Morland laughed. “Such language. You are not a Lady, Miss Donovan.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you!”
“I rather doubt that, Miss Donovan.”
He continued to work his way through the fabric, leaving her breasts exposed. Her skin crawled. Her breath came out in harsh pants. She wanted to scream, needed to release some of the horror building inside her. Above her head, her fingers curled helplessly into fists she had no chance of using.
She thought of Rose, of Lydia, of all the girls who’d endured this same gut-wrenching fear—the knowledge that before death, there would be rape and torture. Was there a worse nightmare for a woman?
As the knife whispered down her body, her earlier thought about using her legs to snap the bastard’s neck came rushing back. If she could scissor her legs up, she might have a chance to incapacitate him. Maybe even make him a paraplegic. The odds were not in her favor, but she couldn’t lay there without at least trying to fight back. She would have only one chance.
But even as she braced herself, Morland suddenly stopped, and cocked his head, his expression intent. Kendra watched, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to her. Her stomach clenched as his eyes ran over her exposed torso. He smiled. “If you will pardon me, my dear, I shall only be a moment . . .”
Stunned, Kendra watched Morland turn and walk out of the room. She had a brief moment of euphoria at the unexpected reprieve. But that vanished quickly. Unless a miracle happened, he’d be coming back. She couldn’t count on a miracle.
Needing a better look at the shackles, she twisted her head. She yelped at a sharp pain at the back of her head. Fucking hairpins!
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her head was already aching from the blow she’d received, and she was waiting for a serial killer to come back to torture her. Now she was being skewered from the damn hairpins, because Molly had insisted on putting her hair up that morning.
Then she felt the thrill of exhilaration all the way down to her toes—the hairpins.
67
Morland watched from the shadows as Gabriel bent down and picked up the gold chalice that he’d accidentally kicked against the cavern wall—that was the noise Morland had heard. He didn’t understand why Gabriel was here, and he didn’t like it. Anger heated his blood at this unexpected complication.
Today had been nothing but goddamn complications, beginning with Thomas abducting the American. That had not been part of his plan. At least, not yet. He’d wanted to watch first, to observe the weeping and wailing over the little maid’s demise.
Thomas’s stupidity infuriated him. He’d known for a while now that he’d have to kill the fool, though he hadn’t planned to kill him so soon. But, in truth, that was the one unexpected development that would work in his favor. Yes, it would work out very well indeed.
In the future, of course, he would have to be more cautious. Sutcliffe or the Duke might even take it upon themselves to keep watch in London. Should whores go missing, it could mean a new investigation. He might consider buying a town house in Bath. Or Edinburgh—no one would care if Scottish whores began vanishing. Unfortunately, that would require him to actually spend time in that barbaric country.
Morland shook his head. That debate was for later. Now, he must take care of his unforeseen visitor.
He announced his presence, stepping out of the corridor into the larger cavern. “Lord Gabriel.” The younger man gave a surprised start, swinging around to face him. Morland smiled, moving forward, closing the space between them. “We have no fête planned. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“I . . . I came to find Miss Donovan.” Gabriel swallowed nervously, his gaze bouncing around the cavern.
Morland laughed. “My dear boy, do you honestly believe I am having an assignation with Lady Rebecca’s companion?”
“I . . . I beg your most humble apology, sir. I was actually hoping to find Thomas . . .” Gabriel’s voice trailed away when his gaze fell on Morland’s hands. He frowned.
Morland followed his gaze and let out a sigh. “Oh, dear. It would appear that I have Thomas’s blood on me.”
Gabriel stared at him in confusion. “Thomas’s blood?”
He smiled. “Yes. But I suppose there really is no point in wiping it off . . .”
In the blink of an eye, Morland had the knife out of his pocket, and was thrusting the blade into Gabriel’s gut, twisting, as he stared down into the younger man’s shocked eyes.
“Really no point at all,” Morland murmured.
