Page 91 of The Iron Earl

Mr. Molson’s voice filled her ear. “I wanted you to see what I’ve been doing for you—the wealth I’ve been creating.”

Her forehead scrunched and her head turned to him, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the children in the middle of the circle. “W—wealth? What do you mean?”

“These lands, they’re mine, or they will be. I’ve been making them profitable.”

“Profitable?” Instant understanding made her chest tighten. “You’re forcing these people from their homes?”

“No, Evalyn—I force them away and they just come back. They’re nothing but a pestilence upon the land. So I burn them out.”

“No.” The word flew from her mouth, determined, not at all cowed.

“The people will only burn if they get in my way, lass.” He chuckled. “But they have a chance.”

“A chance to stay?”

“Yes.”

A chill snaked about her spine. “How?”

“I’m not a stupid man, Evalyn, no matter how you like to look at me. Like I’m not fine enough to be the dung under your boot. That’s about to change. I never thought you were to do as I bid without some encouragement and you’ve always had a soft spot for the weak. So I have a proposal for you.”

Her shoulders started to tingle, the loss of feeling running down her arms. She was losing her body. Swaying. “What is it?”

Mr. Molson pointed to the group. “Simple. I can leave them where they be. Or I can tell my men to light a torch.”

“And what do you want of me?” Her voice cut into the air, brittle, wooden, not her own.

“You ran away once, Evalyn. Now you run away with me. You don’t fight it.”

“No.” Bile ran up her throat. “I can’t. I can’t leave Lachlan.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“He’s my husband.”

“And your father has already petitioned for an annulment, claiming you were taken against your will. Between that and the divorce the marquess has put forth, your marriage should be dissolved within a fortnight. You made the mistake of marrying across the border.”

“No…no.” Her head shook, dizziness setting in. “No, he…they cannot.”

“They did. And I’m giving you a chance.” He grabbed her face between his meaty thumb and forefinger and forced it to the left in the direction of the tenants. “Look at them, look at the faces of those children. So scared. So very, very scared.” A chortle escaped his throat, almost gleeful at their fear. “The choice is simple. The village burns, and whoever is in it with it. Or you leave with me and marry me.”

“No—no you cannot kill them.”

His words hissed in her ear, his fingers digging into her face. “I can do whatever I damn well please. This land is mine. And they’re not leaving, so I have every right in the world.”

“What kind of a monster are you?” She spit the words out through her cheeks mangled by his grip.

He leaned down to her ear, his voice low. “A monster with plans for you.” His hand dropped from her face and he motioned to one of his men holding a sword. “The paper, Lewey.”

The man stuck his sword into the ground and walked to Molson’s horse, pulling free paper on a small board and a pencil from his coat pocket. He held it up in the air to Evalyn.

“Write a note, Evalyn. Write to your husband, tell him you want the divorce. Tell him you arrived at a pleasant village where you can work as a seamstress and that you want to disappear. That you never want to see him again.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, mousey. And I couldn’t have planned it better. You accommodated me quite well in stealing you away from Vinehill, just as I planned it with your stepfather.”

“But, no—no.”

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