 
The Baron of Elridge Manor

By

Reeyce Smythe Wilder

Copyright 2018 by Mellissa Lopez St. Louis

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

Norfolk - Autumn, 1829

The cool crisp afternoon wind sent the colourful leaves above Loretta's head fluttering noisily, but not so much as to drown out the heated words that echoed in the house next door. She cocked her head just so, wondering if the owner of the booming voice knew that even when her Mama played the pianoforte, the curses could still be deciphered. Her fingers sank into the soft centre of the doll she clung to as she felt her cheeks flush. It was unseemly to have her tender ears tainted with such language, her governess often said. Loretta found herself more than curious about her new neighbours. Three months ago the Baron of Braybrooke moved into the residence. In his tow he brought a wife of questionable character - she thought she understood what her mother meant by that but she could not be certain - and, if rumours were to be believed, a nephew fit for Bedlam.

It was only last evening at dinner did she brave her father's unkindly expression to enquire if the gossips were true. He dismissed it all as hogwash and berated her mother for allowing her to partake in such nonsense. His dismissal only piqued her curiosity, so much so that she abandoned her usual haunt on the back porch and spread the small blanket behind the old oak that offered not only a cosy, shaded spot close to the brush but an unobstructed view of the heavy draped curtains that lined the ground floor of the neighbouring house. She did not intend to purposely spy on the Baron. It was his wife of questionable character she was most interested in. In her young mind, Loretta pictured a comely, buxom woman adorned in extravagantly coloured dresses with a shameless disposition. She had seen a painting once when her father took the family to France for the first time last spring. Loretta did not know at that time that dresses so small could be made to fit women of girth. Now, as she shifted to get a better view of the house, she silently willed the boisterous creature out the front door and into the yard where her curious mind would be settled.

Something shattered, followed by another series of curses and muffled cries of pain. The voices that carried on were as clear as the sky above.

"Come back here you devil!" This from the Baron himself. Her eyes widened in anticipation, but he did not step into view. A blur of blue and white darted by and she scuttled back quickly, only then realizing that she was on hand and knees with her face almost pressed into the hedge. "There'll be no dinner for you tonight you bastard! Don't come crawling back in here when you come to your senses!"

The door slammed.

Loretta's heart did the same in her chest. She heaved breaths, somewhat disappointed that there was nothing to see but equally enthralled at the tidbits of the argument she was privy to. Slowly, she moved back upon the blanket, smoothening out the creases from her skirt and repeating the action with her doll. Well, maybe tomorrow would prove less disappointing and just as exciting she mused, and all but forgot about the argument as she rummaged through the small picnic basket she had toted from the kitchen across the expanse of the yard. With great ease and delight, she started to unwrap the small feast Cook had packed, only to hear slow heavy breaths. Taken by surprise, she stared dumbfounded at the dirt-streaked untidy boy before her. At a loss for words, she knew that he must be the nephew fit for bedlam. By the look of him, she would have readily agreed. The white shirt he wore was too large for his lank frame. The blue trousers that were stained in several places with something that looked and smelled like fresh manure boasted a hole in the left knee and was several inches too short.

What stunned her most was his bare feet. Bruised and red, his wounds looked painful. Without thinking, Loretta said the first thing that came to mind. "What happened to your feet?"

"What happened to your manners?"

Stunned, she allowed her gaze to clash with his. Eyes as azure as the noonday sky lacked all warmth of the sun. Anger clouded his initial shock at finding her there. Loretta experienced the very first tingle of fear. She had not considered his presence a threat in the first few moments of her observation. After all, her father had dismissed the boy's insanity as foolishness. There was nothing for her to fear. Was there?

His lips curled back into an ugly sneer as if he heard her thoughts well. Loretta held herself still. She would not allow him to intimidate her. After all, she committed no crime, only that of eavesdropping, and she highly doubted that was an offence.

"My manners?" she quipped, trying to bring her thoughts to order. "You're the one who sneaked up on me."

"I wasn't sneaking," he denied hotly. "What are you doing here?"

Loretta re-wrapped the sandwich and tucked in safely away. "Having a picnic." His eyes took in the scene before him, from her head of curls to the doll she so carefully propped against the trunk of the oak.

"It's stupid to have a picnic alone," he shot.

Loretta bristled. She considered him long and hard, refusing to look away when he sneered again and observed for the first time the long trails of tear-stains that marked his thin face. She almost forgot his beating she had heard mere minutes before. There was a slight discolouration upon his left jaw and one of his eyes appeared to be swollen. They were both red from tears. Compassion moved her. In a flash, she forgot all about the gossips and his road to Bedlam.

"I won't be alone if you agree to join me."

Soto Audley froze and stared at her in confusion. She was being suspiciously nice to him and he had not given her reason to. Eyes lowered, he sniffed as he considered her frail form. Her head of hair was a burnt honey colour that dazzled his eyes in the sunlight, each ringlet perfectly curled and left to hang down the length of her back. She could have been about thirteen or fourteen given her height, but her chest was as flat as a board and she boasted the hips of a lad. Unusually large eyes graced her pixie face the colour of hazel and honey, and when she smiled it seemed to brighten the pale hue of her skin and add life to her otherwise ghastly complexion. The dress she wore fell to her calves which were dutifully covered with stockings and knickers, and tight pomp's near squeezed her toes. Everything about her spelt propriety - from her tightly done curls to her shined shoes. Soto sneered and turned away, hating the very image of what she represented. It reminded him of the guardians who did a poor job of caring for him.

"No." He knew he acted like a spoilt brat. He also knew she had not just appeared behind the oak. She must have heard him receive his beating. Another tale to prattle about in the nursery with her friends no doubt. A new wave of fury gripped him and he turned to her again, his fingers folded into fists. "Do you know who I am?"

She mulled over the question longer than was necessary. "You're the Baron's nephew."

"Have you heard what they say about me?"

She folded her legs to the side and looked upon him in what might have passed for anticipation. "That you're fit for Bedlam."

Stunned, he met her gaze. Such frankness. "You should be running to your cradle in fear." Her lips twitched, and he felt his face redden. She laughed at him! "You think I jest?!"

Slowly, she shook her head and went about the business of unpacking the basket once more as if she had done so in his presence a hundred times before. "I think you are a boy who is very interesting, if not a little angry. Why are you angry?"

He blinked, hesitated and clamped his mouth shut. What business was it of hers what he felt and why? What decent person would ask such a question after they all but heard him receive a beating? Annoyed and embarrassed, he turned to her once more, only to gape. She held toward him a bottle of some type of beverage. Spiced milk by the look of it.

"Babes drink milk," he stung, snatching it from her fingers. Just as quickly, he poured in all over her bouncy curls. The look upon her face was priceless. Face beet red in rage, she darted to her feet and slapped his hand away. The bottle fell upon the grass and settled there. Soto planted his hands upon his hips and snickered at the hot tears that clouded her eyes. It served her right. Now she would have much to discuss at afternoon tea.

"You dreadful wretch!" she hissed as she haphazardly stuffed her effects into the basket. "I hope you drown in your sorrows!"

Soto admired her limited vocabulary, for he had been called much worse at a tender age. "If I ever see you again trust me, I will!"

She turned about and moaned, considering her wet blouse and soggy curls. "The gossips are right \- you do deserve to go to Bedlam!"

That sobered him enough to wipe the smile of victory off his face. "Maybe I'll spare the lot of you and do just that."

"Sooner rather than later I hope!" She marched her way across the undulating lawn toward the white-stoned house that he had watched from his bedroom window many a night. He eyed her until she disappeared inside, and realized only then that the doll she had stuffed into the basket now lay on the damp grass. With a bare toe, he nudged it and cast a hesitant glance around before snatching it quickly and tucking it into his shirt.

"Foolish chit," he muttered and moseyed on down to the overgrown path where he spent the rest of the day in the woods.

***

Soto was senile - or so everyone said. Whether or not he believed them he had yet to decide. In the moments when the constant anger he harboured in his heart was pushed aside, he would fight the doubts he had and would listen to the groans of resentment his uncle held toward him that hurt more than he was willing to admit. To cover the pain, he recalled the manner of his treatment suggested by a doctor from Bedlam and a good friend of the family. That alone was enough to keep him angry for days on end. Where there was rage, no room for agony existed.

The signs of his madness started one year ago on the eve of his fifteenth birthday. He had gotten the news that his father had become the victim to a faceless murderer. Soto's grief was immeasurable. Even now at the memory of the man, he felt his throat tighten with pent up emotion. Still, his father was dead, and he had spent enough tears on someone who would never return.

His care was given to his father's brother, an uncle he had never before met. Coming to the Baron of Braybrooke was more of a curse than a blessing. He expected tender consideration from his only relative, understanding and a place to belong, someone who would attempt to give him everything his father no longer could. His heart broke a second time when it was discovered that he was nothing but an extra mouth to feed - and many times, not even that. The butler was more cherished than he in his uncles' house. Especially when madness threatened.

He stared at the small portrait of his mother encased in a silver locket and sighed heavily. It was all he had left of her.

Through the heavy branches of the trees, his gaze drifted absently, wishing the deepening chill of the evening would numb the fear that always attempted to cripple him just before nightfall. He had tried to anticipate its arrival, but each episode was triggered by something or another and it never came at the same time. No one factor was always present. How many times had he awoken in the forest, nude and dirty? How many times had the staff found him in some forsaken corner of the estate, covered in grime? He bore no memory of the events - only the fear on the faces of the servants who all retired their positions that very week. His uncle, livid and ashamed, moved the family here a fortnight later.

That was three months ago. Now, there was a new method of keeping him under control. Soto's pores raised as he considered the irons that were attached to the wall beside his bed and circled it like the plague before settling himself upon the windowsill. One day, he swore, he would not be dependent. One day he would be able to fight back - if they did not commit him to the madhouse first. An ironic smile made his mouth twist. The smile vanished just as quickly when he spotted honeyed curls between the branches.

Well, someone didn't quite learn her lesson, he thought. He stood quickly and made his way across the room, then paused. Beneath the bed, in an old wooden box that held all his worldly possessions, he retrieved the dirty doll. It seemed an oddity among his things. Why exactly he tucked it in there had nothing to do with keeping it. Good lord no! It was the safest place he knew to conceal the ugly thing for no-one ever trifled through his room and it was to be returned. Soto was many things but a thief was not one of them.

He shoved the mud-stained doll into his shirt and considered the door before deciding that the window would prove the wisest way out. It would not serve him well if anyone saw him with a girl's doll. Decision made, he climbed through the window and scuttled onto the branch closest to his outstretched hand before scaling down the tree trunk and onto the lawn with speed and agility that someone twice his age would envy. Moments later he stood beside the oak, curious as to why she returned after he treated her so ghastly. Surely she did not want to be chased away again. Or maybe he was not as intimidating as he liked to believe. He edged his teeth violently and stomped forward, making sure his presence was heard before she saw him. The uncertainty in her eyes when she looked up was slightly disappointing, but he could work with that.

Loretta blinked and forced herself to look away. He stood there with his hands folded across his chest and a stern, frightful expression on his face. Well, she argued silently, if he thought she would run away the way she did yesterday, he was wrong. Mind made up, she ignored him fully and produced a small book, quill and ink. At first, there was silence, long and stretched until she swore she would go insane having him look at her so intently.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She jumped, startled, the ink spilling onto her nice white gloves. Vastly annoyed, she took a steadying breath and put the effects upon the grass before she daintily peeled off her gloves. "Writing. Or is it a strange thing to see someone write?"

"It's strange to see you write here," he quipped, no doubt referring to the day before.

Loretta stiffened her spine and put the gloves away. "Well get used to it, because you're not going to chase me away again."

"Oh, I didn't come to chase you away," he informed high-handedly.

"Why did you come? To tell me that girls don't write?"

He smirked and shook his head, considering the small leather-bound book that bore her name in bold letters. "I didn't come for that either, although it is a very good argument."

"A foolish one. My mama writes, as does my sister and my governess."

