“I believe he would, madam,” Sinclair chimed in.
Her gaze swept across the two of them swiftly before hardening with contempt. “Ruel Crymble.”
“And is he known by any other names? Wulf, perhaps?”
She fidgeted. “Why do you ask?”
Tethran decided to be blunt. “Because I was paid to kill your father, miss. But, mind you, if he is who we think he is, we’ll be forced to change our minds.”
A gasp flew from her mouth. A small, delicate mouth. And she gripped the table as her face paled. “Murder?” She swallowed tightly, eyes wide as saucers. “I thought you were…” She brought a hand to her head before stumbling into a chair. “Oh, dear lord…”
Tethran snorted. “Spare us the theatrics, please. Is it not you who claimed you knew exactly why we’d come?”
She glanced, hands shaking now. “Yes but… I thought you were Papa’s creditors. They always send men that are as…large as both of you.”
Sinclair harrumphed. “Best believe it that your dear ‘Papa’ has got a rather large bounty on his head. Now tell me… How long has he been a baker?”
She shook her head. “For as long as I can remember. We moved here from the city when I was six years old.”
“So is his name ‘Wulf’ as well?” Tethran needed to know.
She nodded. “It was my grandmother’s--his mother’s--maiden name. She had given it to him as well. I believe that was what he had named his bakery back then.”
“Christ.” Tethran ran a hand down his face and glanced at his friend. “You were right.”
He shrugged. “What now?”
He glared down at the woman. “Does your father usually make a habit of running off?”
“Of course not.” She made to stand but likely the hardness his eyes drove her back down. “Running off is not like him at all.”
“Are you certain your father is only a baker?” Sinclair directed the question. “Why would someone want to murder a simple country baker?”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I haven’t seen him in three days. And he didn’t leave a note or anything.”
“Did you report it to the local constable?”
Her mouth opened but then clamped down in a thin line. “No.”
“And why not?” Tethran demanded.
“Step back, sir. You are bearing too close on me and I fear you might have been travelling for far too long to upkeep proper…cleanliness.”
The skin around his mouth tightened and he noted the surprise in Sinclair’s eyes at her words. The woman was proving to be a spitfire and he fully intended on cooling that tongue. “Give me a moment with the woman, Sinclair.”
“LeMark, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Do not cross me now, dammit! If I was to thrash the wench, not even a team of wild horses could stop me.”
Sinclair scowled but nodded and left the room, likely off scrambling through the kitchens for more liquor. When Tethran glanced back at the woman, she was glaring daggers at him. Her puny attempt at assaulting his pride would not deter him from his purpose though. God, he’d been very long without a woman but this one tempted him to stay even farther away. Snatching her wrist, he pulled her up to him in a flash, her soft curves crushing against him. He even breathed hard in her face just so she could take in the harshness of the whisky on his breath.
“You are a beast.”
“And I have the scars just to prove it.” She tried to wriggle out of his arms but he held her tight, ignoring her attempt to land a knee to his wound. But my, the woman did feel good. He took a moment to really study her features. She was a pretty thing, he had to admit. Not strikingly beautiful but a subtle type of beauty that would only advance with time. Tethran felt his loins tingle. Time to get back to the matter at hand. “I will have you answer my question. Why did you not summons the constable?”
“Do what you must but I will never betray my father’s trust.”
He watched her mouth as she spoke. She was a little too bold for his liking. Another man would have taught her a lesson she would suffer even to her grave.
“I do not intend on killing your father. At least, not anymore.” His gaze dove lower to the rise of her breasts. Their sharp points pressed through the thin fabric, igniting a need he had not felt in a very, very long time. “Not now that I am aware he is the same Mr. Wulf who had prevented my friend and me from starving many a times while I was a boy.”
She gasped, the tension slowly seeping from her body. “You know my father?”
“I did. Now, are you going to tell me what you are hiding or should I just leave and allow the next hired man to come knocking on your door? I believe it won’t take long for the gent to know the job has not been done and the next man might not be as…generous as I am.” He even dared to soften his voice a little. “We can help you. And your father. Wherever he is.”
She looked him dead straight in the eye and sighed, defeated. “My father secretly operates as an investigator for the Brotherhood.”
Tethran’s brows shot up. He had not expected that. “The Cardinal Brotherhood?”
It was the group responsible for outing many criminals of the high society. He had some respect for their work. Some. She nodded. “Yes. But only most recently.”
Just then, Sinclair came barging back inside the room, his gaze hard and unwavering. “We have a problem.”
FIVE
Two hard knocks came on the door, followed by a baritone shout. “Miss Crymble, this is Constable Wright. Have you been harmed?”
