“Then my brother could suffer at his hands?”
“More than he can humanly endure.”
Burke grew alarmed. There was no way in hell he’d let an earl or a duke or whatever some such nonsense-titled man harm his brother.
“How far is Glencurry from here?”
“Two, two and half days.”
“Then we leave right away,” Burke said.
“No, we return to camp,” Storm said, tossing the rolled bedding to Tanin and once again clothed as a young lad, stocking cap and all.
Burke approached her. “I need to get to my brother.”
“We need to make certain your brother is at Glencurry,” Storm argued. “It will do us little good to go there uncertain and without a plan. When we go, we go to free him.”
Burke wanted to argue but there was nothing to argue. She was right. If he charged in there like a fool, he could wind up imprisoned as well. What good would that do?
“I will send men to find out all they can. Then we will decide what is to be done,” Storm said and turned. “Come. We need to get back to camp. There is work to be done.”
Burke didn’t want to follow. He wanted to head in the opposite direction and demand to see his brother, if it was indeed his brother, and then he would demand his brother be freed or he’d buy his way out of prison. One way or another, he intended to free Cullen, his brother, and take him home to America. He had promised his father, and he intended to keep his promise. Besides, he wanted to get to know his brother; he was all the family Burke had left.
Nightfall found them camped behind a large boulder, a single fish serving as their meal. Storm ate little, though Burke insisted she eat more. She insisted she wasn’t hungry, and he wondered if that was her standard response when little food was available.
Tanin was quick to seek his bed. Burke realized he was a man of few words but of great courage and compassion and a man who thought highly of Storm. He wondered what had brought the pair together and what bond kept them together.
Burke approached Storm where she sat perched on the edge of a boulder, staring into the night.
“Tell me of the Earl of Balford.”
Storm didn’t even turn and acknowledge him.
“He is not a man of his word.”
“You’ve dealt with him before?”
“Yes, to my regret,” she said.
Sorrow clearly filled her voice and Burke ventured to guess, “You lost a man to him?”
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly and looked about to say more, but remained silent.
Burke waited, giving her time, realizing the memory hadn’t been a pleasant one and that perhaps she didn’t wish to recall any more of it.
She took a breath and continued. “He has a small dungeon beneath his manor house. He imprisons tenants on whatever charges he creates—”
She paused, and Burke wondered how many such painful memories she must have endured while helping people.
She sighed and went on. “He then charges the families for the food and the cell.”
“What if the family has no money?”
“The prisoner starves to death and then the family is charged to remove his body or it’s tossed in the woods for the animals to feed on.”
While the information disgusted Burke, it also gave him a shred of hope. “Then there’s a good chance I can buy my brother’s freedom.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
