“Drop it,” Stratford ordered.
She tossed the oar into the bottom of the boat with a clatter.
Stratford whirled me around to face the water and the other vessel now inching toward us. “I said stop right there. Or I’ll put a bullet through her skull.”
I sucked in a breath and forced it out again. The world around me seemed suddenly fuzzy, and I knew I had to stay conscious if I was going to survive this ordeal. Passing out was not an option. I had to calm my rampaging heart. The bite of the chain of my mother’s pendant against my skin from where it snagged between Stratford’s arm and my body helped to sharpen my senses.
“Let her go,” I heard Gage order harshly. I blinked open my eyes to find him aiming a pistol toward me. I knew that it was meant to be pointed at Stratford, as was the gun held by another man standing in the boat, but I could not help feeling unnerved to have three weapons pointed at me.
“I think not,” Stratford answered calmly—too calmly, for my taste. “Not unless you want her brains splattered all over this boat’s stern.”
My stomach pitched violently at the threat.
Gage’s face tightened, and his gaze dipped to meet mine. I almost wished he hadn’t, for I could see genuine fear shining in the depths of his eyes, and I had a terrible suspicion it was for me. It was not the least reassuring. “What do you want, Stratford?” he asked the earl.
“That’s a dangerous question,” Stratford replied, his words gusting past my ear as the boat rocked beneath our feet. “How about instead I settle for telling you what is going to happen next.” Against my hair, the muscles of his cheek pulled upward in a nasty smile. “You, Lord Cromarty, and the others are going to head back to Gairloch Castle while the ladies and I continue on our way.”
Celeste sobbed.
“And if we don’t?” Gage challenged.
“Then Lady Darby dies, here and now.”
I stiffened, knowing his threat to be real.
Philip murmured something behind Gage, who shushed him. “How do we know you won’t harm Lady Darby if we do what you say?”
“You don’t.” Stratford sounded amused with himself. “My way, there’s a chance she might survive. Your way, there isn’t.”
I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter lump of fear in the back of my throat. There was no way out of this without using the knife. It was ironic to think that only four days ago, I had assured myself that even though I had never held a knife, I would be able to wield one if the need ever arose. Well, that need was now.
If they let him go, Stratford intended to kill us no matter what he told Gage. I was certain of it. And if they refused, he would shoot me and at least one more person before likely being shot in turn. Either way, I would die. And I didn’t want to. Not yet. Not like this. Not when I had wasted so much time hiding. I finally felt brave enough to live again, but if I did nothing now, I might never have the chance.
I blinked open my eyes to look into Gage’s beautiful pale blue ones. He looked so frightened, so uncertain of what his next course of action should be. And I could lift that burden from him. I only hoped that if something went wrong, he knew how much he meant to me, how much I cared. How much more than a shallow golden lothario I now saw when I looked at him.
“What will it be?” Stratford demanded, tightening his arm across my chest.
I knew what I had to do.
The knife felt awkward and slippery between my hands. I struggled to rotate it without dropping it, cutting myself, or tipping off Stratford to its presence. Gage’s eyes dipped, catching the movement, and widened with a look of absolute horror. He shook his head slightly, telling me to stop. But I would not heed. I could not heed.
Offering up a silent prayer, I shifted my arms to the side. “There is one other way, you know?” I felt Stratford shift so that he could look down at me, but I only had eyes for Gage. “My way!” The last emerged as more of a grunt as I drove my hands backward with all my might, sinking the blade deep into Stratford’s abdomen. Warm blood coated my fingers, and the sickening squelch of torn flesh rent the night air.
Stratford howled and knocked me off balance as he reached down to grip the knife. A gun fired, and another answered. I tumbled forward, and unable to catch myself, I plummeted over the side of the boat into the icy water.
The bitter cold drove the air from my lungs, and a stabbing pain in my side momentarily made the world go dark. When I opened my eyes, I could no longer see the faint light of the moon or tell which way was up or down. The sodden weight of my skirts wrapped around my legs. I panicked, kicking wildly, trying desperately to propel myself in the direction I thought was up. My lungs burned and my eyes stung from the salt water. I tugged and thrashed, trying to loosen my bindings, but they would not come undone. I could not break free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The world around me went quiet, and a tingling sensation washed up over my skin. I couldn’t kick anymore. Then something warm touched my shoulder and wound its way under my arm. I couldn’t tell whether it was friend or foe, but it was pulling me along behind it, I hoped toward the surface. My mind began to darken, blurring at the edges, and I struggled to remain conscious.
When my head broke the surface, I gasped, pulling in as much of the cool air as my lungs could hold. It sawed in and out of me, sharp and sweet, ambrosia on my tongue. The haze around my vision began to fade, and my hearing returned with a ringing in my ears accompanied by the sound of slapping waves. Too weak to do anything myself, I leaned into the warmth behind me and just breathed. My chest burned, and my side ached terribly, but I was breathing. I was alive.
