Chapter Twenty-Seven
Evelyn choked back the emotion scalding her throat. Gerard had promised to protect her. Now, the proud and courageous man had put his own neck on the line to save her.
Her limbs ached with fear that went bone deep. Fear for Sally, who’d been dragged into a dangerous scheme she’d had no part in creating. Fear for Gerard. If anything happened to him…she could not even bear the thought of it.
Mrs. Smythe stepped around Westbrook’s unconscious form. Staring down at him, she aimed her pistol and pulled the trigger.
Evelyn and Sally cried out in horror. The photographer’s body jerked and shuddered, then stilled.
“I really should thank you. The man was insufferable.” The assassin settled her aim on Gerard.
“Release the women.” Gerard’s low rasp was tinged with pain. He stood very still, his legs unsteady beneath his powerful body. His wound was taking its toll. It was a matter of time before his strength gave out.
He wanted to tear the gun from the assassin’s hand. Evelyn could read it in his features. And then, he would take another bullet, one that would likely prove fatal.
“Why would I want to do that?” Mrs. Smythe slanted Evelyn a glance. “You’re a clever one. You understand I mean what I say, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Evelyn gritted the word between her teeth.
“Very good. If you disobey me, I will pull this trigger. Do you have any notion of what a bullet to the gut will do to a man? Death will seem a mercy.”
Bile rose to Evelyn’s throat. The woman’s cruelty knew no bounds. “What is it you want?”
“The card you gave Westbrook—retrieve it for me, please. He no longer has any use for it.”
“Let the women go.” Gerard’s words came with raw emotion. “They’ve done nothing to ye… Nothing to deserve this.”
“I cannot say that I agree. She attacked me with a skillet, of all the bloody things. Not very civil, I’d say.” Mrs. Smythe glared at Evelyn. “But that’s of no consequence. I have a mission. Just like you, MacMasters. The difference is, I will live to see mine through.”
“I will see ye on the gallows first.” The threat in Gerard’s voice permeated the room. Mrs. Smythe tensed, a slight movement. An emotion that looked like fear flashed in her eyes, no longer than a heartbeat. But undeniable.
“Perhaps your spirit will return to avenge you.” The assassin laughed, a harsh, taunting sound. “I am willing to take that chance.” She slanted Evelyn a dagger-filled look. “I told you to bring me that card. A dead man is not going to hurt you. But I will.”
“Very well.” Evelyn’s mind raced. She had to find a way to distract the cruel wretch.
Swallowing against her revulsion, she knelt at Westbrook’s side. With trembling fingers, she pulled the oracle card from his jacket pocket.
“Now bring it here,” Mrs. Smythe ordered. “Give it to me.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Evelyn mocked her with her own words. She held the scrap of cardboard between her fingers. “When I do, you’ll kill us all.”
“Give me the bloody card.” Flint edged the assassin’s words.
“Do you really believe that card will lead you to a treasure?” Evelyn asked with a boldness summoned from the depths of desperation. “I had not taken you for a fool.”
“What are you talking about?”
Evelyn’s pulse pounded wildly, but she held her voice steady. “You can have your precious card. But it’s worthless. You see, the bookseller gave me more than that flimsy scrap of paper—he gave me the object you seek.”
“You’re lying.” Mrs. Smythe slowly shook her head. “The old man did not have it.”
“Can you be so certain?” Evelyn taunted, her defiant courage surprising even herself. “As I recall, you were interrupted. By me.”
“Do not try to deceive me.” Mrs. Smythe’s mouth went taut. “I’ll play your little game. What is it you have?”
“The old man pressed an amulet in my hand. A rather odd creation. It did not suit my tastes. But I recognized its value.” Evelyn pulled in a low breath. “I knew I’d have to hide it away, especially after Mr. MacMasters showed up, all too conveniently.”
Greedy excitement colored the assassin’s voice. “Take me to the Dragon’s Eyes—I may be persuaded to let you live.”
She flashed Gerard a speaking glance. “I suppose I’ve nothing to lose.”
“Bluidy Jezebel,” Gerard ground out between his teeth. “Saving yer own hide.”
Mrs. Smythe’s finger rested on the trigger. “Don’t move a muscle, MacMasters. If you so much as twitch, I’ll kill you.”
“I will see ye swing at the end of a rope.” Gerard drew the assassin’s attention to himself. Had he puzzled out her plan?
Evelyn’s heart raced. She had to make her move. She had to force Mrs. Smythe to drop the gun.
Sliding her right hand into her pocket, she slid the dagger along the fold of her skirt, concealing the blade against the voluminous layers of fabric. With her middle protected by the metal corset, the assassin had few vulnerabilities.
“Mark my words, ye she-devil.” Gerard kept the assassin’s focus on him.
Evelyn eyed her target. She dragged in a fortifying breath.
“I’ll see ye in yer grave,” Gerard continued to taunt.
Evelyn surged forward, a quick, brutal movement. The sgian dubh plunged into the assassin’s forearm. The blade pierced flesh. Speared bone.
