Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (12 page)

What more could he possibly want? What more could he possibly need?

"Forget about the ship! Are you insane?" Jamie asked. "What would our men do if we didn't come back? And the ship! You know what it means to me. Should I just abandon it?"

Jamie had never had anything to lose, so nothing scared him; nothing worried him. He was the luckiest individual Jack had ever met, and he was unafraid of any fate, even death, itself. He'd almost been killed so many times that the notion of him actually succumbing was laughable.

They didn't remember how they'd been spirited away from Gladstone or how they'd ended up at sea. Their first memories were as indentured boys, with no history, with just their names to link them to what might have been if they hadn't had a despicable, callous brute for a father.

The adults who'd populated their lives were blackguards with no ethics or scruples. Jack and Jamie had been beaten and starved and worked to the bone, betrayed, tricked, and abused. The few relationships they'd established were fleeting, so they'd stopped caring, had stopped reaching out, deeming it better to be alone.

After years of struggling to survive, Jamie had latched onto their ship like a drowning man. He'd been a brash, wild adolescent, and he'd won it with a toss of the dice. He'd cheated to be allowed in the game, then had wagered what he didn't have to steal it from a drunken captain.

The ship was their foundation, their only constant after a life of chaos and turmoil.

For their sailors, they'd hired the most ruthless criminals, picked for their ability to complete any task without balking. The men were unusually loyal, their allegiance purchased with the large amounts of money they made following Jamie, who would risk any dangerous venture if the price was right.

"Give them each a farewell stipend," Jack suggested, "and let them hire on with other crews. Then sell the ship. It would bring a pretty penny."

"Never."

Jack could read his brother's mind. Deep down, Jamie didn't believe he'd get to keep Gladstone. If they awoke some morning and discovered it had all been a peculiar whimsy, the ship would be all they had.

"Then have the crew carry on without us," Jack said. "We can remain here—where it's safe and easy—and they can send you your share of the loot."

"What fun would that be? Are you hoping I'll die of boredom?"

Jack stood and went to the balustrade, staring out at everything he'd ever wanted. As a cold and hungry boy, he'd dreamed of this very spot, though he was positive he hadn't seen it as a baby. So how could he have pictured it so vividly?

He couldn't have described where it was located, or how he'd ever get to it, but throughout his turbulent childhood, the vision had haunted him.

When he and Jamie had first turned off the lane and ridden up the drive to the manor, it had been the strangest impression, but Jack had recognized every fork in the road, every tree in the woods. Now that he'd arrived, he didn't wish to ever leave.

"Get down," Jamie suddenly murmured, cutting into Jack's reverie.

"What?"

"Get down!"

Jack ducked as he heard a loud bang, as a gun flashed out in the forest. In the increasing dusk, he'd resembled Jamie enough to make a good target, but the person who'd shot was too far away to do any damage. Still, it was disturbing to be fired upon.

Jack straightened and raised a wry brow. "You might have warned me a little sooner."

"That's the second attempt in a matter of days. Would it be remiss of me to point out that you're failing in your obligation to watch my back?"

Jack scrutinized the shrubbery, searching for movement. "Should I have a look?"

Jamie considered, then shook his head. "No. I'm sure he's gone. And it's too dark to see anyway. We'll check his tracks in the morning."

"Is it Percy?"

"Most likely." Jamie shrugged, casual as if they'd been discussing the weather.

"I wouldn't have thought he'd have the nerve."

"He might have hired a local miscreant."

"That sounds more like it." Jack gazed at Jamie over his shoulder. "How can you be so blase? Don't these attacks bother you?"

"Yes, but what would you have me do? Shall I call him out? Beat him to a pulp? Have him whipped in the public square? What?"

"He's a pompous ass. Why not? What's stopping you?"

"It's all mine now, and he's about to lose it forever. Why not let him vent his wrath?"

"What if his aim improves? If he accidentally kills you, when you're not paying attention, it will really piss me off."

"If he manages it, you have my permission to avenge me."

"I will—if I'm not busy."

