Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (17 page)

“Then go,” he said. From the other side of the door, Harry yelled Margaret’s name, a shout followed by a string of rude curses.

“I’ll handle this,” Neal said. “You need a moment to yourself.”

“He’s going to hate me,” Margaret whispered.

“It’s not him right now, Margaret. He has the devil in him. Now, go, you’ve done enough. Let me keep watch.”

“He’s never been this bad,” she said before running for the haven of her room.

Neal turned the door handle, uncertain of what he’d find.

The room was chaos. A chair had been thrown against the door and a side table overturned. Rowan and a footman had their bodies on top of Harry, who was tied to the four corners of the bed with what looked to be Margaret’s scarves. He was doing his best to pull free.

Usually meticulous, unless he was on the prowl for opium, Harry had a day’s growth of beard, and his hair spiked every which way on his head. His face was pale, and his deep-circled eyes seemed to glow with the fire of a thousand demons. The room, its curtains pulled closed and lit by a single bedside candle, smelled of sweat and overindulged drinking.

“
Neal,
” Harry barked out, seeing him at the door. “Come here. Rowan won’t listen to me. Tell them to get off me and untie my hands.”

A stone’s worth of weight formed in Neal’s chest. Margaret was right. They had to do something to stop Harry from destroying himself. Perhaps if Neal had been sterner when Harry had first come home from war, things might not have gotten to this point. This was not what he wanted for his brother.

“I can’t help you, Harry.” Neal had to force the words out.

“
You must.
” Bucking and rolling his body, Harry twisted against the knots holding him down. Rowan and the footman were almost thrown off the bed with the force of his surge. He was wild and seemed to have the brute strength of three men. “I have to have something, Neal. I
must
have it.”

Neal took a step forward. “I can’t.”

“You can’t? You
won’t
.”

“I won’t help you kill yourself,” Neal said. “Please, Harry, I’ll stay beside you, but I can’t let you continue to do this.”

“
You
fear death?” Harry answered. “Then why did you marry, Neal? Why did you give in to the curse? Why do you want me to watch
you
die?”

“Is that what this is?” Neal demanded, moving to the foot of the bed. “You are doing this because of my marriage? Then stop it. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

Harry burst out into a delirious laugh. “We are all dying, brother. You, me, Margaret. We’re doomed. But I need help,” he went on, his voice suddenly taking that pleading note again. “I can’t stand being in my own skin. I feel like I’m being eaten alive—” His voice broke off in a shuddering gasp before he tried heaving his body to and fro and pulling once again on the bonds that held him.

From behind Neal came a voice of strength. “Untie him.”

Neal turned to see Thea in the doorway. She still wore her bonnet and gloves. Her gaze on Harry, she walked into the room.

Harry honed in on her with the sharpness of a hawk spotting its prey. “It’s you that will kill Neal,” he said, his hoarse voice sounding possessed. He tried to lunge at her, to kick out.
“You will kill him.”

The words rang around the room, but Thea showed no fear. She pulled off her gloves and looked to Neal. “What is his weakness?”

He answered, almost unnerved by the force of his brother’s anger. “Laudanum. An old war injury. His leg, it pains him.”

She nodded, but he sensed she knew he wasn’t speaking the complete truth, so he added, “And spirits. He likes the bottle. Gin, port, wine, even Madeira if there is nothing else.”

“We need more of all of it,” she replied. “Will you have someone fetch bottles for me now?”

“Thea, I can’t give him more. I won’t. Margaret is right. This must stop,” Neal said, his voice shaking with emotion.

“It can’t stop until he wants it to, Neal,” Thea said. “You can’t make the decision for him or protect him from the world.”

“Margaret and I want him to be sane enough that he realizes he must change,” Neal argued. “If he doesn’t, he will die.”

“You are right,” Thea answered. “He will die. But having all of it taken away from him before he is ready can also kill him. The man is ill. I know this is difficult to understand, Neal, but we must give him a bit of the laudanum.”

“She’s right,” Harry said before he started coughing. A beat later, his body was heaving. Quick as a blink, Rowan was off him and picking up a bucket by the bed.

Neal watched his brother be sick. He looked to Thea. “He’s a good man. A strong soldier.”

“I know,” Thea said. She reached out and placed her hand on Neal’s arm. “This is hard. I went through this with Boyd. He liked the opium as well. But you must believe me, Neal, your brother is the only one who can stop this. If you force him, he will never change, not truly. He’ll just hide it better.”

Neal looked at his brother, who rolled back on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy, as if he was exhausted, his body slick with sweat.

