Angel's Fall

by Kimberly Cates

  "Isabelle, I..." Adam's voice roughened. "Forgive me for judging you. Hell, it's like fighting with shadows, never knowing who is responsible for trying to attack Juliet. I have to ask you. Do you want to be this merchant's mistress?"

  "It's what I am, ma doucette. At least this way, the others will not have to suffer going back to such a life."

  "Neither do you. I've already enlisted my brother's help. We've found the perfect place away from the city, far from the mobs and the poverty and the dirt. It's a huge rambling house, with fields and gardens. Gavin is drumming up enough sewing through his philanthropic friends to keep the lot of you busy until the millennium. He's finding teachers in the arts and all manner of enjoyable things as well, so it will not be all drudgery. All that's needed is a headmistress to keep the unruly chits in line. Someone older, wiser."

  "Insufferable man! It's evil of you to mention a lady's age." But her relief gave Adam a glimpse of the girl she must have been, spirited and lovely and brave. "I fear my merchant is destined to be quite brokenhearted."

  Isabelle chuckled, shaking her head. "Look at us. Two confirmed cynics racing off to tilt with dragons with no weapon to wield against them but Juliet's dreams. It's abominable. I wonder which of us feels like the biggest fool?"

  "I do. Somewhere between wanting to throttle Juliet and haul her back to Northwillow nailed in a barrel, I fell in love with the woman." Adam drove his fingers back through his ebony mane, scowling.

  "Mon ami, it cannot be that bad! Your face is like a man confronting some grave calamity."

  "It just occurred to me that if you are not the one responsible for that fire, someone else is. And I don't have the damnedest idea where to find them."

  "Surely they must be satisfied now? The house is in ashes."

  "Is that kind of venom satisfied with consuming bricks and wood? Or once it's had a taste of victory does it need to strike deeper?"

  Isabelle shivered. "We will keep her safe among us, Sabrehawk. No one would dare strike at Juliet while she is in the earl's house. You'll hunt down whoever dared to harm her. And when you do..." A hard smile lifted Isabelle's lips. "You will show her enemy the peril to be found at the point of Sabrehawk's blade."

  Chapter 19

  Twilight dipped the scorched rose petals in purple dye, softening the desolation left in the lire's wake. Juliet wandered through the forlorn garden, the flowerbeds she'd tended so lovingly trampled beneath the heedless feet of those who had battled the flames. Yet here and there amid the crushed plants brave new shoots poked their fragile green heads, a testimony to the fact that there was new life preparing to blossom beneath what seemed utter ruin.

  She knelt next to her patch of foxglove, the tall stalks of flowers bent and broken. But she tucked fresh dirt around the half-exposed roots and used the ribbon from her hair to bind the stalks upright.

  Who knew? They might just heal, heal the way her heart had been healing in the hours since she'd ridden away from Glenlyon House.

  She tingled with anticipation, her gaze straying again to the gate beating a soft tattoo against the garden wall as the breeze swayed it to and fro.

  Where was Adam? It seemed as if she'd been waiting for him an eternity, planning out what she would say to him, reveling in imagining what it would be like to have him draw her into his powerful arms, take her mouth fiercely with his own.

  If he could forgive her for the ugly things she'd said, was there some chance that he would ask her to marry him? Or was it cruel even to think of tethering a wild bird of prey like Sabrehawk to one hand? Would she be condemning herself to the hell of watching him grow restless and unhappy, his eyes filled, not with love for her, but rather an unslakable thirst for far-off places and mad adventures that sent raw sensation searing through every nerve?

  True, he was rebuilding Angel's Fall. And his brother believed that Adam loved her. Yet how could she be certain until she looked into her weary warrior's eyes? Until she could gently strip away the last veils that hid his heart, to see the truth within?

  She sank down, the ground cool beneath her, the grass soft. Maybe Adam had been detained at whatever business he had gone to tend. It was possible that he wasn't coming here at all. The shadows were beginning to lengthen, and it couldn't be wise to remain here with darkness coming. She hated the whisperings in her ear of all the threats she'd received, the vileness of them, the cruelty.

