by Fiona Faris
Rebecca sneered, “And what d’ye ken aboot God?”
“I ken that he isn’t going to save you from me so buckle up.” Chris turned away in disgust, quite sick and tired of Rebecca’s temper tantrums. He had done nothing but treat her with the utmost respect yet she continued to act as if he’d taken her for a whore instead of his lawfully wedded wife. Chris was getting tired of it. Something would have to be done.
A jaunty tune accompanied on a lute could be heard even from the back alley of the tavern where Chris waited in the frigid night air. The darkness of the backstreet slightly lit from a second floor window where the unmistakable sounds of copulation, accompanied by occasional giggling and grunts told Chris that the ladies were working hard tonight. The only other source of light was a dim orange glow from the tip of his cheroot. Full lips parted, and Chris blew a huff of nicotine into the sky, watching as it wafted towards the stars in a shifting dance.
He fingered the knife in his pocket, running over its edge as he listened to the closing bars of the song, the next one starting up almost immediately in a rumble of pounding feet and percussive intensity. The singer’s voice was accompanied by a myriad of drunken helpers who knew perhaps half the words.
Not long now.
The door burst open as if on cue, a sudden cacophony of sound, boisterous laughter and the lute unmuted by the heavy wood. It was silenced again as the door closed, and Chris threw his cheroot to the puddle-lined alley and stomped it out with the heel of his boot.
Two men walked straight past his hidden position, one unknown and the other easily recognizable as Chris’ target, both talking loudly. Chris’ mouth twisted – it was no good when they were drunk, it made him feel like he was putting down a child or a puppy. There was no fight, no last meaningful words, no desperation.
As it was, his target’s accomplice barely realized he had been left alone for a good five minutes after Chris had grabbed his friend and dragged him bodily back into the alleyway.
The man’s eyes were blown wide with surprise, his mouth slack as Chris pressed the small knife against his throat.
“From Killian,” Chris said softly, applying pressure and watching as the grim red smile appeared against the dirty skin of his neck, from ear to ear, his body going lax, slipping down the wall and landing with a soft splash into a dirty puddle, lending more blood to the permanently wet streets of London.
Chris wiped sweat from his upper lip, flicking blood from his knife and then pocketing it. It fell heavy against his thigh, and he spent one more second looking down at the body before he nodded to himself and left the alley, walking into the street and heading back to his boss.
This was his last kill. He was done.
Chris did not know why he was thinking about his last kill. He could well remember the desperation of that time. Feeling trapped in his own life. He glanced at Rebecca, looking miserably down at her own feet, and was annoyed that he could empathize with her. It was not easy having your fate unwillingly tied to someone else’s.
This is not the same.
He only realized that he was shaking his head when Rebecca gave him a quizzical glance.
“What is it?” she asked.
“No-nothing. Just thinking.”
“Aboot?”
“None of your business.”
“I thought we were man and wife the noo. Isna’ yer business, my business?”
“Oh, now we are man and wife?” Chris found his mood lifting as they sparred back and forth.
“Isna’ that what ye said?”
He grinned, wide and happy, “It was indeed. Are you going to be an obedient wife now?”
“No.”
Chris threw back his head and laughed as Rebecca watched him with a quizzical half-smile.
“Oh, so ye think that’s amusing do ye?”
“You’re amusing, dear wife.”
“I thank ye for the compliment,” she nodded her head in a makeshift kind of bow, “Now are ye going tae tell me what ye were thinking aboot?”
Chris shrugged. “I was just…reflecting on my past.”
“Yer past? Tell me something aboot it.”
“Why?”
“Because if I am tae be yer wife, I have tae ken who ye are.”
“Do I know who you are?”
“What ye see is what ye get.” She spread out her hands, letting go of her reins and ratcheting Chris’ heart into his throat. “Don’t! Do that.” He yelled, his hand shooting out even though there was not much he could have done if the horse had decided to bolt. Rebecca snorted, catching hold of the reins again.
“I’ve ridden bareback for most o’ my life.” Her eyes were amused as she regarded him, noting his alarm.
Chris closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. “Well, that is one thing I did not know about you.”
Rebecca snorted again. “So then? Are ye going to tell me?”
“Why do you even want to know?” Chris kept his eyes closed.
“Because…”
He opened his eyes, hearing something broken in her voice, and stared. Her face had fallen, eyes wide with something like despair.
“I canna stop myself from…feeling. I dinna want to, the laird kens I dinna. But I keep expecting ye to be a certain way and then ye gang and do something else. I canna continue like this. I dinna like surprises.”
