by Clare Sager
And yet he couldn’t leave her in this alley.
So he held her against his body, pulling his coat around them both, trying to share what body heat he could, and kept his hold functional, gentle – what she needed, not what he wanted.
Heart aching, he set off into the shrouded streets. Every inch of him knotted – ears straining for any sound through the mist, eyes alert for the slightest movement, body taut and ready to dive into an alley. Anything to get her to the relative safety of his room.
Her cheek was like ice, tucked against his neck, and she weighed far too little. Her chest barely moved with shallow, slow breaths. She’d eaten a little but, if anything, she looked even worse than when he’d first taken her from the gibbet cage, cheeks hollow, lips pale.
“Vee, if you bloody die, I’ll never forgive you …” Or myself.
He should never have let her go after FitzRoy. What had she needed from him? There was no sign of blood on her clothes or hands, so she must have stayed true to her word and not killed him.
If she had, would he have deserved it?
Because if FitzRoy deserved it, then so did he.
His throat clenched, making his breaths sharp as frost.
He should never have gone through with the stupid plan.
Cold cloaked him, as thick as the fog, tickling the back of his neck. Frowning, he paused and looked left and right – what was wrong?
No voices, no footsteps, no –
Not out there. Here. Her chest was still.
His heart squeezed like a fist had closed around it.
“Vee?” He tapped her cheek. “Vee. Vice? Avice?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Don’t call me that.”
A heavy breath heaved from him, almost a laugh. “Well, don’t bloody die, then.”
“No plans to.” Blinking slowly, she gave a half-smile.
“You could’ve fooled me. That mist – you risked too much –”
“I got us some cover, didn’t I?”
He growled. “Only by nearly killing yourself.”
“Well, it’s done now, and I’m not dead. Considering my position at sunset, I’m taking this as a great victory.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet.” Glaring into the gloom, he ducked down a side-street – the footsteps ahead might have been civilian rather than marine, but it was best not to chance it. “We still need to get you to the inn, bathed, and dressed properly.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Dressed properly?”
“Yes. I’ve” – he cleared his throat, the words bristling – “I’ve got passage to Arawaké for myself and … my wife.” She stiffened in his arms, and he stumbled on. “And – uh – of course, she needs proper attire.”
She scoffed and tugged at his hand around her shoulder. “I think I can walk now.”
Of course, she’d want to be away from his touch as soon as possible. He set her down carefully but offered his arm.
“So” – she raised an eyebrow, a faint glint in her eyes painfully like the Vee he knew – “you bought me clothes?”
“I did.”
Chuckling, she took his arm, and they set off again, the pace so slow it set his teeth on edge.
“What’re you laughing at?” He scowled into the darkness. Gods, they’d be spotted before they reached the inn at this rate. With all this mist, he wasn’t even sure how far away they were.
“The idea of the dread pirate hunter Blackwood out shopping for ladies’ clothes.” Her weak grip on his arm flexed the slightest amount. “Please tell me you bought me underwear, too.”
Teeth gritted, he paused at the intersection, checking the road sign – thank the gods, they were only a couple of streets away. “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this situation, Vee. We’re –”
“Oh, I understand.” She gave a mirthless laugh and held up her blistered hand. “I fully understand. But this is the only thing keeping me going. I can’t just curl up in an alleyway and give in, which is what my body wants to do right now. Let me laugh and joke about this, and my legs will keep moving.”
That’s what her cavalier attitude was and always had been. A safety net. A shield. A lifeline.
And he’d just dismissed it as childish banter, a sign she didn’t take things seriously. Well, maybe that last part was true, but there was so much more to it than that.
Sighing, he shook his head. “We’re nearly there. The innkeeper thinks you’ve just arrived. I’ve told them you’re ill in order to” – he bit his lip and looked away – “to – er –”
“Explain how awful I look?” She pursed her lips and nodded. “I’ve seen my hands – I can guess what the rest of me must look like. Bet you’re glad you’re not …” But she trailed off, nostrils flaring, gaze on the floor ahead.
They walked on in silence.
Turning right at the next road, golden lamplight dazzled him through the mist. He froze, staring into the fog.
Civilians wouldn’t carry a lamp.
Military would.
In Hiding
Blood roared in his ears as he looped an arm around Vee’s waist and scooped her off her feet. No time for her complaints – they had to get off the road now. Perhaps she understood, because she made no sound except for a gasp, and as he hurried back the way they’d come, she kept watch behind, eyes wide.
“I don’t think they saw us,” she breathed.
He ducked into the next alley, only putting her down once he found a sheltered doorway to the left. He glanced further in – damnation, a dead end. They couldn’t cut through to the next street.
Their breaths heaved as they both stared back the way they’d come.
Light cast the fog on the road golden.
Wild Hunt, had they heard his footsteps? Not wanting to draw attention, he hadn’t quite broken into a run, but maybe they’d heard him anyway.
He forced his breaths slower, deeper, straining his ears to hear the slightest noise.
Eyes wide, pupils full, Vee bit her lip.
No way could she bring more mist to their aid this time.
