This chapter (as well as part of the last) has been reworked slightly to hopefully reflect some issues brought up in reviews.  I hope it seems less like a series of miscommunications/interruptions and more like I intended--Kye not being able to find his voice and willing to speak up.  Maybe, hopefully, you'll still enjoy the story

Chapter 10

The rosy sunrise peeking in the window greeted me as I woke from my restful sleep. Strangely, for being a prisoner of viscount Sterling, I was feeling better—at least physically—than I had in several months. The throbbing of my head had all but disappeared, and the bloody lash marks had faded to scar lines over the last week or so. Even my cheek where the steward had struck me was barely bothering me.

Maybe because my belly wasn't rumbling, like it usually was in the mornings when I was Barrett's amorato, everything else felt equally better.

I was just considering climbing on my cot to peek out the high window when my door opened.

"Good, you're up," Donnelly greeted, although he looked more haggard than usual. He had a bowl with a piece of fruit and bread in it, along with a cup of tea. He glanced at the bucket with the rags. "I see you got yourself cleaned up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He huffed. "Sir. I ain't no sir. That's the Lords or maybe Liam. You and I, we be the same. Just serving our lord like we're told."

'Our lord.' I froze. It Godsdamn well sounded like he was talking about a very specific lord. Although maybe I was reading too much into it.

He motioned me to get up. "Come on. I'm taking you out to get some air. You can eat in the courtyard this morning. It's looking like a right warm day today."

I scrambled to my feet as I followed him out of my cell. He led me into the dazzling garden surrounded by the sprawling manor. Now that I could focus on it without fear clouding my vision, it was even more resplendent than I'd remembered. Unlike Master Barrett's home which was tall and oppressive, the Sterling estate stretched out in a breathtaking display of classical architecture.

Donnelly led me through a small maze of bushes and flowering shrubs to a niche in the courtyard with several small stone benches arranged along the wall. A statue of a woman stood in the center of the peaceful retreat. He waved for me to sit, and I chose a bench to the far side, near the sweet smelling blossoms, partially hidden in the shadows.

He smiled as he waved for me to sit, placing the bowl on the bench. I sat stiffly, keeping my nerves steady. He moved to sit down, obviously guarding me—not that I would go anywhere.

"Donnelly? You out here?" a voice called from somewhere past the bushes. It sounded familiar.

"That's Sam. I'll be right back," my keeper said as he headed back down the path. "Just finish eating. And don't go nowhere."

Sam? No wonder the voice sounded familiar. Samuel from Master's estate was here now. Of course, he was. Alisha probably was too.

"Yes, sir," I replied automatically to the command to stay. After he disappeared, I settled back on the stone seat, resting my back against the wall and pulling my feet up on the edge of the bench with me. Picking up the bread and nibbling on it, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back, breathing in the sharp fragrance of the lavender blooms.

There was a faint moistness in the early morning air as the dew began to evaporate in the warming of the sun. The quiet was broken by the faint rumbling gallop of a horse drawing near. I shifted my head toward the noise, barely able to see through the spread of the bushes. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of Viscount Ashton Sterling pulling a large midnight stallion to a halt.

The man's mocha hair was disheveled, windblown; his white, billowing shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He dismounted efficiently as a groom rushed over to take the reins. I focused briefly on the stretch of his black breeches over his thickly muscled thighs before I noticed what was clutched in his hand—a riding crop.

The bread threatened to clog my throat as I swallowed, suddenly parched.

"Thank you," Lord Ashton snapped at the groom, and I glanced at the retreating back of the servant, a sense of familiarity swept over me. For a moment, I saw Tareth in the broad shoulders and dark hair. But the voice wasn't right, it was too deep.

"You're welcome, sir." The groom nodded his dark head as he led the horse away.

I stamped down the hope—again. I'm not sure why it even crept in again. It had been years since I'd stopped seeing Tareth in every dark-haired servant I saw. Maybe it was being off of Master's estate, stupid as it may be.

"Fucking hell!"

My head snapped back up at the curse, followed by the familiar whoosh of a crop slicing through the air. A bush took the brunt of the beating this time, but it still didn't take away the icy fear creeping down my spine at the sound.

