by Aliyah Burke
She shifted her weight and moved to where she did not have to squint. “How are you today?”
He flashed a rakish grin. It made her heart stutter-step a bit. This man was dangerous. Extremely so.
“Out for a ride. May I escort you home?”
“I walked, so it will take a bit, but yes, I would enjoy that.”
Callum dismounted with leonine grace. “Lovely.” He took her full basket and attached it to his horse’s saddle. They walked off together and she was well aware of the villagers watching her with suspicious and confused stares. They were polite to her yet distant. She did not mind for the most part. However, if it were because of Callum she would change her mind. She truly liked him. Mostly serious, she had begun to see a softer side to him.
Okay perhaps soft is not the right word. But not as intense.
They talked about Clara on the way back and she began to understand how much he cared for her. At the path leading to her place, he untied the basket and handed it to her.
“Thank you. And thank you for the lovely walk.”
Callum swung up with the same ease he had dismounted. “My pleasure, Miss Adrys.” He tipped his hat and rode away.
“Damn,” she muttered watching his retreating figure.
“You are lucky he rode off.”
The furious masculine voice startled her and she just reacted. With a single and smooth move, she spun and threw.
“Shite!”
Her eyes widened as it dawned on her who stood there. Trystan. And her dirk sat buried in the tree beside him. She could see blood welling up along his arm and the tear in his shirt.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did you find me?”
“You cut me.”
“You snuck up on me,” she countered without apology, moving to the front door. His appearance had her rattled.
He moved to intercept. “Had you not been so mesmerized by your escort, perhaps you would have seen me.”
Setting the basket down, she went to the tree and yanked her blade free. The blood on it reminded her he still bled.
“It sounds like you are jealous, Trystan. Since we both know you are not, stop the act.”
She stored her blade and turned around. He watched her intently, apparently unconcerned with the growing amount of blood on his shirt. Her mouth went dry as she took in his attire. Gone was the viscount with the layers of “proper” clothing. In his place was a man dressed in tight black trousers and a blue shirt, stretched taut across broad shoulders. He had a gun strapped to each leg and she saw a sword on one side as well.
“Expecting a war?”
He scowled. “Protecting you. What were you thinking running off like that?”
It was her turn to scowl and she hefted her basket and went inside. “I do not need your kind of protection, Mr. Wilkes.”
“Yes, you do.”
The ferocity of his words had her placing the basket on the table and facing him again. “Why is that?” She could see the reluctance to discuss it with her and her temper boiled over. “Either you talk or leave, Tryst. I have taken all the lies from you I will. Because of you and your group, I am away from my family in order to keep them safe. So damn you, tell me! Or get your bleeding self out of my house.”
“Or I can add to the blood.” Another voice entered the conversation and damn if it did not sound cheerful about the prospect of doing what was proposed.
She glanced past Tryst to see Callum leaning in the doorway, arms crossed appearing as he always did. Serious. However, this time there was a lethal edge to him.
“You want him to live, get him out of here, Jo.” Trystan’s tone was darker than anything she had ever heard from him before.
“You are already bleeding. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Wait? Callum was provoking him? A deep growl filled the room and she moved, trying to slip between the two of them. It did not work. Her unwanted guest grabbed her arm and refused to let her. At the touch of his fingers Callum’s gaze narrowed until his eyes were mere slits.
“Stop this!” she snapped jerking free of Trystan. “Both of you.”
“Get away from him, Jo,” Tryst snarled.
She whirled on him. ”Listen to me, Trystan, Viscount Wilkes. You. Do. Not. Own. Me. So quit telling me what to do!”
She knew his anger grew when she moved closer to Callum.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Callum Blackwood.” A cool appraisal of his weapons. “Looking for trouble?”
“I could shoot you.”
His lips quirked even if the smile did not reach his eyes. “You could try.”
“Oh stop this.” Jo put her hands on her hips. “Neither of you are going to do anything and I am safe, so both of you stop thinking the other may hurt me.” She speared Tryst with a glare. “You are acting like Alexander when he does not get his way.”
“Jo,” he said beckoning to her, obviously not wanting her anywhere near the other man.
She not only ignored his summons she turned her back on him and faced Callum. She heard him growl as she talked to Callum, assuring him that Tryst did not mean her any harm.
“Very well,” Callum said. “I will leave you two to discuss what you need to. But I will return come morning to check on you.” He stared past her and glared stonily at Tryst. “And you had better be just fine.”
