A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  The two remaining guards dived for cover behind the wagon, firing as they did so. Alejandro shot one, but not before a bullet caught him in the shoulder. He dropped to the ground and cursed in agony, but managed to drag himself into the cover of the porch.

  Carlos, emerging from the church, killed the other guard with a bullet to the heart as Raven dealt his opponent a final punch that rendered him unconscious.

  But Lavalle had closed the distance. As Raven staggered to his knees he saw the Frenchman’s triumphant expression and raised gun and threw himself to the side just as Lavalle fired. A stinging pain exploded in his thigh and he collapsed on the ground, gasping; his leg felt as if it were on fire.

  Carlos leaped forward to intercept Lavalle, but the Frenchman hit him with the butt of his rifle and broke his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere and Carlos doubled over, howling and clutching his nose.

  Lavalle withdrew a pistol from his coat. “It’s going to give me a great deal of satisfaction killing you, Hades.” He smiled. “Let’s see how you like meeting your namesake, shall we?”

  “Hey!”

  Raven’s blood ran cold as he saw Heloise running from the tree line, waving her arms like a demented windmill. Lavalle turned. “But how perfect. Now I kill two birds with one stone, as you English say, no?” With a sick grin he turned the barrel of his pistol toward Heloise instead.

  Raven felt the last of his humanity slipping away. There was a time and a place for mercy. This was not it. Anyone who threatened Heloise died. It was as simple as that.

  He roared her name and launched himself at Lavalle, reaching for the knife at his back as he did so. He made a grab for the pistol and turned it upward at the same time as he stabbed his blade hilt-deep into Lavalle’s arm.

  Lavalle screamed.

  There was a deafening crack and a searing agony assaulted Raven’s skull. Pain exploded in a bright arc of light, and a rush of liquid, both hot and icy cold at once, poured down his neck. His vision wavered and he staggered back, and Lavalle took full advantage, wrapping his hands around his throat in a crushing grip.

  Raven grasped the dagger still in Lavalle’s arm and twisted it. Lavalle roared with pain and swore, his face a rictus of fury and hatred. As the pressure on his throat eased, Raven pulled the blade free.

  “English bastard,” Lavalle hissed through his teeth. He dug his thumbs under Raven’s jaw, forcing his head back as if he meant to snap his neck. With a strength born of desperation, Raven thrust the blade upward. It slid between Lavalle’s ribs in a sickening give of muscle and bone and plunged directly into his heart.

  Lavalle fell backward onto the sandy ground. He gasped once, clutching at his side as if to somehow seal the wound, but it was too late. He gave one last, rattling choke, and stilled.

  Raven dropped his head and rested his hands on his knees, panting and nauseous. He could feel his strength slipping away. A steady stream of blood dripped from his head onto the ground, thick and surprisingly bright red. Without warning his injured leg buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, and the world blurred as he tried to stay conscious.

  He turned his head and saw Heloise racing across the clearing toward him, her face pale and terrified. His heart gave an irregular kick. Safe. At least she was safe.

  A ripple of movement came from his left. Alvarez was advancing on him, a look of evil triumph on his face. The sneaky bastard had been biding his time, waiting for the chance to strike. Sunlight glinted off the knife in his fist.

  Raven shook his head to clear the winking lights that flashed across his vision. He tried to rise but his strength had deserted him. Shit. His limbs refused to obey his commands. He heard Heloise cry out and realized with a sense of disbelief that he was too weak to fight Alvarez.

  Heloise was going to watch him die.

  He ground his teeth and lunged to his feet just as a shot rang out. Raven glanced down instinctively at his chest. There was no pain, but maybe the agony in his skull and his leg had disguised the fatal hit.

  But then Alvarez fell backward, the side of his head blown away. Raven turned in time to see Kit slump against the wall of the church. A pistol slid from his limp grip.

