by London Casey
His right arm shook, what little strength he had sapped by holding Elizabeth. Much longer and he feared his arm would simply give up. Fortunately, Eógan showed him to a small bedroom, with what looked like a long daybed. He knelt, not trusting his arm, and eased her to the thin mattress.
Eógan dropped the packs and set the lamp down, moving to help Kane stretch Elizabeth out on the bed. She moaned, then let out a sigh, her body relaxing. Kane brushed her hair back, felt her forehead. She was feverish, her skin damp with sweat.
“She’s bad hurt, your lady.” He pulled Kane to his feet. “Can you lift that arm?”
Kane swallowed, shook his head. “I don’t need you to—”
“My mistress will talk my ears bloody if I leave you like this. Here,” he led Kane to a chair. “Sit, and I can reach you better.”
Every muscle clenched as Eógan pulled up the sweater. By the time his right arm was free he could hardly breathe. Battering his shoulder against the stone wall, and the abuse laid on him by Villius, had caused more damage than he thought. “Wait,” he whispered.
“I know it hurts you. I almost—” He cut himself off with a string of curses that left Kane impressed. The boy had obviously seen his back. “Someone did not like you.”
“It was a long time ago. A misunderstanding.”
“I tried to tell them that when they made me a slave.”
He surprised a laugh out of Kane. The boy was mouthy and probably incorrigible, but he was gentle with Elizabeth, and took enough care with Kane that it didn’t hurt as much as he expected to remove the sweater.
By the time he finished, Appia walked in, a young girl right behind her, carrying a heavy tray as if it weighed nothing.
“Place the tray on the table for me, Hild, then you and Eógan are dismissed for the night.”
“Yes, mistress.” She settled the tray, stealing glances at Kane. Her dark eyes and accent pegged her as Saxon, most likely from a nearby town. “Eógan—time to go.”
“As soon as you finish staring at the foreigner.”
She smacked his arm and ran out the door. Eógan bowed to Appia, then Kane before he ran out after her.
Appia shook her head. “That boy is fortunate my Marius took him in. Most would have beaten his enthusiasm into submission.”
“How did you—”
“Acquire him?” Appia crossed her arms. “His father sold him.”
Old memories jolted him. “What?”
“The bastard dragged him through the vicus, asking for highest bidder. Marius was there, and gave him all the coin in his pocket before anyone else could approach. That was before he—was injured, when he was still senior centurion, and advisor to the former commander.” She leaned over Elizabeth, using a damp cloth to gently clean the blood off her face. “Since I needed help in my shop, he gave Eógan to me. The boy has a mouth on him, but he works hard, and he makes me laugh. I can hardly remember my life without him.”
“How was Marius—I’m sorry. It is rude of me to inquire.”
Appia sighed. “His patrol was ambushed. It was after dark, and they were not found until the following day. His leg became infected, and the drunken sot of a physician, who used to run the hospital here, let it fester. By the time I was allowed to see him the damage had been done. I need you to hold her for me, if you are able.”
Kane pushed out of the chair, his shoulder burning from overuse. He ignored it, sat next to Elizabeth, and laid his left hand on her arm. “Is it bad?”
“Enough that I would have her rest here a day or two before I make another assessment. Ready?”
He nodded.
Appia laid the damp cloth on her wound—and Elizabeth bolted awake.
“God—”
“I’m here, Beth. You need to stay still.”
She relaxed, groping for his hand. “Your shoulder—”
“Is fine. You first, love.”
He sat with her, held her down while Appia stitched the gash in her forehead. Every gasp drove through him; by the time Appia finished she was whiter than the wall behind her.
“Sleep now, sweet girl.” She removed Elizabeth’s boots, and eased off her loose trousers. The transport was safely out of sight, under the sleeve of her sweater. “You will stay with her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
She covered Elizabeth with a brightly colored damask, then touched Kane’s wrist. “Your turn.”
He cradled his right arm and moved back to the chair. She pulled up a second chair and sat on his right side. Kane knew the moment she saw his back.
“You have been badly used.” Anger edged her quiet voice.
“It was a long time ago.”
“And your tormentor?”
Kane stared at the floor. “Dead.”
“Then Fortuna is satisfied.” Appia laid her hand on his throbbing arm. “This will hurt you, and I am sorry for it. It seems you have had enough pain to fill several lifetimes.”
“I survived.”
“You did more than that, my boy.” He sucked in his breath when she straightened his arm. “You won. The care you take with your wife tells me that your mistreatment didn’t scar your heart.”
He closed his eyes. Before he met Elizabeth, he would have argued with her. But she found her way in, through every barrier, until he could feel again. But feeling meant all kinds of feeling; like the abject fear he felt right now, knowing that Elizabeth was at the mercy of primitive medicine, with a head injury.
Appia’s voice pulled him out of his morbid thoughts. “How was she injured?”
“It was—thieves.” He remembered her excuse to the soldiers. “They ambushed us, and Elizabeth was hurt.”
Her hand stilled on his arm. “Where?”
