One fiend yelped and rolled backward, clutching the bleeding wound at his shoulder.
Adam aimed for the other villain, but he missed, the pistol knocked from his hand again. Still, the interruption afforded Adam an opportunity to gather his wits and strike at the rogue sitting on top of him.
A solid jab to the nose cracked the devil’s bone. He sputtered, the blood oozing from his nostrils.
Adam shoved the brute away. Unfettered from the clinging devils, he dashed into the darkness, away from the suffocating smoke, and toward the spot he had last seen Evelyn being dragged away.
“Evie!”
But she was gone.
Frenzied, Adam shouted her name once more.
But only the splinter of wood and the lash of flames as the cottage crumbled were heard.
“Adam!”
Adam whirled around and spotted a group of spooked and tethered horses.
And then he saw Evelyn.
A henchman was struggling to haul her across one of the mounts.
Adam rushed toward the grappling couple. Dizzy, his body cramped, he didn’t care that he was in poor condition to engage in fisticuffs. He grabbed the villain and dragged him from the horse. Evelyn tumbled, too, shrieking.
But a swift punch to the jaw didn’t even daze the fiend. He in turn knocked Adam to the ground and straddled him before he reached for Adam’s throat. The devil squeezed, sucking the breath from Adam’s lungs.
Adam could feel the blackness encroaching.
At the sound of Evelyn’s cries and rasping cough, Adam gathered his remaining strength and aimed for the one part of the villain exposed to him.
He shot his fist right at the man’s cock.
The scoundrel seized.
One more knock across the head with his fist, and Adam had rendered the devil insensible.
“Evie.” Adam gasped and massaged his tender throat. “Are you all right?”
She was wheezing.
Bright spots dotted Adam’s eyes, for he, too, was gasping for air. He crawled over to Evelyn, reached out for her…
Adam opened his eyes and peered into the darkness, the shadows in the room taking shape.
Where was he?
He lifted his head to better explore his surroundings, but the spasms in his skull pressed him to keep still.
He was dizzy and weak. Blood dripped from the wound at his temple into his eye, blinding him for a moment. He blinked to brush away the moisture.
What had happened?
He was drained of energy. He tried to move, but something cold and heavy prevented him…
Adam was stripped to his trousers, chained—and hanging.
He clenched his teeth to gird against the intolerable abuse. He was suspended from a beam, wrists bound in shackles. His toes touched the ground, but the sharp stinging in his shoulders had him gasping for air.
His memories a blur, Adam concentrated on the ghostly sights and sounds storming his weary brain. Flashes of light, screams filled his head. Heat scorched his skin.
There had been a fire…at the cottage…and a fight…Evie!
“Evie.”
Adam rasped the name, his smoke-stained lungs burned and dry. Fresh torment pumped through his blood, making him restless, eager to find Evelyn.
“Evie is not here.”
The rough voice came from the shadows.
Once more Adam lifted his head, dismissed the spastic pulsing to explore the blackness. “Who are you?”
“I am Dmitri.”
The shadow shifted.
Adam focused his watery gaze on the moving darkness, but his vision was a blur; he could not make out the villain’s face in the dim light.
“Where is Evelyn?”
Another bout of vertigo brushed over Adam, and he lowered his head to release some of the biting pressure. He had to stay awake. He had to find out what had happened to Evie.
“Evelyn is with my master,” said Dmitri.
The nausea in Adam’s belly churned. Evie was with him!
Brutal images raged through Adam’s already tortured mind: images of Vadik ravishing, then killing Evelyn.
The grief in Adam’s heart ballooned…the rabid fury, too. He flexed his muscles and thrashed despite the pounding pulses in his head, hoping to break free of the beam.
“Do you wish to leave?” said Dmitri, his voice heavy with an unfamiliar accent. “Are you dissatisfied with my hospitality? Let me see if I can make you more comfortable.”
Adam stilled.
The shadow moved across the room. A low-burning fire dwindled in the hearth…or was it a forge? Adam’s vision was still a blur.
“You caused us a considerable amount of trouble tonight,” said Dmitri.
Us? The henchmen?
“Not nearly enough,” gritted Adam.
The shadow laughed. He pumped the bellows, feeding the hungry flames now bursting with life.
Dmitri approached again, a radiant red iron poker in his grip. “My master is a curious man. He would like to know what transpired between you and his fiancée.”
Adam could better see the villain’s face as his eyes adjusted to the faint light—and he recognized the devil as the henchman who had strangled Evelyn.
Adam spit in the fiend’s face.
The villain was unperturbed. He wiped his brow and resumed his narrative with cool composure. “You are a violent man, Adam.” He lifted his eyes, resplendent under the glow of the steaming iron poker. “It is your name, is it not? It is what she called you?”
Adam recollected Evelyn’s panicked screams for help. Sweat poured down his back, the burning desire to reach her—save her—consuming him.
The hot iron poker hovered a short distance from Adam’s moist chest. So close, he could feel the heat radiate and blister his skin.
“I have three comrades nursing wounds,” said Dmitri.
Adam noted the bruise swelling between the villain’s eyes, the spot where he’d cracked him. “Pity I didn’t do you more damage.”
