Vic stuck her hand inside her basque. Her fingers closed around the knife handle, but she couldn’t summon the will to draw it. What could she do with it? How could she help Noah in this fight?
Noah took the opportunity to scramble to his feet and met his opponent coming. The Highlander raised his sword on high to cleave Noah in half and leaped forward, bringing his blade down hard. Noah caught the man’s wrists just in time, and the two men growled in each other’s faces in a desperate bid for dominance.
Terror and desperate agony battled in Vic’s gut as she watched. Noah’s shivering arms started to weaken, and the Highlander overpowered him. Noah’s elbows bent, and the blade drifted closer to his face. Vic had to act now if she was going to act at all.
She jumped forward. Before she realized what had happened, she’d rushed the pair. The knife in her hand took on a life of its own and dragged her forward against her will. It charged in a headlong dive straight into the man’s chest, burying its point under his arm, between his ribs.
The Highlander went deathly still. His eyes widened and he stared into Noah’s face, but his might didn’t slacken at all. The two men still grappled for the saber above their heads. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Noah gave him an almighty shove, and the Highlander staggered back a few steps. His eyes bulged, but he never looked at Vic. She couldn’t have survived if he had. He kept his gaze locked on Noah.
Noah let out a feral snarl, strode forward three steps, and kicked the man in the chest as hard as he could. The Highlander pitched over backward and toppled off the jetty, into the slimy black water. The waves rippled and hauled him down.
Vic stared at the spot in blank horror. She didn’t. She couldn’t. The knife did it by itself. She could never kill anybody.
Noah hustled up to her and hissed into her ear, “Get back to the house, lassie. I’ll cast off. Get back before anyone misses ye.”
She didn’t move until he seized her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a push; then she took the first tentative steps forward. Once she started moving, her feet took over. She didn’t come to her senses until she re-entered the garden.
Chapter 21
Malcolm rested one ankle on his knee and rotated his whiskey tumbler between his fingers, watching firelight play on the amber liquid inside the glass. A mellow, relaxing sensation buzzed in his head from the alcohol.
The first glimmer of dawn showed beyond the window, and his eyelids stuck together when he blinked. He longed for his pillow where he could think things over and float away into the oblivion of dreams.
Boyd sat in the armchair nearby, sipping his own whiskey. “It’s all very curious, do ye no’ think so?”
“What is?” Malcolm didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to talk to anybody right now, and especially not Boyd.
“I still cannae figure out why the pirates dropped ye and the lassie off in Ness,” Boyd told him. “I cannae understand why they didnae throw ye overboard.”
Malcolm groaned and slapped his forehead. “Do we have to talk about all that again? How can anyone understand why the pirates do aught? They did it. That’s all I care about.”
“I cannae discount it so easily,” Boyd remarked. “And neither should ye. It’s dereliction of yer duty to ignore such a blatant example of misjudgment on their part. They must have had a reason. It’s yer job to figure out what it was.”
“Very well,” Malcolm muttered. “I’ll set to work figuring it out first thing in the morning. For right now, I only want to sleep. I would be doing just that if ye hadnae insisted on dragging me in here.”
“Ye wouldnae have been sleeping,” Boyd countered. “Ye’d be in Vic’s room, tending to her every need. Ye said so yerself.”
Malcolm refused to rise to the bait. He crammed down the part of him that might have blushed at the mention of Vic, tossed back the rest of his whiskey, and set the tumbler aside. “If that’s yer worry, I’ll go straight to bed.” He got to his feet.
Boyd jumped up at the same time. “A moment longer, laddie. I have a challenge for ye.”
Malcolm cocked his head. “What challenge?”
“That boy downstairs,” Boyd replied. “I’m giving him to ye. Show me how ye put an end to him to pay him back for the generations of wickedness his kind visits on the world. I’m sure ye’ll do a muckle fine job of that. Come along.”
“No’ tonight.” Malcolm turned away to hide his disgust. “I’m too tired. I’ll show ye a thing or two come daylight.”
