Free If He's Wild by Hannah Howell Page B

“You were here that night and saw what she did.”
    “She stroked your hair and spoke softly to you until you recognized she was there. Only then did she take away the handkerchief. Then you drew those chilling pictures, and, once done, she had you drink tea.”
    “Sweet tea. At least four lumps of sugar.” Bracing herself for what she might face, she held her hand out for the locket.
    “I have to know,” he muttered when he still hesitated, both in apology to her and encouragement to himself, and then he placed the locket in her hand.
    For a brief moment, Alethea thought nothing was going to happen. She was both relieved and heartily disappointed. She truly wished to help Lord Redgrave, to help those lost children, but she was not that fond of her visions, especially when they were of dark, frightening things. Just as she saw the hope Hartley tried to hide begin to fade, she was caught up in a dizzying barrage of images and emotions. Her whole body rocked with the force of its arrival. She saw it all, just as if she were one with the young girl who had worn the locket while her world had been decimated by violence. She experienced all the terror, the grief, and the rage. Then, ever so slowly, the mist began to clear. Alethea became aware of a pair of strong arms around her and a deep, melodious voice. Her senses returned, lured back by the scent of him. She was strongly tempted to wallow in that comfort for a moment, to soak up the warmth of the big, strong body so close to hers. The urge to record what she had seen prevailed, however.
    She pushed free of Hartley’s grasp, ignoring the sharp pang of regret for doing so, and fell to her knees by the table. A heartbeat later she was sketching out her vision with a strong touch of desperation, as if she could pull it out of her mind by putting it to paper. There was too much, however, so she restricted herself to those things she felt certain would stir her memory each time she looked at them.
    It touched her heart when Hartley tended to her first. She knew he was desperate to learn what she had seen, but he helped her sit down when she was done and stayed by her side as she drank the hot, sweet tea he had poured. When he picked up the locket she had dropped on the floor and glanced anxiously toward her sketchbook, she put her hand over his. She was not sure what to say to prepare him, however.
    “It was bad?” he asked in a soft voice and then cursed and shook his head. “Of course it was. I could see it in your face. They are dead?”
    “I cannot say. At the time your niece had the locket with her, no, she did not die. In the following years?” She shrugged then tightened her grip on his hand before he could reach for the drawings. “Wait. Let me tell you what I saw first.”
    “There is no need. I can just look at your drawings. Do not torment yourself with speaking of all you saw.”
    “I believe this vision will linger for quite a while no matter what I do. The drawings do not tell all I saw. There was too much. It was as if I was seeing it all as she saw it, suffering as she suffered.” When he put his arm around her, she did not hesitate to lean against him, savoring his warmth, for she was chilled to the bone. “I can only tell you what happened up until your niece lost that locket.”
    “It will be more than I know now.”
    Alethea nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself. “They were all waiting for you on the shore as planned. They had packed lightly but carefully, a few clothes, all the money they could gather, and all of their jewels. Bayard needed to, er, visit the bushes, and Germaine went to guard him. She heard shots. The marchioness screamed. Germaine started back, moving swiftly but keeping out of sight. She saw six men. The two youngest children were already dead, the marchioness on her knees wailing over the bodies. Her father cried out that they had killed his only children, and Germaine knew he was telling her to get away, to get