“We’re in my family’s carriage.” The man removed his half mask to wipe his brow. A flash of moonlight illuminated his familiar features. Aaron gaped at him as he worked to place his face.
“You’re one of the Berab brothers. The middle one.” He managed to get the words out as memories of the first festival, the way his captor and his brothers had pushed and crowded Isabelle, rushed to the front of his mind. As well as all the information she and Weiss had given him about the group afterward.
“Louis. My name is Louis. My God, you really are brainless. We’ve met on multiple occasions.” The man gritted his teeth, a vein popping up on his forehead. “But you will remember my name now, I suppose. As the man Isabelle Lira will marry, once you abandon her for America, leaving her heartbroken.”
Oy. Not very likely, considering she’d created an entire series of festivals to avoid marrying him or his brother. Not that he could tell that to this clearly rather dangerous and disturbed man.
“What about Solomon Weiss?” Aaron asked as he rocked backward, rubbing his hands against the seat, searching for anything that could break whatever was holding him.
Berab wrinkled his nose. “What about him?” he asked before his lips curled into a rather cruel smile. “Oh. You don’t know? No one told you? They aren’t marrying. She hired the man and plans to make him a partner in his own right instead. Imagine that—after all those years, giving a portion of the company away to a stranger who won’t even be family? It’s too bad murder is forbidden, or neither of you would have made it out of that alley.”
Wait. What did he say?Aaron halted his struggles and stared at the man for a moment. Did that mean he had attacked them? To do what? Panic roared through Aaron’s head. He needed to get out. Now. If not for his own sake, for Isabelle’s. Who knew what would happen if this man got back to her?
“The woman is a menace. And needs to be taught a lesson. Several. Someone needs to knock some sense into her arrogant, spoiled head, as she wants to marryyou.” The words were bitter, though he now had Aaron’s full attention. “A complete nobody,” Berab continued. “Without any business acumen or scholarly pedigree. A penniless orphan who cleans floors, from the wrong part of the community.”
The toe of his boot collided with Aaron’s cheek.
Ow. He clenched his jaw and swiveled his wrists in an attempt to stretch what appeared to be some sort of fabric that was binding him. Perhaps he could wriggle loose and have some sort of chance at escape. Or at least to fight back.
“Why would a woman want a man like you when she could have a man like me?” Berab practically spit the words before giving him another kick, this time in the gut, stealing his breath as pain burst through his muscles. “You have no family. You’re not learned. You’re not skilled in trade. You’re not bright in the slightest. You have the flimsiest sort of charm. You’re not even that handsome. And your hair is thick and always a mess, as is your beard. The Omer doesn’t require us to look frightful, you know.”
“I—” Aaron managed to gasp, working to stay conscious.
“Worse, she was spouting nonsense about ‘kindness’ and ‘caring’ and ‘listening.’” Berab gave a derisive sniff. “It was enough to make you heave.”
“She said all that?” Aaron whispered despite himself, a warm tingling spreading through his bound and rather bruised limbs. “Truly?”
“That and more.” Berab gave him another kick with his foot, sending Aaron back so far his head smacked the seat.
But it didn’t matter. Or at least not that much.
“She wanted to find you earlier, speak with you, tell you some ridiculousness about kindness or such rot. Told her you had already left. But you couldn’t stay away, could you?” Berab near spit the words. “Though the one thing I can’t figure out—where in the world did you get that ridiculous, out-of-date costume?”
“I—” Aaron managed to swivel his hips just in the nick of time so the blasted boot didn’t get him someplace really uncomfortable. He clenched his jaw. That was enough. Completely and utterly enough. The hitting, the threats to Isabelle, the threats to him, and the insults lobbed at the garments that had been given to him with love. By good people. People who cared. Hands behind his back or not, he was getting out of here and thanking Miriam and Rabbi Marcus and the rest once more, one way or another.
And he would find Isabelle and tell her he loved her. Because even if he was the only one brave enough to say it, he was not going to waste another moment without her knowing it. Without her hearing it. She was everything to him, and he couldn’t leave. Not now, not ever.
“It doesn’t matter, because I won’t have to see it or you anymore soon.” And Louis was still yapping between blows. Did the man ever shut up? Though when his mouth was moving, he wasn’t kicking, which had to be a good thing.
“You’re going to be on that ship,” his captor sputtered. “Locked in your cabin until you’re in the middle of the ocean. I will make sure of it. And you will never return. Never—”
“Like hell.” And as hard as he could, Aaron rocked up on his shoulders, slamming both feet into the man’s chest. After all, at this point it was self-defense, and he’d had quite enough.
With a great cry, Berab fell backward, his body thudding against the back of the carriage so loudly that the horses squealed. With a horrible groan, the vehicle lurched to its side. There was a snapping sound, and Aaron curled his body into itself, bracing for impact. His only thought as the crash came was that he needed to crawl upward if he was going to have a chance of ever seeing Isabelle again.
Dagger in hand, face pressed against the window, Isabelle shifted in her seat as the Weiss family carriage bumped along past tightly packed houses southward, until the paths became wider and the space between the buildings larger and the night air quieter.
“Come on, come on,” she whispered as they sped onward toward Dover. Pena reached out and took her hand, pulling her fingers off the dagger.
“You’re going to put your eye out,” he told her, with a pointed glare.
“I will not.” She squeezed the metal harder.
“You’re also making people nervous,” Pena murmured as he set about removing her fingers from the dagger again. She should’ve taken off her gloves. She’d have had a much better grip.
Her grandmother leaned forward to address the two other men, their expressions a touch perturbed. “She won’t harm your brother. I promise.” She tapped David Berab on the knee.
“Well, I don’t promise,” Isabelle snapped, even as she permitted Pena to pull back her last finger and slip the dagger into his own sheath. She folded her arms.