Mrs. Smythe’s eyes went wide with shock. An agonized scream burst from the assassin’s lungs. Wild with pain, she pulled the dagger from her body and turned her rage-filled gaze on Evelyn.
Clasping her pistol in quivering fingers, the assassin pinned Evelyn in her sights. “Did you think that would end this? You’re no match for me.”
Gerard lunged forward. His hands closed over the weapon.
Still, Mrs. Smythe held the gun in a death grip. Her finger tensed against the trigger.
Gerard forced the barrel down.
The assassin fired.
The bullet plowed into the crude floor.
Harrison burst through the door, an enormous gun that seemed a cross between a rifle and a revolver in his hands. “Drop the gun,” he commanded. “Before I cut you down where you stand.”
Face-to-face with the powerful weapon, Mrs. Smythe dropped the pistol to the floor. Harrison retrieved a pair of iron wrist manacles from his pocket.
Gerard cocked a brow. “Ye brought handcuffs?”
“At least one of us was prepared.”
Harrison’s attention settled on Mrs. Smythe. He secured her wrists behind her with efficient skill and used a length of cord to bind her to a chair.
“That’s a rather nasty bruise you’ve got there,” he observed, studying the skillet’s mark on the assassin’s head. “Don’t concern yourself overly much. It will be healed well before your date with the gallows.”
“Ye’re looking at Evelyn’s handiwork there.” Pride infused Gerard’s words. His voice had weakened, but he held himself on his own two feet.
Harrison eyed the cast iron pan. “An interesting choice of weapon. I am impressed. But not entirely surprised.”
“There…there was no choice.” Evelyn rushed to Gerard. “Oh, darling, you saved my life.”
“I’m not so sure ye needed me to save ye, Evie.” Swaying like a top-heavy tree in a stiff breeze, he enfolded her in his arms, brushing her lips with a kiss. “I love ye, lass.”
With that, his lids closed. Evelyn struggled to support his weight as his head slumped forward and his knees buckled.
“Harrison!” she cried. “Gerard’s been shot. He needs your help.”
“Bloody hell.” Harrison rushed to his brother. Gently, he eased him onto a long-abandoned cot. “I’m going to need help moving him back to the house. Sally, can you notify Laird Houghton that I am in need of assistance.”
“Of course.” Without a glance back, Sally hurried from the cottage.
“He is so very pale.” Choking back a sob, Evelyn kneeled at Gerard’s side. She had to keep her head about her, when all she wanted to do was weep and pray that she wouldn’t lose him.
“At least this day wasn’t entirely dismal,” Mrs. Smythe taunted. “It looks as if I will get to see MacMasters take his last breath. Now that will be a memorable moment.”
“He is not going to die, you viper.” Evelyn restrained the urge to once again put the skillet to good use. “He will live. He is strong and vital, and he’ll survive anything you and that coward dished out.”
Evelyn reached out, gliding a fingertip over his cheek, through the dark silk of his hair. Her heart ached to bursting. He’d sacrificed himself to save her. Bitter tears streamed down her face.
Oh God, please let him live. Please do not take Gerard from me.
…
Evelyn paced outside Gerard’s chamber, each strike of her heels against the polished wood marking another moment she had to endure without knowing if he would survive.
Please let him live. I cannot bear to lose him.
Sally reached out, gently touching her hand. Evelyn met her concerned gaze.
“I regret you had to go through this ordeal,” Evelyn said. “I’d hoped to protect you from getting involved in this horrid situation—that is why I thought to leave Houghton Manor.”
“I am fine, dear Evelyn.” Sally managed a wan smile. “Years from now, we’ll look back upon this as a mad adventure. Won’t we now?”
“Perhaps. But I may be old and creaky before I reach that point.”
“Indeed.”
The hinges squealed a protest as the door to Gerard’s bedchamber opened. Harrison emerged, closing the door behind him. Lines marked his weary face. His mouth formed a somber line.
Something is wrong.
Dear Lord. No.
“How is he?” Evelyn wrung her hands. “Tell me he will recover.”
The tense set of his mouth eased into something resembling a smile. “Gerard is tough as an ox. The bullet took a toll—he is weak, but already grumbling to get out of bed.”
“The bullet…you were able to remove it?”
Harrison shook his head. “We were fortunate. The wound was through and through, directly beneath his left collarbone. Barring infection, he will mend soon enough.”
Choking back a sob of relief, Evelyn swallowed against the scalding lump in her throat. A renegade tear escaped, despite her efforts, streaming down her cheek. She dabbed at it with a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Dr. MacMasters. That is such good news.”
“Indeed. Now, what about you, Lady Evelyn? You’ve also suffered injury. Will you allow me to take a look at your arm and assess the wounds?”
“I would greatly appreciate your efforts. But first, may I see him…may I see Gerard?”
Sally nodded her support. “If you think I give a fig about appearances, I do not. If any small minds consider a woman visiting an injured man to be scandalous, they may board the first train to Hades.”
