by Paula Quinn
He picked fights with Oliver less often, not completely.
“You won’t tell me who I can or cannot sleep with.” The challenge in the baron’s voice was unmistakable. “I please the eye, Bastian, and sooner or later, they all give in to the beast,” he said with arrogance, besting his anger as he cupped his groin.
“Miss Grey will be no exception.”
Emma turned away from him, rather than laugh directly in his face.
“They all want a bit of me when they see me naked,” he continued his defense to his brother. “But if a bit is more than their weak souls can handle, and they run weeping from my room, that is no fault of mine.”
“Mine,” said Emma, without turning back to him, “is no weak soul.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, somehow making it sound like a promise.
Or a threat.
Emma didn’t give a rat’s flea-bitten arse how pleasing to the eye he was! She didn’t care if he was feared from Newcastle to Durham. If he had even a smidgen of a thought of winning her favor—or not—and taking her to his bed, she needed to vanquish it now.
She turned, boldly, to face him. She wouldn’t blush now. “I know what you want in your bed, my lord. You want a wildcat who will give as good as she gets. Well, that will never be me. I will lie as if dead the entire time, just to spite you.”
She called softly to Gascon and began to leave the room.
“Tomorrow, Miss Grey,” the baron called out, slowing her pace. “Show me how your dog leads you so you don’t stumble.”
Her blood ran cold. What if he wanted Gascon? What if he took him? Oh, she had too many reasons to poison him! It was beginning to look more and more like she was going to have to do it. Where was Malcolm? She prayed he wasn’t dead. Why hadn’t he come?
“There’s no one like you, Emma.”
She stopped and turned on her heel at the sound of Sebastian’s voice.
“That’s how you’ve won the hearts of men who didn’t know they had them. Malcolm; my brother. You must stop being so different, at least, while you are here. You don’t anger Oliver, not even when you threaten him. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it. But it will continue to make him want you more.”
She knew he was trying to protect her. He was correct in what he said, and she certainly didn’t want to make the baron want her more. But she didn’t have a choice.
“I’m keeping Cailean and me alive, Sebastian. As long as he’s interested, he’ll keep me around until Malcolm gets here.”
He remained quiet for a little while and then agreed. She was thankful that he didn’t try to tell her Malcolm wasn’t coming. “I’ll do my best to be submissive and weepy.”
“He won’t believe it.”
“He will if I tell him my emotions are due to my shattered heart that Malcolm has forgotten me.”
“I don’t believe that’s true,” he told her, kind to her to the end. He could have said anything to make Malcolm out to be the worst kind of coward.
“Neither do I,” she told him. “That’s why I’m going to kill your brother.”
“I can’t let you.”
A whiff of something caught her attention and nagged at her memory.
“Then you’ll have to kill me,” she told him.
She knew the scent. It was familiar. It made her stomach bundle into a knot, and the sound of the baron’s voice calling out to them from down the hall didn’t help.
“Ah, Eleanor with my basil, finally!” The baron let out a gusty sigh. “And enough for a month! For this, your family will eat well this month!”
“Are the headaches worse?” Sebastian asked his brother.
Basil.
Her mouth went dry. No. No, it couldn’t be.
“You chew basil to ease a headache,” she said, trying to sound impressed rather than terrified. “How clever. Where did you learn to do it?”
“There was an apothecary living in the town for many years,” the baron told her, taking up a place beside her, his breath fragranced with the sweet herb. “He first gave it to us in dried form for our tea. But Andrew discovered that chewing the raw leaves offered more comfort. His headaches were always worse and he ended up rubbing it in his scalp.”
Emma felt sick. She had to be away from them.
“When the apothecary ran out of the herb, Andrew killed him.”
She excused herself and turned to go but Sebastian followed her. “What is it?” he asked when they were far away from his brother.
“How did Andrew die, Sebastian?”
“I told you I can’t—”
“He wasn’t shot. You said so yourself. I suspect he wasn’t stabbed either since it’s not a strange enough way to die that only the killer would know.”