Jolin jumped, her head spinning to look at the closed door. The large hulk of a man holding her did not move to release her but clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her deeper inside the room. Darn, she’d surely made a mess of things. If these men were really her Papa’s creditors, they would have been far easier to get rid of. But these two… She shook her head frantically and he shove his face into hers, his long black hair reaching his shoulders. Her eyes were then drawn to the richness of his blue eyes and then to the thin raised ridges of his scars. They were all over his face, save a small portion of his bearded chin and his nose. Beyond them, she could see he had once been a handsome man. Gasping, she met his hard eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Miss Crymble?” came the constable again.
“I trust you understand what you are to do?” he breathed.
She nodded quickly and the other one called Sinclair moved forward. “We are your father’s creditors and are awaiting his return. Do it. Now.”
Jolin drew in a sharp breath as the man released her. Smoothing her hands over the front of her gown, she swallowed and moved towards the door. After a quick breath, she swung it open and Constable Wright moved to enter. She barred the door swiftly.
“Good night, Constable. How are you this evening?”
The lanky man cocked his head. “I was given a report that you are currently being accosted, miss.”
That blasted Marie. She forged a smile. “A misunderstanding, sir. You see, my father’s creditors came by not too long ago asking for him but I told them he is not yet back from the city.” She raised her voice a fraction, hoping they took note of her words. “They are long gone by now and said they’d return in a few days.”
“I think I should still take a look, Miss Crymble.” He made to shove pass. “For your own safety. Creditors often exercise some rather extreme measures when retrieving their due.”
Jolin nibbled on her bottom lip. “Sir, I was asleep when you knocked on my door. I’m afraid I am not…properly attired to welcome guests.”
The constable’s face paled a bit and he took a step back. “If you would please step aside, madam, I promise not look at your…frame but only inspect the interior of your house. It is my job, miss. Kindly allow me to do it.”
“Alright. If you insist.” She let out a long sigh. “Do come in.”
Constable Wright stumbled inside, his gaze swinging around the
room with intense scrutiny. He then nodded and headed to the kitchens. “This with take but a minute.”
A breath of relief rushed from her chest and Jolin ducked her head out the open doorway to see Sinclair to the side of the house, raising a finger to his lips. She straightened instantly as Constable Wright came stumbling back to her, his face stiffly averted.
“I shall make sure to summons you, sir, if they return again,” she spoke sweetly. “I know a man of your…caliber knows precisely how to deal with such situations.”
He blinked twice but nodded briskly and strode through the door. “Thank you, madam. You have a good night, now.”
“Good night.”
Bolting the door, Jolin slumped against it and crossed her heart. Her father would be furious, wherever he is, if he found out she’d just shielded two criminals. And criminals, they were. She was sure of it. She could see it in their eyes; like men who had seen far too much violence. But there was something to them that she could not yet place a finger on. She’d believed them when they’d said they knew her father, for back in Iqa he had been a man well known to show his sympathies to the less fortunate. But that would also make their claims true. Someone wanted her father dead and that meant she was in danger as well. Her heart swelled in her throat. She could not possibly remain in Dumbar.
Rushing across the room, she headed to her chamber and grabbed for a small trunk. She would not take much. Just all that she would need. Three dresses and her late mother’s jewels. Yes, that would be quite enough. She stuffed the items inside and reached for a plain plum dress, shrugging it on quickly. She had no time to lose. If she’d learned anything from her father’s involvement with the Brotherhood, it was that she could not afford to dally. She pulled on a pair of leather half boots and adjusted a brown chapeau on her head. Jolin latched the trunk close and grabbed it, moving for the door when she slammed hard into a wall.
A hard wall of masculine muscle, that is. She stumbled backwards and two large hands gripped her arms to steady her. Her eyes flew up to meet LeMark’s.
“Going somewhere?” he asked. His gaze narrowed on her trunk and then back at her.
Jolin angled her chin. “I cannot very well stay here, now can I? For some reason, I believe what you said and I don’t wish to be here when another killer comes searching.”
He frowned, scars wrinkling. “You are far too trusting. We could be lying to you.”
“Well, I don’t think you are.” She moved to walk around him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of here.”
“I don’t think so.” The trunk was suddenly grabbed from her hand and she found herself being pulled back out into the front room where Sinclair stood sharpening his knife. Jolin’s jaw dropped and her heart battered against her chest.
“What are you doing?” She twisted to escape his firm grip. “Let me go. You will not get away with this. Let me--”
“Hush!” LeMark tossed the trunk down. “Hell, woman. You could talk a man to death.”
Sinclair sheathed his knife and slid it inside his boot, cocking a smile. This one was just as big as LeMark was but had much shorter red hair with sparkling hazel-green eyes. He was handsome, with squared jaws and a straight nose that seemed to have been broken at least twice.
“So, Miss Crymble,” Sinclair said, fingers massaging the beard at his chin. “I must say, I didn’t think you had it in you. It was a spectacular show you put on for the constable.”