  “I’ve been dreaming of killing that sadistic bastard for months,” Kit rasped. He sent Raven a mocking, exhausted salute. “You’re welcome.”

  His cocky grin was a welcome echo of his former self and Raven managed a weak smile in return. “Good to see you, too, Carlisle.” He glanced over at Carlos and Alejandro, both bloody, but alive, and grinned. “Well, that was exciting, eh?”

  And then Heloise was on her knees in front of him, crying his name, a flurry of skirts and rose-scented woman. “Oh God, you’re hurt! Let me see.”

  Raven forced himself to stand, bracing himself against the side of the wagon, even though it made his stomach heave. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he ducked away from her questing hands. “Don’t fuss, woman. It’s nothing. Head wounds always bleed like the devil. I’m just a bit dizzy, that’s all.”

  He groped his way to the back of the cart and sat down heavily on the backboard. His injured leg was in agony, a throbbing fiery pain in his thigh that burned with every step.

  Heloise frowned at him. “Stop being so stupid. You’ve been shot. Twice. Now is not the time to play the hero. Lie back.”

  Raven sighed in defeat and complied. It did feel good to lie down. The clouds were spinning and his words seemed slow, his brain sluggish. He experienced an odd sense of detachment, as if he were floating distant, apart from it all. Sounds came and went in waves, distinct then dull, like he was underwater. His head throbbed but through the pain came a weary relief, a relaxing of tension inside him. Safe. She was safe. That was all that mattered. Even if he died, he’d done his job. Contentment washed over him in a calming wave of acceptance.

  Heloise climbed up into the cart and used her wadded skirts to staunch the bleeding from his head. She probed his hair, and he hissed in pain, half sitting up. The sense of peace receded sharply.

  “Jesus, woman, be careful!”

  She slapped his hand away. “I can’t help unless I can see what I’m doing. For once in your life you’re going to have to let someone else take charge.”

  Raven subsided with little grace.

  —

  Heloise tried to disguise her panic at the sheer amount of blood streaming from Raven’s head. Lavalle’s bullet had grazed his temple, in the hair just above his ear.

  She shuddered as she realized how close to death he’d been. Another inch to the left and he’d have been a corpse. A wave of nausea rose in her throat. “That was such a stupid thing to do!” she scolded.

  Raven shrugged and moved his shoulders so his head was cradled in her lap, shamelessly taking advantage. “It was all going swimmingly until Lavalle showed up.”

  She stroked the hair from his forehead as she continued to keep pressure on his wound. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but it was hard to tell. Her skirts were soaked with blood. So much blood.

  Raven turned his face into her palm and pressed his lips to the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist and her pulse fluttered. He caught her hand in his and held her palm against his face.

  He smiled. “Enough of an adventure for you, Hellcat?”

  Heloise frowned. His speech was slurred and his pupils seemed huge. He closed his eyes.

  “You idiot,” she said fiercely, but her voice wavered and tears blurred her eyes. She pressed her lips together to contain a sob and stroked his cheek. The drying blood was sticky on her fingers. He seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness.

  She shook him, slapped his cheek. “Hey! Don’t you dare die on me, Ravenwood!” Her voice was shrill, reedy with panic. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Rafael appeared from the trees, leading the horses, and Heloise experienced a moment of guilty horror that he should witness the aftermath of yet another massacre, but the youth merely glanced at the bodies littering the ground and shrugged.
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br />   “Bad men,” he said, as if that explained everything. He tied the horses to the backboard, clambered up onto the cart, and took the reins.

  Carlos helped Alejandro and Kit into the cart and they set off down the road.

  The journey back to the camp seemed endless. Heloise tried to hold Raven’s head steady, but every jolt made it loll and she winced in sympathy, even though he was unconscious.

  Their arrival caused a flurry of activity. Alejandro barked out orders and within minutes both Kit and Alejandro had been dealt with by Maria and Raven had been carried into Elvira’s caravan. Heloise followed in his wake, knowing it made sense to allow the more experienced healer do the work.