“I don’t know the place we were—”
“Soldiers will be sent to—”
“No.” She raised her eyebrows at his sharp tone. “They will be long gone. It was dark, and I could not identify them even if they were found. I am sorry,” he lowered his voice with an effort. “I am worried about her. We were both recently injured, and she has barely recovered.”
“That explains the fresh scar on her thigh.”
She finished poking at him, and massaged a cool ointment into his muscles that smothered the heat. He looked up when she stood in front of him. Her fingers probed the new scar on his shoulder. He muffled a gasp, damaged muscle twitching under her examination. “How recent?”
“Which one?”
She smiled, amusement in her brown eyes. “The latest.”
“Two months.”
“It has healed well.” She spread her hand over it, her fingers gentle. “But there was damage that will not completely heal.”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“It does not make you less of a man. Any more than the scars on your back. Now lift your feet, so I can help you with your shoes.” He obeyed, and she knelt on front of him, helped him remove his shoes. When she finished she stood, and draped the lightweight shawl she wore over his shoulders. “Sleep if you can. She will heal, Kane. She is young, strong, and has a man who loves her. There is food on the tray. Eat it; I will have more brought in the morning. Good night.”
“Thank you.”
She paused in the doorway. “I would hope that if my Marius were in trouble among strangers, one of them would step forward and help. I can do no less.”
“I am happy to hear you still think of me that way.” Marius appeared, leaning on his crutch. “And after such a rude arrival. How is she, Appia?”
“Resting. With a head injury, I can do little more than treat the wound, and wait. She is responding well, and that is a good sign.” She reached up to cradle Marius’ cheek. “Stay.”
“After dragging you from your bed, I can do no less.” He smiled when she laughed at the echo of her words, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Kane.”
“Thank you, again. Both of you.”
Marius waved off his gratitude. “You were as
saulted, and harassed by my men. Stepping in was the least I could do. Quintus is standing watch, in case Villius decides to return. You are safe here, Kane. Appia has a residence next door, and I am there if you need anything. We will talk more when we are all rested.”
“I look forward to it.”
Kane waited until they were gone to stand. He used his left hand to pull the chair over to the bed; by the time he sat his shoulder ached again.
Elizabeth hadn’t moved. But her breathing was even, her color coming back. And for the moment, they were as safe as they could be, given the circumstances.
Kane reached up and took off his silver stud, set it on the table next to the bed. Next to a fort full of soldiers, he didn’t want to stand out, not until he knew that kind of adornment was acceptable on a man.
With a sigh, he took her hand and leaned back in the chair. All he needed was a few minutes, to gather his strength, clear his head, before he figured out what to do next—and how to get them away from here before they were accused of something they couldn’t talk their way out of.
Chapter Three
Mac groaned, and opened his eyes. He blinked, surprised that he was still breathing. His side burned like someone stuck a hot poker in it, but he didn’t feel any other injuries.
“You’re awake.”
He tensed at Colette’s voice. She was the reason for his injury. He opened his eyes, found her leaning over him. “Get—the hell away from me.” His throat was raw, his whisper scraping out of it, every word painful.
“I’m sorry, Mac. I’m so sorry. They wanted me to get you out of the way, but I couldn’t do it.” She straightened and moved away from him, arms wrapped around her as she stared at the wall behind him. “I’ll get you into Medical as soon as I can. They’re monitoring everything, and I’ll have to sneak you into one of the healing rooms.”
“Why—” Mac cut himself off, his throat screaming at him.
“I had no choice.” Colette pulled over a chair and sat next to the bed. Mac figured they were in her quarters. It was rumored that Security got the cushier assignments when rooms were passed out. Looked like the rumor was true. Her bedroom was twice the size of his, and even had a long, narrow window, set high up, near the ceiling. So, no escaping that way. She started talking again, pulling his attention back to her. “I got dragged in three months ago, when Harper found out about my brother.”
“You have a brother?”
“He’s in prison, for robbing several museums. He believed they were doing it for the people, giving back the artifacts to the countries who originally owned them. He was stupid, and now he’s paying for it.”
She lowered her head, blonde hair swinging over her shoulders. Mac didn’t think he’d ever seen her hair down before. It was thick, and beautiful—
What the hell? She just tried to kill him, and he was thinking about her hair. He must have been seriously drugged. His eyes closed, and he let his mind just shut down. He couldn’t think about it. About her.
“Mac?”
“Here.” He flinched, and opened his eyes. He really needed to stop talking.
“I have some water. Take a sip. Slowly—you haven’t had anything since last night.”
He sipped the lukewarm water. It slid down his throat, liquid heaven. “How—long?”
“Twelve hours. I should be able to get you into Medical in a little while. With all the healthy agents offsite, any activity is suspicious.”
“Harper threatened your brother.”
“On the nose.” She let out a sigh. “A man working for Harper contacted me. He told me if I did this, got the information Harper needed to take over TimeSearch, I’d be able to see my brother again in six months instead of six years. If I didn’t—I wouldn’t see him ever again. I never expected killing people to be part of the deal.”
“You didn’t do it.” He was still surprised by that. Even more so now, knowing the stakes.
“I couldn’t.” Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Mac—what am I going to do?”
“Where is your brother?”
