No Hiding For The Guilty (The Heart of a Hero Book 5)

by Vanessa Riley

  "Perhaps, but she's done what I've fought for these past months. Don't ruin it."

  "I'm taking her to the woods to show her the power of explosives and why they should be avoided. There won't be a chaperone. Are you telling me the chef can't come out and play?"

  "Bannerman, you are the master of the manor and her prison warden according to Lord Hartland. You might know best, but I see in her the rage that gripped a young man that only the gravity of war seemed to tame. Young women can't go to war. Maybe kindness can help her harness her fire before she's burnt clean through."

  That had to be the kinship Hugh felt for Isadel. They were similar with their rage, except she didn't break things. She ran and hid. "There's no hiding for the guilty, Phipps. Sins will find you out. Our dear chef believes Moldona slaughtered her family. I don't see him doing that, but the intensity of the battle made our side commit atrocities. Wellesley has commented on it, but no one was held accountable for the deaths in Badajoz."

  "Moldona? That can't be true."

  Hugh started to pace. "If I had told the high command that Moldona and St. Claire left the powder barrel out, the one the French hit and set off the explosion that killed so many in Almeida, Moldona would have been drawn and quartered. He wouldn't have been able to be in Badajoz, let alone lead a regiment there."

  "And he wouldn't have married Betsy St. Claire, your childhood love. Is that your true concern?"

  It had been a year since the two eloped. How many holes had Sandon taken as Hugh tried to sort things out? How could he have mistaken that Betsy had finally become partial to him, not Moldona? Not wanting to answer Phipps or punch through the repaired table, Hugh turned to the window. "Some things are not meant to be."

  He pulled at the curtain and viewed the thick lawn, the place he'd show Isadel a few tricks with explosives, like he'd shown Betsy the day his brother died. "If Moldona did slay Miss Armijo's family, what part of our dear chef's anger will I bear? I created him by not admitting his culpability at Almeida."

  Phipps headed to the door. "You chose to forgive a childhood friend and Miss Betsy's brother. Their names would be in ruin. You deserve no guilt because Moldona may have taken your chance at life and run amuck months later. Every man has a choice, to sin or not sin, to live or die. You are only responsible for your choices, Bannerman, no one else's." Phipps's head turned toward the door as the sound of lumber dropping reverberated.

  Like a reflex, Hugh was at the mantle retrieving his battle sword, swinging it, preparing for the attack.

  "Whoa, Bannerman. It's just the workmen. The carnage at Badajoz is not your fault. May not even be Moldona's. Things get mixed up in the heat of battle. Hopefully, the Almeida Killer won't get to him or you before the truth is known."

  "The Almeida Killer needs to be stopped. Wellesley is endangered. We won't win the war without him, but Hartland or the others will find the killer. I've retired from this business, remember?"

  "So you say. I'll go see how the workmen are doing. Maybe they will be up to a good coat of paint by tomorrow. Take care with our chef on your walk in the woods."

  "Why, you think I'll endanger her like I did Henry? Don't fret. My skill with explosives is much better than before."

  "Bannerman, I think we are all safer when you are not denying your gifts. Ms. Armijo is in for a treat, but I wonder if you'll be able to quit when things are done."

  "I am not going back into service. A few powder blasts won't change that."

  "I meant not quitting at playing or living. That's one thing I want for you." He nodded. "Have a good time," Phipps said as he left.

  So Isadel had softened his man, just has the bold woman had done to Hugh. Boldness and brains weren't the same, but given the right circumstance either might get you killed.

  Hugh put back the sword then he bent and slung his sack of black powder over his shoulder and powered his way past the workers out to Sandon's park. There were a few surprises he needed to set before taking the chef for a demonstration. Perhaps a good scare was what she needed to shake her brainbox from wanting revenge by explosives. Isadel thought she could endure killing a person. Unlike Hugh, the girl didn't know the meaning of taking a life.

  Chapter Eight: Truth Dare and Explosives

  Isadel followed behind Bannerman, his broad shoulders towered high above blocking the little sun managing to seep betwixt the leaves of the canopy of trees. His greatcoat, a large endless weave of blue flapped in the wind like a sail. "A little further, Isadel." He said her name and it carried in the breeze.

  She shivered but wasn't cold. The anticipation of the moment was worse than waiting for a soufflé to rise.

  Her stomach swirled, whirling with excitement. It was purely Papa's comportment that had kept her voice level and clear, very English, as she instructed Mrs. Nelson on preparing the apple tarts for dinner's dessert.

  She still hadn't recovered from the shock of the changes. Until Bannerman walked through the door of the kitchen to retrieve her, part of her didn't believe him.

  "Keep up, chef," he said with that half-grin.

  His face was so smooth without a hint of fur. She decided she liked it much better than she did with the bushy reddish gold mane. A great deal more.