  She sank down on the caravan steps and stared numbly at her lap. Raven’s blood covered everything: her hands, her skirts. The world dimmed and chilled, as if an icy fog twisted round her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut. Oh God. He couldn’t die.

  It seemed hours later when the old woman came out, wiping her hands on the front of her blood-spattered apron.

  Heloise leaped upright. “Is he all right? Please tell me he’s alive.”

  When Elvira nodded, a wave of relief washed over her, so great she staggered and had to sit back down on the step.

  “He’ll live. Head as hard as granite, that one. I’ve removed the bullet from his leg, too. You can go in and see him, but I’ve given him something for the pain so he might not make much sense.”

  Heloise practically pushed her out of the way.

  Raven smiled woozily up at her from the bed and her terror ebbed as she saw that he was indeed still among the living.

  “Hellcat.”

  Heloise sank down on the side of the bunk because her legs threatened to give way again. Her hands were shaking, too, so she hid them in her lap and nodded at the bandage around his head. “You’ll have a scar.”

  He blinked and gave her a slow, lopsided grin. Whatever Elvira had given him had clearly produced a sensation similar to intoxication. “We’ll match.”

  Heloise bit her lip. “Not really. Yours will be hidden by your hair.”

  Her stomach clenched as she recalled his words the night they’d made love. Only a lover would know about his scar. “Are you angry I disobeyed your orders?”

  “No. You saved my life with that distraction.”

  “Shooting a bell isn’t terribly heroic,” she said wryly.

  His eyes darkened. “Real heroism isn’t public and showy. Countless examples go unremarked and unrewarded every day. Kit’s alive because of you. That’s something amazing, Hellcat. Don’t ever forget it.”

  Her face warmed but he’d already closed his eyes in exhaustion. Heloise succumbed to temptation and cupped his cheek with her palm. Love and despair gripped her as she realized how close she’d been to losing him. She’d experienced this same, pervasive dread when he’d been kidnapped, morbidly certain that every message that came to the house would be the one that told them of his death.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to draw back. Raven was strong. He’d survived his kidnap. He’d survive this, too. But at what cost?

  He frowned as she leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. “I’ll see you later,” she whispered.

  Chapter 40

  The journey back to England was a blur.

  Raven and Kit both improved under Elvira’s watchful eye but the closer they got to Santander, the more distant Raven became. It was hard to define exactly, but she could sense him withdrawing into himself. He was his usual teasing, charming self, always glad to see her, but his wall of reserve had returned. He made absolutely no references to their one night of intimacy.

  Heloise hid her dismay. In her weakest moments she’d imagined never going home, traveling with Raven in this tiny caravan forever, seeing the world, the two of them having adventures. But that had always been an impossible dream. The adventure was decidedly over.

  They parted from Alejandro’s band at Santander. The wound on Raven’s thigh prevented him from stomping around and giving orders, but Kit had improved so much with the gypsies’ good food and attention that he assumed command of the Hope almost as soon as he walked up the gangplank. Raven was installed in his cabin, and Heloise spent most of the crossing staring out at waters that changed from a welcoming turquoise to an angry, choppy gray.

  After the excitement and freedom of the past weeks her life in England loomed ahead like a monstrous gilded cage. She didn’t want to reprise the role society had allotted her, that of brilliant-but-wounded-eccentric. Even the attentions of her well-meaning family would feel suffocating.

  She had only herself to blame. Raven had never made any secret of the fact that he wouldn’t be tied down with one woman forever. Marriage for him was a prison as sure as the one in which he’d been held, except the bars were invisible, and the wounds to the heart instead of the flesh.

  The idea of reverting to their almost-friendship made her feel hollow inside. Raven would throw himself into his next adventure, while she’d be stuck at home, getting older and more bitter, trapped in a society that expected so little of her. To marry and settle down and have babies. To think of nothing more frivolous than the style of her hat or the number of ruffles on her gown. She would go mad.