"Do they also have tea outdoors dressed like that?" He indicated her dress with his head and a scornful eye.

"Of course," she stung icily. "They are ladies. They're supposed to socialize dressed like this."

"Then they're prim, proper and boring."

"We take pride in being prim and proper."

"And boring."

She huffed and aimed a lethal frown toward him. "I would have you know that we are everything but boring. Why just last week Papa took us all to the fair and we had a grand time." He looked at her in disbelief and disgust, as if she related the details of eating haggis. Still, it seemed important that he knew she was fun-loving. As if to prove it, she pushed to her feet and continued. "I even shot an arrow."

Her effort was rewarded with a snort of mockery. "It's a wonder you didn't shoot yourself."

"What a dreadful thing to say!"

"I'm a dreadful boy."

"Quite fit for -"

"Yes, Bedlam. I know."

Stunned, she considered the impatience on his face, as if he were well accustomed to and more so, fed up of talk of Bedlam. "I was about to suggest a spank of two."

A fire lighted his orbs and his face flushed in anger. Loretta took a step away from him, regretting her insensitive words the moment they left her mouth. Feeling quite ashamed, she nibbled the inside of her cheek and spoke as soon as he opened his mouth. "Forgive me. I did not mean to awaken bad memories. Mother would have a spell if she knew I said something so..." When he made no immediate response, she stole a glance toward him from beneath long eyelashes. He considered her with a confused expression on his face as if he did not know what to make of her. Then, as if in sudden realization, his eyes sparkled, dimmed just as quickly. He appeared worried and kicked at the dirt with the tip of his shoes before eyeing her once more, this time not breaking her gaze.

Loretta felt as if he surveyed her the way her father did his horses. There was something about how he looked at her – with an eye so critical that she found herself shifting uncomfortably, wondering what the punishment for her runaway mouth would be.

How she disliked him! He was a cad – it was a wonder that he was not already locked away somewhere, if not Bedlam, then in his room. In all her years, and with all the many cousins and friends she had, Loretta didn't think there was one as obtuse as him. From his mud-coloured hair to the icy chill of his eyes that seemed a much brighter shade of blue today compared to the day before, she detested him. It had everything to do with his attitude. The way he stood, the way his chest protruded as if he were the most important part of any plan, the way he stuck his tongue in his cheek when he focused upon her and finally looked away, the way he continued kicking the dirt in the same place over and over and over again – it was driving her insane!

Then he presented her doll and her anger toward him evaporated like dew on a hot morning.

"Margaret!" she exclaimed and rescued the stained doll from between his too-tight fingers. Just as quickly she shot him an accusatory stare. "How dare you steal my doll?!"

His jaw slackened almost comically, and he took on an affronted expression. "I didn't steal anything! You dropped it in your haste yesterday." She eyed him with a measure of distrust and did her best to wipe away the mud-caked upon the miniature dress. "Had I not gotten there in time the dogs would have turned her into rags," he boasted easily.

"Really?" Her eyes widened ever so slightly. There were awe and innocence in her tone.

"Almost got my bloody finger bitten off too, and what do I get for my efforts? An accusation. I should have left it right there. And aren't you a little too old to be playing with toys?"

Loretta cut him another glance and idly stroked the dolls tight curls. Maybe he wasn't nearly as bad if he almost got his hand mauled to save her doll. And Margaret was indeed a special doll. Her father purchased it when he travelled to Italy on business even before she was born, so hopeful was he that her mother would give birth to a daughter. She had heard the story of how hard he prayed very often that he would be blessed with his little princess. The doll resembled what he hoped she would look like. As if by a miracle, she boasted the same honey hair and bright brown eyes. Last night had been full of discomfort and worry over her carelessness in losing Margaret. Who would have thought that her very nemesis would be her saviour?

She exhaled delicately through slightly flared nostrils and nodded with slow precision. Yes, he may have been crude and unmannerly, and his constant frown scared her more than ever, but he had returned her doll, and for that she was grateful. "You can share my picnic if you want to."

In a flash he was on the seat of his trousers, shamelessly raiding the small basket. Loretta watched in fascination as he ate greedily, never once offering what was her picnic after all, and tried her best to recall that she was bred to overlook such horrific manners in the more common sort.

But this boy was not common. As far as she knew, he was the son of a second son with no title or estates to his name. Still, the air of arrogance he carried with him hinted to an upbringing of self-importance. Even now as he chewed unceremoniously, making small satisfied grunts of pleasure could not taint the stubborn set of his jaw or his alertness. Loretta found her fascination in simply observing him.

When the meal was almost thoroughly diminished, he spared her a glance and realized that she stared. He paused and wiped a stained sleeve across his mouth before doing a haphazard job of dusting crumbs of pastry from around his mouth and chin.

"How come you didn't eat?"

Incredulity forced her jaw to drop. "I would have - if you offered."

He smirked as if to suggest she should have known better then stretched his legs forward and groaned in contentment. "Does your cook always pack such treats for you to play?"

Loretta shook her head briskly. "I didn't come here to play. I came to write."

With the smallest hint of curiosity, he cut a glance toward the book lying beside her folded feet. "What are you writing about?"

She shrugged. The things she kept in her journal were none of his concerns. By being polite she had forfeited her entire lunch - she had no intention of allowing him to flip through the pages of her most prized possession.

"Oh, just this and that."

If she hadn't caught the devil's smirk before he moved he would have been very successful in snatching the satchel. Anticipating his move, she shoved it beneath her rump and planted herself firmly, her face pulled tight and eyes flashing in anger. He paused and considered her, hands held to his thighs.

"Now I'm curious," he mused aloud, taunting her. Then, just as quickly, boredom crossed his face. "But nothing you write could be of interest to me. It's probably just a child's play. Cupcake recipes maybe?"

Fuming but unwilling to allow him to get the upper hand, she smiled a saccharine smile and nodded. "Yes. Recipes." Needing to change the topic, she started to quickly assemble the empty wrappers that were carelessly strewn across the blanket. "Now that we are beyond the point of polite conversation, are you going to tell me your name?"

With fingers locked behind his head, he leaned back and stared absently through the overhead leaves. Their shadows danced a pretty, complex pattern across his features. "Soto Audley."

"What an unusual name," she mused absently.

"It's a Spanish name - after my mother's grandfather I think."

New interest sparked her curiosity to ask, "Have you ever travelled to Spain then?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Never."

"Would you like to?"

He paused as if in deep thought before snickering again. "No."

"Well, why not?"

Slightly annoyed, he glanced at her and offered a scowl. "Because it serves me no purpose to go to Spain. What will I do there?"

She stroked the strands of her hair and sighed wistfully. "I think it would be a grand adventure travelling to another country. There must be so much to see - new and exciting people to meet."

"Like muggers and slave traders," he gaffed.

Loretta snapped her mouth shut and shook her head in astonishment. "That is a horrid thing to say!"

"It's true! The Spanish trade slaves to the West Indies. Everybody who's anybody knows that."

She made to rise and dusted off the twigs and leaves from the hem of her skirt. Soto was fast on his feet when he read her intent.

"Will you come tomorrow?" he inquired almost too quickly. She considered him before retrieving the basket and the blanket.

"I should think not," came her tight response.

His frown of confusion was followed by a very annoyed outburst. "Why not?"

Loretta slipped the basket upon her arm and clasped her hands together to consider him the way her mother often considered her when she proved difficult. "Because I don't think I enjoy conversation centred on the trading of slaves. It has offended my sensibilities."

For a stunned moment he blinked, trying to fully comprehend what she implied - then laughed rambunctiously. Loretta ground her teeth together and turned on her heels, making a brisk attempt at fleeing. He did not lose ground in catching up with her. "Your sensibilities are weak. But I understand. You're a child."

She came up short and turned to him once more, confused at the amusement that flushed his face and was about to let him have the first taste of her sharp tongue when she realized that he smiled.

And what a handsome smile it was too! The deep dimple that marked his right cheek contradicted the hard edge in his eyes. She thought it sad he faced much at such a young age.

"If you come tomorrow, I'll show you a secret," he offered, his voice suddenly nothing but a hushed whisper.

Loretta cocked her head to one side and eyed him suspiciously. "A secret?" He nodded and turned away, hands inside his pockets as he continued walking slowly. Ever so often he cast her taunting glances as if he understood her curiosity would get the better of her. He was right. "What kind of secret?"

"A secret kind."

Pursing her lips, she shook her head with finality. "I have a full day planned tomorrow."

Soto stalled her once more, thinking hard. "It's a good secret. You won't regret it."

Loretta ground her teeth in determination. "No thank you."

When she continued, he did not venture. Instead smirked and said, "Meet me under the oak on the morrow."

Her steps quickened if it were at all possible. "No."

"And bring another picnic!"

A frustrated grunt was her reply. He smiled, quite contented now that his stomach was full with plans of tomorrow circulating in his head.

***

Soto nibbled the thin stalk between sharp incisors and glanced toward the sun, squinting more in annoyance than a discomfort. The hour was nearing for afternoon tea and she had yet to arrive. He exhaled and cast a dark look toward the house in the opposite yard. The thick underbrush and dense branches above allotted him only a partial view of the walls and the largely grotesque bay windows. The view offered him nothing more than the heavy drapes drawn there.

The unmistakable canter of horses' hooves echoed down the drive. He moved deeper into the shadows, eyes peeled upon the direction of the noise. He heard the voice of his uncle as he welcomed guests and smirked, gratified that he would not have to concern himself about untimely visits. The Baron never introduced him to guests. For that he was grateful. There would be no uncomfortable inquiries, no forced smiles and hypocritical words of sympathy that only served to anger and hurt him. And there would be ample time to have a meal fit for a king and, if the rain clouds that currently accumulated to the west were taken away, enjoy the trek to the river.

Behind him, a twig crunched and he tensed before offering a loud snort. "You're late." There was reprisal in his tone. He could have almost seen the flash of annoyance on her face, so strongly did it echo in her voice.

"You did not specify a time, did you?"

When he turned it was to crane his neck to eye her from his seat on the damp grass. "You brought lunch?"

"Yes. Sandwiches."

She was relieved of the basket quickly. Soto delved into the meal with gusto and gestured for her to join him when he was halfway through.

"Given your healthy appetite I took the opportunity of eating at home," she sniffed. Unapologetic, he grunted between chews. Only when the core of an apple remained, he stood slowly, stretched, and belched so loudly that pure horror marked her face.

"You're a boar!" she complained, fanning the ginger-beer breath that settled before her face.

He flicked his tongue across his teeth, dislodging the remnants of crumbs there before shoving the basket back into her hands. "I could get used to eating like that."

She wrinkled her nose and dumped the effects at her feet. "Well don't. Cook believes that I will develop collywobbles and she promised to give me a good dose of castor oil tonight before bed."

He shrugged as if it mattered not to him and started walking toward the woods. "Come along and stop giving me a headache with all that talk of castor oil." She took all of two steps before she paused. He faced her impatiently. "What is it?"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to show you the secret - or have you changed your mind?" Hesitance shone brightly on her face. Soto scowled in annoyance. "Are you scared? Is that why you don't want to come along?"

"No," she denied too quickly. "It's just that Mama said never to go into the woods alone. It's dangerous."

He huffed as if he knew something the rest of the world was not privy too and drew upon all the patience he had left. "What danger? Besides, you won't be alone." She twisted her hands indecisively and when she showed no sign of surrender, he turned his back pointedly. "Whatever. I have no time for cowardly little girls anyway."

Halfway down the path that led out of the yard, he heard her hasty steps that turned into an all-out run. "Wait!" With a crooked smile, he pretended not to hear. "Wait! I'm coming!"

They ventured onto the overgrown path littered with flowers and weeds, so much so that she was distracted on several occasions to pause and collect many beautiful blossoms. Soto stopped each time, a little frown of annoyance twisting his features into everything but polite. His patience came undone when she sat and rubbed her ankles, her face flushed with exhaustion.

"What's the matter now?" he snapped. Lord, if he knew she would be such a keep-back he would not have bothered to goad her into joining him.

