Chapter 21

Hope. Had I just admitted that I thought maybe my life could be different? Not just drudging through each day waiting to see what pain my master might inflict, or what punishment might be awaiting me?

Hope that maybe someone might care what happened to me. Hope that I was more than just Barrett's old whore, the amorato he'd tried to kill.

"I think there's a lot more I need to know." Rowland finally broke the silence, pinning Liam, his steward, and apparently, his lover with a knowing look.

"There you are, Liam!" a voice shouted from outside the door, apparently having noticed the man lingering in the doorway. "Where the hell is everyone? We're supposed to be getting the wagons underway, and I can't find Reth or Charlie. They're supposed to be on one wagon, while me and Marcus take the other."

I recognized that voice, though it seemed like so long ago since I'd heard it. Donnelly's bulk appeared next to Liam in the doorway, stopping suddenly as he took in the mix of people in the room. Bewilderment etched lines on his forehead.

"I—what...?"

"Charlie is being detained in a cell for crimes against this estate. We don't know yet the extent of those crimes, but the least of which is conspiring with the marquis to kill my brother."

"Oh. Oh... hell," Donnelly stuttered.

"We caught Richard, Barrett's steward, last night as well. However, thanks to Liam's excellent marksmanship, he is no longer a threat—or available for questioning," Ashton continued wryly.

Donnelly's mouth dropped open, almost comically. "What the hell did I miss after dinner last night?" he finally blurted out.

"A lot." Ashton's hands released me as he chuckled at his man, turning towards him. I swayed slightly at the loss of his steadying strength, but his palm settled at the small of my back, and I found solace in his continued touch.

"There's a change of plans though," he added. "Get Harrison or Evan from the stables. I know they are not as gifted with the horses as Marcus and Reth, but I'll need one of them to ride with me on one of the wagons to help care for the horses at night."

"You, sir?" Donnelly asked, and both Liam and Rowland straightened, ready to dispute the idea as well.

"Yes, someone with authority has to go, now that Charlie is... unavailable as an estate delegate, and with Row just waking..." Ashton cut his eyes sympathetically to Liam, obviously indicating he wasn't going to pull him away from Rowland so soon. "No one else is available."

"Oh, hell no," Liam cut in. "I'm not letting you go off. Not with that bastard still out there, and Row still..." He perused the weakened body of the man he loved. "...still not well. I'll go, you stay here. I'll take Evan with me, and we'll add an extra rider to each cartload to act as escort and guard. Maybe Gavin and Tibbs from last night?"

The viscount started to respond but was cut off.

"Wait," Donnelly interrupted again with a shake of his head. "Why is Evan going and not Reth? He's one of the horse masters."

"Reth is staying here with his brother. They need time to catch up—"

"Wait—what? Brother?"

I ducked my head, hiding an amused smile behind the fall of long honeyed strands. The poor man was so confused. I couldn't blame him. I was having a hard time keeping all the information straight—and I'd been here the whole time.

"Reth is Kye's brother," Ashton explained.

"Really? Well... damn. I don't know what to say. What a small world?" He beamed. "Glad you found each other."

"Thanks," the word leaked out of Tareth's throat.

"And you look much better today," Donnelly added staring at me.

"Thank you, sir." I ducked my head. There were way too many people in this room, and it just seemed to get more and more crowded.

"So I presume Kye has new accommodations?"

I looked back up sharply, wondering if he was implying maybe I shouldn't. But Donnelly was pointedly staring at his lord's hand on my back with a wide grin.

"Yes, he's staying right here, where I can be sure he is safe. We still don't know enough about Barrett's whereabouts. So Kye will stay here, get some rest, heal..."

Rowland stepped closer, drawing his younger brother in. His eyes warm with concern. "Are you sure?"

I frowned at the floor. Was he unsure about letting me stay? Letting me sleep in the manor house? Did Lord Rowland not want me in his house or in one of their nice guest rooms? Maybe he didn't feel I deserved to stay here, being lowly born? Or maybe he didn't quite trust that I wasn't a traitor? I felt a dip in my stomach at the apparent snub. I'd thought the man had forgiven me, thought I was his angel... why did he want me out?