The devil rolled the iron poker across the expanse of Adam’s breast. The fiery metal never touched his flesh—but it came perilously near.
“I’m afraid I might have to do you more damage if you do not cooperate,” said Dmitri.
“Then I suppose I have you to thank for this gash in my head?”
“No, that was my comrade’s doing…but you do have me to thank for this.”
Adam roared at the sweltering contact between his flesh and the burning iron.
The scoundrel whispered, “That was just a tap.”
Nausea and dizziness overwhelmed Adam. For a moment, he believed he would black out. But after a few steady breaths, he regained his wits and maintained his senses.
Teeth gnashing, Adam growled, “I thought you were supposed to make me more comfortable?”
“Did I say that?” The villain moved the poker steadily across Adam’s chest, a hairbreadth away. “Forgive me. I intended to make myself more comfortable…and it gives me great comfort to cause you pain.”
Adam didn’t doubt the man’s words. His thoughts returned to Evelyn. What horrors she must be suffering! Grief filled him, suffocating him even more. His desire to save the woman was thwarted by chains and a pusillanimous devil!
The hate inside Adam twisted and burrowed its way into every pocket of his soul, darkening him, bleeding him of goodwill. If he could just wriggle one hand free, he would crush the devil’s throat—and take pleasure in doing it.
“Shall we begin?” said Dmitri. “My master is a very impatient man.”
“Fuck your master.”
Adam let out another howl. Steam sizzled from the blistering wound at his nipple, the stench of burning flesh ghastly.
“I think you should show my master a little more respect,” the devil warned. “Now tell me, is the woman still untouched?”
Adam was mute. One wrong word, and he might inadvertently put Evelyn in even greater harm.
Another tap of the ho
t iron poker.
Adam seized and clenched his teeth to refrain from shouting.
“Try to be a little more obliging,” said Dmitri. “My master does not want to take a whore for his wife. As a man, you can understand a husband’s desire to take a pure and innocent woman to his marriage bed. My master only wishes to know if his fiancée is still such a woman.”
Adam girded against the abuse, speechless. So that’s what the bloody “master” really wanted to know?
Dmitri tsked. “I see I will have to be a little more persuasive.”
The scorching iron dragged across Adam’s ribs, making him howl. The room was spinning. He could not get his eyes to focus. Darkness was coming to snatch him away again.
“There are other, more invasive ways to prove her innocence, you know? My master prefers I interrogate you, but if you continue to be stubborn, I can always examine her quim—”
“She’s innocent,” gritted Adam. He had not touched her in that way, and since she lived a sheltered life, he suspected no one else had touched her, either.
But he had kissed her. And right then the sweet memory of their kiss eased the torment in his soul.
“Good. My master will be pleased to hear that.”
Adam resisted the urge to curse his master again. He had learned one blissful truth. Evelyn was still alive! And untouched, it seemed. Her fiendish fiancé intended to marry her before he consummated the union—and then murder her like his first wife.
Adam searched his weary brain, thinking about Evelyn’s harrowing plight. When was her betrothal to Vadik scheduled to be celebrated? Tomorrow night? Or tonight? Was it morning already? But then the couple were to head for the mainland to be married. If he could just break free, there was still time to snatch her from Vadik’s monstrous hold.
But he was chained—and hanging.
Blast it all to hell!
A door opened.
A robust figure stepped inside the room and stormed, “What in bleedin’ hell is going on in here?”
Adam gathered what was left of his strength, and seized the moment of distraction to kick his legs into the air and knock Dmitri into the opposite wall.
There was a distinct thunk as the villain smacked his head against a hard surface and dropped to the floor.
Very nearly drained of life himself, Adam whispered roughly, “Get me down!”
But the mysterious figure in the doorway didn’t budge. “Who are you? What are you doing in my shop?”
With the door ajar, Adam had an opportunity to better explore his surroundings. And it was clear to him then he was inside a blacksmith shop: the perfect place to gather information, for it had a wide variety of torture devices—and it was nowhere near Evelyn.
“Unlock me!”
The other man was unmoved by the curt command, though. “I think I’d better fetch the magistrate.”
“Wait!” Adam had to remember he was not a captain aboard ship, barking orders. He lowered his voice and rasped with more civility, “My name is Adam.”
The blacksmith pointed to the body on the ground. “And who’s he?”
“The devil.”
The heinous charge gave the burly smith pause. “I still think I should summon the magistrate.”
“You have to let me go!”
“How do I know you’re not the devil?”
“You don’t!” He sighed. “But I’m asking you to trust me.”
Clearly cross, the other man looked ready to protest, but he must have sensed it a wasted effort, for he grumbled something unintelligible before he raided a chest of tools for the key. “I’ll break your teeth if you misbehave.”
Adam fully believed the robust smith.
The man unlocked the shackles.
Adam’s arms dropped, and he groaned at the inflammation in his shoulders. He sat down on the ground with a loud grunt. His thoughts went round and round in his head; the room moved, too. He had to breathe deep and hard to keep from fainting. There was still Evelyn to find. He had to stay awake for her sake.
“Thank you,” said Adam.