"My feet hurt."

He considered her shoes, lily-white complete with tiny pink bows and heels. "Take your shoes off then."

She looked at him as if he had sprouted horns. "I most certainly will not! If Mama ever found out that I-"

"Is she the one suffering aches and pains?" he argued irritably.

"It's not proper."

"Do you always do what's proper?" he mocked, annoyed to no small degree.

"Yes," she declared stoutly.

Soto smirked again, this time planting his hands upon her shoulders and pushed her down so that she sat on a moss-covered log. "Liar. You're a disobedient little snot."

"I am not!"

Swiftly, he dislodged both shoes from her feet and, ignoring her exasperated squeal, took both tiny feet into his hands and awkwardly considered the damage done. At the back of each heel, she boasted water blisters.

"Don't touch them!" she cried. He considered her darkly.

"How long have you had these?"

Distressed, she allowed her head to fall. "Since the day before yesterday. Mama insisted that the pumps would eventually be broken in."

Muttering an oath that was much too filthy for his age, he dug deep into one of his pockets to produce a small penknife.

"What are you going to do with that?" she gasped. His fingers tightened upon the ankle he held and, without a response, took his time in draining each sore. She considered the frown on his face and dared to speak. "Did you ever get a sore?"

"Many times."

"Did you also tend them yourself?"

"My father did," he muttered softly.

"Oh! Did he teach you how to treat them?"

His task completed, he pocketed the knife and wiped his hands along the length of his thighs before shrugging a non-committal reply. Loretta flexed her feet and reached for the shoes once more.

"Leave them be. You'll only irritate your feet more. If you keep them dry it shouldn't become infected."

"Well I can't very well go frolicking though the woods barefoot," she reasoned.

"Why not?"

"Well, there're thorn bushes for one."

He shook his head and leapt over the log. "You've already slowed us down enough. If you want aching feet then that's up to you. Just come on already."

She tucked the pumps beneath both arms and followed his disappearing form deeper into the forest. The scent of pine and honeysuckle was heavy in the air and she reveled in the outing, for she had never been bold enough to venture out of the yard and into the woods.

Maybe he was not so much of a good influence, she thought. Her mother had on several occasions, reminded her that although she was safe in and around her own home, she must never put herself in situations where harm could easily fall upon her. Still, she felt safe with Soto, even if everyone thought him insane.

Loretta knew differently.

At a fork in the road he paused, she at his side, wondering at the shadows that seemed to declare a much later hour than it was.

"This way," he directed. Up the hill, they climbed until her legs ached and a thin layer of sweat beaded her forehead.

"How much farther?" she breathed.

"Just above the rise."

She counted off each step - seventy-five in all - and felt the wind knocked out of her at the sight. The stream spanned across the way, meandering silently into the woods where it disappeared into the dark. It might have been ten feet wide, with waters so deep it looked cobalt in the afternoon sunlight. Across the stream stood a nest of trees, tall and thick, painted in hues of autumn. A smile spread upon her face and she clapped in childish delight.

"Oh, it's beautiful!"

He grunted, satisfied.

"Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes."

"How did you find such a place?"

Soto led the way to the pond he had made late that summer. Hours were spent digging the bed of the river and using rocks to construct a makeshift wall to contain its depth. A damn of sorts, he thought. It was far from complete, but he had not the zeal to continue, for winter would soon be upon them and he would no longer be able to run to this haven or spend the days away from his uncle. Two months ago after a nasty beating, he had somehow escaped from the manor and found himself here. He returned every day since.

"Exploring," he conceded abruptly. She didn't seem to take offence, for already her attention was directed elsewhere. Soto adjusted himself upon his favourite rock and watched absently as she dipped her toes into the chilled water. It developed into a game he realized and ignored her the best he could while keeping her within sight. How long they lingered he was not quite sure, but the sun was well on its way to set.

"Come on," he called out, dusting the seat of his trousers.

She pouted. "Must we?"

"Not if you want you to tell your mother where you were and who you were with at this time in the evening."

Her face paled and she darted up the incline to meet his smirk. Their jaunt back down the path that led to the yard didn't seem as far. They made it in all of twenty minutes. Darkness settled like a light blanket over the woods. Loretta rummaged through the basket, ensuring that nothing was forgotten before flashing him a fast smile.

"I daresay your company has improved," she informed, and before he could respond, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Stunned, Soto eyed her in disbelief. "I shall see you tomorrow in the evening. And I'll even bring along a picnic!"

With that she took off at a run across the moist lawn, her long curls trailing behind her like a banner. Soto wiped the back of his hand over his face and sniffed as he watched her leave. He didn't particularly mind spending time with her. Her affection, however, he needed to dissuade.

Chapter Two

Soto pushed the windowpane open on silent hinges and planted his feet solidly on the stone floor before securing the latch. His gaze was focused outside on the bits and pieces of the house across the way that was partially obscured by the gnarled, ugly branches of the trees that blocked his view. Bright yellow lights danced from almost every window, creating a halo of iridescent white upon the already lightly painted walls.

Absently he touched his abused cheek and felt the first heat of a blush rush to his face – a delightful tinge of innocence that left him slightly bereft of breath with a strange tingle at the base of his chest. He rubbed the hollow sink of his stomach, snapped the drapes shut and turned around, forcing himself to focus on the heavy chain links that were plastered into the wall above his bed. Unwillingly, his heartbeat increased, pounded until a light sweat matted his forehead and the breaths he took were quick and short and not nearly enough.

Each night it was the same. He would dread the attack, dread the thundering of footfalls that would lead to his door, dread the bitter brew they would force down his throat – but most of all he dreaded the pain that the loneliness brought with it. And lonely he would be again, for when he was shackled and drugged with nothing but a migraine and his pitiful cries as company, he realized time and time again that this was what it truly meant to die of insanity.

And those were the relatively good nights.

The bad ones...

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. The room was cold and dark. There were no maids to light the candles and lamps, no one to heat and wrap a brick and leave it faithfully upon his sheets. Not that he cared. Soto accepted he was not a welcomed guest in his uncles' house from the start – he would not allow himself to indulge in self-pity.

On numb feet he moved forward, finding flint and stone and lit the kerosene lamp that stood upon the table beside his bed. For a long while he stood there, staring sightlessly at the fire, thinking that there was more warmth from that flame than the house which sheltered him.

In the hall, he heard the muffled voices of his aunt. She was complaining about him again to his uncle. He did not respond when he was summoned to dinner. Soto sniffed as if to dislodge an unpleasant smell and turned his back pointedly to the door. It had been four days. Four days of being fed nothing but thin slices of bread, cheese and water.

Distaste made his lips compress into a harsh line, but not before his uncles' voice thundered from the hall.

"Soto boy, open the door!"

Chills swept his body even as he slowly moved to obey. There was no use in making things harder for himself. The lock clicked open and he peered up at his uncle.

The Baron was a tall, heavyset man with a protruding belly that strained against every waistcoat he wore. Eyes as pale as his studied him shrewdly, and when he stepped inside he did so sideways to prevent his crisply pressed clothes from brushing Soto's less than pristine ones. Soto considered him boldly. The look of animosity he tried unsuccessfully to conceal seeped through the cracks of his expressionless face.

"You were summoned to collect dinner." It was a cold statement full of scorn. Soto was well accustomed to that tone. It unsettled him not a bit.

"I fell asleep." The lie was one he had used on numerous occasions. He did not doubt his uncle knew it to be so. Still, he was past caring.

"Well, now you'll have to face your bed without repast." Soto shrugged lightly. He recalled the thick slices of ham and cheese, the fresh lettuce leaves and the juicy tomatoes, all packed between thick warm slices of wheat bread from the folds of Loretta's picnic basket and sighed softly. He did not regret wolfing all three sandwiches down, nor did he regret guzzling the bottle of ginger beer. He fancied it might be his new favourite drink. "Did you hear what I said?" his uncle repeated, a little louder this time around. "Because of your negligence, you'll go to bed hungry tonight. And I know you're just about starving, aren't you boy? When was the last time your aunt allowed you sustenance? Two days ago? Three?"

Soto's hand tightened on the doorknob he still held. "Three."

The Baron nodded in approval, his cruel features cast in shadow and light. "You've offended her. You would be lucky if she considers you again in a few days." Soto lowered his head, but not because he was afraid or ashamed. He did not want the man to see the pure hatred that shone like a beacon through his orbs. The Baron mistook his actions for regret. "After the attack, I would imagine. I would speak to her of course, in case she feels a sense of misplaced sympathy for you. Can't have you strengthened and hurting someone in a fit of madness."

A cold shiver shot up his spine and he shuddered, his jaw clenched tight, so much so that his teeth hurt. With just a step and a sniff, the Baron turned and exited the room, leaving the scent of his spicy, stifling perfume to linger in the damp air.

Soto closed the door softly and dragged his back along the door until his behind made contact with the floor. They intended to keep him docile by denying him food. A tactic that was quite successful in the past, he had to admit. Still, no one knew exactly when the attack would come, and if he would be allowed to eat only after the fact....then there was no telling when he would see a plate.

His eyes clouded. In moments like these, he recalled his father, recalled the tenderness and the concern he was lavished with upon the death of his mother at a tender age. But the Fates were cruel, to thrust him upon a family that cared nothing for him or his well-being.

In the two days that he had eaten his body felt no stronger, but his sleep was calm and undisturbed by nightmares and the awful, ache that was associated with hunger. Tonight would be no different he knew. Slowly he stood, retrieved a pillow and the duvet from his bed and made his way to the window where he sat. The warmth of the sheet enveloped him, and he stared outside.

Loretta was no doubt having a lavish dinner with her family. There would be steak and potatoes, gravy and soup, rice and biscuits and scones with an array of jams he had never even heard of. But what brought the little half twisted smile to his face was knowing that maybe even now, she smuggled something for him. The warmth that burned in his chest started slowly and hovered there until he was drowsy enough to finally fall asleep.

***

Each afternoon met Soto laying in the shade beneath the oak, patiently awaiting his meal and the company of Loretta, who, despite what he might have said aloud, he secretly considered his only friend. Well, maybe friend might have been too strong of a word, but she was definitely on her way to becoming his friend. Especially since he had gained all of four pounds in the first two weeks of knowing her. Even now as he absently cleaned his teeth with the frayed end of a twig, he cast glances her way. The sunlight filtered through the branches and bathed her in hues of yellow light. Although she still wore those silly frocks, he was proud to say that she kicked off her shoes as soon as she settled on the grass beside him. Her feet, he observed forthright, were slowing becoming tanned in the late autumn sun.

This afternoon she was curled up with her journal, constantly scribbling and muttering in low tones, deftly ignoring his very existence. Which usually suited him fine. But he was restless. More-so because he had not had an attack in more than a fortnight. Still, it would come. He felt the anxiety begin to build a little more each day, agitated and caged.

Casting another glance her way, he noticed how engrossed she was in her thoughts and contemplated telling her of the attacks. But like on all the other occasions he considered it, he banished the idea. What would she say? What would she think of him if he were to confess the truth of the matter? As it stood, she thought the rumours a lie, a story concocted by the elite to defame the Baron because he was, as she put it, a nasty old toad. Still, he could not hide the truth forever. And part of him never wanted her to find out. She trusted him wholly. She believed him capable of good, although Lord knows he was a direct pain in the ass each day they met. He made inconsiderate remarks, sneered, snapped, and had even made her cry just last evening.

Still, that did not stop her from coming the following day.

Or the next.

He looked up again, about to steal another glance when she caught his eyes. And smiled. Soto hesitated and turned away quickly. Suddenly, the food didn't sit so well in his stomach.

"Your hair is growing out," she commented, snapping the book shut.

He ran his fingers through the strands self-consciously. "Yeah."

"You should have it trimmed."

He thought of the sharp scissors in the hand of the glass-eyed butler and shrugged. "I'll take care of it later."

She leaned forward and started to carefully pack the basket, dusting crumbs from the coarse cloths the meal was wrapped in.

"Is everything alright?"

