by Paula Quinn
She would not let him goad her. It was her emotions he wanted. “You made me this way, Bertram. I was a child when you took me from my father, my family, and then tried to have your way with me. ‘Tis your fault that I am cold and defiant toward you. I despise you, you wretched fool.”
He whacked her hard across her temple and cheekbone with his palm. She slumped forward. He grabbed her around the waist before she fell from the horse and laughed in her ear that he knew she wasn’t truly sick.
But she didn’t hear.
#
Elias opened his eyes and then closed them for another moment to decide if he ever wanted to open his eyes again. She was sick. Lily was sick. It had finally come to claim her. No. His muscles tensed. He tried to sit up and clutched his head. Who had hit him? Was it Bertram? The innkeeper? Hell.
He looked toward the stairs and called out. No one answered.
He sat up and then pulled himself to his feet with the help of the wall. His head spun and he swayed for a moment. “Lily?” Was that his voice that sounded so broken and hopeless…so on edge—as if he were afraid to scream? He wanted to disappear and hide the way he used to when he was a child. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He’d learned how to face anything.
But this felt too big. If she was dead…he was afraid of losing her.
He hated this kind of fear and had fought his whole life to defy it. But here it was, staring him in the face; attached to the woman he loved more than his own life. He would give it. He would give it in exchange for hers.
“Lily!” he shouted. How long did she have? Had he been asleep for one day or three? He had no idea. It felt like a lifetime.
He had to find her. He had to find someone who could give him answers.
Was it Bertram? Had he found them? How? He had to have been around, somewhere close to have seen them. Was he the other guest? But if he was alone, then where were Clare and little Eddie?
He hurried down the steps and looked around for anyone. There was no one to be found. The innkeeper and his wife were either asleep, dead, or had run away. If they were asleep then they hadn’t seen or heard anything, so there was no point in wasting time going back up and checking their beds. Whether or not Bertram was a guest didn’t matter. Lily was sick and she was gone.
There was no time to ponder things. He lit a lantern, mounted his horse, and followed a fresh set of horse tracks out of the village.
He didn’t sleep but kept on moving. Finally, when his lantern light faded into the darkness, he relented and stopped to rest against a tree until he could track the rider again.
The few hours it took were torturous for Elias. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone against the pestilence. That was why he’d taken her with him. But he’d left her. He’d left her and it came. Of course, it was Bertram who had taken her. He rode on the back of the plague.
Why hadn’t he killed Elias? Why leave such an enemy alive? Had Lily somehow stopped him from doing it? She was sick. Why wasn’t Bertram afraid of falling ill again?
He had time to think and he was driven mad with the thoughts digging into his head. She wouldn’t be given any of her teas. Bertram would not take care of her and fight for her life. She would have to do it on her own. He knew she was clever and brave, but still, he wanted to be there with her, for her.
He said a dozen prayers for her, and for Simon and the children. They should not have left them. They had other responsibilities now. Simon was a good friend, but he wasn’t a father and a mother and the village healer, along with everything else. It was wrong of them to heap so much on his scrawny shoulders.
He smiled thinking of his lifelong friend. Simon would forgive him—after a week or two of snappy retorts and making Elias suffer through his company.
He wished Simon were with him now, as he had been during so many sieges and battles. He was always there in the trenches with him, like a mother hen, scared and worn, and ready to give his life for Elias in a breath.
When Elias found Lily, he would get her well and take her home whether they found Clare and her babe or not.
He thought of other things, but not her death. Not that. He was too afraid of that.
Finally, the day broke. He stood up, able to see in the soft light. He found the tracks again and followed them.
It was another day for Lily. Was she sicker? Was she resting in a bed somewhere?
He stopped in the next village and his knees nearly betrayed him. West Wickham! He’d been here already! This was where he and Lily…he was going the wrong way! He was going south! Had he been going south for long? He didn’t know which way to go now. Follow the tracks or admit that they were the wrong ones?
He looked south toward Sevenoaks and then north toward the city of London. He took a step north but stopped and kept going the way he was. But why would Bertram take Lily south?
He lost the tracks among the dozens in the area. There were four leading out, going farther south. Which one was theirs? He chose one and continued on. He went—without any food, for he would not stop until he found her.
She had to live. He couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise or he would lose all hope. Lily. She drove him on. He would hold her again, kiss her, make love to her again. He would go mad if he didn’t.
He arrived in Addington, a large settlement at the edge of south London.
The dead and diseased were everywhere. He pulled up his mask. Everyone around him was crying out in pain and despair, forgotten by society, looked upon with fear and disgust. There were piles of dead awaiting the fire. Some were moving in the piles. But barely.
He turned away, sickened to think Lily was in one of them. Should he go look? He knew he had to, so he did. He was relieved that she wasn’t among them. Nor were Bertram, Clare, or little Eddie. It didn’t mean much, but Elias held on to it.
He spotted a few men leaving a small church, and went to them. He questioned them about Bertram.
One man called Alex remembered someone who matched Bertram’s description.