  He kept his word and that made her like the man even more. "What will we do first? I uh…uh… I've seen the black powder used in Lord Hartland's guns. Papa never kept any in the house. He said he didn't like the damage they caused."

  Bannerman cupped his eyes and gazed up high. "You do run on when you're nervous."

  "I'm not—"

  "It's best you are." He'd turned to her fully, stopping her advance. She almost rammed him.

  "Black powder can be very dangerous, Isadel. A bout of nerves about explosives is healthy."

  How was it possible for him to seem even larger? Was it the uneven grounds that made it seem as if he was a giant, one that could touch the sky? She blinked at the sun streaming around him as if he were one of those Grecian gods, one built for war.

  "Welcome to my laboratory." Bannerman jumped onto a stump. "This grove is where I did my earliest experiments."

  "You mean you tweaked things as in a recipe?"

  He leapt back down and waggled a finger at her. "Don't get any ideas, chef. A tweak can kill."

  Her cheeks burned a little, partly from him guessing her thoughts, and for remembering Bannerman as Ares, the god of war or Zeus, the god of thunder or sky. "I'll keep that in mind."

  Bannerman stuck out his hand.

  She took it without thinking.

  He pulled her close, lifted her high like the night he'd tossed her in the closet, but this time he spun her until her head fell back dizzy.

  "What are you doing?

  "I figured a little sprite like you might enjoy a top side view."

  She did and held onto his shoulders, nestling between his back and neck.

  "A little different. Aye, Isadel?" He eased her boots to the ground. "We've walked far enough away from the house to not rattle windows. Of course, no one can hear you or I scream if things go awry. Does that make you nervous being alone with me?"

  As if he searched for an answer, his eyes seemed fixed upon her. Did he notice how hard it was for her to breathe? The anticipation of Bannerman showing her detonations, a way to right her wrongs, it surely made her bubbly like a bucket of soapy water. "I've worked harder on that trust idea you talked to me about in the scullery."

  "I guess it helps that I no longer look like a scary lion, but I still have a lion's temper."

  "What makes you change?"

  "Dishonesty. Deceit. That can make me very angry."

  "Then I won't make you mad, not because of that."

  He chuckled. "It's the other things you do that make me a little concerned. He leaned down and sniffed her hand. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you smell delicious. Cinnamon."

  "Dessert. I forgot to wash my hands. I was too excited, not thinking."

  "Here's to anticipation."<
br />
  "I want to see your work. I'm anxious for it. I've overheard the stories."

  "Don't believe everything." His smile shortened. "And take care at what you ask for. There may be unintended consequences."

  Part of her knew he wasn't talking about black powder. If she were Agueda, she'd bat her lashes and say something witty, but Isadel wasn't her sister. At this moment, she had to be worse, a chef enamored by the most powerful man of her acquaintance, one about to show her how to craft horrible things that she could use to make Moldona explode. "I'll take care."

  He nodded and moved past her, releasing the sack he'd had on his shoulder. It fell to the ground, and Bannerman dug inside and pulled out a small burlap pouch.

  "Black powder is quite benign, powerless really without flame." He tore off the knotted strap and let the grains, the deep ebony sands pour into his palm. "When this is mixed with fire, that is when the danger comes."

  "May I touch it?"

  His brow rose, but he paced to her. When she held out her hand, he took it and towed her to him. "You've been practicing trust."

  She went willingly but kept her gaze on the pouch and her dreams of harnessing its power.

  He slipped his palm beneath hers; it was an odd and warm grasp. The thin gloves he wore rubbed her knuckles. He dumped a teaspoon, then a little more until she held a tablespoon of the powder.

  It possessed more grit than she'd imagined. The texture felt coarse like milled corn, very different from flour but still these grains meant magic.

  "You can exhale, Isadel. Your breath won't set off an explosion, well not one from the black powder."

  He bent his head closer and she could see a tiny reflection of herself in his eyes.

  "Bannerman, why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like I'm going to do something rash and run off with these explosives."

  "I haven't seen you smile so much. It's alluring, Isadel, and frightening at the same time."

  Dimpling, she felt her smile grow. "So now what do you do, Bann-er-man?"

  His lips curled as he drew the powder from her. "It's too dangerous to be so alluring. I have your undivided attention. A woman's full attention can be quite daunting on a man. Good thing I'm not easily swayed. I can be unpredictable." He struck a match and tossed it over his shoulder.

  The flame caught on a cord or something. It blazed and hissed with sparks. The wild dance of the fire moved to a pile of rocks.

  Bannerman charged toward her, but she kept her vision split between him, the big hulking man and the spitting flame.

  Her head spun as he seized her in his melon-size arms thrusting her high. The air rushed out of her as her stomach hit his shoulder. But who could breathe with the powder about to make the world disappear?

