by Paula Quinn
Emma’s was the first room he checked. He found it empty, though deep down he’d suspected that condition.
Giving away his position never crossed his mind as her name erupted from his mouth.
“Emma!”
Before leaving her room, he peered around the entry to make sure the hall was clear of any enemies. It was, but Newcastle was here. Malcolm could only hope that the others escaped before the baron had arrived.
“Show yerself, coward!” Malcolm challenged. “Come meet the man who will end yer life.”
Mary’s door, three down, clicked open and Mary stepped out. Someone was behind her, leading her which way to go. Malcolm knew who it was before he spotted the flash of silver from the dagger aimed at her throat.
“Ye hide behind women, Newcastle?” He laughed. “I’d heard ye were fearless and ferocious. Against children, mayhap.”
“I use women,” the baron corrected. “Watch.” He leaned down over Mary and traced the tip of his blade across her face, from ear to ear. “Tell me this man’s name or else I will skin you alive, from that sumptuous inside, out.”
“M’ name’s Malcolm Grant. Let her go.”
“His name, woman!” He pressed his dagger closer to her flesh.
“Malcolm Grant!” Mary cried out.
Newcastle smiled and convinced Malcolm of what kind of soul he was dealing with.
“Strange,” Newcastle snarled. “You don’t seem like a drunk to me. Tell me, Mary, which of the girls is he here to see?”
The baron heard the click of Malcolm’s pistol lock and looked up, away from Mary.
“Let her go or I’ll move ye m’self and then kill ye.”
The baron didn’t appear to sound too worried. “You sound like one of those Highlanders, Mr. Grant,” he said, holding Mary closer. “But that would mean my brother lied to me about everything.”
What brother? What the hell was he talking about?
“Perhaps you have the courage to tell me the truth. Are you simply curious about Miss Grey’s blindness? Or do your feelings run deeper?”
“What does Emma have to do with anything? Where is she? Where are the others?” he demanded.
“Harry Grey is asleep in his room, I suspect. Miss Grey is on her way to Newcastle where she will become my wife—”
Malcolm’s smile was a promise of utter destruction. “She can’t wed a corpse.”
Newcastle grinned and continued. “And a young man she seems quite fond of—a Mr. Fletcher—”
“Sebastian Fletcher?” Malcolm breathed.
The baron gave him a pointed, curious look. “My brother, Sebastian Winther,” he corrected. “Cailean Fletcher. As I was saying…”
Satan’s scorched balls, he had Cailean too! Malcolm would get them back if he had to kill every Winther in England—including Sebastian. Hell, Fletcher was the baron’s brother. He’d been sent here to spy. It was all too much to take in. For now, he had to focus on Emma and Cailean.
“I’m goin’ to kill ye,” Malcolm promised him.
The baron smiled. It did nothing to soften his features but rather, it made him look even more dangerous. “Like you killed Andrew? Tell me, was it you and that Fletcher lad who did it?”
“I’ve killed many. Andrew Winther doesna’ stand oot in m’ head.”
The baron’s slow, sinuous smile was chilling. “I will find out.”
“Unfortunately fer ye,” Malcolm corrected, “ye’ll be dead soon and there will be nothin’ ye can do aboot it.”
“We shall see.” Newcastle pushed Mary forward and took off back into her room.
Malcolm caught her, made sure she wasn’t hurt, and then disappeared into the room next.
The baron was gone. The shutters pushed open on the window proved his cowardice. Malcolm spread his gaze over the front yard but saw no movement. Rushing back out, he discovered from Mary that Gunter, Brianne, Alison, and some others had escaped. She didn’t know where they were.
Malcolm swore on his dash down the stairs. He’d told Sebastian Winther that he killed Andrew. He told him about Skye. He was going to kill him. He had to. No enemy could ever know how to find Camlochlin. The MacGregor name was outlawed. There were none left on the mainland and sympathizers were hung along with their stubborn brothers at arms.
Malcolm had put his kin in danger. He had to fix it. But first he had to get Emma and Cailean back.
