Page 33 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Jaxon

I did not have much time to let the news of Amelia’s non-betrothal sink in. I reacted rashly, of course, the moment she confessed, kissing her nearly senseless. The thrill of such a notion might change everything for me… for us. But I could not savor the moment for long, too much was at stake.

Struggling to pull away, I had to focus on the task at hand; turning to the fortification of our home and the protection of its occupants. Though our confinement was nothing like Newgate Prison I had once visited, or even the French woodshed I had been kept captive in, the entrapment felt the same. We could not leave without risking the lives of ourselves and others.

Bless my Uncle Jones for his foresight and weapons preparation. His great room sported many guns, much like the armament in an ancient stronghold, yet without the fortifying walls, drawbridge, or turrets which would come in quite handy right now.

The amber glow of the setting sun caused a stir. With darkness spreading, our ability to see or discern threats diminished. Thankfully, the rain had settled into a drizzle, making the use of torches possible.

Zach, Diggs, O’Keefe, and I went to the stable, located a pile of wooden stakes and, using our knives, we tore up several burlap sacks, tightly tying them around one end of the poles. Saturating the fabric in rapeseed oil, we carefully walked through dusk until we placed each torch in the ground, lighting it with flint and tinder while two men kept their rifles at the ready.

Nothing happened, and we safely returned to the house.

The flames from the makeshift oil-drenched fabric offered some advantage in foresight if anyone approached the house. How long they would stay lit, we did not know.

Once we were back inside, we issued assignments. Claude stood guard at one back window, Zachary at an upper bedchamber window, Diggs near the back door keeping to the shadows, O’Keefe stood watch at the front, and I moved from one place to the next.

We had no notion of what to expect or if the attackers even planned to return. But it was na?ve to believe they would have trekked so far through the woods not to accomplish what they came for.

Such feelings of the unknown and helplessness brought forth memories of my time in France when I could not even recall my birth name. Claude and Henri’s mother called me André, the name that had stuck with me through our joining of the French forces against Britain.

Against Britain .

Would I ever live down the truth that I had taken up arms against my brothers? What if I had injured or killed Zachary? What if I was the one to issue the final blow to Peter who died at Waterloo?

As the clock in the great room ticked with loud continuous pulses, I paced the room. Why had they stopped their attack? Two men harmed in quick succession… then nothing. Had we truly frightened them off? While I did not mind that the action had ceased, it only made me anxious, wondering what their next move entailed.

This got me thinking.

I was missing something… something key.

I walked toward the back of the lodge and cracked the door open slowly to keep the noise to a minimum.

“See anything, Diggs?” The man leaned against the house with his rifle ready, shrouded by several blackthorn shrubs. My uncle used the blue berries to make his own sloe gin.

“Not yet, sir.”

“Not a peep?”

“Nothing.”

I studied him for a brief moment, searching for a truthfulness I never had the need to search for before. “Very well. Whistle or holler if you do.”

Stepping back inside the house, I strode upstairs to where Zachary kept watch at the window in his bedchamber.

“Zach,” I called as I entered the room. “Something feels off. I don’t believe the attackers would have waited this long to strike again.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Mr. Jack!” Jesse cried out.

Zach and I fled from the room, each gripping our rifles. Jesse must not have known I was upstairs, for he was leaning over the second-floor railing, calling out for me, his left arm bandaged and held to his side protectively. When I came into view in the corridor, he waved for me to follow him. “Come quickly!” he added.

“Mr. Jack?” O’Keefe cracked the front door open, showing half of his torso. He looked at me, then over at Jesse. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s Henri,” Jesse said as he walked back into the bedchamber where he had been tasked to keep watch on the wounded man.

A fear shot through me. Had he passed? When I glanced back down at O’Keefe, he remained frozen in his stance, partially inside. I hesitated and asked, “What’s amiss?”