“Emma.” He tried to stop her but she kept going down the stairs. “Please tell me what is wrong?”
Cailean was kept in a room on the lowest landing, held captive but unharmed. She had to talk to him and tell him what she planned to do, since his life was at stake.
“Sebastian, you must let me in to Cailean’s room. I have to speak with him.” She finally stopped and wiped tears from her eyes.
“About what, Emma? What is it that upsets you so?”
She closed her eyes and said in a soft voice, “I think I killed Andrew.”
Malcolm rode at the head of his small group. The sun rose three hours ago, at about the same time as they’d rested the horses. If they needed to get away fast, the horses couldn’t be too tired to run. If they stopped now to rest the horses, they’d arrive in Newcastle in one hour. If he didn’t stop, they’d likely end up stranded in Newcastle for a day or two while the horses recuperated. The longer he was there, the more fights he’d have, and he was in no condition for a lot of fighting. His side still hurt like hell and he felt like someone was sticking a hot poker in his chest from the pistol ball wound.
“What’s the plan, Grant?” Gunter asked, riding at his flank and slowing with him.
“It hasn’t changed,” Malcolm replied. “Kill whoever is in the way. First though, give the horses a quarter of an hour before we head out again. They’re goin’ to need to be strong.”
Gunter nodded and rode back to the others, leaving him alone with Alison.
Malcolm turned to her and noted her red, swollen eyes. She looked almost as bad as he did. He let her catch up.
“He’s alive. I know it. I’ll bring him back,” he promised her again. “Cease yer cryin’, lass. All will be well.”
It had to be. He couldn’t have met the woman who fought her way under his skin and emerged victorious with his heart as the prize, only to lose her.
No, he pled with God; he would rather lose himself. Let him fall into forever with Emmaline Grey in his arms. No one but her. Let him surrender all for her, to her, his most cherished wife. He was humbled, torn asunder at the power of what he felt for her. Let him tell her. She made him dig deeper than his veneer and find the man he could be, if he chose to.
He chose to.
“Cailean is with Emma,” he reminded Alison, loving her as a sister because of how she loved his brother. Cailean would do well marrying her. “If he’s badly injured as ye say he appeared to be when they took him, there is no one I’d rather him be with then Emma.”
Alison nodded. “I agree.”
Finally a smile.
“She’s more resilient than she looks.”
“Aye.” He smiled back. “She is.”
“I… I just can’t stop the thought of him…” Tears filled her eyes once again. When he tried to offer her words of encouragement, she held up her palm. “I haven’t been at this business long, but I’ve been at it. I never thought a man like him would ever love me. I wasn’t prepared.”
He nodded his head. “Neither was I.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Unlike Gascon and Cailean, Emma didn’t make a sound of protest when Sebastian pulled open Cailean’s door and pushed her inside.
; “What are ye doin’, Sebastian?” Cailean asked him, coming to her aid should she need it. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Tell him,” Sebastian told her as she fell against the wall after he shut the door.
That’s what she came here to do. “I think I killed Andrew Winther,” she told Malcolm’s brother.
“No.” He voice was firm, dancing at the edge with fear. “No, Emma. Pistol balls, daggers, chairs, arrow, every damn thing was flyin’ that night. Ye were no’ even there, but locked away in yer room.”
“I was there, stranded in the middle of a violent fight, with no dog or no escort to see me back to my room. I carried no weapon in my hands but a wooden bowl of food for Gascon.”
“I’m not hearing this.”
Sebastian’s voice echoed in her ears. She couldn’t stop now. This was the only way to find out if she’d done it. Was Andrew Winther killed by a blow to the head? Was she proving her innocence or her guilt to Sebastian? She needed to know.
“A man came at me, and not willing to die or worse, I smashed the bowl over his head. He fell at my feet.”
“That means nothin’, lass.” Cailean came to her defense. “With nae dishonor to ye, ye dinna’ know what Andrew even looked like.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I know what he smelled like. Basil. He was covered in the scent of it.”