“This is my fault,” Neal said.

Thea gave his arm a squeeze, a gentle reminder that he was not alone. “He makes his own choices.”

She was right. Neal had done everything in his power to stop Harry, even having servants serve as guards to keep him at home and spies to follow him when he was out. He evaded them. He always managed to have his own way.

Neal looked at his wife. “You can help him?”

“Boyd taught me a thing or two. I do not want your brother to be like this either, Neal.”

Neal looked to Rowan. “Fetch some laudanum.”

The valet walked over to Harry’s clothes press and took out a bottle from a secret compartment.

Neal gave a bitter smile. He’d ordered all of Harry’s vices from the house too many times to count, yet here was a stash. Poor Rowan was torn between loyalty to Harry and loyalty to Neal.

Rowan brought the bottle over to Neal, but Thea intercepted it. Taking the bottle, she said, “Now I want all of you men to leave the room. Go on.”

“
No,
” Neal said, suddenly fearing for Thea. “You don’t know what Harry is capable of when he is like this.”

“Oh, I know all too well,” Thea answered, steely eyed. “I also know that if
you
are here, he will play on every sympathy you have. Go, Neal. You don’t need a hand in it.”

She was right. Still, it was hard for him to walk away. He had to help his brother see reason.

Harry lifted his head and stared at the bottle in Thea’s hand. “Give it to me,” he begged. “Give it to me.”

Neal felt his heart break for his brother. His strong, carefree, noble brother. Harry was too good a man to end this way. If Thea could help him . . .

He left the room.

Chapter Fourteen

T
hea had no illusions about Harry’s feelings toward her. He wanted what she held in her hand and nothing more.

His breathing was shallow as he watched her pour the drug into a glass.

“He’ll need more, my lady,” his manservant said.

“Here,” Thea replied, offering the bottle to him. “Give him what he usually takes, less a bit.”

A tear slid down the manservant’s leathery cheek as he poured the liquid into a glass.

Touched by his emotion, Thea said, “What is your name?”

“Rowan, my lady.”

She reached for the glass, taking Rowan’s hand and holding it a moment. “This is hard. It is hard for Lord Lyon, for his sister, for yourself and everyone who cares for the colonel. But I meant what I said. The only one who can free himself of this is Colonel Chattan.”

“He’s a good man,” Rowan said.

“The best,” she agreed. “We shall pray he has the strength to conquer this weakness. Do you know how much he’s had of both spirits and opium over the last day?”

“He escaped me. I don’t know,” Rowan confessed. “It’s my job to keep him sane. He was very angry about your marriage.” He did not look at Thea as he said the latter.

Harry started pulling at his bonds again, a reminder he was there and of what he wanted.

Thea turned to the footman. “Please prepare some steaming hot water and the largest stack of towels you can gather. Oh, yes, and bring a bottle of—” She stopped, uncertain about what Harry chose to drink. Then she remembered the copious amounts of port he’d guzzled during the dinner they’d had together. “Port. Bring a bottle of port.” Heavy spirits to be sure. She was certain the laudanum had been mixed with gin. Port and gin would be a potent punch.

The footman nodded and left to do her bidding.

“Rowan, please lift the colonel’s head.”

She poured the dosage down Harry’s throat. Harry lapped at it as if he’d been a dog, his eyes closed. She eased up a bit. He literally growled,
“More.”

“Let this settle first before I give you the rest.”

Harry tensed as if to argue but then sank down onto the mattress, reminding her of her sons when they were out of sorts. The colonel hadn’t always been like this. She needed to keep that in mind, especially in the face of his drunken demands.

Rowan squatted on the floor next to the bed in the Indian style. He crossed his arms and began chanting in a low voice.

Harry made a sharp gesture with his fingers, indicating he wished for the rest of the contents in the glass. Thea feared giving Harry too much. The dosage had been a strong one. The colonel opened his eyes, nodded with his chin to the glass she held. He was not about to ease his demands.

This time when she administered the draft, he lifted his head on his own. He lay back down and closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

Thea retreated to a chair by the table. She crossed her arms, hugging her body close. She remembered times like this with Boyd. He’d disappear for days and then drag himself home. She’d sit and watch and pray as his body battled the ravages of his indulgences.

And then one day he’d not come home . . . and she hadn’t known if she’d been sad or relieved. Months later, she’d learned of his death. They said he’d fallen off a bridge and drowned in the river Thames. It had taken time before someone had found her and delivered the news.

And sometimes she wondered if Boyd hadn’t jumped off that bridge, if he hadn’t taken his own life.