O’Keefe shook his head and muttered, “Nothing.” Though not so low I couldn’t hear him. Pulling his hat lower, he looked up. His voice sounded urgent. “Has your friend awakened?”

Standing at the threshold, I heard a slew of French cuss words rise from within the room as Jesse left the door open. I smiled in Zach’s direction, then answered O’Keefe’s question, “I believe so.” I chuckled. For there was no mistaking Henri’s tendency to vocalize his agony.

Amelia’s footman, Ennis leaned against the wall, gripping a rifle with both hands that shook slightly. As I swept past him, I noted the fear evidenced on his face. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I attempted to mollify him. “Nothing to worry about, Ennis. Henri is simply a poor patient.” With only a single lamp lit, I did not want to chance the young man taking a shot simply from being startled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Be brave,” I added. “Listen carefully for a breach. Do not shoot unless you are certain it is an attacker wishing harm.”

“Y—yes, sir.”

I stepped fully inside the room. “What the devil, Henri?” I said in French and glanced from Henri to Jesse, who attempted to keep the Frenchman down on the bed with the use of only one good arm.

“He’s trying to get up,” Jesse said with a loose grip on him.

I rushed over. “Henri, you’re not well enough to move. Stay still.”

There wasn’t much I understood as my friend continued to speak at speeds that blended into an undecipherable dialect.

“Slow down, slow down.”

By the time he took a breath, I heard him say, “I must get him!”

“We will get him for you.” I peered over to Jesse. “The men and I will get your attacker, I promise you.”

“I can help,” Jesse cried from a few steps away. “Give me a gun, I shoot left-handed.”

“All will be well, Jesse.” I faced my friend once more. “Claude, Zach, Diggs, O’Keefe, and I have it under control.”

Henri practically came out of his skin with my words. Reaching for the bandage, he tried ripping it from his head. Placing my gun against the wall, I practically sat on him to get him to be still.

“No, you don’t understand!” Henri shouted. He pushed me away. “C’était O’Keefe!” he hissed.

“What?” I froze in my stance.

Pointing to his head, he repeated himself, then took my rifle from where it rested, imitating a beating with the stock of the rifle.

“O’Keefe?” My jaw tightened. “What do you mean it was him?” He had to be delirious.

His eyes narrowed and the lines around his mouth tightened. “Traitre!”

Damn!

A wave of nausea rolled over me. O’Keefe? A turncoat? Then the small unconnected pieces came together—his constant questions, his clandestine journey through the woods a fortnight ago, and earlier today, both times the men were injured, it was O’Keefe who chased after the supposed offender.

I took my gun back from Henri and flew out the bedchamber with Zach on my heels, descending the steps two at a time, shouting for Claude.

Claude met me immediately, turning away from his post at the window. His first concern came in his question wondering if something recent had happened to Henri.

“No,” I rushed out in French. “Henri is awake. Jesse is with him. But he identified his attacker.” I caught my breath. “It was O’Keefe.” When the news finally registered, he exploded in anger. I tried to hold him back as he tore off toward the front door where O’Keefe was assigned to protect. Flinging the door open, Claude rushed out. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind the safety of the door, but not before we noticed that O’Keefe was gone or did not make himself known.

Bloody hell.

“We must stay inside. We are already aware of his intent to cause harm. He could be anywhere, hiding behind a tree or a bush ready to shoot and continue picking us off one by one.”

“I will kill him!” Claude said, his face contorting into stone, his eyes flashing with vengeance. Securing the front door, I turned away, trying to decipher O’Keefe’s plan. Did he have additional men here? Or was he acting alone?

My first thought went to the back door and the possibility now that Diggs was working with O’Keefe. They served together on the continent after all.

“Jaxon,” Zachary called. His voice sailing through from the corridor leading to the kitchen, hide room, study, and cellar. “You need to come quickly.”

I ignored the pang in my chest, refusing to erroneously interpret the melancholy in his voice. Each time my name was called today brought a surprise of some kind… some much worse than others. I ran toward him, Claude, right behind.

