Charlie watched the sky darken slowly, the soft fingers of blue giving way to bursts of orange and streaks of red before the pinks and purples turned to pitch darkness. And still, hours later, Charlie sat outside the stables, her knees drawn to her chest, her head tilted back on the boards as if the answers she was looking for would be found up there somewhere, in the dark.
After her confrontation with Greyson, Charlie had cursed the man rotten. Not only was he overbearing and overprotective, but he was stubborn and high-handed and irritating and so damned...handsome it made her ache.
A sigh broke through the night and Charlie drew her rough shawl back over her shoulders, a cool breeze kissing her cheeks. Williams had seen her return to the stables grumbling and cursing and had given her a wide berth - smart man. He had only approached an hour before seeking his own bed after Charlie had quieted and the sun was giving one last yawn over the horizon. He had settled the blanket about her shoulders without a word, and Charlie felt bitter tears sting her eyes.
This, she thought, this was what she had been missing for years. One simple show of affection, of companionship, and she was left blubbering like a child.
Charlie sniffed, hating the moment of weakness, as she drew the edges of her blanket tighter over her drawn up knees. She released her grip on the cloth with her right hand and dug into her pocket before pulling out the chess piece hidden there.
The curves of the queen were familiar to her, and Charlie's handling of it through the years had worn off some of its black varnish, the tip of the queen rubbed white. She tilted it in the meager light of the moon. It was elegantly constructed, nigh on indestructible. The only lifeline to what had once been her life.
Was she being too defensive with Greyson? Charlie wondered. Had she cast him away at every turn like he had said?
Charlie was loathe to realize that she had.
Glancing at the earl's manor, her eyes lit on the few windows where a candle flickered softly, spots of fog casting a ghostprint on the glass. It left her feeling rather...lost.
She clenched the queen in her hand, her father's words of long ago whispering in her mind.
"The queen protects the king..."
Charlie's brow scrunched, "But shouldn't the king be protecting his lady, Papa?"
His eyes had crinkled. "Perhaps, but not always, little one...a good queen is always as powerful - if not more so - than her male counterpart."
Charlie lifted the queen, studying the intricate detail and wondering why the devil she had put so much faith in it for so long.
For what if her father had been - was, she corrected - wrong?
Perhaps Charlie was nothing more than a pawn while thinking herself the queen. As if she could protect what was hers, safeguard her future, and no one would stand in her way. And yet, Charlie found herself repeatedly subjected to the whims of society nevertheless - to the men who inhabited it. Her father had left her with no more protection than her uncle who had only used Charlie's inheritance to protect his own assets and business ventures. And Simpton who had attacked her for his own sense of power and vanity and greed.
Then Greyson...
Greyson asked the most impossible of all.
To believe that he could protect her was folly.
To believe that she was safe within his estate was foolish.
To believe in whatever attraction blossomed between them was foolhardy.
For Charlie knew that shadows loomed everywhere, lying in wait for the precise moment when her guard would drop and she would find herself with her feet swept from beneath her, flat on her back and without a soul to pick her back up.
How could she trust Greyson when her uncle had seen her as no more than a pawn?
How could she be as powerful as the queen - as self-sufficient - if she constantly had her counterpart - her king - in the back of her mind?
Frustrated, Charlie shrugged from the security of her blanket and jerked her arm back. With all the strength she had, the chess piece clenched in her fist, she threw it, her hand opening as the queen tossed end over end to disappear into the night.
She didn't belong in the stables anymore than she belonged within Greyson's domain.
So where did she belong?
Knowing no further answers would be forthcoming, Charlie dug her boots into the ground as she shuffled to a stand, brushing dirt from her breeches. She turned, the darkness of the stables leaving her momentarily blind.
That was when she heard it.
A slow scuffling noise as if the dirt before her was being scattered beneath someone else's steps.
"Who's there?"
Her bellow went unanswered only for Charlie's eyes to catch the gleaming of a knife. She ducked in time, the whooshing sound letting her know it had been inches from meeting its mark. Her hair ruffled from the smooth motion and she let out a shrill scream.
The figure separated from the darkness and Charlie noticed why she hadn't seen him. His clothes were all black. He came at her again, his hand in the air as he swiped downwards, the knife sparkling like diamonds as it swung towards her neck.
One decoration Charlie most assuredly did not want to rest upon her collarbone.
Charlie dodged it again, hearing the tear of cloth as the tip of the knife caught the sleeve of her shirt. Knowing she had to get out of the light, become less of a target, Charlie headed back into her domain, knowing the stables from memory as she headed towards the makeshift tack room.
She stopped, adrenaline making her hands shake and her body move onto the balls of her feet. What could she use? What tools were in this room?
In her mind's eye she remembered that a pitchfork and shovel were in the far left corner and she stumbled in that direction, her hand outstretched. Heavy breathing reached her ears at the exact moment her hand gripped the wooden handle of whatever instrument had met her palm first.
She hefted the weight, cursing as a splinter worked beneath the skin of her thumb as she swung her tool around. Her eyes adjusted enough to take in the three pronged pitchfork in her hands, and then the black figure was there, a cape flapping behind him as he cornered her.
Charlie could hear the smile in his voice. "There's nowhere to run, little one. Be a good girl and no harm has to come from you."
Somehow, Charlie didn't believe him. Most likely because not ten seconds before he was attacking her with a bloody knife!