"If I ever find that rat bastard...!" Another shrub exploded petals at a vicious strike of the riding crop.

He was close now, and I held myself as still as possible, praying Donnelly would come back before Lord Ashton decided to take out his anger towards my master on me instead of his beautiful bushes. I was infinitely glad the cream shirt and tan pants allowed me to nearly blend into the background.

The viscount made his way down the path, stopping in front of the statue, a mere few feet from me. I didn't even breathe, afraid to draw his attention, not with the riding crop still clutched tightly in his hand.

His breathing was harsh and ragged as he leaned his forehead against the skirts of the marble woman. He looked so tired, his sharp jaw shadowed in stubble.

"Forgive me, mother," his voice heaved. I realized he was choking back sobs. I watched his lips move silently, tears slipping down his cheeks flushed from his ride—or maybe his rage?

Oh, by the Gods—he's praying. To his mother. I prayed to melt into the wall behind me.

"It's my fault Row is so ill. He had a relapse last night. I thought for sure he wasn't going to make it, mother," he whispered hoarsely. "I should never have let him go into that viper's den alone." I could hear the guilt etched in his voice. It was heartbreaking. Because it wasn't his fault. It was mine. I couldn't save him.

"I can't even find the fly-bitten cur who poisoned him!" He lashed out with the crop at the innocent lilies adorning the base of the statue, white petals fluttered to the stone path. I bit back a yelp of alarm, knowing how those poor flowers felt.

"And that...that boy—" My eyes widened. I was that boy, I was sure of it. But he—he hadn't wanted anything to do with me since he thought I didn't know anything. "Those eyes... like the sky... and the way he's so... He's so fucking infuriating! So damn loyal to that bastard."

Loyal, what the hell? That bastard had tried to slice open my throat! And Lord Ashton thought I was loyal? Terrified, yes. Weak, yes. A coward, yes. A slave, basically. But loyal?

"Liam keeps insisting he must know where Barrett went," the count sighed heavily.

I don't know where he went! I'd told them that. But—maybe...oh fucking hell... maybe they didn't realize I didn't actually know. Maybe they'd thought I was simply refusing to tell them.

Yet, I did have other information he would want, that I had refused to divulge, because I was sure it would cost at least my life if not also Lord Ashton's if the wrong person found out too soon. It suddenly occurred to me that Lord Ashton was alone. It was what I'd been hoping for since he asked me what I knew. Now. Now was my chance—

"I can't even look at him anymore. I still can't help feeling like he has something... something to... say. I can see it in those... those... maddeningly beautiful eyes of his. But he's just so devout to..."

Wait. What? I jolted, knocking my bowl from the bench with a clatter. Beautiful? He thought my eyes were beautiful?

"What the fucking hell?" Lord Ashton veered around instantly, swinging his crop in the direction of the intrusion. My direction.

I managed to lift my shoulder as I scrambled to my feet, taking the brunt of the blow on my bicep instead of my head. I nearly tripped on the baggy trousers before I righted myself, getting my feet planted firmly.

"What in the devil's name are you doing out here?" he yelled, looming over me. "How the hell did you escape your room? Who let you out?" He fired one question at me after another, his molten eyes blazing furiously.

"I—" I couldn't find my words with the crop hovering monstrously close as he used it to punctuate his questions. I braced my hands behind my back, waiting for the next blow, but all he did was smack my chest lightly with the tip of the crop in his demands for answers.

"Still so fucking stubborn, huh?"

Now. Now, I told myself, ignoring the stinging pain on my arm. Be strong. Be good. Open your mouth and tell him! Save him! "The sp—"

"Sir!" Voices hurried down the path. "Is everything okay?"

Lord Ashton didn't move. His eyes bored into me, demanding I answer. I wanted to. I should have.

Unfortunately, Liam and Donnelly suddenly barged into the little garden niche, and my voice died in my throat.

"What—?" Liam's eyes darkened as he took in my presence.

"Our guest is out here, in my sanctuary," Lord Ashton stated thickly as he straightened, turning to his men. "I wonder how that happened."

