Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3

by Walker, Heather

  She climbed down the stairs and entered the dark basement. When she beheld the hideous sight of Noah hanging bloody and ripped to shreds from the bar, she didn’t stop to think twice. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.

  She tried to lift his weight off his arms. “Noah!” she croaked. “Noah, are you still alive?”

  She already knew he was. His skin still felt warm. The minute she touched him, he reared back and tried to stand up, but his legs buckled underneath him. His blood-smeared skin slipped out of her grasp, and he fell down against his wrists. He groaned in agony.

  “Noah!” she cried. “It’s me. It’s Vic. I’m here to help you.”

  His eyes rolled back in their sockets, and his head lolled back. He fought to open his eyes. “Lass! Ye shouldnae have…”

  “Don’t talk!” she whispered. “I’m getting you out of here.”

  He didn’t answer. He stank of something she didn’t care to identify. Muck and dried blood stained his tartan, and his cuts were crusted with black blood all over him. She hardly dared touch him, but she couldn’t leave him here. She refused to acknowledge the risk she was running, doing this. She shoved it out of her mind. She never saw anyone in such bad shape before, and the sight ignited insane action in her.

  She started sawing through the ropes holding him up. What she would do with him when he collapsed on the floor at her feet, she couldn’t imagine. How was she supposed to get him out of here when the Gunns controlled the whole island? Even if, by some distant chance, she got him out of the house, no one would help her. Anyone who saw her would report her to Boyd in seconds.

  She didn’t care about anything but saving Noah’s life, even if it meant sacrificing her own. She bent all her will to cutting those ropes. The threads parted. As she expected, the instant the strands gave out, he flopped in a pile at her feet.

  She tucked the knife under the basque of her dress. She strained her back to pick him up, but his bloody body kept slipping through her hands and arms before she could muster any strength to lift him. She wrestled his arms onto her shoulders. “Help me, Noah. You have to stand up.”

  He grunted in response, wheezing for every breath. Blood caked the side of his face where his ear used to be. The ragged hole in his side oozed blood every time she moved him. She hated to think how deep it went.

  Then she remembered. He was immortal. If he got out of here, if he got somewhere safe, he would heal. As long as he was still alive, he would be okay. Boyd hadn’t killed him, not yet.

  That thought gave her the strength she needed to get through this. She hooked one of his arms over her shoulder, held his hand in place, and wedged her shoulder into his armpit. She hoisted him up, but his weight crushed her spine.

  “Help me, Noah,” she begged again. “Please help me. We have to get you out of here.”

  He rallied and got one leg under himself. For a brief instant, his weight lifted off her shoulders, and her spirits exploded. The next moment, he collapsed again, only to try one more time.

  She pushed forward. He did his best, but he lacked the power to hold himself up. She got him as far as the stairs before he slipped out of her grasp, onto the floor.

  He folded at the waist and moaned, hugging his arms over his waist. His loose hair covered his face, and he crouched on the ground doubled over with his back to her. “Leave me here, lassie. Save yerself.”

  “I can’t leave you here to die,” she whispered. “We have to get you out of here. Once you get off Stromness, you’ll be okay. You’ll heal from these wounds. You’ll live.”

  He cast a desperate glance over his shoulder, and Vic almost lost heart when she saw the expression on his face. “I’ll never get off Stromness, lassie. He’ll hunt me down, and when he finds out ye helped me escape, he’ll make me watch while he does the same to ye. Then he’ll kill us both.”

  Terror seized her heart. Wild mania clenched her chest in its icy fist. She wanted to bolt and leave this young man to his fate.

  The next minute, her soul kicked against that impending disaster. If she died, at least she would die fighting these monsters. One more life didn’t mean a thing to them, but it sure meant something to her.