“My thoughts precisely.” Harrison swept open the door. “He’s already inquired about you.”
He escorted her into the chamber. Gerard lay propped up against two fat pillows, a quilt draping his body save for his upper chest, his left shoulder partially concealed by a pristine white bandage.
He was pale, his dark hair posing a stark contrast against his skin. He pushed himself up to a seated position. A swath of hair straggled over his brow. Harrison was right—Gerard was strong. Powerful and courageous and handsome, his eyes had shone with clever wit even as he lay wounded, fighting not to show the pain of his injury.
Joy cascaded over her. Every beat of her heart pulsed with blissful relief.
“Come here, lass,” he beckoned.
She went to his side, settling onto a small chair by the bed. He reached out, clasping her hand in his.
“Ye’re so damned lovely, Evie. Even now, after all ye’ve endured. I regret I was not there to stop the wretch.”
The warmth of his skin against hers banished her sadness and her fear, and she drank him in. They’d faced danger and defeated the curs who’d pursued her to this quiet place. Together, they’d survived.
He’d come here to defend her. When Gerard had confronted Westbrook and his accomplice, he had not wanted the oracle card. If obtaining that infernal bit of paper had been his objective, he would’ve waited and ambushed Westbrook and the assassin. But he’d marched into the thick of danger for her.
He’d wanted to protect her.
Her heart swelled with emotion.
How desperately she longed to kiss him. Perhaps more than she’d ever wanted anything, she craved the velvet feel of his mouth against hers. If only they were alone. A spot of privacy would be just the thing.
Ah, she’d been bold enough in her talk of seduction.
She’d been bold enough to knock an assassin over the head with a blasted pan.
She would certainly be bold enough to kiss the Highlander who’d nearly sacrificed himself to save her life.
Her fingertips grazed the stubble-roughened skin on his cheek. The coarse texture appealed to her senses. Rising, she moved even closer, eliminating all but the slightest distance between them.
She leaned over him, brushing a kiss over his forehead.
“Lass, when ye touch me like that, I feel I’ve died and gone on to my reward.”
“No, darling,” she murmured against his mouth. “You’re very much alive. And I want to kiss you. So very much.”
His arms threaded around her, gentle and strong. She smiled, savoring this moment. Savoring his heat and his smile and his touch.
Her lips swept a kiss over his enticing mouth. Softly, at first. A trace of hesitation marked the caress. Perhaps…perhaps this was not the time…
And then, he moaned against her mouth. So very low, the sound of raw emotion intended for her ears only.
Passion overtook her, casting aside her doubts. Banishing her reservations. She wanted this kiss. Wanted his touch.
Wanted him.
Holding her, he deepened the kiss. His lips claimed what she offered with hungry abandon. The chamber seemed to fade away. Anyone who might observe their tender expression no longer mattered. At this moment, the only thing she cared about was Gerard and the passionate bond they’d forged—a connection that would never be broken.
Easing his hold, he released her. Raw emotion darkened his eyes. Had he felt it, too—the indelible longing that would forever bind her heart to his?
A sudden wave of doubt crashed over her, powerful as the storm-driven sea crashing against the cliffs at Cornwall. Already, her heart ached with need for him.
Could she bear it when he walked away?
Could she endure the misery—again?
He’d come here to fulfill his duty—and he had. Gerard had defended her, and, in the end, he’d have the oracle card he’d sought. He’d kiss her good-bye and walk away.
His kiss and his touch and the way he’d risked his life for her left no doubt she would forever hold a place in his heart.
Theirs had been a brief but tender liaison, one she would treasure for the rest of her life.
But she could not deceive herself. This was not a love affair. This was passion and desire and hunger. A sweet temptation. Yet fleeting as a flower’s scent on the wind.
Soon, he would go back to his life.
And she to hers.
She must guard her heart.
Thank heavens she’d come to her senses before she fell in love with him.
He cupped her face against his broad, slightly roughened palm and brushed a kiss over the bridge of her nose. So very tender. She ached with a soul-deep wanting she could not deny.
The truth crashed over her, stunning as a storm-driven wave pummeling the shore.
It was too late to protect her heart.
This was love. The intense craving filled every vein, every cell, every fiber of her being.
She had fallen in love with this arrogant, passionate man.
Rubbish.
She struggled to banish the notion from her thoughts. She knew better than to give her love to any man—much less a dashing Highland spy. She’d learned a bitter lesson all those years ago. She was far too clever to have fallen for Gerard. She knew better than to expose herself to the misery love could bring.
Pity her heart did not agree.
Perhaps, this passion was worth the risk.
I love ye, lass.
How the words had thrilled her, more beautiful to her ears than a poet’s sonnet. Gerard loved her. He’d held her in his arms. He’d kissed her and spoken with a tenderness that touched her heart.
He’d uttered the words in the heat of danger. They’d seemed a confession.
He loved her.
Now, she could no longer deny the truth. Not even to herself.
I love him… I am in love with Gerard.