"Yes, very." Ash didn't even falter as his hand slid from my back around to my boney hip, as if to keep anyone from taking me away. The gesture felt almost intimate, possessive—reminding me again of his declaration last night and this morning. Maybe he really did care, as he said...

"I'm quite certain there are other places he could stay," the count was suggesting, eyeing his brother curiously.

"There may be, but I need to know he's safe. Always. Row, you know..." Ashton's voice lowered to a hoarse growl. "...I have to make things right. I want the chance to show him..."

"Yes, I know. I can see clearly how you feel. But, are you sure he's ready for that?"

Gods, if they could just speak plainly, and not in these riddles.

"No, maybe not, but I want to try."

I huffed out a soft breath. I felt like the kid everyone had always treated me like, talking over and around me. For a few moments, I'd thought Lord Ashton was different—addressing me, wanting my thoughts.

Rowland clapped his brother's arm with a jovial shake and a wide grin. "Well, very good then."

"All right, so I guess I'll go find Evan. And, Liam, you'll meet us at the barn?" Donnelly put in, obviously anxious to get the supply run done and get back home.

"Yes. See you there." At Liam's nod, Donnelly disappeared back down the hallway, muttering something about missing all the excitement.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Ash asked again, his gaze darting between his brother and steward.

"Yes," Liam assured him. "Just... give me a few minutes. To get Row back to his bed."

Ashton smirked at the heated look between the two men as Liam took some of Rowland's weight to help him back to bed before his strength failed completely.

"I'll be back, Angel," Rowland called over his shoulder to me. "We'll talk more later."

With the disappearance of the count, I let out a sigh of relief, letting my body sag slightly against the solid form behind me. I had been so nervous that the count would throw me in a cell for my part in his poisoning. Even as he'd forgiven me and called me his angel, I still found his presence intimidating and foreboding, especially with Liam at his side.

Strangely, I realized, I didn't feel that same trepidation with the viscount anymore.

I felt warm and comforted by his presence now.

My heart swelled that he had stood up for me, wanting me in his home, and not somewhere off in servant quarters. His hand lingering on my hip sent delightful tingles through body parts that had long been apathetic. Throughout the entire interruption from Liam, Dr. Fulbert and his brother, Ash had kept a pacifying touch on me, calming me, soothing me.

Gentle, soft touches I didn't think I'd ever feel—and still want.

"Gabriel," Ashton was saying, "I'd like you to look over Kye's back as well as his hand and feet. We've discovered there was much more to the way Barrett treated Kye. Certainly not as an amorato should be treated. As anyone should be treated."

Dr. Fulbert's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "I see. Why don't you lie down, Kye, and I'll take a look?"

I really didn't want another person seeing my disfigured skin, but Ashton was already urging me toward the bed. I stopped at the edge, staring in dismay at the dirt smudges and dried blood streaks on the cream sheets.

"I'm so sorry, sir," I blurted out automatically.

"I swear, I'm going to break you of that, Stubborn," Ashton growled.

I stiffened. Break? Oh, Gods, what had I done to incur punishment now. I was usually so good about—

Abruptly, I was spun around, forced to stare at those bright cinnamon eyes. "Kye. Stop. I can practically see what you are thinking, how you tensed. You did nothing wrong, except apologize again for something that was Not. Your. Fault."

Oh. I glanced down. I should have figured that out, picked out the teasing tone in his voice.

"Amelia will probably be in shortly to change the linens, but it's not your fault they have a little dirt on them." He grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it. "Now, get on the bed."

I briefly saw the doctor's lips tighten into a thin line as his eyes narrowed in on my ribs and belly. He shot Ashton a fierce glare, which didn't make any sense—my scrawny body was not the viscount's responsibility.

As I turned and obediently climbed up, I heard the strangled curse of the doctor as he saw my scars for the first time. I laid down, fisting my hand in the pillow, and squeezing my eyes shut.

A familiar hand rested on my shoulder, warm and tender, before colder, probing fingers traced some of the more recent scars.

"Are these what I think they are?" Dr. Fulbert asked.

The warm fingers squeezed, infusing me with his mollifying presence. "I think you know they are."

"Cane? Whip?"

