She lay beside Cam, feeling for a pulse, praying for a breath. But he was too still. His body cold. Or was that her?
Blood from cuts she couldn’t feel dripped into her eyes. She wiped it away.
A silver glow hovered over them. Burned through the pain. She reached out, touching Cam. And let the light claim her.
Cam came awake, every nerve ending scraped raw, every part of his body seemingly twisted out of shape as if some force had wrung him like a sponge. He groaned, shaking the stench of death from his mind, though it lingered at the corners.
Where was he? He hefted himself onto his side, his hands encountering something oozy soft that stank to heaven. An acrid wind blew ash into his face, stung his nose. He was outside, looking up at the inn. Above him, the second floor glowed red, fire lapping out the windows, curling down the walls. Screams and shouts and smashing glass sounded behind him. What the hell had happened? He remembered a man. And a fight. And then…where was Morgan?
Oh, please don’t let her be up there.
He sat up, his vision going dark as dizziness swamped him.
There she was. Curled on her side nearby, one hand outstretched, her wolf-head ring glittering in the light from the blaze.
“Morgan.” He shook her, prayed she’d wake. Look up at him and smile. Hell, he’d settle for one of her scathing glares. “Morgan, we have to get out of here. Now.”
He didn’t know what had happened up there, but it hadn’t been good. Successes didn’t leave you tossed on a rubbish heap feeling like the bottom of someone’s boot. If Buchanan found them like this, it was over.
He staggered to his feet, breathing through the pain until he steadied himself. Then kneeling, he gathered Morgan into his arms. She smelled of smoke, her hair, her clothing. Ash streaked her face, mingling with what he prayed wasn’t blood.
“Cam?” she murmured, burrowing her head against his chest. “You’re alive.”
“And trying to stay that way,” he ground through clenched teeth. “Hold on.”
But she’d already drifted off.
Focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, he carried her out of the yard and into the street. Plunged through the chaos of the firefighting. Just one more victim trying to escape. Unremarkable. Unremarked.
He needed a safe haven. A place where no one would ask too many questions. Would accept what had happened to them without thinking they were insane. He knew of only one place. One person.
Ensign Traverse.
Chapter 11
The target had been sighted. An open shot. An easy kill. Another body claimed by the Serpent Brigade.
Out of habit, he reached for his cross for one last good-luck rub before remembering. Charlotte had it. Locked away in a jeweler’s box.
He was on his own.
His finger tightened around the trigger, his focus narrowed to the kill zone of the enemy’s chest.
The report of the gun echoed across the rocky hills, followed by the anguished screams of a woman, her cream and gold gown, her glossy black hair, her dusky Spanish features—all spattered now with blood and bone and offal.
“Hábleme, Papa!” she wailed, bent over the dead man’s corpse. “Papa! Mi Papa.”
Others emerged from the church: the woman’s new husband, the rest of the wedding party, the priests. The weeping and screaming and shouts for vengeance curled up from the valley like smoke, but he’d already slung his rifle over his shoulder, already erased the evidence of his hiding place.
Target eliminated. Mission accomplished.
The images followed Cam up and out of sleep, the gnawing pain in his gut sending him rolling for the side of the bed to heave, the spasms clutching his stomach long after he’d thrown everything up.
Lying back, he shuddered, wiping a shaking hand down his face, his body clammy with sweat. A niggling thought teased the edge of his mind. Something he should remember. Something important that had only come to him in his sleep.
A woman’s voice broke the silence, clear and sharp like a stone upon a sword, and the ghost of a thought vanished.
Do we blame the eagle for killing the hare? The wolf for bringing down the deer? We say it is their nature and accept. So it is with the soldier and his war. He does what is in his nature to do.
Scathach.
The warrior-woman stood at the window, arms clasped behind her, her black hair free and rippling down her back. She turned, and he realized by the expression on her face that her words came from within. She’d spoken to him mind to mind.