“Emma.” Sebastian drew in a ragged breath. “It was you all this time.”
“Winther, nae!” Cailean pulled her away. “’Twasn’t her.”
“It was,” Sebastian lamented.
A wave of dizziness came over her. It was her. The blow to his head had killed him, not a pistol ball or knife. The baron was going to kill her. Perhaps Sebastian would do it. What would become of Gascon? Would Malcolm care?
“I cannot offer you anything but my deepest regret concerning your brother,” she told him. “But he left me no other choice. I didn’t know I killed him, nor did I know he was your brother.”
She could hear him breathing. Short, shallow breaths. She’d killed his brother. He hated her and she didn’t blame him.
“Sebastian, I’m—”
The door opened. The baron stood on the other side and looked in. “Bastian, we have company.”
Emma’s heart leaped. Malcolm? Had he come? Her joy and relief quickly turned into dread. What if the baron killed him? What if Sebastian told his brother who really killed Andrew? Her heart thrashed and her mouth grew dry. Panic engulfed her so swiftly she grasped Gascon to keep her on her feet.
“Stay here,” Sebastian demanded quietly.
His brother had other plans. “No, she comes with us. Both of them do.”
It was Malcolm! It had to be! He came for her! She wouldn’t let him die. She followed the sound of the baron’s voice and let Gascon lead her to him. It was better if she came along. She could help Malcolm.
“Is it Grant?” Sebastian voiced what Emma was anxious to know for certain.
“No, it’s a man and a woman seeking directions to Sandgate Street. Come, Bastian, and tell me if they’re from Fortune’s Smile.” He smiled at his brother and crooked his finger at him. “I smell rats.”
A man and a woman? Who were they? Why would the baron suspect Malcolm because of their arrival? She was about to find out as she walked into the large castle front room, led by Gascon, with the Winther brothers in front and Cailean flanked at her side.
“As I told you, my lord.”
It was Gunter! Emma calmed herself to keep from reacting. More than likely Malcolm was somewhere close. She thought she could hear Cailean’s short, erratic breath, but it may have been her own. There was a plan under way and hers and Cailean’s behavior could save or destroy it. She slowed the pace of her heart. If there was one thing Emma knew how to do, it was survive. Cailean’s breath evened out with his next step. They wouldn’t fail.
Sebastian slowed his steps and caused Gascon to stop her. “Stay here.”
It wasn’t her or Cailean she worried about.
“My wife, Brianne, and I arrived from Sunderland about an hour ago and soon realized we were lost.”
Brianne. Breathe.
“What brings you from your safe home to Sandgate Street?” the baron asked Gunter.
“Pigs, my lord. I’m in need and was told of an excellent merchant here in Newcastle.”
“Pigs.” The baron turned the direction of his voice and laughed. “Is there anything you would like to ask, Sebastian?”
Emma stilled her shaking fingers but crossed her wrists behind her in case they moved again.
“Hmm, let me think.” Sebastian moved away from her and toward the couple. When he reached them, he turned back to his brother.
Or had he turned even farther right, to her? It was hard to tell.
Was he about to give them all up because of her? She bit her tongue to stop the burn of tears from stinging her eyes.
“You dragged me away from what I was doing because these two are from Sunderland, or because of pigs?” Before the baron could reply, Sebastian called for someone named Roger to escort these nice folks to Sandgate Street, and then he went to his brother. “He isn’t coming, Oliver. He felt the strength of your arm, and knowing you, the unabashed disregard you hold for body, mind, and spirit. And everyone who isn’t you,” he added, playfully.
“You know me well, brother.” The baron laughed with him.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not, Oliver. I only know what I see.”
“Then more’s the pity that you didn’t have Miss Grey teach you how to see without your eyes while you spent all that time with her in Hebburn.”
Sebastian was silent. Emma had the feeling he was looking down the hall at her.