“Now.” Boyd’s voice sliced through the air, leaving no doubt in Malcolm’s mind about what he meant. “Ye’ll do it now.”
Malcolm arched an eyebrow at the man.
A genteel smile danced on Boyd’s lips, but his eyes flashed in the firelight.
Malcolm chose his next words carefully. “I believe ye’ve taken that boy’s fate just a shade too seriously, lad. Ye’ve done enough to torment him for one night. Leave it ’til the morning.”
He turned for the door one more time, but Boyd grabbed him by the arm. “Ye’ll do it now, lad. I want to see ye put an end to him. I’ve been waiting a long time to see ye at work. I cannae rest until I see ye do it.”
Malcolm studied him. The direct, cold expression on Boyd’s face left him in little doubt. Boyd knew he was a traitor and an Angui mole. He was cornering him into this position to kill one of his own men so if Malcolm refused, he would have clear evidence of treachery.
Malcolm’s head spun, not so much on how to get out of killing Noah. Noah was as good as dead already. If he hadn’t bled to death from that stab would, Boyd would kill him anyway. Noah would never get out of the Guild House alive. That was certain. No, he only cared now about saving himself. He ought to slaughter Boyd here and now, but Boyd was the better swordsman, and the noise of their blades crossing in the Guild Master’s apartment would draw the whole house down on top of their heads.
He threw up his hands and turned away one last time. “Very well. If that’s the way ye want it, I’ll do it. It’s the only way ye’ll let me get some sleep.” He slid back the door and started down the corridor toward the basement stairs, but his mind wouldn’t keep still.
Noah would want Malcolm to kill him. He would prefer one of his own to take his life if he had to die, which he did. He would understand Malcolm had to do this to maintain his position inside the Falisa ranks and that there was no other way out of dying at Boyd’s hands one way or the other anyway.
How could he live with himself if he took another Angui’s life? How could he ever face Ned and the others with the news of what he’d done?
He gave himself up for lost as he marched down the basement stairs. He would die down here along with Noah rather than face that. Getting stabbed or tortured to death by Boyd appealed to him more than spending eternity with another Angui’s blood on his hands.
The two men arrived at the base of the stairs. Malcolm waited in the pregnant darkness while Boyd struck a match, raised the fragile flame to the lantern overhead, and the light spread through the icy chamber. He turned toward the hollow where they’d left Noah hanging from the bar.
Boyd stopped dead in his tracks and stared.
Malcolm gasped.
The ropes lay in tatters on the bloody floor. The hollow was empty.
Boyd rounded on Malcolm, baring his teeth. “Roust the lads. Comb the grounds. He cannae have gotten far. How in the name of Christ did he get away?”
Malcolm blinked at the hollow. All the resolve he’d mustered to face this moment disintegrated and crumbled through his fingers. He could hardly believe the evidence of his senses. “Someone must have freed him. Someone cut him down.”
“Who?” Boyd bellowed. “Who would dare come down here in the dead of night to steal him from us?”
“I did.”
Both men whipped around fast to find Vic standing at the foot of the stairs. The ghostly lamplight washed down her figure. She glowed out of the dark like some kind of appar
ition from beyond the grave.
Malcolm struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.
She stood straight and firm before Boyd’s withering glare and returned his harsh expression with steady, unwavering resolve. “I stole him from you. I cut him down, and I just spent the last five hours standing on the hill south of town, watching his ship cross the channel. He just made landfall. You’ll never catch him if you search for all eternity. You lost him, and you can suck on it.” She spat out the words with hate-fueled venom.
Boyd stood rooted to the spot, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. All at once, he lunged at her and thundered in her face, “Ye foul witch! How dare ye defy me? Ye’ll pay for this.”