Kendra scooted up the bed, pushing herself as far as she could into a half-sitting, half-reclining position. It was an awkward angle, straining her arms, but she managed to just graze the back of her head with her fingertips. She tried to relax her muscles as she maneuvered her body up another inch, grateful for the years of yoga practice. The iron manacles bit viciously into her wrists as she moved her hands, but she ignored the pain, and the warm blood that trickled down her arms. Her fingers felt swollen and numb, both from the pressure of the restraints and having her arms above her head.
Tilting her head down so that her chin pressed into her chest, she continued to twist her hands until her fingers dug into the soft coil at the base of her neck. Gritting her teeth, she rooted around and nearly wept with relief when her finger touched the top of one hairpin. She managed to pinch the top of it with her index finger and thumb, and slowly extracted it.
She couldn’t see the handcuffs, although she knew from their size and weight that she wasn’t dealing with a brand she was familiar with. Still, if there was a lock, she’d be able to pick it—she just needed time.
She closed her eyes in an attempt to block everything out. Slowly, she maneuvered the hairpin around until it struck the iron of the manacles, and she then began to tap blindly along the metal, learning its shape, trying to determine its mechanical structure.
She froze when the point of the pin suddenly snagged against the microscopic grain in the iron, bobbling. In reaction, her hand flexed, and she tried to squeeze her thumb and index finger around the pin’s head. Her attempt to control the slender wire was clumsy. She could feel it sliding.
She let out a sob as the hairpin slithered out of her grasp, dropping soundlessly to the bed, out of reach.
68
Alec didn’t bother to knock—he simply barged into Harcourt’s room. The captain had been stuffing a shirt into his satchel, but now whirled around, eyes widening in alarm at the sudden intrusion.
“My Lord? What is amiss?”
“I need you to take me to where Morland holds his club!”
“I-I do not know—”
Furious, Alec shot forward, slamming the other man into the armoire. He pressed his arm into Harcourt’s throat. “Don’t bloody lie to me, Harcourt!”
“Alec!” The Duke and Sam rushed into the room.
Alec didn’t take his eyes off Harcourt. “The bastard’s got Kendra. We’re wasting time!”
Harcourt made a strangled sound, his hands trying to push away the arm cutting off his air supply.
“I know you attended Morland’s club, Harcourt.” Alec eased back, allowing the other man to breathe again. “You will take me there. Now.”
Gabriel crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. His waistcoat was already soaked crimson. Blood oozed from between his fingers.
The wound was mortal, Morland knew. He stared down at the young fool and felt the rage rise inside him again. He felt no remorse over killing the man, but was upset that circumstance—not desire—had forced him to take the action. He walked in circles, struggling to control his fury. By the third loop, his vision no longer misted red.
He’d have to get rid of Gabriel, of course. It shouldn’t be too difficult. He wouldn’t be careless like Thomas; there would be no mistakes. The thought calmed him. I’m in control.
“Please . . .” Gabriel moaned. He was shaking, his eyes glazed with pain and shoc
k.
Morland flicked him a dispassionate look. He could finish him off by slitting his gullet, but that would be too easy a death for someone who’d caused him such annoyance. Saying nothing, he turned on his heel, retracing his footsteps down the rough-hewn corridor.
The pressure in his chest eased even more when he pushed open the door, his gaze fixing on Kendra. She was older than his preference, but she was the right size and coloring. Anticipation flooded him as he approached the bed.
“I apologize for the delay, my dear,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. His hand went to his cravat, loosening it. “You and I are going to have a lovely time. I must say that I am quite looking forward to it.”
His gaze slid hungrily over her partially exposed breasts, traveled up the slender column of white throat. He was annoyed that there were marks on it already. Bruises not caused by him.
Still, he smiled as he lifted his gaze to meet her dark eyes, expecting to see fear, the gleam of tears. They did hold a gleam. But it wasn’t terror or tears—it was rage.
Her mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “Fuck you, Morland.”