Donnelly's eyes dropped to the ground. "It was my fault, sir. I brought him out for some air. I—I only left for a moment to help Sam... I swear, I didn't mean to leave—"

"He could have fucking run," Liam snarled at the pleading man. "Then we'd have no leads on the maggot marquis."

"I didn't think—"

"Of course, you didn't think! You never think—!"

"Enough!" the viscount roared, cutting off the two bickering men. He glared down at me, and I thought again how tired the man looked.

I focused on the smattering of dark hair in the deep V of his shirt. That way I didn't have to see the hate, the disgust, in those magnetic eyes.

"You were about to say something?" Lord Ashton drawled, trying to entice me to reveal my secrets.

I cut my eyes to the two men looming behind their master, knowing one of them could be the spy. My hand tightened on my wrist behind my back as I stiffened my back. I pressed my lips together firmly.

"Fucking hell," the viscount barked, whirling. I expected the snap of his crop against my skin again as I watched it flail in his frustration. With a deep breath and closed eyes, I kept from flinching, even as I braced myself firmly, pulling on all my training, my discipline, to remain strong in front of the man's tirade.

"Get him back to his room," Lord Ashton ordered, swinging his riding crop toward another set of guiltless flowers.

Donnelly made to reach for me, but Liam glared at him. The steward gripped my arm, squeezing mercilessly as he yanked me back down the path. I marched, keeping my head up and back strong. I wasn't about to let them see me teetering on the edge of breaking.

"What the hell is he doing here?" a familiar voice sneered.

My head twisted to see Samuel unloading a cart of supplies into a door that must have lead to the kitchen.

"He's currently a guest here," Lord Ashton stepped out of the garden bushes behind us, causing Samuel's back to straighten.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't realize..."

"That I was here?" Ashton's brow quirked up.

Samuel flushed as he nodded quickly. "Forgive me, my lord, I... I worked with Master Barrett under your request, and I saw how he... doted on his..." I was quite certain he was about to call me a 'whore' like he usually did; apparently, he thought better of it in front of the viscount. "On Kye."

Lord Ashton's eyes flickered over to me at the use of my name. I wondered if he'd even remembered it before now. I was sure Master had mentioned it, however, the viscount was pretty upset then. It was unlikely he'd paid much attention to such a minute detail.

"Yes, well, Kye, is staying here in case he remembers some information for me," Lord Ashton said sharply.

"Yes, sir. I just... knowing what happened to Lord Rowland because of him, Richard, and the marquis just makes me..." he broke off, his hand fisting by his thigh said enough.

"Yes, I remember you were the one to find Rowland and his men on the road. They were unsure of what was happening to him, why he was suddenly passing out. You were able to tell them Row had been poisoned—and how." Lord Ashton looked tired again. His eyes suspiciously moist. "Your quick thinking saved my brother's life. I haven't had much chance to thank you. I've been...preoccupied with my brother's health."

Samuel ducked his head solemnly. "I wish I could have done more, sir."

"How did you know he'd been poisoned with the hemlock anyway?" the viscount asked abruptly. "Did you see the marquis poison his drink or food?"

"Uh, no, sir," Samuel stuttered, his gaze casting over to me, darkening. "He was there. Kye was in the room. He's the one that told me the count had been poisoned."

Liam jerked on my arm as all the heads swung back to me. Ashton stalked closer, a strange reverence in his eye I hadn't seen before.

"So, you are saying Kye here was the one who told you my brother had been poisoned?" The viscount's head tilted, regarding me curiously.

"Yes, he—he told me to go, to—to hurry." Samuel seemed flustered.

"So, the only reason you were able to help save my brother was because this boy gave you the information. Is that correct?" Ashton spoke to Samuel even though his blazing eyes were locked on me. I could feel the piercing gaze, but I refused to meet his eyes.

"Um, well," Samuel seemed uncertain, "yes, sir, I suppose so."

Lord Ashton's hand snaked up into my hair, gripping the back of my neck firmly, yet not painfully. Abruptly, I felt myself propelled forward, my slight body slamming into the hard mass of the viscount. My heart thudded as his hand slipped up to the back of my head, cupping it, and gently forcing me to look up at him.