"Thank you, Brother. You're too, too kind."

They both laughed, a companionable silence growing.

"There's a young lad, about ten or so," Jack abruptly said, when he hadn't realized he was going to speak up. "He's living out in the woods in one of the shacks."

"And ... ?"

"He's an orphan; he reminds me of you and me at that age. I'd like to invite him to the manor, maybe teach him to work in the stables. That way, I can be certain he's fed and clothed."

"Fine. I don't give a shit what you do around here. You know that."

Jamie's flip reply was typical of his slapdash attitude, so Jack was used to it, but on this occasion, he was uncharacteristically annoyed. He couldn't figure out if he was so touchy because the boy was Sarah's or because he hated to see another child suffer as they had suffered.

Jamie's nonchalance was so aggravating. When would something matter to him? Would there ever be anything in the world that he loved?

Jack understood that Jamie's detachment was a result of their wretched upbringing. They'd learned— early on—to establish no ties, but their destiny had changed. Jamie could afford to care and bond. It was all right for him to let down his guard.

That's what Jack intended. He would let down his guard, would trust and hope. He was excited to remain at Gladstone, where he had such a sense of belonging. How could Jamie fail to feel their powerful connection to the estate?

"I don't want to go back to London," Jack asserted.

"So you've said. But I've already decided, and I won't argue about it."

It was the tenor of their relationship that Jamie was the boss, that Jamie chose what they would do and when. Jack had never yearned for a path different from Jamie's, so they'd never bickered. When their existence had been so precarious, one place had been much the same as another, so it would have seemed silly to protest.

Jack would do anything for Jamie, even lay down his life, but he wouldn't do this.

"Not this time, Jamie. When you go, I'm staying behind."

Jamie was aghast, as if the spot were Hell on earth. "You're mad."

"No. I want this. I've always wanted this." "You have not."

"I have," Jack insisted. He'd never told Jamie of his verdant dreams of Gladstone, hadn't mentioned how appropriate it had felt when they'd ridden up the lane.

"I belong here," Jack persisted.

"You might, but I don't, and I'm heading out as fast as I can."

"If you find it so distasteful, why did you fight so hard to claim it?"

"Because it's mine, and I wasn't about to let an ass like Percy keep it."

"And that's the only reason?"

"Yes. Besides, I like flaunting myself in London as the earl. I like forcing our father's snooty friends to see me every day. I like having them fume over the fact that I've returned and they can't make me disappear as they did when I was a baby."

"I don't care about any of that. Neither do those horrid old men."

"Well, / care!" Jamie's near shout rang out across the yard, his words echoing off the hills, magnifying the depth of his outrage.

"It's such a waste of energy, Jamie," Jack murmured quietly. "You can't fix what they did to us."

"And your plan is better? You want to lie to yourself and pretend that these despicable people will eventually accept you. Do you actually think they weren't aware that our mother was pregnant with us? You think they didn't comprehend what had happened when we were sent away? They were silent for three decades! I say: To hell with them and this stupid property! They can all rot!"

"I want to get married," Jack blurted, surprising himself with the declaration. He hadn't known that he craved it so desperately.

"Married! What's come over you?"

"I want to settle down. I want to quit traveling."

Jamie stared at him, pondering whether to continue the quarrel or switch to persuasion and coaxing.

"Stay then," he finally conceded, "if that's what you wish."

"It is."

"I'm thirty years old. I guess I can go on alone. It won't kill me. I don't need you tagging after me as if you're my nanny."

"I'll run the place for you. I'll keep it solvent."

"You do that. You be my gentleman farmer."

"And I'll be here, waiting for you, if you want to come home."

"I have no home, and if I started to assume I might like one, it wouldn't be at Gladstone, where such treachery was inflicted on me."

"What about Miss Carstairs?" Jack asked.

"What about her?" Jamie replied.

"She'll expect to build a life with you, to have you be a real husband. She'll want babies to mother."

"What would I do with a gaggle of brats?"

"Once you speak the vows, you'll owe her children," Jack pressed. "Last I heard, it's impossible to sire them from London. I'm quite sure you have to be in the same location as your bride."

