One day you’ll make your mark on the world, lad. Be sure that you can look back on your life and be proud of what you’ve done.
He wished his father were alive today. No doubt Kenneth would smile if he knew Paul had married Juliette. His father had always liked her.
And although Kenneth had never once revealed his past, Paul understood why his father had given up so much. He’d loved his wife enough to surrender everything for her. Sometimes he’d caught his parents whispering together, even holding hands. It had given him a sense of security, knowing that he was loved and that they had loved one another.
He’d do the same for Juliette, if it were ever asked of him.
“Dr. Fraser,” came a voice from behind him. Paul turned and saw five men approaching. All were armed, and one carried a rope. Though he didn’t recognize any of them, their leader had an English tone in his accent.
“Lord Strathland sent us to summon you. He wants a word.”
Paul said nothing, and he suspected Strathland wanted far more than a word from him. “He can come and pay a call on me in the morning. I’m staying with Lord Lanfordshire.” His gaze drew in his surroundings, searching for a sign of the duke’s men or a way out. No doubt the moment he made a move in any direction, they would pursue him. The question was whether they meant to kill him.
Paul supposed he ought to feel fear or a sense of urgency. Instead, his mood was pensive, as if he’d expected this.
“Lord Strathland wants to see you this evening at his house. We are your escorts,” the man said. “I am his new factor, Charles Davenport.”
Davenport made it sound as if Paul had been invited to tea instead of his own execution.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m wanting to go home to my wife,” Paul said. “But if Strathland wishes to speak to me, I don’t mind returning in the morning.” With an array of weapons and men to stand at his side.
“Lord Strathland wishes to seeheras well,” Davenport remarked. “We can escort both of you.”
“You willna go near my wife,” Paul growled, striding forward. He didn’t give a damn what happened to him, but if they dared to threaten Juliette, he had no qualms about defending her.
Two of the men tried to grab him, but Paul wrenched himself away. He hauled back his fist and punched the first man. Although his knuckles connected with the man’s nose, drawing blood, the other drove his fist into Paul’s gut at that moment. All the air was sucked out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath.
He fought hard, but after a time, he realized that he was better off biding his time and reserving his strength. He was outnumbered, and feigning surrender might prove a more useful tactic. One man jerked his arms behind his back, while another came forward with the rope. Paul flexed his wrists, fighting against them as they bound him, trying to force the rope to be looser than they wanted.
He never saw the blow that took him from behind, dragging him into darkness.
Sunlight speared her eyes from between the drapes, and Juliette reached over to the empty side of the bed. Paul wasn’t there. Though she tried to tell herself that he’d likely been tending more wounded people, she had a cold sense that something wasn’t right. Even when he’d been gone for hours, he’d always come home. She would awaken from sleep to find his arms around her, and she’d welcomed the comfort of his embrace.
When she sat up, the room spun a moment, and she saw stars. Fighting off the dizziness, she reached for a dressing gown and drew open the drapes. It was far later than she’d expected, nearly eight o’clock in the morning. She turned back to Paul’s pillow and saw that his coverlet was still tucked in place, the pillowcase smooth.
He hadn’t come home last night.
She rang for Mrs. Larson, needing to get dressed, when suddenly, her stomach twisted with nausea. Oh God. She knew this feeling. The familiarity of it was like a physical blow, for she knew what it meant. She dropped to her knees, reaching for the chamber pot, and ended up gagging. There was nothing in her stomach, but the impulse was impossible to stop. When she was done, she rested her face upon the wooden floor.
“Miss Juliette, may I come in?” came the cheerful voice of the housekeeper.
If she lay there without moving, her stomach might not lurch again.
“Yes,” she managed.
When the door swung open, Mrs. Larson hurried forward. “Oh, my poor lamb. What is it? Are ye sick?”
Juliette managed a nod, feeling as if she didn’t dare lift her head.
“Well, now, let’s see if we can’t get ye back to bed,” the housekeeper said. “Lean against me while I help you up.”
Juliette did, and the room shifted beneath her feet once more. When she managed to sit upon the bed, she lowered her head to her lap, taking several deep breaths.
“It’s at times like these when it’s good tae be married to a doctor,” Mrs. Larson pronounced. “Where is Dr. Fraser, then?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t come into our room last night.” She kept trying to tell herself that it was nothing, but her intuition only heightened the chill of fear.
The housekeeper poured water into a basin and brought over a damp cloth. “I’ll see if anyone saw him last night. He might have slept at his mother’s house, if it was too late.”