Then, “You’re right about that, brother. I’d like to see what she sees. But regardless of all that, Grant doesn’t ever want to face you again. Like your many other enemies, he wouldn’t dare come against you a second time.”
“He wouldn’t live.”
“Why would a fool deserve to live?”
The baron laughed. “This is one of the many reasons I favor you, Bastian. That streak of violence and malice comes from our mother. Sadly, you’ve also inherited her disloyalty.”
Sebastian stopped. “What?”
“I know you betrayed me. I know it was Malcolm Grant and his brother, Cailean, who killed Andrew. I know they made Miss Grey tend to them until they were well. I know you met them and you knew they were brothers. You knew, and not only did you do nothing, you lied to me about them all this time, helping them just now by sending my best warrior, Roger, alone with the couple. You put your sword through my back, so now I must do the same to you.”
“Nae,” Cailean said, next to her. “Baron, dinna’—” He took off toward them.
Before Emma could think about what was happening between Sebastian and his brother, the foyer echoed with the sound of another rap on one of the front doors. The baron cursed through clenched teeth.
“Open it,” he ordered one of the guards on Sebastian. “And if it’s that couple again, kill them.”
Emma wanted to shout and give warning to whoever was on the other side. She kept silent, her attention torn between the door and the direction of Sebastian.
The door succeeded in winning her attention when the guard pulled it open and a booted foot kicked it the rest of the way, almost off its metal hinges.
Realizing what was going on, Cailean hurried her on her way down the hall to hide. She hated having to go, but she was no fool. She wouldn’t last long enough to succumb to fatigue.
She would be reunited with Malcolm upon his victory.
Malcolm didn’t see his brother escorting Emma down the hall. He knew, thanks to Gunter and Brianne, that she was here with Cailean. They were both safe and unharmed. This knowledge gave him renewed hope and vigor. He’d find her after he killed the baron. He hacked away with his sword, taking down two men, then another, as his eyes caught sight of Cailean dragging the younger, injured Winther down the hall and
out of the way of the melee.
Gunter slashed his giant blade across two men at once. Cailean returned and attacked the baron, going at him with strength and passion, but the baron was ready for each strike.
Finally, after finishing his game, he grasped Cailean to him and brought the tip of his blade to Cailean’s throat. “Grant!” he called to Malcolm, who was finishing the last of Winther’s personal guardsmen. More were coming. “This is for killing my brother.”
“No!” Emma’s voice rang out from the shadows just before she appeared with Gascon, her hands covered in blood.
The sight of her filled Malcolm with both joy and dread. She was safely away! What was she doing running back into the fray? Running straight for Winther!
“He didn’t kill Andrew,” she cried out, staying his hand.
“Emma, nae!” Cailean yelled, but she continued.
“I killed Andrew!” she shouted, hurrying to them. “I can prove it! I hit him over the head with a wooden bowl. Spare Cailean, my lord! He did nothing!”
Malcolm, like everyone else still alive in the front hall, went quiet, stunned by Emma’s confession. What? How? He remembered the man at her feet in the dining hall at Fortune’s Smile the night Andrew was killed. Killed by a wooden bowl.
Winther didn’t let Cailean go. He didn’t kill him either. “You?” he asked her, stunned disbelief and fury vying for dominance over his features.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Emma cried. “But Sebastian… He still lives. He—”
“Sebastian betrayed me for you,” he said softly, years of regret and weariness weighing down his voice. “I cannot say I blame him, Miss Grey.” He grew quiet again when he heard the click of Malcolm’s and Gunter’s pistols, both aimed at him.
Silence resounded off the wall, and then Winther shoved Cailean toward Malcolm and ran. He disappeared down the hall and through a long corridor of shadows. Malcolm let him go and ran to Emma.
“My love, my love.” He could say little else as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her face, her cheeks, her head, her lips. “We must hurry. More men are comin’. We must go.”
“No!” She shook her head. “Not without Sebastian. Malcolm, he’ll die here left alone. He didn’t betray me to his brother.”
