Standing Alone by Heidi

Part One

It was choking him. Smothered in layers of propriety and multiple layers of heavy clothing, Chris Larabee thought that "fashion" was a misnomer. Suffering was another applicable term; or perhaps strangulation. He longed to be back on his horse farm, dressed simply in a pair of riding breeches and a lawn shirt, instead of this multi-layered stifling dictate of what was "proper fashion" for a gentleman. Chris drew the line at wearing a wig; he wore his hair brushed back in a queue instead, tied with a black leather thong instead of the black ribbon of fashion. Sometimes seeing the wigs twitch from the lice made him nauseous, desperately wanting a bath and distance from the owner. All this pretentiousness ground against his own values, so false and confining versus his straightforwardness.

He cast a look back at the stable, seeing Vin Tanner lead his horse away. A pang of regret touched him while he watched. Not that he really could see much of his head trainer; the large crush of people prevented him from seeing anything but the horse's neck and upper body. It was one of his favorite horses, about sixteen hands high, with equal muscle and heart. The disposition, however, needed improvement. Fortunately, Vin kept a tight hold, not allowing Thor to move his head or use his teeth. How long that lasted was anyone's guess, especially if Thor was in a stall near other horses he didn't know.

Chris knew Vin would take care with Thor and the select others they brought, staying with them until they were settled. He sometimes wished he could be the trainer instead of the Gentleman of Quality who must deal with Society. To wear less clothing, the freedom to be mostly ignored thereby going about without censure or judgment, and to be able to stay away from the huge mass of people here were all things Chris wanted.

However, Vin also walked a challenging line - neither gentleman nor poor man, he was solidly of the working class. Well-respected in his station, often sought out for his expertise, invited to functions like this, but never treated as an equal, and barely a Gentleman, to the supposed civilized class of Colonial Society. Tanner's wild edge - that part of him that announced he wasn't entirely domesticated - frequently gave people pause, or caused them to look down their noses at him. Chris hated that, believed that each man was equal to another, but knew not everyone shared his opinion. In some cases, he was considered at the least eccentric for giving so much freedom and responsibility to his trainer, and for having freed his slaves and now paid them honest wages. Not like the slaves here, dressed in livery and wearing the scent of fear.

Larabee thought making his people wear oppressive uniforms like that was ridiculous; he opted to let his people wear serviceable, sturdy breeches and work shirts. But the visual of Tanner in one of these brightly colored, several-layered, pompous, frilly getups like the ones here brought a smile to his face. He'd teased Vin once about putting him in proper gentleman's dress. The trainer's response of, "Puttin' ya in them instead and hangin' ya from the mast", held just enough threat to make Chris wonder whether Tanner would actually to that to him. He thought his friend might, so Chris refrained from trying. But he would hold the thought for a time when he might get Vin drunk and enlist the aide of the others to help subdue him.

The horse farm owner sighed heavily. Accepting the invitation to Katherine Brattenwrighter's weekend birthday party was not something he wanted to do. However, he knew the strategic value of these things were often well worth his own personal discomfort. People spoke more freely and gossiped in these settings, even though Society dictated they were not supposed to, because each person wanted to show him or herself more knowledgeable than their neighbor. Since everyone at this party except him and Vin were staunch Loyalists, supporting the Crown and all the unfair acts, they often let slip items of interest that served him and the crew of his privateer schooner Vengeance well. Captain of a vessel devoted to protect Colonial interests and shipping during these unsettled times, their legal - and not so legal - actions had gotten a bounty placed on the crews' heads. Information was key to their continued survival and the eluding of the British soldiers ready to hang the crew for what they termed treason. So he suffered for the potential benefits, knowing the colonies needed to escape from the oppressive, strip-it- until-it-was-bare exploitation by orders of England's Crown.

"Mr. Larabee." A feminine voice called him from behind.

Her sultry tones brought him out of his thoughts, treasonous to the extreme in this gathering of staunch Loyalists. He turned to face the newcomer, not having recognized the owner. Of course, far from his own social circles here on the North Carolina/Virginia border, he probably wouldn't recognize any voices. It was only because North Carolina's governor's aide liked Larabee's horses that he was invited to this soiree. But that was not important; presenting himself well here and now was paramount. "Greetings Miss. You have the advantage of me, since I know not your name. Have we met?"

She smiled. "No, we have not. Katherine Brattenwrighter."

He accepted her hand and bowed slightly at the waist over it. She was the guest of honor, the main reason he was here. Turning eighteen, the young lady was experiencing her last weekend of freedom, her upcoming arranged marriage was scheduled for the next weekend. The banns had been read, the license procured, and all that was needed was the blessed date to arrive. Chris knew all this through discreet inquiry with Magistrate Travis. What Travis neglected to mention was she was a very attractive woman, eschewing the customary wig in favor of her own long brown hair swept up in an elegant style atop her head. Ignoring her looks, he remembered his manners and gave her a proper greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Brattenwrighter."

"Likewise, Mr. Larabee. I have heard that your stud service is among the best in the Colonies." She waved her fan in front of her face, leaving only her not-so-innocent brown eyes exposed.

He smirked at her risquι comment, tossing in one of his own. "I pride myself on the services rendered. No one leaves unsatisfied."

"How divine. We must discuss this further." She sidled closer, almost more than propriety allowed.

The invitation in her eyes was clear; she wanted him, and he wasn't blind to her charms. However, tangling with the affianced guest of honor would not be a wise course for him to follow; there would only be stormy seas ahead if he foolishly accepted her offer. "About my horses? It would be my pleasure, but I would not wish to bore a young lady such as you. Nor do I believe your father would find it an appropriate topic of conversation. Mr. Brattenwrighter." Chris inclined his head at the older man taking a proprietary stance beside his daughter. The resemblance was obvious.

"You must be Mr. Larabee, if horses are your topic of conversation. Welcome to my home." They exchanged formal greetings. "Now, Katherine, I hope you have not been pestering Mr. Larabee about his horse farm."

"Father, I find horses fascinating, especially those of excellent quality. Why, I saw one of Mr. Larabee's stallions, and he was fifteen hands if not more."

"Sixteen, Miss Brattenwrighter," Chris gently corrected. The formality was strangling him; he wasn't cut out to be a Society gentleman. He'd rather smoke, wear less constricting clothing, and speak his mind. This sugarcoating every word and making sure it was not inappropriate churned his stomach. His face started to ache from keeping such a pleasant expression.

"Sixteen, oh my. See, Father? Wouldn't that mare you bought me be perfect for breeding?"

"Katherine!" The father gave her a reproving look. "Discussions of horse breeding are not acceptable for a young lady. You will go inside and assist your mother. I believe the ladies are gathering in the parlor."

She nodded her head in acquiesce, keeping her head lowered. "Yes, Father." With a careful turn to not catch her skirts or trip, Katherine left the two men together.

"Willful child," the man muttered under his breath. "Magnificent, willful young lady."

Chris said nothing.

Mr. Brattenwrighter followed his daughter's progress, a touch of pride in his eyes, before turning to face his guest. "Let us cut to the chase, Mr. Larabee, since my daughter has opened the door. I would like to make an arrangement with you concerning your stallion and my mare."

"I'd be delighted to hear it." Inwardly, he thanked Travis for suggesting that he bring some of his prized stallions; the Magistrate had heard that Brattenwrighter fancied himself a horse breeder, and had recently purchased some mares. One mare was ready, and a stallion was needed. His next question got into the specifics of the transaction, the two men walking toward the house side-by-side deep in conversation.

It was a welcome relief to not have to talk to anyone else, or pretend to be more of a gentleman than he was. Brattenwrighter was knowledgeable about horses, asked several pertinent questions, and spoke the informal language of breeders. They went directly to Brattenwrighter's study, having Brattenwrighter's secretary write up an agreement and give Chris partial payment in advance. They made plans for having the stallion and mare get together during the following morning, when the ladies would be involved with their samplers, and the men free to enjoy the afternoon how they saw fit. Festivities would commence in the evening.

A knock on the study's door interrupted the moment; the secretary admitted Matthew Davis, the governor's aide, and arguably the true power in North Carolina's government.

"Mr. Brattenwrighter, Mr. Larabee. A pleasure to see you." He greeted both men formally, completely ignoring the secretary.

"Mr. Mathias, thank you for your assistance. Please make copies of the documents for Mr. Larabee," Brattenwrighter ordered the hovering man.

"At once, sir." The secretary left the room, closing the doors behind him.

"Matthew, no need to stand on ceremony here. You have met Mr. Larabee before?"

"Yes, Chester. I admire his ability to breed exceptional horses."

"Thank you, Mr. Davis." Chris forced a polite smile.

"Since Chester insists on informality amongst us, please call me Matthew."

"Chris, then."

"And you must call me Chester, also. It's not often two men will create life."

Davis started slightly. "You have already reached an agreement?"

"Yes. But I'm sure the stallion will be more than happy to do more work." Brattenwrighter bobbed his eyebrows.

"Chris?"

"Thor's endurance has been quite remarkable." How he managed to get that statement out with a straight face was beyond him; he detested Matthew Davis for all he was doing both legally and illegally to thwart the colonists' grumbling against unfair acts by the Crown, and the idea of going into business with the man was reprehensible to him. But if he wanted to succeed and continue to have everyone believe he was a Loyalist, Matthew Davis could keep him - and by extension the Vengeance crew - informed and close to the inner, planning circle of government. To do that, he needed to earn this man's trust, and his impeccable behavior here, along with making deals with the devil, were required. He spoke, "I think you will be pleased with the results, but if you prefer a different stallion, I brought six total."

"I inspected all of them prior to coming inside. I found Thor rather exceptional."

"Thank you." Chris managed a real smile.

"I noticed Neptune was of a gentle nature. Interesting name for a horse," Davis mused.

"He washed - or should I say swam - ashore off Portsmouth Village after a storm. A childhood friend found him, could not find his owner, and gifted him to me. His fascination with water earned him the name." Chris related the horse's history easily. Inwardly, he was reminded why he hated these things so much: because he had to talk so often. "He has become the king of bathing in one of my ponds."

"I do prefer cleanliness. Would you be amiable to an arrangement involving both Thor and Neptune? My daughter wants to raise a foal, so I prefer a gentle demeanor from the sire. The mare I have in mind is quite docile."

"I would."

The door burst open. A young man of about twenty-five years stormed in, anger on his patrician face wearing a tight expression. His clothes were finely tailored, of rich material, and of the latest fashions. He filled out his clothes, showing muscle definition. A proper Gentleman put together, until he opened his mouth, the words tinged with disgust. "Your daughter, Mr. Brattenwrighter, requires your firm hand of discipline."

"Mr. Pierce, might I introduce Mr. Davis, aide to Governor Martin, and Mr. Larabee, an esteemed guest?" Brattenwrighter's tone was firm and full of censure. "Gentlemen, my future son-in-law Gerald Pierce."

"Mr. Pierce," Davis acknowledged.

Chris tipped his head, sick of the gesturing; yet not wanting to say it was a pleasure to meet this man. So far, he'd seen nothing pleasurable, and the man's tone of voice was not annoying, but it was not pleasing to the ear.

"My apologies for the interruption." Pierce forced a smile. "I will come back another time."

"No, you are here now, and you have already made a telling statement. Close the door and explain your words. I will not have my guests believe me, my family, or my future son-in-law rude."

Pierce flushed. "Forgive me; I spoke out of turn."

"You have a complaint against my daughter? Which one - Katherine or Clarissa?"

"Katherine, sir. She informed me you were negotiating a horse breeding, and stated she intended to attend the mating. Absolutely scandalous."

"My daughter's interests are in my stables. She has been told previously, and will abide by, my desire for her not to be present. Perhaps you misunderstood her intention for fanciful thoughts?" Brattenwrighter stared hard at Pierce.

"You may be correct, sir." Pierce looked most uncomfortable after the gently phrased rebuke. "Rest assured, once you have given her to me as wife, her days will be filled with interests relating to our estate."

"Undoubtedly, once - and if - she has become your wife," Brattenwrighter agreed.

It was all Chris could do not to roll his eyes, or leave the room. Watching them politely cut each other to the quick disgusted him; he preferred directness without the false veneer of niceness. He definitely did not want to get in the middle of this brewing family squabble.

"Such melodrama," Davis said soft enough for only Chris's ears. "However, Chester has become quite the supporter in these troubled times."

"One must make allowances," Chris retorted, barely able to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"Quite." Davis cleared his throat. "Gentleman, if you will excuse Mr. Larabee and me, I have further questions for him regarding the horses."

"Of course," Brattenwrighter said.

"Certainly. Again, my apologies." Pierce stepped out of the way.

Much as Chris disliked Davis, he was not above using the man's excuse to leave the private family discussion. They walked quietly to the stables, only stopping long enough to exchange greetings and introductions with persons Davis felt worthy enough to acknowledge. The man's running commentary helped enlighten Chris in who dealt with what and whom, minor information that could prove useful in the future. Their arrival in the stables went unnoticed in the crush; it seemed the men were gathered in one section of the massive, interconnected buildings.

"Your horses have drawn the attention they deserve," Davis commented.

Before Chris could respond, the crowd parted to allow them through. Immediately, Larabee noticed Vin's pensive expression, along with the addition of several soldiers. From the way Tanner kept his head low, tricorn hat forward, and Thor between him and the soldiers, there were even bigger problems. In fact, it appeared Vin was encouraging Thor to act up to create space between the press of people and the horses.

He saw his grooms protectively positioned around the other stallions, but the gentry trying to get a better look seriously outnumbered them. Not caring for rules of acceptable behavior, he positioned himself between his horses and what he considered the crude horde. He ignored the shouted barrage of questions.

"Gentlemen." With a single word, Matthew Davis quieted the throng. "I believe Mr. Brattenwrighter wished everyone inside to formally welcome one of all. Mr. Larabee's horses will be here for the weekend. I do believe we will have time to view them properly without further upsetting these magnificent and high-strung beasts."

