The Lion's Daughter (56 page)

Through
the buzzing and the rising wave of nausea, he heard someone call his
name. He turned back toward the sound. The red-haired man kneeling by
Sir Gerald beckoned. Varian drew a deep breath, squared his
shoulders, and went to him.

“
SHUT
UP,
“
JASON
warned Gerald. “Edenmont's here.” Edenmont
knelt on the other side, his eyes
fixed on the crimson stain spreading through Gerald's shirt. Gerald's
eyes moved to him. “Look who's
...
back. From dead. A joker, he is,
my brother. Like me. What a
...
trick I played, eh, Jason?”

Edenmont's
head snapped up as though he'd been struck. Repeating the
name, he scanned Jason's face.
“Yes, I'
m
alive,” Jason snapped. “Get
that bag behind you. There's whiskey in it, and bandages.”

Gerald
clutched his arm. 'Tricked you. To get her. Diana for me. The land
for Bridgeburton.” Jason had hoped Edenmont's presence would
stop his brother's tongue, but nothing would. Gasping and choking
between words, Gerald babbled on while Jason changed the bandages.
But the bleeding wouldn't stop any more than the rasping voice would.
Boasting. Of how they'd plied Jason

with
absinthe and wine that night so long ago. That's why he remembered so
little of the game, couldn't recall signing the heaps of IOUs. He
thought he'd borrowed a fortune from Bridgeburton because Gerald, the
brother he'd trusted, said so and he held the notes as proof.

“Never
mind,” Jason gritted out. “You haven't the breath to
spare
—
and
anyhow, I know.”

“Diana
told you.”

Jason
shook his head.

“She
found out,” Gerald went on. “The baby came early. Your
eyes. Hair. Lost my
...
temper. Said things. Not much,
but she
...
guessed.
And I had to be
...
good
...
to the boy. Let her do
...
as she pleased. Or she'd tell
...
Mama Twelve years, Jason.”

This
Jason didn't know and didn't want to believe. Yet he remembered that
last time, how Diana had urged him to hurry back to England. What had
she said?
I fear when I'm gone
...
When she was gone, there'd be
no one to protect Percival from his father. As she had. From his
wrath, from his pernicious influence. By blackmailing Gerald with his
vile secret.

Gerald
turned his head toward Edenmont, who knelt there yet, his rigid face
betraying nothing.

“Never
guessed, did you?” Gerald gasped. “The bitch Diana was.
She let me believe
...
my son
...
was Jason's. Years
...
in my gut
...
gnawing. I couldn't say
...
a word.” He drew in a
rattling breath. “Twelve years. Punished.” His eyes
closed. “Loved her.” A last, rattling gasp, and he was
gone.

Jason
pulled off his coat and covered his brother's face.

“He
was delirious,” Edenmont said stiffly. “Poor devil.”

Jason
looked at him. “He was a filthy, treacherous swine, and she
managed him the only way she could. Lovely family you've married
into, isn't it?”

ESME
RACED BACK toward the quay, the cabin boy charged with guarding her
in hot pursuit. Though she didn't know how long she'd lain
unconscious, she feared it had been too long. The din of battle had
subsided, and the damp air bore a sharp tang of gunpowder. As the
wharf came into view, she saw sailors gathering up the fallen.
Searching the crowd of strange faces, she lit upon a large, oddly
familiar figure. Esme passed her hand over her eyes. Bajo? He lifted
one of the wounded men in his burly arms.

“My
lady, if you please.” The boy was beside her, panting. “Captain
Nolcott will have my head
—”
Esme
waved him back. “My
husband. Where is Lord Edenmont?”

“I
am sure he's all right, m'lady. If you'd just
—”
He
broke off, apparently
transfixed by the same grim sight that had just caught her attention:
a litter, borne by sailors, its human burden covered by a bloody
cloak. “No!” she cried. She ran toward the litter,
thrusting aside those in her way until someone caught her arm. Esme
looked up into the countenance of one of the naval officers she'd
seen earlier. “Please,” she said weakly.

“My
lady, there's nothing you can do for your uncle. The wound was
mortal. I'm sorry.”

Her
uncle. A wave of sick giddiness washed through her, and she swayed.
The officer caught her. “You'd better sit down, my lady.”

Esme
nodded sharply. “No.
No.”
She pulled herself free. “I
must...”

Then
she saw him. Blood and dirt caked his face, and at this distance she
couldn't make out the color of his eyes. His hair, too was thick with
the filth of recent battle, and the dull copper gleam could well have
been blood. His head bowed, he
was
wiping
his
face with a dirty kerchief. She knew him, all the same.

Tears
stug her eyes. Angrily rubbing them away, she moved on unsteady legs
toward him. The officer was saying something
,
but it was only noise to her.
Esme saw the kerchief pause, then drop from her father's
hand.
He
didn't
move, only watched her approach, his mouth creasing slowly into a
smile. The smile made her hurt inside.

Pausing
several feet from where he stood, she set her
clenched
fists upon her hips.

“I
hate you.” Her voice came out high and reedy. “I shall
never
forgive
you.”

Jason's
smile broadened into a grin. “Ah, now, there's my
little
girl.” H
e
opened his arms and with a
strangled sob, Esme shot into them.

Her
father hugged her briefly, then broke away, cursing and staring at
his hands. “Deuce take you, Esme, you're bleeding!”