Footsteps, out at the end of the alley.
Vee tensed against him. “Bollocks.”
An understatement. Corner of his mouth twitching, he nodded.
Hazy shadows moved in the mist, growing darker, larger, more distinct.
He swallowed. The marines he’d seen so far tonight had been checking alleys, and if this patrol came down here, he and Vee would have nowhere to go. He nudged her into the corner of the doorway. Flipping up the collar of his slate grey coat, he shielded her with his shoulders. If a marine lifted a lamp and glanced down the alley, he’d look like part of the shadows.
Hopefully.
Lips tight, she stared out past his shoulder, the creases between her eyebrows far too close to fear for his liking. She squashed herself back into the corner, whole body tense, trembling. The vein in her neck jumped.
The footsteps grew louder. Stopped. Scuffed, as if someone turned on the balls of their feet.
Heading this way – had to be.
She took a long, harsh breath, eyes bright and upon his.
Jaw clenched, he pressed her into the corner. The smaller they were, the better.
More footsteps. Golden light licked the fog, growing brighter.
Damnation, even nearer.
Her fingers knotted into the front of his coat. Breath held, he crushed her into the wall – other than staring back at her, it was all he could do.
The footsteps were so close he could hear not only their tap but also the faint crunch as they trod grit into the cobblestones a few feet away.
Vee flinched, eyes darting as if searching for an escape they both knew wasn’t there.
He was going to find them.
Another tap and crunch.
All this. For nothing.
Knigh could barely swallow. Every hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. Vee closed her eyes, turned her face into the corner, teeth bared.
<
br /> Another tap. Half the lamp came into view, glaring bright.
His ears rang.
“Conroy,” a distant voice called, “over here.”
The lamp rose and then slid from view as that turning-scuff sounded again. “What is it?” Conroy was so close, Knigh heard him inhale after the shout.
“Think I’ve found something.”
A sigh, then the footsteps started again, growing quieter.
Knigh exhaled as quietly as he could, and Vee’s eyes flashed open, eyebrows rising in question. He nodded, then peered around from their doorway.
The lamp had disappeared around a corner, casting a haze of golden light through the fog to the left.
“Come on,” he whispered. Holding her hand, he crept on.
Voices, light, footsteps, all to the left.
They turned back onto the road, feet whispering over the cobbles.
Lords, it was tempting to run, but that would be too noisy. Jaw clenched, he led her to the right-hand turn they’d tried to take before, glancing over his shoulder all the way. The lamplight pooled in the mist, growing dimmer all the while.
It was only after they’d taken another two turns that his heart returned to normal speed. Vee’s pinched expression faded, replaced by the slack look of someone beyond exhaustion.
They made it to the inn’s back entrance without any more encounters. Vee paused at the door, raised her hood and squared her shoulders as though she wasn’t ready to drop. Gods bless the woman. A fierce pride burned in his chest as she nodded for him to open the door.
They slipped past the innkeeper with a brief greeting. The woman bowed and went to check on the water the maid was preparing, as promised.
Vee shuddered, a soft breath falling from her lips as the innkeeper left.
He held out a hand to help her up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, he was carrying her.
“Nearly there” – he opened the door to his room – “and you can have a bath right away.”
Eyelids drifting, she nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest.
No. No. No. He wasn’t meant to be enjoying any part of this. Her touch was a matter of necessity, life and death. There was and could be no affection left between them. She was just exhausted and ill. Once she was back to herself, she’d want him far, far away.
As he shut the door, warmth brushed his ankles. Barnacle threaded around and between his feet. Damn cat – was she determined to trip him up?
Avoiding stepping on little paws, he made his way to the settee and lay Vee on it. “Rest here for a while. I’ll get food and hot water.”
She gave a tight smile and a nod, before pulling the cloak tighter and closing her eyes.
With a chirrup, Barnacle was on the settee, nose against her cheek.
Vee’s eyes flicked open. “Barnacle?” She ran her hands over the cat’s head, blinked. “It is … It’s …”
A choking sound heaved from her and Knigh started forward, heart racing. Gods, she was so ill, was this –
But then her eyes screwed shut, and she gathered the cat close and buried her face in her fur. Her shoulders shook, and her breaths came sharp and fast.
She was crying.
Full sobs, wracking her body.
Covering his mouth, Knigh backed away. All that toughness, all that glibness. All for show. Even so bluntly saying she’d killed Avice – it was all a way of … of …
He shook his head, stomach clenching. A way of keeping people at a safe distance. Of keeping those ‘soft’ emotions she’d spoken about in his cabin at bay.
“You’re really here,” she whispered into Barnacle’s fur as the cat nuzzled her way under her chin. “You’re safe. My little love. My little goblin-beast.”
Biting his lip, Knigh strode for the landing and down the stairs. It was too much.
He’d persuaded himself she was a monster. A murderer. And with how flippant she acted at times, how cool she could be, it had been so easy to persuade himself that she was unfeeling.
He raked his hands through his hair. What an idiot he’d been.
What a damn idiot.