The crowd dissipated, moving in groups toward the house.

"My thanks," Chris said to Davis.

"Quite welcome. I feared for the horses becoming more agitated. Ah, I see your trainer now has Thor well in hand."

"He has much skill with them." Chris followed Vin's line of sight, seeing the three soldiers to his left, the main culprit for Tanner's unease. Vin's history with some British soldiers south of here left permanent scars on both his body and his soul, along with a tangible distrust of anyone wearing the uniform.

"Mr. Davis, might I have a moment?" Wearing captain's rank on a red uniform pressed to perfection and free of even travel mud, the thirty- something broad-shouldered soldier waited patiently.

"Of course, Captain Darton. You bring news?"

"Important news, sir."

"What is it?"

Darton looked past Davis to the grooms, Tanner, and Larabee. The rest of the crowd had left them alone in this section.

Chris feigned disinterest, moving beside Vin and speaking softly.

"Go ahead."

Captain Darton lowered his voice. "Sir, the Vengeance has struck again. Last night."

Larabee's heart pounded in his chest; there was no way that his schooner, the Vengeance, would have sailed without him, the captain. He continued his supposed conversation with Vin, making certain to visibly show he had not heard.

"What? Where? Details, man." Davis waved a hand for Darton to continue.

"A sinking right off Ocracoke. One of Stewart James's ships barely cleared the Banks when it was attacked, boarded, and sank. Soldiers on lighthouse duty saw it all, sir. The vessel even ran up the surrender, yet the colorless Vengeance stole the cargo, set the crew adrift, and sank it. The ship could have been recovered and taken for prize, but they scuttled it anyway. I was given the news on the road here, and hastened to reach you."

"Colorless Vengeance?"

"Yes, sir. They were most clear on that. No flags, colors, or markings."

"Did the survivors see the jib?"

"Sir?"

"A sail with a skull and crossbones, dagger and blood coming from one eye?"

"I know naught of what you speak."

"What description was there of the boarders?"

"All cutthroats. Unkempt, unwashed, heavily bearded."

"I see. A ruse, then."

"Sir?" Darton questioned again.

"What made the survivors believe it was the Vengeance responsible?"

"The boarding crew. They told the captain 'Compliments of Captain Vengeance', then laughed. I quote the line directly for you, sir."

"Doesn't that complicate the state of things," Davis mused aloud. "Governor Martin has been told?"

"My messenger informed me a rider was dispatched posthaste."

"Send your fastest rider from here to New Berne with a message from me to the Governor. 'Do nothing with this information'. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Also post two men in the stables, if you please. I would prefer my horses - and Mr. Larabee's - are well protected." Davis raised his voice. "Mr. Larabee."

Chris separated from Vin briefly. "Yes, Mr. Davis?"

"Would you object if Captain Darton assigned someone to assist your grooms in keeping the guests from harming your stallions? I fear the informal gathering later this evening on the South Lawn will put many a man too far into his cups."

"A drunken man should not be near horses, unless that man knows them well. I would be grateful to Captain Darton for the guard."

"Two of my men prefer the company of horses to that of large gatherings. Your horses will be quite safe, gentlemen," the officer said.

"Excellent," Davis said. "Captain Darton, please accompany me to the house. I have questions, if you don't mind."

"Certainly. Mr. Larabee, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, Captain. Mr. Davis, I will be up directly after one final check."

"Of course. The overprotective papa." Davis smiled at his joke, leaving with Darton and the other soldiers. One enlisted man stayed several paces away, out of hearing range.

"I ain't stayin' here with them here," Vin nodded subtlety toward the retreating soldiers. "Ain't safe fer me."

"Is there going to be a big problem?" Chris asked. "Do you need to leave?"

"Couple look familiar," Vin admitted. "They stared hard but don't think they recognized me. Leavin' only makes them think. Still don't trust 'em, snakes are more honest."

"Brattenwrighter set up temporary cabins for the indentured servants, maids, and valets on the North Lawn by the woods. Take some of the boys and stay there with them, and leave the other grooms here with the horses."

"Grooms can stay in a cabin. I'll camp in the woods."

"Why am I not surprised?" Chris gave his friend a wry grin.

"The woods are safer than bein' around people. They only cause trouble. Speakin' on trouble, been thinkin' Davis knows it weren't Vengeance."

Chris nodded. "Not our style."

"James sank his own ship to blame us."

"Why?"

"All this propriety wipe out yer brain, Larabee? Hell, it's pretty simple, even fer ya t'follow. He gets his backers t'buy him a new ship, pay fer the lost load, and he keeps the cargo. He can sell it fer straight profit on the black market with no one the wiser. This was payback fer what we did t'him and his pirates not t'long ago."

"Just checking to see if your brain made the trip with you."

"Go t'hell, Larabee."

Chris laughed.

"Better yet, go back t'the party 'fore they miss ya too much. Why they would, I couldna guess."

Larabee glared.

Vin smirked. "Leastways I can stay here fer a time. I ain't hoity- toity enough fer the formal dinner."

"Be glad." Chris walked toward the house, dreading the entire affair. He would probably be forced to accompany some simpering miss friend of Katherine Brattenwrighter to dinner, a look of hope in her eyes to snag him into marriage. He shuddered.

It was worse than he thought; his tardiness left only one partner open to him - Brattenwrighter's older daughter, Clarissa. She was apparently unmarried, twenty-three or so, and decidedly spinsterish in manner. Porcupines had fewer sharp quills than this woman's prickly demeanor.

"Miss Brattenwrighter, I am Chris Larabee, your dinner partner. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Mrs. Kingston, Mr. Larabee," she sharply corrected. "I am a widow, not a spinster."

"My apologies, and condolences," he said sincerely. "I was only told by your father to find Clarissa. He gave me no indication of your married and widowed status."

"How like him to be so rude." Her nose aimed straight for the ceiling.

She was going to try his patience, he decided. "Again, I meant no disrespect, Mrs. Kingston. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?" He held out a bent arm for her to place her hand upon.

"Since you were foisted on me, I accept. To do otherwise would be rude." She walked on his arm to the formal dining room, leading him to seats near the head of the long table. He sat with Davis on his right, Clarissa to his left, and across from Katherine.

So began one of the longest meals of his life to date. Brattenwrighter gave another speech of welcome, followed by the beginning of several full courses of food. Clarissa ate without participating in any of the several conversations around her. He made several attempts - a record for him - to get her talking, but her curt replies discouraged him from trying further.

After he ate too much of the rich food and realized there were more courses coming, misery set in. He rarely gorged himself like he was doing here; a simple meal often filled him quite nicely. Yet, he silently cursed, here he was required to partake of, and at least sample each and every dish. His pants tightened, his stomach felt bloated, and conversation stilted around him.

Just when he believed he would be rude and excuse himself from the gluttony, he felt something on his leg. More specifically, he discovered the feel of a lady's silk covered foot rubbing his woolen hose. His eyes rose from his current plate to see Katherine giving him a small innocent smile. Knowing this was completely improper he tried to pull his leg free. He shook his head slightly at her in warning.

Katherine's smile widened. "Mr. Larabee."

"Yes, Miss Brattenwrighter?" Somehow he maintained a pleasant expression.

"I understand you live near the coast. Pray tell if you find life as stimulating inland as I do. Here we may watch things grow."

Her foot was now in his groin, her toes wiggling where they were not supposed to be. He shifted in his chair, attempting to hide her brazenness and maintain his dignity. "Stimulation depends on personal preference. Whereas I live outside our fair New Berne, on the Sound as opposed to the sea, my dear friend lives in Portsmouth Village. We agree our respective locations can be satisfying and dangerous at the same time."

"Forgive my ignorance in geography, Mr. Larabee, but I confess I do not know where to find Portsmouth Village. Is it high or low on the coast? A large growing town, or a small, sturdy serviceable hamlet? Would one go for a fast, thrilling visit, or a long, protracted stay? Or more than one visit for the fullest experience?" The entire time she spoke, her foot explored up and down, despite his attempts to dislodge her without drawing undue attention on either of them. Her words held double meanings, and he figured it was time for payback.

Slipping one hand beneath the table unnoticed, he latched onto her foot in a strong grip. If she wanted to play dangerous games in front of those she held in high esteem, then he would show her the consequences of those actions. Taking his thumb and placing it in the arch of her foot, he began rubbing slow circles, not allowing her to try to pull free. "Regarding your question about Portsmouth Village, Miss Brattenwrighter, it is as untamed as our country's western borders, and mayhap more dangerous. In fact, navigating its rocky shores has become only an endeavor for the truly experienced. The inexperienced or those too bold for their own good will find themselves out of their depths. Floundering in the ever-changing, tricky currents." He let her foot go and pushed it away, pleased to see he had turned her on and flustered her by her reactions.

Her face was flushed, her eyes darkened, and she nearly panted. "Oh, my."

"Spoken like a sailor, Mr. Larabee. Did you serve in His Majesty's Royal Navy?" Davis asked.

"No, sir. My father owned a shipping business, and he insisted that I learn every position in his company to properly run it. He believed being knowledgeable would prevent errors through ignorance. I worked my way through shipping and receiving, to cabin boy, and upward to captaining my own vessel."

"Yet you raise horses. Quite a change of heart, not to mention professions, Mr. Larabee." Pierce finally entered the conversation, shooting a perplexed look at Katherine's flushed complexion.

"Yes, it was," Chris replied. "For the love of a beautiful woman, a man will make sacrifices, take stock of his life. I did, having years of happiness with my wife and son. If I understood Magistrate Travis correctly, may I offer congratulations to you and your lovely fiancι, Mr. Pierce? Your nuptials are next week?"

"Yes, and thank you, Mr. Larabee," Pierce answered.

"Yes, thank you," Katherine echoed, her eyes granting him the point in outmaneuvering her.

"A toast," Brattenwrighter called from his head of the table position. "To my lovely daughter on her birthday, and my future son- in-law's happiness."

"Hear, hear," the company echoed.

"What happened to your wife and son?" Clarissa asked when the glasses lowered.

"They sailed to meet me in Savannah. Their ship -" he cut off to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat, "- was lost at sea." He fell silent.

"How tragic!" Katherine exclaimed. "My condolences."

He listened to everyone else within hearing offer their sympathy, and he made the appropriate replies. The rest of dinner blurred for him, when the ladies left, he stayed with the men only long enough not to cause offense. After checking on the horses, he opted against finding Vin with the other servants and retired to the guest room assigned to him. It was small, yet down the hallway from the family. Either Brattenwrighter really wanted Chris happy with their arrangement, or his sudden good friend status with Matthew Davis earned him this room in a position of honored guest.

It didn't matter; he was too caught up in his memories to give more than a passing thought to the room. He fell into a tormented sleep, dreaming of remembered happy times and imagining those final moments in flame. Were they dead before or after the fire started? He hadn't found out yet, and that was one of his own tortures.

Part Two

A discreet yet loud knock woke him from his blessed unconscious state.

He called out, "Yes?"

"Sir, Mr. Brattenwrighter requests your presence at the family morning meal in a quarter hour."

"Where?" He cleared his throat, detesting the frog-like sounds coming from his scratchy, sore throat.

"I will escort you, sir."

"I accept the invitation. Please return for me in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Once he heard the man's retreating footsteps, he groaned. He didn't sleep well at all, and his head felt woozy. Perhaps the night's tears of loss did not help soothe his throat. This did not please him; nor did having to rise to greet the Brattenwrighter family. Well, he accepted the unexpected invitation because it would be beyond rude to do otherwise, and rolled out of the bed. He took care of his needs, then washed up in the basin provided. What disturbed him was the heated water; that meant a servant entered without his waking. A quick checked showed no lock on the doors, nor was there anything amiss with his belongings.

He shaved quickly, then set about the long process of dressing like a Gentleman of Quality. Horse dung, he thought. It would have been easier to have a valet, yet he refused to bring his man here. He doubted this so-called enlightened group would understand Big Luke's deft hands. Nor would he subject the freed slave turned valet to the obvious prejudice of these slave owners. Big Luke deserved better.

First he started with the white lawn shirt, made of a very fine material that stretched to his knees. Next came his navy breeches, his shirt tucked into the knee-length soft wool pants. His waistcoat went over the shirt, a lighter shade of dark blue embroidered with a simple pattern in varying shades of blue. He sat for the next part. His hose, the part of the outfit he detested most, slid on up to the bottoms of his knees, tied tight to prevent slippage. The edge of his pants hung over the tops, not allowing them to show. He pulled on his boots, then stood to yank on his jacket and button it.

By the time the servant returned, Chris finished tying the last part of his outfit - the choking device. Cravat was the proper name for it, he reminded himself. He followed the man to a small eating area just off the large dining room, joining Brattenwrighter, his wife, Matthew Davis, Katherine, Pierce, Clarissa, and a woman he had not met protectively positioned by Katherine.

"Mr. Larabee, welcome. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Brethsby, Clarissa and Katherine's governess. Well, Katherine's until her marriage," said Brattenwrighter.

With sharp features, a disapproving expression, and a rather forbidding demeanor, Chris believed she could face a hurricane's full force and make it back down. Instead of vocalizing his less-than- complimentary opinion, he said instead, "How do you do?"

"I have been better, Mr. Larabee, but thank you for asking."

"Shall we be seated?" Brattenwrighter suggested.

Again, Chris found himself beside Clarissa. He wondered if his appetite - grown stronger from the labor of getting dressed - would be killed because of her or Mrs. Brethsby. Both were enough to turn his stomach.

He needn't have worried. The fine fare was more than tempting and he stuffed himself full again. Not to the painful point of last night's dinner, but a good sense of sated. Even better, Katherine only gave him coy looks instead of fondling him with her foot beneath the table. The streaming sunlight probably prevented her; last night's muted candlelight and long tablecloth covered most inappropriate behaviors.

They adjourned, the men headed for the stables to complete their transactions. Brattenwrighter had built a smaller barn and corral away from the main stables, and the horses were led to the corral. Since Neptune only had one service, he went first, and all agreed that there should be a foal forthcoming.