Callum lowered his head, brushed a kiss along her cheek, and left after one final challenging look to Trystan. She closed the door behind him and prayed her heart would slow down a bit. Callum had never kissed her before, even an innocent one on the cheek.
“I never lied to you.”
Tryst grabbed her shoulder and spun her toward him. He had clenched his hands in fists so tight she wondered if any blood would get through. She crossed her arms and glared at him. That’s all he had to say? He had never lied. Somehow, she thought he might have objected to another man kissing her. Sorrow filled her as she realized she was wrong.
“Did you hear me? I never lied to you.”
She had to give him credit. He was good. It did not surprise her at all for he was in a line of work where lies and deceit were part of the prerequisite skills. Something occurred to her. If Trystan had, would Colin?
“Talk then and stop bleeding on my floor.”
“Do not think I am ignoring you let some strange man kiss you, Jo. Nevertheless, you are right, we need to deal with this first. As for bleeding on your floor, you are the one who threw a knife at me.”
She did not appreciate his attempt at bad humor and knew her expression informed him of that. “I am still waiting.”
He moved. A subtle shift really but it reminded her all over again he was not a typical member of peerage. This man was a warrior. Hunter. Predator. Raw power coiled beneath his skin.
“You, my little hellcat, are very impatient.”
She burned at the term which she had come to view as an endearment from him. “I am neither yours nor a hellcat. How patient do I need to be? Wait until I am dead?”
His eyes flashed blue fire at her statement. She blinked and found him right up in her personal space. “You will not die.”
“Tell me what is going on. All of it this time.” She gripped his arm and his gaze darkened before a slight hiss of pain left him. Glancing at her hand she realized she held where she had sliced. “Sorry.”
“Now you apologize?”
“I am not sorry for defending myself. I may as well fix it so sit down.” With a not so gentle shove, she pushed him at one of her two chairs.
“In my bag I have medical supplies.”
Of course he did. About to ask him where it was, she clamped on her question when she spied it behind the door. She brought the whole thing back and pulled out needle and thread as well as some whisky.
“The man after you killed my group seven years ago. He goes by the name The Alchemist.”
His words startled her so much her hands shook. “Your group?”
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“The group I worked with for the Crown. We operate in smaller factions. Easier to deploy that way and it keeps our identities a secret.” He rubbed his jaw and the scar dissecting it. “I thought he was gone.” A deep breath. “I was wrong.”
“Gone? Gone where?” She threaded the needle. Lord help her, she wanted to reach out and drawn him to her. Offer some comfort to dispel the grief she could see wracked him.
He told her of the night it happened while she poured some water. The more she heard the angrier she became. A compilation of betrayal and fury of what he had gone through whirled in her stomach. Back at the table, she maneuvered the chair closer to him after placing the items out in a line.
“This is the time you received your scar?”
He nodded. “Sliced me with a rapier, a few inches shorter and we never would have met.”
That fact had not escaped her notice. She also did not care to think about it much. At all. She said nothing.
“No snide comment?”
“Despite how it may appear to you, Trystan Wilkes, I do not wish death upon you.”
“Good to know.”
She swallowed and mentally prepared herself the best she could for what came next. “Take your shirt off.”
His gaze burned her and she forced herself to remain as opposed to running away as every single preservation instinct told her to do. He licked his lips and she felt a twinge in the pit of her belly, which spread throughout her entire body. Her skin prickled like it did during a lightning storm, only much more intense.
He reached for the top pearled button and slid it through the hole, exposing a flash of golden tan skin. Breaths came difficult as she waited. Their gazes locked as one after another he undid them.
Magnificent. The man was simply magnificent. Light smattering of hair covered his chest but did nothing to hide the ridges and definitions present. The desire to touch and caress him hit her. Hard. Run her fingers over his muscles, through the hair, and feel his heart beat beneath her palm.
“This would be grounds for marriage if we were caught,” he said placing the balled up shirt on the tabletop.
“Or you buying me some expensive bauble,” she retorted, wetting the cloth and cleaning out the wound. “I am on the shelf. Firmly.”
“Is that what that Callum Blackwood was doing here?”
Again, she heard the jealousy. Or was it again her imagination? She saw in her periphery the firming of his chiseled jaw. Focusing on her task, she carefully cleaned her injury to him, desperately trying to ignore how wonderful he smelled and the texture of his skin beneath her touch.
“Tell me where you learned to do this,” he ordered after clearing his throat.
She reached for the needle and lifted the flask of whisky. “I grew up in Africa, Mr. Wilkes. I realize I am not all that important to you, but surely you could have recalled that bit of information.”