“Aye. Aye. When everyone is dead and dying around you, you see someone walking and you remember him.”
His friends all smiled and agreed. Elias prompted Alex to continue.
“Right. Right. A big, angry-looking fellow with a cut up face. He said his name was Chisholm.”
“Aye, that is him.” Elias breathed a little. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved to hear it or horrified to think of Bertram having her. Relieved only because Bertram was easier to find.
“He left and went north,” Alex told him. His friends nodded.
He? Elias’ heart slowed. Why did Alex speak as if Bertram had been alone? “And the woman with him?”
“Woman?” Alex knit his brow then shook his head.
Elias did not want to hear what the man was about to tell him. No! He couldn’t bear the answer.
“He was alone, friend.”
Alone. Elias’ blood went cold. Then, she had died in the hands of the man she despised? It broke his heart too much to bear. For the first time in his life, Elias was too afraid to move. Too afraid of losing himself, his hope. Too afraid of death.
Her death.
His destruction.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m so happy to see that ye are not dyin’ after all, Lily.”
Bertram tried to catch her when she slid from his saddle. But she pushed herself left and slipped through his fingers.
She’d pretended and possibly led Elias to believe the worst for no reason.
“Why are we back here?” she asked, instead of arguing with him. She looked around at the village of West Wickham. They had been closer to London. Why had he come back here? She prayed the reason he still hadn’t brought her to Clare and the babe was because they were here, and he would bring her to them now.
She hated asking him. She’d barely spoken to him since she woke up with a swollen head. He’d struck her. He’d done it before when she used to travel with him. But just as soon as she found Cl
are and little Eddie, she would make sure he never did it again.
She had hoped Elias would have found her by now. But why would he continue to look if he thought she was dying of the pestilence? What if the innkeeper’s wife hadn’t told him that she’d winked? What if the poor woman was so distraught over her husband that she didn’t remember a silly wink? Even if he did search for her, he wouldn’t go south. He would go toward London.
“Why did ye think I would let a plague get in my way?”
In his way of what? Surely it wasn’t her he wanted. “Bertram.” As much as she hated speaking to him, she wanted him to know. “If you killed Clare and little Eddie, I am going to kill you. I vow it.”
“Well, well, somethin’ does stir the princess.” He laughed. He’d taken all her knives from under her skirts while she was knocked out. He may have tried to touch her but he hated how being aroused made him feel. He’d never gone near her or anyone else sexually again. She was more concerned about her knives, but then she saw that he hadn’t disposed of them. Fool. He carried them with him.
All it took was one to kill him.
“Fear not. They live. At least they did when I left them. The mother will have to be left behind though.”
“They live?” She dismounted and stood in front of him. “Where? Where are they? And what do you mean the mother will have to be left behind? I will not let you separate them.”
He gave her a wilted look, and touched his fingers to a strand of her hair. “Then ye will have to be left behind as well.”
“What are you saying, Bertram?” she demanded, moving out of his reach. “Do you think you will be separating the babe from his mother?”
“They will be separated whether I do it or not.”
She had to kill him. “Where are they?”
“They are here in West Wickham,” he told her. “My cousin’s men will be here to collect him.”
“To collect who? Little Eddie?” She had no idea what he was talking about. Why would his cousin—she assumed he was speaking of his cousin the bishop—want little Eddie?
A memory flashed across her thoughts. The bishop’s name. Edmundson. The truth dawned on her when she remembered Clare telling her that the babe’s father was an important man in England. Oh no, Clare. Lily’s belly hit the ground. “Little Eddie is Bishop Edmundson’s son.”
When Bertram didn’t deny it, she covered her face in her hands. “What does this mean? What does he intend to do?”
“He intends to finally put an end to all of this.”
Her heart sank along with her belly. “He’s going to have Clare killed? And the babe?”
“Hell, I have already told ye too much.”
She looked around. Where was Elias? She had to do something. When the bishop’s men arrived, it would be too late. She couldn’t let them kill Clare and her son. “Which house are they in?”
“Do ye not want to know why I left them and went all the way to Beckenham to find ye?” he asked, ignoring her question.
She didn’t want to know. She didn’t care. “Why?” she asked just to appease him until she could get to Clare.
“Because I want ye back.” He reached out and ran his fingers down her arm. “Now that Richard is dead, ye are free again. In time, ye will forget yer Highlander.”
His touch repulsed her. “Where are Clare and her son?” She put her hand on his waist to push him away and slipped one of her knives that he had tucked into his belt into her palm and up her sleeve.
“First, Lily, pledge yer life to me.”
She almost laughed right in his face. She wanted to shout that he was too late once again. She was already married to Elias. But she couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
“What could you possibly want with me?” she asked him.
“I want to make yer life hell—just as ye have made mine.”
“You are mad, Bertram. Mad and evil.”
He laughed. “But I will have my way.”
“Very well, Bertram, you have your wish. Now take me to them.”
His lips curled into a thin, triumphant smile. “Follow me.”
They passed the inn where she and Elias had made love. Where she’d spent the most magical night of her life. She followed Bertram past a cluster of houses north of the village, to the last small cottage near a wooded area.