When I arrived, a weak Mr. Gentry was sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. Mrs. Gentry held a cloth to his nose. Bright red stains soiled the white linen. Zachary hovered over them, giving me a dark look when I arrived.

“I tried to stop him, Mr. Jack.” Mr. Gentry’s words were muffled by the fabric. A sharp sting pierced my chest. The cellar door was ajar, and I could hear muffled cries from below.

I practically flew down the stairs, my eyes darting around in the dim lamp light as I made out the silhouettes of only three women. Anna, Daisy, and Cook who sat upright from a bedroll apparently startled awake.

Three women.

“Where is she?” I shouted. The two maids could not stop crying long enough to answer, but I already knew.

Racing back up the stairs, I heard Mrs. Gentry say, “We couldn’t fight back, O’Keefe threatened to shoot.”

“Where did he go?” I hollered, as I reached them.

Mr. Gentry pointed toward the hide room.

The side door . My heartbeat thundered in my ears. The forgotten door that no one was watching.

I tore off as Zachary reached out and held me back against the nearest wall.

“I have to get to her,” I barked. “She has nothing to do with this!” I tried to fight free of him, but his grip only tightened.

“Use your head, Jax. This is what he wants. He took her so you would do exactly this.”

“Fine!” I shouted. “Here I am!”

“No!” Zach countered as Claude stood before the doorway preventing my escape, though he had just attempted something similar moments ago. Diggs came running from his post, most likely startled over the loud commotion.

My eyes snapped to Diggs. “Are you in on this?” I lunged at him, hands outstretched and clawing for his throat. Zachary and Claude yanked me back, pinning my arms.

“In on what, sir?” He jumped backward at my attempt to reach him, shaking and putting his arms protectively outward.

“O’Keefe attacked Henri, he most likely shot Jesse and now…” I could barely get the words out. “He took Amelia.”

Diggs’s face drained of color. He staggered, bracing himself against the nearby wall, a hand pressed to his forehead. “I suspected something,” he whispered.

“Suspected what?” I snarled through clenched teeth. “Did you know?”

“No.” He jolted upright. “O’Keefe has been behaving strangely for weeks.” He stepped closer, his stance pleading for me to believe him. “I tried speaking with you about this. I saw him slipping out of your study more than once. He kept prying, asking if you had confided in me. He even sent his own letters to London.” His hand dragged down his face as he met my stare. “I could never betray you or Lord Lucas.”

“We have to find her,” I forced out, the words raw and jagged. If anything happened to Amelia, I would never forgive myself.

“We need to have a plan, mate.” Zach retorted with firmness. He was correct, I could not just charge out there without a modicum of smarts. “We need to think this through. He likely took her to draw you out, so we must believe he does not intend to harm her. At least not while she serves a purpose.” He turned to Mrs. Gentry. “Can you manage this, and the women below?”

She nodded.

Zach pointed to the great room. The dozen or so paces it took to arrive in the great room felt eternal, and the guilt that consumed me for not rushing out to search for her tore at my very soul. We were wasting precious seconds discussing this. I needed to get out there and help Amelia.

While Diggs took Claude’s place by the window and continued to watch the woods, Zach, Claude, and I contrived a plan.

“I see movement,” Diggs whispered, his eyes glued to the back window. With the house shrouded in darkness—save the cellar light glowing for the women and the lone flame in Henri’s room upstairs—our eyes sharpened, catching every odd shift in the shadows.

“A man?” I pressed, as the three of us crowded beside him. A faint breeze wafted through the woods, taunting me with every rustling branch and swaying tree that danced in my vision.

“Yes, there—look!” Diggs jabbed a finger, tracking the figure’s steps. “I’m certain it’s human.” We stared, following the motion for a tense handful of seconds. Then I caught it, another shape, darting from a different angle.

Either it was O’Keefe with Amelia, or his friends had truly arrived.