  Her friends back home would never believe she could take such a risk. Of everyone in their little circle, Vic had always played it safe. She’d grown up in a loving, supportive family and never faced any challenges—at least, she never faced anything close to what Ree and Ellen had faced when Ree crashed that car. Vic always played it safe, and she always got what she wanted. All of that went out the window along with her painted façade. She changed her clothes. She took off her makeup and she became a different person. She found an untapped reservoir of strength and resolve inside herself, and she wouldn’t back down until she did what she set out to do.

  She said nothing more. She picked him up again and started manhandling him up the stairs.

  He said nothing, either. He let her do what she wanted with him, and what she wanted was to get him out of this house.

  She fought her way to the top of the stairs before she stopped to rest. He weighed her down more than ever, even as he made feeble efforts to help her. He planted each watery leg on the steps and made a weak attempt to hoist himself up each stair, but mostly she did the work.

  She sweated from the exertion. The lantern light faded behind her. She closed her eyes in the darkness behind the basement door. Boyd and Malcolm sat only a few feet away on the other side of that door. Did she really think she could get Noah past them?

  She propped him against the wall while she gauged what to do next. The faintest moisture glistened on his eyes when he looked at her, but he was panting too hard to speak.

  He knew.

  They both knew.

  This was suicide, but what else could she do?

  She eased back the knob and cracked the door open to peek out.

  Chapter 20

  As soon as she got the door open, a flurry of noise greeted Vic from a few feet away. The parlor door slid back, and Boyd and Malcolm emerged into the foyer. Their voices rippled down the passage.

  “Ye work too hard,” Boyd was saying. “Do ye ken that? Ye must learn to rest on yer laurels once in a while.”

  Malcolm’s deep baritone rumbled off the walls. “There is no working too hard in this war, lad. Ye should ken that. We must track them down before they leave Scotland. We may have already missed our chance.”

  “If we missed our chance,” Boyd returned, “then there’s no sense in ye rushing off to check on them when ye could be coming to me apartment to share a dram with me.”

  “I wanted to go upstairs and check on Vic before I turn in for the night,” Malcolm replied. “She’s none too strong in this. She could break down if ye push her too hard.”

  “None too strong!” Boyd snorted with laughter. “Ye underestimate her, laddie. She’s a lot stronger than ye give her credit for. Did ye see her downstairs when she swore to revenge herself on me? She withstood more than most women can dream of.”

  “Ye didnae have to push her so hard,” Malcolm countered. “It was cruel and unnecessary. Ye could have gotten the information out of her some other way.”

  Boyd’s voice notched a register higher, and Vic imagined him smiling. “Is that what ye’ve been doing, ye devil? Ye’ve been using the soft approach on her to get the information out of her. Ye’ve been hedging yer bets against my cruelty. Ye dog. I should have kenned ye’d sneak into her good graces that way.”

  Vic’s blood boiled. Was that the real reason Malcolm got himself locked in a crate with her—to weasel information out of her? She could throttle him for that.

  No, wait a minute. That made no sense. He got himself locked in a crate with her to reveal his most dangerous secret. He was Angui, and he had to tell her in a safe way where she could process that without screaming to the high Heavens.

  Malcolm didn’t need information from her. He certainly never questioned her in that crate or anywhere else. Boyd w
as the one who interrogated her for every iota of information he could glean.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Malcolm said. “I’ll let ye ken if I find out anything.”

  “Ye spend entirely too much time concerning yerself with that lassie,” Boyd fired back. “If ye dinnae come to me apartment right now, I’ll have no choice but to assume she’s interfering with yer professional judgment, and ye wouldnae want that, now would ye?”

  A long, heavy pause followed.

  Vic pictured Malcolm’s smoldering face scowling at Boyd while he considered this ultimatum. Why did Boyd want to keep Malcolm away from Vic if he didn’t suspect something?

  “All right,” Malcolm snarled back. “One dram, and then I’m going. It’s already late, and I’m tired.”

  The two men set off up the passage, heading straight for Vic’s hiding place. She gulped down her breath and pulled the door shut to cut off the faintest glimmer of light, but she kept the knob turned so it wouldn’t click.