He left the brothel, listening to the sounds of the night. He’d find the baron here or on the way to Newcastle. It didn’t matter. He had to get to him before the baron got to Emma and Cailean.
He thought about killing the Winther brothers. But something didn’t sit right with him. If Sebastian was sent to spy, why didn’t Oliver Winther know anything, like him and Cailean were brothers, for instance?
Movement to his left. He swung around and pointed his pistol into the gray, muted light of the moon. Until the clouds passed, he couldn’t see a thing. He closed his eyes. The blood of ancient warriors flowed through his veins. When the elders made the lads and lasses of Camlochlin learn to fight blindfolded, none of them complained. Not if you wanted to live in a fight—and Highlanders liked to fight.
“Ye reveal yer fear of me, Winther,” Malcolm whispered.
The baron’s heavy breath made it easy to find his position. Malcolm lifted his blade and blocked a strike to his head. That one being the last to threaten his vitals, Malcolm overpowered him and delivered a blow to the face that sounded like his nose was cracked.
Malcolm prepared for the next round but Winther was gone.
“Is this yours?”
Malcolm turned to the voice and found the moon clear of clouds and spilling an ominous glow over the small meadow behind the brothel. For a moment, he saw no movement, but then he spotted her. A woman running toward him. Her hair was dark. Alison? No, darker.
Leslie.
He broke free of the shadows of the brothel and took off toward her. What the hell was she still doing here?
A shot rang out!
Leslie’s body jerked, then began to go down. Behind her, the baron stood a few feet away, smoking pistol in hand.
No! Malcolm ran harder, his sword held over his head. He didn’t stop when Newcastle held up another pistol and fired into the upper left side of Malcolm’s chest. Pain lanced throughout his entire body and kicked him back… and almost down. He didn’t know how, but he kept running. Emma and Cailean counted on him not to give up. Once they arrived at The Castle Keep it would be harder to save them.
Instead of stopping to check on Leslie like the baron expected, Malcolm kept going and leaped into the air. He brought his sword down with him as his knees hit the ground, slicing a clean twelve-inch deep line down the baron’s face, chest, and belly.
Was it deep enough? How much time would it buy him? Hell, he thought, watching the baron rise up, strong enough to take a step toward him, unsteady or not. It wouldn’t buy him much.
“You’ve impressed me, Grant,” the baron said, holding his blade against Malcolm’s throat while blood soaked the front of his clothes. “Most men don’t. I’m surrounded by submission, fear, surrender, all of it, all the time. But there are a few who aren’t afraid. You are one of them. No, you are more! You fought me in the dark! Will you teach me how to do that?”
“Winther.” Malcolm pulled himself up. He wasn’t sure how much damage he could inflict while losing so much blood. A little lower and the pistol ball would have gone through his heart. But it didn’t. He was alive and he was planning on staying that way. “I want ye to understand this. I dinna’ give a rat’s unholy arse what ye’re surrounded by, or who’s afraid of ye. I’m not, and if ye weren’t afraid of me, ye’d leave me alive to fight another day.”
“I fear nothing,” the baron confirmed.
“Prove it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
You’re going to have to speak to me sooner or later.”
Emma kept her eyes straight ahead while Sebastian trotted his hor
se beside hers, leading her by her mare’s reins. “Later, would be just fine,” she said. “Never would be better.”
“I lied to him for you,” Sebastian reminded her, his voice too kind and sweet to belong to a Winther. “He has a terrible temper and could have hanged me.”
“But he didn’t hang you, Sebastian! He stayed behind at the brothel, demanding the attention of Mary and Jane. He will very likely meet up with Malcolm. What do you think Malcolm will do when he finds his brother and I have been taken to Newcastle?”
“It’ll likely be bloodier than either of ye realize.”
Emma spun around on her horse at the sound of Cailean’s voice. He’d awakened, thank God. When they’d left Hebburn, he was tossed, unconscious, over a saddle, limp and lifeless. She was so happy to listen to him maneuver himself around until he straddled the saddle properly.