It was Thor's turn, and Brattenwrighter allowed Davis's mare to go first. Since the mare was as spirited as Thor, there was quite a battle for domination. When the now-docile mare was led away, Chris noticed Katherine on the other side of the corral, her governess tugging on her to leave.

"Miss Brattenwrighter followed through with her fanciful thinking," Davis murmured to Chris.

"Yes. I wonder if anyone else has noticed." He looked around.

"No, because Brattenwrighter's mare has arrived. A most excellent stallion, Chris."

"My thanks for the transaction, Matthew. I fear your foal will come out kicking."

Davis laughed. "Even better. I would go check on my mares, but I believe the excitement here will be more impressive."

Chris looked to see Captain Darton escorting Katherine to their group. She looked furious to have been caught, and the fiery glares at Mrs. Brethsby were rather telling as to whom was responsible.

"Mr. Pierce, it was my pleasure to bring your fiancιe to you." Darton bowed and offered Katherine's hand to him.

"You are most welcome, Captain. My thanks for your escort." Pierce accepted her, a false smile on his face. Disapproval radiated from his entire body posture.

"Katherine! I thought we agreed this was not a place for a lady," Brattenwriter reproved.

"Father, you have allowed me to watch Willow since we purchased her. I just wanted to be here when she becomes a woman for the first time. Almost fitting, since I will become a wife and leave next weekend." Katherine turned pleading eyes on her father.

"Let her stay," Davis suggested. "It pleases me to see a young person so interested in this business."

"I object most strenuously," Mrs. Brethsby said forcefully. "A lady of breeding does not belong here."

"Your concerns are noted, Mrs. Brethsby. However, I wish to share this time with my daughter since I will be giving her away into marriage in one short week. Come, Katherine. Stand beside me."

The excellent breakfast felt heavier in his stomach the longer Chris watched these people. Everyone seemed intent on ruining every event with some type of bad behavior or supposedly scandalous action. The sooner tomorrow came, the sooner he could leave this place behind. He did not comment on the baleful glares both Pierce and Mrs. Brethsby gave Katherine for getting her way; nor did he speak on Davis's small grin. Captain Darton's amused countenance was not worth mentioning aloud, either. He focused his attention back into the corral.

If he thought Davis's mare was spirited, Brattenwrighter's outright refused to participate. She even bit Thor in the side to keep him away. That only excited the stallion, which went after her with significant vigor. He won, crushing her resistance until she agreed and participated.

"Papa, does it not seem she acts the part of the discontent Colonists? Much protesting, but still submitting to the stronger will of the British?"

"Miss Brattenwrighter!" Mrs. Brethsby exclaimed. "You will not speak of that. Come now; the event has ended."

"Go with Mrs. Brethsby, Katherine." Her father kissed her on the forehead. "Speak no more of politics, my dear, since we have guests who might not understand."

"Yes, Father." Katherine meekly followed Mrs. Brethsby toward the house.

"Forgive her; the fault is mine." Brattenwrighter sighed. "I wished my daughters to be educated to understand the world around them. I'm afraid Katherine took those lessons more to heart then her sister. Sometimes my child tends to forget her restrictions."

"And her place," Pierce muttered. "That will change in my home."

"Of that I have no doubt." Sarcasm dripped from the father's tone. He warned, "Have a care not to crush her spirit."

"Yes, sir." Pierce obediently lowered his eyes.

"Mr. Larabee, my thanks for bringing such excellent horses." Brattenwrighter turned to Chris.

"My thanks for your patronage, gentlemen."

"I suggest a morning ride. It should clear our heads and prove invigorating." Brattenwrighter smiled. "The South Lawn in about an hour?"

Those assembled agreed, and the group scattered. Chris went with Vin and his horses back to the stables. He was disturbed by Katherine's use of Thor to analogize the Colonial resistance to the British Crown's unfairness. More and more he felt like he was staying in a snake pit waiting for someone to make the first strike.

"Ya all right?"

Vin's voice shook him from his reverie. "When we leave, I will be." He kept his words soft so only his friend could hear.

"Ya ain't alone in that thought."

"Great work with Thor and Neptune."

"Hell, both of them were itchin' ta work. Neptune's docile, and Thor's fighting sleep. The others can smell it, and they're a little restless."

"I wouldn't be surprised if the other guests make offers. Since I will be stuck playing esteemed guest with the family, go ahead and make arrangements. Brattenwrighter gave permission, provided he and Davis received first services."

"I'll take care o'it."

"The soldiers? Are they bothering you?"

"Ones I worry about are stickin' t'the house. Seems there's plenty o'maids."

"And men willing to lift their skirts," Chris wryly added.

"Speaking o'skirts, watch fer the older daughter. Heard tell yer gettin' cozy with her."

"Hell, no. Formal obligation." Larabee shuddered. "Buck wouldn't even want to try."

Vin laughed. "That sayin' somethin'. Serious now, keep yer distance. Seems she's got a Scandal attached t'her name, and Brattenwrighter's tryin' t'unload her."

"Oh?"

"Miss Mary Lou, Davis's valet's wife, knows the stories on everyone. Her kin live near here. Said the oldest daughter's marriage was arranged, and the groom didn't like her."

"Buck would say she has more thorns than a rose's stem."

"She didn't deserve what happened. They got along fer a few years, but he didn't stay true t'her. Seems he thought he had rights t'the slave women, too. Got murdered in one's cabin, the girl slave too, and the poor girl was carryin' his child. When the dust settled, the authorities found five more kids he had by the slaves. His family raised a hue and a cry, sayin' the wife was too cold fer him."

"They catch who killed him and the slave girl?"

"Nope. Thinkin' was a slave man mad at the master fer abusin' the women."

"Yet another reason I detest slavery," Chris said.

"No man can ever own another person."

They shared a smile, a silent reaffirming of their friendship and similar beliefs.

"Any more I should know?"

"Dead man's family inherited because there were no heirs; booted the wife out with only her clothes and heirlooms from her side of the family. Sent her home in disgrace. Miss Mary Lou thinks the woman grew cold and mean because o'it."

"That would explain it. Hey, did you realize you've talked for five minutes?"

"Ya ain't gotta be rude. Reckon yer hangin' around those la-de-dah's too much. They're rubbin' off."

"Then I will depend on you to keep me grounded."

"Gimme one swing and I'll ground ya inta the hay." Vin's blue eyes twinkled.

"You have to swing first." Chris grinned back.

"Ya won't see it comin'," Tanner promised. "What do ya plan t'do today? Smoke cigars, drink brandy, and sit on yer arse all day?"

"We're going riding in a short while. Who do you suggest?"

"Neptune. He's done fer the day, and the others are fresh. 'Cept Thor, o'course; she bit him good. He needs rest."

"You expect one more round out of him?"

"Maybe. I'll have t'think hard on that."

"Poor Neptune."

"Neptune's lady will harm him more if he comes back battered. Ursula's jealous."

"She is that." Chris smirked. Neptune found a mate in Ursula, one of the most even-tempered mares he owned. He was seriously taken aback when they brought Neptune back after a week's work, and Ursula bit him every chance she got. Vin finally resolved things by having the two in a corral overnight under Vin's watchful eyes until the horses got along with each other again. Then he tended the wounds, but the humans learned Neptune was not a horse to be overused.

"Guess we better get him ready. Don't ride him too hard," Vin warned.

"I won't."

"No jumpin'."

"He's not a jumper," Chris responded.

"No steeplechase."

Larabee rolled his eyes. "Yes, Father." He dodged the punch, but not the kick. His shin throbbed.

"Go get inta ridin' clothes, ya fool. That outfit you'll only split yer pants."

Chris glared, then retreated to his room to change into a more appropriate riding outfit. He hoped the ride would go quickly.

Captain Darton rode abreast with Chris. They conversed on several topics, but Larabee knew the Captain had something on his mind. He was content to let the soldier broach the subject first. It took nearly an hour.

"Mr. Larabee."

"Chris," he offered. All the "Mr. Larabee's" were grating on his nerves.

"Thank you. Please call me Paul."

"Paul," he acknowledged. "You seem to have something weighing on your mind. Might I be of some assistance?"

"Since you have offered, may I ask a question of a personal nature?"

"I may not answer."

"I accept that. What is your interest in Clarissa? I mean, Mrs. Kingston?"

"Mr. Brattenwrighter has graciously placed me as her partner. If you are asking if I have any romantic notions, rest assured, I do not. I still grieve the passing of my wife and son."

"My condolences, Chris."

"Thank you, Paul. May I infer you have an interest?"

"Yes. It was dreadful how she was mistreated. Her husband was murdered, and she bore the Scandal from it through no fault of her own. I sincerely hope she will accept me calling on her."

"I wish you the best of luck."

"My thanks."

From behind them, the sound of a galloping horse grew louder. Both men fell into single file on the side of the path. A large mare passed them, the rider's long hair flowing freely behind her.

"Katherine!" A second rider chased, Pierce calling her name to get attention.

"Catch me!" She yelled back to him.

Once they passed, Paul commented, "I do not envy him. Katherine's spirit will challenge him at every turn."

"Why does he marry if they do not suit?"

"His family has fallen heavily into debt more than once. Long time friends of the Brattenwrighters, his father suggested an arrangement between them to settle the debts with the marriage of Clarissa and Pierce. There was a dispute, and his betrothal to her fell through before it was official. It was not until recently that the families agreed they needed strong supporters around them because of the unrest. Pierce's father refused Clarissa as the wife because of the Scandal, and Katherine was substituted."

"Why marry if he does not want to? Friendships will survive the current troubles if they are strong enough."

"Brattenwrighter will pay off all the debts accrued, and there are many, in exchange for their unwavering loyalty. He holds Katherine in check by telling her she will always be welcome here if she and Pierce do not suit. He will allow them to live separate lives in separate residences after a period of one year, or one heir."

"Not very traditional."

"No, but Katherine's the favorite. And here we are, back at the stables. A pleasure speaking with you, Chris."

"Likewise, Paul." They shook hands and separated. The long ride gave them just enough time to tend their horses, then change for the formal dinner and dancing.

Chris had to check his horses first. He noticed his stallions were either asleep or half-asleep. Thor was completely asleep. Vin found Chris, tossing him a brush before removing Neptune's saddle.

"Well?" he asked his friend and trainer.

"Ya know that purebred stallion ya want in Charles Town?"

"Yes."

"We could buy three o'them."

Chris slowly smiled. Vin's business acumen probably rivaled Ezra's, since that particular stallion was highly expensive. Another reason he came here was to raise capital to afford him. "How did you manage that?"

"One fella wanted more than one cover t'be sure. Said he'd pay fer each cover. I ain't gonna say no."

"I wouldn't. Thor?"

"Not him. Damn near kicked the stall t'pieces when Odin came back reekin'. Three men pooled their money t'have him even knowin' he'd already gone twice. They're splittin' the profits after the foal's born and sold."

"What will you do tonight? Going to join me?"

"Like hell. Miss Mary Lou invited me t'eat with her and her kin. Seems she has a niece Nadine she wants me t'meet. I ain't eatin' high on the hog like ya are, but I'll be eatin' with real people. Not them la-de-dahs."

Chris scowled. "Enjoy yourself; one of us should."

"I will. Much more than ya will. Now get. Ya smell like horse."

Larabee laughed. Dusk had fallen, throwing the wide, winding pathway between the stables and the house into shadow. He passed by a few forks in the path, and a stand of trees. Voices reached him not too far from the house, the owners hidden behind the tall hedges.

"Right there, yes! Yes!"

He picked up his pace; he had no wish to intrude on two lovers having a tryst.

"Oh, Gerald. If only we were to marry, then we wouldn't steal moments in the grass and hide our love."

Chris nearly stopped - that was Clarissa's voice, and Gerald was Gerald Pierce, Katherine's intended. Determined not to get any further involved, he continued toward the house.

"I know, Clarissa. Give me that year, and I will come for you. I will come for you before then; there will be no pleasure for me with your child sister. I need you to be my woman."

Chris quickened his pace.

"I need you."

I need you both to shut up, Chris thought. It was too quiet out here; their voices carried clearly through the stillness. With the scandal already surrounding the two, Chris would have thought they would have been more circumspect. Then, when he thought about it, he realized no one he'd met at this gathering was showing an abundance of brains.

"If only Katherine was out of the way," Pierce said. "I can live with the Scandal; it's my parents that won't allow that."

"We could make them understand; we've loved each other for years. Katherine just needs to go away for us to convince them."

"But how? Let me think on it." There was a pause. "We must not be missed, dearest Clarissa. Dress quickly, so we can prepare ourselves for dinner."

"It's so hopeless, Gerald." She took a deep, noisy breath. "I love you."

"I love you, Clarissa."

I'm going to be ill, Chris thought. Then the situation worsened, a few short feet from the door when he believed himself free of this muck. Captain Darton stood before him, having just stepped out the door.

"Chris! How delightful. I was just looking for Clarissa. Have you seen her?"

Hell and damnation, he thought to himself. "No, Paul, I have not seen her." He hoped God would forgive him the omission of hearing her. "Mayhap she is in her room dressing for dinner?"

"Perhaps. I will check again. I understand your horses did exceptionally well today."

"Yes, they did."

Paul Darton waited for Chris. Just as they entered, Clarissa and Pierce came up behind them.

"Ah, there you are. Might I have a word?" Paul asked her.

"Of course."

"If you'll excuse me, I must dress for dinner," Pierce bowed to his companion. "Mrs. Kingston, thank you for the demonstration of proper rose garden dimensions. I intend Katherine to have only the finest."

"You are quite welcome, Mr. Pierce," she replied.

Chris slipped away before he gave something away. When he reached the top of the stairs, he heard voices.

"Miss Katherine, you need to learn decorum."

Not again, he thought. This time it was Mrs. Brethsby berating Katherine.

"I will marry him in a week. Since I must produce an heir, the sooner I do, the faster I earn my freedom."