  Boyd’s apartment door swished back. Two sets of footsteps vanished, and the door slid closed. Vic listened to her own pulse thundering in her ears long after any sound died outside. She dared not open that door again.

  She looked down to find Noah regarding her. He probably expected her to back down now that she faced the most crucial part of her plan. She didn’t back down, though. She got him perched on her shoulder one more time and inched the door open. When she saw the coast was clear, she emerged from the darkness, into the corridor.

  Boyd’s apartment door stood a few feet away. He and Malcolm talked in there. How many other Guildsmen occupied this house?

  Vic couldn’t go down that hallway. For a start, Noah couldn’t support himself. If he fell, the noise would attract Boyd and Malcolm’s attention. It would probably attract anybody else around here too, and she couldn’t risk that.

  Instead, she turned toward the kitchen. Only a few steps separated her from the back door leading into the garden. She shuffled that way and let herself outside into the brisk night air.

  The minute they got outside, Noah gave voice to the pain tormenting him. He winced at every step and moaned whenever Vic pushed him up with her shoulder. She couldn’t pay him any heed. She hurried between the flower beds toward a hedge border beyond the garden.

  She’d spent only a few minutes in this garden in the light of day, but she knew one thing. The farther she got from the Guild House, the better off they would both be.

  The open space gave Noah new life too. He sucked in a heavy breath of air, and for the first time, put his weight on his legs and held himself up.

  She didn’t let go of him. They had to keep moving, and if he fell now, he would slow her down. She headed for the hedge, and he matched her movements. He must know their safety lay in that direction. Come to think of it, he probably knew a lot more about this island than she did. He might even know a way to get himself off it, but she couldn’t ask him that now.

  They limped on their way until the hedge cut off every trace of light. She hustled him into the shadows before they both stopped, gasping for air.

  “Ye must go back now, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’ll be missed.”

  “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe,” she hissed back. “How can we get you off this island? There must be a way you can hook back up with the Prometheus.”

  “The Prometheus is long gone,” he countered. “They dropped ye off at the Port of Ness and never looked back. She’s halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked. “How do you know if you weren’t there?”

  “There’s no other explanation,” he replied. “They wouldnae have turned back for anything, no’ even to save my life. Ye’re here because Dagar—I mean, Niall Lewis—he dropped that crate at Ness. Dinnae ask me why, but he must have had his reasons. Then he turned west and ran for it. Take me word on it.”

  “Well, that doesn’t get us any closer to getting you out of here,” she returned. “There must be somewhere on the mainland you can rest until you heal from your injuries.”

  “I’ll steal a rowboat and row across the channel.”

  “Quit wasting time in foolish jokes,” she snapped. “I don’t suppose there are any ship captains around here who would help a fugitive from the Gunns.”

  “Now it’s ye making foolish jokes,” he replied. “They’re Gunns, the lot of them.”

  “There must be a way.” She looked around but couldn’t see anything in the dark. She wasn’t even sure of the right way to go to get to the jetty.

  “Go back, lass,” he breathed. “I cannae see ye in danger like this. I’ve been through worse in me time. Go back. Malcolm will see ye’re kept safe.”

  “I’ll go back once I know you’re off the island.” She straightened up. “We just need to come up with a plan.”

  He remained squatting in front of her, gazing up at her face. “What plan do ye have in mind?”

  She peered through the foliage and saw the main street not far away. Once they got down it, she could find her way to the wharf. “You’re a pretty good sailor, Noah. You could steal a ship and sail yourself across the channel. What you’ll do on the other side is up to you.”

  “I can handle meself on the other side,” he replied. “It’s getting there that’s the hard part. The ships on the wharf are fishing boats. The men get up long before daylight to go out to their work. Once they see the boat gone, they’ll roust out the Gunns to come after me. I dinnae like me chances of making landfall.”

  “Then you better get a move on before they catch you.” She wedged her shoulder under his arm. “Come on. We don’t have much time, and we can’t run the risk of them finding us before you get away.”

