But his whistle died away the instant he saw the look on Julian’s face and the empty vial in his hand. His eyes widened in dread—flicked to Julian's.
In an instant, he turned and sprinted, as though the devil was at his heels. But there was nowhere to escape. Ahead lay the farm, behind was Julian and a track fenced in on either side. Rhys Morgan was emerging from the farm yard, walking arm in arm with Helen.
“Hold him!” Julian suddenly bellowed, “he is a murderer!”
Rhys reacted with the swift, thoughtless vigor of the young. He released Helen’s arm and charged towards Harper. The fleeing man tried to dodge but Rhys cannoned into him with all the force of a young bull, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. Helen screamed. Harper thrashed with devilish fury, but Rhys was a man who had spent more time in the fields than he had indoors. Was as fierce as the Welsh hills from which he hailed.
Within moments, Harper found himself pinned to the ground, a bruise blossoming on his chin and another swelling around his eye. For his efforts, Rhys had a trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His face was set with resolute anger.
He glanced up heavily as Julian reached them in a blur of motion, his pulse roaring like a war drum. “Go find Ester!” hecommanded of Rhys. Then, without hesitation, he seized Harper by the collar and ripped him away from Rhys, dragging him to his feet with raw force. Rage boiled in his veins, dark and consuming.
Harper let out a strangled cry, trying to twist free, but Julian’s grip was iron. He slammed Harper against the barn wall, the sound of bone and wood colliding filling the air with a sickening crack. Harper’s legs buckled beneath him, his body hanging limply from Julian’s grip like a rag doll.
The fury in Julian’s chest roared louder. He didn’t think. He struck Harper—once, twice—each blow landing with brutal force until Harper was on his knees, blood flooding down his fractured nose, gasping for breath.
Julian towered over him, breathing hard, his knuckles burning from the impact. “Why?” he growled, voice low and laced with venom. “Why did you do it?”
Harper’s eyes flickered up, dazed and filled with a twisted sort of satisfaction, his lips curling into a sneer despite the pain. “Kill me now, why don't you? Touch me with your bare hands. In front of all to see. My soul is black enough that I should die on the spot, shouldn't I?”
“You don't believe that!” Julian roared, shaking him with unrestrained fury. “You orchestrated Napier's death. You were going to do the same to Ester and her family. You bastard, why!”
“Power…” Harper gasped, the word escaping him like a confession torn from his very core.
“Power?” Julian echoed, horror crashing over him. “That’s it? You killed a man and would have killed others for power? Overwhom?Me?”
“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” Harper sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “With your title and wealth. The Dukes of Windermere. A sick, tainted bloodline, passed from your acolyte father. Yet a Duke is deferred to, no matter his character. Without a title, there’s little chance for wealth. Without wealth, your destiny isn’t your own. Others stand over you, dictate your path. I wanted the power to shape my own fate!” He coughed, then spat blood to the side. “My father was an earl, but he squandered our fortune on women and gambling. My mother became a seamstress just to feed us and educate me. She married an apothecary, and I learned the skills that could lift me from the gutter and grant me power. I thought that fool Kingsley would be my pawn, but then I met you.” He paused, his expression twisted with disdain. “Your superstition, your curse. You deserved it! You don’t deserve your wealth and power if you are not prepared to wield it! Neither did your father!”
“That is not an excuse you sick blackguard!” Julian's voice cracked with anger. “It is not enough for what you did—what you planned!”
But Harper was looking beyond him now, a sly smile forming on his lips. Julian turned to see Ester standing in the middle of the farmyard. She looked… healthy. Perhaps he hadn’t deliveredthe poison yet. The Morgans and the Fairchilds were gathering behind her, as the commotion drew more and more faces. Lord Percival was staggering to the front of the crowd, hobbling on his stick. Julian's only warning was Ester's sudden look of alarm.
He turned back to Harper in time to see his hand emerge from a coat pocket clutching a knife. Julian reacted quickly, leaping back as Harper slashed with the blade. Smoothly, he seized the man's wrist, slamming it into the barn wall. But Harper was quick, fumbling with something in his other pocket. With a desperate motion, he flung something—hand opening as a fine spray of white dust filled the air.
It struck Julian's face and a fiery pain enveloped his eyes. He screamed, staggering back, unable to see. Ester cried out in warning and then Harper screamed once in pain. Julian fell to his knees, hearing the chink of metal falling against stone. Then the sound of running footfalls and the roar of a deep, angry Welsh voice shouting in his own language. He was answered by more running feet, urgent voices.
“I can't see!” Julian cried, eyes wide open despite the agony.
His vision was a blanket of blackness. Panic settled on him, icy claws sinking into his chest. Blinking felt as though sand were being dragged across his eyeballs. Holding his eyes open brought searing, burning pain. Closing them made no difference to the blackness but he wanted to hold them open, prayed that the blindness was fleeting, wanting to see the light fade back into his sight. Ester's hands touched him, his head, his shoulders.She was turning his face and he opened his eyes wide, unable to see her.
“I cannot see!” he whispered in mortal terror.
“Water! I need water!” Ester cried out.
Then in a whisper meant for Julian alone.
“All will be well, my love. All will be well.”
He felt her lips pressed against his own. Then against his forehead. She kept on whisperingall will be well, arms tight about him.
“I'm sorry, Ester. Please forgive me. I have been such a fool. It was him all along. He killed Napier and made it seem as though it was the curse. He was going to… he was going to kill you too,” his voice broke.
“Harper?” Ester asked, voice trembling. “He is gone. But the Morgans have raised a hue and cry and this is an island. He will not escape. He will face justice. There is nothing to forgive, my love. Not between us.”
“I was utterly blind,” Julian whispered, brokenly, “how could I have been so blind?”
Ester shook her head against his. “Because you were molded from birth to believe your father. To believe in the curse. To believe everything bad in your life was caused by you. But that is over now. You are awake and I do not need to hear anything but an answer to one question.” She tenderly cradled his head against her bosom. “Will you marry me?”
“Would you truly wed a blind man, blinded by his own folly?” he cried.