  Whoever had burned the house had surely achieved their goal, and could no longer have any interest in hurting her, could they? Yet there were other dangers in the street that her experiences at Angel's Fall had made all too clear.

  She stood up. No, it was better to retrieve the mare and return to the earl's establishment. There, she could wait for Adam all night if need be.

  The sudden snap of a twig behind her made her heart catch in her throat. Heat flooded her cheeks and her pulses tripped in anticipation as she whirled around expecting to see Slade's towering frame, that rugged face struck with surprise.

  "Adam! I've been waiting..." She stopped, pressing her fingertips to her lips in dismay as she saw not Sabrehawk's mocking dark eyes, but rather, the ghostly smear of Barnabas Rutledge's angular features, his black frockcoat fluttering in the breeze.

  "Mr. Rutledge," Juliet said, fighting back her disappointment and trying to summon up a smile. Tension eased out of her, for Rutledge had ever been the most solicitous of neighbors, so concerned for her, always hovering with that worried expression in his sunken eyes. Now he looked exhausted, a little ill, a bandage wrapped about his left hand.

  "Miss Grafton-Moore." He sketched her an awkward bow. "Forgive my intrusion, but I saw you from the window of my shop. Allow me to tell you how sorry I am for your misfortune. I know this house meant a great deal to you."

  Juliet cast a glance toward the burned hulk. "I did love this house. But I discovered there are other things far more important." She glanced down at his hand. "You injured yourself, my dear friend. Let me look at it."

  "No! No, thank you." He thrust his hand behind his back as if to hide it. "I—I already came over and—and gathered some herbs for a poultice, the way you insisted I should whenever I wished. It's a trifling wound. Nothing to concern yourself with considering your own great trouble."

  Juliet patted his arm. "You have never been any trouble. My only friend in this neighborhood for so long."

  "There were so few people I could speak theology to. Your company was the greatest of gifts." Rutledge cleared his throat. "I just wanted to tell you that you will be sorely missed. And I wanted to return these to you." He rummaged in his pocket with his uninjured hand and drew out a handkerchief-wrapped bundle.

  She took it, unfolding the fine white cloth. A gasp burst from her lips as two golden lilies spilled into her hand, their diamond centers winking up at her.

  "The links I pawned from my mother's necklace!"

  Rutledge shuffled his feet, ill at ease. "I remembered your face when you surrendered them to me, the pain, the loss. The least I can do is to return them to you. Consider them a gift."

  She closed her fingers over the bright petals, pressing her fist to her heart. "You're so very kind." She stood up on tiptoe and brushed that parchment-dry cheek with a kiss.

  Rutledge's face suffused with color, his voice trembling. "No, you are the one who is kind, Miss Juliet. One of God's rare innocents, far too good for this world. I would do anything in my power to protect you."

  She'd never heard such passion in the pawnbroker's voice, and she ached a little, remembering his stilted marriage proposal. She'd thought his heart was not engaged, but perhaps she had hurt him worse than she'd believed?

  As if aware how much emotion he'd exposed, Rutledge turned away from her, clearing his throat. "When do you leave the city?"

  Juliet smiled. "I won't be leaving at all."

  Rutledge wheeled around, his long face drawn in lines of confusion. "But the house—it is ruined. And I know that you have no money, or you would never have pa
wned the bits of your mother's necklace."

  "True. But Adam—" She blushed. "Mr. Slade is helping me to recover."

  Rutledge's eyes widened, his complexion taking on an even more sickly cast. "Slade? That vile libertine? You cannot mean to accept anything from such a man!"

  Juliet felt a wave of protectiveness squeeze her heart. "Mr. Slade is not at all what he seems. He is generous and kind and—"

  "He is no such thing!" Rutledge cried in alarm, his fingers fluttering in agitation.

  "He has offered to rebuild Angel's Fall for me."

  "Rebuild it? Is he mad? No, he doesn't want to lose his nursery of depravity, a veritable banquet of women to sample! It grieves me to have to tell you the truth about him, but there can be no help for it. It is my duty to warn you."

  The pawnbroker straightened as if expecting a blast from a firing squad. "Miss Grafton-Moore, I have seen this man engaged in—in acts of the utmost depravity with my own eyes."