His head snapped up, and he continued to chew at the twig, this time with a vengeance. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

He made an irritated sound at the back of his throat and shot her an impatient stare. "I said yes. Why are you pestering me?"

She cocked her head to the side and met his gaze head-on – intense and almost electrifying. "You're quite. That's why."

He shrugged. "Maybe I have a lot to think about."

"Really? Like what?"

He took the twig from between his teeth and considered how utterly flattened it was. If he was crazy, he would have confessed everything. Well, maybe he wasn't that insane after all. The thought near made his grin. If only.

"Like what you keep writing in that book." Colour fused her face and she held the leather-bound book protectively to her chest. Soto thought she looked vulnerable. Mischief twirled in his orbs. He could easily snatch it away from her fingers. She was no match for his speed or strength, but he did not want to upset her. And he had been pretty good of doing that lately.

Softly, like the brush of a gentle wind, her voice reached his ear. "I collect recipes."

He stared at her blankly. She rushed on as if to defend herself. "Cook and I try a new dish every evening. Of course, Mama doesn't know. She thinks cooking a lowly task set out for a servant. But I fancy it, and Cook says I'm very good too."

He frowned, trying to imagine her in the kitchen with the servants, mixing a batter and covered in flour. "Have you ever eaten anything that you've made?" he asked in disbelief.

Once again her face flushed, and she nodded. "And so have you."

Soto's eyes darted to the basket, then to her face, and he recalled the slice of blue-berry pie he so marvellously praised only fifteen minutes ago. And felt his face turn plum red. To think that he went on and on about how decadent it was! No wonder she grinned from ear to ear. He was worried she might have her face split in two.

He pushed to his feet and dusted the leaves off his trousers. Lord, he was beginning to fill out. Even his clothes fit snugly, which was something. The Baron, he knew, watched him closely in the evenings, as if he couldn't understand how the denial of food could make one gain weight. Soto had been tight-lipped, unflinching under the torrent of questions he was forced to endure each evening. As a precautionary measure, a lock was installed on the outside of his door during the day. The Baron had the only key. He was locked in each dawn, and the Baron was arrogant enough to believe in his plans so as not to check up on him until the evening meal.

"Where are you going?" Loretta asked. She tucked the basket close to the tree trunk and stood, following suite and brushing leaves from her skirt.

"To the river. Where else is there to go?" he replied in an impatient tone.

Loretta adjusted the bonnet atop her head and tied the satin ribbons into a jaunty bow just beneath her chin when she met the mockery on his face. And prepared herself for whatever hurtful remark she had no doubt would come out his mouth.

Soto was not the easiest person to get along with. She had known that from the very first day they met and she knew that now. Still, there was something about him that made her want to help. And he needed help. At least she thought so. In the two weeks, they had become friends, she realized that he ate with more than simple zeal. He ate because he was constantly hungry. There was no appreciation for what went into his stomach just as long as it filled the hole there. Then she realized that he depended upon the meals, so much so that on the one occasion she did not bring the basket with her, he was visibly disappointed.

She never made the mistake again and had even tried to deny herself a meal or two. Pure horror and compassion swelled within her when she discovered what it meant to be hungry. In her case, food was abundant.

With Soto...

She tried to put the images of his bony frame out of her mind and failed flawlessly. He had not been well initially. Always tired. Always boasting dark circles beneath his sunken eyes as if nightmares haunted him.

Now, he had gained weight. And he slept, for his face beamed when he smiled, and he was energized enough to pull pranks and tease her.

Silently, they trekked down the path and had just entered the woods when the bellowing voice of the Baron forced them to pause.

"Find that boy! I want to know how he...." Muffled was the rest of his sentence.

Loretta's eyes widened in instant fear. "He doesn't know that we-"

"I should be locked in my room until doomsday according to him," he scoffed, snatching her wrist as he pulled her deeper into the woods. Loretta wrung her arm out of his grasp and shook her head violently.

"What if he gives you another thrashing?"

His laugh was bitter. "I'm accustomed to thrashings, remember?"

Hot tears stung her eyes. That he spoke of his beatings as something so trivial angered her. "I do not want to remember. I do not want him hurting you for something as simple as leaving your room."

"Would you prefer me locked away?"

She gasped and folded her fingers into the skirt of her dress, innocent tears falling from her eyes. "Of course not!"

"Then come along before we are caught."

They disappeared into the trees, him fuming in silence and her afraid of what would happen if they were discovered. When the river finally came into view, she sank herself into the grass and heaved a sigh of defeat. Soto settled himself next to her. For a long time, they said nothing. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, Loretta began.

"I know he starves you," she ventured, then hesitated when he stiffened as a blush of embarrassment stained his face. "You do not have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I just don't want you getting into trouble."

He snorted and shrugged. "I like trouble."

"I know. That concerns me."

He cut her a sideways glance and broke a blade of grass, absently tearing it apart. "If I go back now, a beating is what I'll get. If I return later, my fate is the same. I would enjoy today and face what I must when the time comes."

His words were quietly spoken, solemn and sure. Loretta linked her hand through the crook of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. His body went ramrod stiff for a moment. When he relaxed and did not pull away, she took that as a good sign.

***

Soto cracked open his eyes and stared long and hard at the door, not daring to breathe or shift least the springs beneath his bed creak. He heard the footsteps down the hall – one of his uncle, the other of the butler – and knew the time for reckoning had come. The lock slid back, and just as the men entered the room, he darted off the bed and stood to his full height.

"Well, look who finally made it home," the Baron jeered, his beady eyes dark in anger. In his hand, he held a riding crop. Soto's eyes flashed in fear. He was well accustomed to the sting of pain. "Now I'm going to ask you just once, boy. How did you get out of this room?"

Tongue heavy, he opened his mouth. And clamped it shut just as quickly. If he confessed to climbing out the window, it would be barred. There would be no more delicious meals from Loretta and no more outings. He did not know which one would torture him more. Surely, this thrashing would be worth it.

He took too long to come up with an excuse, so instead, he said nothing. The Baron's roar of rage made his blood run cold, and when the man stepped forward with the cane held high, Soto covered his head and sank to the floor. The beating was done in anger and violence. Above the ringing in his ear he heard the filthy names his mother was called, heard the slandering of his father, felt the rage build within his heart and fed the hatred there, but dared not lift a hand in his defense. He tried that once. The butler, a silent observer to his plight, had assisted the Baron in shackling him to the bed where the beating continued until he became unconscious. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

Finally, when the heavy fists stopped falling, the Baron spat mercilessly upon him. Soto remained stationary, unwilling to uncover his head and face. Tears of shame and helplessness racked through his body. Finally, the Baron turned away, delivering the weapon to the waiting butler. A pristine, white handkerchief was withdrawn from his breast pocket, and as the man cleaned his partially dirty hands, he spared Soto another disgusted glance. "Let him clean up his own filth," was all he said when he left the room. The door slammed, and Soto was left alone to weep, stained in blood.

Chapter Three

Loretta waited beneath the oak faithfully every afternoon for seven days, but he did not come. On the eighth day, she stood in the shade and contemplated the short stone path that led to the neighbouring yard. It appeared to her as frightful, only because she knew if she dared to venture, she stood a chance of coming upon the Baron himself. What could she possibly say if she was discovered? Soto had asked her to keep herself hidden from view, had made her swear an oath of secrecy. Still, worry made the lines on her forehead deepen. After much deliberation, she secured the basket upon her arm and made her way into the knee-high weeds.

The house was large, but a thick cloud of gloom that settled in the atmosphere did not make the quake in her stomach stop. With much hesitance, she scanned the many windows until she spied the one he usually climbed out of on the second story. If propriety had not been so deeply ingrained within her bones, Loretta knew she might have attempted the climb, but she was not athletic, and she did not know the first thing about climbing trees, so she settled upon choosing several small stones from beneath her feet. Carefully, she aimed and prayed she did not break a window. The stone lost its mark by a few feet and fell pitifully to the ground. Still, she tried again. After several attempts, and a sharp crack later, Soto's scowling voice startled her.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She almost tripped on her feet spinning around. He stood behind her, a scowl on his face – his bruised, discoloured, scabbed face.

"Oh!" she whimpered and was at his side in a flash. The hard look he sliced her kept her from asking questions he would not answer. She swallowed her concern and forced herself to smile through stiff lips. "I've brought a basket for you. Are you hungry?"

"You shouldn't be here."

Stung, she recoiled. "I was worried."

"I don't need you to worry over me. I can take care of myself."

The censure in his tone sent a pin-prick to her heart. "I can see that," she muttered, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it. "I waited every afternoon for you but you never came. Was I supposed to just keep waiting like a fool?"

"I don't care!" he exclaimed, exasperation and impatience peppered in his voice. "You came to leave the basket. Do it and go away!"

Hurt, she schooled her features and abruptly turned away. "On second thought, I don't feel like sharing anything with you today."

From behind he snorted, but she continued. Stomping through the thick brush, she quickly made her way across the yard and to the hedge. He was a boar! And he did not appreciate her, not that she spent days concerned, not that she almost begged her mother to pay a courteous visit to the Baron just so she could get a glance at him, and not that she braved getting caught to bring him lunch. A glance over the shoulder confirmed her suspicions – he still stood there with his bitter scowl and his arms crossed, melting her with a glower. Her heart ached momentarily for the many discoloured marks and bruises on his face, but stubborn fool that he was, he would not allow her to help.

Fine then, she decided, clutching the basket tighter still. If he avoided her then she could take a hint. She would never speak to him again!

Soto watched her stumble to the oak until she disappeared and for the first time since his father died, felt a hole settle in the pit of his stomach. Yes, he stayed away, but it was out of embarrassment. He was humiliated that he cried himself to sleep every night since the beating, humiliated the bruises he suffered was like a living testament to all who saw his face – he was helpless. And for some reason he did not understand, the last thing he wanted was for Loretta to see him as such. He huffed out a breath and pressed a hand to his chest. It still hurt to breathe at times. He paused in his movements until the pain subsided – only to completely lose his breath when he looked up and spotted his uncle glaring at him through the window.

Fear shot through him, and with the pain of his last thrashing still fresh, he did the only thing he could – he turned away in a show of cowardice. And hated himself all the more for it.

***

Winter came slowly. Each day Soto kept watching at his window hoping for a chance to steal a glance at her. He knew he behaved like a fool but self-preservation came first. He considered sending her a note, explaining why he behaved the way he did and discarded the idea as one of weakness. It would only encourage her to seek him out and he did not want that. He did not want his ever-watchful uncle to get his hands upon Loretta. One week later when he had all but lost hope and courage he spotted her. Relief and disbelief soared through his chest. Gone was the white, pristine dress she was so fond of. Instead, she wore a dark green habit with a hood and boots that reached to her knees. And she ran as if her very life depended on it.

He stepped closer to the window and frowned. The drizzle amplified the chill in the air, but she wore no scarf or mittens. Soto could not say what exactly made him leave the relative warmth of his room and risk scaling down the damp trunk of the tree, but it was done in such haste that he was at the oak seconds before she arrived.

Her eyes widened in shock when she rounded the tree, and her foot slipped at that exact moment. She landed in the mud with a soft oaf and a fast scuttle closer to him. The grin on his face was as unexpected as the sudden urge to hug her. He managed to control his emotions long enough to notice that her features were pale and pinched – and tears swam in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, then twisted his face into a scowl to mask the concern in his tone.

She leaned against the tree and shook her head quickly, still sucking in large amounts of air through flared nostrils. Soto studied her for another moment before shifting his weight. "Who are you running from?"

Her wide panicked eyes met his. "N-nobody!"

He poked his head from behind the oak and spied a boy standing in the drizzle. He was as tall as Soto maybe but was dressed in crisp clothes that did nothing to hide the wicked smirk from his face.

"Is that nobody?" he asked, just as she yanked him back.

"Yes."

"Why are you hiding from him?"

"I'm not hiding!"