“Is Alison with us?” was his first question to her.
“No. She remained hidden, I’m assuming with Gunter and Brianne.”
Relief flowed from the breath he exhaled.
“How do you feel?” she asked, waiting for him to lead his mount to her.
“No’ too bad considerin’ I canna’ feel m’ head or face.”
She turned back to Sebastian and vowed that if he refused her she would never forgive him. “Perhaps we could stop somewhere? I could prepare something to ease Cailean’s pain.”
“Ah, the traitor rides with us,” Cailean accused Sebastian. “I assume we’re going to Newcastle then, prisoners of his mad brother.”
“I warned you to hide, did I not?” Sebastian countered.
“Enough!” Emma held up her hands. “Cailean, do you truly want to fight someone who will likely punch you in the face?”
“I wouldn’t fight him in his condition, Emma,” Sebastian corrected her. “I’m not a barbarian.” He sounded insulted, genuinely cut to the quick.
Though Malcolm filled her thoughts, Emma felt like smiling, just for a moment. “I’m relieved to hear that, Sebastian.”
“Is an hour enough time?” he asked.
“No, but I won’t refuse it.”
They stopped at the next town they came to and got a room at an inn. Emma helped Cailean to a chair and turned to Sebastian. “I need opium preparations.”
He laughed. “Where am I supposed to find a merchant who sells opium preparations?”
“Ask around,” she told him. “You’re a Winther. Push your weight around a little.”
She was surprised when he did as she asked with nothing more than a muffled oath.
“Emma?”
She turned to Cailean’s voice, then hurried to his side. His face needed to be cleaned and prepared for some bandaging.
“Why were ye smilin’ at that traitor?”
“He’s done everything in his power to protect us from his brother. I don’t think he’s a traitor. I think he’s genuinely sorry that his brother found us.”
“Then why does he no’ let us go? His brother isna’ here.”
“Where will we go? You cannot protect me with your eyes half sealed shut. Even if we stay here at this inn, the instant anyone knows I’m blind and I have little protection…”
“All right, I understand,” Cailean stopped her. “I can still fight.”
“Of course you can,” she assured him indulgently.
She cleaned his face and the wounds that covered it and told him everything that had happened since he was knocked out. She told him her fears that Malcolm had returned to the brothel and found the baron there.
“Malcolm will kill him and come to us, lass.”
Oui, that was what was going to happen. He was correct. His brother knew him better than anyone else, didn’t he?
She’d never touched Cailean’s face before. She did now, liking his resemblance to Malcolm, though his forehead was higher, his eyes wider apart, and the deep, permanent dimple in his chin gave him a beautifully innocent face, while there was nothing innocent about his brother.
When she raised her hand to his cheek and felt him smiling, she pulled away.
Sebastian returned less than a quarter of an hour later with a small satchel and a little brown bottle. She didn’t ask questions but set about working on the right mixture. While she prepared Cailean’s painkiller, she listened to his conversation with Sebastian.
“Ye claim to want to help,” Cailean was saying. “Is that why ye told yer brother that I was a Fletcher?”
“Yes, John told Oliver that two Highlanders traveling together killed Andrew. Two Highlander brothers were most likely traveling together. Do you agree?”
Cailean nodded. Sebastian was clever and did what he did to save them.
“Why?” she asked him.
“What?”
“Why do you protect them if you believe they killed your brother?”
“I don’t know who killed Andrew. But it wasn’t Malcolm.”
“How do you know?” Cailean asked him.
“Because he claims to have shot my brother. But Andrew wasn’t shot.”
“How did he die then?” Cailean put to him. “Blade?”
“I can’t say. It’s the only way we’ll know if we have the true killer.”
“Then tell your brother that!” she demanded. “Tell him ’twasn’t Malcolm and demand that he let us go!”
“And if it was Cailean who killed Andrew?”
“It doesn’t stop you from helping him now, Sebastian. So I ask again, why?”
