Page 38 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 38

Charity

“L et me go,” Charity demanded as she glared up at Markham.

“In due course,” he replied, pacing before her, his footsteps echoing through the warehouse.

Charity was not entirely sure where she had been taken, but the sharp scent of fish mingled with salt in the air told her enough. They were near the docks. Likely in some remote warehouse, far from where cargo was actively loaded or unloaded. If she screamed, none would hear. The fact that Markham appeared unconcerned with her calling for help only confirmed her suspicions.

But he was concerned about her escaping. Her wrists were bound with rough rope, tied high to a rusted pipe jutting from the wall behind her.

“Loosen my bindings,” she said. “They hurt.”

“They’re as loose as I’m comfortable with,” he replied curtly. “Now be silent. I must think.”

“Think?” she scoffed. “You should’ve done that before abducting me from my home. This isn’t the wild frontier. I am not some calf to be stolen from a meadow.”

“If you had done what I asked—married me—none of this would have been necessary,” he snapped, spinning around to face her. “This is your fault. Yours and your father’s. I asked him for your hand more than once. He could have done the honorable thing. We could have been wed when he still lived, and he could have taught me everything about the Book of Confidences. But no, he refused me.”

“My father was a wise man,” Charity said, voice trembling with fury. It was likely unwise to antagonize him, but she could not help herself. He had taken her from her home. From Ambrose. Poor Ambrose.

Thank heavens she’d had the presence of mind to untie his lead from the fence before she was taken. At least he could roam freely. Could he make it back to the estate? Would anyone notice? If he did, would anyone understand?

Eammon would. She knew it. Despite their recent arguments, despite their uneasy peace, she had come to believe in his love. He had trusted her with the book—entrusted her with the truth. That counted for something.

She had replayed their last conversation in her mind again and again. She had come to realize that perhaps, had their roles been reversed, she might not have acted differently. How could he have trusted her when they had barely known each other? She had assumed the worst of him, too. In truth, they had both judged too quickly.

She now wished more than ever that their fathers had allowed them to grow up together. Perhaps then they would have known each other. Trusted one another.

“Let me go, Markham,” she said again. “Release me now and I will not tell anyone what you’ve done.”

He laughed, cold and sharp. “You think I’m that na?ve? No. You’ll stay here until I have what I want. Until your husband gives me what I want.”

“You finally acknowledge him as my husband?” she said dryly.

“I think the two of you are in league together. It no longer matters. One of you has the book, and I shall have it. You’re not leaving until I do.”

“What book?” she said, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Charity,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you telling the truth? Your father always claimed he shielded you from the world. But I think you’re lying.”

He reached under his coat and drew a dagger from a holster hidden beneath. Her breath caught. The side he pressed against her wasn’t the sharp one, but the dull edge was enough to terrify her as he dragged it along her cheek.

“Tell me the truth, dearest Charity, or I’ll turn this blade and ruin that pretty face. I imagine your husband won’t like that. There is a book. Your husband told me so. He implied he had it. But I’d like to hear it from you.”

Eammon had told him? That made no sense. He must be bluffing.

She had to think fast. She needed time. Time for Eammon to come.

She cleared her throat. “There is a book. But you will never have it. Eammon and I have come to an understanding. Now that he has it, he no longer needs me. I am free.”

He paused, skeptical. “So he has it? Well. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

He withdrew the dagger from her face, but he didn’t put it away. He continued pacing, the weapon swinging casually in his grip.

“He’ll never give it to you,” she said. “I told you, we have agreed. He has the book and I my freedom. He would never exchange it for me.”

“Surely he values your life enough.”

“He does not,” she lied. “I was only useful until he obtained the book. He has what he wants now.”

“Nonsense. Barron!” Markham shouted.

A side door creaked open, and Barron entered. His eyes shifted to Charity, and his discomfort was evident.

“Gabriel, is this wise?” he asked. “She’s a duchess. We could hang for this.”

“We shall not,” Markham replied coolly. “Because soon, we will have everything. Every secret of every high-ranking gentleman in the kingdom. We’ll hold the reins of power. We will send people to the gallows if we wish. Now, send one of your men with a letter to the Duke of Leith.”

“What men?” Barron asked and Markham groaned.

“The men we hired,” he hissed, but Charity could tell it was a ruse. “Send one we can spare. Send him to Leith. Tell him I have his little wife. Tell him to come here. Alone. With the book. If he brings anyone else—I will know—and I’ll cut off her ear.”

Charity gasped. Even Barron flinched.

“Do not act so shocked,” Markham sneered. “Now go. Deliver the message. Tell him my men are watching.”

Barron nodded reluctantly and left. There were no men, of course. No one liked Markham. The only wonder was that Barron remained at all.

“I’ve seen the book,” Charity said, desperate to keep him talking. “It’s not what you think. Most of it concerns people from my father’s generation. Many are dead. My father exaggerated its importance. There’s little of value in it.”

“Don’t take me for a fool,” he snarled. “At first you pretended not to know of the book at all, now you claim to know its contents. I know what’s in it.”

She wasn’t sure he did.

“Gabriel,” she said at last.

He tilted his head. “Ah, now I am Gabriel. When I proposed, I was a nuisance. But now you use my Christian name. I see your game. If you had shown me even a little of that charm, we could be happily married and living in one of our castles.”

“You are a fool,” she snapped. “I never would have married you. Not for all the gold in England. Look at yourself—brandishing a blade at a woman. Your father would be so proud.”

His face twisted. “Don’t speak of my father, you little wench.”

He stepped forward and seized her by the hair. But at that very moment, a sound like thunder came from the front door. A crash. Then another. And then Barron was flung back into the warehouse, landing with a cry.

Markham released her and spun around.

“What in?—?”

But before he could finish, Eammon burst through the door, Thomas right behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Markham shouted, drawing his dagger.

Charity saw what he intended—he would use her as a shield.

She wouldn’t allow it.

She leaned back, curled her knees to her chest, and with all her strength, kicked. Her feet struck him square in the chest. He staggered backward, losing balance and landing hard on his back.

He kept hold of the dagger, but Eammon had caught up. He tripped over Markham but flung his arms wide and somehow steadied himself.

Markham scrambled to his feet and a flurry ensued. The two men crashed into crates, fists flying.

“Oh,” she gasped, trying to move. In her effort to help, she had torn the skin on her wrist. Blood ran freely now. The pain was sharp and the smell of blood filled her nostrils. Unable to move, for she was now on her side at an angle that would not let her up again easily, she searched for Eammon—and found him still mid-fight. Yet, for a moment, their eyes met and she saw the rage ignite in them when he saw the blood. And then, before her eyes, she saw that Eammon had meant every word. He cared for her. He loved her. And he would stop at nothing to protect her.