When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(95)

———

The small group led Max’s horse off the main road and through mud-bogged side avenues. The Sagesses were determined to punish the man they were certain had murdered Etienne. In this territory, where power seemed to change hands almost monthly, the definitions of right and wrong were variable. In their minds the only certain means a man had of extracting justice was to rely on his own family.

Hands bound behind him, Max waited tensely while they took his horse’s reins and rode to a remote corner of the Sagesse plantation, out among fields left to lie fallow for the season. When they stopped near a grove of trees and began to dismount, Max took action, kicking his horse into a sudden leap sideways, hoping the reins might be yanked out of Severin Dubois’ grasp.

Dubois took the end of the rope binding Max’s wrists and pulled, toppling him to the ground. Max landed on his side with a grunt of pain. There was no laughter or jeering at the ignominious descent. This was a serious business, and the Sagesses were acting not out of petty vengeance but moral obligation.

Although he knew it was hopeless, Max struggled as he was lifted to his feet. The first strike came with blinding force, whipping his head back and sending a burst of pain through his skull. Before he could draw breath, he was battered with a torrent of blows that cracked his ribs and drove the breath from his lungs. His head was snapped to the side, and he felt his body begin to sag. Dark and light swirled around him, and all sound dissolved in a roar.

———

Renée looked blank with surprise. “You say my husband has taken him?” she asked. “Severin and—”

“Yes!” Justin snarled at her. “Your entire accursed family!”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour, perhaps.”

Renée came forward, lightly touching Lysette’s shoulder. “I didn’t know about this.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” Justin muttered.

She returned his glare. “Your insolence won’t help anyone, little man.” She returned her gaze to Lysette. “I might know where they have taken him, but I am not certain. My carriage is just outside.”

“Why would you want to help me find him?” Lysette asked woodenly, barely taking notice of Philippe as he joined them.

“It was wrong of Etienne to keep silent all those years, when he knew that Maximilien was innocent. No one can make reparation for what Etienne has done, and no one—”

“Perhaps,” Justin interrupted icily, “we could make speeches later, and try to find my father before your family stretches his neck.” Grunting with pain, he pushed open the front door and gestured to the carriage.

Philippe escorted Lysette outside, and Justin took Renée’s elbow in a hard grasp. She glared at him. “You are ruining my gown with your dirty hand, boy!”

Justin did not let go of her, using her to maintain his precarious balance. “Tell me where we’re going and why you think my father is there,” he said as they went down the front steps. “You’re probably leading us on a merry chase to keep us from finding him.”

“I have already explained,” Renée said haughtily. “And we are going to a field on the northwest corner of my plantation, a private and secluded place.” A trace of malice entered her voice. “With trees aplenty for hanging. Severin killed a man there once before. I know, because I followed him.”

“And the man’s offense?”

They stopped at the door of the carriage. Renée shoved his hand away from her elbow. They faced each other, and she decided to shock the arrogant boy into silence. “Severin suspected him of being my lover,” she said. Pleased with her own boldness, she waited for a youthful blush that never came.

“Was he?” Justin’s dark eyes were far too adult for a boy his age.

“Yes,” she said, hoping to shock him.

His gaze slid over her with a purely sexual speculation. “You must be good, to make a man risk his life for it.”

To her annoyance, Renée was the one who blushed as she climbed hastily into the carriage.

———

The Sagesses had gathered underneath an ancient oak tree and wrapped a rope around the thickest limb.

“We’ll wait until he comes to,” Severin Dubois said, and the men grunted as they lifted Max’s slumping body onto the saddle of the fidgeting black stallion. Sensitive and fiery-natured, the horse could not tolerate the nearness of anyone other than his master. Max was the only one who could ride him.

Tomas Sagesse, Etienne’s youngest brother, slipped the noose around the unconscious man’s neck, tightened it, and gingerly took hold of the stallion’s reins. “I will not be able to stay him for long.”

“You must. I want Maximilien to be awake,” Severin replied. “I want him to know.”

When the horse was allowed to walk away, Vallerand’s body would come to dangle in midair. His neck would not be broken. He would hang there with his windpipe closed, choking and strangling. Severin wandered closer to the agitated horse and stared into Vallerand’s bloodied face. “Open your eyes. Let’s have done with this!”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, the horse sidestepped, and the noose tightened. Vallerand stirred, his eyes half opening. His head lifted from the stallion’s withers, easing the constricting pressure of the rope. Severin had expected to see anger, resentment, pleading in his face, but the dark eyes were emotionless.