The charcoal sky boded rain. She thought she heard a child crying. She ran toward the small cottage and pushed open the door.
There were a few small tables with various things atop them. A small alcove housed cold coals and a pot with nothing in it.
Against the western wall, Clare lay on a bed made of straw. Huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed was little Eddie. He was crying. He looked like he’d been crying for days. His eyes were puffy and red just like his little nose. His chin was wrinkled and his lower lip was sagging.
When he saw Lily, he scrambled to his feet and ran to her.
She bent and caught him in her arms with a smile. She had him. He was safe. Thank you, God.
Her elation soon faded and she lifted her face to the bed. Her heart felt as if it would fall out of her mouth if she opened it. She straightened and tucked little Eddie behind her.
“Clare?” she spoke on a soft breath, afraid to yell and confirm what she feared. “Clare!” a little louder.
Bertram startled her coming forward. He stood over the bed and gave her friend a shake. He looked at Lily and shook his head.
“Was she sick?” Lily asked, shaken and overcome with sadness. It was too much. It was all too much.
Bertram shrugged his broad shoulders. “She might have been. I canna recall. But the boy—”
The boy…
Lily remembered him talking about the boy the first night they had him in the shed when he had fallen into delirium. Was the boy little Eddie? He had said, Always the boy…did he mean they had gone to Sevenoaks in the first place because of little Eddie?
He turned his dark gaze on the babe. “He is well. Is it not a mystery that some become afflicted, and some dinna? Like ye.” He didn’t wait for her to answer but sat on the edge of the bed and patted his knee to receive the babe.
“It was always about him, was it not?” she asked, needing to hear it. “Us going to Sevenoaks?”
He laughed and nodded. “Ye dinna think I would have settled in such a dull, little village fer as long as I did, did ye? Louis wanted me to get rid of Clare and her bastard back then but I grew weary of doin’ his dirty work and refused. He sent me back this time to see what had become of them, but I was struck with the pestilence before I arrived.”
“And infected all my friends.”
“Oh, do stop,” he mocked her, “before I shed a tear. At least one of us would, eh, Lil?” His smile faded and he patted his knee again. “Now, let him come to me.”
“I will not.” She gritted her teeth and looked him square in the eyes. She knew where to cut a vital vein and kill him. There was no time for thinking about it now. She clenched her fingers around the edge of her sleeve, holding back her knife.
“Give him to me, Lily. ‘Tis time this is done.”
Her heart drummed like a war chant inside her. Her blood singed her veins. “No, Bertram. You will not have him. Now, get out.”
She didn’t think he’d go. But he started for the door. Passing her, he stopped and pushed her out of his way. He was upon little Eddie in no time.
She was about to take a step, but she stopped and cast him a horrified look.
She had to keep a clear head. Eddie’s life depended on it. She couldn’t let her emotions rule her.
She looked at her target, remembering her lessons with Elias. She took a step forward, arriving at the correct distance for the blade to fall into him. She wanted to do the most damage and aimed for his thigh.
But little Eddie was too close to fling the weapon so low. She’d have to get close to the savage. Aye, the villagers were correct to call Bertram that.
“Do not kill him!” she
cried out.
Bertram’s face lit up. “Ah, finally, some true passion!”
This was what he wanted. What he’d always wanted—for her to weep and show fear.
She had told Elias to use her in this way to get back Clare and her babe. She knew what he wanted. “Please, Bertram! I will do as you ask, only let me hold him.” She wiped her eyes, though there were no tears there.
He smiled triumphantly again and pushed little Eddie toward her.
She caught the boy and picked him up to hold him close to her. She whispered low in his ear. “Get ready to jump and run. Ready?”
He nodded. She turned him away and released her knife at the same time. Her heartbeat slowed, along with his movements.
She flung her blade and missed.
Bertram stared at the hilt of the blade sticking out of the wall just to the right of him, and then he turned to her. “Ye bitch.”
“Eddie, run!” she pushed the boy toward the door and began to turn back to Bertram.
But the savage reached her first. He took her by her hair and forced her to her knees. “Now, ye get no more mercy from me.” He dragged her to the door. “I willna fall fer yer bewitchin’ schemes again. No! Now, ye will be the one to call the boy to ye! Do it! Call him!”
“No!” she said through her clenched jaw. “I will not call him!”
He tried to pull her up to her feet, but she kicked him and clawed at his arms. She tried to pull another one of her blades from his belt but he raised his hand to strike her.
Little Eddie called out her name from outside.
She resumed her wild kicking. Bertram let her go and took a step toward the door to fetch the babe.
Lily ran to the wall where her first knife had landed. She yanked the blade free and aimed at the back of Bertram’s hip. This time, the blade met it’s mark. Blood gushed from him and he collapsed to the floor.
Run. She turned and shot off like an arrow from a taut bow. She ran outside, quickly caught up with little Eddie, and scooped him up in her arms. She ran back to Bertram’s horse, mounted with the babe and took off.