He'd gone a little too public, that was all. Graham tried to convince himself that that was what had tipped him off. He knew better, however.

Now, there was only the thought of what to do next. He couldn't stay here much longer, that was certain. It was getting a little too hot for him—in more ways than one.

"It's funny. I never expected to hear from him again." Ethan's voice cut through his thoughts. "After we married, he cut me off with nothing and swore he'd never speak to me again. I don't understand what this can mean."

"Maybe he's realized the error of his ways." Graham shrugged, peering out the carriage window.

"I've never known him to do such a thing." Ethan grunted. "There has to be something more behind this. Perhaps, he's drawing me in so he can gloat over my failures." Unexpected steel hardened his eyes. "Or this could have something to do with Lavinia."

Graham sighed. "Look, Ethan, he is your father. Father's often do unexplainable and absurd things. I believe it's a necessary qualification for the job to be a pain in the arse every once in a while." Ethan scoffed in the background. "However, he's still your father, and as much as you might hate him, he's the only one you'll ever have. Presumably, that's why you're answering his letter with a visit instead of ignoring his request."

Ethan raked a hand through his already rumpled hair. "Maybe. I don't know what possessed me to. . ." He turned to look out the window. "Thank you for coming along, though. On the legal side of things, I do want a witness if he threatens me or my wife, but regardless, it is nice to have company."

"I'm no substitute for Charlie, but I'll what I can." Graham said as the carriage pulled out a stop.

Drawing a deep breath, Ethan got out. Graham followed, taking in the gothic architecture and well-kept surroundings. This place would put even Fergus Manor to shame. It was ornate, even by aristocratic standards. More of a castle than a true home, the imperious stone walls seemed to peer down at those below with a menacing glare.

"Sir." The butler met them at the door as stiff and structured as the place in which he worked. "Always a pleasure to see you home." Was it his imagination, or did the dull eyes sparkle with a hint of pleasure?

"I can't say it's a pleasure to be back, Jenkins, but I am glad of the chance to see you." Ethan replied.

As Jenkins took their hats and overcoats, another figure emerged from the darkness. This one was no less stilted than the butler, and Graham was beginning to see what a childhood here would have been like. There was a certain kindness in the eyes of this man, he noted as his eyes became more accustomed to the dull lighting of the manor.

"Ethan? Can that really be you?" The voice seemed more alive, too.

"Doctor Crowe?" Ethan's voice didn't mask his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you home again, my boy, even if the circumstance are not all they could be." Crowe's voice was marked with sadness, and Graham wished he could see the man more clearly.

"What is it?" Ethan drew a breath, and Graham could see that he already knew what would come next.

"Your father, Ethan." Crowe exhaled heavily. "To put it bluntly, he's dying. I told him he should send for you a month ago, but he wouldn't hear of it. It's some sort of miracle that he's done so now." Crowe beckoned for them to follow him up a sweeping set of spiral stairs.

"What happened?" There was, understandably, little emotion in Ethan's voice.

"I'm not sure. He suffered some kind of trauma. I did what I could, but something is leaking blood into his lungs. Perhaps, a more skilled doctor than I could have done more for him, but I'm no miracle worker. The kind of damage he suffered would have stumped the best medical mind."

Graham wondered what the house would look like if it were better lit. The darkness seemed to be covering secrets. He knew well what sort of secrets. The kind that were better left undisturbed.

The doctor paused outside a closed door, turning to look at them. "Be careful. He would give me no explanation, but I suspect foul play. The room where he was found was in shambles, and his injuries suggest he was attacked by more than one man."

Something within Graham rebelled at the words. He had the distinct feeling he was missing something crucial, and it infuriated him.

"Thank you, Crowe." Ethan's voice was quiet. "I assume he's in there?" He indicated the closed door.

"Yes." Crowe stepped aside. "He'll want to speak with you alone." the thin man eyes Graham pointedly.

Graham held the little man's gaze. He wasn't altogether sure he like this 'Doctor Crowe'. The man seemed to be a friend of Ethan's, but there was something about him that was. . .off.

"He'll get over it." Ethan said carelessly, opening the door quickly—probably to keep from changing his mind about the entire thing.

The room beyond was pitch black. Graham drew a deep breath before following Ethan into the cavernous black hole. All his sense had kicked into high-alert of their own accord, and he was wary to walk unawares into a dark enclosed space.

Once he was further into the room, Graham could see that there was a little gas lamp lit. The flame was small and gave almost no light. Instead, it cast eerie shadows on the wall.

"Sir?" Ethan's voice sounded abnormally loud in the darkness.

There was a groan and then the sound of something shifting on satin bedclothes.

"Out." A voice suddenly rasped. "All of you, out! Leave me with my son!"

There was considerable rustling, and then three figures pushed past Graham to the door. He got the feeling that they were glaring at him, so, hoping their eyes were enough accustomed to the dark that they would see him, he grinned smugly.