Harry’s breathing continued at a labored rate. A shudder went through his body and he began snoring.

It was a terrible sound. Certainly nothing the dashing military man would take pride in when he was sober.

“Is everything all right now, my lady?”

“You tell me, Rowan,” Thea said. “He’s been like this before, hasn’t he?”

Somber golden-brown eyes considered her, and then he nodded.

“Well, we shall see how he does when he wakes,” she said.

At that moment, the footman returned with warm water and linen towels. “All right, gentlemen,” Thea said, rising to her feet. “We have work to do. Rowan, untie and undress him.” She looked to the footman. “Your name?”

“Edward, my lady.”

“Well, Edward, the three of us are going to lay these cloths over his body to sweat out what we can of any poisons in him.”

It wasn’t the choicest of assignments. Edward did not appear pleased. He moved grudgingly toward the door. Rowan set upon the task of undressing his master.

Soon more servants were involved in bringing hot water. For three hours they worked at steaming out Harry’s body. Thea had learned of this treatment from another woman whose husband had suffered from his weaknesses. She’d thought of attempting it on Boyd, but she’d never had the opportunity.

At one point, when Harry turned restless, Thea gave him a bit of port and he seemed to settle down. His breathing slowly grew more rhythmic and relaxed.

“We’re done,” Thea announced at last. “Rowan, your master should sleep through the night.”

“Should I tie him up like Lady Margaret wishes?” Rowan asked.

Thea shook her head. “We can’t keep him tied up forever. We shall have to wish for the best.” She thought of her sons. Neal would have seen to them, she knew he would have, but still, she was their mother. “I must leave.”

“I will keep watch, my lady,” Rowan said.

“Good. Come for me if there is a problem.”

Rowan answered with a deep bow.

Thea opened the bedroom door, realizing she didn’t know where anything was in the house—and then stopped in her tracks at the sight of Margaret sitting in a chair across the hall from the bedroom door.

Margaret’s thick, dark hair was down around her shoulders. Her face was tight and very pale. She rose from the chair. “How is he?”

“As good as can be expected,” Thea said.

“He frightened me this time. He looked dead when they brought him, and then he came to life and just went wild.” The woman’s nerves were stretched thin. Thea knew how she felt.

“The colonel is made of stern stuff,” Thea said. “He will survive this.”

“But will he survive the next time he does it?”

Thea shut the door, not wanting the servants to overhear their conversation. “He needs to give it up,” she said gently.

“I’ve told him that. He won’t. He says he has nothing else in life—” Her voice broke off and she looked away, crossing her arms as if holding in all of her emotion—and Thea saw the curse’s legacy.

The Chattans were not living; they were existing. They had put love, desires, dreams, wants, everything that made life worthwhile on hold because of superstition.

“He misses war, doesn’t he?” Thea said.

“Perhaps. Maybe.” There was a beat of silence and then Margaret said bitterly, “I believe sometimes he is disappointed he didn’t die a glorious hero’s death. He rode into cannon fire. He pointed his horse at where the French were the strongest, and they say he charged them like a madman. And his men followed.” Her voice broke. She tightened her hold around herself. “I know Harry would have willingly died. But apparently he didn’t anticipate that his men would go where he went, bravely. I believe Harry had thought to go it alone. They took out the cannons but at a great loss of life. And now Harry has their deaths on his conscience. He didn’t want to leave Spain, but Wellington’s staff forced him. Some think Harry is a war hero, but there are those many amongst his comrades who fault him for the deaths that day.”

“What does Harry believe?” Thea asked, already knowing the answer.

“He doesn’t speak of it,” Margaret said. “But I believe he is unprincipled and drunk because he wishes he were dead. He doesn’t care about his life, therefore he doesn’t value it as much as his family does.”

Thea had never considered that a man would turn to vices to escape his disappointments. Had Boyd indulged because he’d been unhappy with his life? Unhappy with her?

She had to take a step away.

Margaret raised a hand to dab at the tears that had started falling down her cheeks. “I don’t like to cry. It’s weak.”

“It’s human,” Thea answered, thinking back to the way she had broken down with Neal the other night.

“Tears serve no purpose.”

“They cleanse the soul,” Thea said. “We all need a good soul cleansing from time to time.”

Margaret shrugged her response. “Not in this family.”

“Yes, in
this
family,” Thea declared. “Margaret, you and I can’t save Harry from the demons he faces. But you putting your life on hold is not going to help. You can’t protect him. I know this. Harry must help himself. He is the only one who can. That’s advice that was given to me years ago, and it is true.”