I blinked open my eyes, trying to understand, and peered up into Gage’s face. “Kiera,” he panted, his chest heaving from the exertion it must have taken to pull me to the surface. “Were you hit? Are you bleeding?” One arm held me tightly to the solid heat of his chest while his other hand moved quickly over my limbs and torso.
“I don’t think so,” I mumbled, having difficulty feeling anything at the moment beyond the warmth of his body and the tingling cold of the water. Even the throbbing in my side, and on my cheekbone where Stratford had struck me, seemed muted. My eyes drifted shut, too tired to stay open. “W-what about y-you?” I stammered.
His fingers combed through my hair, probing my scalp for lacerations. “I’m fine. But we’ve got to get you out of this water.” I could hear the worry in his voice. “Over here,” he called. “I’ve got her.”
I heard the rumble of voices and the slap of oars in the water and opened my eyes to see one of the boats moving toward us. Gage’s hand cupped my jaw, and I flinched when his thumb brushed across the bruise on my cheekbone from where Stratford had struck me. His eyes hardened, and a muscle twitched in his jaw as he turned my face toward him so that he could view the contusion better.
“Is S-Stratford . . . ?”
“Dead?” he finished for me. “Yes. And if he wasn’t, I would wrap my fist around his throat and choke the life out of him.”
A stronger wave rolled into us, splashing into my face. I blinked and blew the water from my mouth, tasting the salt on my lips. “And L-Lady Stratford and her m-maid?”
“They’re safe.”
“And Philip?”
Gage’s eyes warmed. “Cromarty,” he yelled, never taking his eyes from me.
“Yes?”
At the sound of Philip’s voice, I relaxed even deeper into Gage’s arms. I wished my arms were unbound. I wanted to wrap them around his neck.
Gage lifted me higher against his shoulder, as if reading my mind. “Kiera wants to know whether you’re alive?”
If I’d had the energy, I would have narrowed my eyes at the inappropriateness of his humor.
“Kiera, I’m still breathing,” Philip hollered back, his voice tinted w
ith relief.
I turned into Gage’s shoulder and pressed my forehead against his cheek. He was so warm, so nice. I inhaled deeply. And he smelled so good—musky and briny, albeit a bit fishy. But I didn’t care about that as long as he held me close like this.
Gage’s fingers wrapped gently around my nape and pulled my head back. I resisted at first, not wanting to leave the cozy nook in his shoulder, but I didn’t have the will or the energy to fight him.
“Kiera,” he murmured. “Kiera, I need you to open your eyes.”
I sighed and forced them open, knowing that the concerned tone of his voice should mean something. I just didn’t know what.
“Kiera, I need you to stay with me.”
I tried to nod, but I couldn’t seem to make the muscles in my neck work.
“Kiera.” His callused thumb brushed over the pulse at the side of my throat, making it flutter. “Can you stay with me?”
I smiled, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made me feel pleasantly fuzzy inside.
His warm mouth pressed to my forehead and then my nose. And then, with a sweetness of sincerity, to my lips. My heart stuttered in my chest, and a shiver worked through my frame. When he pulled back, my teeth began to chatter. I wished he would put his warm lips back on mine.
Light suddenly pierced the darkness around us, and I blinked and shied away, blinded by the source.
“There they are,” I heard Philip call out. “A little farther to the right.”
My eyes adjusted enough to see Philip leaning over the prow of the dinghy, holding a lantern. The small craft pulled up alongside us, and he handed the light to someone behind him and reached out to pull me aboard. With help from another man and Gage, he was able to hoist me up onto the boat.
Philip helped me sit on one of the benches and settled a blanket around my shoulders while Gage pulled himself back onto the boat. “Kiera, are you hurt?” Philip asked, leaning down to look in my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. Now that I was seated, my side throbbed. I twisted, trying to gesture to it. Philip’s gaze dropped, and I knew that something was wrong. But I couldn’t seem to care. I just wanted to lie down, to close my eyes. It took too much effort to stay upright.
I heard him call Gage over, and the two men studied my side, all the while forcing me to stay seated.
“Kiera, we need you to keep your eyes open,” Gage told me.
I shook my head.
“Kiera, you have to keep your eyes open.”
I shook my head again, confused why he was asking this of me.
He shook me and called my name, but it seemed so very far away. I couldn’t understand. I didn’t want to understand. And then there was nothing.
• • •
I woke to the sensation of fingers brushing through my hair, and for a moment I thought I merely dozed. That I was still floating in the water with Gage’s strong hands probing my head for wounds. But the ground below me was far too steady, and my body was much too dry and warm. Oh, how toasty and warm I was. I breathed deeply. The scents of lavender and chamomile were so much lovelier than the briny loch water. I blinked open my eyes to find my sister staring down at me.
“Hello, dearest,” she murmured softly. Tiny teardrops flecked her lashes.
I glanced around me, trying to absorb the fact that I truly was lying in my bed in my room and not being tossed about in the choppy loch. Sun streamed in through the windows behind Alana, and birds chirped outside.
“What happened?” I asked, pushing up on my elbows. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth as pain shot up my left side.
She leaned forward to push me back down. “Stratford’s bullet grazed your side,” she replied, answering the most apparent interpretation of my question.
