Black Eagle by Gen Bailey Read Free Book Online

Sarah’s servitude, but for the deaths of her parents. Problem was, now that she knew or at least suspected the truth, how was Sarah to endure these next six years? Would not forced proximity to the man responsible keep the wound continually open?
    â€œMother! No!”
    Instinctively aware that it was wrong to say too much around a person so ill, Marisa did no more than take Sarah into her arms, urging her back against the mattress and pillow. Tears, mirrored in Sarah’s eyes, clouded her own.
    It was unfair, nay it was terribly wrong, that Sarah should have to remain here, locked into a debt that was not of her own making, and to a man who had most likely caused the entire matter. Sarah’s circumstance needed to change. But how?
    Marisa had never had cause to give thought to concerns such as this. The only rule of law that she had ever known was the cold neglect of John Rathburn. Surely there was something she could do.
    Perhaps there might be a sympathetic ear within Albany’s administration of justice. Mayhap Sarah’s servitude could be reversed. Who would speak for Sarah?
    Certainly there were no witnesses from ten years ago who could come forward to accuse John Rathburn of wrongdoing. And even if such people did exist, what magistrate would believe them when pitted against the Rathburn wealth and reputation?
    Only someone as wealthy as he could stand for Sarah. Only a person who’s reputation was as well thought of as his . . .
    As realization dawned, Marisa sat back on her heels. There was such a person. One person, who alone might be able to persuade John Rathburn to give Sarah her freedom.
    That person was she, Marisa.
    For a moment, Marisa’s brow cleared as she considered her position. Not only might she hold sway over John Rathburn, she held an ace. Had she not last night heard him plotting the ruin and demise of an entire village of people? Was this not only unjust, but illegal?
    â€œNo!” Sarah cried, interrupting Marisa’s thoughts. “Not my mother, my father! No, it cannot be!”
    Marisa closed her eyes, letting a tear fall down over her cheek. Dutifully she pressed Sarah back against the bed’s pillow, and bending, she dipped the rag that had been made hot by Sarah’s feverish forehead back into cold water. Quickly, she replaced the rag over Sarah’s forehead, then, picking up Sarah’s hand yet again, Marisa plotted exactly what she would do, and what she might say to her guardian, John Rathburn.
    She had much time in which to plan her strategy, as well, for it was well into the night when Sarah at last drifted into a restful sleep. Rising up onto her feet, Marisa knew what she would do, and she would do it yet this night.
    Taking hold of the bucket of water, which by this time was warm, Marisa exited Sarah’s room, glancing back once at Sarah before she gently shut the door.

    Richard Thompson was not a man of honor. Quite the contrary, he was little more than a hired assassin. He was also an imposing man, a huge man with more than his share of flab, weighing perhaps three hundred pounds. Mouseybrown , tangled hair, thick jowls, yellow, broken teeth and a breath that might stagger the most stouthearted of men, he was not the sort of man to endear himself to any other soul, except perhaps those who had need of his services.
    But this was exactly the impression he wished to present to the world. Such a look as he had was “business.” Though Thompson was not the most intelligent of people, he was bright enough to know when he’d floundered into a good thing.
    And his enterprise with John Rathburn was, indeed, a “good thing.” Over the years, Thompson had hired out his services to Rathburn for the more delicate occasions when Rathburn required an opponent to be eliminated. True, Thompson might exude an appearance of being an oaf, but he was thorough in his work, and most importantly, he operated in complete secrecy.
    Bad