Page 45 of This Laird of Mine

A chill shot through him at the terror in her eyes, in her voice. “My God, who did this to you?” That chill turned to rage.

“Don’t just stand there staring at her,” Nicholas’s voice pierced his dark emotions. “Let’s get her out of here.”

David appraised her quickly, looking for the best way to lift her in his arms. Her hand was hurt, bleeding. He slipped his arm beneath her legs and another around her shoulders and lifted her slight form against his chest. She cried out in pain as David got to his feet, jostling her hand in the process. “We will keep you safe,” he promised, his voice thick.

She tried to lift her head as they shepherded her from the chamber without notice, then down the stairs and to a bedchamber near his own. “You’re safe.” He repeated the words over and over. A chant he hoped was the truth.

Claire stirred from her slumber before dawn. Jules curled against her back. His arm kept her close while his hand cupped her breast possessively, claiming her as his even in his sleep. The closeness they had forged last night lingered deep inside her as she lay there for several long moments. She allowed the silence of the morning to wrap around her.

Satisfaction warmed her and brought a smile to her lips, until she remembered that everything they had shared last night was a lie. Everything about their life together, except their actual marriage, was a dream that could not continue.

In the silence of the morning, she heard rain as it pattered against the window. A flash of light followed by a roll of thunder confirmed that a summer storm had come in over the night, perfectly reflecting Claire’s somber mood.

Slowly, gently, she slipped out of Jules’s embrace until she stood beside the bed. She had intended to reach for her dressing gown, then realized the only clothing she had in this chamber was from last night. She slipped her chemise over her head then moved to pick up her gown when her gaze snagged on a small, wooden box tied with a pretty red bow near the door.

Claire set her gown aside and moved toward what appeared to be a present. She knelt beside the package. A note had been tied to the bow and read, For my darling Claire. He had called her his darling once before, but only in anger . . . She glanced back at the bed, to Jules lying there, relaxed and at ease. How had he managed such a feat while she had been lying curled in the warmth of his arms all night?

Curious, and a little nervous to see what he had left for her, she slid the bow off the box and lifted the wooden lid. A note lay inside.

Penelope can no longer paint.

Claire frowned. What did it mean? She removed the note, then gasped. She felt a sudden cold sickness in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers trembled as she stared at the contents.

A bloody, severed index finger lay inside the box on a bed of dusty-pink fabric. It took only a heartbeat for Claire to remember the familiar face she had seen amongst the crowd.

Penelope.

Claire couldn’t breathe. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Did this all mean Penelope was here, that it was real? Claire drew in a shattered breath and reached for the door latch. She had to find Penelope before something worse happened to her charge.

She grabbed the gown she had thrust aside, slipped it over her head, fastening it quickly before hurrying from the room. She stopped in the hallway. Where would she look? Tears came to her eyes, and she let them fall to her cheeks. Why was this happening? She was doing everything they had asked. She would give Jules up to keep her girls safe, exactly as they had demanded.

And they had harmed Penelope anyway.

“Claire,” Jules called from behind her. “What is wrong?”

When she didn’t respond, he grasped her shoulders and turned her around. Her gaze fixed on his face as agony tore through her. She couldn’t tell him. They made her promise not to tell him anything. She stiffened suddenly. They’d also promised not to hurt the girls.

His eyes darkened with concern as they searched hers. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and held out the box, her decision made. He would hate her when he found out what she had done, but right now she needed his help if she was to get Penelope away from her tormentors.

Jules’s eyes flared as he stared at the contents. He grasped Claire’s hands, searching for a missing finger.

“It’s not mine.”

He frowned. “Then whose?”

“One of my wards,” her voice was raw. It hurt to speak.

“Your what?” His face contorted. “I don’t understand.”

“I have three wards.” She reached for her locket and flicked it open, showing him the miniature of the three girls inside. “Penelope is here, somewhere. I saw her tonight, in the ballroom. The glance of her face was so quick I had assumed it was only my imagination.” A sob broke free. “They promised not to hurt her.”

“They who?”

“The people who threatened me.” She stared into his face, memorizing his features one last time before she pulled free from his grasp and backed away. Her blood ran icy cold.

“Who threatened you?” Jules spoke haltingly.