"That does not excuse your lying with him before the ceremony. You could have been caught and ruined."

Now Chris was in a pickle; either he made noise and announced his presence by coming up the stairs loudly, or he stayed and hoped they moved away. He was learning too much about these people; the more he found out, the more he wanted to leave. Fortunately, the pair moved away. He heard Mrs. Brethsby's voice right before a door down the hallway closed.

"Nothing good will come of this. You will control your behavior. I'll not have such scandal occur under my watch. Someone will take exception, and make you pay. Your foolishness will get you killed; see if it won't."

That was twice he'd heard the young woman indirectly threatened. It was too much, really, and none of his business. He resolved to say nothing and leave this intrigue behind tomorrow morning. Katherine seemed more than capable of caring for herself. The only innocent was Paul Darton, unaware the older sister he cared for was involved with her future brother-in-law.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he dressed in his best outfit. He also promised himself not to be such a glutton tonight at dinner. That decided, he headed downstairs, not very surprised to find himself blessedly alone for dinner; Paul had taken his place as Clarissa's partner, moving him further down the table. He didn't mind; their transactions were complete, and the less he interacted with the family now, the better.

Per custom, he wrote his name on the dance cards for Mrs. Brattenwrighter, Clarissa, and Katherine. His first obligation passed easily; he thanked Mrs. Brattenwrighter for her hospitality. The second with Clarissa was stilted and formal; neither indicated they knew of the other's activities. When he claimed Katherine for a dance, he had the misfortune of walking up to hear Brattenwrighter scolding his daughter.

It just was not his night. The father needed to lower his voice; hell, this whole family could use instruction on keeping secrets and preventing Scandal.

"You will cease your harlot behavior immediately, Katherine."

"Harlot behavior? Please, Father, who has been telling you false tales?"

"Do you deny your liaison with Pierce?"

"We are to be married, Father. You arranged it."

"Then why did you take a soldier to your bed last night? It was fortunate Mrs. Brethsby insured he left early this morning before anyone rose."

"I wanted some fun before I entered a loveless marriage."

Chris made a production of his arrival, letting them fall silent and wonder what he heard. He did not reveal that – again – yet another conversation he held no wish to be party to reach his ears. "Miss Brattenwrighter, I do believe this dance is mine."

"Why yes, Mr. Larabee. Father?"

"We will continue this discussion later, Katherine. Mr. Larabee, enjoy yourself."

"Mr. Brattenwrighter." He offered his arm to Katherine. "Shall we?"

"Yes, indeed." She started another shocking conversation while they twirled. "Tell me, Mr. Larabee. Would you consider a discreet intimate encounter with me this night? I wish to learn about pleasure before my marriage."

"I do believe that would be highly improper." Somehow, he kept a straight face.

"Hang propriety. If I did not know Gerald sought out Clarissa's bed as well as mine, I would not ask."

"I beg your pardon?" He cleared his throat. They were nearing those treacherous family waters he did not want to set foot in, much less be tossed willy-nilly into.

"They think I am ignorant, but I see more than many wish me to see."

"Much as I find your offer tempting, I must decline. You can rest assured I will not speak of it."

"You are a good man, Mr. Larabee." She allowed him to escort her to Pierce, who claimed her for a waltz.

"Mr. Larabee."

He turned to see Clarissa seated alone nearby. "Yes, Mrs. Kingston?"

"Might I impose on you to fetch me some punch? Captain Darton was called away by Mr. Davis, and I am quite parched."

"Of course." He fetched two, one for him to keep him from passing out in these oppressive clothes and the room's suffocating heat.

"Would you hand me my fan behind you?"

"Certainly." Chris was forced to get up for it, but manners dictated he do so if he wished to remain a Gentleman of Quality. When he returned it to her, he waited half a beat for another request. Relieved one more was not coming, he asked, "May I join you?"

"Yes, please." She indicated the seat across from hers. "Allow me to apologize for my previous rudeness; I thought Father was attempting matchmaking."

"I sincerely hope not; I'm still in morning for my wife and son." He was getting very sick of saying that over and over again, but hopefully someone would figure out he wasn't on the marriage mart.

"I understand. You have treated me with nothing but respect; for that, I am grateful. Might we be friends before you part, and correspond after?"

"That would be nice." He drank deeply of his punch, having had it alcoholically spiked by Brattenwrighter when he got it.

Both knew she would not write, but they played the game by the rules long established.

"Chris, Clarissa." Matthew Davis walked over. "Captain Darton will be returning shortly."

"Matthew," Chris acknowledged.

"Please join us, Mr. Davis," Clarissa offered.

"Lovely weekend," Davis remarked.

The music ended and a loud voice carried across the ballroom floor.

"No, Gerald. We are just starting out, so our money is needed to build our estate, not give it to an unappreciative Crown."

Pierce tried to shush Katherine.

She shook him off. "We will pay our taxes, and not one shilling more. We will quarter soldiers only if we must, but we are not opening our new home to them as a barracks. I refuse to do more than what is required of us. We are Loyalists, but we are not foolish Loyalists." She spun on her heel and stormed outside onto the patio.

"That distresses me." Davis scowled. "Excuse me; I must speak with her." He hurried off.

Would this day ever end? Chris thought it probably wouldn't; at least not anytime soon. He finished his punch, excused himself when Darton arrived, and found his way to Brattenwrighter's study. Several cigars and glasses of port later, he staggered outside for some much- needed air.

His thoughts were hazy at best, so he stepped onto a path to walk and clear his head. It led to the stables. He figured he would look in on his stallions. Nature called most insistently; he stepped off the path into the trees for privacy. He readjusted and restored his appearance when he was done; that was definitely much better.

Pain exploded in the back of his head, followed by sharp, fast jabs to his ribs. A blow hit the back of his knees, sending him crashing forward. Before his slowed reflexes caught up to the signals generated by his brain, bright white stars appeared in his vision. He remembered nothing after that.

Someone was screaming. The sound, high-pitched and grating, ripped through the darkness to rouse him. He hurt, and it seemed everywhere. One eye cautiously opened to receive a bright ray of daylight into it, and Chris quickly closed it.

"Ow," he moaned.

"Dear Lord!" a male voice yelled.

The screaming continued.

"What have you done?" the man demanded.

What had he done last night? He was in pain, damn it, and whatever he did was not worth hearing the caterwauling. "Shh…" he hissed.

"Make way, make way," a different male voice called out. "You bastard! Get him up!"

Blessedly, the screaming ceased, mutating into a mournful wail. "She's dead! He killed her!"

He forced his eyes open then. Beneath him, Katherine Brattenwrighter's open eyes stared unseeingly back at him. Trying to move, he found his hands pinning her down. Her clothes were ripped open, exposing her to the air when he pushed up. Crimson stained her left breast, and the hilt of a small, distinctive knife protruded from the fatal wound. Someone tossed him to the floor, landing on his backside, and he stared down at himself.

Blood covered his previously, pristine white dress shirt, but it did not cover his bare behind. The length of the shirt was bunched at his waist. He pulled it down. His hands were scratched and bloody, and thin stripes of dried blood stained the sleeves on his forearms.

"I didn't do this!" he protested, the fogginess of his brain clearing rapidly as he became more aware of the situation. His eyes found those of Pierce, Brattenwrighter, and Darton staring accusingly down at him. "Someone struck me from behind last night on the path to the stables. I have the lump to prove it!"

"With this!" The chambermaid, probably the source of the screaming, reached down and picked up a tankard on the floor.

"Give me that," Darton demanded. He examined it quickly. "Dented and bloody. You were struck, Mr. Larabee, as your victim fought you. You are despicable!"

"I didn't kill her!" Chris yelled, pushing himself to his feet. He wobbled when the room spun violently, tipping him to one side. Bloody hands grabbed his head, trying to keep it on his shoulders.

"I have seen enough. Mr. Brattenwrighter, have you a place to hold him for trial?" Darton demanded.

"What?" The father's eyes remained on his daughter's corpse. "Katherine." He looked away. "She shouldn't be seen like this." One shaking hand grabbed the covers and pulled them over her abused body to the shoulders.

"A place to hold him, Mr. Brattenwrighter. Where?" the officer asked.

"The slave cellars."

"With your permission, my men and I will guard him and send for the Magistrate."

"Yes. Do what you must."

Paul latched onto Chris with less-than-gentle hands.

"Get off me, Darton. Why won't anyone believe me?"

The captain wrapped his great coat around Chris, using that motion to detain the dazed, injured man. He pushed him out the door and into the hands of his soldiers. "Take him to the slave cellars and lock him in tight. Set a guard. Allow no one near."

"Yes, sir."

"If he fights or tries to escape, subdue him. We want him alive for trial, though."

"Understood."

Chris made a break for it, but was pushed down the stairs by the soldier. The new injuries only worsened his condition, as he feared his arm broken. There was no mercy; he was thrust into a dark dirt cell below ground with his good arm manacled to the wall at waist level. Two soldiers came in and beat him unconscious, easily overwhelming his weak defenses.

Part Three

"Larabee!"

The sound of his name broke through the haze of darkness.

"Larabee!" Bang, bang, bang.

His mind recoiled from the clattering, attempting a strategic retreat from reality. Distantly, he heard the sound of the door opening and boot heels crossing the room to him.

"Larabee!"

He didn't move.

"Wake him up."

A vice-like grip shook him hard.

Fresh pain drew him out; he tried to roll away out of self- preservation.

"Get up, Larabee. At least try to be the man I once respected." He recognized that voice's owner – Paul Darton – from a distance since he sounded nearer the door than leaning over him like the other soldiers.

Chris bit his lip, refocusing his mind to force the pain back by sheer will. Even in this battered state, he refused to be less than a man. Memory returned, causing him to groan. Opening his eyes only showed semi-darkness inside his cell, and he was deep within the shadows away from the meager light. That groan deepened when he made his body sit up against its protests. "What?" he half-growled.

The soldiers left his cell.

"Your people abandoned you. All your horses, your grooms, and your trainer are gone. Along with any money you had; your belongings are missing too," the captain informed him.

"What?" Fighting the room's vicious spins and struggling to keep his meager stomach contents down, Chris only heard pieces of Darton's information.

"You stand alone, Larabee. Even those in your employ realized the hopelessness of your continued life and abandoned you."

He grunted.

"My men reported you attempted to flee. I thought better of you; now I must revise my opinion," Darton sneered.

It didn't escape his beleaguered brain's notice that Captain Paul Darton no longer called him Chris or Mister, both signs of his changed fortunes. He could not, however, let the remark about attempting to flee pass by unchallenged. "Your men beat me because they wanted to, Paul, and waited until I was secured in the cell before doing so."

"Do not add telling falsehoods to your crimes, and do not use my given name again. Both my men reported you tried to escape. I will believe their word over the accused murderer imprisoned before me."

Chris closed his eyes. "Things are not what they seem."

"No. You have three weeks' time to improve your fabrication. The Magistrate has set your trial then." Darton closed the door, plunging him back into the gloom.

In three weeks, anything could happen. He would survive until then. Knowing Vin left with his people and property eased his thoughts. Tanner would not abandon him; the trainer was making sure the valuable stallions found their way to their proper home. Chris held no doubt that Brattenwrighter would claim them as recompense, along with any monies Chris had with him. It truly would not surprise him that if his stallions had stayed here, one or two of them would temporarily end up with Davis, with everyone agreeing that Chris gave them to his friend prior to the murder. Vin undoubtedly believed that was a possibility, so he grabbed everything he could of his friend's before he left the area.

By now, they were long gone, and the trainer's trail experience would throw off any pursuers. His livelihood was safe; he need only worry about his life. That was where he held uncertainty. If the rough treatment he received so far indicated the pattern of the next few weeks, he might not last.

His cell's condition was one reason that he doubted his continued existence. Made of a dirt floor with stone-and-mud walls, his only view of the outside was a tiny square of a window high above his head. The manacle only allowed him a few scant feet of uncomfortable movement, and surely wasn't helping his health. Nor was the lack of even a bucket for personal relief; the nearest corner smelled foul from previous use.

His head throbbed something fierce; his broken arm ached; his chest protested every movement; his stomach threatened an upheaval; his eye hurt where it swelled from its encounter with a fist; and his legs announced pain in several places where he had been kicked, or from his involuntary toss down the stairs. Adding insult to injury was their leaving him dressed only in his formerly white shirt. No breeches, hose, or shoes were provided; no warm overshirt or jacket, and obviously no blanket to cover with. The cellar was thick with dampness with a cool breeze finding its way in from the one small window high up in the cell, giving him periodic chills from the drafts.

If the local Magistrate already set a trial date, the local law investigated enough to hear Darton and Brattenwrighter's accounts. Those must have been compelling enough to stop the local lawman from even questioning the supposed suspect. No help would come from that quarter. Someone set him up beautifully, where a conviction and a hanging was a near-certainty.

He tried to remember more of what happened, but heavy thought was impossible through the growing, intensifying pain. His eyes closed briefly, and did not reopen.

Something struck him in the face. His eyes flew open, one painful as it stretched the swollen skin, and he felt liquid trailing down his cheeks and chin. His tongue slipped out to capture a few drops, but it was not enough.

"There's your water for the day," his jailer called, then slammed the door.

Chris gritted his teeth. He'd seen abuse like this before; just not on the receiving end. It would be a challenge to survive if the soldiers intended to pervert the regulations about providing bread and water to prisoners. Where was his bread? He looked around.

The door opened again. "Here's your bread, murderer." It sailed in a clean arc over his head to land in the slop corner, a place Chris was forced to use earlier. Laughter echoed in the small room. "Seems I missed." The door closed again.

He wasn't eating that bread. Using his manacled arm, he captured a few droplets of moisture left on his skin and licked them off his fingers. Now all he could do was sit and wait. Lacking the strength and materials to try and set his broken arm properly, he let it be. Moving only aggravated his injuries; sitting still kept the worst of the pain at bay. Figuring he had received today's allotment of rations and hoping he would not be bothered again, he closed his eyes to rest.

