The Steel Rogue: A Valor of Vinehill Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “Tor—”

  Her hand flew up. “I let you in, let you break me and now you think to discard me—a slop bucket over the side of the ship.” Leaves and moss clenched into her fists, her heels digging into the dirt, looking for traction, looking for a way up, a way out.

  They slipped, again and again.

  “Tor—”

  “Just go. Leave me.” She didn’t bother to look up. Not to him. Not anymore.

  “Torrie—”

  “Leave!” Her shriek shocked the air through the woods around them, echoing off the trees, and it took everything from her. Her feet stilled, all feeling in her legs, in her arms gone, leaving her in the wasteland of a body that refused to move, refused to fight.

  All she could do was sit there. So numb tears couldn’t even form.

  With the last of the breath in her lungs, she pushed out whispered words. “Leave—go.”

  Roe stepped forward, walking past her without a word.

  Gone.

  ~~~

  Torrie sat in the middle of the square plat of flowers by the water basin that anchored the core of the rose garden.

  All colors, all varieties of roses surrounded her in full bloom, sending their heady scent into the air, the walls of evergreens along the outer borders holding the air still and suffocating all around her.

  She never liked roses. Never liked the smell of them. But this was the only spot she could find hidden away from the main house, hidden away from people.

  Maybe her dislike of roses could make her feel something—anything to cut through the numbness that had overtaken her body. If anything could get her hackles up, it was the scent of roses.

  They didn’t.

  She leaned forward on the marble bench she’d found by the water’s edge, her fingers running along the outside of her calves through the skirt of the dress she’d borrowed from the duchess. Massaging her skin, her nails itched at the tightness beneath the top of her leather boots.

  “Here you are.”

  Torrie jerked upright, her hands clamping together on top of her lap as she looked over her shoulder.

  Sienna stood between the two junipers standing skinny and tall at the entrance to the garden of roses. The duchess stepped in, her slippers crunching onto the granite gravel that lined the beds of roses in perfect symmetry.

  Crunch, crunch, crunch.

  Sienna didn’t stop until she stood on the other side of the bench, looking down at Torrie. “Robby is leaving in an hour, at the most.”

  Torrie turned from Sienna, her stare going to the square basin of water in front of her. “Let him. He’s dead to me.”

  “I doubt that.” Sienna sat down on the opposite side of the bench, twisting sideways and leaning toward the water, her hand clutching the edge of the bench so she could see Torrie’s face.

  “You don’t know it.” The words spat out of Torrie’s mouth.

  Sienna shrugged, then sat straight, her look pinning the side of Torrie. “I know how much you mean to Robby. That alone tells me he means something to you.”

  She shook her head, her words wooden. “I mean nothing to him. Nothing. He was very clear on that fact.”

  “Yet I refuse to believe it,” Sienna said, her soft voice matching the scent of roses around them.

  “He said it.”

  “And you’re stubborn.”

  “As are you.”

  Sienna chuckled and set her hand on top of Torrie’s knuckles. “Robby says lots of things he doesn’t mean. He always has. It’s the dark in him—evade, lie, so no one knows him. He’s been playing that card his whole life—never let anyone know you care, for they’ll only destroy you in the end.”

  She sighed, her head cocking to the side as her look drifted off of Torrie. “And why wouldn’t he live like that? Nothing in his life has ever been permanent. Not his mother. Not Logan and I. Certainly not the boys he ran with in St. Giles. No one. The only thing that never changed was what he needed to do to survive.”

  Torrie pulled her hand free from under Sienna’s grasp. “It doesn’t excuse him.”

  “No. But it may explain him.” Sienna paused, leaning forward for a long moment, then she angled back, her look intent on Torrie. “Do you know your viscount was destitute?”

  “Apton? He—what?” Her head turned to Sienna, meeting her look. “No. You must have him mistaken for another. My husband left me a healthy sum after he died.”

  Sienna shook her head, her bottom lip sliding under her teeth for a second. “He would kill me if he knew I was sharing this, as Robby respected your husband—he said he was a kind man that doted upon you. But as Robby has made a stupid decision to go after Bockton by himself, I’m going to make a stupid decision to tell you this.”

  Torrie’s eyebrows angled inward. “You are correct about Apton in that he was a fine man and did dote on me, but you are mistaken as far as his finances. He wasn’t destitute.”