His eyes narrowed considerably as he caught sight of the slight swelling of her lip. Uncertainty made him step closer and stoop to the balls of his feet, and when he made to tilt her head toward the rays of sunlight, she pulled away as if scorched. "I – I fell and – and I – it's nothing."

Nausea rose within him, followed swiftly by fear – then anger. "Is that why you're running? Did he hit you?"

The tears she so valiantly tried to hide fell freely at his guess. "He is my second cousin Charles. His family is staying with us through the winter." Soto stood his full height and took a single step forward. Her nails sank into his arm. "No! He'll see you and come over, and then he'll find me!"

Soto hesitated and looked over her face again, the memory of his many beatings flooding him until he clenched his fists and turned away abruptly. Against his uncle, he was no match. But he could very well hold his own against a boy.

"Does your mother know? Or your father?" he found himself saying.

"I told them the same thing...that I fell..."

"And they believed you?" he hissed, voice laced with incredulity.

Her face flushed. "I had no choice! Charles said if I told anyone he would hurt me worse."

"Charles said so eh?" he snorted, hoisting her to her feet in one smooth motion. "I think it's time I met Charles."

"No."

His brows quirked up. "What do you mean no?"

"I don't think it's wise."

"Why not?" After a lengthy silence, she finally stopped biting her bruised lip to respond. "The Baron visited us a while ago. He told my father he has reason to believe that you and I have been secretly meeting and that we are friends. Then he implied that you are violent and..." She turned away and inhaled deeply. "It is one of the reasons my father invited Charles. He is my only cousin in the country at the moment, and he thought if I had someone to keep me company, I would be less inclined to venture outside and..."

Stunned, Soto stepped back, his mind working furiously. So then, his encounter with Loretta in the yard those many days ago did not go unnoticed after all. And now everyone knew about their meetings. "Is that why you stopped coming? Because you found something better to do with your time?"

She spun on him so quickly he almost jumped. "You chased me away, or did you forget?"

Not wanting to explain himself, he shrugged and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Slowly, carefully, he rolled up his sleeves. "What are you doing?"

He grinned, but the warmth did not meet his eyes. "Going to pick a fight."

She gasped. He ignored her plea to leave well enough alone and stepped out from behind the oak. With steady strides, he closed the distance. The closer he got, the more he felt his blood boil. Of course, he had not always been the best friend to Loretta. He had made her cry more often than not, but he had never thought about raising his hand to her. Most times she looked delicate as if the firmest touch would bruise her. To see her now, after many days of anger and frustration with a bruise on her face she should not have to suffer enraged him.

Charles finally spotted him halfway in the yard and offered a hesitant smile. Soto covered the distance in a flash before launching himself upon the unsuspecting boy. The smile on his face quickly turned to panic the moment his back hit the wet earth.

With fists curled tight, Soto pounded his shocked expression into one of pain. Through the dull thuds of flesh meeting flesh was the grunt and muffled mewling of a struggling Charles. Only when first blood was shed and Charles' eyes were filled with hot tears did Soto snatch him by the lapel of his shirt and jerk him forward.

"If you hurt Loretta again I'll wring your neck!" he snarled. It was then he heard shouting and spied two ladies whose faces reflected absolute horror. The boy at his feet struggled to stand, weeping and whimpering and hollering for his mother. The butler was the first to arrive at his side, snatching Soto by the scruff of his neck lest he should try to escape. He struggled against the hold once, all the while eyeing Charles whose swollen eye was badly discoloured. It served him right after all for putting his hands on Loretta.

"You rascal!" a short, stout matron hissed, coddling the whimpering boy to her barely concealed bosom. "A rod should be taken to your back for this! How dare you!"

"I'll do it again if it comes down to it!" he shot, his face red, eyes challenging. The woman took all of three steps before back-handing him across the cheek. "I shall see you grovel at my son's feet before our time here is through young man!"

Soto ground his molars until they hurt, only to turn his attention to the pensive woman who very slowly considered him. She was beautiful, with eyes a deep brown and hair that matched perfectly, and when she met his direct gaze, it was not only to frown her displeasure but to consider the broken skin of his hands and the damage done to Charles' face.

"You're the Baron's nephew." It was not a question. Soto drew himself straighter still beneath her quiet inspection. "Where is my daughter?"

Soto pressed his lips into a thin, obstinate line. He did not want her to have to be punished for a crime only he committed. Still, he could not prevent her from shuffling out of her hiding spot. She walked slowly, her eyes downcast, giving Charles a wide berth. Silently, she stood beside Soto, so close that their shoulders touched. Her mother sighed heavily before donning her sternest face.

"What happened here?"

Loretta's lips trembled. Soto was not so demure.

"That dirty little swine hit her. Figured one good turn deserved another."

The lady's brows rose considerably high, even at Charles' outburst. "That's a lie! I'll never hurt Loretta! She's like a sister to me!"

"Tell that to her swollen lip you jackass!" he launched. The butler snatched his shirt just in time. Charles took refuge behind his mother's skirts.

"Such language!" the fat woman snarled. She wasted no time in consulting the still pensive woman at her side. "My brother knew exactly what he was doing when he invited us here. Look at him! How is it that you have allowed sweet Loretta to be influenced by the likes of this boy is beyond me! She needs a firm hand, you mark me well. The last thing this family need is-"

"That's quite enough Elizabeth. I have yet to hear from Loretta."

The woman shut her mouth and shot Loretta a venomous glower.

"What happened to your face darling? You told me you fell. Is that the truth?"

Loretta's damp curls shook and it was with a broken voice that she spoke. "Charles hit me because I caught him stealing coins from Cooks purse."

She had no time to move. Charles lunged forward and would have tackled her to the ground full force hand it not been for Soto's deft right hook. He hit the ground with nothing more than a grunt, his squealing mother at his side.

"Oh! Look at what that animal did!"

Loretta's mother's face paled, but it was with the upbringing of a lady did she quickly take charge of the situation. "Benson, take Charles to his room and brew a pot of strong tea for Elizabeth. Instruct one of the maids to attend them both." While he was taken inside, she turned to the two children and considered them intently before glancing toward the murky grey clouds.

"I daresay it's going to rain. Nothing like tea and biscuits to keep the cold away. Come along." Loretta advanced all of three steps before she realized Soto did not follow. It was her mother who voiced her thoughts. "You too Soto. Loretta has told me much about you. I take it we will be better introduced over tea."

With much hesitation, he joined them inside.

***

Soto forgot to mind his manners when tea was poured. He wolfed the biscuits and scones and tea-cakes, drank three cups of tea before burping, and wiped his sticky fingers in the pristine napkins Loretta's mother was sure to place on the tray. Her questions were met with direct, one-worded responses that amused and worried her. And when she not too gently pried with questions of his family, he answered not at all. The topic was a sensitive one she surmised, and also decided that despite the Barons' warnings, for the hour her daughter was in no danger of being mauled alive by the ill-kept young man before her.

Loretta could hear her aunts' wails of woe from the second story of the house and knew it was only a matter of time before her mother excused herself to pacify the woman. Already she had instructed Benson to have the coach ready and waiting.

"Are we going somewhere, Mama?"

"Charles is. I daresay he has to leave after hurting you so."

Loretta beamed, her eyes bright with victory as she considered Soto, oblivious to the worship in her eyes. Her mother did not miss it, however. She drizzled honey over the last scone and presented to Soto. He did not refuse and was not shy. A little smile touched her lips.

"I am grateful to you for keeping Loretta safe today."

He swallowed hard, unaccustomed to such praise, and felt his face grow hot. He grumbled something inaudible and scratched the back of his head.

"My husband is returning from the city tomorrow. I would like for you to join us for afternoon tea."

He almost accepted, then recalled his uncle and the beating that would surely take place. "Thank you, madam, but I'm sure I cannot attend."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am."

She sighed and offered a polite smile. "Alright, but you are welcome any time. Now, the rain is still pouring, so why don't you entertain your friend while I try to talk some sense into Elizabeth."

She left the room with the air of royalty. Soto drained another cup of tea and leaned back, his stomach full.

"Does it hurt terribly?"

He followed her gaze to his bruised hands and made a fist, grimacing. "It hurts like hell."

"Must you swear?"

"Why shouldn't I? Your cousin has a jaw of bricks."

"I thought you were going to kill him!"

He fell silent and studied the decor of the house, not wanting to confess that just for a moment when he was pummeling Charles' face, he thought he was going to kill him too - and did not care. In the foyer Aunt Elizabeth's voice was loud, echoing and unashamed, and although Loretta's mother relented, she made it known in no unclear way as soon as Charles was fit to travel, they would be returning to the city. Soto rubbed his hands along his thighs and huffed, looking bored and wishing he was now anywhere but there.

"Would you like to see my doll collection?" she mused.

For a moment he looked stricken. "There's a collection?"

Her laughter was light when she stood and motioned him to follow her. "Did you think I only had one doll?"

He snorted and took her lead through the foyer and up the immaculate stairs, down the hall and to the left where a half-opened door was pushed in fully to accommodate him. Upon the threshold he hesitated, glancing toward the frilly white curtains and the gleaming hardwood floor. By comparison, his room looked like a dungeon.

"Aren't you coming in?" she queried, already standing beneath a shelf that housed, by his count, ten dolls. He entered as cautiously as a cat. "What do you think? Aren't they beautiful? Each year for Christmas Papa brings me one from a new city."

Soto's eyes scanned them all, took another tentative glance around the room and frowned. "One's missing."

She spun around quickly, taking careful note of the dolls there and pursed her lips impatiently. "They're all there."

"No. The ugly one I returned to you is gone."

Stung, she recoiled and quickly shifted her pillow to retrieve the worn doll. She considered Soto from beneath her lashes and turned away, hurt by his insensitive words and confused that she should feel so.

"You can see my house from here," he commented after a moment of silence, coming to stand at her side by the window. She followed his gaze and gently returned the doll.

"There were noises at night. I didn't know if the sounds came from the woods or not, and it kept me up. Then one time my father told me about you. He said the Baron had a nephew who was ill, who needed special care."

Soto snickered, the look on his face one of disgust. "Special care..."

Her damp curls lay limp on her back. "Would you run away if you could?"

Somber now, he rammed his fists into his pockets and refused to reply. What should he confide? That he dreamed of running away and never returning to this place? That he had thought of it and planned it and had it all worked out? That the only thing keeping him here was the one thing he hated himself for each day, each time the crop or strap was taken to his back? No, he couldn't bring himself to voice these things, so he simply said nothing. Warm fingers wrapped themselves around his arm. When she pressed her head against his shoulder he accepted the show of comfort for what it was. For a while they stayed there, staring at the bits and pieces of the house in the neighbouring yard until the rain ceased to nothing but a drizzle and the voices down the hall that was only a dull drone became quite clear.

Soto cleared his throat and moved away, feeling awkward, unexplainably shy and embarrassed.

"I should go before..."

She nodded and said nothing as they made their way down the stairs. "Cook packed tea cakes and a sandwich for you. Wait here."

He obeyed, scuffing the tips of his shoes on the hardwood floor and absently considering the marks there until her quick, light footsteps returned. The small basket she presented held several tea cakes and a rather large cold chicken sandwich.

He accepted it silently and together they walked to the back porch. He was about to make his way across the yard when her softly spoken words stopped him.

"About Charles...thank you."

He cut her a hesitant glance, mumbled "no problem" beneath his breath, and hastily made his exit, feeling her eyes upon him until he disappeared through the hedge.

Chapter Four

Loretta did not see or hear from Soto again throughout the winter weeks when the weather was too cold to brave. Each day she would sit at her bedroom window and watch avidly the small glimpses of the neighboring house, hoping she might spot him. It was one late January night that she chanced to sneak out of her room and escaped into the yard. No snow fell, but the frigid winds swept through the bare trees and whistled an eerie symphony in the night. Above, the starlight dazzled in their brilliance. The first quarter moon hung low, silent witnesses to her hasty steps.