“It may be too late to do anything. You saw him in there. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies as long as he has laudanum and a bottle of something, anything, really. He is not choosy as long as it is spirits.”

“Oh, he cares,” Thea said with complete certainty. “He’s a Chattan. He is made of the same stuff as you and Neal. If he wants to become better, he must learn to forgive himself and to understand that war is made up of men’s sacrifices, honest lives given for a cause.”

“You make it sound simple,” Margaret said, anger lighting her eyes. “You talk as if you know us, and you don’t. You won’t
,
either. Because of your interference, Neal will die shortly, and I will have nothing to do with you.”

On those cruel words, she walked off.

Thea sat down in the chair, shaken. She had not anticipated a joyful reception into the Chattan family, but this was too much. She needed Neal. She had to find him and her sons. Then the world would make sense again.

Of course, she had no idea where they were located in this house, and she assumed it would not be safe to ask Margaret. She glanced around at the portraits on the walls, the shining glass and bronze sconces, the thick carpet beneath her feet.

A footstep sounded on the stair. Relieved to not be alone, she turned to see a tall gentleman of advanced years coming up the stairs. He had the dignified air of a butler.

Thea stood and met him at the top of the stairs. “Dawson?” He nodded. “Please, tell me where my husband and my sons are?”

“They are in his lordship’s room, my lady,” Dawson said. “Please, follow me.”

He took her to the end of the hall and knocked on the door. The valet answered. He recognized Thea immediately.

“Good evening, my lady. You are looking for Lord Lyon and your sons?”

“I am.”

“This way, please.” He opened the door, revealing a sitting room that took up almost half of the second floor. The furniture was designed with hard, masculine lines, and the colors were burgundy and brown.

It was a fitting lair for a Lyon.

“I’m Perrin, his lordship’s valet. Lord Lyon and your sons are in the bedroom. They have been waiting for you. His lordship is entertaining them by reading. I took the liberty of unpacking your bags,” Perrin continued. “We all know you were helping Lord Harry, so I also ordered a tray for your supper.” He pointed to the silver serving dish on a table by the window.

“Thank you,” Thea said. “But what of my sons and my husband?”

“Oh, they ate, and right well, I should say.” He had been leading her across the room to another door, but now he stopped, one hand on the handle. “It is good to hear the sound of children’s voices, my lady,” he said. “All of us have commented on it. You are raising two fine young gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Perrin,” Thea said, pleased.

“Of course, all did not go according to plan.”

“What do you mean, Perrin?” Thea’s mind immediately jumped to some unforeseen disaster.

He raised a finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet, and opened the door.

Thea peeked inside. An oil lamp burned on the bedside table of a massive carved wood bed. On the side of the bed closest to the light were Neal and her two sons, one snuggled up on either side of him, sleeping with a peacefulness that tugged at her heart.

Both boys were in their nightclothes. Their faces appeared freshly scrubbed. Neal wore his shirt, breeches and stockings. An open book rested facedown on his chest, as if he’d been reading and they’d all drifted off to sleep. He had an arm around each boy in a loose but protective hold.

Perrin quietly closed the door behind her, leaving Thea alone with her men and a feeling of such contentment that the ugliness of the preceding hours vanished.

This was what she wanted for her sons.

This was what Neal needed.

Moving quietly so that she didn’t disturb them, Thea prepared for bed. She picked the book up from his chest and read the title.
Robinson Crusoe
. Of course. She closed it. Neal’s eyes opened. He gave her a satisfied, sleepy smile.

Now it was her turn to place a finger to her lips, warning him not to wake the children. She needn’t worry. He wasn’t going to give them up. Still smiling, he closed his eyes.

Thea picked up a coverlet at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over her men. Then she came around to her side of the bed, where her nightdress had been laid out on a chair. It looked very forlorn and dingy amid such opulence. She turned down the lamp, changed her clothes and slipped beneath the covers, turning so that she faced her little family.

They were all so tired that not one of them moved.

She closed her eyes and joined them in sleep.

T
he room was on fire. Thea woke, startled to see flames rising from the handsome furnishings, the upholstered chairs, the drapes, the tables. She must not have turned down the lamp—

Her first thought was of her sons and Neal. She reached for them, but they weren’t there. The bed was empty save for her. She was completely alone—although she could hear a voice. A woman’s laughter.

She had to leave the room. The flames would engulf her. The heat was overwhelming. She put one bare foot on the floor and snatched it back. The floor was on fire. Her foot burned where she’d placed it down.

Flames started up the carved columns of the bed. Thea looked to the bedroom door. It was aflame as well. There would be no help coming from there.