  “He was. Your husband was penniless at the end. What was left of the estate that wasn’t entailed went to pay off debts. Even at that, the estate would have been drowning in debt for years. Robby paid it all off. Before your husband’s solicitors even met with you after his death, Logan had already interceded. He did so at Robby’s request. Your London townhouse, the sum settled on you—giving you not a care for the rest of your life—that was Robby’s doing. His fortune made at sea.”

  “No.” Torrie jerked backward, sliding to the far end of the bench. “No.”

  Sienna scooted toward her, not letting her escape. “Yes. Robby had somehow gotten word that the viscount was fading and he set it into motion with Logan and the solicitors. You were to never know.”

  “He did that? But…but he didn’t even know me.”

  “He knew you, Torrie. He’s known you since the day he stepped out of prison. And he has made sure you were fully taken care of ever since that time.”

  Torrie’s hand went to her forehead, her fingers squeezing the bridge of her nose. After a long moment, her hand dropped, her look pinning Sienna. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Sienna’s blue eyes shone nothing but sincerity. “Some secrets do more to guard the dead than the living. I care more about the living.” She gave the smallest smile. “And Robby is living—and I would rather it continue to remain so.”

  Torrie’s eyes slowly closed. “You’re telling me because you want me to stop him from leaving.”

  “I do. He’s tied Logan into staying here to watch over you, so my husband can’t even accompany him to help.” For a short second, Sienna’s look went close to manic. “Robby won’t abandon his plan for me or for Logan, but for you—for you he just might.”

  “You misunderstand how little I mean to him.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you understand him in a way we never will.” Sienna grabbed Torrie’s hand, pulling it up and clasping it between her palms. “What I know of Robby is that he cannot believe in the good in himself. No matter what he does now, it will never erase what he did in his past—what his past has done to him. It’s why he’s always seeking death. Even with you. Even the happiness that was in his eyes when he looked at you—he doesn’t have hope—he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of what you two could be together.”

  Her whispered voice escaped her. “Because he’s moored in the in-between.”

  “The in-between?” Sienna’s left eyebrow arched.

  Torrie waved her hand between them, not able to fully explain. “Moments that define you. Moments that will not leave you be, that steal your peace. Moments you cannot escape. They drag you downward, sink you into the in-between.”

  Sienna nodded slowly, recognition flickering in her blue eyes.

  She knew about the in-between—had lived it—it was clear in her eyes. A kindred soul in the most unlikely of places.

  “You will try? Try to stop him?”

  It took only a breath to decide. Torrie nodded. “I will. I will try again. Where is he?”

  { Chapter 18 }


  Five more minutes and he’d be gone.

  Gone before he saw Torrie again. Gone before he would see her face and drop to her feet, begging forgiveness, begging her to erase the words he’d said to her.

  There would be time for that later.

  If he was lucky.

  If he lived.

  He couldn’t tell her the real danger she was in. That Bockton was specifically after her. That he’d use her mercilessly, torturing her to get to him. He’d told Logan, and that was enough. His brother would keep Torrie safe.

  Roe tossed an extra lawn shirt into his haversack and looked about the room, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. For all the opulence Logan’s estate supplied—fine sheets and brandy, the comfort of good food and fire—he felt a certain unease with it all.

  One extra shirt. One extra pair of stockings. Coin. Tinderbox. Dagger in his boot.

  That was it. That was the extent of all the worldly possessions he needed.

  He stepped out of the room, his boots clunking onto the wood planks of the corridor when the sound of pounding feet, running, stopped him in his tracks.

  “Stop, Roe. Stop.”

  He turned to the right to see Torrie speeding down the hallway toward him, her hand waving in the air as if her fingers could magically make him stop from afar.

  Damn Sienna.

  Damn her and her meddling ways. He was almost out to his horse. Almost gone.

  “Please, Roe, please.” Torrie skidded to a stop in front of him, her green eyes frantic, her breath panting, sending her chest up and down in a wild dance. “You dinnae need to go.”

  Dammit all to hell.

  What he wouldn’t give to grab her and drag her three steps backward into his room, his mouth ravaging her neck, her breasts, the crux of her.

  Ten minutes. That’s all it would take. To see her face open to him, her lips parting in screams only he could manifest.

  But it would cost him too much. Far, far too much.