She stood her ground and narrowed her eyes back at him. “You thought you’d make me pay by watching you torture him. Now you find out it’s you who will pay. You crapped yourself doing that to me, and now I’ll never tell you anything you want to know ever again. You can forget about me helping you stop Ree and Ned from making that elixir. I’ll spend every scrap of strength I have defeating you. I’ll destroy you, and I’ll do everything I can to help them. You have no one to blame for this but yourself. You think you can be deliberately cruel to me and anybody else that falls into your hands, and I’ll just buckle and do your bidding? You’re gonna find out differently.”
He roared in her face again.
She blinked and shrank from the noise but didn’t retreat.
Boyd snatched her arm and spun her around. He shoved her up the stairs snarling and spitting, “Ye wretch! Do ye think ye can fly in the face of my wishes? I can make ye talk. I dinnae have to use torture to do it, either. Ye’ll talk, and ye’ll wish ye’d done it of yer own free will.”
Malcolm rallied himself out of his shock to follow them.
Boyd hauled her up the stairs and flung her into her room. “Ye want to be our enemy? Is that the way ye want to play? Very well. Ye can be our enemy, but ye’ll no’ leave here until ye tell me what I want to ken.” He pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and locked the door, then turned around panting to face Malcolm. “That should keep her from getting into any more mischief.”
Malcolm choked trying to breathe. “What do ye plan to do with her?”
“Och, she’ll talk.” Boyd tossed his keys up and caught them. “I’ll send for a wizard I ken. He’ll get the information out of her if anybody can.”
Malcolm’s skin crawled. “How do ye ken she kens aught she hasnae told ye already? Ye have the names of her friends in the future. What more do ye need?”
Boyd gave a sickening chuckle. “Ye dinnae concern yerself with her any longer. Ye get yer teams ready to go. I’ll pass ye the information when I get it.”
Malcolm didn’t move. He didn’t want to leave Vic alone with this psychopath, but Boyd had made up his mind.
Boyd studied him and waited. “Off ye go, laddie. Tell me when yer teams are ready to go. I’ll need ye to cast the spell to send them back.”
Malcolm frowned to himself. “Aye. Ye will.”
He couldn’t let them travel forward in time. That was certain. They could identify him. The instant they saw him in the future, they would know he was Angui. He had to stop them before that happened.
Chapter 22
Vic threw herself on her bed and closed her eyes. She let the exhaustion of last night take her down into a deep slumber. Noah was safe. Nothing else mattered.
She woke up in the late afternoon but stayed in bed while she thought over everything that had happened yesterday. Blood still stained her hand and her sleeve where she’d stabbed that man, but she couldn’t regret killing him. She’d accomplished her aim. She’d saved Noah’s life.
She sat up and smoothed her smudged dress. Noah was free, but she was a prisoner. If Boyd had his way, he would torture her in Noah’s place. She never doubted that. He might use different techniques on her. Heaven only knew what tricks he had up his sleeve.
Well, dreading it wouldn’t help anything. Maybe she could use the same ingenuity to free herself too. She paced around the room and looked out the window.
Her room afforded a perfect view of the main street. People wearing Gunn tartans bustled all over the town. She’d been in Scotland long enough to recognize it now. So much for getting out of here. She couldn’t rely on anyone in this crazy town to help her against a Gunn.
She wandered over to the door and rattled the latch. Yep, it was locked, all right. She went back to the bed and sat down. She had to think. She had to use the brain God gave her and come up with a way out of here. She glanced around, but only the bare room surrounded her. Boyd wouldn’t put her in a room containing anything that could help her escape.
All at once, she sat bolt upright. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?
She dropped on her knees by the bed and burrowed under the bed skirts. She fished out her handbag and the pile of clothes she was wearing when she’d first shown up in Orkney. She turned her bag upside down on the bed and pawed through the contents. Her wallet, her phone, her hairbrush, her makeup kit—they were all still there, right where she’d left them. She rummaged through everything until she found a lone paperclip buried in the bottom of her bag.