He went to the kitchen and took the pail of hot water from the wide-eyed maid who’d been about to carry it upstairs. With a tremulous smile, he insisted he’d fill the bath as his wife wasn’t well enough to be disturbed. And he needed to do something, anything to still the quaking of his hands and quiet his mind.
He was the monster. To do this to her. To condemn someone fae-blooded to an iron cage. To betray someone he’d …
A knot blocked his throat as he poured the first pail of water into the copper bath by the fire in their room.
Shaking his head, he swallowed and dared to look at her again. She’d fallen asleep on her side, Barnacle curled up against her chest with her eyes alert, watching his movements.
He didn’t deserve any of it. To feel any way about Vee. To attempt to seek her forgiveness. To want to be worthy of her.
And after all this, she still might not make it safely away.
Once she was clean and dressed, they still had the journey to the Swallow. Then they had to leave port and hope the alarm hadn’t been raised. The Navy could easily blockade the Solent, prevent anyone departing, then they’d be stuck, and an escape over land would be far more difficult. Perhaps impossible.
Swallowing, he rose and nodded. He would help her escape. It was the only way to even begin to ease his heart and make what he’d done bearable.
More importantly, it was the only way she’d survive.
The Full Extent
By the time the bath was full and steaming with the heady scent of lavender and rosemary bath salts, Knigh had pulled himself together. It was simple. He’d get her out of Portsmouth, do anything she needed, be her willing servant. And, eventually, one day, maybe he’d be able to live with himself.
“Vee,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face, “your bath is ready.”
Her eyes remained shut, lashes dark against her cheeks. That burn above her temple was a startling, angry red against her horribly pale skin, but her lips had a little colour to them, and her skin didn’t feel as cold as it had earlier.
Barnacle stretched and sat up, tucking her tail around her paws neatly before looking up at him with baleful green eyes.
She knew what he’d done.
Yes, she was a cat, but that look …
Frowning, he shook his head and touched his knuckles to Vee’s cheek. “I know you probably don’t want to move, but it’ll warm you up, and we need to get you looking the part.” Of my wife.
His stomach knotted. She hadn’t commented on that earlier, only on the fact he’d gone shopping for clothes. But once she was back in full awareness, no longer exhausted and afraid, he couldn’t picture her taking to the role gladly. They’d have to share a cabin and pose as happy newlyweds all the way to Arawaké.
Yes. Once she realised, she was going to kill him.
And he’d deserve it.
Wincing, he shook her shoulder gently. “Vee?”
Her lashes fluttered as she took a long breath – he’d seen her wake enough times to know she was conscious now. His stomach turned again.
“I don’t think I can move.” Her hand inched away from where it had balled up under her chin.
“The bath will help.” He tried an encouraging smile, but gods only knew what the expression looked like with his face so tight. “I can … Your – your clothes … If you need help?”
Rubbing her face, she nodded and pushed herself to a half-sitting position. She groped at the ties of her cloak, but her hands shook too much to grasp them.
“Here.” He knelt and pulled them for her.
Nodding, she closed her eyes.
With every garment, his stomach tightened. When she’d changed in the alley, it had been too dark for him to see much but now …
When he removed the gown, her arms were thin under her chemise, and she barely filled the stays even though they were laced as tig
htly as they’d go. The layers of petticoats had disguised how much her curves had sunk. Without them, she wasn’t much more than flesh and bone. None of those powerful, lean muscles, none of that glorious, soft fat over her hips and rear.
A week in an iron cage had drained it all away.
There was no doubt, now: if she’d stayed there much longer, she’d have died even without the hangman’s noose.
“Oh, Vee.” He shook his head and pulled off the stockings that were far too loose on her legs. “I’m – I’m so –”
“Please don’t,” she murmured, eyes still shut. “Not right now. I need to focus on getting the hells out of here. Your apologies only remind me of …” Her throat rippled, and she shook her head. “Of how we got here. And if I get too wrapped up in – in hating you, I won’t be able to let you help me.” Jaw knotting, her nostrils flared. “And much as I’m loath to admit it, I can’t do this on my own. So, save it until we’re safe. Then I can threaten to cut out your tongue with your own dagger.”
There it was. She was only this escape away from hating him. He shouldn’t be surprised, but his heart still clenched, painful, too tight. She had every single damn right.
He rubbed his face, every hour of wakefulness suddenly falling upon his shoulders, dragging his limbs down.
Unable to meet her gaze, he lifted her upright and pulled off the chemise. It took every lesson in discipline, in self-control, in stillness not to react and curl in upon himself at the painful contrast between her now and all the other times he’d seen her glorious naked body.
She wasn’t a shadow of herself, but something far less substantial – a spirit or an echo.
Wordlessly, he carried her to the bath and eased her into the steaming water. She sighed, eyes closing, expression momentarily so close to bliss, it twisted in his gut as sharp as a blade.
“Eat some more, and I’ll be able to heal your burns,” he murmured, placing a small table within her reach. Stew, bread, cheese, an apple, a slice of light lemon cake he’d bought this afternoon at a nearby bakery. He’d even splurged on a small bowl of almonds imported from Europa.
