Page 79 of Duke of the Sun

“My sister has been harmed because ofyou,” Duncan spat. “My sister fell into that damned lake because ofyou.She lies in a bed like a dying bird because ofyou!”

Michael’s eyes went wide.That damned lake.

A flash of a memory he wished to keep trapped and buried deep within him rose to the surface, threatening to bring Michael to his knees right then and there. Instead, he shoved it aside, the world around him growing red with a hot and unavoidable rage. No longer did he care of Duncan’s presence or even Rhys’s. Where he was did not matter. None of it meant a single thing. There was only Cordelia, and she was wounded. Hurt, all because of him.

Michael stormed forward, his shoulder shoving past Duncan. Snatching his coat from beside the door, he surged out of the private boxing ring, racing towards where he had left his horse. In the distance, a thunderstorm crept closer and closer to London’s city streets. Michael ignored the threat of rain, throwing himself onto the back of his horse and gripping onto the reins as though they were tethered to his life. He pressed his heel into the horse’s side, and snapped the reins.

Within an instant, he was racing forward, shooting through the city streets and towards the countryside, where Solshire stood. All throughout the ride, even when the rain began to pelt down over him, Michael imagined seeing Cordelia within the inky dark lake, her pale body standing out like a bolt of lightning within the darkened sky.

Michael pushed himself faster, her name already on his lips.

Cordelia.

CHAPTER24

Crash!

Thunder rocked through the countryside as Michael’s steed clobbered down the dirt roads towards Solshire. The streaming rain blurred his vision, but didn’t dare stop him in his tracks. The loose clothes he wore for his boxing session stuck to his skin, and the coat he wore flew out behind him, catching the stream of wind. Thunder slammed into the earth another time, jolting Michael as he gripped onto the reins tighter.

All he could imagine was seeing Cordelia’s nimble body floating in the lake. Swimming in the inky darkness before haunting tendrils wrapped around her ankles to slowly pull her into its mysteries. Michael saw her pale white hands erecting out from between the waves every time he closed his eyes, using it as fuel to push him even faster. Though he never considered himself to be a devoutly religious man, Michael couldn’t stop the prayers from echoing in the back of his mind. He prayed for retribution, to be forgiven. He prayed for Cordelia’s safety. He prayed for her life.

Solshire appeared within the midst of the dreadful storm. In the distance, as he flew over a hill, the orangery caught Michael’s eye, looking like a sanctuary. He went to the front stairs of the estate, leaping off his horse and throwing the reins over the saddle. Perhaps the horse would make its way back to the stables, but he hardly cared. All that mattered was reaching Cordelia.

Michael shot up the front steps of Solshire, all the way to the front doors. Dripping with rainwater, he ripped the doors open, and stepped within the drafty and dark halls. There wasn’t a servant or member of staff in sight, just as he expected. As his clothes made a mess on the floor, Michael ran through the halls and up another grand staircase, his heart hammering like a drum the closer he came to Cordelia’s chambers.

The panic that settled within his chest was all too familiar. He inched closer to the bedroom door, which was cracked slightly, his hand already outstretched. His fingers twitched and quivered, a tremble passing through his entire body. A question, one that he hated to even consider, slipped through his mind, growing louder and louder as his hand reached for the doorknob.

What if she perishes? What then?

Michael shook his head till he felt as though everything within him was rattling. The door swung open with a gentle push. He stepped over the threshold, and was met with a great warmth. A fire roasted in the furnace, the windows sealed shut and the curtains drawn. Every spare pillow and blanket had been thrown onto the bed, covering an incredibly pale figure with thick sheets. Michael crept closer.

Michael never considered Cordelia to have ever been petite or small, but within the fluffed sheets and pillows, she looked no bigger than his finger. Chestnut colored hair sprawled out beneath her, looking much longer than he remembered. The freckles that once danced across her tanned skin stood out like stars across the bridge of her nose, the deep color of her skin no longer as it should be. Her left leg poked out from beneath the covers, a few extra pillows placed beneath it to prop it up. Michael eyed the bandages and felt his heart sink to the floor beneath his feet.

Michael collapsed to his knees at her bedside.

Everything felt all too familiar. Suddenly, he lost himself, grasping at the fringes of his life but hardly able to see where he really stood. He looked upon Cordelia and he also saw his mother, though her fate was not as forgiving. He reached, taking a hold of her small hand within his own. The scars along his palms rubbed against her soft and gentle skin, his calluses rubbing against her smoothness. He stared and watched his own hands tremble, his composure left out within the raging storm.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, barely hearing himself over the raging thoughts in his head.

Somehow, it always came back to that. He would never be able to leave the trauma and nightmare that held onto him. Fate had a way of reminding him of all the things that once plagued him, taking the one beautiful thing he had and thrusting it towards the same mistake. In the end, everything he ever loved went out to that lake, and they never returned the same.

His hands shook more as his vision muddled, unsure of whether or not he knelt at his mother’s coffin or his wife’s bedside. Michael lowered himself, his lips falling upon Cordelia’s icy cold hand. He kissed her knuckles, the tips of her fingers, the rough patch on her palm. He kissed her hand and whispered against her skin, desperate for his words to reach her in some shape or form.

“Forgive me,” he whispered again. “I do not deserve it, but forgive me.”

Michael’s shoulders shook as he lowered himself, unable to lift his face to see the horror in front of him. He gripped onto her hand as tightly as he could, as if that would stop the cold from claiming her.

“Michael?”

He shook his head, his eyes hot and burning from the despair that was beginning to grab a hold of him. Who was it that called out for him? The voice rang familiar, but it was too distant to tell.

“Michael.”

Perhaps it was his mother, coming to claim another woman from his life.

“Michael!”

Perhaps it was his regrets and mistakes, all ready to grab a hold of him and to never let go. To plague him for as long as he lived. He remembered the portrait Cordelia drew of him, the likeliness of her work without ever needing him to pose for her. How had he not realized the power and love behind something like that? Why did he leave after Mrs. Bellflower handed that to him?

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