Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Thomas winced from the pain at first, but the sight of his beloved Tricia, who was coughing in the corner, spurred him forward.
Thomas rolled to his feet, ignoring the tiny shards of glass slowly ensconcing themselves into his bare flesh, and snatched a decorative saber from its mount on the wall. He advanced slowly, the blade reflecting the light off the broken glass. Montague circled him, his eyes calculating, before feinting to the left and then darting to the right, aiming a swift kick at Thomas’s knee. But Thomas was not about to be thrown to the ground for a third time by his own servant. He staggered but didn't fall, swinging the saber in a wide arc. Montague leapt back, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp edge.
Thomas thrust the saber towards Montague’s chest. The butler caught Thomas’s wrist, twisting it with the strength of a man half his age, forcing him to drop the weapon. It clattered to the floor. With a deft motion, Montague spun Thomas around, locking him in a chokehold. Thomas struggled, feeling his vision blur. He was already weak from his burns. What more could he do?
“Get away from him, you bastard!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Tricia, his beloved intended, run at Montague with the discarded candelabra. She smashed it into Montague's ribs repeatedly until the butler’s grip slackened. Thomas broke free, gasping for air, and grabbed a fire poker from the hearth. He swung it with all his might, catching Montague across the shoulder. The black jacket he was wearing tore, and under it, Thomas saw his attack had rent a wide gash across the butler’s upper arm, which was leaking blood over his pale exposed skin.
But this wound did not slow the butler. With a snarl, Montague grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it at Thomas. He dodged it, and the chair splintered against the wall. Montague rushed forward, and the two men exchanged a flurry of blows.
Finally, Thomas managed to land a solid punch to the center of Montague's abdomen, making him double over in pain. Thomas seized the moment and tackled Montague to the ground. They grappled, rolling across the polished wood floor. Montague’s hand found a larger shard of broken mirror, and he slashed at Thomas’s burnt arm, drawing blood.
Ignoring the pain, Thomas headbutted Montague, dazing him. He pinned Montague’s arms to the floor, his knee pressing down on his chest.
“It’s over, Montague!” Thomas panted.
Montague, blood trickling from the injury to his shoulder, stared up at Thomas, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a final, heaving sigh, he went limp.
Thomas rose unsteadily to his feet, his body bruised, bloody, and battered.
“Is he dead?” Tricia squeaked.
Thomas put an ear to the butler’s mouth. He was breathing.
“He’ll live,” Thomas replied.
Then from behind him, he heard a clatter. Tricia had collapsed onto his bed.
“My darling! Are you all right?” Thomas rushed to the bed.
Her eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him, and her eyes widened at the larger wound on his arm, as well as the multiple tiny wounds from the broken glass and porcelain he had fallen on.
“You’re hurt.”
Thomas smiled. “I’ll live, too.”
“Thank God.” She looked to the floor. “Thomas, your beautiful vase, I—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “No antique, priceless as it may be, could match your value, my love.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand. “I love you, Thomas.”
“And I you, my dearest.”
Tricia. His only love. Her voice cut through Thomas like a knife through butter, pulling him back to the divine realm of their love. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time again, not just as his love, but as his anchor, the one person who could remind him of the beauty of the world when all else failed.
Tricia sat up, her demeanor cautious. She reached out and lightly touched his arm. Her caress was gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of just moments ago.
“Let’s go,” she said softly.
Thomas nodded, unable to trust his voice. Together, they walked away, leaving Montague behind, groaning on the ground.
“We must get him medical help,” Tricia said.
“Let him rot.”
“Thomas…”
She was right, of course. Where was Longbottom, anyway? And Montague…
How could he have been so blind? He would never in a hundred years have thought that his butler was part of the conspiracy against him.
He needed to find his cousin and get to the bottom of everything, but he needed to dress first. Longbottom was nowhere to be found, though.
“Could you help me dress, my love?” he asked her.
“Of course.” She looked down at the robe she was wearing. “Perhaps it’s best if I get dressed as well.”
“We’ll run to your bedchamber next and you can throw something on.”
Tricia then eyed Thomas’s shoulder. “What about that cut?”
“We’ll wrap something around it.”
Tricia nodded and helped her fiancé get dressed, fashioning a makeshift bandage out of an old stocking.