I’m Done Letting My Sister Take It All Chapter 05
My left arm was quickly set back into place, but waves of pain still shot through it, leaving my fingertips numb.
Before long, the stable manager was escorted over, followed by a shivering young servant boy. I recognized him immediately. He worked in Matthew’s household.
The moment the boy caught sight of Matthew, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, crying out, “Mr. Guzman, please, you must save me!”
Matthew barked at him, his voice laced with panic, “What are you talking about? When did I ever order you to do anything?”
The boy trembled like a leaf in the wind. “It was Allen, your valet! He gave me a pouch of coins and ordered me to prick the mare’s flank with a needle right before Miss Clarice rode out. He promised it would only give her a bit of a fright, that it wouldn’t kill her!”
A collective gasp washed over the crowd. My chest tightened painfully, as though someone had struck me with a hammer.
Only a bit of a fright? Had I not been an experienced rider, a fall from a panicked horse at that speed would have cost me far more than just a dislocated arm.
Matthew’s face turned completely pale. “You lying wretch, how dare you slander me! Where is Allen?”
A guard stepped forward to report, “Your Majesty, Allen was caught trying to slip out through the rear gates. We have already detained him.”
Lauren’s expression was icy. “Bring him here.”
When Allen Ortiz was taken over, one side of his face was badly swollen from a beating, and a dark smear of blood trickled from his mouth.
“Mr. Guzman said that the diamond hairpin prize would suit Miss Katherine much better,” Allen confessed, his voice cracked with fear. “He wanted Miss Clarice to throw the competition. He told me that if she refused, we should find a way to make her lose her grip. I swear, I had no idea the horse would go so wild!”
I closed my eyes tightly, a sharp, burning sensation stinging the back of my nose. I pressed my fingertips against my eyelids, refusing to let myself shed a single tear under the watchful eyes of the court.
Matthew finally lost his composure. He scrambled forward, pleading desperately, “Your Majesty, please, it’s not what it seems! I only made a jest. These servants acted on their own.”
“A jest?” I looked up at him, my voice devoid of warmth. “Matt, so my safety and my life are nothing but a casual joke to you.”
His mouth parted, but no sound came out. For once, he was entirely speechless.
Katherine suddenly collapsed to her knees with a soft weep, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault. This whole tragedy began because of me. Clare, if you must be angry, direct it all at me. Matthew only wanted me to have a memorable birthday; he never intended to harm you.”
I stared down at her. Even in her despair, her posture remained perfectly elegant, her tears measured with flawless precision. Yet every single word that spilled from her lips was designed to absolve Matthew of his guilt.
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips.
“Katherine, you play this exact card every single time. You happily accept the gifts, you bask in everyone’s devotion, and then, the moment things go wrong, you wrap yourself in martyr’s robes and say, ‘Blame me instead.’ But tell me, why should I accept that?”
The tears on her face instantly froze, her delicate expression faltering.
Lauren’s brow furrowed in deep disgust as she spoke coldly, “The Guzman family certainly has a unique way of raising their children. Their son strikes from the shadows, and their daughter just plays the saint. Guard, take Clare to the medical tent to rest. As for the rest of you, no one is to leave this field until the King arrives to render his judgment.”
I was gently assisted into a quiet tent, where the physician immediately set to work cleaning the laceration on my temple. The moment the stinging antiseptic touched the open wound, a sharp, burning agony flared, making my entire body shudder.
Standing beside me, Jenna wept, her eyes swollen red, her shoulders shaking with endless sobs. “Miss Guzman, please, if it hurts, just cry it out. Don’t hold it in.”
I stared at the basin of water, watching the blood swirl outwards in crimson loops. My voice was barely a whisper as I replied, “What’s the point of crying?”I had cried alone on that mountain for five years, and no one noticed. Later, when I returned, crying for half a day only earned me a cold admonition to stop making a scene.
My tears had never possessed any power to change my fate.
Suddenly, the heavy canvas of the tent was tossed aside. Christopher stood in the entrance, his fine riding coat marred with dust, his usually pristine composure replaced by a rare, disheveled panic.
Jenna’s face hardened instantly. She stepped forward to block him, her voice sharp. “Lord Hinchcliffe, you are not welcome here. Please leave. Miss Clarice has no desire to see you.”
He ignored Jenna entirely, his eyes locked onto mine. “Clare, please. I need to speak with you.”
Reclining against the soft daybed, my face pale and drained of color, I met his gaze. “Good. I happen to have a question for you as well.”
Christopher took a tentative step forward. “Clare, everything happened so quickly. I never intended to let go of your hand. It was only that I heard Katherine fall, and…”
“And so?” I raised my eyes, my gaze chillingly calm as I looked at him. “So because she fell, it was perfectly acceptable for you to abandon me?”
He flinched at my bluntness, his brow furrowing with defensiveness. “Katherine has always been frail, and you are an accomplished rider. I honestly believed you could hold on and save yourself.”
“Christopher Hinchcliffe.” Hearing me address him by his full name for the very first time, the color drained from his face. “Just because I know how to ride doesn’t mean I deserve to be abandoned by you.”
I stared him in the eyes. “You love Katherine, right?”
His gaze flickered away, avoiding mine. And that single, cowardly hesitation was all the answer I would ever need.
A familiar, crushing ache bloomed in my chest. Yet curiously, when the pain inside passes a certain threshold, a profound, unshakable calm takes its place.
“When you made those endless journeys to St Crathie Kirk to bring me gifts, and when you later came to my family to ask for my hand, you did so because I had saved your life,” I said quietly. “Tell me honestly, if you had met Katherine before our betrothal, would you have ever proposed to me?”
Christopher stood in agonizing silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Clare, love is a fickle thing. It changes.”
How effortlessly those words fell from his lips. With a casual excuse of a changing heart, he had completely erased every memory, every promise of our past.
At that moment, I realized with absolute clarity that this man was simply not worth my love.
“Then listen to me very carefully.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the twin-fish paste pendant he had gifted me, and cast it forcefully at his feet. It struck the hard ground with a sharp, shattering crack, fracturing into pieces. “If your heart has changed, then I don’t want this engagement anymore.”
“And as for you,” I said, watching the color completely drain from his face as my gaze turned utterly frigid, “from this moment forward, you no longer have the right to call me Clare.”