Far From Broken (3 page)

Her screams reached him through the wall dividing their two rooms.

He was on his feet and out the door in the space of a fractured heartbeat. Murphy was already in the hall and Malcolm stumbled out of his room at nearly the same moment as Jasper, but he waved them both back as he reached Callie’s room. “I’ll see to her,” he shot over his shoulder.

Her cries tore through him like razorblades sliding down his throat, but even in his urgency, he thought to shut the door behind him as he entered her room. If something was wrong, he would run for the doctor, but if she’d become caught in the throes of a nightmare, he didn’t want anyone else to see her in her vulnerability.

She’d left a lamp burning on the table, and the fire in the hearth gave off a soft glow. When he reached the bedside, he saw that her legs had become twisted among the sheets. Her body thrashed about, but in her sleepy delirium she couldn’t free her heavy limbs from the smooth cotton.

When Jasper moved to gently extricate her, she cried out and took a wild swing at him. He was too slow to avoid the shot, and her iron-plated fist caught him high in the cheek. Pain exploded across the left side of his face. Damn. At least it wasn’t his chest again.

With a grunt he gave up and simply climbed into her bed, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her tightly.

She continued to moan and flail against him, but he held her fast, a silent promise that he would never leave her to suffer alone again.

After a short while, she settled down. When he’d rushed out of his room for hers, he hadn’t bothered to button his shirt. Her head fit into his shoulder so very naturally as he cradled her close. The warm puffs of her short, raspy breaths glanced across his skin.

It was heavenly torture to finally hold her like this again—to feel the proof that she was healthy and safe and alive. At this moment, he couldn’t ask for anything more…

But he still
wanted
more.

As she shifted, her soft breasts pressed against his chest and the need for her became an insistent throbbing in his groin, feeding his guilt. Jasper indulged his other needs instead, filling his senses with her scent and touch. His lips brushed the top of her head, letting her wayward curls tickle his nose and chin. He breathed deeply and felt his very soul expand as his lungs drew her in. Thank God, she smelled just the same. She smelled like…his.

He was grateful for this chance to look at her now when she wouldn’t think he was staring out of sick curiosity or disgust. Jasper took his time. He grazed the curve of her cheek with his finger, marveling at the smoothness of her skin as if he’d never touched her before. He rediscovered the tiny, almost invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose, and traced the perfect line of her lips, trying to remember how they had felt crushed against his.

His gaze fell down her body, over the curve of her perfect breasts and the sultry indent of her waist. He’d already experienced the proof of how much power the artificial limbs had given her. His cheek still throbbed, and the place where she’d hit him in the chest had been tender for a full day. Now that hand lay curled over his abdomen.

As he watched, her fingers flexed. The movement was smooth, making the hand seem like a natural extension of her arm. He took a moment to marvel at the doctor’s miraculous ability to connect flesh and bone to metal in such a way that the rest of Callie’s body was able to communicate with the new parts so perfectly.

Jasper understood the mechanics behind it only to a certain extent. The doctor had explained that he’d spent many years in the development and experimentation of biomechanical organisms so small they were visible only by means of magnifying glasses. After surgically attaching the patient’s new limbs, these organisms were injected into the bloodstream and left to travel throughout the body, somehow carrying messages back and forth between the limbs and the brain, allowing the patient, Callie, to control the replacement hand or foot, or even the eye, the same as she controlled her other body parts.

Apparently, they also enhanced her ability to heal and gave her strength beyond that of three grown men.

Very gently so as not to wake her, especially now that she seemed to be resting more easily, he reached for the skirt of Callie’s cotton nightdress and drew it up slowly. A low groan escaped his lips at what was revealed to him.

Both her legs were comprised of metal and hinges and gears from just above her knees, all the way down, including her feet. He clenched his jaw tightly, trying to examine them with an emotional objectivity. He was able to acknowledge that they were as much a marvel of modern engineering and medicine as her hand and eye. In fact, there was a certain beauty and symmetry to the way they had been fashioned. As much as possible, they looked just like Callie’s own legs had looked before the attack—slim, proportional, strong.