  His shoulders pulled back, the grave line of his mouth pulling tighter. “I do. I’ve already told you I’m leaving.” He moved to step around her.

  She jumped in front of him, her head craning up to him. The vein along her elongated neck throbbed, from running or anger, he wasn’t sure. Probably both.

  “Stop, just stop and listen to me, Roe—look at me.”

  His feet stilled. He couldn’t get around her without touching her and that was something he wasn’t prepared to do. Not with the bedroom door open just a step away.

  “I ken you didnae mean it—you didnae mean what ye said in the forest.” Her Scottish lilt had surfaced in the woods, but now it was in full force. She moved a last step in at him, her breasts touching him, her green eyes pinning him. “You told me I was everything and I ken ye meant it. No matter what ye think to do now—how ye think this will make it easier for ye to leave. It doesnae—all it does is belittle what you are to me. What I am to you.”

  His teeth grinding together, his head shook.

  She grabbed his arms and her touch broke him into a thousand pieces.

  “Say it, Roe. Say it. Tell me I mean nothing to you. Say it again and I’ll believe you. I’ll believe I never meant anything to you. It will shatter me, but I’ll believe you.”

  His resolve only lasted three seconds. Three seconds and his soul splintered, unable to crush her heart again.

  His look left her, lifting to the coved ceiling of the hallway as his heart thundered in his ears, his mouth opening and closing twice before sound made it past his lips. “Telling you that in the forest killed me, Tor—more than you can imagine.”

  His gaze dropped to her, taking in everything that she was, meeting her green eyes with his soul bared. “You are my everything.”

  Her grip on his forearms tightened, her eyes closing as she exhaled. “So stay.” Her eyes opened to him. “Stay with me. Des and Weston will take care of Bockton—you know they will. You yourself said they would not rest until Bockton is buried in the depths of the sea. So let them do it. Why do you have to?” She shook him. “Why you?”

  “Because of you, Tor.” The words escaped him in a growl. “Because of you. Because he saw you.”

  “What? He saw me?”

  “Yes—Bockton bloody well saw you. He saw you on the ship—he knows I abandoned the attack to protect you. You will not be safe until the man is dead.”

  “Just because he saw—”

  “He plans on using you. What he needs from me, he thinks to use you to get it. He put a price on your head. Your head.”

  “Use me how?”

  His steel grey eyes pierced her.

  She took a step backward, her hold dropping from him and her right hand going to her throat, her words a whisper. “Torture. What he did to Folback’s wife.”

  “Exactly. Bockton needs me alive. He doesn’t need you alive. He only needs you as leverage to get me to tell him exactly what he needs to know.”

  “What does he want to know—what does he want from you?” Her eyes went wide. “It’s that box—that box you mentioned at that alehouse—the Box of Draupnir, isn’t it? Tell me what that is.”

  “Dammit, Tor, you need to stop.” His fingers ran along the back of his neck. “For the life of me, I’ll not saddle you with that knowledge.”

  “But—”

  “No. This ends with Bockton’s death, or my death, but it doesn’t end with yours.”

  “Or you can just stay.” She grabbed a hold of the lapels of his coat, yanking on them. Begging with every tug. “Please dinnae go after him. Dinnae leave me. Dinnae do this to me.”

  “You’re the only one I’m thinking of here—I have to protect you, Tor. He won’t stop until he has you, so I have to stop him.” A crooked smile crossed his lips. “You run like hell into hell to save those you love.”

  Her lips pulled back hard, her head shaking. “Then take me with you.”

  “No, I—”

  “Then tell me where you’re going.”

  “No.” He grabbed her wrists, yanking them off his coat, his voice harsh. “I can’t stay and I can’t tell you where I’m going. I can’t love you. I was always going to leave you in one way or another, Torrie. Let it be like this. Let it be for something good. Let it be so that you are safe.”

  She stood, dumbstruck for a breath and the look on her face sent such a brutal blow through his chest he swayed.

  “You were always going to leave me?” she screeched, springing toward him, her fists thudding onto his chest.

  He took the blows, not stumbling an inch backward. The harsh line of his mouth cut tight across his face. “Yes. I was always going to leave you. And now I am.”

  With fortitude he didn’t think he possessed, he stepped around her and stalked down the corridor.

  Every step a dagger to his soul.

  Every step a door slamming shut upon the only good thing he’d ever had in his life.

  The only thing that had ever been his. Just his.

  He turned to the main staircase, descending, and then stalked out into the grey haze of the day.

  He closed the front door to Culland Hall gently behind him, and with it every hope he’d never dared to dream.