Chris grinned so wide all of his teeth were showing. “Poor dear. Am I not what you expected? Trust me, you’re not the first to discover that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Guid fer ye then. Ye’re an enigma locked inside a brigand and wrapped in a kidnapper of women. Congratulations!”
“Oh tsk tsk, your horns are showing again. Now is that any way for a young lady to talk?”
She stung her tongue out at him and spurred her horse into a trot in annoyance.
“Hey!” he called in amusement, spurring his own horse to catch up to her. They rode at a canter for a few miles before they had to slow down to rest the horses. There was a clearing by the side of the road, next to a small stream. Chris alighted, deciding to that it was as good a spot as any to water the horses and perhaps have a bite. If they pushed the horses, they could be at Dun Alba tonight. But he was not sure he wanted to interrupt their idyll just yet. He felt as if he might crack Rebecca’s shell if they just had a little more time together, alone, before she was reminded that her brother was the master of Dun Alba and Chris was but an interloper. He led his horse to the stream, glad to hear Rebecca behind him without any prompting.
“I can tell you a story if you really want to hear one,” he called as he dropped his reins and let the horse graze as it wanted.
“Could ye?” she came up beside him, dropping her own reins.
“I could indeed. If you really want to know, I shall tell you.”
A knowing smile curled across her lips and his desire grew as he watched. “Tell me then.” She said.
“On one condition.”
She rolled her eyes and he grinned to see it. “And what condition is that?”
“Kiss me,” his voice was soft and low, making no effort to hide his desire.
She stared at him in surprise, and even took a step back. He simply stood, and let her come to her own decision. She sighed, deep and long and he relaxed, knowing he’d won. Leaning forward, she planted a light kiss on his lips. He looked at her in disbelief.
“Really? You expect me to cut myself open for you and that is all the reward I get?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes, but then leaned forward and laid her lips on his, pressing down for a little longer. Then she pulled back and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head in negation. “Not good enough.”
“Tuh!” she exclaimed in annoyance before throwing herself into his arms and pressing her lips passionately down upon his. He licked at her mouth, seeking entry and she parted her lips to let him in. He licked and sucked, taking his time, letting his body press into hers so she could feel his arousal. Giving a
s good as she got, she swirled her hips around so that he was rubbing effectively against her. He gasped, letting go of her lips and she moved away.
Rebecca raised a smug eyebrow. “Will that do ye?”
Chapter Eleven
Flash houses were less populated in the early evening when most of their patrons were otherwise occupied, but that didn’t mean they were empty. Chris and his companion sat at the bar waiting for a man he’d met not two days ago. A man who worked for Killian’s rival, Avery Thomas; one who had expressed interest in freeing Chris from Killian’s clutches. Toby sat quietly by him, here to offer back up, should this turn out to be a trick.
Chris sipped at his whiskey. The bar was smoky, the floor always a little sticky, but the booze was top notch.
“And now, the siren of the Red Lion, Miss Victoria Lark.” The barkeep announced to what could be called applause, Chris turned to the makeshift stage.
There was a round window behind the stage which caught the last rays of the sun and bathed her in golden light. She wore an azure blue gown; her hair was a vibrant auburn, cascading down her shoulders. Her lips were painted a bold scarlet, and drew the eye as she began to sing.
“To keep faith, to guard your honor, to seek peace, to obey.” She sang, flicking her hair as she swayed from side to side. The audience whistled and hollered too loudly that they drained out her voice.
“For I love you so much, it’s no lie. That one could dry up the high seas.” Her eyes met his and she winked. Chris winked back, with a wide grin.
“And my desires are endlessly in you, whom I cannot abandon and my desires are endlessly in you, whom I cannot abandon nor drive from my mind.” She sang.
There was an unspoken kind of rule between the pair, that if they were drinking whiskey at a tavern with a beautiful singer, then they were probably not in the mood for a conversation.
“Chris,”
The voice was sudden, and they both jumped as they turned to face the offending noise-maker.
Onesmus was grinning. He had a black eye that was casting half his face into a purple hued maze of broken veins.
“It’s Thursday,” Onesmus explained.
“So it is,” Chris replied acknowledging that they had agreed to meet. Tilting the last of the whiskey from his glass into his mouth, he let the bitter fluid sit on his tongue before swallowing, his lip quirking at the taste.
“I believe we had a rendezvous,” Onesmus added, causing the bartender’s eyebrows to raise and another patron to snort into his drink. Chris’ mouth tightened in annoyance. The man did not have to announce his business to the entire establishment. “Unless you’re busy, in which case we could reschedule -”
“Please stop talking,” Chris cut in, looking back over at Onesmus to see his look of surprise. He took a moment to wonder how he had survived so long in the street if he could not read a man’s face. Sighing deeply, he slipped some coins over the bar, and got off his stool.