She came up swinging.
69
Adrenaline sizzled through Kendra as she sprang from the bed, swinging the one-pound chain like a medieval flail. It struck Morland on the side of his face with a satisfying crack. His cheek split open, pouring blood. With a stunned howl of pain and rage, he stumbled back.
She swung the chain around again, but Morland’s legs tangled with Thomas’s body, and he was saved from another lash by falling on his ass.
The element of surprise was officially lost. Kendra launched herself at Morland, straddling him as she brought the chain up and around his throat. His face turned bright red, his eyes bulging, as he tried to loosen the yoke. Apparently realizing she had the advantage, he eventually let go and began punching her on the side of her head.
Once, twice, three times. Her ears rang from the blows and her vision blurred. She tried to twist away without letting go of the chain, her biceps trembling.
Kendra yelped as pain seared down her hip. Her eyes snapped down, and saw her dress turn crimson. Her gaze went to the knife Morland held. She’d forgotten about the damn knife.
Abruptly, she let go of the chain and rolled off him, staggering to her feet. Her side was a blaze of agony, but she never took her eyes off him. They were both breathing raggedly. The harsh sound filled the room along with the coppery scent of blood: Thomas’s, Morland’s, hers.
“Now who’s not in their best looks?” she taunted even though the right side of her face felt swollen and sore from the beating. Her eyes darted to the table, which held the knives. They were closer to Morland. To get to them, she’d have to go through the bastard.
“I’m going to kill you!” Morland’s voice was raspy from her attempt to crush his larynx. Bruises circled his throat. It gave her some satisfaction to know that she’d inflicted the same wounds on him that he’d given to countless women. She said nothing to his threat, conserving her energy.
Morland got to his feet, his gaze flat and cold. They eyed each other, two predators who understood the stakes. There could be only one victor—unless they killed each other.
Morland rushed forward, the knife held high in one hand. Kendra tensed, her attention focused on the blade. As he brought it arcing down toward her, she catapulted herself forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting sharply, the same classic policeman’s maneuver that she’d used against Thomas in the forest.
Morland let out a cry and dropped the knife. But he was bigger, stronger, and smarter than Thomas. Instead of falling to his knees, he gave a punishing kick that knocked her sideways, loosening her grip. He twisted, striking her again, and they both fell in a tangled heap on the bed.
He rolled on top of her, pinioning her body beneath his. His eyes were wild as he brought his hands up to her throat, reversing their earlier position. Yellow dots swam in front of her eyes as his hands squeezed. But Kendra felt something sharp sticking into her side.
The hairpin.
Frantically, she swept the bed linens. It felt like forever, but it probably only took two seconds for her to find the slender wire and another second to grasp it. Then she brought her arm up and, with unerring accuracy fueled by desperation, she drove it into Morland’s left eye.
He screamed, a high-pitched sound of agony, and let her go. His hands flew to his face. Kendra didn’t wait; she brought her right hand up in a quick, powerful jab to the base of his eyebrows, and felt the gristle give way beneath the heel of her palm. She followed that with a one-two strike with her left hand, smashing his nose and punching upward, knowing that the bits of cartilage that she’d broke a second ago were now being forced up into his brain.
Morland made a strange gurgling sound. Kendra stared at the grotesque image above her. He hadn’t managed to pull out the hairpin before her attack, and it now protruded horrifyingly from his blind eye. His entire face was covered in blood.
He swayed almost drunkenly. Then he toppled to the bed beside her.
Kendra’s breath was coming out in such harsh gasps that she couldn’t tell whether Morland was breathing or not. If he survived, he’d have brain damage, she was sure. He wouldn’t be butchering any more women.
Slowly, painfully, she rolled away from him. She tried to stand, but her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor. She waited a minute, then managed to get to her hands and knees, shaking violently. She wondered if she could somehow crawl back to the castle, or if she’d die on the way.