They woke him in the deep of night for another round of beatings. The small window only allowed the tiniest sliver of moonlight, and the men stayed out of the thin strip so he couldn't see them coming. Each hit aimed for an already injured part of his body, just hard enough to irritate it.

He tried moving away, protecting his body, but they anticipated his actions. His eyes adjusted enough to see two shapes, but his weakened, manacled state was no defense against their health and mobility. It lasted what seemed to be for hours, but he had no true sense of time. When they'd had their fill of fun they left him, patting each other on the back and laughing. The only measure of satisfaction he held was that he never cried out because of the pain; it was his pride that refused to bend. When they realized that, he would pay dearly, but until then, it was something he would hold onto.

He watched the sun rise to stream through the tiny window, but dozed during the late morning and early afternoon hours. Never really allowing himself to fall asleep completely, nor would the pain let him, he stayed in one place. When the moonlight appeared in the window, a part of him started to wake up. A second loaf of bread rotted beside the first in the slop corner, and the three drops he caught today did nothing to alleviate the terrible thirst he felt, or the dryness in his throat.

His door opened. Prepared for another round of slap the prisoner, the identity of his guest surprised him.

"They buried her today."

The words hung there between the two of them, a barrier neither could cross.

Chris grunted. His eyes locked on Paul Darton's in the pale lantern light, showing interest without speaking. The idea of talking seemed too painful.

"Tell me why," Darton asked.

He formed a three-word response. "Didn't...kill...her."

"You were found indecently atop her body in your guest room, both of you in states of undress. Her clothes were ripped. Your knife with your initials engraved upon it was in her heart. Her blood still bathes your body. You were alone with her. Yet you falsely claim your innocence?"

"Truth," he rasped. "Not...me."

"Come, Larabee, you spoke so well before. Why the difficulty now?" Darton stepped forward and held up the lantern to see better.

Chris winced from the brightness.

"Dear Lord. Why did you say nothing of the extent of your injuries?"

"Would...you...listen?"

That stopped Darton from approaching any closer. "They said you attempted to flee, and they were forced to subdue you."

"Beat...me...then...and...again...since." He watched Darton's expression closely. It was obvious the Captain's professional conscience warred against the man's desire for justice for the man he perceived to be already guilty.

"You are a prisoner under my care, and you will be treated humanly."

Chris tried to scoff, coughed, then winced.

"Have you been fed?"

"Help...yourself." He weakly pointed to the slop corner with his manacled hand.

Darton stepped carefully over to the corner, his light revealing the weevil-filled soaked bread. "Your water?"

"What...can…catch...with...mouth."

"I will return directly." Darton left, plunging the room back into darkness.

Chris dared not to hope; he counted on Darton's sense of honor for fair treatment, but was cautious about how much help would be received, and at what price. When he heard the cell door open again some time later, Darton stepped in first. Two big strong slaves came next, followed by two slave women, one considerably older than the other, and both holding several items.

"Your wounds will be tended and you will be fed properly. I will not allow my prisoner to die of his wounds or mistreatment before his trial. Do we understand each other?"

Chris nodded. Darton was only offering the treatment he should have received in the beginning, and tending of his wounds to keep him alive. This was not being done out of any friendship, but out of duty. Darton would give no more than what was expected as his professional responsibility.

He was unchained and helped to a bench brought in by one of the slave men. They stood defensively on either side of him, ready for him to make a false move and stop him. He had no intention of doing that. His own awareness of his weakened condition would make losing this chance foolish. He was not a fool.

The women gently bathed him with soft cloths and warm basin water. His shirt was taken from him, leaving him naked for them to see the true extent of his injuries. Darton's face tightened with anger at the obvious signs of abuse, then darkened at the sight of healing scratches on his forearms.

Chris could not stop a groan from escaping when they set his broken arm and splinted it. He winced at the potent cleansers used to remove the ground in dirt. His nose wrinkled at the smell of the salves. Wrapped in fresh bandages, they dressed him carefully in borrowed clothes. Made of wool and obviously a servant's or slave's, even though coarse and less than he was use to, they felt wonderful to Chris. Sitting in here wearing only his thin shirt left him cold too often; he was just beginning to feel warm. They even provided shoes and hose.

"Thank...you." He managed. "Very...grateful." He looked all the slaves in the eyes, hoping to convey his gratitude. All four nodded in response. He glanced at Darton, and no words were necessary; they understood each other.

"Feed him," Darton said. "Have someone clean that corner; we will not invite rats in here."

"Yes, suh." One of the men immediately left, returning with a tray.

The older slave woman fed him a warm broth, water, and bread that was barely a day old. It struck him as ironic that he complained inwardly about eating too much his first two days here, yet this basic meal filled him better than anything from that kitchen. Tasted better, too. When everything was done, they even brought in a clean pallet with a worn but warm blanket. Now with the clean cell, full stomach, clothes, and his wounds tended, Chris felt marginally better, though he still felt the chills and energy drain from the hint of a fever. The slaves left, taking their supplies with them.

"My thanks again, Captain," Chris said, sufficiently recovered to speak.

"I was unaware of your plight, Larabee. Some through my own stubbornness, and the rest through ignorance. Now that I am, you will be treated decently. I confess to be conflicted. Usually I am a good judge of character, yet your actions prove me false."

"Your judgment is not impaired, for I am not responsible for Katherine's death."

"So you say." Darton looked disappointed for some reason.

"Someone struck me from behind, and that person has arranged for me to hang for murder. I wished no ill on Katherine."

"Do not use her name!" Darton snapped. "She was a friend of many years to me, and you, a man I thought to call friend, stand accused of her heinous death."

Chris fell silent. He understood Darton's conflict, and knew any further protests of innocence would only worsen things between them. There was still time to raise doubt in the captain's mind.

"I must go. Clarissa needs me." Darton left.

The prisoner stretched out on his pallet, still manacled, but with slightly more freedom than before. He didn't expect a beating tonight; Darton's personal interest into his wellbeing should serve as a deterrent.

"Chris."

His name was a whisper, diving through the level of unconsciousness and dragging him reluctantly awake. He was warm, and did not want to lose that.

"Get up, ya arse."

Only one person could get away with calling him an arse. He sat up gingerly, peering into the darkness. No one was there. Great, he thought, now I'm dreaming.

"'Bout time ya moved."

His head lifted to the window, the source of the voice.

"I ain't got long, but I'm tellin' ya I'm here. Help's on the way."

Chris smiled at the sound of Vin's voice. He asked two questions that had been bothering him. "You? Horses?"

"Fine, and the stallions should be gettin' home in a couple days. Had t'take the long way t'not be stopped. Ya doin' okay?"

"Better now. What have you heard?"

"Once word spread ya were arrested fer murder, we lit outta here."

"Glad you did."

"Got things situated with the horses, sent a groom ahead t'get Travis up here. Local law accepts the lobsterback's version so they're content t'let them keep ya prisoner. Got orders ya were a British prisoner. Talked t'a few folks, then let it drop. That's the rumors; only been back a few hours. Hidin' from everyone; don't wanna let them know I'm here."

"Don't let anyone find you."

"Hell, I'm too good fer that. Someone set ya up good."

A sense of relief filled him; he didn't know until Vin said it how important it was to him that this man believed him innocent.

"Larabee?"

"Yeah?" He managed over a lump in his throat.

"Gotta go. Be careful, and we'll get ya out."

"Thanks. Watch your back."

"Always."

The silence wrapped around him again, but this time it wasn't so deep or lonely. He was no longer alone.

Vin hated the fact he couldn't help Chris any more than watching out for him. His friend had been beaten and battered; that much was obvious, but had been treated well since then. He wanted to break him out of the cell, yet that would be foolishness. Chris was too well known in their part of North Carolina to run. It also wasn't in Larabee's nature; he faced threats head on. He would want his name cleared.

The only thing Vin could do was watch, listen, and learn. He made himself a camp in the woods, using the trees, leaves, and bushes to disguise his presence. He would bide his time until the others he sent for arrived. If he happened to be in the area of a conversation about this Scandal, well, he would listen. It would not be his fault if someone gave him information that would help clear his friend.

He settled into his bedroll and dozed. Just seeing Chris was okay for now was enough for him.

Magistrate Orin Travis could not believe his ears. Larabee's groom, Michael Miller, nervously shifted from foot to foot, having delivered the bad news and now fielded questions.

"You did nothing to release him?" he asked again.

"Mr. Tanner ordered us to go with the horses. Said they'd be taken otherwise, and that weren't right."

"Our messenger would be correct," Ezra Standish remarked quietly. He shifted forward in his seat. "Recompense."

"I know," Travis agreed. "Whether or not Mr. Larabee was guilty, just the accusation would justify the temporary taking of them until guilt was proven. What did you hear?"

"Nothing fact, sir," Miller said.

"The rumors, then." The Magistrate motioned Miller the groom turned messenger to continue.

"That Mr. Larabee was found atop the dead girl, both weren't dressed, and his knife – the one you gave him – was in her heart."

"Anything else?"

"Heard tell he tried to run and the soldiers beat him. That's all, sir. We left right fast."

"Thank you, Mr. Miller. Rest yourself from your ride. Angela will serve you food and drink."

The groom left Magistrate Travis's study gratefully, relief evident on his features for completing his task.

"Ezra, are you familiar with the Brattenwrighter family at all?"

"In passing. If I am not mistaken, Mr. Brattenwrighter supports the Crown beyond his obligations."

"He does. When I learned Matthew Davis was going, I guessed he was either rallying for or reaffirming support."

"Either way, Mr. Larabee has very slim chances of exonerating himself alone."

"Precisely why we are going."

"Let me fetch a bag."

"You will need this." Travis reached over to hand Ezra a thick book. "Learn what you can as quickly as you can."

"Legal procedures?"

"It would be inappropriate for me to represent Chris. I can, however, attend as a spectator and fellow Magistrate."

"I do believe you want me to convince the locals I am a barrister, correct?" Ezra lifted a brow in question.

"I said nothing of the sort." The look Travis wore gave lie to his words.

"Excuse me, then. I have much to prepare."

"One hour, then. Bring your reading glasses for the carriage ride."

"I have no need of glasses," Ezra huffed.

Something or someone was in the cell with him. He could feel it, but his eyes discerned nothing in the darkness. Not even the moon gave him the briefest flicker of light. The sensation of being watched intensified.

"Hello?" he called out, wiping the sweat from his brow.

No one answered.

He stared into the blackness, and it wavered on him. The more he tried to focus, the worse his head hurt. Giving up, he let his eyes close and slipped back into a restless sleep.

"Chris," Vin hissed for the third time. Crouched outside the small cell, he was desperately trying to rouse his friend. Deciding to take a chance, Vin threw a pebble through the iron bars, his sharp eyes seeing it strike on the side of his friend's neck.

Larabee's hand slowly wiped at the spot.

"Chris."

"What?" Eyes opened and blinked several times.

"Wake up."

"Awake."

"Sure ya are. Shake the cobwebs from yer brain."

"Vin?"

Even from this distance, Vin could see the bandages had been changed. That eased one worry, but the slow reaction time concerned him. "It's me. How are ya?"

"Better."

"Reckon so. Everyone's talkin', makin' up stories. Haven't heard anythin' close ta t'truth yet."

"Hanging me either way."

"I'll prove ya didn't do it. Just gotta stay tough."

"That's me. Tough."

The words sounded a little slurred and off from Chris's usual speech pattern. "Ya sure ya feel all right?"

"Just dandy."

That said, Vin watched Chris fall back asleep. Fever; he was sure of it. Those damn lobsterbacks left him hurt and untended for too long. One or more of his wounds were sure to be infected, causing the fever. From the looks of it, and what he saw from the woods, they were taking care of him now, but that care might be too little too late. It wouldn't do for their prime suspect to die before his farce of a trial, he thought wryly. The only reason Chris was still alive was they wanted the trial.

Hearing the soldiers preparing for their scheduled rounds around the building, he slipped away quietly back into the woods. Now was not the time to reveal his presence. He returned to his camp to keep watch on his friend.

Morning brought light. Light hurt. Chris tried to shy away from it. He felt hot and cold at the same time.

"Larabee?"

He listened.

"You killed my daughter. I will see you hang."

He didn't answer; that would take too much energy. Brattenwrighter could say whatever he wanted, and did; but it did not affect him now. He let himself drift into the haze.

Darton stared at his prisoner. He was summoned when Katherine's father received no reaction to his tirade. It was obvious fever had taken a harsher hold on the prisoner during the night, so he ordered the healer back to tend the patient. Her expression told him it was worse than he thought; too many of the wounds were infected and needed draining.

The fever slowly rose through the day and night, forcing Darton to leave the healer in the cell with him, along with her man to protect her and a soldier just outside the door. Darton stayed throughout the entire ordeal just inside the cell, but against the back wall.

Larabee started ranting when day turned into night.

"My . . . fault," he moaned once.

"What's your fault?" Darton asked.

"Dead . . . I . . . did . . . my fault . . . dead."

"Who?" He leaned forward, curious about this man's apparent confession.

"Sarah. Adam. Gone . . . my fault . . . dead."

"Sarah and Adam who?"

"Wife . . . son," he cried out. "Dead . . . my fault . . . boat sank. Should . . . should be me." He curled into a ball after the last painful declaration and wept.

Darton felt ashamed to have jumped to a conclusion about the other two people; this man deeply loved his family. At one point during the long night, he felt the sensation of being watched. He looked all around, but saw no one. His men searched the area and found nothing.

The fever worsened, and it seemed with the break of dawn that Larabee was weakened to the point of death. Whether or not the man survived was up to his will, and up to a higher power.

Vin saw Chris being treated, and he desperately wanted to go to his friend. Again, it wasn't the time. He could only hope that Chris made it through the night, and then the next day, and the day after that. For a lobsterback, he'd learned Darton was honorable. His professional and personal pride was at stake to make sure that he kept his prisoner alive for trial, and this man was taking that responsibility seriously.