A wild, primal rage clawed up his throat, threatening to explode. As grateful as he was to the doctor for giving his wife back her legs, her hand, her eye…
none of it should have been necessary.

If he had kept his promises, it wouldn’t have been.

Jasper had arrived home weeks later than he’d promised, sporting a barely healed scar in his side, a growling stomach and a boatload of regret and anger.

His bloody retrieval mission had very quickly turned into a royal mess and exploded in his damned face. It hadn’t been as simple as it sounded. He should have known. They never were.

Something had been wrong almost from the very beginning, when Murphy told him their contact insisted on meeting in a derelict, out-of-the-way French cottage in the middle of nowhere. But he’d kept trying to convince himself he hadn’t been set up.

Until the first shot nicked his arm, and the second got him in the side.

A hailstorm of gunfire had followed, hitting the ground around him from all sides. Surrounded and outgunned, getting out with his life had been a miracle. He’d limped to the safe house at Amiens, forced to lie low to heal and make sure he wouldn’t be followed when he finally risked coming back home.

Callie would be angry, but she could never stay mad at him for long. He tapped his chest where the long, slim box in the inside pocket of his jacket rested, hoping he’d chosen the right bauble to ensure his acceptance back into her good graces sooner than later.

He was surprised when young John didn’t meet him halfway up the drive to take Silver to the stables. Jasper continued on alone. He tightened his hold on the silk scarf he carried with him always, although now it was stained with his blood.

Inside the stables, he rapped on the door before ducking his head into the small room adjoining the stalls. He shrugged when he saw nobody sleeping in the cot, a little irritated at having to rub the horse down himself when all he wanted was to hurry into the house to see Callie. If he found that rascal had been in one of the maids’ beds, he was going to invent a towering pile of particularly dirty chores to keep him busy instead of underneath all the women’s skirts.

Once inside the house, he started to get worried when there was no one to greet him at the door either, not even Murphy.

Leaving his overcoat hanging off the newel post at the bottom of the staircase, he headed up with weary steps.

Something wasn’t right. He felt the wrongness in his bones, a thudding, tight ache that threatened to rip his chest in two. He began to move faster, taking the last few steps two at a time and then rushing down the hall to their bedchamber. He threw open the door. “Callie?”

She wasn’t there.

The bedding lay strewn across the floor as if someone
had
been sleeping. Sleeping, and perhaps…
dragged
out of the bed.

His blood turned colder as he tore through every room, looking for her, calling her name.

When he ran back down the stairs, he followed a muffled banging noise to the pantry closet just inside the kitchen. The servants had been bound and gagged and stuffed inside it. Malcolm was there too, unconscious with a deep, nasty gash in his head that had bled onto the floor.

He untied them and forced Malcolm awake, all the while his heart hammering with a desperate fear.
Where was Callie?

“What happened here?” he asked, unable to control the terse, frantic tone of his voice.

Cook twisted her hands together, tears running down her plump cheeks. “My lord, ’twas a band of thieves. They hid in the stables and attacked Mr. Malcolm here when he went to check an’ see why young John hadn’t come in fer dinner. We didn’t know what were happenin’, but suddenly we heard Lady Carlisle screamin’ in her chamber. One o’ ’em dragged her down the stairs by her hair and the others held guns to our heads and threatened to kill us all.”

Malcolm groaned and touched a hand to his temple, swearing when it came back sticky with blood. “Colonel, it’s my fault,” he said. “They should never have been able to take me off guard.”

He shook his head in impatience. “Never mind that now. What did they do with Lady Carlisle? Where’s Callie?”

His wife’s young maid piped in, “She bargained for us, my lord. She tole the demons that if they left us alone, they could take her.”

Oh God.

“How long ago?”

The cook and the maid glanced at each other with wide eyes. “Not sure, my l-l-lord,” Cook stuttered. “But I’d say we were probably locked up in there at least three hours.”

No. That was too long.
Three hours was long enough for them to have done just about anything to her.

He couldn’t think about that. Not yet.
Find her first.
“Malcolm, get my shotgun.”