  "Mr. Rutledge—"

  "It's true. I swear it upon my soul! I witnessed Slade cavorting with some sinful woman in the garden house the night of the fire. The two of them were naked and writhing." Hot spots of color stained Rutledge's gaunt cheeks. "There can be no mistaking him, though I cannot say for certain who his wanton partner was. I regret to offend your modesty this way, but—"

  Juliet's face burned. How on earth had the pawnbroker seen? Through his window? A shudder worked through her at the thought of the gaunt man watching the garden at Angel's Fall, prying with those strange intense eyes.

  She was sick that anyone had glimpsed the searing intimacy she and Adam had shared. But the joining of their bodies had been a thing of beauty, not some sordid spectacle. She lifted her chin. "Mr. Rutledge, I was the woman in Adam Slade's arms."

  The pawnbroker stumbled back as if she'd cudgeled him, his eyes hot with disbelief and horror. "No! It cannot be! You—you are an angel! You would never debase yourself."

  "I have never experienced anything more beautiful. Sacred. I came to the garden tonight to wait for Adam. But it seems he has been detained."

  Rutledge clutched his throat in his bandaged hand. "This is my fault. This horrible thing! God forgive me for not having the courage to save you before... but I loved you! I was loath to take such drastic steps...."

  There was something wild and a little frightening behind the pawnbroker's eyes, like the flickering of a tiny black flame. "I'm sorry for your pain," Juliet said softly. "You have been a good friend. But all has worked out for the best."

  "The best? Slade has turned you into one of those filthy creatures of the flesh who have infested this house. They've tainted you with their poison just as I always feared they would! I should have killed him the first night I saw him at the inn!"

  Juliet's spine stiffened. "It was my choice to make love with Adam. And I pray I'll have a lifetime in his arms. I love him."

  "Love him?" The cry wrenched from Rutledge's throat. Juliet's fingers tightened on the golden lilies, her gaze flicking to the mare cropping grass in the farthest corner of the garden. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to Glenlyon House." Juliet started toward the horse, suddenly eager to get away from the garden and the condemnation in Rutledge's eyes.

  She'd barely taken a step when a hand flashed out, grasping her arm with surprising strength.

  "Mr. Rutledge, release me at once. I've nothing more to say."

  "You think I will just stand back and let you plunge yourself into Satan's arms? No! I failed once. I will not be so faint of heart again!"

  Juliet stared into Rutledge's face, and it was as if she were staring into the eyes of a stranger. Dark things, ugly things, frightening things lurked within those sunken depths, things she had never glimpsed there before.

  An image burned into her mind—her fingers pressing a key to the garden gate into the pawnbroker's hand, telling him to gather whatever herbs he wished from the garden.

  "The fire!" she gasped. "It was you. How else—" She choked off the words, something akin to panic lodging at the back of her throat. How else could Rutledge have seen her with Adam in the garden house?

  "I—I mean, your hand—" She fought to cover her blunder desperately, "you must've burned it when you were helping the others fight the fire." But she could see in the curl of his lips that he knew she was lying. She knew the truth.

  "Come now, Juliet. You know I never came here to help the night of the fire." Terrifyingly gentle, his words rasped against Juliet's nerves, leaving cold horror in their wake.

  "No. I—I'm certain—"

  "I was too busy tending the burn on my hand. When you ran into me—"

  "You're mistaken! I—"

  "You left me no choice!" Rutledge mourned. "Refused to heed my warnings. I had to take drastic measures to wrench you from the influence of those harlots. Save your innocence."

  She was in danger, terrible danger. Juliet could see the hot coals of fanaticism in his gaze, the terrible belief that God's vengeance was his to mete out. She had to get away, find some way to distract him so she could escape.

  "You seemed a saint to me," Rutledge's voice cracked. "How was I to know what Slade had already made you? A vile creature of the flesh! A whore like my own mother was!"

  "Your mother?" Juliet edged toward the gate. If she could break free, reach the street, she might have a chance. But who would help her? The neighbors who had delighted in the destruction of Angel's Fall?