He sighed. There was nothing for him to do, and the waiting only made him restless. They were trapped in their places - Chris in his struggle to live in his cell, and Vin on the outside looking in. Desperately wishing he could be there to help his friend.

"What a lovely locale," Ezra sniffed. He stared around his attic room in the rundown tavern with distaste. Since Brattenwrighter owned the majority of lands around here, and was the preeminent power in the area, a simple barrister for the accused was not precisely welcome. Standing up straight was impossible; the room held a bed, chest, and chipped water basin. His bag took up the majority of the floor space, and he shuddered when contemplating the sagging mattress.

He sighed. During the long carriage ride here, he occupied himself with reading the book, and Travis gave him pointers about how to defend Chris at trial, along with showing him certain pages that pertained to what to do in certain situations. His brain still reeled from the amount of information poured into it. Then to be treated so badly when they arrived, it was all abominable.

Magistrate Travis was given a warm welcome. It was only when he explained that Ezra was Mr. Larabee's barrister that the frost developed in the room. The innkeeper had his wife show Travis to the Master Room, while Ezra was grudgingly led to this wretched spot. Fortunately, Travis was accompanying him to the Brattenwrighter house and making introductions, preventing them from snubbing him outright. He brushed the travel dust from his clothes before meeting the Magistrate outside.

Their journey to the house was uneventful. Things only grew lively when they arrived, and were shown to the front parlor. Travis had already indicated he would not be too friendly with Ezra, other than to introduce him as the person retained by the Larabee estate and familiar to the Magistrate.

When Brattenwrighter entered to greet them, his expression was guarded. Dressed in the black of traditional mourning, Travis's status as Magistrate was the only reason they were accepted into the home. "Gentlemen."

They stood out of respect.

"Mr. Brattenwrighter, forgive our intrusion during your time of mourning. I am Magistrate Travis, and this is Mr. Standish. Our condolences on your loss."

"Mr. Standish, Magistrate, thank you for your kind words. How may I assist you?"

"I intend to be here for the trial of Mr. Larabee, an acquaintance of mine from New Berne, and wanted to inform you of my presence. Also, I wished to ease your mind that I am not here to interfere."

"That does ease my mind, Magistrate. I take it you have a personal interest in the outcome?"

"Yes. I find it hard to accept what has happened, yet I plan to keep an open mind and watch justice be done."

"I find it hard to accept, myself. It seems we were all fooled by Mr. Larabee's behavior. Mr. Standish, are you the Magistrate's secretary?"

"No, sir. I have been retained by Mr. Larabee's estate to represent him. Magistrate Travis kindly shared his carriage with me. I felt it important to make contact with you and inform you of my purpose instead of allowing the gossipmongers to tell you."

Brattenwrighter paused. "I respect your coming here and presenting yourself, Mr. Standish. I do prefer to be informed of the developments in my daughter's...case." He swallowed hard, turning away from them briefly. Taking a shaky breath, the father continued, "I cannot, however, offer you my hospitality."

"I would not expect you to, Mr. Brattenwrighter. I have taken a room at the local inn."

"What do you want from me?" Brattenwrighter's face hardened.

"Access to Mr. Larabee currently detained on your property, therefore needing your permission to enter the grounds of a family in mourning. I would prefer your authorization to ask questions of those present. If you would like to sit in on any or all of the questioning, you are more than welcome."

"The access I will provide, so there will be no doubt of the fairness in this trial. The questions, however, I will need to think on. May I speak plainly?"

"Please," Ezra indicated with a motion of his hand.

"He was found over my daughter, Mr. Standish. I do not feel I could, in good conscience, help you exonerate him."

"Again, perfectly understandable. My reasons are to make sure that I understand precisely what happened." Ezra kept his face with a sympathetic expression, fully aware that this man could easily deny permission for Ezra to come on the property to see Chris, and seriously prevent him from doing any type of investigation. "I have not spoken with the local constabulary yet, or with those in charge of Mr. Larabee's detention. We came directly here after obtaining lodging."

Brattenwrighter nodded. "Captain Darton has been charged with Mr. Larabee's confinement. I will have someone take you down for introductions. Sheriff Snyder investigated, concurred with Captain Darton, and agreed to hold Mr. Larabee here since he does not have the appropriate facilities. Magistrate, will you remain here, or accompany Mr. Standish?"

"Accompany Mr. Standish, if you have no objection. We would like to make our arrival as discreet as possible."

"I am appreciative of that, gentlemen." Brattenwrighter rang for a footman. "My footman will take you to Captain Darton. Your access to my property will be within reason, Mr. Standish."

"I will be judicious in my hours, Mr. Brattenwrighter."

They took their leave of the grieving father, following the footman to the slave quarters without speaking. Captain Darton apparently had been summoned, arriving just after them.

"Gentlemen," the officer greeted. He swung down off his horse, passing the reins to a private. "I am Captain Darton."

"Magistrate Travis and Mr. Standish."

"Mr. Brattenwrighter's man informed me you wished to have access to the prisoner. May I ask you to state your business?"

"An acquaintance, Captain," Travis replied. "Mr. Standish has been retained to represent Mr. Larabee."

"I see. Magistrate, will you be involved in the trial itself?"

"As a spectator only."

Darton inclined his head. "Mr. Standish, I would appreciate it if you were to notify me of visits in advance, so that I can alleviate any discomfort on the Brattenwrighter family."

"Of course. When I know the times of my arrival, I will gladly inform you." Ezra smiled at the Captain; he needed this man's cooperation. "Will I be allowed privacy with Mr. Larabee?"

"Within reason. I am to make sure that he does not escape."

"I would not attempt that endeavor; Mr. Larabee will want to clear his name. He values his reputation greatly."

"Then I will not delay you any longer. If I may ask you to hand over any weapons?"

"My knife," Ezra said. He passed the blade he used to open crates to the Captain. His gun was left behind per Magistrate Travis's strong suggestion. "I prefer to have it back, thank you."

"It will be returned when you leave. Magistrate, you have no weapons of note?"

"No, Captain. I prefer my wit to act as my weapon."

"If only more felt that way," Darton lamented. "Please follow me."

He led them through the door, then down the dank stairwell to a room at the end of a long hallway. They passed several open doors, the purpose of the rooms obvious by the manacles dangling from the ceiling, or the pallets lining the floor. The smell worsened the further down they traveled, yet neither man covered his nose and mouth.

A soldier was stationed at the bottom of the stairs, and another outside the door. He snapped to attention in the presence of the captain, stepping aside at the nonverbal command. Darton opened the small window near the top of the door.

"Larabee, you have guests. Stay where you are." The captain paused, then unlocked the door with a key on a ring taken from the soldier now five feet down the hallway.

Ezra's first look at Chris when Darton gave them access caused him serious consternation. His friend was pale, stretched out on a pallet, and obviously weak. He made no effort to rise, only staring at them with glazed eyes. "What has happened to him?"

"Fever. Only the efforts of the slave healer kept him alive. It finally broke this morning, leaving him very weak. I should have warned you."

"How was he injured?" Travis asked.

Darton stared at the floor. "During the confusion, my men were overzealous in following my orders. They believed he was attempting to flee, yet he was disoriented from the wound on his head. My orders were for him to be subdued if he tried to leave, and they took things too far. After that, the grisly circumstances caused them to take out their horror on him. They have been disciplined, and are no longer on this detail."

The Magistrate scowled.

"I must also admit fault in his initial care. Miss Brattenwrighter was a personal friend, and I was attending to her family. Those soldiers felt that they had license, out of loyalty to me, to mistreat him. I rectified the situation once I was aware of it, but he suffered because of it. Magistrate, if you care to file a complaint with my superior, I will not protest it."

"I will not," Travis said. "So long as Mr. Larabee's treatment continues to be humane."

"I shall see to it," Darton promised. "I will leave you to your conversation. Just knock loudly on the door to exit." He left.

"Chris?" Ezra immediately knelt down beside his friend, bringing himself closer so the man did not have to look up to see him.

"Ezra."

"At least he recognizes me," Standish said to Travis.

"You are quite hard to forget," the Magistrate replied, a trace of humor in his voice.

Ezra rolled his eyes.

"Didn't . . .do. . .it," Chris gasped out. His one hand shook as weakly reached up to grasp Standish's shirt front. "Not . . . me."

Standish grasped the hand tightly. "I know. When you are better, we will talk about it. Rest now." He could see his friend was entirely too weak to go into the details of what happened. Much as he hated to leave Chris in this place, locked up, he must. "We will be back shortly. Do you understand? We will be back once you are recovered."

Larabee nodded, squeezed the clasped hand, then let go.

After they left the cell, Ezra and Travis requested a private audience with Captain Darton. He took them to a room in the upstairs quarters, closing the door behind them with orders left with his people not to disturb them.

"Captain, could you give me an accounting? Mr. Larabee is not in a position to speak right now, and I would like to hear what happened," Ezra requested.

"The maid went into his room to replace the water in his basin. She found him atop Miss Brattenwrighter, and blood staining the sheets beneath. She screamed, rousing me from a nearby room. I entered to find him still in that position and he did not respond immediately to his name. He was dressed only in his shirt, and it was quite obvious to me she was no longer alive. His hands pinned hers down above her head. When he finally woke enough to move, he lifted up and I saw the knife in her heart. Larabee was rolled off onto the floor."

"You said he was unresponsive. Was he injured at that time?" Ezra asked.

"Yes. He claimed he had been struck in the back of the head. We found a pewter tankard dented on the floor, along with scratches along his forearms."

"I see. Please continue." Ezra noticed Travis stayed silent, perhaps to learn the entirety of it before asking his own questions.

"I checked Miss Brattenwrighter's body myself, and there was no life." Darton swallowed hard. "Her father arrived right around then, and he was extremely upset. Larabee repeatedly protested his innocence, but he had fallen deeply into his cups the night before. There are witnesses to his consumption. I question whether he would remember."

Ezra nodded, noticing the lack of respect given to Chris by Darton not using the title mister.

"I then ordered my men to take him to the slave cells that Mr. Brattenwrighter stated we could use, and that was the last I saw of him for some time. Not too long after the incident began, his trainer took all of Larabee's belongings, horses, and grooms away from here. May I assume he was able to get word to his employer's estate?"

"One of the grooms came to see me, and Mr. Standish was retained directly after. We came once we heard, but we have not seen Mr. Tanner," Travis informed him.

"Could I impose on you to name the family members, so that I will not appear uninformed or unintentionally offend someone in my ignorance?" Ezra asked.

"You have met Mr. Brattenwrighter. His other daughter, Mrs. Clarissa Kingston, was Larabee's meal partner throughout most of the weekend. Mr. Gerald Pierce was Miss Brattenwrighter's intended; their nuptials should have been this coming weekend. Mrs. Brethsby was the governess; she has stayed on until the trial."

"Thank you, Captain Darton, for your time. Magistrate, did you have any questions?"

"Not right now, Mr. Standish. If you will excuse us, Captain, we will be heading back to the inn."

"Of course. Mr. Standish, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, around ten a.m., if that is acceptable?"

Darton nodded, then showed them out.

Ezra was not surprised when Travis spoke in the carriage.

"Find the servants; they know what really happened. Chris could not have done this."

"I agree, Magistrate."

"Good. We start tomorrow."

Their arrival at the tavern and subsequent meal together raised some eyebrows, but Ezra went up to his room long before the Magistrate after loudly thanking him for the use of the carriage and the ride down. He opened his door, prepared to read more in the book Travis provided.

A hand grabbed onto him and pulled him into the room, while a palm covered over his mouth. "Ez, it's me. Keep quiet."

Relief coursed through him. Vin held him, and probably wanted no one to know that they knew each other well yet, or that he was even here. He nodded.

"Reckon it's good t'see yer ugly face."

"And such a pleasure to see you," he retorted. "What exactly happened here?"

"Someone wants Chris t'hang fer murder. Been hearin' plenty, but later. How's Chris?"

"Weak. The fever took much out of him."

"Hell. I couldn't get t'him, and breakin' him out only would've made things worse."

"You did the right thing, my friend." Ezra patted Vin' shoulder trying to ease the guilt he knew the man was feeling. "I heard an accounting from the British captain of what he saw, and it does not bode well for Mr. Larabee."

"I figured that. Things there are too twisted fer words."

"Tell me what you know." He settled on one end of the bed, winced when it creaked alarmingly, and then indicated for Vin to use the other end.

"Nice room ya got here."

"Representing the murderer has its benefits," he cracked.

"Easy fer me t'get in; just climb the trees t'the roof, then back down again. No one sees me either way."

"You're stalling, my friend."

Vin blew out a breath. "I ain't heard nothin' that could help Chris."

Ezra stared steadily into the blue eyes.

"Rumors. Gerald Pierce was havin' an affair with the older sister Clarissa."

"Mrs. Kingston?"

"Aye, though they say she has ice in her veins and her bed."

Ezra nodded.

"The governess dragon-lady, Mrs. Brethsby, hated Miss Brattenwrighter because she did not listen to her."

"Charming."

"Miss Brattenwrighter was supposedly a light-skirt, which didn't sit well with Mrs. Brethsby. Heard one of Darton's men boastin' he enjoyed a night with her the first night he was here."

"What else?"

"One o'the servants spoke about Miss Brattenwrighter playin' games with Chris under the table at the welcomin' dinner."

"I thought Chris was Mrs. Kingston's dinner partner."

"He was."

Ezra sighed.

"Ya sure he was okay? I can only look in on him late at night when the lobsterbacks ain't watchin' the outside too close."

"He was weak, but he recognized me. A good sign that he shall recover."

Vin allowed a small smile at Ezra's humor, "Good."

Ezra paused. "It wasn't your fault, Vin."

"What?"

"I can see you are blaming yourself. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this."

"How can ya say that now? Ya ain't been here but half a day."

"Because if there was something you could have done, you would have done it. If you sensed he was in danger, you would have stayed with him all the time. This was not planned, nor expected."