  She didn’t wait for Noah to reply and half dragged him into the open. The moonlight washed the cobbled street, and she raced on her way. Now that she saw their destination in sight, she didn’t give herself a chance to hesitate. She had to get Noah to the jetty, on board a ship of any description, and across the channel before anybody caught on to what they were doing.

  He didn’t argue, either. He must have been so delighted to get out of the Guild House alive that he would take any chance to get away. She half dragged, half carried him to the opposite end of town, where they turned toward the coast. The faint light from the stars gave the heaving ocean an iron-gray cast, not much different in color from the pitch-black land rolling down the island’s edge.

  Vic’s heart fluttered when the ship masts came into view. She pushed toward the first vessel. “Here. Get on board,” she murmured in his ear.

  “No’ this one. It belongs to Hamish McTavit. He’s got three bairns and a wife to support on his fishing. I couldnae steal it from him.” He hastened to the next boat. “This one belongs to the Guild. I’ll take that.”

  “Won’t that make it easier to track you?” she asked.

  He straightened up, bracing his legs with both hands, and held firm. “I’ll no’ keep the ship long. As soon as I make landfall, I’ll abandon it and disappear. They’ll no’ find me.”

  “Then you better get going,” she whispered. “Good luck, Noah.”

  His eyes glistened not two inches from her face. “Thank ye, lass. I’ll no’ forget it.”

  “I only hope Boyd forgets it,” she remarked. “Now get on with you.”

  He put out his hand to her, and she clasped it. Her throat ached, watching him leave like this, but the sooner he vanished out of her life, the happier she’d be. She couldn’t stand seeing him hurt again.

  He squeezed her hand and turned away to board the ship when, out of the shadows, a dark figure emerged from behind the vessel he’d picked out. At first, Vic could make out only an indistinct shape of a tall man in a kilt. He blocked Noah’s way down the jetty to the gangplank leading up to the ship. As he came forward, she distinguished the hard, angular curve of his cheekbones and the rough cut of his beard. His curly brown hair hung loosely around his face. He was one of the Gunns
who had surrounded Vic and Malcolm in the warehouse. She didn’t know his name, but he sure knew her.

  His deep voice rumbled through the night. “Ye’re out late at night, lassie. I dinnae think the Guild Master kens ye’re out here with that prisoner of his.”

  Vic froze in her tracks.

  Noah didn’t breathe. He certainly wasn’t strong enough to fight his way past this man, and Vic didn’t trust herself to raise her hand against any living person, even to defend herself.

  The man took a menacing step closer. His hulking frame prickled with power, and his hand migrated to his saber hilt. “I’ll thank ye to turn around and walk back to the Guild House the way ye came—both of ye.”

  Vic didn’t move. Neither did Noah. What should she do? She might go back to the Guild House, but she couldn’t take Noah back there, not after she had risked everything getting him out. No way.

  She sensed Noah stiffen next to her. He didn’t want to go back, either, not with freedom in sight. What could he do, though? He couldn’t exactly dash on board and put to sea with that man standing in his way.

  Vic’s hand flew to her chest, and she felt the knife hidden in her basque. She couldn’t draw it in time, and a carving knife against an armed Highlander didn’t exactly tip the odds in her favor.

  The man squared his shoulders at them both and drew his weapon. The blade rang in the deep night, shimmering before Vic’s eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

  “Go on back to the Guild House,” the man snarled. “I’ll no’ say it again.”

  With no warning at all, Noah launched himself at the man. He roared a broken challenge and lunged for his adversary’s throat.

  Vic cried out in alarm. Her instincts told her to drag Noah away from this menace, but it was too late.

  The Highlander sidestepped, and Noah stumbled past him. The man hauled back his saber and clubbed Noah across the back of the neck, smashing him to the ground. The Highlander pounced for the killing stroke. Noah rolled over and jerked sideways just in time to miss the saber coming down on top of him.