  ~~~

  His boots thudded along the hallway, fading down the stairs.

  The front door opened and then closed with uncommon delicacy.

  Silence.

  Roe was gone, deserting her in a wasteland of suffocation without a backward glance.

  It took her minutes to make her feet move from where she was rooted in the corridor. Without thought, she drifted to her room, only three doors away from Roe’s chamber.

  She stood at the threshold of the room, staring at nothing on the floor, unable to focus on anything except standing upright, not crumpling into a heap.

  He left her. Left her willingly. He was always going to leave her.

  This time, she believed the words he said. There hadn’t been any doubt in his voice. Any questions in his d
ark grey eyes.

  Her limbs numb, she shuffled into her room. If she was to collapse, at least let it be in private, not heaping upon her the humiliation of Roe’s brother or Sienna seeing her crumpled.

  Her look moved upward from the pretty blue Axminster carpet on the floor of her room. Daylight hit her eyes, making her blink. The terrace.

  She’d forgotten about the terrace leading off of the far wall of the room—it was just her luck. Just another laughable twist of fate. She’d noticed it before, knew that it faced out the front of Culland Hall, but she’d never thought to step out onto it.

  Cruel.

  Cruel that it existed. Cruel that it called to her, enticing her forward with inexplicable force.

  Nothing but pain awaited her on that terrace, but still she crossed the room, opening the French door.

  She stepped out onto the terrace, her hands wrapping along the smooth marble banister for support.

  She found Roe immediately, several hundred paces away from the main entrance of Culland Hall where the path up from the stables met the main drive. Logan handed Roe the reins to a giant brown gelding and Roe swung himself up into the saddle.

  Whatever the brothers said to each other, it was short.

  Roe’s heels dug into the horse and he thundered down the gravel drive that led from the front of the hall.

  Her eyes collapsed into a squint, watching him until the last hoof beats of his horse disappeared beyond the ridge at the end of the drive.

  Sienna appeared by her side, floating in as quietly as a feather caught in the wind, and her fingers settled lightly onto the marble banister that lined the terrace. Her look stayed outward toward the last spot Roe was visible and she exhaled a long breath—not quite a sigh, not quite relief. “If it were Logan I wouldn’t let him go alone. Ever.”

  Simple. Direct.

  The esteem which Torrie already held for Sienna increased tenfold.

  Torrie turned to her. “Logan’s not going to stop me? You have ideas for me?”

  Sienna’s bottom lip jutted up, but the edges of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Possibly. If you want them. But you need to truly want them.”