“I did not forget.” His voice, a dark promise for all those things she imagined in the privacy of her own bed under the cover of night. “I was looking for more detail.”
A deep breath which assaulted her nose with his unique scent and she handed him the drink before setting needle to flesh. His sharp inhale almost severed her concentration. She got to work.
“You saw where we lived. Accidents happened and my mother is no good around blood. So I learned. I can stitch a wound but not a shirt without making a mess of it.”
“And your father allowed this?”
“He spent most of his time buried in his work. It was after all why we were there. I was raised with the servant children. Then I met Najja. She taught me a thing or two as well.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Did she teach you to throw knives?”
There was no censure in his tone, only curiosity. Two more stitches and she would be done.
“Yes. They were a gift from her.”
“She cares a great deal for you.”
“And I her.” She made a knot, leaned close, and used her blade to cut it. Impressive aside from that first flinch he held perfectly still. “There you go.” She stood. “You can leave now.”
“Understand me, Josephine Marguerite Adrys. I am not going anywhere until this bastard is caught or killed.”
No wondering on which he preferred. She ground her jaw and put away her food. Without a word to him, she left the cooler interior and headed into the warmer outdoors. She fed her chickens and took care of her cow. She did not mind so much gathering the eggs but milking—not so much fun. In the shelter with the cow stood a large horse.
“Hello there,” she cooed, having a fondness for equines.
This was a big reddish animal. Not a gorgeous one but even she could have no chance of missing the strength and power he exuded. He snorted and tossed his head. She reached for him only to find her wrist in an ironclad grip. Tryst stood there and she had not even heard him come in.
“Not wise. He is just as happy to take a bite out of you as let you pet him.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Hurry up and leave.” She tugged but he refused to release her.
“I already told you—”
“I know what you said, but I do not want you here. I do not need you here.”
His gaze hardened and he used his hold on her to get her flush against his chest. Lowering his head until they were nose to nose, he said, “Are you sure about that? I think you do want me.”
Her heart thundered so loud she wondered if he would not be able to hear it. She flashed to the one night he had kissed her. How he had tasted.
“Jo.”
He spoke her name in a whispered caress. For six years, she waited for him to see her as something other than how Colin did, a little sister. Then she recalled the pain of betrayal when it came to light the man he answered to had used her as bait. Almost as much as realizing he—Tryst—knew how much danger her family and friends were in yet kept it quiet. That cooled her desire.
“What for? I am on the shelf. I can do what I want.” A grin lifted one side of her mouth. “This village has everything I need.”
“That include the one who escorted you home?”
“My private life is none of your business. Let me go.”
His eyes darkened with warning and glinted in the fading light. He released her and she worked hard to ensure he would not notice how difficult it was to take a breath.
“Pack your bag.”
She had been in the process of leaving when his dictate fell. Jaw clamped tight, she slowly pivoted to stare at him. Tryst stood by his massive, apparently mean-tempered, horse. Yes, the man looked entirely too good for her own sense of mind.
“I am not going anywhere. Much less with you.”
“Dammit, Jo! I am trying to keep you safe.”
“I would quite possibly not be in this mess had you not kept your mouth shut.”
He stalked toward her, face etched in fury. She held her ground despite the wobble in her stomach. He still wore no shirt, and his bare chest was—quite honestly—more than a bit distracting.
“I had my orders.” He spit the words from behind clenched teeth.
“Right. Orders to keep me in the dark about—” She broke off and held up her hands. “I am not going through this again. I have already said my piece of it. But I will not leave with you.”
“I can make you.”
“And every second of the day you would have to be watching me for I would always try to escape.”
He threw up his hands. “Why will you not let me protect you?”
She allowed herself one lazy look over his half-dressed state. Those unfamiliar tremors returned and she shifted her feet slightly. Her body felt flushed and it craved to be touched. By him.
“Jo?” This time his voice fell from his lips gentle and soothing.
She bristled, well aware he was trying to use his charm to sway her to doing what he wanted. So she came clean.
“I figure if you were too busy to keep me safe then, you are now.
Since I left London and you with your people’s presence, I have been just fine. If you leave, I will be again. Then there is the reason you put my life in the care of another. Because of the way you treat me like I am an idiot about things. Get this, Wilkes, I do not need you.” Whirling she ran back to the house.
Lying on the bed, she tried to get in control of her emotions. She needed to get herself under control. She was no baby who cried when things did not go their way. She was a grown woman. With a very grown-up problem.