"Both, from what it looks like. Mostly the cane, I 'd guess. Is that correct, Kye?"

I just nodded into the soft, downy pillow.

"Most of these are... years old, it appears. Gods, I can't believe someone could..." The doctor's voice was hushed in horrified awe. "These..." and I felt his icy fingers slide over some of the ones from my last punishment, "... these, we might be able to minimize the scarring, with some of the salve."

I heard a choked sob. Opening my eyes, I saw Tareth staring at my back, biting his fist. Damn, I hated him being reminded of what had been done to me. His dark blue eyes radiated guilt and regret that he had no reason to feel. I suspected he was imagining what it had taken to mar my pale skin like that.

I abruptly rolled to my side, hiding my mutilated back from my brother. It was healed enough for now. There was little the doctor could do for it at the moment anyway.

"I'll get a large jar of the salve," Dr. Fulbert told Ashton before addressing my brother. "Maybe, Tareth, you can help apply it for your brother."

Tareth was nodding, still staring wide-eyed in my direction.

That warm hand brushed strands of gold out of my face. "Someone will make sure he gets it on, I promise, doc."

I snapped my eyes up to Ashton looming near my head. It almost sounded as if he were offering to take on that menial task himself. At the thought of his huge hands running over my back, kneading and... Gods, I needed to stop thinking about that right now. The twitching of my cock had me flushing uncontrollably, shocked that I was even capable of feeling that way anymore after the way Barrett had forced himself on me for so long. Damn enticing, captivating, beautiful man making me feel things I never thought I could.

"Good. Then let me just re-dress his hand, and I'd like to put a little salve on his feet with some bandages to allow it to soak in for a while today. It'd be best if he could stay in bed today, stay off his feet."

"Sounds good," Ashton agreed as the doctor set about re-dressing my extremities.

"And you know, he needs to eat," the doctor added pointedly, as he pulled out linen wrappings from his bag.

Ashton rolled his eyes at the absurdly obvious statement. "I think I'm aware of that."

After the doctor had finished up, I expected to be forced to stay in the bed. While it was comfortable and inviting, I was anxious to talk to Tareth. Strangely, after the doctor left, first to check in on the count, then to hunt down a larger supply of the healing salve, I felt myself swept up in huge arms and being carried across the room.

I squawked, flailing slightly, before being deposited back on the couch. I tried to refrain from glaring at the viscount. We both knew I was perfectly capable of walking; I'd done it all morning.

Tareth was smiling broadly at my discomfiture at having been carried as well as at his lord's self-satisfied smirk.

"I could walk. Sir." I ground out. Strangely, I didn't feel any trepidation at the admonishment lacing my tone; a tone I would never have considered taking with my previous master.

"I know you can, but doc said no walking today. And I'm sure you don't really want to be stuck in the bed all day." Ashton turned to Tareth as well as me. "I have some work to do downstairs. Apparently, I need to hunt down where Barrett might be hiding in the northern province, and get some missives sent out to some of our more loyal allies, as well as informing the Regent of the latest happenings. Plus, I'd like to see the wagons off. I'm sure you two have some catching up to do."

Both of us nodded silently at the viscount's suggestion.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Ash," he admonished again softly. I suspected he'd be doing it many more times.

"Ash." I amended, ducking my head shyly.

I glanced briefly at both the viscount and Tareth before slowly reaching for a sliver of meat—duck, maybe?

Ashton strode away, apparently satisfied that I was eating and was safe, leaving me alone with my brother.

It was a little disconcerting that my brother sat there in silence and watched me eat. I was wondering if he'd start asking questions soon. Or would he be offended if I questioned him first? I drew my feet up, my knees in front of my chest, as was my ingrained habit of not only protecting myself, but also comforting myself. I wrapped one arm around my knees as I finished off the delectable piece of duck.

"Kye, put your feet down. You know you aren't supposed to put pressure on them." Tareth reached to tug at my ankle.

"They are fine," I assured firmly, tucking them in closer, out of his reach.

"But you could make them worse if you don't let them heal," Tareth insisted.

I bristled at the coddling tone. "A few scrapes on my feet won't bother me. I barely feel them. I've had worse."

