Read Online The Sacred Shore by T. Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page A

said slowly.
    â€œNo, I suppose not.” Andrew reached a hand out to his wife. “Come join us, dear.”
    â€œI must see to … to things,” she replied quietly and moved for the doorway.
    â€œVery well.” Andrew turned back and settled into the bench on the fire’s opposite side. Charles endured the silence and his brother’s intense gaze. He knew full well what his brother saw—a man who wore his power and his wealth with careless ease, dressed in clothes that would have cost more than what Andrew probably earned in a trio of hardscrabble years. The frill on his chest was stitched with silver threads, the buttons on his coat solid gold, the buckles on his shoes sterling silver. Charles knew himself to be wide of girth in the way of one used to eating more than was good for him, and doing so often. There was strength, yes, but well padded and sagging with the weight of years and care.
    Andrew asked, “How are you, Charles?”
    â€œTired. It has been a long journey.”
    â€œYes. That I can imagine.”
    â€œTwo months on the high seas. There were days when I doubted I would ever see land again, I can tell you.” Charles drained his mug and set it on the floor by his feet. “Nothing but the most urgent affairs would ever have forced me to board that ship.”
    Andrew leaned forward and spoke with deep earnestness. “Before telling me of your business, I must tell you something of my own. I have wanted to speak these words for years.”
    Charles felt his body grow stiff and cold as stone. He knew exactly what Andrew was about to say, here in the privacy of his home. He knew because it was precisely what he would say himself. “Yes?”
    The fire’s crackle sought to fill the silence as Andrew lowered his head for a moment. He seemed to gather himself, as though intending to leap across the distance separating them. Charles felt a growing dread over returning to the conflict of his youth. So much depended upon this connection. So many hopes, the ambitions and plans of generations to come. Charles steeled himself further, willing himself not to give in to an angry counterattack.
    But when Andrew lifted his gaze from the stones ringing the fireplace, the words were, “Charles, I wish to ask your forgiveness.”
    Charles felt his hold upon himself waver slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œI deserved your malice. I realize that now. Had I the opportunity, I would have treated you with far more cunning and hatred than you showed me.” Andrew’s voice sounded taut with compressed passion. Yet there was no anger, no bitterness, no wrath. “Competing with you drove me to scale heights that would have otherwise been impossible. The fact that I could never win, never gain your titles or your power, filled me with a loathing that ate at me like a chancre. I was glad to leave England and the endless undeclared battles behind. Yes, glad.” Andrew leaned back, looking drained. “For all that happened between us, for all I thought, for all I wished I could do to you, I humbly ask your forgiveness.”
    Charles inspected him with a frankness borne on Andrew’s own words. “You have thought of this for some time.”
    â€œYears and years,” Andrew agreed. “And prayed for a day I thought would never come so I might tell you so. I wrote you. Twice.”
    â€œI never received your letters.”
    â€œNo, mail from the colonies is notoriously unreliable. And after all the time that had passed before I put pen to paper, well, I feared I had left things too long.”
    â€œTime and events both.” Charles hesitated, then said, “I heard you were drummed out of the regiment.”
    â€œI resigned my commission. But what you say is true enough. Had I tried to remain, I certainly would have been court-martialed and most probably hanged.”
    â€œHang a Harrow?” Charles was hotly