Pointing the pitchfork at him, she growled beneath her breath. "What the devil do you want? What business have you here?"
The man chuckled, the raspy sound making a prickle of danger strike her neck.
"That's obvious, my dear," he said, the air disturbing as he moved one infestimal step closer. "I have come for you, and this time, I intend to leave with you."
He lunged and Charlie struck. She cringed as the tool met his abdomen. The prongs scratched past his skin, the tearing of cloth as loud as the man's shriek. He jumped back, cursing, his hand falling to his side.
"You little mongrel," he said, the moonlight finally falling meagerly through the slats above to glint off the tang of red on the man's skin. "You are going to pay for that."
Charlie twisted when he moved, sidestepping the man's powerful spring. She was almost past him, when his hand grabbed a fistful of her shirt. Charlie stumbled back with a gasp, as the man's arm swept around her throat. His other arm came up on the other side of Charlie's head, grasping the forearm around her throat and pulling.
Her airways closed and she choked, her eyes watering as she tried to breath. Charlie struggled like a banshee, twisting and turning enough that she almost fell through the gap in the man's interlocked arms, before he tightened his grip.
Charlie's fingers bit into the man's arm, her nail digging into his flesh and clawing. His breath was warm in her ear as he cursed harshly.
"Damn, but you are a fighter," the man whispered, his hips arching and Charlie choked out a gasp as the man's hardness pressed into her rear.
Lud, but he was excited by her struggles.
Despite the panic fluttering in her veins, the pulsing of her legs as they kicked helplessly in the air, weakness began in her hands and arms. It spread further, into her lower limbs, and dots began dancing on the backs of her eyelids. Charlie lifted her chin, seeking any last remnants of air even if it burned down her throat like fire.
Was this how she was to die then? Charlie wondered absently. But it wasn't needless prayers or whispered pleas that came to her lips. It was Greyson as she had last seen him in the study. His eyes as gray as rain clouds, his big chest heaving under her palm, nostrils flaring as his head dipped. Charlie could still feel the prickling of his whiskers against her cheeks.
With it came her anger.
Had she really likened herself to a pawn? Had she truly allowed her uncle to win for one measly second? Was she going to allow this coward - after surviving all of her other bloody obstacles - to be the one that defeated her?
Like hell.
The man must have mistaken her tense body for acquiescence for she could feel his smile against her hair as he leaned it. "That's it. I don't wish to kill you." His nose nuzzled into her ear. "Not yet."
He loosened his hold enough that Charlie found herself grinning despite the searing pain in her lungs.
With a renewed burst of strength, Charlie kicked back with her whole weight. Her boot hit the man's lower leg and he howled. Charlie twisted, rolling once, twice and then she was free from the tack room, choking as her lungs took in life-giving air.
Charlie pushed herself up, ready to take whatever measures necessary. Before she knew what was happening, a blur swept past her and on the periphery of her vision, a brawl seemed to break out.
She could barely make out two shapes as they rolled, one obtaining the top position only for the other to cast out a punch and switch their predicament.
What was happening? She wondered, her eyes searching the darkness. Who had come for her?
But she knew. With a feeling born of necessity, Charlie used her last remaining strength to roll herself over before the forms bared themselves in the moonlight. She saw Greyson as his fist caught her attacker in the jaw. The man's head jerked back as Greyson huddled over his form, his fist drawing back once more.
Greyson never saw it coming.
The man's own fist appeared as he struck, the knife glinting. Charlie cried out a warning, but it was too late. The blade sank deep into Greyson's abdomen.
Charlie let out a scream and it echoed in her head, searing her nerve endings and leaving her riddled with shards of pain. She was barely aware as disgruntled shouts and voices floated on the breeze, the other stable hands awakening from the noise.
Her attacker shoved the knife, pushing Greyson over and onto his back. With a last glance at Charlie, the man turned on his heel and ran.
Charlie pushed herself up, her boots shifting the dirt and straw around her as she fell to Greyson's side. "God, no." Tears burned Charlie's eyes as she cupped Greyson's cheek, her thumb swiping away the sweat and dirt that stuck to his nose and cheekbones and above his brows. "No, no, no. Please, God, you can't do this to me again. You can't."
Greyson's attention shifted to Charlie, the gray of his eyes paling as he swallowed. His hands went to the hilt of the knife still buried within his body and before Charlie could stop him, he clenched, pulling the blade from his stomach. A cry of anguish tumbled from his lips as his hands pressed against his side, blood spilling onto the ground.
Charlie didn't think about it, merely ripping the remains of her disguise to shreds as she balled her shirt in her fist, pressing the bundle into his open wound. He growled in pain, and Charlie glanced into his eyes. "You can't die. I won't let you."
If she wasn't mistaken a smile tilted the edges of his lips as Charlie's name - her full name - drifted to her ears. It was carried away on the wind as his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp.
A broken sob racked Charlie's frame before she could call it back. She could hear Thorne's voice rumbling next to her, his hand taking over her hold on the bundle of cloth. Charlie thought he was murmuring, "He's a tough sonofabitch, Charlotte. He'll be alright."
Charlie paid him no attention, her hands running through Greyson's hair as the whispered pleas that had been absent during her own struggles now tumbled rapidly from her lips. "You can't leave me, Greyson," she whispered, her forehead falling atop his chest. "Do you hear me? You can't leave me."
***
Later that night, many would say they heard a monster's roar of rage.