I could barely breathe. The masculine scent of the man invading my mind, wrecking havoc on my lucidity. My body started to melt into his, wanting to fuse to his warmth, disintegrate into his embrace. I was a moment away from drawing my arms up between us, hoping he'd wrap both arms around me, but my brain finally decided to function. And I tried to draw away from the specter of hope my body was seeking.

"So, you helped Sam save my brother." Those cinnamon eyes stared down at me almost caringly, damp with gratitude.

I swallowed again. "Yes, sir," I managed to whisper under his intense scrutiny.

"I suppose I should be thanking you then. But why? Why would you admit to helping poison my brother, and then help save him?" Lord Ashton's voice seemed as raw as mine did.

"I...I didn't want Count Rowland to die...sir." I suppose my voice actually was loud enough; it was hard to tell with the man so damn close.

"That's a Godsdamn crock!" Liam snapped, and I jumped at his voice, so lost in the viscount's aura I'd forgotten he was there. "He admitted to helping the bastard poison Lord Rowland. Now he's trying to say he helped save him? He's a currish fobbing scut just trying to save his own fucking neck. Probably realized just how much trouble he was going to be in after he dosed Rowland with the deadly hemlock, so he thought he'd attempt to redeem himself by telling Sam about it. Doesn't change the fact he poisoned Row in the first place!"

Lord Ashton's eye flicked over to his steward, even as he still held me transfixed under the hand cupping my skull. God, the man was so close. So close I could smell the spicy soap he'd used this morning. Close enough to—

"—He's not going to tell us anything," Liam continued to rant while Viscount Sterling stared back down at me, assessing. "We should just get rid of him."

"Find Lee," I hissed out, abruptly realizing this could be my last chance to tell him, especially if Liam had his way.

Lord Ashton stepped back, his focus split between his steward and me, creating distance between us again, frowning. "Finally, what?"

No! Not 'finally'—Find Lee! I wanted to shout, but it was too late. He was moving farther away.

The deep furrow between his brow told of his confusion, his uncertainty. "You want us to be done with you?"

I wanted to glare at the men around us, make them all go away. "No, sir."

"You obviously have something to say, so say it," the viscount demanded.

The weighty silence of everyone staring at me curdled my stomach. I could barely breathe, let alone speak my secret in front of so many men, only one of whom I somewhat trusted. "I—I'm sorry," was all I managed.

The viscount's nostrils flared with irritation. "Stubborn," he mumbled under his breath.

When Lord Ashton regained his composure, he stalked quickly toward the door. I knew I was a distant thought now. The viscount had more important things to do than stand here pandering to my silence. He glanced briefly at Liam, and I knew he was going to leave dealing with me to the steward. He'd already said he he couldn't stand to look at me. Thoughts of dealing with me evaporated quickly as he returned to the business of running his estate. His liquid brown eyes flickered over me before finally landing his gaze on his steward. "Let's focus on what we can. The Marquis can't hide forever. Until then we'll deal with the deliveries to the outlying tenants and the next cargo. Liam."

Liam jerked his head quickly in acknowledgement of the orders as the viscount disappeared into the house, taking any warmth I might have felt with him. Liam's cold eyes snapped briefly over me before he waved at Samuel. "Get the wagons loaded so we can head out on deliveries in the next day or so. Barrett may have disrupted our plans by poisoning Row; however, he's not going to stop our people from getting the supplies they need."

I chanced a glance at Samuel, surprised to see him staring at me with a mixture of shock and confusion, instead of his usual contempt before Liam's hand shot out and choked my neck.

"You will tell us what he wants to know," Liam warned, leaning close to my ear, "even if I have to flay the skin from your back to get it, you Godsdamn whelp."

My spine cringed at the thought. I wanted to laugh at the man for thinking that would cause me to break. I must have let a bit of a smile escape because he cursed angrily, yanking my arm even more. Oh, perfect. More bruises to match the fading ones on my back.

"And if, by the gods, Lord Rowland dies, I will personally wrap the noose around your scrawny neck and string you up myself."