“Here in London.”
His eyes widened as he made the connection. “Your brother was part of the Retrievers gang?” She nodded. “I do have some sources. I might be able to help. He’s safe as long as Harper thinks I’m—dead?”
“Missing.” She studied him. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Since you didn’t kill me, I figured I could have you owe me. I still need a place to work. I’m not giving up on Kane and Elizabeth.” He swallowed, his throat working overtime on the conversation. Colette gave him another sip of water. “Thanks. There’s an old lab, the first generation console. It was used back when TimeSearch started. I can take it off the main grid. I doubt Harper has a hacker as talented as me working for him. All the hackers I know would shove their middle finger up his—”
“Got it.” She stood, checking her utility belt. “If you can be alone for a while, I’ve got some arrangements to make. If you trust me to make them.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Actually, no.” She flashed a smile, her first since Mac discovered that MI-6 had their dirty hands in the project. “I already reported your unfortunate escape to my contact. I told him you knocked me out and got away. I am to report you as missing to the head of Security. So, no body has to show up.”
“That would be tough, since I’m still using it.”
“I wish I didn’t like you, Mac. It would have made killing you so much easier.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. What kind of like was she talking about? “Get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She paused in the doorway. “And don’t call if you need me.”
“Right.”
She disappeared, and Mac could indulge in some totally unmanly groaning and bitching.
At least he was alive, and there was a bonus to the near death experience, and the soon-to-be reports of him missing. He could work without Dr. K, or worse, that rat bastard snake Harper looking over his shoulder.
He didn’t care how long it took. He was getting Kane and Elizabeth home.
Chapter Four
He had been cornered. Again. This time it was his fault. He let Gordon trap him, and now he’d pay for it.
The still healing scars on his back itched. Gordon promised his father there would be no more beatings. But Kane saw the lie in his eyes. The sadistic bastard enjoyed it too much to let go. Until now, Kane managed to stay out of Gordon’s way.
Kane moaned. The part of his mind not gripped by the raw fear of the boy he had been knew he dreamed, remembered. Exhaustion kept him from breaking free of it. Instead, he sank deeper, trapped in his own past.
His shoulders burned as he hung from a hook—a large, heavy duty hook Gordon attached to the beam stretching across the cellar, just for this purpose. No one came here, aside from the odd servant. It was perfect for a heartless boy to torture his latest victim. Kane swallowed. He knew the gleam in Gordon’s pale grey eyes—he was on a tear, and Kane was the source of his release.
The whip slithered across the dirt floor. Kane’s gut clenched, and he tried to relax. It hurt more if he tensed his muscles. The first blow forced a raw gasp from him.
“Scream, bastard boy. I’ll not stop until you scream.”
That was a blatant lie, but Kane knew better than point it out. Again.
The whip tore at him, leaving a line of fire in its wake. Then Gordon did what he had not done before. He hit Kane in the same spot. The searing pain had him screaming.
“There it is.” Gordon sounded breathless. “Again.”
The whip sliced into his raw skin. Kane couldn’t stop the scream any more than he could stop the pain. Gordon moved to a fresh patch of skin, laid into him again. And again. Kane fought for breath, only to have it driven out by another agonizing lash. He waited to pass out, part of him aware he may not wake up if he did—
“Gordon.”
The quiet, accented voice stopped Kane’s torture. Gordon�
��s father. The newly restored Count of Dunois.
“Father—I caught him—”
“No more lies. Give me the whip.”
“Father—”
“If I have to ask again, you will receive a taste of it.”
Kane shuddered at the scream of rage. Gordon stalked into sight, his round face flushed red. “It’s all your fault!” He leaned in, until only Kane could hear his voice. “Next time I’ll find a secluded spot, and kill you slowly.”
Kane didn’t let himself relax until Gordon stomped out of the cellar. He almost screamed again as strong hands lifted him off the hook. “I have you, mon fils. Now we are going to the ground, so I can check the damage.”
Good as his word, the count eased Kane down until he knelt on the ground, shaking so badly he couldn’t sit up on his own. Every movement set his back on fire. He dug his fingers into the hard dirt when the count touched him.
“Forgive me for causing you more pain, Jackson. Forgive me for leaving you to Gordon’s temper.”
“Sir,” Kane whispered, his throat so raw it hurt to speak. “Not—your fault.”
“I will make it right. I promise you, mon fils. I will take care of you.”
Kane didn’t remember anymore. He passed out from the pain, woke up a week later to discover he was a permanent member of the count’s household. That was enough of a shock. The second came when the housekeeper told him Gordon had been sent to a Swiss boarding school. For the first time since his father sold him to the boy’s home, he felt safe—
“Jackson?”
The soft voice jerked him awake. He opened his eyes, and found Elizabeth sitting up, one hand on his wrist.
“Sorry.”
“You were dreaming.” She twined their fingers together, and the cold that gripped him started to thaw. “It must have been a bad one.”
She left it wide open, for him to talk about it, unburden himself. He took the coward’s path.
“I don’t remember.”
“Good thing. You looked like you were being tortured.”
He ignored the poke at his conscience. “How are you feeling?”