“Right away, Colonel.” The man had already struggled to his feet, and now stood tall and strong, ready at Jasper’s side like he’d been on the first day they’d donned army colors together.

“My lord.” The light-haired maid stopped him before he made it to the hallway, her voice cracking. “Did ye find our John?”

“He wasn’t in the stables. You and the others search for him while I’m gone.” He kept moving, meeting Malcolm in the front hall. “What about Murphy, where is he?” The lieutenant had disappeared from his side shortly after the gunfight started. Jasper hadn’t been too worried at the time. Murphy was nothing if not resourceful, and he’d assumed the man had taken cover and made his way back home on his own.

“He arrived two nights ago, but took himself off early this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Not sure.” Malcolm shrugged. “But he’s been hot for the new serving girl at the inn.”

Grabbing the weapon from Malcolm, Jasper walked out into the night. “I don’t care how long it takes. We don’t come back without her,” he said, his voice filled with the ice that rushed through his veins.

Malcolm nodded. “Agreed.”

They’d just saddled two horses and were halfway down the lane that would take them to the main road when Jasper saw movement. He pulled his horse to a stop and jumped down. “John, is that you?”

A figure hunched over, clutching his belly as he stumbled toward them. Jasper called over his shoulder to Malcolm as he ran to the boy’s side. “Hurry and get someone out here to help him.”

“My lady. She—” The boy coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth.

“What happened, John?”

“I was in the woods this eve, lookin’ fer some o’ that wild garlic to give to the mare, ’cause the flies have been botherin’ her somethin’ fierce.”

“What happened?” he repeated, trying not to lose his patience. Malcolm was already on his way back with Cook, who’d brought some towels and bandages. Jasper reluctantly moved aside to let them tend to the boy.

“They came from the direction of the house, sir. All carryin’ guns, and one of ’em had my Lady Carlisle thrown over his shoulder like a sack of feed.” He gazed up at Jasper with a pleading look, as if begging for forgiveness. “I didn’t know what to do. They were three big bastards, and only one of me…so at first, I just followed ’em.”

“How did you get hurt?”

If possible, the boy turned even whiter. “Well, when they got deeper into the woods my lady, she started fightin’. She were kickin’ and scratchin’ to get away. The one guy, he dropped ’er, but she tripped and fell over her skirts tryin’ to run, and he just grabbed ’er back up and hit her in the face.”

Jasper’s hands clenched into two tight fists at his sides. This couldn’t be happening.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, either.

“I couldn’t let them hurt her, my lord. I mean…I tried. I tried not to let them.” Tears had gathered in his eyes, and he lifted a bloody hand to swipe them away. “I jumped in, but one of ’em stuck me. A knife. I…I couldn’t—”

Jasper put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, John. Did you see where they were headed?”

“I think the direction of Lord Folderall’s old huntin’ lodge. You know it?”

The shack was just beyond the border of Jasper’s property and hadn’t been used since the old Earl keeled over almost ten years ago. Jasper remembered playing there when he was a boy. “Yes, I know it.”

He looked to Malcolm, who frowned. “It’ll take longer with the horses. We’d have to go around. Better to cut through.”

Jasper agreed. He was more concerned about the passage of time than losing their way in the dark. He’d grown up in these woods and knew every stone and every bush.

He thanked John for everything he’d tried to do to save his mistress, and told the others to take good care of him.

Then he ran.

Even with a head wound, Malcolm did a good job keeping up with him. The moon was high and full, which helped them see where they were going even though Jasper was moving only on desperation and instinct. He ran faster and faster, without feeling tired or out of breath, every one of his senses and all the muscles in his body in complete accord with his objective—to reach Callie.

Halfway there, they splashed through the narrow stream that marked the boundary of the two adjoining properties, but Jasper didn’t even pause. Tree branches slapped his face and shoulders. He dodged the rocks and roots cropping up in the path, and tried not to think what was happening to his wife. But as they neared the hunting lodge and all was quiet, he feared they were already too late.

A hundred yards from the small cabin, he glanced at Malcolm. “It doesn’t look like they’re here, but run a check of the perimeter. I’m going inside.”

“Aye, Colonel.”