Not a single light burned in the house across the hedge. It took her a few moments to gather the courage that was beginning to diminish. She tucked her hands beneath her arms for added warmth and looked toward the window that was his. Beneath the yard of ice, stones were impossible to find. Entering the house and risking discovery was out of the question. Instead, she considered her shoes and the slippery tree, bare of leaves and bent with age.

Awkwardly, she started to climb. Her skirts billowed between her legs and made the ascent perilous. Twice she slipped. Those times her heart fell through her stomach from terror. The wind got colder the higher she went. When at last the window was within reach, she discovered that her arms were too short to reach the ledge. She whimpered. Hot tears stung her eyes when she considered the drop below. If she fell, she might crack her skull and die. The wool of her mittens was damp. Her fingers were stiff and almost completely numb.

"S-soto?" Her voice was nothing but a croak. She clung to the trunk of the tree. The cold seeped through her clothing and made her shiver anew. "Soto? A-are you t-there?"

She had not the stomach to shout his name for fear that his uncle would awaken. Trembling, she reached for the bag strapped over her shoulder and swung it with all her might. The metal buckles knocked the glass and made a terrible clattering noise. By the third knock, the drapes parted. Within the darkness, she saw his face, pale and haggard and full of stunned disbelief, then annoyance. When he opened the window, it was to gauge the distance to the ground.

"Have you lost your mind?"

She flinched and forced a smile that did not meet her eyes. "Totally. Am I to freeze out here or will you help me in?"

He scowled and huffed before positioning himself onto the ledge. He wore the barest of nightclothes and no shoes. "Give me your hand then. If we fall it will be the death of us."

She was only too happy to oblige. His fingers gripped hers and yanked her forward with such force she stumbled and tripped upon the ledge, straight onto the floor. Her elbows connected and she cried out. He groaned and promptly rolled her body off of his thin frame.

"Gad, you're heavy," he complained. She pulled off her mittens and crawled toward the meagre fire that burned across the room to warm her hands. When he had latched the window and joined her there, she observed his face and offered a beaming smile at his open discomfort.

"Are you well? I thought you were sick again."

"I was. It's too cold to play outside anyway, so it was best to keep warm."

"I have something for you." The bag she so thoroughly abused was presented, wet through and through, but when she untied the strap and shoved several cakes and muffins into his hands, he wasted no time in greedily consuming them all.

Loretta's eyes were focused upon him. He was so thin, frail even. The bones on his faces were stark, contrasting sharply with the hollow of his eyes. Even as she took in the worn, thread-bare clothes he wore, her gaze caught sight of the rest of the room. Bare of pictures or colour, it was made of raw stone. There were no rugs upon the floor, no lamps to chase the shadows from the corners, no thick quilts on the rumpled bed. And it was indeed the bed that drew her attention the most. The sheets were stained with a dirty, brownish substance she could not readily identify. Against the wall, two manacles were held in place by iron clasps and, to her horror, a very long chain. Her gasp was followed quickly by tears, none of which he noticed as he ate.

"W-what are those for?"

His head lifted and he followed her gesture before clamping his mouth shut. Silently, he continued to eat until every morsel was devoured.

"My uncles' idea of a sick joke," he answered finally. She sat in silence and said nothing more, too much in shock and, to a lesser degree, panic, to move. The fire was beginning to ebb away, and a chill claimed the room.

"Is there no more wood?"

He shook his head and gripped his stomach just then. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Quickly, he retrieved the chamber pot and turned away just in time to retch. Loretta waited until his dry heaving was completed before pressing a glass of water into his hand. He rinsed his mouth and spat. When he leaned his head back, his forehead was dotted with sweat.

"You did not need to see that."

"I do not understand. Are you still sick? Surely this is not where you sleep."

His laughter was low and mocking, much too mature for his age. "I am and it is."

She crawled to his side and pulled a moth-eaten blanket from a corner of the floor to cover them both. He did not move and said nothing when her head rested upon his shoulder. "I hate him."

Soto's breath hitched in his throat. He held his body stiff, unwilling to break the contact of her warmth, unable to understand why emotion he could not decipher swirled in his chest.

"Don't waste your time or your hate. He isn't worth the effort." His voice was nothing but a croak.

"Do you not have any other family?"

"No."

"Why does he treat you so horribly?"

Soto closed his eyes lightly, taking much comfort from her closeness and warmth. "I stopped trying to figure that out months ago."

She snorted, the noise very unladylike. For a long time, they sat in silence, staring at the dying flames of the fire until all that was left were hot embers. Soto's eyes became heavy with exhaustion. He glanced toward the window and noted with satisfaction that there was no rain tonight. Already Loretta snored gently beside him, snuggled trustingly against his shoulder. Through the worn blanket, she was soft and warm. It took many minutes of hesitation before the need for comfort and companionship overpowered his pride. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer, trembling and feeling both vulnerable and afraid. In the short time they had known each other, Loretta had become his best friend. He cherished her – her courage and her stubborn nature that undoubtedly matched his own. And she was warm. When was the last time someone was this close to him? When was the last time someone showed him affection? Granted he was not always comfortable with physical contact or open displays of love, but maybe it was the cold or the fact that she brought him another basket or her treacherous climbing of the tree. Whatever the reason for the need to hold her tight, he allowed himself the selfish act and closed his eyes. Every feeling of anxiety and confusion settled. His brain slowed and exhaustion claimed him. The last thing he remembered thinking was that he needed to get her safely to her bed before dawn.

***

"Lottie wake up!"

Loretta cracked one eye open in time to see the terrified look on Soto's face. She frowned, wondered why he would be in her room shaking her so viciously when she heard the rattling of the doorknob followed by a string of curses so very foul her cheeks blazed crimson in mortification. Soto's fingers bit into her arms as he hauled her up, his eyes filled with a fear that left her immobilized.

"You have to hide!" he whispered harshly, his voice shaking. She paled and swallowed several times, noting that the sun had not yet risen.

"I can't!"

He clamped his hand over her mouth and all but shoved her to the ground. "Under the bed to the farthest corner now. And for God's sake, keep your mouth shut!"

Frightened, she obeyed and made herself as small as possible against the wall. There she got a clear view of Soto's bare, thin feet as he beat a hasty trail toward the locked door. As soon as he unlatched it, it flew open with the force of a storm.

Soto stumbled back, but not before he collected a slap that rented the silence of the early morning. Loretta sank her teeth into her lips to bury the cry that threatened to escape, her eyes wide in horror and on the verge of tears.

"You think to lock this door on me, you filthy little swine?!"

The Baron's voice was full of scorn and anger.

"N-no Uncle. I must have-"

Another slap harder than the first knocked him back so that he fell on the floor.

"What's this?" His uncle reached for the small basket and rummaged through the empty contents. "I take care of you, and this is how you repay me? By stealing from me?!"

Loretta shook her head in dismay. He hadn't stolen anything! This was all her fault! If only she had followed his lead and kept herself at home none of this would be happening now. She pulled her weight forward until she could have seen just below the knees of his uncles' breeches.

"You ungrateful son of a whore! How did you manage to steal this? Which one of the maids did you manipulate?"

Soto said nothing. His silence earned him a fist cuff to the side of his head. He grunted and fell against the bed. Loretta noted with shock that the springs beneath the mattress bounced fiercely.

"Tell me who has been feeding you! Answer me, boy!"

Another fist descended, fist after fist until she could take it no longer. She opened her mouth and stiffened her spine, about to charge out although every nerve in her body told her to remain hidden. She would have too, had Soto not fallen to his chest on the floor at that exact moment. His nose was bloodied and broken, his eyes were discoloured and his lip was cut. He met her eyes squarely and read the intent on her face because all he whispered were two words.

"Please...don't."

"I'll beat the loyalty into you boy!" Beefy hands continued to pummel cuffs into the sides of his head and back. "You'll think twice before you steal from me again!"

Loretta knew his words were meant for her as a warning maybe, or simply a plea. Whatever, she obeyed, nodding as he was dragged farther into the centre of the room. She clenched her eyes tightly, trying to banish the images of his broken body from her mind, but with each agonized cry of pain, she couldn't help but express her pain-filled whimper.

After a long time, the only sound that echoed in the chilled room was the Baron's heavy breathing. Trembling, she eased her way forward just enough to see him nudge a motionless Soto with the toe of his boots before retrieving a bunch of keys from his pockets.

"Let's see you get out of here now," he grumbled and limped his way to the door. It closed on rusty hinges and the turning of the key in the lock echoed with brutal finality. Through tear-filled eyes she turned to Soto, afraid to come out from beneath the bed, unsure of whether or not the Baron would return. She crept forward inch by inch.

"S-soto?"

He did not move or respond, not when she touched his shoulder, not when she brushed his tangled hair from his face and not when she pressed her ear to his back to ensure his heart still beat. It was there, strong and quick. With much relief, she rolled him over.

His jaw bunched in agony. Eyes wet with tears met hers.

"Now you know," he croaked in shame.

Her stomach clenched and held him close, her cries buried in his chest and dampening his blood-stained shirt.

"This is all my fault!" she wailed.

He winced at her outburst. "Hush. No noise. You have to leave before you're missed."

Or before his uncle found her.

The words were left unspoken, but she understood his concerns as they were hers as well.

"I'll tell my mother. She'll take you away from him, I swear it!"

He managed a self-degrading chuckle and coughed. "Go home, Lottie. You're not safe here."

She forced herself to her feet, shaking from the cold and shock and horror. With determination borne from his stubborn nature, he managed to half drag his body toward the bed. She was at his side when she found the courage to move and allowed him to use her shoulder as support. He left a trail of blood in his wake, smeared across the floor.

"Leave now," he commanded, but there was no authority in his tone – just agony.

Loretta looked around the room and snatched up the tea towels she had brought with the late-night snack. The water in the basin was ice cold, but she soaked it thoroughly and bathed the blood from his face.

Soto sighed and closed his eyes, and must have fallen asleep during her ministrations because he no longer asked her to leave. She could not even if she wanted to. The door was locked from the outside, and even if she could pry the windows open she could not hope to get to the tree without Soto's help. She considered her blood-stained fingers and turned to observe his face, dread settling like a boulder in her chest as she realized with growing horror that she was trapped.

Chapter Five

Hours went by that felt like days, and with time came hunger. Loretta has never missed a meal in her life. Now, all she could feel were the pangs of an empty stomach and fear at her discovery. It wasn't until afternoon did Soto's eyes opened. One was swollen shut and was now an unbecoming shade of black. His bruises, still very raw, stood out starkly against his already mangy frame. His groan of discomfort echoed in the empty room and she was there in a flash, holding his hand in a show of support. His smile was pained but genuine - until he realized that it was indeed Loretta who stroked his fingers. He shuddered, his face panicked even as he tried and failed to move.

"You – you must go!"

She blinked back tears and looked at the blunt tips of his dirty fingernails. "The door is locked."

He turned to the window. A tear leaked from the corner of his eyes. She stopped him even before he could speak. "I can't get to the tree by myself. And I'm too afraid I'll fall to my death if I tried."

He swallowed with difficulty and closed his eyes, his face scrunched in agony. "I'm sorry Lottie...so very sorry."

Loretta blinked and squeezed his hand harder. "You did nothing wrong. Your uncle is a beast. I can't believe how vile he is."

He said nothing, just managed to look at her through the crack of his eyes. They sat in silence for a long time, she petting his fingers as if he were a wounded animal in need of comfort, him wishing he could protect her. He hated himself more than he ever did at that instant. Hated his frail body, hated his fear, hated that he had no way of keeping her safe. But most of all he hated his self-doubt. He knew if his uncle came back and discovered her there would be no escape for any of them. Too much attention would be drawn to the Baron if the authorities got involved. After all, he was beaten within an inch of his life and Loretta was now a prisoner inside his room. The consequences were dire indeed.

"This is by far the worst scrape I've ever gotten myself into," she whispered, her tone laced with forced humour. Soto snorted. His chest pained from the effort.

"Your choice in friends bloody stinks," he said hoarsely.

She rested her cheek against his hand and sighed heavily. "I would not trade you for the world."

