“He is not your father!” the shorter of the two masked men growled.
“Not in blood,” Aaran argued, “but Lord and Lady Duncan were the only ones whoever truly cared whether I lived or died. The Lessiers, to whom my mother sold me, never starved me nor beat me, but they also never permitted me to forget I was not the child for which they had bargained. My leg prevented me from doing many tasks required on a tenant farm. It was only when I came to live with the Duncans did anyone address how I might still prove to be a whole man and how I might move more comfortably in this world in which I had been thrust. So, you may object to my calling His Lordship ‘father,’ but your censure cannot change my heart.”
“Permit him to tend to Lord Duncan,” the man said from his place across the room at the interior door.
Aaran listened closely. It was the first time he could confirm what he and Duncan suspected, but he kept his revelation unspoken for the moment. He turned to where Duncan rested upon the bench seat. “I am here, sir,” he said as he bent over Duncan, who was paler than Aaran wished his father to be.
“I held no doubts you would come, my boy.”
“Permit me to make you more comfortable,” Aaran instructed. “We will start with your jacket and shirt. I fear the accommodations are crude, but we have known worse.”
“We have, son,” Duncan said on a sigh.
“Might I have some soap and water?” Aaran asked over his shoulder to those looking on.
“Who will fetch it?” the tallest of the three asked. “We are not your servants!”
“I shall,” Lady Freya declared.
“Go with her,” the shortest instructed, “but do not assist her. Let her learn what hard work she will face if she aligns herself with the Grahams!”
The middle captor in height, who had remained by the inner door, gestured for Lady Freya to lead the way outside.
Meanwhile, Aaran supported Duncan to a seated position. They did not attempt to talk to each other. Both knew their roles in this charade. Aaran wrestled Duncan’s arm free of both the coat and his jacket and then ripped open the sleeve. “We might use some of the sleeve as a bandage,” he said as he examined the wound. “It does not appear that any part of the bullet is within, sir.”
“Burnt like an iron branding rod,” Duncan grumbled.
“No mere man would be strong enough to bring you down, sir. You are incomparable, and I am proud to be your son.”
“Do not attemptsomething foolish,” her captor warned Freya as they exited the rear of the lodge. Ironically, now that Freya was more aware of the dangers Lord Duncan and his sons faced with some regularity, she was coming to her own conclusions about the Duncan family. Consequently, she ignored the continued warnings. Instead, she set herself the task of not only fetching the water for His Lordship, but also to learning what she could to assist the gentlemen.
Without comment, Freya placed the bucket she had claimed from the kitchen on the hook and turned the handle to lower it into the well. Once the bucket was filled, she reversed the process, which proved to be heavier than she expected, but sheswallowed her complaints and simply remembered the power and control both Lords Duncan and Graham had practiced. She set herself the task of proving herself equally as worthy to be a part of their family as had been all her new friends.
Initially, she had difficulty lifting the full bucket from the hook; yet, she made no sound of distress. At length, the bucket was on the ground.
Her captor warned, “If you spill your load, you shall be wiping up the mess on your hands and knees, where you belong—lower than your aunt, if that is possible.”
Freya barely covered her realization. She wished to turn and confront her captor, but, instead, she bit down on her lower lip to silence the words. It was important to tell Lord Graham what she had discovered.
Aaran looked upto view Freya reenter and said a silent prayer for God protecting her, though there was new strength in the slant of her shoulders and the expression on her features said something had changed. Despite the click of the gun behind him, he took several steps in her direction. “I have it, my girl,” he told her as he caught the bucket’s wire handle with one hand and pried her fingers free of the ring with the other. “You did well,” he added. “Now, assist me with Duncan.”
She nodded her agreement, but Aaran had studied her often enough to know she wished to tell him something she had recently recalled or learned. In that manner, Freya was very much like Lady Annalise.Two redheads, he thought.Both had been restrained by men who thought women should be seen and never consulted. Lady Annalise’s pretend uncle had kept Lady Beaufort under his thumb with psychological manipulation, and Lord Cunningham had done the same toFreya with his constant threats. The ladies themselves will eventually prove those men their true inferiors.
“Should I tear off the ruffle of my day dress?” she offered. “We could use it to bandage His Lordship.”
“I believe we can use the part of His Lordship’s sleeve as a bandage and my handkerchief to tie it off,” Aaran explained, “but we may require the ruffle later.”
“I wish we had some soap,” she told him.
“We will do our best. The wound is not as bad as the last time Duncan was shot,” he told her.
“It is not necessary for you to discuss anything more than cleaning the wound,” the shortest of the three captors ordered.
“As you say,” Aaran reported dutifully as he dabbed at the dried blood on Duncan’s arm and began to clean the wound. In his opinion, the damage was less than he initially expected.
He and Lady Freya worked in companionable silence, though he noted that she continually looked up to where the three captors stood whispering together. “The one… who went… outside… with me,” she said through her teeth and tight lips, “is… Lady… Rayland.”
“I know, love,” he breathed the words. “The tall one is her lover, Mr. MacAlasdair.”
