Chapter 8

"Sir!" I sputtered instinctively as I jolted up to the icy water dousing my face. I scrambled to find my footing, yet only succeeded in crashing my shoulder into a wall when I stumbled incoherently.

A rumbling laugh echoed around me, and it took me several long punishment-worthy seconds of leaning on the wall before I could focus. The drab gray stone walls were unfamiliar, so I did my best to pull myself together into position. Once I finally got my feet planted, drawing in a deep breath to still my swirling vision, I looked briefly up at the man in front of me, squinting at the bright sun streaming through the small window.

Not my master.

Familiar, yes. One of the men in Master's bedroom that night. Was it just last night?

"Let's go. Lord Ashton wants to talk to you," the black bearded man said as he grabbed my arm. "And no tossing up on me this time."

Ahh, yes, Charlie, then.

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak. He led me out of the small cell-like room across a court yard that was surrounded on three sides by bright white stone walls. I tried to looked around at the garden in the center; however, my head didn't appreciate the extra movement. The sprawling home was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Certainly not like Master's or anything in town. As we stepped into the main part of the house, it felt like I'd been transported to another world. I wished my head were feeling better because I'm sure I would have admired the open, airy architecture of the Sterling estate home much more. The stones were white, or nearly so, different from my master's—or previous master's—dark woods and granite. Wide hallways led to lofty, breezy rooms where the double doors were laid open. A parlor, dining room, ballroom—all seemed to flow seamlessly together, unlike Master's—Lord Barrett's—austere decor where the rooms remained closed and foreboding.

We approached a doorway where voices drifted into the hallway, one loud and vicious and another strained. I recognized the deep baritone of the Viscount Ashton Sterling immediately.

"Calm down, Liam. We'll find him, eventually."

"Row was fucking poisoned by that bastard! And you're telling me he's disappeared?" someone else in the room snapped. "He's going to escape justice?!"

My heart raced. Count Rowland Sterling. Oh Gods, had he died?

"We're still working through the papers he left in his study, to see if there's any indication of where he might have gone," a familiar voice said—Donnelly, I thought.

"Damn good thing Sam showed up. He risked getting caught by Barrett leaving like that to catch up with Rowland, it saved his life," another voice stated.

He survived, I suddenly realized. Thank the Gods. Count Sterling hadn't succumbed to the poison.

"Yes, that is one saving grace in all this: Samuel's input after Row collapsed told the doctor what was going on with him. I think we practically drowned him in water flushing out as much of the poison as quickly as possible," Lord Ashton said.

We were now in the open doorway, and the three men in the room turned to pin their icy gazes on me—well at least two of them did. Donnelly seemed to not find me quite as repulsive.

"Sir, Barrett's amorato, like you requested," Charlie introduced.

Liam scoffed. "You mean his whore."

Charlie smiled and shrugged. He shoved me a bit farther into the room before backing off. I fell automatically into attentive position, planting my feet, bracing back my shoulders, my hands locked behind my back as I kept my chin up and my gaze deferentially lowered, locking on Lord Ashton's chest. This beautiful man was the one who would decide my fate.

I watched his chest draw in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds. I looked up at him through half-lowered lids. He was staring at me, a frown marring his classically carved features. I couldn't decipher the look he was giving me—assessing maybe, curious, a bit of anger...

I could feel my body starting to shake under his judgmental stare. Breathe, I told myself. Be strong. Be good.

The man I hadn't really met yet—although I knew I'd seen before—was the one to step in front of me, sneering down at me with hate. "Your lord poisoned Count Rowland," he accused.

It wasn't a question, so I didn't think he expected a response. I maintained my stance. I could show Lord Ashton I wasn't weak, that I was good, I was trained.

Liam narrowed his eyes at me. This man had to be Lord Ashton's steward, his right-hand man, like Richard had been to my Master. "You knew the marquis was planning to poison Lord Rowland."

Again, I thought it was a statement. Samuel had obviously told them what I'd said, so they had to know that I was aware of the poisoning and how it happened. They couldn't be expecting a response to such an inane question, right?

So I remained silent.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Pain exploded in my jaw as the steward's hand back-handed me. Oh, fucking hell! I staggered briefly; this was nothing I hadn't experienced before—I just hadn't expected it. I managed to right myself without crying out, but my vision swirled slightly.

I set my sore jaw, clenching my teeth and trying to even my breathing in an effort to stop my vision from tunneling. Focus. Breathe.

"Tell us where the marquis went," the man demanded.

I managed to lift my chin and settle my eyes on the steward. Father nor Master ever expected more than the most basic of responses, they preferred, usually demanding silence. No one had ever wanted my opinions, my thoughts. I'd learned long ago to keep my responses simple. The less I said, the less I could get myself into trouble.

I fastened my pale eyes on the steward. "I can't, sir."

The tightening of Liam's face had me bracing for another blow, but a deep voice interceded instead.

"Liam, step back."