She drew herself up to her full five-feet-six-inches and eyed them indignantly. Not that it mattered. She would have to crane her neck all the way back to look either of them in the eye. At her height, the top of her head barely reached their chests. “There are many a things you do not know about me.” She then glared at LeMark. “Will you let me go, now?”
He tossed her arm as if she was some rag doll and she rubbed the area gingerly. The man was truly a beast to manhandle her so.
“I’m afraid you are not going anywhere, madam,” Sinclair continued. “At least not by yourself. We shall head out to Iqa City immediately and you are coming with us.”
Jolin didn’t miss the disapproving grumble that came from LeMark. “I’m not going anywhere with you two. I might believe you when you say you no longer wish to harm my father but I surely do not trust you with my virtue.”
Sinclair cocked an amused brow and LeMark snorted. Jolin bristled.
“Your virtue, as you so put it, hardly interests me,” LeMark drawled. “And you will come with us, kicking or screaming. Then again, I will enjoy putting a gag on you.”
Her hand went flying before she could stop it and Jolin felt her wrist twist backwards, not to truly harm her but maybe to remind her of the man’s strength. A whimper flew past her lips and she found herself on tiptoes as a tingle of pain shot up her arm. Her eyes widened and LeMark stepped closer, his wide chest in her face.
“What do we do with women who enjoy hitting men twice their size, Sinclair?” There was a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes but Jolin did not share in the emotion at all. At the moment, she was feeling a sharp urge to ease her bladder.
“We kiss them senseless,” Sinclair quipped.
Her eyes flew to his and then back to LeMark’s. “No.” She knew her bottom lip trembled but there was no way in hell she was allowing either of them to put their mouths on her. “Over my dead body, you oaf!”
She used her free hand to lift her skirts and then raised her right knee, releasing it in the direction of his groin. LeMark stiffened and her eyes grew wide. She glanced down to see his fist closing over her knee. When she looked up again, his eyes were stormy. Jolin gulped.
“Hand me your kerchief,” he muttered to Sinclair, though his furious eyes never left hers. Oh, she was good as dead now.
“Do not--” Her voice was instantly silenced as she found herself being spun and a thick cloth was being tied tightly over her mouth. She fought as best as she could but he was too strong for her. She felt him yank her arms behind her and before she knew it, she was being bound like a common thief. Jolin was then shoved hard to Sinclair and he lifted her, tossing her like a sack of hay over his shoulder.
She pounded on his back to no avail and gasped as he headed out the door, LeMark’s footsteps echoing behind them.
* * *
Tethran fumed as he directed his stallion across the plain five miles outside Dumbar, taking extra care not to irritate his newfound injury with the trunk before him. The woman was a hellion, that’s what she was. A goddamn wild mare in need of a fierce taming. Sucking in a sharp breath he glanced at Sinclair who held her stiffly in his arms on his own horse. The wench had finally stopped kicking. Blowing out a harsh breath, he glanced up to the starry sky. The moon had risen high, bearing the full force of its brightness. But they’d been travelling for two hours now and would have to make camp soon. The journey would have to continue at dawn.
“There.” He pointed to an area where a cluster of trees stood. It was thick enough to provide protection and was adequately isolated, giving them time to ward off anyone who dared approach.
“I think the missus is sleeping,” Sinclair huffed, clearly uncomfortable with holding the woman. “Either that or she’s one splendid actress, and I wouldn’t want my balls to be her next target.”
Frowning, Tethran picked up pace, not wanting to be reminded of the incident. Quite frankly, he didn’t know why Sinclair had offered to take her with them. He would have left the spitfire right where she had been. Or at least, that was what he tried to convince himself. Shifting, he tried not to recall the way she had felt in his arms. Soft and supple; her womanly curves undeniably full and well-formed. The fact that he could have--if he’d looked just hard enough--seen straight through her nightgown only had made matters much worse. Hell, he had almost devoured those delectable lips had she not made her temper known and aimed for his groin. That such knowledge only made him want her even more, was as crazy a feeling as ever.
He huffed out a breath as th
ey approached their resting spot. What Tethran needed was some cold water to douse himself in. Maybe that would ease the need currently broiling in his loins. But something told him not even that would be enough.
SIX
Jolin woke with a start, her body aching all over. Groaning, she made an effort to turn but bumped into something solid to her right. Eyes flying wide open, they welcomed nothing but an ocean of blackness. Where-- Something snapped to her left and she scrambled back to her right, strong arms welcoming her. She stiffened.
“I suggest you remain still, madam. It is only Sinclair returning from a piss,” came the deep voice she knew to be LeMark’s. His warm breath fanned out across her face. She opened her mouth to scream but he cut her off swiftly. “And if you’re thinking to scream so close to my ear, I also suggest you think better of it. I very much appreciate my ability to hear.”
The Strength of Baffin Page 4