He flung himself forward, the room tilting, the pain in his head like a fork to the brain. “Where’s Morgan? Is she safe?”
He’d risen halfway before she took him by the shoulders, eased him back onto the mattress, her grip like steel. Or he was a hell of a sight weaker than he thought.
Once he was back in bed, her inhuman gaze held him there. “She is with the young ensign. And she is well. We worried over you.”
He tried remembering in reverse order.
The never-ending walk through town, Morgan’s weight in his arms easy compared to the feeling that his body disintegrated with every footstep.
Back to the shocking intrusion of the giant in their room.
Back to—
He closed his eyes, groaned in disgust. Had he really been caught with his hands down Morgan’s breeks? Talk about the disaster of the century.
This whole working as a team thing was going so well to begin with. Why not add some meaningless sex to the mix? Make it really enjoyable.
“How long have I been here?”
“A day only. When you did not wake, Morgan grew worried and summoned me.”
“So you know about…”
“She has told me everything.” And he swore she smiled as she said it.
He took a deep breath, letting the slow expand and contract of his lungs calm his racing thoughts.
“You have hurt Morgan once, Colonel Sinclair,” she said. “Who can say you will not do so again?”
This was definitely not the conversation he wanted to be having. And not now. There wasn’t a point on his body that didn’t ache. His head, especially, felt fragile as an egg. “I never meant to. And I’d make it up to her if I thought she’d listen.”
She raised a surprised brow. “You’ve told her this?”
“She’s been too busy telling me what a bastard I am to listen to anything I have to say.”
A serene smile tipped the corners of her lips. Lit the inscrutable black of her eyes.
He met her gaze, refusing to be intimidated, though she was the most intimidating woman he’d ever met. His hand went to the cross at his neck as if it could ward her off.
“Your God has no fear of my power,” she said indulgently, her voice soft with laughter, “yet neither do I fear him.” Her face grew stern, the cold perfection of every feature almost painful. “Morgan will move on if she’s given no choice. No encouragement.”
“You think I encouraged her?” He started up, the throbbing stab in his head bringing tears to his eyes.
“Your presence is encouragement enough to one as volatile as Morgan.” She moved toward the door like some great black cat, pausing to turn back before she left. “Just bear in mind, Colonel. She leads with her heart. It is a great strength, but it leaves her vulnerable to great pain. Betrayal—whether it be by friend or by lover—cuts her deeply. That is why this mission preys upon her so. For now, she is confronted by both.”
Alone again, Cam was bothered by his earlier jangled senses. What had he missed? What had he discovered? It lurked at the corners of his brain, fading each time he reached for it. If he relaxed, thought of something else, mayhap the memory would clear. He lay back. Thought of Scathach. The idea that he’d encouraged Morgan. Hell, she’d done everything but beg for it. A few more uninterrupted minutes and—his mind jumped to the attack. To the muscle-bound giant with the power to strip Cam to bones. Skipped forward, clicking piece by piece into place like a p
uzzle. What had Scathach said? Betrayal by a friend. A warrior who commanded magic. One who’d called Morgan by name.
She knew who they were after. All this time. And she’d kept it secret.
Miss Morgan Fucking Bligh had set him up.
Cam looked like he’d been in a fight. And lost.
A fading yellow and green eye seemed the worst, but he held himself stiffly, favoring one leg over another. Old injuries aggravated by Doran’s attack. The fall from the roof.
Morgan sympathized. She’d been hobbling around for the last two days like the walking wounded, snarling at anyone who dared glance in her direction. Ensign Traverse had finally given up trying to be nice and snarled back, which only made her feel guilty on top of miserable. After all, he’d taken them in. Let them hide in his rooms. And asked nothing in return, though she knew he held his despair in check by only the merest threads. She hoped Gram had received her letter by now.
Cam closed the door behind him, the snick of the latch making her jump. His face beneath the bruising hardened into strained lines, his lips pressed tightly together. Just as if they hadn’t almost…as if she…and then he…Could this be more awkward?