  "I was to be a vicar," Rutledge said. "Rain, fire, and brimstone down upon sinners from the pulpit, terrify them into saving their worthless souls! I read myself blind, clawed and struggled until I was offered the vicarage at Millberry. But my rival discovered the truth about my past. My mother had been a whore. My father any one of a hundred men. I wasn't fit to take my place in the pulpit."

  Juliet shuddered, hearing in Rutledge's voice the hatred, the intolerance that her father had always grieved over, man indulging in his own petty loathing and cruelty and attributing it to God.

  Dots of foam flecked the corners of Rutledge's mouth, his eyes sunken pits touched with madness. "But Slade shan't have you! I'll not be thwarted again by such filth! I'll find a way to defeat him." He hesitated, a smile creeping across his lips. "There is only one thing to do. Yes. I know how to save you."

  "Let me go! Mr. Rutledge—"

  "Oh, I'll let you go. You needn't fear, lovely Juliet. But before I do, I'll see to it that Adam Slade will never be able to look upon your face again with anything but horror."

  God in heaven, what was he threatening to do? Juliet fought to tear away from him, but he held her as if each of his thin muscles were strips of iron. "Let me go! Stop this before—"

  "Don't be afraid, my sweet," Rutledge said with fiendish tenderness. "I will save you from him. And from yourself." She started to scream, to fight, willing Adam to ride through the gates. Adam... oh, God, he was her only chance. But if Rutledge dragged her away from here, how could Adam ever find her?

  She struck at Rutledge's face with her fist, the petals of the golden lilies cutting into her palm until she felt the warmth of her own blood.

  The lilies...

  Something hard collided with the back of her head. Lights exploded behind her eyelids and she crumpled to the ground. She forced her fingers to open, saw the golden lilies tumble to the earth.

  Such a tiny clue, such a faint hope. Adam would never find her before it was too late.

  "Adam..." Juliet squeezed his name through her parched throat as Rutledge scooped her into his arms.

  The last sight she saw was Barnabas's eyes glowing down at her like portals to some private hell, as the world drowned in darkness.

  A demon was pounding her skull with a spiked mallet, cracking it into the back of her head again and again until she feared she would retch.

  Thick webs of blackness suffocated her, yet they couldn't completely conceal the diamond-hard lump of terror lodged in her breast.

  Adam... she clung to that
name as if it were a sword, knowing she had to fight, had to remember where she was, what had happened. Yet each time she tried to open her eyes, her head seemed ready to split.

  Slowly, she attempted it again, lifting eyelids that seemed weighted by lead. A small room swung dizzily about her as she fought to pull it into focus. Rusted muskets, pots and pans, tarnished silver, an elegant music box, and a mounted set of antlers wove into a macabre pattern, creating a world that made no sense, nightmarish, unreal.

  "You're waking up, are you?"

  That voice, so solicitous, should have soothed her. Why did it strike raw terror in her heart. It was familiar... familiar...

  A figure materialized before her, wavering like a phantom. Barnabas Rutledge...

  "Help me," she croaked, but her throat was hoarse, her hands bound, helpless, behind her.

  "I will help you, my dear," Rutledge said in soothing accents that chilled her blood. "I've done my best to watch over you ever since you came to this sinful place. Even kept vigil outside the earl's townhouse night after night, praying for your soul. I'll take care of you now. You needn't worry any longer."

  With all her will, Juliet forced back the veil of unconsciousness, tried to grasp fragments of what had happened. She'd been in the garden, waiting for Adam, and Rutledge had come to give her the golden lilies....

  In her mind's eye she saw the bits of gold tumbling from her bruised fingers, felt the terror, the hopelessness. The horrifying truth cascaded into her consciousness, the realization she was in danger, Rutledge's dark threats, her helplessness against him.

  She tried to stand up, stagger toward the door, but ropes bit into her flesh, binding her hands and feet, lashing her to what looked to be a chair.

  "You mustn't struggle so, my dear," Rutledge said, a harsh rhythmic scraping sound raking at her nerves. "You'll bruise your wrists. Just rest. It will be complete soon."

  "Complete? What will be complete?"

  "Your salvation. The knife is almost sharp enough."