The steward inclined his head toward the viscount, stepping away as the lord moved closer to me, filling my narrowing vision.

"You were privy to many of Marquis Barrett's conversations, were you not?" the man's minty breath washed over me.

A question. Finally. "Yes, sir."

"And you knew he was planning to poison my brother, correct?"

I swallowed, sure he didn't want excuses, just facts, as all men in power did. "Yes, sir."

A veil of sadness and anger flashed in the man's eyes. I hated that I had put that look there, in those exquisite cinnamon eyes.

"And you fucking let it happen?" he growled.

I flinched under his abrupt flare of temper. I had let it happen, hadn't I? I had known before the count even walked in that my master had fatal plans for the man, and I hadn't warned him. I had allowed Richard to hand the poisoned liquor to the count. I hadn't just yanked the glass from his hand. I—

"Yes, sir," I admitted, lifting my chin to accept his punishment with as much strength as I could muster.

Outrage flared in those beautiful eyes at my response, and I braced for the expected blow this time.

"By all the Gods," he cursed, grabbing the front of my soiled shirt and yanking me closer before he leaned in menacingly. "You almost killed my brother. You and that spleeny vile hell-spawn of a marquis and his maggot steward!"

I could only nod my agreement in the face of his wrath. He shoved me angrily as he paced away, causing me to stagger momentarily before righting myself again. Liam looked like he was ready to pound me again, yet Donnelly's rough features looked torn between concern and distress. Who knew what Charlie saw as he was still somewhere behind me. None of those men mattered though. Only the viscount.

He whipped around again, as if a new thought occurred to him. "In those conversations you've been privy to, you must have heard Barrett talk about his spy in my household."

The change in topic caught me off guard. The spy. Lee.

"Do you know who it is?"

I started to nod before I could catch myself. Lee. I only knew the man was called Lee; I didn't really know who it was.

"What's his name?" the steward demanded, taking a menacing step forward.

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped abruptly as I glanced around the room. Lee. Liam, Lee-am. Charlie, Char-lee. Donnelly, Donnel-lee. Fucking hell. Any one of these men could be the one loyal to my previous master. Or it could even be someone actually named Lee that was somewhere else on the estate.

Gods, my head was really starting to pound again. If 'Lee' was one of these men, what would he do to me then?

Exposing him now would back him into a corner, make him defensive and even more dangerous. My gaze skittered around the room, not sure where the threat would come from. Would 'Lee' attack Lord Ashton or Lord Rowland if his cover were exposed? Destroying the count and viscount would be Lord Barrett's orders. It seemed highly likely 'Lee' would destroy whatever he could when he was uncovered.

If I said nothing, 'Lee's' identity was safe; he would continue his nefarious monitoring of the Sterling estate. Still, I figured he would leave me alone and I doubted he would assault the count yet, not until he had no choice. I'd have to tell the viscount in private, or maybe I could figure out who 'Lee' really was, assuming I survived myself that long...

My long hesitation in responding drew Lord Ashton's close scrutiny again. The mass of the man filled my view, and I drew a deep breath, taking in his clean, masculine smell, so unlike my... well, my former master. Damn, his scent was intoxicating.

His calloused hand gripped my chin harshly, yanking it and forcing me to meet his intense eyes. My knees quivered as I fought to find my focus after the abrupt movement. I stifled the gasp of pain that lanced through my head.

"Who is it?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said in lieu of an actual answer.

Those beautiful eyes narrowed, and I wanted to look away, but he'd see that as a weakness so I fought to maintain control. I couldn't break. I couldn't fall apart. Not in front of this man.

"Sorry? What for? For sheltering a traitor? For poisoning my brother? For protecting your viperous maggot of a master?" he snarled, his grip tightening on my jaw.

I pressed my lips tightly together, knowing he really wasn't looking for an answer. The man was angry; he had every right to be. And right now I was the focus of his wrath. I blinked slowly, wanting to close my eyes against the pain I knew would be coming; however, that only made me feel dizzy.

He leaned in close, his full lips dangerously close to mine. I thought for a moment he might actually kiss me—a fruitless wish, I know, considering the mess I am, but it still sent a heated rush through my terrified body. Gods. I really was a whore. Here I was ready to fall into the arms of my master's enemy, a man who hated me, despised me...

"I wonder how much you really know though," he mused, studying me carefully. "Barrett isn't one to be careless..."

"I'll make sure he talks," Liam stated.

"We'll see," Lord Ashton muttered. His weariness abruptly evident in the dark of his eyes. "Keep him locked up till we find Barrett. If the boy knows anything, he'd do well to tell us."

Yes, I will, but not now. Not in front of these men. Please don't make me tell you now...

"...If he doesn't, at least he can't go running off to the bastard," Ashton finished.

He pulled back. Unfortunately, I couldn't manage to stop my swirling vision this time. I think he was frowning at me, but the dizziness had me wanting to heave. Oh please, Gods, no—not now, now in front of this man. My hands shook behind my back as I struggled to maintain position.

