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“I beg your pardon?”
“Deeply in debt. Every veteran of the regiment that I’ve talked to since my arrival in England remembers that fact clearly. You were in danger of being drummed out of the army, stripped of your rank, disgraced.”
Jasper’s head reared back as if he’d been hit. “That’s—”
“The massacre at Spinner’s Falls saved you from having to pay that debt.”
Jasper slowly flexed his fingers, and Emeline felt a prickle on the back of her neck at the aggression in the air. “What exactly are you implying, Hartley?”
“You had a reason to betray us,” Samuel stated softly.
“You think I sold my men to the French?” Jasper’s tone was almost casual, but his face was graven.
“Perhaps,” Samuel said in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. He swayed slightly where he stood—he wasn’t as recovered as he’d like them to think. “Or to the Wyandot Indians. The same result in either case. They knew we would be there at Spinner’s Falls. They knew and they waited, and when we came, they killed us all—”
Jasper’s big fists balled, and he took a step toward Samuel.
Emeline knew she had to intervene before the men came to blows. “Stop it, Samuel! Stop saying these things.”
He never took his eyes from the other man. “Why?”
“Please, Samuel, come away from Jasper.”
“Why?” Samuel finally turned his eyes, glancing quickly from her to Jasper. “Who is he to you?”
She bit her lip. “A friend. He’s—”
But Jasper spoke for himself. “I’m her fiancé.”
Chapter Seven
All lauded the captain of the guard for his bravery, strength, and loyalty, although many wondered why such a man would stubbornly refuse to speak even one word. But what really put the feather in Iron Heart’s cap was when he saved the king’s life a third time. The castle was attacked by a fire-breathing dragon, and Iron Heart fended off the loathsome beast with great swings of his sword. After this, the king pronounced that there was only one award fit for such a gallant man. He must guard the king’s most precious possession—the princess royal herself....
—from Iron Heart
“Fiancé?” Sam felt as if he’d taken a fist to the gut.
His lungs deflated, the breath leaving his body with a whoosh as he slowly turned his head and met Lady Emeline’s sweet black eyes.
“We haven’t formally announced it yet, but we’ve had an understanding for ages,” she whispered.
How could this woman be engaged to another man and he not know it? It was as if he’d suddenly lost something that he’d not fully been aware of wanting in the first place. Which was lunacy. She was a titled aristocrat, the daughter, sister, mother, and widow of titled aristocrats. Her world was so far outside of his that he might as well be a child trying to grasp the moon in the night sky.
Impossible.
But he had no more time for further thoughts on Lady Emeline. This was the wrong place, anyway. If he’d not been made ill by the smell of other men’s bodies, if he’d not had that overpowering memory of the massacre, he never would’ve chosen to accuse Vale here. But having done it, there was no point in regrets.
“I didn’t betray us,” Vale said. He was standing casually now, yet the man looked as if he were ready to attack.
Sam tensed.
At the same time, Rebecca touched his shoulder. “Come away, Samuel. Please come away.” And he saw that she was trying not to cry. God, what had he done?
“You didn’t seem insane six years ago when I knew you,” Vale said conversationally. “What makes you think we were betrayed?”
Sam eyed him. Vale had the type of face that one instinctively trusted, a funny, open countenance habitually wrapped in a smile. Of course, Sam had known several men who smiled when they killed. “You were in debt to Lieutenant Clemmons. Everyone knew that.”
“So?”