"Oh." Tareth deflated, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

I pulled a few plump red grapes from bowl within reach. My brother looked flustered as he wrung his hands in his lap.

"Have you—have you seen them?" I finally whispered.

"Who?" Tareth frowned for a second before he realized who I might be asking about. "Oh, yes. Mama and papa." He released a pent-up breath, apparently glad to have a starting point in our conversation. He tilted his head pensively before asking, "How much do you know after... after you w-went to s-stay with... him?"

"Not very much. I never saw them after leaving with Master Barrett—" Tareth cringed at my reference to the marquis as my master. "—but I knew they had to move, somewhere, into a town where papa could work and take care of mama better. Master Barrett reminded me quite often that mama needed the money from my 'services' for medicine. And that I needed to f-follow his r-rules."

"Oh, fucking hell! That bastard! He asked me for extra money too after my contract ran out, and I was earning it for myself. Begged me to help with mama's medicine. How could he 'sell' you to that man like that, after he knew I was sending more money too? How the hell could he let you stay—after..." Tareth ranted, unmindful that he was making no sense to me. "Mama would have understood if you'd left that—that vile man. She wouldn't have wanted you to go through... all that he... did to you."

I know he meant well, but the implication again that I'd had a choice to leave rankled. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I couldn't leave."

"But Kye, you didn't need to stay... you could have come to me, or—"

"No, you don't understand. I tried. More than once. To run in that first year. Gods how I tried," I sighed to the ceiling, blinking back the dampness on my lashes. "He wouldn't let me. He'd hunt me down, keep me locked in his room, beat me until I couldn't even stand..."

Tareth's sharp breath drew my attention back to him. His eyes glistening eyes and the horror etching his face showed his dawning understanding.

"I broke, Tareth," I quietly admitted. "I just couldn't fight him; it hurt so bad to. It was easier to just obey. So many times I felt like I was falling apart, like I just wanted it all to stop."

"Oh Gods." Tareth scooted closer, his breath shuddering in his chest as he fought back the anguish my words were obviously causing him. He placed his hand over mine on my knee, waiting silently for me to finish.

"I eventually learned to control myself, follow his rules. To try to be good, to be strong. For mama and papa and for you."

"For me? Gods, Kye, please don't tell me that."

"But thinking of you helped me survive, even when I didn't want to. Your words helped me stay focused—you remember telling me that? Before you left? Be good. Be strong?"

He swallowed thickly as he nodded. "Yes, but—" he broke off unable to find words.

"I thought if I was good, he might find favor with me eventually. I had hoped to earn some privileges, like going outside, or an extra meal for the day, or an extra blanket for my window sill in the winter... but it never made a difference. Only in how much punishment I might earn."

"Fucking hell, Kye... I can't—I don't know what—what to say... You should never have been left with that man at all!" Tareth sobbed, his fingers tightened on my hand, probably trying to offer comfort. But I was past needing his comfort, his pity. I only wanted a little of his understanding.

"There is nothing to say," I told him. "You didn't know that papa had contracted me to the marquis. Did you?" While I suspected from his previous reactions, he had not known about my whereabouts, there was still that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach that he might have known something...

"No, no, Gods Kye, that's what makes this such a mammering mess. I would have come for you! But I had no idea where you were! Papa told me you'd taken off about a year after I left. Because I had little money and had not yet become an accomplished rider, I had to travel with others heading that direction. I was able to send letters ahead with when we'd be coming, but the two times I was able to make it even close, papa met me in town, telling me how sick you were, and how mama was watching over you."

"I—I—was n-never sick." My jaw went slack in shock. Papa had lied to Tareth about me, had kept me from seeing him...

"I suppose you never got any of my letters," he surmised, his anger rising as the extent of papa's treachery slowly revealed itself.

"You did send letters?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course. Gods, Kye, you must have thought—you must have thought I'd abandoned you. How the hell could papa do such a thing?"

"You were all he talked about after you left."

"I knew he resented me leaving, but I never thought he'd take it out on you like that. Gods, Kye, can you ever forgive me?"

"Forgive you? For what?" I frowned. "You didn't do anything. You didn't know what was happening."

"But fucking hell!" He shot to his feet, raking a frustrated hand through his short dirty blond hair. "I feel like I should have done something. I should have searched for you or something!"