"You, too, Marth. Give me some time." The rasping voice was less harsh this time, and a final figure brushed past Graham—somehow in a more civilized fashion.

A long moment of silence passed. Ethan seemed unwilling to take the first step to break it. Graham shifted position, wondering if this would be the extent of the visit.

"Well, boy, don't you trust your old man?" The voice wheezed, finally breaking the deathly quiet. There was a spattering of ragged coughs before it continued. "Did you need to bring a bodyguard?"

Graham frowned into the darkness. Somewhere, sometime, he'd heard that voice before. He would swear it on all that he held dear—which wasn't much.

"He's a friend. I intended to bring Charlie Fergus, but he had business matters that called for his attention." Ethan's voice gained traction as he spoke. It was clear he had feared his father for most of his life. "Besides, I have little enough reason to trust you, sir. Our last meeting wasn't exactly endearing." His voice was wry.

In the darkness, there was a violent snort. Then: "Well, close the door, then. The walls have ears."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ethan asked as Graham eased the door shut.

"Bolt it." Was the only response.

Graham complied almost thoughtlessly. His mind was whirling precariously as he sorted through all of his previous acquaintances. Where could he have heard that voice before? That commanding, slightly imperious tone was so familiar.

The door, he noted, was heavy oak and well-insulated by the trim. Whoever this man was, he was no youth with his head on backwards. There wouldn't be much sound getting in or out.

"Turn the light up, and bring it to my bedside table." The voice sounded tired this time. "I'd like to be able to look you in the eyes when I talk."

Movement told Graham that Ethan was complying. Then the light brightened, and the room became dimly illuminated. When Ethan set it on the bedside table, it revealed a broken, bruised body in the bed.

Graham's blood ran cold at the sight. There was no mistaking the firm set of the jaw and the prominent, almost pointy cheekbones. He took an involuntary step back as though to shield himself from the light. Damn, was this it: the end?

"Can you bring yourself to sit here," Lord Brodi indicated a spot on the bed beside him. "Beside me?" There was a slight gurgle to the words, and Graham had seen enough to know the beating the old man had taken had caused interior bleeding.

Wordlessly, Ethan sat down. He was slightly stiff, almost as if he were preparing for a strike from a snake. Lord Brodi noticed it, too, and a sad smile tugged at his lips.

"My boy, my good boy." The words were almost inaudible, but Ethan reared back as if he'd been struck. Lord Brodi reached out and took his hand, and Ethan flinched. "What must you think of me?" The sadness in his voice was unmistakable now.

"What must I think of you?" Ethan was incredulous. "I can only think the truth." He jerked his hand free. "I don't know what your game is here, sir, but it won't work. I know who and what you are, and I fear it will take more than a bedside 'confession' to change that opinion!"

Strangely, Lord Brodi smiled. "Yes, well, a father can only do what he thinks best." Involuntarily, the older man groaned as he shifted position.

"Best? You thought it best to spend all of my growing years railing at me and my mother?" Ethan scoffed.

"You actually despise me, don't you, my boy?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"What do you expect I think of you?" Ethan's voice was laced with more malice than Graham had ever heard him use before. "There may have been a time when I was willing to bow before you and take whatever you laid out, but that time is long gone. I don't care what you think anymore." As if realizing that he was losing control of his temper, Ethan drew a deep breath. "After what you said about Lavinia, after all that you threatened to do to her, how can you imagine that I would ever be willing to think of you with anything but hatred?"

Silence filled the room again, and then Lord Brodi coughed. It was a slow, gurgling cough that left blood in the handkerchief he used. It was Death's cough.

"Hand me the glass of water on the table, will you?" Lord Brodi's voice was muted, and he looked frail, broken.

With only a slight moment of hesitation, Ethan complied. His brows were lowered over his narrowed eyes. He studied his father, the man who should have cared for him more than any other, and there was no trace of pity in his eyes.

"I think you should know," Ethan's voice was quiet, almost too quiet for Graham to hear. "She's the only reason I'm here. I would have burned your letter without even opening it if it hadn't been for Lavinia."

"Ah, yes, your wife." Lord Brodi's voice was almost bitter.

"Don't you dare!" Ethan said. "I didn't come here for you to rake her through to mud. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder why I came at all. This doesn't concern her, so don't you bring her into it."

"Oh, but it does, and I must." Lord Brodi coughed again. "She's the reason I called you here, the reason for all of this."

"Because she's not good enough?" Ethan sneered. "Was your choice for my life so much better?"

"Yes." Lord Brodi looked into his son's eyes. "But not for any reason you can imagine." He heaved a sigh. "My entire life's work destroyed, because you—you fell in—in love." Ethan wasn't the only bitter one.

"Your life's work? And what would that be?" Ethan turned away from his father, raising a brow. It was evident he didn't care.

"Protecting you." Ethan jerked at the words, and for once.

"What do you mean?" His voice was laced with confusion.