“Let’s go then.” Chris said, stepping towards the door and trusting that Onesmus would follow him onto the street. Toby was to follow at a discreet distance.
They walked a few meters in silence, side by side with Chris scowling and Onesmus smiling. Chris was overly-aware that Avery’s highest rated thug was directly behind him. He had listened to the rumors after running into him that first night – heard about his brutality, his efficiency. It seemed whenever he mentioned Onesmus, the response was simple: ‘He’s a loyal ‘un. To a fault.’
Chris wondered how this Onesmus could reconcile loyalty to his own to helping Chris get free of his master. Rather than fear of betrayal however, Chris felt an odd mixture of rebellious joy and… safety. Onesmus had all but proclaimed that he was on Chris’ side, and against Killian. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew he could at least walk in comfort along the street with a fellow assassin trailing behind him like a lost puppy.
“Where are we going?” Onesmus asked.
“Somewhere Killian and Avery won’t find us.” Chris muttered, wondering if the consequences he would face if is boss found out were equal or greater than Onesmus’.
“Avery knows I’m meeting you, c’mon, I’ll take you to one of his spots.” Onesmus said, reaching down to grab Chris’ arm.
Chris flinched away, not one to let people touch him unasked, but he let Onesmus’ lead him as they moved at a faster pace down an alleyway and into the dark entrails of London.
It had been a hot day, and dappled sunlight was still finding its way through the cracks and lines in building roofs, splashing into backstreets and breaking up shadows in startling spots of white and yellow, even as it set.
For all Chris knew, Onesmus was leading him into a trap. But if he was to get free of Killian, he needed allies just as strong as he was. He had no interest in joining this rival gang of brigands but he could help them get to Killian in return for his own freedom. He did not know much about Avery, their paths had never crossed. But Onesmus had a good reputation and he was literally staking his life on that. Either way, he knew he could not go on as he was. If this went bad and he cocked up his toes, it was better than another day working for Killian Wyatt. He realized that Onesmus was speaking to him and tried to listen to what he was saying. “You been to army, I take it?” Onesmus asked as he led them around a corner.
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” Chris replied mockingly.
“Navy?”
“No sir, why do you ask?”
Onesmus shot a look behind him, gauging Chris’ mood by his blunt tone. There was a smirk on his lips though, so Onesmus huffed a laugh. “Just something about how you move; as if you been in the wars.”
Chris’ expression became bleak. “I have.”
Onesmus nodded slowly giving him a commiserating glance before stopping them outside a red door that looked as though it needed another coat of red.
“I expect you have.” He said, shaking his head as he knocked three times against the wooden surface.
“Mm,” Chris replied with a noncommitting shrug.
The door opened to reveal the auburn-headed woman from the stage, eating a green apple, her hair loose to her shoulders.
“Onesmus.” She said bluntly.
“Vicky, you remember Chris.”
Piercing blue eyes looked over the new-comer with undisguised interest, and she gave a small smile as she nodded. “Welcome”.
“Thank you.”
“So you decided to take Onesmus’ offer?”
“He didn’t give me much of a choice.” Chris replied, and Onesmus laughed again as he gestured for Chris to go inside.
“Want a drink? We have gin, ale… harder stuff, if you want to dip rather deep.” Onesmus asked as he followed Chris inside, shutting the door behind him.
“Brandy is fine,”
“Gin?”
“Brandy.”
“I’ll get you some gin.”
Chris sighed, looking around the interior. It was obvious Onesmus had brought him to some kind of safe house; the furniture was minimal and the two-room space had a recently-renovated-warehouse kind of feel to it.
It was nicer than where Chris slept, though, and he accepted the gin from Onesmus and sat down at the dining table.
“How come you’re here, Vicky?” Onesmus asked nonchalantly as he took the seat next to Chris.
“Avery is entertaining some clients and you know how he feels about my negotiation skills.”
“About as good as your blandishments.”
“At least I’m subtle.”
Onesmus shrugged and shot Chris a grin, like they were both in on some kind of joke. Chris smiled back before he caught himself, sipping his gin to hide his mouth. He did not want to get too comfortable with these people until he knew what they were about. The whole situation was baffling to Chris. The levity in his hosts’ interaction was disconcerting. Joking around like this was not tolerated in Killian’s camp.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Chris asked casually, putting
his gin down. “I assume you didn’t ask me over just for the company.”
“I might have,” Onesmus said, smirking. “I wanted to talk to you about working for someone other than Killian.”
Chris shrugged. “I’ve given the majority of my life to Killian. I am not looking to change masters.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
“Allies.” Chris said shortly, not wanting to betray too much of himself in case he was wrong about these people.