Chapter
32

UNMOVING,
UNNOTICED, VARIAN STOOD BY THE
Olympias.
He'd started toward Esme, then
checked himself when he saw where she was heading. An involuntary
smile curved his bruised mouth as he watched her stop, take up an
indignant pose, and hurl some epithet at her father. But when she
flung herself at Jason, the smile cracked, and something within as
well.

Avenge
Jason,
she'd cried. She'd been ready
to die to avenge him, just as she'd have sacrificed herself in
Tepelena for the same cause. Now the father she loved so fiercely was
alive
...

Varian
tried to strangle the unworthy thought, but it gnawed at him. He'd
lost her
...
she
was never his to lose. He'd loved her and wed her against her will.
She'd gone with him only because she'd no choice, no one else. She'd
said so on their wedding night.
I
have no one but you.
Now, though
...

She
was his wife, Varian told himself. No one
—
not
even her father
—
could
take her away. Yet he hung back, because her face would tell him the
truth, and he doubted he could bear it.

Then
he heard Jason's angry cry and saw Esme sag in her father's arms.

Panic
surged, swamping all else, to drive Varian across the wharf in the
space of a heartbeat. He wrenched Esme's dead weight from her
staggering father and lifted her in his arms. Her shirt was sticky
with blood, and Jason was bellowing for a doctor. Varian cradled his
wife closer and hurried toward the village.

In
minutes a crowd was swarming about him, everyone talking at once,
advising, warning. He paid them no heed.

As
they neared the buildings, Esme's eyes fluttered open, and she
mumbled in Albanian.

“It's
all right, love,” Varian said thickly. “You'll be all
right. Don't try to talk. I'll take care of you.”

“Put
me down,” she said.

Relief
tightened his chest. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Shut
up,” he said. “You're bleeding.” He made direct for
the nearest respectable-looking establishment, which belonged to a
shipping agent. Varian kicked open the door. “Get a doctor,”
he told the startled man at the desk. “My wife's hurt.”
Esme closed her eyes and muttered under her breath. The man hastily
opened the door to his private parlor, and Varian carried Esme
inside.

As
the shipping agent was hustling out, Jason stormed in, dragging a
doctor with him.

Varian
very tenderly placed his swooning wife on the sofa. When the
physician entered, however, she became sharply alert and ordered him
away.

It
took both Jason and Varian to keep her still while Mr. Fern examined
her. She swore while he cleaned the mercifully shallow path Risto's
bullet had torn at the back of her shoulder, and cursed the doctor in
acutely personal terms while he wrapped her in bandages.

Mr.
Fern stoically endured her abuse, merely remarking that her ladyship
was wonderfully high-spirited. “I'd simply suggest one watch
for signs of concussion. The wound is minor, as you quite rightly
point out, my lady,” he said soothingly. “Still, you have
two nasty lumps
—”

“
Three”
,
she corrected. 'Three stupid men fussing like old women.”

Mr.
Fern made her a polite bow. With equal courtesy he described the
symptoms to watch for and what to do about them.

He
then courteously accepted the coins Jason pressed into hit hand and
bowed himself out.

“I
certainly feel old at this moment,” Jason told his daugh
ter.
“Altogether too ancient for
these high jinks.”

“You
are also dirty and disgusting.” Esme's glance flicked uneasily
over Varian. “Both of you. And do not tell me it is all my
fault. I know well enough.”

“Of
course it's not your fault,” Varian said hastily.

“Certainly
not,” said Jason. “She'd not have been here in the first
place if she hadn't wed a selfish reprobate who can't be bothered to
look after his own wife properly.”

Varian's
face heated, “
In
the first place,
if
you'd bothered to look after your daughter properly, she'd never have
met me.”

“Don't
tell me my duty, you insolent degenerate!”

“I,
at least, did not leave her to a pack of murderous sodomites and
pederasts!”

Esme
scrambled up from the sofa and planted herself between them.
“Aman,
have we not shed blood
enough, but you must make blood feud between you? You will not call
my husband names,” she told her father. “Again and again
he hai saved my life, and all he gets is trouble. You will make no
more for him, Jason. I am trouble enough.”

When
she turned to Varian, the fire went out of her eyes.
I
am sorry, Varian. I am not a good
wife.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his battered
coat.

His
arms went around her. He forgot his mortified rage forgot the
father-in-law who despised him. All that mattered was that Esme was
alive. All he wanted at this moment was to hold her.

Jason
cleared his throat. “I think I'll have a wash,” he said.

LEAVING
HIS SON-IN-LAW and daughter to then maudlin reunion, Jason headed for
the Bridge Inn. After washing and changing, he dispatched a message
to his mother, then arranged with the innkeeper for rooms and a
change of clothing for Varian and Esme. Immediately thereafter, Jason
met again with Captain Nolcott.

Sir
Gerald Brentmor had expressed a wish to be buried at sea, Jason told
the captain. His remains would travel on the same ship with Ismal.

“Two
corpses then,” said the captain. “That boy won't live out
the day”.

So
Mr.Fern
confirmed
a short while later, when he exited the room in which Ismal lay. The
physician had removed the bullet and set the broken hand, though he
was convinced both operations were futile. Sick at heart, Jason
entered the chamber. Bruises made garish welts of color upon Ismal's
ashen face, and his eyes shone with a feverish brightness. Though
he'd scarcely the strength to breathe, he, as Gerald had, insisted on
talking
—
but
to Captain Nolcott. “You cannot deny a dying man's last wish.”
Ismal's once-sweet voice was a cracked whisper.