“I like them,” he admitted.
“How can we trust ye?” Cailean asked.
Sebastian was quiet for a bit. Emma heard him shifting in his seat. “I will tell you both something that will get many killed if Oliver finds out. That’s how you will know you can trust me.”
“What is it?” Emma asked while she prepared Cailean’s tea.
“Dunston.”
“In Gateshead?” Cailean asked.
Sebastian nodded. He told them how the people of Dunston tried to help raise him and his brothers after their mother died and their father left them. “Oliver sent me there recently to quell a small uprising. He thinks I stopped it by killing the instigators.”
“And did you?” Emma asked him quietly.
“No, I did not. My family lives in Dunston.”
“Yer family?” Cailean asked him, taking his tea and sipping it. “There are Winthers in Dunston too?”
Sebastian shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice went softer, lower. “Fletchers. My true father, Samuel Fletcher. He was my mother’s lover twenty-one years ago. I have two half brothers who are nothing like Oliver.”
“Does the baron know?”
“No, Emma, he does not. I don’t speak of them. Ever. If he knew…” He paused and drew out a long, worried sigh. “Hell, there are so many reasons he’d want them dead. And when Oliver wants you dead, you usually end up that way. He thinks I’m a savage like him. He takes pride in it. So there you are. I’m telling you this so you’ll trust me. Sam Fletcher is a good man and he taught me to recognize other good people when I meet them. That’s why I didn’t kill Malcolm or Cailean when Bess told me they killed Andrew. Andrew wasn’t a good man.”
“Ye have m’ word that I shall never tell… Whatever ye fed me is… quite amazing. The pain is gone and I feel rather good.”
“Good enough to ride?” Sebastian asked from the doorway. He was eager to get back on the road.
She helped Cailean to his feet and waited until he was steady.
“I’m good enough to go,” he murmured with a quirk of his mouth.
“I trust you, Sebastian.” Emma stopped him at the door. “And I’m grateful to you for not…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Forgive me,” she said quietly, head low. “I worry about Malcolm. My heart is so lost to him I fear I could not go on without him. If the baron has hurt him… if Malcolm is… and Harry, my own brother.” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut to stop from crying.
Sebastian took her hand. “I
’ll do everything I can to protect all of you.”
Would Sebastian keep his word? He’d come to the brothel as a spy for his deranged brother, who tried to kidnap her! He’d had them all fooled by being pleasant, seemingly honest, and very likable. But he hadn’t told Oliver anything or Cailean would be dead now.
Which he was almost about to be again.
Cailean hadn’t taken five steps through the inn, half his head bandaged and a smile on his face, when six men tried to rob him.
Sebastian decided to stop them and disappeared from her side. In an instant he was gone, leaving her with the sound of a scuffle, the clash of blades, and bodies hitting the floor.
She took Gascon by his scruffy neck and started toward Cailean to make certain he was all right.
“Stay there!” Sebastian called to her. “I’ll come and get you.”
She ignored him and let Gascon maneuver her around the bodies.
When she reached Cailean, he assured her he was untouched. “He had all six doun in half a breath fer each,” he told her, verifying what she suspected. “Ye’re fast,” he said when Sebastian came near to escort them the rest of the way out.
“Oliver Winther is my brother. I learned early how to fight to stay alive.”
They stepped out of the inn and Emma reached her hand out to Sebastian, stopping him. “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother, Andrew.”
“You have my thanks.” He lifted her hand from his arm and held it to his lips. “You’re the only person who has said it, though I understand why others have not. And Emma?”
“Oui?”
“I’m sorry about Harry.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Malcolm tried to open his eyes but his eyelids hurt like hell. He groaned and tried to turn over in his bed but the pain in his sides was too great.
His bed?
He was in the brothel? How did he get here? He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in Emma’s room. A lass was crying. Emma! He spoke her name, not recognizing the gruff, weak voice meeting his ears. He tried to get out of bed, but the pain lanced through his body like a hundred swords. Someone pushed him back down gently.
