Page 60 of The Moonstone Hero
Elmer was just gathering his nightshirt and washcloths when Caden’s grandfather barged into his room. “Get out,” he said to the boy, growling his order with typical, disdainful authority.
Oh, how Caden hated that superior tone.
He stared at the man he resembled more than he cared to admit. They had the same dark eyes. His grandfather’s once-dark hair was now all gray, but he still had a full head of it. Caden was taller and broader in the shoulders, but his grandfather was still a vigorous man who held himself proudly.
“Thank you, Elmer,” Caden said, knowing it would rile his grandfather, who believed servants were never to be thanked.
“You are most welcome, my lord,” the boy replied as he scampered out of the room.
His grandfather waited until Elmer was out of sight to return his attention to Caden. “I see you haven’t changed. Still willful and insolent.”
Caden wanted to toss his crutches aside and stare down the man, show him he was no invalid and could stand on his own two feet. But that would completely ruin the image he needed to craft, not to mention he was still too unsteady on his feet. “You are wrong, Your Grace. I have changed most profoundly. Watching men die all around me, seeing them cut open and bleeding, is indelibly etched in my memory. Not that you care or will ever admit responsibility for your role. But make no mistake,youdid this to them. You and the other greedy pigs feeding at the trough.”
“Is this the welcome I am to receive from you? Insults and blame? How dare you!” His grandfather struck him with enough force to knock a weaker man over, but Caden kept a firm grip on his crutches and maintained his balance. He had taken much harder blows in battle, and knew his grandfather had not intended to lash out as hard as he had. The old man’s ring had caught on his lip and cut it.
“Ah, I do love these warm family reunions,” he said as little jolts of pain shot through his head to the spot where his skull had been crushed during the Ashanti battle. He momentarily saw stars before his eyes, but he would die before admitting to any pain.
Nor would he ever strike his grandfather, even if the old goat deserved it.
“Hit me all you want, but you cannot deny your responsibility for what happened. You and your business associates put Fulke in as governor to ensure your seizure of those gold mines. My regiment was wiped out because of your actions. Does it bother you at all that I narrowly escaped death? Or is your gold more important to you than your heir? If you think I am going to keep quiet about what happened out there, then you had better think again.”
“Ungrateful bastard! I gave you everything.”
He raised his hand and was about to strike Caden again when a whirlwind with a broom raced in and began to smack the duke in the backside with it. Caden stifled a burst of laughter as he watched Ella. “Out, you old devil! Don’t you dare touch any of our wounded soldiers!”
She gave his grandfather another solid whack to his backside.
“How dare you! I am the Duke of Seaton!” he roared.
Ella glowered at him. “And I amLadyElla Stockwell. I will crack this broom over your head if you dare raise a hand to anyone in this hospital. Out! Out of this room at once!”
“Major Brennan will hear of this!”
She whacked him again on the backside. “And so will the newspaper reporters, I shall guarantee you that!”
Caden loved her—truly, he did.
He had been trying to keep her out of harm’s way, and here she was leaping in with both feet, with a broom and an impudent mouth that he had not kissed often enough—but he would remedy that as soon as his tour was over.
She managed to chase his stunned grandfather out of the room and down the hall. Caden wasn’t sure whether that was a smart idea, but he could no longer contain his laughter. Another man had been standing outside the door, one of the duke’sentourage for certain. He was too slickly dressed for Moonstone Landing.
Who was he, exactly? Caden had never set eyes on this man before.
The slick gentleman walked in and offered Caden a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his mouth. “James Stafford, chief reporter for theLondon Chronicler. Don’t worry about Lady Ella. He won’t dare strike her, not while Major Brennan and five army generals are watching him. Not to mention the other reporters assigned to this story. Wouldn’t look too good for him if the first headline is about him beating a young woman.”
Caden nodded. Appearances were important to his grandfather.
“Every newspaper in London is eager to get your story, Lord Mersey,” Stafford continued.
“I am eager to tell it, not for myself but for the men who died. Their voices are silenced forever, so it falls on me to tell their stories, doesn’t it?” Caden studied the man, who was obviously intelligent but not necessarily trustworthy. “Any other reporters follow you here?”
“No, they are all busy listening to Major Brennan as he leads them through the hospital wards. Your grandfather muttered some nonsense about being fatigued. I knew he was up to something and followed him. That man can outrun me, he is so fit. I fell back as the others moved on, and then found my way here. I suspected he would try to see you before the rest of us did. Not quite a tearful family reunion, was it? I did not expect him to hit you. Has he done it often before?”
“None of your business.”
“Ah, you are a loyal fellow. Are you going to shield him from us?” Stafford asked.
“As to private matters between him and me, yes. As to what happened to my regiment in West Africa, no. Shall we join the others?”