"Sir," Donnelly's voice broke the silence, "I believe the boy isn't quite recovered from last night's events."

No, no, no...

"You mean his drunkenness?" Lord Ashton asked snidely.

"Actually, I was referring to Charlie dropping him and banging the lad's head on the floor," Donnelly's voice quipped.

"He tossed up on me!" Charlie protested.

"You didn't have to throw him down like that, you lout."

Lord Ashton ignored their arguments as he studied me. I had the insane desire for him to take me in his arms and hold me, keep me from plunging into darkness again. I felt a warm hand threading around the back of my head, gently probing. I couldn't help the hiss when he found the knot Master had hammered on my skull.

"Fucking hell," Ashton cursed, his hold on me softening, as some of his anger bled away to impatience. He stared down into my pale unfocused eyes, his thumb stroked across my cheek before he turned to someone in the room. "Take him back to his room. Then go to Rowland's room. Ask Dr. Fulbert if he can spare a moment to check the boy's head. Not at the expense of Rowland's health however. He comes first."

"Yes, sir," Donnelly acknowledged, stepping forward, but Lord Ashton didn't release me immediately. I was glad because I was sure I'd collapse if he did. After Donnelly had a hold of my arm, the viscount stepped back.

And my knees buckled.

"Fuck," someone cursed, yet it sounded like it was from a distance.

"I got him." And suddenly, I felt like I was floating, drifting, a warmth enveloping me, inviting me to—

"I'll take him, sir."

No! The warmth disappeared as I was jostled into another pair of arms. I wanted to protest as I realized I should be on my own feet, maintaining position, not trying to crawl into someone's hold. Fucking hell.

"And find him some new clothes. Those stink of whiskey."

And hemlock. But he probably didn't want to know that.

***

I dropped gratefully to the small cot in my new room, curling onto my stomach as I drew my knees up as well.

"Hey, little one, stay awake okay?" Donnelly said as he shifted the stool to move next to my cot.

I groaned at the nickname, although I'm sure he thought it was because I was in pain.

"Here." He pressed a cool, wet cloth to the back of my head as he brushed a hand over my back. I shuddered at the touch, just wanting to be left alone. I wasn't used to so many people seeing my lapse in control. Master. He'd been the only one up until now. Maybe Richard. However, now Lord Ashton, Liam, Charlie, and Donnelly were witnesses to my failing.

Could I be anymore pathetic?

"Charlie's getting the doctor. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I am fine, sir," I mumbled, hoping he'd leave me alone.

Donnelly chuckled. "A brave, stubborn little lad too, huh."

"I'm not..." I started to protest but decided it wasn't worth the energy.

The heavyset man settled back on the small stool. "I can see why Barrett liked you. The way you defied the viscount and Liam like that...damn, don't think I could have done that."

What the hell was he talking about? Defy?

The door snapped open. Liam stomped in, dropping a bundle on the end of my cot. "Here's some clothes. Doc is on his way. Charlie went to fetch him."

Donnelly nodded. "Good. How is Lord Rowland?"

A new man breezed into my crowded little room, older, a full head of gray hair. Must be the doctor.

"He's stable," the man announced. "Knowing what we were dealing with so quickly helped a lot. He's had a couple small seizures. I have hope he'll show improvement soon."

Count Rowland. At least, he was still alive, and this doctor seemed to think he'd be okay.

"So, who's this? Charlie said Lord Ashton wanted me to check over...well, a young man." I could very well imagine what Charlie had actually called me.

"He's Barrett's whore," Liam snapped, and I was pretty sure that's how Charlie described me too.

I cringed, burying my face in the blanket. Could they all just please leave?

"Liam," Dr. Fulbert's voice admonished. "That's not necessary."

"Yes it is. You two are treatin' him like he's a guest. He's not. He's responsible for what happened to Lord Rowland. I should have him whipped for what he's done."

My fists clenched in the blankets. I had expected that. I wish they'd just go ahead and do it. Get it over with. I didn't know why Lord Ashton hadn't already ordered it. Except he expected I had more information to give him.

"Liam, you might be Lord Ashton's steward, but I'm the doctor, and I'll not have you whipping a young man who is now my patient. Don't waste my time."

The steward huffed. "Ashton wants to talk to him anyway. So it'll have to wait. Just check his head, Dr. Fulbert, make sure he's coherent enough by tomorrow to answer some questions."

I heard footsteps receding and figured the steward had left. The stool scraped on the floor as Donnelly stood, sighing heavily.

"He's just angry at what happened to Rowland," Donnelly muttered. "He needs someone to blame."

"I'm pretty sure this young man isn't wholly responsible." I was surprised the doctor was defending me, surely he knew I'd been there. "I think the marquis is where the fault lies."

"But he's not here, the little one is," Donnelly said.

"Unfortunately, that is true."

Yes. I knew it was. I would bear the brunt of another lord's ire... eventually.