Fiona swallowed. Her hands twisted in her skirts. “Trouble in the village. Charles Tucker has them riled up.”
“Damn, damn, damn.” Benedict rubbed his jaw.
“I don’t understand,” Amelia said. “What do you mean when you say trouble?”
Fiona bit her lip. “He told them you’ve invited the Karstarks here again. They’re planning to march on the house in protest.”
The hair on the back of Amelia’s neck lifted. She grabbed Benedict’s hand, gripping it until her knuckles went white.
“This house? Our house?” She couldn’t keep the shrill pitch from her voice.
“They’ve lit torches and are carrying pitchforks.” Fiona’s voice wavered, as if it were buckling under the weight of her words. “I think you need to get everyone out of here.”
Benedict yanked at his cravat. “We can’t send everyone away. If the mood has run in this direction, they’ll be in more danger on the roads. I’ll go. I’ll talk some sense into them.”
Amelia’s stomach churned. If it was too dangerous for her guests on the road, it was too dangerous for Benedict to walk into the maw directly.
“You can’t.” She clutched his lapels, not caring how strangled or desperate she sounded as she begged. This was her family. She’d finally understood what that meant, and there was no way she was going to let it be taken from her.
He cradled her face in his hands. The rough caress of his callused fingers sent shivers of longing through her—longing for a life, a full and long life. Not one cut short by a pack of angry men.
“I don’t have a choice,” he whispered, drawing her closer to him, kissing her gently on the forehead.
“Then I’m coming with you.” She tugged hard at her sleeves. She was Lady Amelia Asterly, and she could manage any situation.
He caught her hands, trapping them between his. “Like hell you are. You stay here. Keep Cassandra safe.” The urgency in his tone, the fear in his eyes—he wasn’t trying to push her aside. He was entrusting the person most dear to him to her charge.
She nodded. Instinct fought against reason, but he was right. Cassandra came first.
She raised onto her toes and gently touched her lips to his. “I’ll look after her. Be safe.” Her voice broke on those last two words, and her control was not far off.
Benedict turned to Greenhill, who was standing nearby, waiting for orders. He’d heard the conversation. His weathered face was grim, but he stood to attention, ready to take on whatever might be needed.
“Find Wildeforde,” Benedict said. “Tell him what’s happened but don’t let anyone hear you. I’ll meet him in the stables.”
“Yes, sir.”
Benedict turned to Fiona, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. “You should stay too.”
Fiona shook her head. “My father is one of the instigators. You’ll never talk him down, but I might.”
He hesitated. Amelia knew that exposing a woman to danger went completely against everything he was. But she also knew he was a pragmatist. He nodded curtly. “Let’s go.”
He gave Amelia a long look, heavy with all of the things they had not said to each other. And then he strode through the door.
By the time Benedict arrived at the village green, almost every man in Abingdale—and a few of the boys—was deep in his cups. A bonfire had been set up with men sitting on logs, crates, and makeshift benches all around it.
Above the roar and crackle of the flame was shouting and swearing. Men staggered. Some engaged in mock fights. Others leaned on scythes and pitchforks, all kinds of everyday working tools turned potential weapons.
Tucker—that bastard—had built a makeshift stage and was bellowing to the audience in front of him. Alastair walked through the crowd, acknowledging the men and turning their attention toward the revolutionary.
“Oh my lord,” Fiona breathed. “It wasn’t half this bad when I left.”
“Hell,” Wildeforde said. He turned to Fiona, grabbing her roughly by the arms. “You go home, now. Stay out of sight and lock the door behind you.”
“But my father—” She strained to see around him, but he held her fast. In all their years together, Benedict had never seen this level of fear on Wildeforde’s face.
Wildeforde shook her. Just hard enough that he had her focus. “Your father is a grown man that no doubt started this cursed mess. Go home on your own, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and take you there.”