70
The first thing that Alec saw when they ran into the cave was Gabriel’s prone form. “My God, Gabriel . . .” He rushed over to his brother, and at first thought him dead. Then he realized that Gabriel’s eyes were open, staring at him with awareness.
His gaze fell to Gabriel’s bloody hands. His brother had balled up a handkerchief and was pressing it into his stomach, but the handkerchief was saturated, so dark it looked black.
“Morland . . .” Gabriel coughed lightly, and with a terrible sense of foreboding, Alec saw flecks of blood on his lips.
“Don’t speak, Gabriel.”
“Morland . . .”
“We know. We know he’s the monster.”
“T-thought I . . . thought I was the monster.”
Alec glanced around, and saw his shock reflected in the faces of the Duke, Sam, and Harcourt. He turned back to his brother. “You are no monster.”
“Morland . . . Miss Donovan . . . in t-the room . . .”
“Stay still, Gabe. We will help you.” As the Duke and Sam hunched down, Alec pushed himself to his feet. In the dim light, he saw a cut in the cavernous wall. A hallway. Pulling out the dueling pistol, he hurried over to it. He lifted the pistol, and pushed through the door.
The stench of blood hit him first. His eyes swept the room. Thomas was dead on the floor, a gaping wound across his throat, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Morland was lying on his back on a bed, his face dark with smeared blood, his nose flattened in an almost comical manner. And there was something . . . what the hell was sticking out of his eye?
“Jesus,” he breathed, as his eyes fell on Kendra Donovan. She was on her hands and knees, shivering uncontrollably and equally bloody.
Shoving the pistol back into his pocket, he rushed forward and lifted her into his arms. She let out a cry of pain. Her face was bruised, one eye swollen shut. But she was alive.
“Morland . . .”
“I know. He’s the monster.”
She shook her head, and winced. “Is he . . . dead?”
Alec glanced over at the still figure on the bed. “I believe so. Good God. What the devil is in his eye?”
“Hairpin.” She allowed herself to curl against Alec’s body. “I always knew those things could be lethal.”
71
Kendra woke sometime during the night, possibly the early hours of the morning. She wasn’t sure; she’d lost track of time. Which was a hell
of thing for a time traveler to admit, she supposed.
Vaguely she remembered being held and rocked. It had taken a couple of minutes for her to understand that she was being held in Alec’s arms, on horseback. There were no ambulances or EMTs in the nineteenth century.
She’d passed out again, but came to as Dr. Munroe worked on her. She realized there were no anesthesiologists, either. When she’d moaned in pain, he’d spooned some liquid into her mouth that had knocked her out cold, which probably accounted for the vile taste in her mouth now. And the icepick headache—though that could’ve come from having the crap beaten out of her.
She opened her eyes. Or, rather, eye. The other was swollen shut. Her face felt monstrous, twice its normal size. Using only her good eye—and, Jesus, even that hurt—she took stock of where she was.
It was not, she realized, the bedchamber she’d shared with Rose. Above her was a shadowy canopy. Across from the bed was a Carrara marble fireplace. A low fire crackled in its hearth, a hazy glow. She could make out paintings, the gleam of wood, the dark shape of furniture. Her heart constricted in fear when one of those shapes rose. She let out a little moan of terror, her whole body tensing for attack.
“Sh-sh, sweetheart.” She recognized Alec’s voice. He approached the bed and touched her hand, a featherlight caress. “You are safe, Kendra. Morland is dead.”
“It’s over?”
“Yes. Go to sleep. You must rest.”
Kendra closed her eye. She doubted whether she would sleep, but next time she awoke, it was morning. A maid was bent over a nearby table, her back to her.
“Molly.” Her voice was so low and raspy that she was surprised that the tweeny even heard her.
Molly spun around and hurried over to the bed, where she burst into tears. “Oh, miss!” She attempted to mop up the flood with her apron. “Ye ’ad us ever so worried!”
A Murder in Time Page 43