"Reckon I'll have t'think on that. Time fer me t'go. Chris should be wakin' soon, and I wanna see that."

"Be safe, my friend."

Part Four

Vin left Ezra's room and rode back to Brattenwrighter's estate through the woods. His horse was left at the hidden pond, while he made his way to his camp. Once there, he snuck forward to his watch post, using his spyglass to keep an eye on the soldiers. Ezra's words continue to run through his head. No matter how much he wished he could have stayed by Chris's side, it would have been uncomfortable for both of them. It wouldn't have seemed proper and Chris would have been angry at the snubs and have said something to ruin this trip.

He didn't care about how Society saw him; he cared to surround himself with good friends, excellent horses and acceptance when he wasn't on the sea at the wheel of Vengeance. For all his concern, Society could stuff itself. Right now, he was worried about Chris, and he wanted to be there with him.

Hours passed until he finally found the chance to sneak to Chris's window. Larabee was sleeping, so he let him rest. Nearly losing him to the fever while outside looking in took a toll on Vin, one that he could bear for now. His friend needed his strength back, and no matter his personal feelings, he would not interrupt the healing process just to talk to him.

He woke with a sense of clarity he did not have before. Chris stretched as much as his injuries allowed, used the bucket provided, and then made himself comfortable on the pallet. He chose not to sit up; to do so would only aggravate his injuries. Worried about his fever, he wondered if seeing Ezra yesterday was a dream.

That was answered when he heard the soldier say, "Mr. Standish, I will be right down the hall. If you encounter any problems, please call out. When you wish to leave, just yell."

A moment of joy entered Larabee's heart, warming him from the inside out. He was not alone.

"Thank you, Private." Ezra stepped into the cell, staring down at Chris. "Don't get up."

Chris smirked. "Don't intend to."

Standish dragged the stool left there for changing bandages over to the edge of the pallet. "I have been retained as your barrister. Magistrate Travis was gracious enough to bring me here, then we parted company." Shrewd green eyes communicated silently.

He got the message - Travis was not going to interfere directly, but what he learned indirectly would be funneled through Ezra. They were only going to play the part of acquaintances, not true friends and whatever else they were because of Travis helping bankroll the building and continued existence of the Vengeance. Chris remarked, "That was kind of him."

"Very. He visited for a short time yesterday, but you needed your rest." Ezra cocked his head to one side, indicating with a subtle thumb pointed to the door that the guard had not walked away and listened.

"Thank you for coming." Chris said.

"Do not mention it. We must discuss what happened. Are you feeling well enough?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "I will feel better out of here."

"Understandable. What do you remember?" Ezra gave him a small smile, then leaned close so the words would not carry to the hallway.

"I was getting some air. Had to answer the call of nature, and someone struck me from behind. I woke up to screaming."

"The scene was explained to me. How much did you drink?"

"More than I should have," Chris grumbled.

"Meaning you were overpowered quickly?"

"Yes. Humiliating."

"More than one person?"

"I think so. I hope so. Pride couldn't take it if there was only one."

"There would have to be," Ezra mused aloud. "If you were unconscious, a woman could not lift you. A man would struggle with your dead weight, and someone would have seen that."

"Yes," Chris mused.

"So who did you anger while you were here?" The teasing note in Ezra's voice took the sting out of the words.

"I found out things I should not have known, and was discovered once."

"Tell me all of it."

"Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston were having a liaison."

"Even though he and Miss Brattenwrighter were to be married. Interesting. The liaison was a rumor passed on to me."

"Fact."

"You know this how, my friend?"

"Walking from the stables to the house, heard them in the woods. Not a good time." He winked once.

"Ah." Ezra cleared his throat to hide his smile.

"Almost got away without them hearing me, but Captain Darton called out my name. The couple covered their tryst, but I think they knew I knew."

"Did you inform anyone?"

"No. Seems Katherine already knew; told me during our dance. Earlier I overheard her and her governess talking about how she shouldn't be having relations with Mr. Pierce prior to the wedding, or with a soldier."

"With Mr. Pierce? That I did not know. The soldier I knew."

"And she tried to get me."

"Foot games under the table?"

Chris flushed. "You heard about that?"

"One of the servants saw. That will come out."

"Along with me hearing Mr. Pierce say that Katherine needed to be out of the way, or Mrs. Brethsby telling her that her actions would get her killed?"

"I will be sure to bring that up."

"Then there's her father."

Ezra's jaw dropped. "What about her father?"

"He was berating her about her behavior before my dance with her, telling her that her harlot behavior would stop."

"Dear Lord, the intrigue. It just makes my stomach churn."

"It only gets more complicated."

"Pray tell." Ezra's voice held considerable parts disbelief, curiosity, and sarcasm.

"Darton's interested in Clarissa, the older sister, but he was unaware, and still is, of her trysts with Pierce."

"Lovely."

"I thought so." Chris made a face.

"Yet you stayed through all this farcical melodrama?"

"I couldn't wait to leave Sunday morning. And there's one more person involved."

"Let me guess - Governor Martin? It seems he was the only one not involved."

"Close. Matthew Davis."

"What?" Ezra nearly leapt from his stool.

Chris enjoyed watching Ezra's jaw drop open. "Katherine made a statement that she and Pierce were not going to go beyond the Crown's minimum expectations and requirements. That was heard by everyone present in the ballroom. The music had stopped, and she was quite loud. Davis did not like that. He left to go talk to her."

"Machiavelli could not plan this better." Standish rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"Whoever set me up stripped me, killed her, and staged the scene."

"Then someone saw something, and someone knows something they aren't saying. I must check into this."

"Be careful, or we will share this cell. No offense, but I'd rather leave than get a roommate."

"This cell and the company would be an improvement over my room, but I will endeavor for your freedom."

Chris managed a laugh.

"I should let you rest," Ezra said.

"I'm fine."

"You need your strength," his friend replied. "We will talk tomorrow." He called out for the guard, no surprise on his face when the door opened immediately.

Chris watched him go, knowing that the master of intrigue would slowly unravel this puzzle.

Vin caught Ezra staring into the woods when he left the slave quarters, and read that as a signal that he wanted to meet. Making his way to the inn, he snuck into the man's tiny room without being seen. "What did ya find out? How is he doin'?" The questions came out quickly before he could call them back.

"Much better, but I require your help. Check with the maids, charm them, do whatever, but discover whether or not someone saw Chris being dragged from the path to the stable up to the house. He would have been unconscious, and someone must have seen something."

"Reckon ya want me ta let them know I'm here?"

"I think you have the resources to discover the information discreetly." Ezra grinned at him.

"I can do that." He thought about Miss Mary Lou's niece, and her knowledge about everything that happened here. "What else?"

"The fiancιe and the sister were indiscreet with each other. Find out how indiscreet before I question them."

"Ya think the poor murdered girl knew about it before?"

"Chris said she did. We may not know what precisely happened between them, but there was a rather public argument between the victim and Pierce about their loyalty to the Crown the night of the ball. Our dear friend Matthew Davis was not pleased."

"I doubt he would be," Vin replied. "That all?"

"Would it be too much to ask to learn the stories about the sister Mrs. Kingston, the governess Mrs. Brethsby, and Mr. Pierce? I sincerely doubt her father would be responsible at this point in time. A father wouldn't set the scene the way it was, unless he truly hated her."

"She was his favorite; that much I know fer sure," Vin supplied.

"Then we will focus on the other four."

"I can tell ya about the sister, or some of it." Vin told Ezra what he learned from Miss Mary Lou, and added the few details he'd learned since then.

"Very interesting," Ezra remarked. "I will wait to hear from you."

Vin found himself in Nadine's cabin on the Brattenwrighter property. She was happy to see him again and more than willing to tell him all about the people in the main house. Since Brattenwrighter tricked her mother into indenture, then charged her for everything he could that so that she could never get out, Nadine's mother - Miss Mary Lou's sister - held a strong hatred for the Brattenwrighter family. That hatred spilled over into a willingness to talk to Vin about what she and her mother knew. It took hours to learn the history of the Brattenwrighter family, followed by the tragedies surrounding the older sister, and finally an account of the intertwined pasts of the Pierce family and the Brattenwrighters.

When he left, there was much to digest. He found his camp, watched for a while, and then listened for the guard. At the appropriate time, he worked his way to Larabee's window. "Chris!"

"Vin."

His friend's voice answered him almost immediately.

"How are ya?"

"Better. Ezra's here."

"I saw him. He's got me workin'."

Chris laughed.

It was the best sound Vin had heard in a long time. "Reckon I'm doin' everythin' I can do t'pull ya out o'this."

"I know, and I appreciate it."

Chris was coming to count on Vin's visits. They were one of the very few bright spots of his lonely days here; just seeing and talking briefly with his friend. Though they could not really see each other or touch, just knowing he was there reassured him. No matter what happened, he knew he had a good friend on his side.

They talked about little things for the next quarter hour, then Vin had to leave before the patrols found him. It was enough to keep him going until the morning, and to push the ever-encroaching despair back.

Vin carefully woke Ezra with the information he had, enjoying the man's discomfort at rising early. Yet even in Standish's morning fog, Vin was amazed at how quickly his friend assimilated the information. Plans were made for two days hence.

Ezra went to see Chris again, and this time he questioned Chris extensively on his actions, habits, and details. He hatched a plan to bring all the elements together in one place, and needed Magistrate Travis present along with Captain Darton.

Just to be sure, he sent Vin to a specific location to find out information. When the trainer came back, more pieces of the puzzle were in place. Now it was time for the reveal.

They were all gathered in Brattenwrighter's formal sitting room, most glaring at Chris Larabee, who sat in his borrowed ragged clothes and in chains. On his left sat a nervous Vin Tanner, though he didn't show it, while two large soldiers stood guard behind the accused man. Ezra sat to his right.

Magistrate Travis was seated near, not precisely next to that group, with Matthew Davis beside him.

On the opposite side of the sitting room, Brattenwrighter, his wife, Clarissa, and Pierce conferred amongst themselves between shooting looks of hatred at Chris Larabee. Mrs. Brethsby kept her back to him, talking in low tones with Clarissa.

The chambermaid that found the body stood in the back corner, well away from those considered her betters.

Captain Darton held the middle ground with Sheriff Snyder, both watching the groups warily.

"We're here, Mr. Standish. Could you please explain why you are imposing on my hospitality this way, not to mention disturbing a house in mourning?" Brattenwrighter queried, wearing a sneer on his face and the barest traces of civility in his tone.

"Sheriff Snyder was gracious enough to allow us to meet, and he stated you preferred to be here, instead of in town," Ezra smoothly replied. "I felt it was necessary to gather everyone in one place to clear up some matters."

"Nothing will change the fact that Katherine died violently at that man's hands!" Pierce yelled, his shaking finger pointed at Chris.

"No one disagrees she died violently," Standish answered. "With your permission, Sheriff, may I ask my questions?"

"Of course."

"How dare you agree to this, and make me submit, Sheriff!" Brattenwrighter roared. "This is my home, and we are in mourning. The questions should come at the trial, not at this delicate time."

"Mr. Brattenwrighter, Mr. Standish has brought up some points that must be explained. I cannot, in good conscience, put someone on trial for murder if he did not commit it!" Sheriff Snyder glared at Katherine's father.

"I saw him atop the body myself, Sheriff," Darton smoothly interjected. "It was his knife in her heart."

"True enough, which was why I did not investigate further. Mr. Standish has. Go ahead, sir," Snyder replied.

"Outrageous," Brattenwrighter protested.

"But necessary," Ezra argued. "Mr. Tanner, what did you discover about the whereabouts of Mr. Brattenwrighter during the time in question?"

"He was seen drinkin' and carousin' with his huntin' club until five thirty, then the morning maids saw him go into his room. His valet found him passed out beside Mrs. Brattenwrighter, leaving him there."

"You have the audacity to question my whereabouts?" Brattenwrighter shot to his feet. "Get out!"

"I want to hear this, Mr. Brattenwrighter," Matthew Davis interjected. "If we are allowing a brutal murderer to set up an honorable man, then we must pursue all angles." He stared hard at the father.

Brattenwrighter sat down.

"Continue, Mr. Standish."

"I also can account for your whereabouts, Mr. Davis, and those of Mr. Pierce."

Davis inclined his head.

"I would not kill her," Pierce protested. "We were to be married."

"Married for money," Ezra reminded softly. "An arrangement that suited you and your family quite well and one you would not want to upset."

"That is none of your business, sir," Pierce huffed.

"That leaves me, Clarissa, Mr. Larabee, and Mrs. Brethsby," Darton said clearly. "I see no reason for this to continue, especially to tarnish the reputations of two good women."

"Mr. Tanner?" Ezra turned to his friend. "I do believe we need to regress."

"Mrs. Kingston killed her husband and the woman he was with that night," Vin informed the assembled parties, his eyes locked on the living daughter.

Chris could not help but stare at Clarissa. He'd thought her cold, but that was quite an accusation.

"I beg your pardon!" Clarissa shot to her feet. "I will not stand here and listen to this any longer!" She stormed toward the door.

Vin blocked her path. "You were seen that night, Mrs. Kingston. I have four slaves, all sold t'different plantations since by the plantation manager, who can attest t'watchin' ya through the windows with the knife. They were told they would be sent t'the cotton fields and families split up if they talked, not t'mention the threat o'bein' outright killed."

"You would believe the word of slaves over me?" She pulled herself to her full height and her nose shot up in the air.

"And their white plantation manager, who was with his mistress when word filtered down ya were comin' t'the cabins. Everyone watched, but they feared what would happen if ya found out they knew. They didn't talk. Ya were their owner; ya kept the manager that threatened them on, 'till his family forced ya out. They fired and sold everyone, and ended up with better owners, so no one talked."

"That's a pretty hefty accusation, Mr. Tanner. I will want to talk to them," said Sheriff Snyder.

"I checked it out, Sheriff. There's no question. The slaves ain't spoken since 'fore they were sold, and the overseer's got no reason t'lie now. He's been promoted t'plantation manager. Mrs. Kingston got away with murder back then."