  And she’d live in constant fear that one day he’d never come back at all, and she’d hear that he’d been killed, like Tony, in some faraway field miles from those who loved him.

  When it finally got too cold on deck she went below, took a deep breath, and knocked on the cabin door. Raven was sitting up in bed, shirt open at the throat, looking as attractively disreputable as usual. Her heart contracted and she glanced quickly away, certain he’d read the yearning in her eyes. “Kit says we’ll be back home within the hour.”

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  “He’s going to stay with you at Ravenwood until you can walk again.”

  “Oh. Right. Good.”

  Heloise glanced at him. He was looking down, engrossed in pleating the sheet at his waist.

  “I’ll go straight home, then, shall I?” she prompted.

  “That would probably be best. With Lavalle dead I doubt the French will send another agent after you, but I’m in no state to defend you if they do. Richard will make sure you’re well enough protected.”

  A spark of annoyance kindled in her chest. Nothing had changed, had it? She was still just an irksome responsibility to be handed over to the next available protector. But what had she expected him to say? Don’t go, Heloise. You’ve ruined me for any other woman. Come home with me and stay forever. Marry me. She might as well expect the moon to burst into flame. She pinned a bright smile on her face. “I completed another item on my list.”

  That got his attention. His head snapped up. “I hope it wasn’t swim naked or take a bath with somebody.”

  “Those were your additions, not mine.”

  “What was left?”

  “Play cards for money. I owe Kit Carlisle seventeen hundred pounds and my first three legitimate children.”

  Raven frowned. “You don’t have to pay him. He cheats.”

  “So do I. Unfortunately, he’s better than me.”

  His eyes caught hers, his expression intent. “I’ll play cards with you.”

  She swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. “I’ve nothing left to play with.”

  How true that was. With Raven she’d gambled and lost. It was time to withdraw from the game with what little dignity she had left.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if this embarrasses you, but there’s something I need to ask. Have you had your monthly courses yet?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Uh, yes…I…they…yesterday, actually.”

  He nodded, apparently relieved. “That’s good.”

  “Yes.”

  The chasm of things unsaid yawned between them, vast and unbridgeable. Heloise groped for the door handle and her throat ached with unshed tears. “Well, goodbye, then.”

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nbsp; He made no move to stop her and her heart shriveled a little more. This was dying by degrees.

  “Goodbye, Hellcat,” he said softly.

  —

  Raven gazed at Heloise for a long time, trying to impress her image onto his brain, to memorize every subtle nuance of her face and body. This would probably be the last time they’d be alone together. He knew it, and he suspected she did, too. As soon as they got home they’d be surrounded by a tumult of family and servants, thrust back into their appointed roles of sometimes friendly enemies.

  He knew what she wanted him to say, what he ought to say. He could see the expectation in her eyes, the hope, still, that he would offer for her because he’d ruined her. Or because it would be expected of him.

  He ought to do it, wanted to, but the words stuck in his throat, refused to form on his tongue. He couldn’t be so selfish. He was meant to be alone. And she deserved far better.

  His throat ached and his breath caught as he watched defeat and desolation creep into her expression. With a heartbreaking curl of her lips that he supposed was meant to be a smile, she turned and left.

  Raven listened to her footfalls fade away and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling her back. He was crumbling inside. This was how he’d felt in prison, watching the pale glow of his jailor’s lantern disappear down the corridor: filled with longing, anger, and regret.

  She was the one infinitely precious thing in his existence. The rest of his life stretched bleakly ahead of him, no light, no Hellcat, no sunshine. Without her he’d be banished to darkness, the torture a thousand times worse than before because now he knew exactly what he was missing.

  But maintaining his distance was vital. Sometimes you needed to amputate a limb, however painful, for the person to survive. True, they’d always be missing a part of themselves, but they’d be alive. Heloise would survive without him. There was no other alternative.