She cut a little jig of triumph right there on the carpet. Eat that, Boyd! She raced to the door and got to work. She’d only ever seen anybody jimmy a lock with a paperclip in movies, but what the hell did she have to lose? She bent it into a thin, straight wire and slotted it into the keyhole. She jiggled it around for an hour without success and then sank back on her heels. Maybe copying the movies wasn’t the greatest idea she’d ever had.
Voices on the other side of the door drew her attention. She tried to peer through the keyhole as she listened to what sounded like men trooping down the landing. Curiosity and excitement gave her new strength, so she returned to work. She pushed the paperclip into the keyhole and dug around in a flurry of random activity when, out of nowhere, the lock clicked. She held her breath, hardly daring to move for fear someone might have heard her. Slowly but surely, she depressed the door handle and cracked it open just enough to peek out.
Kilted men milled around the landing. She pressed her eye to the opening and watched them carry a bunch of wooden boxes and cartons into a room across the hall. Then they jostled and pushed each other until they’d retreated out of her sight.
Silence descended over the Guild House, all except Vic’s heartbeat pounding in her ears. The door wasn’t locked anymore. She could get out, but how? Where could she go? She couldn’t steal a ship and sail across the channel like Noah. She was trapped on this island.
She waited for what seemed like eons, but no one came back. She couldn’t hear a single voice in the whole house. She eased the door another inch wider. Still nothing. She climbed to her feet and swung it the rest of the way open.
The landing spread out before her. The stairs dropped away a few feet down the landing. She could leave whenever she wanted, but where would she go?
She glided out, looking both ways. Here she was, walking around unfettered. While she tried to make up her mind what to do, she glanced into the room across the hall. Piles of crates and boxes sat stacked up in front of the bed. Wisps of straw stuck out of them, and she caught sight of a few books. She took a step closer and then crossed the threshold into the room, but she was still too far away to read the bindings. She put out her hand to pick up one of the books when footsteps thundered up the stairs behind her. Voices shouted and called up and down the landing. She didn’t have time to retreat to her own room, so she ducked behind the door.
Her heart thumped in her neck, and she trembled in every limb as a dozen men poured into the room. She tried to pull the door farther open to hide herself from them, but she couldn’t think through the terror clouding her thoughts.
The men laughed and joked, slapping each other on the back and shoving playfully out of the room. Just a few more seconds, and she would be all clear to hightail it out of this place for good.
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br /> At the last second before they’d all left, one of the men picked something out of the topmost crate. He held it aloft for the others to see. “What do ye make of all this tripe? He must have been collecting these from all over the world. What do ye suppose is in them?”
“Who kens?” one of his companions returned. “It doesnae mean aught to us. Put it back before the Master catches ye meddling with it.”
Vic plastered herself against the wall but couldn’t have moved if she tried. She stared at the item in the man’s hand, and her blood ran cold. It was a copy of Time magazine with a picture of Ronald Reagan on the cover.
For a brief instant, she experienced a dizzying spell of vertigo. Past and present got all muddled up in her brain. Where was she? What was she doing here? Was she in the past or was she in the present? Past and present ceased to hold any meaning for her.
Then the man tossed the magazine into the crate, and the last three men filed out of the room. Their heels vibrated through the floor and up Vic’s legs. She remained hidden behind the door far longer than she should have, but when they didn’t return, she stole out to take a peek.
She eyed the stack of boxes. Was it real? Had she only imagined that picture of Reagan with the bright red letters emblazoned above his head. Time. Where had it come from? It could only have come from one place, and that was the future. Someone brought that magazine here from Vic’s own time. Was she the only person in this house who understood what it meant?
Her instincts told her to run back to her own room and lock herself in, but she always was way too curious for her own boots. She sidled closer until she stared straight down at Reagan’s smiling face. The date at the top read, November 19, 1984. Her mind refused to comprehend how that magazine could have gotten here, to Orkney, in 1740. She scanned the other books in the boxes around her but couldn’t make sense of them, either.
Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3 Page 15