“He shot me?” I gasped in confusion.
She nodded. “You lost a great deal of blood, but the bullet did not lodge in your side or cause any injury to your tissues or organs. The physician assured us you wouldn’t suffer any permanent damage.”
I wrinkled my brow, trying to remember when Stratford had fired at me. “It must have happened when I fell into the water,” I decided.
Alana fussed with my pillows. “That’s what Mr. Gage said.”
I stilled her hand and forced her to look me in the eye. Her mouth tightened with emotion, and I pulled her head down next to mine, wanting her close. She wept tears I could not yet summon but knew would come later—tears of relief and loss and frustration. For now, I could but hold my sister close and share what comfort I could, soaking it in as well.
Her tears quickly spent, she sniffled and lifted her head, searching the nightstand for a handkerchief. She sank back in her chair and dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me,” she mumbled through her stuffy nose.
I squeezed her hand. “There is nothing to forgive,” I replied, and rushed on before she could protest. “Now tell me what happened? How did I get back to the castle?”
“Mr. Gage carried you.” Her eyes darkened with remembered fear. “You were unconscious and so very cold.” She swallowed. “We all feared the worst.”
I recalled hazily the moments in the water before they pulled me into the boat—the extreme fatigue, the warmth of Gage’s body, the kiss—but my memory faded to almost nothing after Philip settled the blanket over my shoulders. To be honest, I wasn’t even certain whether any of the events I recollected after falling into the water actually happened. I stared up at the deep cobalt blue of my canopy. I wondered if I would ever know whether Gage had actually kissed me.
“So they brought me back to the castle and you summoned the physician?”
She nodded. “I sent for him as soon as I heard Philip and Mr. Gage had gone looking for you. I know you don’t like Dr. Gunn, dear, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“It’s all right,” I tried to interject.
“We wouldn’t let him bleed you. I know how archaic you believe that procedure.”
I squeezed her hand, cutting her off. “Alana, it’s all right. I understand. Whatever he did could not have been so bad. I’m still alive, am I not?” I tried to joke.
She frowned. “Yes, well, it was a near thing. If Gage and Lucy and I had not gotten you warm so very quickly it might have been too late.”
My chest tightened hearing the distress in her voice. “I’m sure. I’m sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t jest about such a thing.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” She turned away to fuss with the items littering the top of my nightstand. She handed me a glass of water and ordered me to drink, which I did gladly.
I peered over the rim of the glass at her. “You’ve emerged from the nursery,” I said, remembering her self-imposed exile. I’d promised Philip I would coax her down from the fourth floor, but I hadn’t exactly intended to do so in such a drastic manner.
“Yes, well, somebody has to look after you. I had a terrible premonition all day yesterday that something bad was going to happen to you.”
“Alana,” I scolded gently.
She waved her hand at me. “I know, I know. There’s no way I could have known it would come true. But I shouldn’t have locked myself away like that just because I was afraid. Especially when I knew you needed me.”
“Your children needed you, too.” I couldn’t stand for her to take any of the blame upon herself for what had happened to me. “Besides, I should have at least told Philip where I was going,” I reluctantly admitted. “Even if I thought he might try to stop me.”
“Well . . .” she folded her arms across her chest “. . . don’t admit that to Philip.”
I stared at her in shock, and her face creased into a reluctant smile. I started to laugh, but the movement pulled at the wound in my side too much.
Alana reached
over to help settle me more comfortably. “The man can be insufferable. And you’re right, he would have stopped you, and then where would we be? Or perhaps a more pertinent question: Where would Lady Stratford and her maid be? At the bottom of the loch, I’d wager, instead of Lord Stratford.”
“Is he really?”
She nodded her head once sharply in satisfaction. “Sir Graham shot him straight through the head. He toppled out of the boat, and the search parties have yet to find his body.” She shrugged. “We might never find it.”
“Who is Sir Graham?”
“Sir Graham Fraser.” She took the glass from my hand and poured me another drink of water. “He’s the procurator fiscal from Inverness. He met up with Mr. Gage on the road from Drumchork yesterday evening.” She handed me the cup. “They must have arrived not long after Lord Stratford kidnapped you. If they had ridden into Gairloch but a few minutes earlier, they might have encountered Lord Stratford leading you three ladies from the carriage house.”
I dismissed the comment, knowing it would do no good to dwell on what-ifs.
“They found poor Beowulf and Grendel drugged near the door to the stables.”
“Oh, no! Are they all right?”
“Never fear. The brutes are already recovered. Though I suspect they’ll be a bit more cautious of taking food from a stranger in the future.”
I wasn’t so certain of that. The two wolfhounds were rather fond of filling their bellies. “How are Lady Stratford and Celeste?”
“Resting. Both relatively unharmed, just a bit shaken.”
That seemed a huge understatement, especially in Lady Stratford’s case. It wasn’t every day that your husband framed you for murder and then tried to kill you. But I didn’t argue the point.
“And the guard?” I asked more hesitantly, remembering the odd positioning of his body in the doorway to the storage room.
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