old wooden fence while Carlisle did the same with Arion. Carlisle held a hand up to her as they approached the cottage, greeted by the sound of silence.
Alexander’s horse was nowhere to be seen.
“Something isn’t right,” Margaret whispered.
A pit opened in her stomach as they moved inside. The ground floor was abandoned. Silently, they moved toward the stairs at the back of the main room, then continued upward until they arrived in the attic. The dust was so thick that Margaret could barely breathe. A smoldering, recently extinguished fire provided the only light in the room.
“Alexander?” she whispered.
But no reply came.
“He’s not here,” Margaret said. “And neither is Isadore. Could she have taken him somewhere else? What do we?—”
The sound of a muffled whimper cut Margaret off. She walked toward the direction of the sound, suppressing a scream when she walked into something—someone—on the ground. Carlisle dashed forward, grabbing what they now realized was a body, moving it toward the fire.
It was not Alexander but Bastian, bound and gagged, barely conscious.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Margaret gasped, falling into a crouch. “But if he ishere, where is Alexander?”
Suddenly, footsteps approached from the stairway. Carlisle rose immediately, taking a defensive stance in front of Margaret. Light flashed on the slats of the ceiling from a violently swaying lantern.
In the dancing lights, she saw Alexander.
Eyes wide, face pale.
A trail of blood running down his face.
Before she could stand, he collapsed to the ground.
“No!” Margaret cried, sprinting toward him.
She cradled him in her arms, tapping his face gently. Someone had hit him over the head, and given the absence of his horse, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened next. He was burning hot in her arms, the lantern fallen to the ground and snuffed out. She tried to lift him just as Carlisle came up beside her.
“He’s conscious, but barely,” Carlisle said. “As is Mr. Hawthorne now. Alexander is the heavier of the two. I will take him downstairs onto Arion, while you guide Mr. Hawthorne to Selene.”
“We’re leaving?” Margaret said, panicked tears welling in her eyes. “What if Isadore returns?”
Carlisle was already steadying Alexander. “That is a risk we must take.”
It was no small feat to get Alexander and Bastian on the horses. By the time they reached the outdoors, Bastian was almost walking on his own, but limping heavily and obviously dazed. He pulled himself into the saddle in front of Margaret, who watched from the top of Selene as Carlisle straightened Alexander in front of him, clutching the reins.
“We will need to ride cautiously,” Carlisle shouted, directing Arion down the path. “Don’t fret, duchess. We will bring these men to safety.”
“Are you alright?” Margaret asked Bastian, as he swayed slightly in front of her.
“Oh, I’m having a roaring time,” he replied weakly.
She watched Alexander from a distance as they rode away from the cottage, her eyes only leaving him to check the road. By the time they had ridden a mile, he seemed a little better, straightening to talk to Carlisle, though she couldn’t hear what they said.
The night air had restored Bastian’s senses, and he turned slightly to Margaret.