The man humphed in return. “You know, I have an order to make a dozen shackles for the local gaol.” He closely examined his handiwork. “If you damaged this one, you’re paying for it.”
Adam rubbed his bruised wrists and stood.
Vertigo brushed over him. But he quickly regained his balance and staggered toward the door, the sunlight guiding him.
“Wait a minute!” The blacksmith pointed toward the floor. “What the devil am I supposed to do with him?”
Adam glanced at Dmitri’s carcass. The man was still alive, breathing. But Adam had no time to waste on the brute anymore. It was fruitless to wait for Dmitri to rouse, he reasoned. The devil would never betray Evelyn’s whereabouts, even under duress. Adam suspected the fiend was accustomed to doling out pain—and taking it when necessary. He was just too loyal to his bloody master; Adam needed greater help.
“Toss him into the forge,” suggested Adam before he dropped to his knees, crippled by the throbbing pulses in his head.
“Don’t you faint, too,” the blacksmith ordered, as he crouched beside him. “What did the two of you quarrel about?”
“A woman.”
The man snorted. “It’s always about a woman.”
“Where am I?” said Adam.
“Abbey Mills in Colchester.”
Adam remembered the name of the small town. It wasn’t too far from…
“Do you know the Duke of Wembury?”
The blacksmith looked at him as if he were daft. “Aye, I do. We all here know about the Duke of Wembury.”
“Can you take me to him?”
The other man cursed. “You’re just determined to ruin my day, aren’t you?”
Chapter 13
The castle.
It stood like a fortress, a mountain of hard, gray stone. Two lofty towers flanked the impressive keep, the spire rooftops invisible under the blinding light of the morning sun.
Adam stumbled toward the familiar entranceway, each step a methodical effort. The blacksmith had refused to escort him straight to the door, for fear of the master within. And so Adam had to make his way to the castle alone.
The crippling anguish in his arms, the blistering wounds burned into his breast had ceased to stir pain. He was numb. Intent on only one objective: to get to the duke and seek help for Evelyn.
Adam approached the polished mahogany, skimmed his fingers across the ornate wood carving in the door, searching for the handle. He still could not see very well; color and light blurred together in his eyes. But the castle was his childhood home, and he remembered every aspect of it well.
The latch was easy to find. Adam pushed open the door and stepped inside the main hall, quiet and cavernous. He closed the heavy barrier, the boom echoing throughout the large space.
Once he was safe inside the keep, the support in his legs buckled. With great effort, he tried to keep his battered body erect, but the vertigo threatening to snatch away his waking thoughts finally took hold of him, and he dropped to the ground in silence.
Adam opened his eyes.
He was inside the duke’s study. It didn’t look like the gloomy haven Adam remembered it to be. The windows, unmasked from heavy drapery, were bedecked in soft and diaphanous sheers. Sunlight streaked into the room and touched the ancient tomes on the bookshelves. And the smell. The musty smell so reminiscent of their father was gone, replaced by the tang of spirits and wood polish.
Adam was sprawled across the lounge. A figure hovered above him. He recognized Jenkins, the butler. The old man dabbed a scented napkin over his brow, burning the wound at his temple.
Adam grimaced.
“Your Grace,” said Jenkins. “His Lordship is awake.”
Adam took in a loud breath through his nose.
The stark and familiar clip-clop of boots resounded as the duke circled the study desk. A formidable figure, he stopped a short distance away from the furnitu
re—and waited.
Adam exhaled a noisy breath. A great storm filled him. He had not seen the duke in four years, not since the night he had stabbed the man.
“Jenkins, I wish to speak with my brother alone.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The butler bowed and quietly vacated the room.
Adam observed his kin. He didn’t know what to say to his brother, their last meet so dark and bloody. A heavy sentiment anchored in his belly, a sense of shame for what he had done so many years ago.
“You look like shit,” said Damian.
Adam glanced down at his breast to find the wounds dressed, his chest wrapped in bandages. “I feel like shit, too.”
Damian crossed the room. He picked up a decanter and filled it with a generous amount of spirits. “Here.” He approached the lounge. “Drink this.”
Adam accepted the glass. He regarded his elder brother with unease. It was there between them, the unspoken memory of their last encounter.
The brutal images stormed Adam’s weary brain. He relived the attack: the feel of warm blood on his hands, the grief in his belly, the anguish in his soul.
He shuddered. Words deserted him. He could not bring himself to mention that ill-fated night, to speak of their fraternal strife. He could not find the right sentiment to express his shame.
The duke rounded the study desk again and paused beside the window. “I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you again.”
Adam downed the brandy with greed. It burned his innards like fire. But it sparked the ailing life within him, too. “I had not planned to return.”
The duke looked from the landscape to his brother. The admission seemed to displease him. Adam couldn’t imagine why, though. Not after what he had done to the man.
Fortunately the duke had survived the savage attack. He was married now with a daughter. No more the “Duke of Rogues,” according to Mother’s letters. Damian had found peace with his wife, Mirabelle: the very peace Adam had once wished for him.
But there was no peace for Adam. Or forgiveness. So why intrude upon the couple’s newfound happiness? And he would have remained estranged…but for Evelyn.
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