As he approached the door, his belief that nobody had been here changed. He still couldn’t hear anything and there was no window to see inside, but the oily stink of violence and death was all around this place.

Please, no.

When he opened the door, the scent of freshly spilled blood hit him first. He couldn’t hold back the terrified hiss that spilled from his mouth. Callie’s blood. He didn’t even have to see the room to know it was covered in Callie’s blood.

But he did see. And she was there. Tied to a chair.

Thick, coarse rope wrapped around her torso, and more of it bound her ankles to the chair legs. A crude table had been pulled up beside her. There were tools still lying on it.

A hammer.

A saw.

A knife.

“Callie!” He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her. He moved to reach for her, but pulled to a frantic stop, arms hovering in the air between them. He didn’t know what to do first, what to check first. There was blood
everywhere
. On the floor all around her, seeping through the knees of his pants. It covered every inch of her nightdress like the cloth had been dipped in a vat of dye. It was all over her face, her hands…

Oh God, her hand.

“Callie,” he moaned. “Oh no. Oh please, no. What did they do to you?”

Her head hung lifelessly, chin touching her chest. Some of her dark hair fell in wet ropes over her face, while the rest had been caught beneath the twisted strip of cotton tied over her mouth and around her head as a gag. He pushed the strands gently aside and groaned at the sight of the blood running from her eye. It stained her cheeks and ran down her face in thick trails that had been stopped by the gag, which was no longer white.

He could see that the blood seeping through her nightdress came from a wound in her side, and her legs were sticky with wide dark streaks.

She’d been tortured. Brutally. Thoroughly.

He knew right away this was no chance attack by thieves. Colonel Wyndham had been tortured like this too. His broken, lifeless body was found after animals had scavenged it from a shallow grave on the southern edge of his own property. Apparently, the colonel had recently been suckered into the spy game after resigning from more active duty. He’d just returned home from a mission and hadn’t even had the opportunity to report in to the War Office before the bastards got him.

The Ministry had wanted Jasper to find out what was going on. Find out how their operatives’ identities were being leaked to the French, and he’d been sent over the border to meet with the contact. Leaving his family vulnerable in a way he’d never even considered. But should have.

He glanced up at the table. The “tools” were black with thick, half-dried blood. By all accounts Callie should be dead, but she wasn’t. Thank God, she was still alive. Just barely by the looks of it, but she stirred when he touched her face and ran his hands lightly down her arms. Her lips cracked open on a whispered hiss of pain.

“Malcolm!” he shouted over his shoulder.

A moment later, the other man burst through the open door, but came to a sudden stop just inside. “Oh no,” he whispered.

Jasper’s gaze remained fixed on her. He couldn’t see anything else. “Give me your knife. I need to cut the ropes.” He refused to touch the knife that had been left behind.

“Let me do it.”

“Just give me your knife and then get out of here.” In the back of his mind he knew he wasn’t being rational, but the only thing he could think of was that he didn’t want anyone else seeing her like this.

“Let me do it, Colonel,” Malcolm repeated. “Those ropes are the only thing keeping her upright and she’s going to need someone to hold her once the bonds are cut away.”

He groaned. “All right. Just—God, be careful. And don’t…touch her.”

Malcolm came forward and stepped around the chair. He cut the bonds at her ankles first, and then moved to the rope wrapped around her waist and chest. Jasper got to his feet and grasped her shoulders gently until she was free and he was finally able to pull her into his arms, being extra careful of her broken legs.

She whimpered. “Shh, Callie,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re safe now. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” She jerked against him as if shying away. Only semi-conscious, she reacted instinctively out of the memory of fear and pain. He didn’t want her to wake completely. Not here. Not like this. But he hoped his voice would reach her and somehow soothe her, and so he continued to whisper reassurances in her ear.

Her eyelids quivered, but the blood and gore had glued them closed. “Don’t try to see right now, all right? Not yet.”

Her hand and eye needed to be bandaged. There was a huge bump on her head, and he wanted to examine the damage to her legs. But first he had to get her outside. He couldn’t bear for either of them to be in this shack of terror and death for another minute.