"What? Do you think I spent your entire life hating you for my own pleasure?" Lord Brodi snorted. "Come on, Ethan, are you really that naive?" It was tears in the old eyes, Graham was sure of it. "Everything I ever did was for you. You'll know soon enough to joy a man feels when his first child is placed in his hands, the immediate need to make sure that child has every opportunity to succeed in life. You don't know what it's like, yet, though. Let me tell you: it'll tear your guts out."

Another bout of coughs interrupted him. "Unfortunately, we really don't have time to get into all this. I wish I could have sent for you days ago." Lord Brodi paused, and his expression turned wistful. "If only I'd had your courage, perhaps things would have been different. Hold onto it. All of it. You grab hold of Lavinia and your child, and don't let go. I tried my best to protect you both from this, but in the end, that wasn't enough. You've made your choice."

"What are you saying?" Ethan spoke slowly, his mind obviously churning with the information he'd just heard.

"They're coming for you now. He's out to get Antrucha, and in the process, he's taking down anyone close to him, anyone he cares about." A sigh escaped Lord Brodi's lips. "That's why I wanted you to marry that floozie Cassandra so much. We needed to get closer to Antrucha somehow, and a marriage was our best shot. Cassandra isn't his child. She would have been left alone, and you would have been safe.

"They'll go for Lavinia to get Antrucha in Scotland. Once they have him here, the game will fall perfectly into place, and the curtain will drop. All of England will suffer. You can't let this happen."

"Who are they?" Ethan leaned toward his father breathlessly.

"No time. " The voice was languid, and it was obvious the conversation was taking its toll on Lord Brodi. "My death will provide for you and my grandchild." Lord Brodi's hand moved as though to clasp Ethan's.

"But you disowned me." Ethan protested.

"A pretense. I knew they would come after you, and if I looked like I was helping you, loving you, they would send me to do it. I had to give you your best shot." Coughs interrupted him again. "This will all be yours, my boy. Every last bit of it, as it should be." The bony hand grasped Ethan's with sudden strength and fervency. "You put yourself out there. Make yourself big, and you take them down. Don't let them take her from you. Don't be like me."

Then Lord Brodi looked up. He looked straight into Graham's unflinching eyes, and he started. His face went a shade whiter—if that were possible—and he slumped backwards.

Ethan followed his father's gaze, dazed and confused by all that he had heard. "What is it? You have to tell me everything, sir. I don't understand."

Lord Brodi's eyes went back to his son, and he swallowed heavily. "I've said too much already." His voice was small. "I can say no more. They already know." His eyes darted about the room. "I have one last thing to ask of you, my boy."

"Yes?" Ethan leaned forward, staring intently at the man before him.

"Call me 'father'." Lord Brodi seemed unable to look at his son. "It has been so long since I've heard you say it without malice or hatred. Sit with me, and speak to me as a son to his father." He raised his eyes, and they were filled with pleading. "Don't let me go alone. I'm not ready."

"Of course. . .father." Ethan gripped his father's hands in both of his, and he smiled. "We live in a little cottage now, Lavinia and I. It's small and somewhat uncomfortable, but she never complains. She is so good, father. I wish so much that you could see her, know her." Sudden emotion was in Ethan's voice. "I wish that she had come, that she could know you, and that our child could call you 'grandfather'."

Lord Brodi's eyelids had begun to droop steadily, and his breathing was growing more audible. At the mention of his grandchild, a smile touched his lips.

"Grandfather." He said as if testing the sound of the word. "I should've liked that, but you know, even if I lived after this, nothing could change. I couldn't let on that I cared. I want you to know, though, that I do. No one could care more than I. I have never stopped loving you, no matter how it may have appeared."

Graham suddenly felt as though he were intruding. Stepping backwards, he nearly stumbled, and for the first time in a long time, he felt heavy and awkward. A great weight seemed to have settled on his shoulders, pressing him downwards.

He needed fresh air. The thick atmosphere around him threatened to suffocate him. Clumsily, he unbolted the door and staggered into the hallway. The sound of scuffling feet met his ears, and he was dimly aware of people in the hall, but he ignored them.

Stumbling, he leaned against the wall for support. Every breath seemed to tear through him like a knife. He had seen himself in that room. All these years, he'd been running from it, and then, suddenly, it had to be tossed at him. He raked a hand through his hair and felt once again the iron bars of his prison. There was no freedom for him, not even in escape.

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Not quite the follow up you were expecting from last chapter, am I right? Yeah, yeah, I get it you wanted to see more of Graham and Cassandra, but what can I say? I needed to further the plot as a whole. . .however, without making any sure promises, I can tell you that those two may or may not be making an interesting appearance in the next chapter. . .and after that, well, adventure awaits! 😉

Well, well, well, so this was an interesting chapter in its own right, I suppose. So Ethan is not disinherited, and Lord Brodi isn't all that he seems. . .what next? I hope this has answered some of your questions from the first book about why Lord Brodi was so set on a marriage to Cassandra.

I guess that's it for today. Happy reading until next time!