Soto's heart cracked and bled pain so raw he wanted to scream from it. He huffed, discomforted by the intense kinship he felt but welcomed it all the same. Tentatively he lifted a finger to stroke her cheek, damp from the tears she could not contain and unnervingly cold. She sniffed and cupped his hand to blow the warmth of her breath there. He closed his eyes again. Exhaustion was claiming him.

"If anyone comes, you must hide."

She nodded but did not meet his gaze. Her entire body shivered. The last thing he remembered was her warm body being pressed to his looking helplessly for warmth he could not provide.

***

Through a faint din of consciousness, he was aware of only two things – a key grating in the lock of the door and the hasty scuttle of Loretta as she made an awkward retreat beneath the bed in the split second it took for his uncle to walk into the room. Soto forced his eyes open and with strength born of sheer stubbornness, leaned his back against the bed frame in an attempt to block her tiny form he was sure was pressed against the farthest wall. There was a pain in his chest each time he inhaled. Warily, he cast a hesitant look toward the brooding face of the man he hated more than life itself, noting the bowl of steaming water and old rags he slid on the table two feet away.

"Get yourself cleaned up. One of the maids will bring in clean breeches and a shirt for you."

Silently he offered a nod, curious at the boon that was offered. Usually, after a beating, there was no means of getting cleaned until he sought the bathhouse himself. The Baron made his way unhurriedly to the window and peered outside. He stood there a long moment in silence until one of the servant girls, a few years older than Soto and relatively new to the staff as this was the first time he had ever seen her, pushed open the door gently and got a good look at him. She clutched the clean clothes with white knuckles and gasped, frozen in her shock. The Baron hissed a curse that snapped her to attention. Footsteps echoed at a quick clip as she deposited the clothing on the dirty mattress and a bar of soap beside the steaming water and without a word, made fast her exit.

"The Marsham girl is missing," he informed conversationally. "Everyone has been gossiping about it. I have no doubt the Constable will be coming around asking questions. And since it's a known fact that you kept company with the chit, I'm expecting him to want to talk to you." He strode toward the door. "I'll return when he gets here."

Soto's heart pounded in his chest. If the constable came, this was his only chance of getting Loretta out of there alive, the implications be damned. As soon as the lock was bolted, he forced himself up onto the bed and winced at the pain in his side.

"Lottie?"

She wiggled her way to his feet and met his gaze. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair was a tangled mess. Her dress was stained with blood and dirt and her eyes, usually so bright and carefree, were red-rimmed and swollen, evidence that she spent the majority of her time in tears.

"You have to be ready for when the constable gets here," he repeated, forcing himself into a standing position.

"I have no problem screaming my lungs out when he comes. But what will that mean for you?"

Soto shook his head, his body bowed to the left where he nursed the most of his pain. The cracked mirror that hung against the wall showed him the sorry reflection of himself. Behind him, Loretta twisted her fingers in a nervous reaction.

"Nothing." His tone lacked all conviction.

"I hope they arrest that vile man," she hissed. He was taken aback from the pure apathy sparking in her eyes and ignored her long enough to dip a cloth into the water and press it to his face.

"They won't. It's not like he kidnapped you. You got stuck in here all by yourself." The lop-sided smile he offered hurt like hell. No response was forthcoming, and as he got cleaned up the best way he could, he noted that she turned her back to offer him a modicum of privacy where none would be had. As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long before the Baron returned. When he faced Soto she was already under the bed.

"The Constable's here. Mind yourself now."

Soto nodded, about to step into the hall when the scream of a banshee blasted through the house and stunned him. The Baron himself looked around, shocked as could be as Loretta scrambled into the centre of the bedroom, screaming as if all the devils from the pit of hell had gotten a hold of her. There was such raw panic and terror in that scream that Soto felt something deep within his stomach wrench in fear and rage, and did not think when he launched himself protectively beside her, the pains he suffered bearable now as his fingers hauled her to his side. Shouts from downstairs were followed by thundering footsteps, and it took all of two seconds for the Baron to shake out of his stunned disbelief to pin Soto with an accusatory glower.

"You dirty son of a bitch!" he snarled, his movements faster than expected given his size. "You think to betray me? To sully my reputation by keeping that little tart in here?!"

The moment his fist came flying toward Soto's already abused face, Loretta launched her weight against him. Soto stumbled to the side and watched, stupefied, as the heavy fist landed at the side of her head. She fell to the floor in a heap, dead weight.

The Constable who arrived just in time to see her go down tackled the Baron to the ground immediately. Soto fell to his knees, ignoring the cursing man who was being hauled to his feet and cradled Loretta in his arms. A nasty bruise was beginning to develop at the side of her temple where a cut oozed blood. He shook her gently at first, then harder when she showed no signs of response, panic set in.

"You'll suffer for this boy!" the Baron snarled, spittle leaking from his twisted lips.

"Be silent! You have much explaining to do. From the jail in town."

The Baron tried to shrug off the Constable who was built like a horse. "I daresay, do you have any idea who I am?"

The man's keen eyes took in the scene before him – from Soto who couldn't contain the hot, embarrassing tears that streamed down his face as he tried unsuccessfully to coax the unconscious Loretta awake, to the bloodstains on the floor, the chains bolted into the walls, the dirty mattress, the threadbare blanket, and dead tinder that held no warmth or evidence of a fire and the raging man he contained.

"It looks to me Braybrooke, that you are the prime suspect in the kidnapping of the Earl of Romney's only child."

The Baron shook his head in disbelief. "Hogwash! I didn't even know the girl was here!" He turned to Soto, rage in his face. "Tell him, boy! Tell him!"

Soto held Loretta, his heart pounding so hard it took him a moment to look up. Through one swollen eye, he ignored his uncle and blinked, looking toward the Constable instead. "He brought her in here..."

"Lies! Lies! I'll kill you for this boy! Do you hear me?"

"I can't recall how long ago. When I tried to protect her he almost killed me."

The Constable nodded, seeming willing to accept the explanation as it tied into the scene before him. Even now, the Baron struggled to break free.

"Calm down!"

"When I get my hands on you-"

"I would be very careful of the threats I make just about now Braybrooke."

"He's a blasted liar!"

"Well now, we'll have to hear it from the girl when she comes around. And by the blow you gave her, I doubt that will be anytime soon. Come along then."

The sputtering Baron was dragged away, and Soto felt for the first time relief swell in his chest. Short-lived though it were, as the maids gathered at the door with sorrow and compassion in their eyes. None dared enter the room, still conditioned by the Baron not to thread there. Soto hefted her and near stumbled beneath her weight and his waning strength.

"The Constable is requesting you bring her downstairs. Her mother will be informed shortly."

Soto obliged, one foot dragging heavily in front of the other as he took her down the flight of stairs and into the living room where the butler could not meet his eyes and the staff lingered around, silently observing as the Baron was bound and piled onto a horse. Two other Bobbies waited, listening with concern and shock as the Baron cursed roundly and threatened to kill Soto a hundred times over. The Constable ignored him long enough to fill in his colleagues. Soto heeded to all of it without offering any further information. He knew from the moment Loretta opened her eyes the truth of the matter would come out and he would be held accountable. They would send him to Bedlam. His uncle's name would be cleared. Loretta would carry on with her life in the aristocracy and he would rot away and be remembered as Braybrook's senile nephew.

But he didn't care. Not when moments ticked by and the Baron's curses died down to nothing but a drone of threats, this time to the constables. Not when Loretta's mother sailed in like an avenging angel, her eyes wide in panic and relief when she saw her daughter. She darted forward, holding her close. Soto looked up to spy a very tall, very livid gentleman on the threshold. His sandy blond hair was tousled as though he'd spent a great deal of time running his fingers through it. Eyes an ice blue took in the scene with a sweeping glance and landed on a shaking Soto.

"You," he said, voice barely controlled in its fury. "Tell me what happened. And the truth."

Soto swallowed hard, trying and failing to find his voice.

"Papa?"

A gush of air escaped his lungs as Loretta croaked. The man strode forward, his face pulled tautly.

"I'm here darling," he croaked. "Papa's here."

Soto made to move away from the scene in an attempt to make himself scarce, but small cold fingers refused to release him. He looked down to see a pair of waterlogged eyes. "Soto..."

Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He blushed crimson. He had done nothing to protect her. It was she who had screamed for help when his cowardice forced him to do nothing. It was she who had shoved him out of the way and had taken the brutal blow that was meant for him. "Don't..." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I didn't do a damn thing."

"You saved me."

Her parents gasped and looked at him thoroughly. Soto made to rise as he pulled out of her grasp. The Earl of Romney looked him over, taking note of every bruise and blemish on his skin.

"Did you take my daughter away from me?"

The question was so forthright and in Soto's mind, ridiculous, he set his mouth in a stubborn line that dared opposition. "I'd have to be an idiot to do that."

"Yes," came the cryptic response. "You would have to be."

Just as quickly, he considered the two females in his care and moved forward. Light kisses were pressed against Loretta's black bruise and, with a tender caress for his wife, he stood his full height again and gestured for Soto to join him in the foyer.

"There will be a full investigation on the matter of course," he began as the Constable doffed his hat and entered the manor. Soto did not respond, completely at odds being present in the company of such authority.

"The Baron swears he knows nothing of this," he began.

Romney scoffed his disbelief, pure malice in his face. "He's senile. I heard what you told the other officers but I'd like to see for myself. If the conditions he kept the boy in are any indication, I say he should be driven directly to Bedlam...or Newgate."

"Come now Romney, all in good time. We'll have to take the boy in for questioning."

"That won't be necessary. He already told you what happened and he confessed to me that he did not kidnap her. I believe him."

Soto hesitated, surprised. But kept his mouth shut.

"Is your daughter awake? You may not want to do this now but I'd rather get to the investigation as soon as possible so we can all put this mess behind us."

Romney exhaled deeply before nodding. In the living room, Loretta was cuddled against the bosom of her mother, and when the Constable walked in, she pressed herself further into the sofa.

"Miss Marsham. How is your head?"

Loretta winced as if he'd spoken too loud. "It will be better soon."

"I'd like to ask you about what happened and how you came to be locked away with young Mr. Audley."

Soto met her eyes and glanced down, unable to face the truth of the matter. She cleared her throat pointedly. "Has Soto said anything?"

"Yes, but you are the victim here. And the more you can remember, the more evidence I will have to convict the right person."

"Then you need to put the Baron away. He's the only one responsible."

"What happened?"

"I was locked in Soto's bedchamber."

"By whom?"

"The Baron."

"When was that?"

"I-I don't recall anything much. All I know is he locked me there. And beat Soto within an inch of his life. He didn't bring wood for the fire or food. The only time either of us saw him was this morning when he brought him a change of clothes and water to clean himself to look presentable for your visit."

The Constable nodded and stood to his feet. "That will be all for now. I hope you feel better soon. Romney, join me?"

As the Earl joined him outside, Soto watched as her mother fussed and clucked before standing herself. "Keep an eye on her for a moment?"

Soto settled himself beside her, his throat unable to work for a full moment. "You didn't have to lie you know."

"I didn't."

"He didn't lock you in on purpose..."

"Well, he beat you for no reason at all. And I hate him. So he deserves everything he gets."

Soto scratched the back of his head. "You're a piece of work."

"Do you think they will hang him?"

"I don't really want to talk about hanging."

Loretta nodded in understanding. "Are you okay?"

He brushed his fingers over the bruise on her face. "Yes. But I'm mad at you."

Stunned, she blinked owlishly. "Whatever for?"

"For taking the hit meant for me."

A rosy blush stained her cheeks. "Well, I didn't think."

He snorted and said nothing more, not when she leaned her head on his shoulder and not when he gingerly, hesitantly threaded his fingers through hers. Exhaustion claimed him within seconds, and he welcomed the peace of sleep with Loretta's deep even breaths at his side.

