“No. I s-s-saw you. I s-saw what you d-did.” Her chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked gasps, and her entire body was trembling.
What the devil was happening?
“Hyacinth? Who is this man?” The young lady’s panic had by now spread to the gray-haired lady, whose voice rose with each syllable until she was shrieking. “What did he do?”
By now the scene had caught the attention of the people nearest them. They crowded around, and the rumble of feet scrambling across the floor echoed in Lachlan’s head as people rushed from every corner of the ballroom, all eager to witness whatever scandal was unfolding.
“That m-man, at the inn in Aylesbury. Y-you b-beat him, and his f-face…it was covered in b-b-blood.” She dragged her hand down her own face, as if she were trying to wipe away imaginary blood.
Aylesbury? What—
Ciaran. The fight at the Horse and Groom, two nights ago.
Relief flooded through Lachlan, so profound his knees shook. He took a step toward the young lady, his hands held out in front of him. “This is a misunderstanding—”
“You beat him until h-he fell down, and he di-di-didn’t get up again, and there w-was so much b-blood…”
She couldn’t catch her breath, and Lachlan froze, afraid if he moved any closer to her, she’d swoon.
As soon as the word “blood” reached the crowd’s ears, the mood grew instantly darker, and the murmurs grew louder and more ominous. They moved in closer, crowding in on Lachlan.
“You…you k-killed him. You’re a m-m-murderer.”
The crowd gasped, but his accuser, the lady who looked so much like an angel she’d nearly stopped his breath in his chest, didn’t hear them. With these damning words still on her lips, she fainted dead away.
A shocked silence fell, and then…
Chaos erupted.
Ladies collapsed, and gentlemen leapt forward to catch them. The whispers began, and before Lachlan could draw a breath, the words “killer” and “murderer” spread like wildfire, from every pair of lips to every ear.
Just as they had in Scotland.
Within moments, he’d been tried and convicted. In the middle of a ballroom, in less time than it took to dance a reel.
A group of men broke free of the crowd and took threatening steps toward Lachlan.
They aren’t all cowards after all, then.
This was, oddly, his first thought, but he didn’t move, or make any effort to evade them, because his second thought came with startlingly clarity, and it snapped his spine straight.
He’d been called a killer and a murderer before, but even as this scene unfolded with sickening familiarity, it wasn’t the same at all.
This time, it wasn’t true.
Chapter Three
Something soft and white was floating around her, tickling her eyelids. Perhaps it was clouds, or something even nicer, like the petals of hundreds of white daisies, or the sweet, fluffy wool of a new spring lamb.
Goodness, whatever it was, it was lovely. Hyacinth wanted to sink deeper into it, wrap it around herself, curl up in it—
“Take your bloody hands off me. I’ve told you over and over again, she’s made a mistake!”
There was a crash, as if a chair had been overturned, the sound of a brief scuffle, and then Finn’s voice, low and breathless. “Good God, he’s stronger than a team of oxen. Dare, help me subdue him.”
Hyacinth frowned. For pity’s sake, it wasn’t as if she had a chance to float on a cloud every day, and here they were, ruining it for her with their shouting.
“Stop thrashing, damn you.” A string of muttered curses followed this command, and then Nick’s voice rose to a bellow. “Now keep still, or we’ll tie your hands, you blackguard! Violet, have Jameson fetch the magistrate.”