She leaned back against a table, gripping the top with both hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her.
No embarrassment clouded his flint-hard gaze. He pinned her in place with the force of his stare, a muscle jumping in his rigid jaw. It reminded her of what he’d revealed in that alleyway. The skills. The violence. If she’d been hiding her true self, apparently so had he. “What the hell is going on, Morgan? And no lies this time.”
He advanced toward her, murder in his tone, his hands clenched into fists he looked all too willing to use.
“What do you mean—this time?”
“You’ve been holding back since the beginning. You’ve known all along who stole the damn sword. Is he Amhas-draoi? A friend of yours? A lover?”
The words brought her up short like a slap to the face. The disgust in his eyes made her want to throw something heavy at him. He actually believed she’d slept with Doran. She’d think he was jealous, except jealousy implied feeling. And the only feeling evident in Cam’s gaze was raw fury.
Hurt and angry, she met him glare for glare. “You filthy bastard. I hate you.”
His brows rose in smug condescension. “Really? That’s not the way it seemed a few days ago. But perhaps you go for the men you despise. Adds a little spice to the conquest.”
He made it sound so sordid. And mayhap it had been. But for a single moment when he’d whispered in her ear, she’d come alive. She’d felt the chill of winter at the window, the heat of a roaring fire, and the security of Cam’s love.
The present shattered her girlish imaginings. “Or was your little seduction just a game, Morgan? A way to distract me from what was really going on?”
He kept picking at her, knowing what words would punish the most. Knowing just how to destroy her. He had a gift for that.
“That’s it exactly, Cam,” she bit back, this new betrayal almost harder to bear than the first because she’d done it to herself. “You figured it out. Get you excited, and you wouldn’t know whether you were coming or going. It was my plan from the beginning.”
His shoulders slumped, the heat of his rage turning cold and hard. They stood inches apart yet the distance between them seemed unbridgeable. Too much held them back. Nothing held them together.
“I’m tired of being played for a fool. I’m running blind. And looking the perfect jackass. Must have been quite a joke to you.”
“We had our reasons,” was all she could say. Inadequate as it sounded.
“I’ll bet you did.”
He left her, the vacuum his sudden absence created almost painful. She wanted to cradle her arms to her body, squeeze her eyes shut. Instead, she remained stiffly upright against the table, her chin up. The picture of indifference.
He crossed toward the door. Definitely favoring the right leg now. “Well, you can keep your reasons. Joke’s over. And so is this insane arrangement. You’re on your own.”
“Where are you going?”
He reached the door. Glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re the tracker. You figure it out.”
Scathach found Morgan in what passed for a back garden. She’d not left the lodging house since Doran’s attack. If he thought she and Cam had died, so much better. He’d be off his guard. More confident. And thus easier to track. That was the conclusion she and Scathach had come to, but it didn’t help her jumbled thoughts and boiling frustration. She needed to be doing something. Anything.
“The young soldier says you’ve been out here since breakfast.”
“It’s better than running into Cam.”
Scathach folded her arms across her chest. “I heard about that as well.”
“I’ve made a mess of everything. Cam hates me. Doran and the sword are long gone. I burned down half a building, for heaven’s sake.”
“You also saved Sinclair’s life and your own. And did it in such a way Doran has no idea you are still alive. While tallying the pluses and minuses, let us not forget those.”
“Cam doesn’t see it that way. He’s probably packing right now for London. Off to warn General Pendergast about the treachery of Other. They’ll be on our doorstep with pitchforks and burning brands in a week.”
“So stop him.”
Morgan fiddled with her wolf-head ring. Dropped her hands to her lap when she caught Scathach’s eyes on her. “You didn’t see him. He was beyond furious. With all of us.” Cam’s hate-filled words echoed in her head. The blunt viciousness of his accusations still curdled her insides. “But especially with me.”