"I will have you arrested for this!" Clarissa yelled.

"Mr. Standish, Mr. Tanner, I must ask you to leave," Brattenwrighter demanded.

"Oh, but it's only getting interesting," Chris spoke up. "You have sheltered a murderer for years, yet you wish me to hang immediately for something I did not do."

"I insist, in the name of Governor Martin, that this continue," Davis said. "Anyone wish to question my authority?" He dared the family to oppose him.

No one did. There were several uncomfortable looks, but no words were spoken.

"Mr. Standish, I will assume you believe Mrs. Kingston murdered Miss Brattenwrighter as well?" Captain Darton asked.

"Mrs. Brethsby, did you inform Mr. Brattenwrighter that you were wanted in England for fraud and theft?" Ezra ran a thumb down the side of his cheek and chin, ignoring Darton's question. "Under the name of Mrs. Grigsby, if that is yet really your real name."

"What?" Brattenwrighter stared at the governess for his daughters. "Is this true, Mrs. Brethsby?"

"You bastard!" the governess yelled, all previous propriety forgotten in her surprise.

"You have proof?" Sheriff Snyder asked.

Ezra passed a parchment to the sheriff. "I am no bastard, and you are no respectable governess."

The lawman opened it and read. "This picture is an incredible likeness," he said. "Mrs. Brethsby, I will be taking you into custody. Captain Darton, might I impose to have someone guard her while we are here?"

"Of course." Darton signaled one of the men to leave and return with another soldier, everyone silent until the soldiers returned to their guard posts.

Vin made himself small at Chris's side.

"Did Mrs. Brethsby - Grigsby - kill my daughter, Mr. Standish?" Brattenwrighter asked, more agreeable to listening to the proceedings, dumbfounded by the recent revelation. "I hardly know what to believe right now."

"Then there was the tryst Mr. Larabee overheard, and somewhat interrupted, when he heard Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston involved with each other. Mr. Pierce was plotting to have Miss Brattenwrighter removed from the scene to allow him to have Mrs. Kingston."

"What?" Darton exclaimed. "Clarissa?" He spun on a polished heel to face her.

"I love Peter, Father." She started to cry. "I always have, yet you married me off. That was a failure, when all I wanted was him. Now that I could have him, you refused."

"Because of the Scandal, Clarissa," Brattenwrighter explained. "And because I knew that your sister had already ruined herself with Pierce."

"You compromised her?" Clarissa's eyes flashed, and she advanced a few steps on Pierce. "While you slept with me?"

Darton held her back.

"Why not?" Pierce sneered coldly. "She was willing. We were to be married'; it was my right. Besides, it didn't stop me from taking my pleasure with you."

"But, Clarissa, you and I -" Darton cut off. "I thought – "

"I chose to sleep with you because I was bored, Paul. I have no feelings for you." She shook herself free of his grip, half throwing herself into a chair. One of Darton's soldiers stood guard over her, the other returning to his post by Chris.

Vin hunched his shoulders, using Larabee to block the new soldiers' view of him.

"But you already knew that, Captain," Ezra said softly. "That was how you were able to stage the scene so well."

"What?" The captain wheeled to face Ezra.

Mrs. Brattenwrighter gasped.

"Oh, you did not kill Katherine. Mrs. Kingston did. The chambermaid over there saw her come out of Mr. Larabee's room during the wee hours of the morning. She assumed that it was a liaison, and said nothing."

"Are you accusing my daughter of killing her sister?" Brattenwrighter asked.

Ezra did not answer directly. "There was a witness to the killing."

"Who?" Several voices demanded the identity of the witness with impatience.

"A man who helped himself to Miss Katherine's favors before allowing her sister to stab the fatal blow," Standish continued. "Isn't that right, Mr. Pierce?"

"What?" The stunned man jumped out of his seat. "You said you could account for my whereabouts."

"I can. I did not say that accounting would fare well for you. Two grooms coming up the path to the kitchen saw you and Mrs. Kingston bash Mr. Larabee in the head when he was relieving himself. They watched and followed you when you carried his unconscious body into the house, through the servant's entrance. Exceptionally curious, they snuck into the house themselves and watched the pair of you carry Mr. Larabee into his room. At that point, Mrs. Kingston snuck out, leaving you alone with Katherine. The grooms stayed silent out of fear for their jobs, or being killed. If you were willing to harm an honored guest of the house, what would you do to a lowly pair of grooms?"

"Explain to me, Mr. Standish, how you know Katherine was in that room," Snyder demanded.

"The servants see everything, Sheriff. Everyone saw Mr. Pierce, Mr. Davis, and Miss Brattenwrighter leave the ball to talk. Four valets' wives, spying on the ball, admitted to Mr. Tanner that they saw the punch Mr. Pierce give Miss Brattenwrighter had been doctored by Mrs. Kingston. Their consciences could not allow an innocent man to hang, but feared for the loss of employment. They also saw Mrs. Kingston put something in Mr. Larabee's punch when he retrieved her fan."

Chris glared at the woman, yet remained silent. There needed to be more proof to clear him before he would be released.

"Spell it out, Mr. Standish. I find myself growing impatient," Davis huffed finding it difficult to follow so much intrigue within one family.

"It's quite simple, really. Mr. Larabee was drugged, and then when he drank quite steadily, he felt the need to clear his head. He made it down the path to the stables, where he stepped off to answer the call of nature. Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston clubbed him. Beforehand, Mr. Pierce took Katherine upstairs, with Mrs. Brethsby's help, and placed her in Mr. Larabee's bed."

"Mrs. Brethsby helped?" the sheriff asked.

"Yes. How else could her staggering from the drugging be explained, and covered in a layer of propriety? Her governess was escorting her to her room. Only Mrs. Brethsby had been found out. Mr. Pierce had made inquiries about her, and discovered her fugitive status. My guess was that he threatened her into cooperation."

"He did," Mrs. Brethsby confirmed. "Said he wouldn't tell anyone that I wasn't who I claimed to be. Never thought he would kill her."

Brattenwrighter covered his face with his hands.

Mrs. Brattenwrighter fanned herself vigorously.

"Of course, Mr. Pierce lingered down the hall. He waited until you left, and then took advantage of Katherine. She protested, evident by the torn clothing. They planned that once Mr. Larabee arrived, they would place him on top of her, let the maid find them in the morning, and that would disgrace them both. That way Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston could easily remove Katherine from their coming together, even with the Scandal."

"How does Captain Darton fit into this?" Sheriff Snyder asked. "That's where you've lost me."

"Their plan took an unexpected turn. Captain Darton went to speak with Mr. Larabee, and he found Miss Brattenwrighter in his room. From what Captain Darton's valet told Mr. Tanner, he was in there for a considerable time. The valet was waiting to find out if his services would be needed that night, or if he could retire, hence his staying in the area. Out of discretion, he said nothing, especially when he heard arguing between his employer and Miss Brattenwrighter. He also saw Mr. Pierce and Mrs. Kingston come upstairs toting the very unconscious, unresponsive Mr. Larabee, and he heard quite a fight between all of them. His eyes watched them leave the room, all with blood on them. Mrs. Kingston was shaking and kept repeating she killed her sister."

"Are these people available for questioning?" Snyder asked.

"Yes."

Chris spoke oh-so-softly, his tone holding both surprise and disdain, "Guess your guilty conscience got me treatment, instead of your precious sense of honor and duty. I will not thank you."

The British military man looked away, swallowing hard. "You were treated fairly once I discovered the situation."

"Once your men worked me over so I couldn't talk. You're a disgrace to that uniform." Larabee glared. "The fact I lived complicated things, didn't it?"

"Tell me what happened in that room," Brattenwrighter demanded, giving all the participants his most dominating glare. "I trusted each of you, and have been betrayed. Who killed Katherine?"

Darton cleared his throat. "I must confess to my part of this tragedy. The burden weighs heavily on my heart."

"Heavy enough to beat Mr. Larabee senseless so he could not protest his innocence or send word to others," Ezra remarked. "Weighed enough to have Mrs. Kingston scratch him to look like Katherine fought. Set the scene so well and so completely there would be no doubt and the good sheriff would not even talk to Mr. Larabee.""

Darton's head fell in shame. "For that I apologize; the only innocent was Mr. Larabee."

"You fool!" Clarissa yelled. "Say nothing!"

"I must speak. I entered the room and argued with Katherine. She told me that she and Pierce were involved, and yet he was intimate with Clarissa. I was enraged; I thought he was taking advantage of them both. I confronted Pierce when he entered the room with Clarissa and Mr. Larabee."

"Shut your mouth, Darton," Pierce snapped.

"I have prided myself on being a loyal soldier, yet I was party to a crime. For that, I claim my responsibility. Inside the room, Katherine was fighting the effects of the drug, and blaming Clarissa. When I disagreed with her, she told me about Clarissa and Pierce. I was shocked. Moments later, Clarissa and Pierce brought in Mr. Larabee, and I asked what was going on."

He looked at Katherine's father. "They told me they planned to ruin Katherine in order to force you to reconsider the marriage, Mr. Brattenwrighter. She heard them, objected, and tried to rise from the bed. Mr. Larabee was dropped on the floor, and his knife fell from his pocket. Katherine grabbed for it, but Clarissa reached it first. She swung it in a warning arc, but she was too close to Katherine. The blade went right into her heart."

Mrs. Brattenwrighter sobbed quietly, leaning into her husband.

Darton continued, "By then, Katherine died, and we were quarreling over what to do. Pierce asked me if I wished to see Clarissa hang for her murder. I could not." His eyes fell to the tips of his boots. "So I helped stage the scene so Mr. Larabee would take the blame. You are right, Mr. Standish. I had Clarissa scratch Mr. Larabee. I knew that the chambermaid came early in the morning to change the basin water, and stayed awake until she screamed."

"Wonder if this is how you treat all your guests," Chris said to Brattenwrighter.

"Mr. Larabee, please accept my apologies for your treatment," Brattenwrighter said stiffly. "I find I do not even know my own family, and I have much to deal with. Sheriff, please release him."

They did, and Chris accepted Vin's help to stand. "I am leaving, Mr. Brattenwrighter, and I do not expect to be back until the trial against the guilty parties here. Magistrate, might I impose on you to use your carriage?"

"Of course," Travis said. "I will remain here with Sheriff Snyder to sort things out."

"As will I," Matthew Davis added. "Mr. Larabee - Chris - please accept my apologies as well; it seems that I only saw what I was supposed to see, and not the betrayal by those I trusted."

"We all make errors in judgment, Matthew, and I would like to talk further with you at a later time." Chris intended to use the apology and time wisely, further securing this man's trust and backing. With him once falsely accused, Davis might reconsider any rumors he heard connecting Chris with Captain Vengeance, and at least give Chris the chance to defend his name if that happened. "Will that be acceptable?"

"I will send word," Davis answered. "Fair journey to you."

"Thank you." Chris leaned on Vin to reach the freshly brought up carriage. He climbed aboard painfully, settling back in the soft, cushioned seats.

"Mr. Tanner," Travis called, stopping the man before he got into the carriage.

Chris tensed, knowing how skittish Vin was around the Magistrate.

"Yes?" Tanner stood with one foot on the step inside, and the other on the ground.

"Good work." Travis beamed at him. "You too, Ezra."

"Thank you."

"Thank ya, sir."

"I do have a question, Ezra. How did you convince all those people to talk after so much time?" Travis gave his traveling companion a curious look."

"It appears I will be arranging employment and new owners."

"You didn't bribe them!" The Magistrate glared.

"Absolutely not," Ezra huffed. "I do have principles, sirrah. We discussed their having other options than their current ones. I made no guarantees, but I believed that they would be able to find employment."

"Very risky."

"I, for one, though, am thankful," Chris said through the window. "At least I'm not going to be hung for murder." He held out a hand and shook Ezra's. "Safe journey."

"Please tell me you are not leaving me here," Ezra pleaded.

"Ezra, I need you here to give me all the information and answer questions. I suspect Mr. Tanner will not be available."

"Sorry, Ez." Vin slipped into the carriage and pulled the door shut. "We're leaving." He tapped on the top of the carriage, his own luggage already stored on it in case they had to travel fast.

"Thanks, Ezra!" Chris called from inside.

The carriage lumbered away.

"How ya feelin'?" Vin asked.

"Like hell," Chris replied. "See how many ruts we can hit on the way home."

"Same old sourpuss Larabee. Gets cleared o'murder and whines about gettin' bounced around in a carriage."

The injured man chuckled, then winced. "I'm grateful to you."

"T'me? Fer what?"

"Making sure I didn't stand alone. I can take the beating, the accusations, and even the trial, but it was easier knowing I had a friend like you willing to stand by me all the way."

"Ez was there, and so was the Magistrate."

"Yes, but they did not sneak to my window each night to check on me. Or make sure my belongings were taken care of, or get the word out that I needed help. You did that for me. Thank you."

"Ya gettin' soft on me?" Vin's rough tone showed the emotion in his voice, belying the gruffness in his voice.

"Hell, no. Just saying I appreciate having a friend."

"Who said I was yer friend?" Vin held a straight face.

Chris glared.

Tanner burst out laughing; a few moments later, Chris joined him.

Their journey passed easily. In the next town, they stopped at a physician's office to have Chris checked out. Vin followed the instructions to the letter, much to Larabee's disgust over having to eat herbal broths and medicinal stews. Throughout the entire trip, one thing was for certain - they were friends, and only grew closer with each passing mile.

Back at his home, Chris decided he was lucky to have such a man in his life, a good friend that would risk so much to help him. Even when he wanted to shove him out the door for being such a pain in the butt. Of course, good friends are like that, he mused. They never let you face crisis by yourself, stood by you, but didn't hesitate to boot you when you needed it. Or if you didn't, he thought crossly, when Vin gleefully entered Chris's room to announce Nathan was on his way up, and then snatched Larabee's pants to prevent him from leaving.

END