"I don't care about her or what she wants. Why would she have any impact on what I choose to do?"

"She'll be your wife!"

"So?"

"Jamie! What a thing to say!" Jack threw up his hands, his exasperation beyond bearing.

His brother was vain and self-centered, callous conduct his normal condition, so his heartlessness was nothing out of the ordinary. But Jack liked Anne Carstairs very much. She'd be a fine spouse for Jamie. With her calm, cool demeanor, she might be able to curb some of his wilder tendencies. Jamie might even grow fond of her, might form an attachment for a change.

"You know I'm only doing it because the Prince made me," Jamie said.

"And if he hadn't?"

"I'd never have picked her."

Jack winced. Jamie meant that he hadn't wanted to ever marry. He thought he'd be a terrible husband, and Jack agreed, but Jamie could be so harsh in his manner.

"Swear to me that you'll never tell her your true opinion."

"How can it matter? She'll be my wife, so she'll simply have to get over it."

"For a man who supposedly knows everything there is to know about women, you're an idiot."

"Why? Merely because I won't pretend to be a romantic fool?"

"Precisely. I just hope to God she never learns what a cold bastard you are."

Anne stood in her room, brushing her hair, when movement out in the forest caught her eye. A distant bang sounded, and she saw a flash. It was eerily reminiscent of the first day Jamie had come to Gladstone, and it was so late in the evening. No one would be hunting.

Was someone shooting at him again?

While she would have happily strangled him with her own two hands, she couldn't imagine him actually being killed, and she was aggravated that the assailant had tried again.

Jamie claimed it was Percy. Could it be? Would Percy dare?

She wondered if, from her vantage point, she might see who it had been. She walked over to the window and leaned out, when she realized that Jamie and Jack Merrick were on the verandah below, their voices drifting up.

If it had been another crack at an assassination, they didn't seem bothered in the least. They were the strangest men she'd ever met. Nothing fazed them. Not even attempted murder.

They were such a magnetic duo, both so tall and dark and handsome. They exuded power and authority, but with a rough edge honed through decades of struggle. She couldn't help watching them, especially when she'd had so few chances to observe them together.

Jack Merrick asked, "What about Miss Carstairs?"

She grinned, delighted that they were talking about her and curious as to what Jamie might say. She was certain she'd hear if not something romantic, then something pragmatic and reasonable as to why they'd be a good match. But of course, as soon as Jamie opened his mouth, she remembered why eavesdropping was such a bad idea.

"What about her?" Jamie answered, his tone dismissive and cruel.

The conversation went downhill from there. Anne was barraged by snippets of it—gaggle of brats...

I don't care about her or what she wants... the Prince made me—and she nearly plugged her ears to shut out the awful remarks, but she couldn't quit listening.

"I'd never have picked her," Jamie said, and the brutal comment cut her to the quick.

While she hadn't expected much from the marriage, she'd assumed fondness would grow, that friendship would blossom. If she bore him his gaggle of children, would he even stay around to be a father to any of them?

A vision of Ophelia, naked and in his bed, blazed in Anne's mind, and she saw years of misery stretching ahead. If he was truly repulsed by her, then he'd never develop any regard for her feelings. There'd be a line of strumpets to humiliate her, and he'd be gone for lengthy periods when she would worry about where he was and what he was doing.

Neighbors would titter behind her back. The servants would assess her with veiled pity. She'd be a laughingstock, the lowly girl who'd put on airs to wed the new earl who'd never wanted her.

Devastated, she collapsed against the sill, and she'd forgotten she was still holding her brush. It slipped from her fingers and tumbled down to the verandah, where it bounced across the smooth stones.

The twins were jumpy, ready to fend off an assault. Jack whipped around with fists clenched, and Jamie leapt to his feet, gripping the hilt of a knife he carried strapped to his waist.

They glared up the wall to where she was staring down on them. As they grasped that she'd overheard every vile word of their discussion, she was mute and horrified. For an eternity, they were all three frozen in place.