"But you didn't know where I was. It's not your fault."

"Just like it's not your fault the count was poisoned by the marquis?" he said wryly.

I opened my mouth to snap back a retort, but... he was right, wasn't he? Lord Ashton and Lord Rowland had told me that several times. Maybe... it was time to believe it. "Yes, just like that."

"I think the only people at fault right now are papa and the fucking marquis, along with whomever is working with him. I have half a mind to ride right out to the port and choke papa to death for what he's done to you," Tareth ranted.

What? My head shot up. NO! No he couldn't do that! I was already shaking my head before I could get words out. "No, no, please, Tareth, you can't—" I didn't want him getting into trouble for me, and mama still needed papa to support her.

He released a heavy sigh. "I know. He's still our papa. I couldn't really hurt him. Well, probably couldn't. Maybe..." He turned, his demeanor heavy with heartache. He dropped to his knees in front of me. My eyes widened in surprise. "Kye, you don't... you don't know everything yet."

Well, I didn't think I did. I wanted to know more about what he'd done here at the Sterling Estate, how mama and papa were faring at their new home and where, how mama was feeling, if Tareth liked working for Ashton...well... the Sterlings, if Ash—the Sterlings were fair masters (I suspected they were), if he knew what happened to—

"Kye." He drew my hands into his trembling ones, causing my heart rate to spike anxiously. I could tell he was barely controlling his anger. "Papa, he owns the hotel they used to work at now."

That was good, right? Why did Tareth look so... so distraught? Angry? Shouldn't he be glad papa had made—

Wait. If he owns a hotel... wouldn't that mean... ?

Tareth nodded with a tight grimace as my understanding started dawning. "Papa makes a fine amount of money now, the stinking bastard. He doesn't need the money the marquis has been paying for your... contract. He hasn't... for almost two years."

"What?" I choked out, yanking my hands from his, recoiling at the implication of his words. No, no, no... he couldn't be saying... Had papa let me continue to 'work', even after he didn't need financial help?

Tareth jerked his chin up angrily as he continued. "He was still taking money from me too, until I realized he'd bought the inn. He'd amassed quite a nest egg, it seems from your contract and mine. Instead of coming to get you, he let you continue to work, receiving money monthly from the marquis. He told me the extra money came from investments," Tareth added bitterly.

No, no, that couldn't be... papa wouldn't... mama wouldn't let him do that, would she? Gods, why couldn't I breathe? Air... I needed air... I needed... Ash...

"Kye, Kye, calm down," Tareth's voice sharpened. "You need to breathe. Slowly."

I tried... marginally succeeding. "Mama. She wouldn't have left me..." I whispered, pitifully hoping it to be true. "Why... why... did she leave me there?"

"M-Mama... she passed away two years ago, just before the spring equinox," Tareth said softly.

Oh... oh... gods... mama... Tears I'd managed to hold in check coursed down my cheeks. My vision blurred, my breathing spasmed.

"It had been a hard winter. She was sicker than she'd ever been. The medicine wasn't helping as much."

I clutched my knees, rocking slightly. No, no, this wasn't happening. Mama couldn't be dead! For two years! Believing I was helping her survive was the only reason I kept going, maintaining control, enduring that... that bastard's punishments! Why hadn't papa come for me then? When he didn't need the money for mama's medicines? Why had he left me there?

"Kye?" Tareth's concerned voice barely filtered through the haze of my increasing rage.

Because papa never cared about me, that's why. He hated me. I was the weak, useless son. And he'd used me. Sold me for money from the marquis. For. Four. Years.

I rapidly sucked in gulps of air, but it didn't seem to be helping. Gods, where was Ash right now? I needed... I needed... Oh, hell, why was I looking for the viscount? But I was. I wanted him here. Now. I needed... what? Something... only he'd been able to give...

But he wasn't here, and my world was crumbling... shattering into tiny pieces...

"Kye! Oh, Gods, Kye, breathe!"

I couldn't... I couldn't... I felt like something was clawing at me, my chest was on fire. Despair... and... anguish... warred with rage, ripping through me, consuming my carefully honed control and discipline. I needed... needed... to...

Scream.