Scathach swept up her skirts. Took a seat next to Morgan. Simple movements with the same contained precision she brought to the training field. “There is much you have to learn, but you do well under trying circumstances. I had faith you would rise to the challenge of seeing him again.”
Morgan cocked her a quizzing glance. “So this was a test?”
“No test, but I desired to find out if your time with Colonel Sinclair had lessened your resolve to make a life with the Amhas-draoi your own. Zeal quickly fades. It is important to discover whether an apprentice truly understands what is asked of him.”
“And what if I had given in? If the feelings I had were still there?”
“I knew you better than that. No Duinedon—no matter his attributes—would be enough for one such as you. Your grandmother may have turned her back on a life of the Fey, but the blood of the High Danu still runs within your veins. Even among the Other you are marked as special.”
“So you think I was wrong to do what I did?”
“To take him as a lover?” She shook her head, an understanding smile curling the corners of her lips. “I am not of your world, Morgan. I believe in taking pleasure where you find it. If the colonel brings you that pleasure, so be it. I am only saying you must not let an entanglement of this kind affect your true purpose. It is within the brotherhood you will find your strength. And you have a duty to fulfill to that brotherhood.”
Morgan picked at a corner of the broken bench, crumbled the stones in her hand. “Why must duty and love be separate? Why can’t we have both?”
“Perhaps for some it is possible. But would your colonel allow you to continue on such a path once you became his wife? He would expect you to keep his house, rear his children. You have barely begun your life. I have lived a thousand and a thousand such. And in all that endless time, I have seen the way the Duinedon regard their females. Treasured pets at best. Prisoners and drudges at worst. Is this the life you would take upon yourself? The walls of your marriage would become the bars of your jail.”
Morgan straightened, knowing the truth of Scathach’s words.
Cam was amazing. There was no doubt. Just those few minutes in his arms, the searing heat of his touch had been enough to throw all his past actions out of her mind. But the cold light of day had
shown her Cam’s true feelings.
She’d never be a proper lady. Saying the right thing. Doing it the right way. And she’d never yearned to be. Only Cam’s arrival in her life had allowed her a glimpse of what might have been. But might-have-beens faded when touched by truth. And the truth was, she was Amhas-draoi. That was enough for her. It always had been.
“I can’t let him go to General Pendergast with what he knows. Not yet. If he thinks things are bad now, the panic Doran’s betrayal would cause could destroy the Other.”
“If you can stall Sinclair, it will mean a reprieve. I fight the forces of Andraste. They wish to bring down the walls in order to find Neuvarvaan, and their voices grow louder among the court. We cannot let them cross over, Morgan. For the continued existence of both Fey and Duinedon. Tell your colonel that. He must be made to understand. An army of Undying under Doran’s control would be disastrous. But a full invasion by the Fey would be Armageddon.”
Morgan squared her shoulders, tossing away the handful of pebbles. Wiping her hands down her skirt, she stood. “Leave it to me. I’m very persuasive when I want to be.”
Chapter 12
Morgan stood outside Cam’s room, running through her mental checklist. Shaking off a sudden attack of nerves. She could stall Cam. She had to. She couldn’t let him leave for London. Not like things stood now. Scathach was right. What she and Cam shared had been amazing. But she needed to put aside personal feelings now. Focus on the task at hand. Retrieving Neuvarvaan for the Fey. Bringing down Doran for the Amhas-draoi.
She’d mapped out her strategy. Plan A consisted of a sincere apology followed by rational arguments and an avoidance at all costs of a repeat of their shouting match.
If that didn’t work, she’d move to plan B. Groveling on hands and knees. Not as highbrow but no less effective if carried off correctly. She’d even scare up a few tears. Men couldn’t resist weepy females.
Halfway through her instructions to herself, Cam flung the door open, his expression making it clear she’d have to go straight to plan B or she didn’t stand a chance.
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