“I won’t,” Lady Sarah promised, accepting the parcel. Her lips trembled, and she whispered, “Thank you, Lady Castledon.”
Brandon Carlisle, the Earl of Strathland, kept his eyes closed, trying to recognize the woman’s voice. She was speaking to him, pleading for something. He knew the woman somehow. Knew her name, even. She was familiar, and her words reached down past the forgotten years.
“I know you can’t understand my words,” she said quietly, “but I came to say good-bye. I’ll be leaving England, and I won’t return.”
Sarah. That was it—his sister, Sarah.
“Our cousin Lewis has claimed Strathland and our other estates,” she said. “The courts are going to rule in his favor, since you’ve been here for so long.”
Her words were hardly more than gibberish, but Brandon grasped one word:claimed.
Someone had taken what belonged to him. A shattering pain throbbed inside his skull, the memories crashing and tumbling in a mass of broken visions. He didn’t know what was real and what was false anymore.
His prison was formed of gray walls, with bars upon the single window. It couldn’t have been very long that he’d been here. He didn’t remember much except a breakfast that was hardly fit for rats.
Last night, he’d begged them to let him leave. Instead, they’d strapped him down, preventing him from moving or calling out to anyone. Even the taste of water was bitterly laced with laudanum to keep him motionless and silent.
“How long?” His voice was barely audible, and his throat ached with the effort of making sound.How long have I been trapped here?
His sister’s mouth opened in shock. “Y-you understood what I said?”
He gave a nod, though it wasn’t true. She was speaking too fast, the words spilling on top of one another. But in her voice, he caught the fear. From her faded gown and how thin she was, he guessed that Sarah had endured poverty in the past few weeks.
The headache was returning, the immense pressure building inside his skull. But he had to hold fast to sanity, before everything slipped away.
“How long?” he repeated again.
“Four years,” she answered. “It’s been four years since you’ve spoken.”
No. That wasn’t possible. “I’ve only been here a few days, Sarah. Don’t be ridiculous.”
But she was shaking her head. “No. No, it’s been a very long time. I thought you’d never get well.” Tears were streaming down her face. “Thank God. I’m so glad.”
Each word was an excruciating effort, but he managed to form the right sentence. “I need to leave this place.”
“Yes, yes, of course you do.” She wiped at her cheeks with a handkerchief, beaming at him. “I’ll start making the arrangements.” Touching a hand to her heart, she added, “They will give you a series of tests, Brandon. You must pass them. Promise me that you’ll think carefully before you answer.”
He lowered his head, trying to keep his thoughts centered. “Let me rest first. I need to sleep.”
Sarah remained silent, and he forced himself to look at her. She appeared as if she wanted to argue with him. “Are you going to be all right?”
He inclined his head once. The cloud of pain and confusion threatened to lower over him, but he gritted out one last promise. “I won’t let this go, Sarah. What was done to me.”
“Hush,” she soothed, reaching for his hand. “It’s been years now. I’ll see to it that you return home to Strathland. The servants will look after you when I’m gone.”
Gone? He frowned, uncertain where she believed she was going. “Where?” he managed.
A faint flush colored her cheeks. “I haven’t decided yet. But it will be far away from Lewis Barnabas—that I can tell you. Perhaps the colonies, if I can arrange passage upon a ship.”
Her words were meaningless to him, and he dismissed them as not having any importance. He stared down at his chained hands, and the anger within him surged. He’d been trapped in this place because of Lord and Lady Lanfordshire and their four daughters. Because of Juliette and that Highland rebel, Paul Fraser.
Then there was Cain Sinclair, the Highlander who had left him for dead in the middle of nowhere. Brandon’s mouth grew dry at the memory of the intense hunger and thirst.
The madness lingered, threatening to drag him down. He’d lost sight of reason and had entered a living death during these past few years.
No longer.
“I will have my own vengeance,” he swore. “Even if I have to slit their throats while they sleep.”