Chapter Six

The day passed in a haze of exhaustion and wary relief as the Earl of Romney took it upon himself to see that Soto was carted to his very own house to be treated by the best physician in the county district. Loretta had fallen asleep on his shoulder and had not awoken when her father roused Soto. She slept through the entire ordeal of being carried across the expanse of the yard into her own house and tucked into bed. Soto stood there, put out by how she did not stir, his eyes darting more than once to the swelling the size of an egg on her head. After being bandaged for two cracked ribs and all his cuts were cleaned and ointment applied, he was given hot broth and tucked into bed with care and consideration he had not known for a long time and the promise that everything will work out the next day. Sleep was not long in coming, even if it was just at four in the afternoon. Given the entire ordeal, Soto thought he should have been able to sleep for an entire week, but he stirred later that night to find a solitary lamp burning in a corner. Beneath the fold of blankets, he was incredibly warm, more comfortable than he could remember being. Nothing could have coaxed him out of bed – but for the muffled thud that echoed dully. Heart beating a bit faster, he found the strength to crawl out of bed and winced at the pain in his side. On light feet, he opened the door and poked his head out to consider the dark hallway and the beginning of the staircase a few feet away. At the other end of the hall, Loretta's door stood slightly ajar. Moonlight streamed in from the far window across her room, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

Maybe it was the memory of his uncle because everything within him screamed not to press forward. Still, Lottie who had saved his life was in there and for his peace of mind, he would ensure that she was well. Strengthening his resolve, he marched down the hall and pushed her door further inside, his eyes extra wide as he hurriedly scanned the room. Slightly shaking he fumbled until he found a lamp and match and lit the flame quickly.

Buried beneath a mountain of blankets, Lottie slept. Her freckled face was relaxed and expressionless, her lips were parted in a light snore. The swelling on her forehead seemed to have gotten bigger, a ghastly sight, but all in all, she looked perfectly fine. Carefully he adjusted the duvet around her shoulder and left the light burning more for his peace of mind than hers, and scratched the back of his head as he lumbered on back toward his room. Being paranoid didn't serve him well he decided and closed the door gently.

Only to come face to face with the Baron himself.

Swifter than the eye could see a blade was pressed against Soto's throat. Hot tears stung his eyes in panic and terror, but he met the stare of his crazed guardian head-on.

And crazed he was indeed.

His hair was plastered to his head in wet, dirty tendrils. His clothes were muddied and askew, his face was flushed an unnatural shade of plum, an unbecoming hue Soto had long ago associated with rage, and when he spoke, his voice trembled. Soto didn't know if it was from anger or the fact that he was ice cold.

"You lying bastard!" he raged softly.

Soto choked on the terror that lodged itself in his chest. "U-uncle?"

"Keep your mouth shut! Is this how you repay my kindness to you? I took you in when that wastrel of a father of yours got himself killed!"

Fear quickly gave way to anger. "Kindness?" he exhaled thickly, the blood pumping through his veins now hot. "Is that what you called starving me within an inch of my life? And taking the crop to me while I was chained like an animal? Tell me, uncle, what I have done to deserve your hate!"

The Baron snatched him by the scruff of his neck and pressed the tip of the knife just beneath an eye, pulling him in close so that their foreheads almost touched. "You were born from the womb of a faithless whore!"

Soto gasped, his breath coming in short bursts as anger gave way to rage. His mother...a gentlewoman whose eyes he recalled only because they were the last things he saw at night before he slept. The memories he held of her were fragmented but sweet. Many nights it grieved him that she was lost to him, especially since his lot was tossed in with this madman.

"I'm going to send you off to meet my bastard brother. Then I'm going to make sure that little hussy pays for her deceit!"

"Soto?"

Pure horror spread through his body like wildfire at the sound of Lottie's hesitant voice as she dared to open the bedroom door. There was no time for thought when he reacted, just the need to keep her safe at all cost. With nimble fingers he snatched the Baron between his legs and squeezed with all of his might, his cry of agony and rage forcing a startled screech from Lottie. He heard his uncle's roar of pain and Lottie's thundering footsteps as she advanced and bellowed for her father.

"Lottie don't!"

She flung herself upon the man, her fingers like claws grabbing onto his thinning hair. Stunned, Soto watched as she sank her teeth into his shoulder, even as his hands flayed when he stumbled with the onslaught of her unexpected weight. The blade of the knife still clenched in his hand glittered, but Soto had yet to release his hold on his private part. With one hand he snatched the meaty wrist that was in the process of descending upon his back.

"Get off of me!"

Soto fell onto his back on the floor, his panicked gaze focused on Lottie's scrunched up face. Her teeth were still anchored into the man's shoulder. With a strong kick between the thighs, he watched as his uncle's face drain of colour and the knife clattered to the floor. When he crashed to his knees and cupped himself with a groan, Soto scampered to his feet. He pried Lottie away, his voice embarrassingly high pitched in his panic.

"Let go, Lottie!" She refused, her hands battering the man's head even as she found her footing. "Let go damn you!"

"Loretta!"

It was the thundering command of her father's voice that finally broke through. She flung herself away instantly. A thin streak of blood rimmed her lips. Soto shoved her behind him and stumbled back as the Earl's eyes scanned the room in a heartbeat. When his gaze landed on the knife on the floor, a cold look hardened his face. The Baron struggled to his feet, his eyes moist, breath coming in short gasps of pain.

"I'll kill you all," he wheezed. "They lied, both of them. Your daughter is a filthy little tart! She went to his room all on her own. The both of them – shame upon your family Romney! The scandal she would bring on your head-"

One single shot rent the air.

Soto could not find the strength to move. His uncle's body dropped heavily on the floor. Numbly, he considered the Earl. Lottie darted from her hiding place at his back to launch herself into her father's arms, her cries so shaking that Soto felt his entire stomach tremble. He had brought this madness into her life. From the moment he laid eyes on her he should have known he would do nothing but bring her suffering.

He considered the man who for so long had beat him. He didn't seem so threatening now that he lay unmoving there just a few feet away. He searched for the fear that less than a minute ago was a constant part of his life for the months he was the Baron's ward, and all he found was anger. There was no relief, no remorse. Just anger.

In the confusion with the arrival of the butler, the maids and Lady Romney, Soto found himself carted downstairs where a hot cup of tea was pressed into his hands and the women fussed. Lottie sat next to him, shaking although her mother had embraced her to the point of smothering a short while before.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She looked at him. And something in his chest ached. Her eyes were red-rimmed and waterlogged and her lips still held blood from the baron's shoulder. Awkwardly, he reached for a napkin, moistened the end in the cup and went about the business of wiping the stain there. It didn't seem right that Lottie who once again risked her very life to help him be stained with the ugliness of the attack.

"I – I thought he would kill you," she confided softly. He barely heard the words.

"Well, he did not. I am beginning to think nothing could hurt me as long as you are near."

When she blushed prettily at his words he coughed and shifted rather uncomfortably, then to cover his blunder, scowled.

"Your heroics must come to an end. The next time you put yourself in danger to save me I'll – I'll..."

Mischief sparkled in her orbs when she smiled. "You are too fond of me to do anything."

He clamped his mouth shut and cut her a glower for indeed she was correct. Unexpectedly she embraced him. Soto hesitated, not quite knowing what to do with his hands, so he stroked her back and pat her head and grumbled a word or two of nonsense that seemed to soothe her, and looked up just in time to see the Earl considering them while the butler spoke in soft tones.

He pulled away quickly and busied his hands with the cup of tea, too put out to look up even as Lottie stuck her tongue at him and launched into a detailed account of how terrified she felt throughout the ordeal.

"My lord!" one of the footmen scampered down the stairs, his shirt rumpled. "My lord!"

"What is it man?" the Earl turned.

"He's gone. The Baron is gone!"

The men thundered up the stairs, and Soto would have too, but Lottie's fingers were like a vice around his wrist. Her lower lip trembled even before she opened her mouth to plead.

"Papa will take care of it," she croaked. "I – I don't want you to go."

He hesitated and regained his seat. The Earl's curses echo throughout the house.

The Baron was shot but still alive – and gone.

***

8 weeks later

Loretta folded her feet beneath her dress and watched as Soto worked with hammer, nails and rope to secure the makeshift swing on the branch of the oak.

"All done," he informed, taking care to put back the hammer in the wooden toolbox that belonged to her father. "Come and try it out then."

She hustled to her feet and considered the swing. "Will I fall to my death?"

He snorted and planted his behind on the seat, then pushed off, testing the sturdiness for a good long time until her mind was eased. "Nope."

Heart light, she settled herself as soon as he moved, and giggled when he took to the task of pushing her.

"Has Papa spoken to you about school?"

His response was nothing but a grunt. She crooked her neck to see him behind her back.

"You know the importance of a good education, don't you?"

Another grunt. Scowling, she skidded to a halt and stood. "Mama says I am old enough to go to finishing school now. It's to prepare me for landing a proper husband when the time is right."

"Well good luck with that," he grumbled, settling himself on the blanket to rummage through the basket there.

She huffed delicately. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

He unwrapped a cold chicken sandwich and took a generous bite. "To land a proper husband you need to first be a proper lady."

"I am a proper lady – or at least, after school, I will be." His snicker brought a flush to her cheeks. "You don't know the first thing about being proper or ladies for that matter."

"Yes well, I happen to like being me. Your father thinks by sending me to boarding school it will help take my mind off my uncle. I need to be prepared for the title of Baron."

"Surely it won't be that bad."

"Having to learn what to do and say all the time? To be controlled by society? With everything that's happened in my life so far, I don't think any amount of schooling will silence the gossips."

Lottie reached for her journal. "Well, I don't care what the gossips say. You will make a wonderful Baron. You will even marry and have children to chase away the bad memories of this place."

For a long time, they did not speak, and when finally he laid his head down, it was next to her lap where he closed his eyes. An investigation was launched into her kidnapping, and after weeks of looking Scotland Yard had yet to find his uncle. There was no telling whether or not he was living or dead after the shot he was dealt. Lord Romney believed that he was alive if he was strong enough to make his way out the first-floor window and escape so quickly. His concern for his family prompted him in the decision to send them both away to school, a matter that he intended to keep undisclosed for as long as possible. In the meantime, he promised to keep digging until the man was found, even after the case was closed.

Soto understood his concerns as they were his as well. Every day he had to remind himself that there was no going back to being starved and abused. Elridge Manor was now empty, abandoned by the staff and visited only by rodents and animals that sought to make the place a home. Not once since Soto left did he venture back into that yard. Lottie loved their place beneath the oak though, and despite his many attempts at coaxing her to a new haunt, she refused. Truth be told, he faced each day knowing that coming to the end of his suffering, she had been there for him.

"There is one good memory of Elridge Manor," he finally allowed, considering the wisps of hair that escaped her pretty bonnet.

Lottie frowned, her forehead pleated. "Is there?"

He nodded then offered a small smile that warmed her heart. "Yes. This oak. And all the delicious meals I have here."

Her affronted expression coaxed laughter from the pit of his stomach.

"I am sure you will forget all about me when you leave."

He snorted. "Unlikely."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

"We will see each other every summer after all," he informed, stretching and rubbing his stomach. Lottie considered the small scars that marred his face and playfully tweaked his nose. He turned away and complained. "I bloody hate when you do that." When she fell silent, he frowned. "What is it?"

"You're my best friend Soto. I don't ever want you to forget me."

Hesitantly, he reached for the locket around his neck and flicked it open. The tiny painted portrait of his mother looked up at him. It was the most precious thing he owned. Sitting, put the chain around her neck and brushed the pad of his thumb over the picture there.

"My mother..." he choked, then cleared his throat and met her eyes directly. "This is all I have left of her. Keep her safe for me."

Lottie held her breath and considered the beautiful woman there before snapping it closed and pressing the metal to her lips in a reverent kiss. "I swear."

He nodded, pleased that she appeared happy although her eyes became suspiciously moist, and all but pulled her to her feet in glee, yanking on her curls in the process.

"Come along then. The swing is done and I have three days before I am exiled to that horrid school."

Lottie darted after him, their laughter loud and boisterous as they made a mad dash across the yard, bitter-sweet happiness coursing through their veins.

End of Part One

***