  In a blink, she felt him jump. She scrambled to latch onto him more tightly as they became one, airborne on destruction's wings.

  His low tone in her ear voiced his counting, and it continued teasing her lobe until they crashed into a ditch. She lifted her head to catch another glimpse of the spark and he snatched her and pulled her deep into his arms. Then the world blew away with a bang. Loud and proud, the explosion's roar filled the air. Rocks landed around her, but nothing struck her. She was too secure in his big arms. A cloud of choking dust fell on them, but this time she didn't look up to see what was left of the world above. Staying in Bannerman's strong embrace, stronger than Papa's meant more than seeing the carnage.

  His heart beat hard against her cheek. A lifetime of thuds lulled and then slowed before she opened her eyes. "Is it safe?"

  He lifted her chin and held her gaze prisoner. "This is your first lesson. Never let your guard down when working with black powder."

  But it was too late for such a warning. The fortress, the hardened shell she'd put around her heart had crumbled. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to be Agueda. Her sister would know what to do with these feelings, and she'd know how to encourage this man to take notice of her.

  Hugh couldn't keep his eyes off Isadel. The mild mannered facade he'd become accustomed to had melted away. She smiled and brimmed with joy like a light in his dark world.

  "What's next, Bann-er-man?" Her tone was soft and airy. "What's next?"

  That question was worthy of a hundred guineas. That part of him that didn't want to think about danger or consequences wanted to taste Isadel to see if the cinnamon went all the way to her kiss, like a sticky bun. Instead, he just held her tighter. "I think you see the power of the powder. A little more than flour, aye?"

  "It was fabulous. The air rush. The boom. Wonderful."

  It should disturb him to see her so enthralled about an explosion, but it reminded him of how much he enjoyed them too. With his gloves, he brushed dust from one of her glorious curls that had come down. "I didn't think you could be incorrigible about anything other a clean kitchen."

  Her stare never wavered, and she did not shrink from his touch. Was she merely enraptured by the black powder, the overpowering sulfur scent of destruction, or did she feel the tension, the same tightening in his chest as he did? Could a dying man dare to capture something so vibrant and lively, even for a moment?

  "Bannerman, it was so fast. I am amazed at the speed."

  "My demonstration went off without a hitch. Like me at my first detonation, you are mesmerized. Your lesson is done. Let's return to Sandon."

  "No." She clutched his lapel. "Do it again. Let me watch the preparation this time. I wasn't ready. I must know every step."

  Still bundled in his arms, her breathing was so fast it scorched his neck. Even in the frumpy, baggy jacket, her bouncing made him aware of those curves he'd seen a tease of in the tower.

  "Again, Bannerman. Do it for me."

  "As a gentleman, it's hard to deny a request from a lady."

  Sitting back a lonely inch. "I'm in my father's jacket. I'm in breeches. I'm no lady."

  He wanted to correct her, wanted to tell her that the clothes did nothing to hide her beauty when she smiled, but she gasped as a branch fell behind him. His attention became captive to her lips again.

  "Bann-er-man," she said again and it sounded like a purr. "Make another explosion."

  Well, now he knew it was the danger. The euphoria of the detonation wore off and he tried to blink away his slow burning attraction to the chef. "Enough demonstrations today."

  "Again, Bann-er-man. I must know."

  There was something he wanted to know about, the taste of her, but that would ruin things, destroy the trust that had been hard-fought to gain. He gripped her wrists and shook her. "You are mesmerized. I was too."

  She nodded, released his revers and stood. "So that was the lesson? Nothing more?"

  He bounced to his feet. "Perhaps one more. Stay put in this ditch." He climbed out and put very necessary and much needed air between them. Perspiring, he took off his jacket and dropped it on her head. "Hold this please."

  With a nod, she pulled his jacket to her bosom and Hugh was jealous of his old coat.

  Resigned, he turned and pulled a packet he'd measured hours before from his sack. Trudging to the base of a dead tree he'd tested during his preparation, Hugh put the pouch inside. Taking great care, he unfurled the wool cord attached to the packet and stretched it about twelve feet. With one strike of the match head upon his boot, he lit it and turned around in dramatic fashion as he had before.

  Isadel now stood in the ditch. Her hair had unraveled from her jumping, and he could imagine her biting down on the corner of mouth as she had when the ground shook.

  His glove nearly caught fire, but he remembered himself and blew it out. He had to stop focusing on the lift of her tresses by the breeze. If only he were whole, he'd wrap a lock about his finger, not his gloves.

  With a blink, he regained his senses. This was hours of study to make sure he knew there were no weak trees; that no harm would come to his bouncing chef. He sighed, releasing a longing and unspoken prayer,
then lit a new match, started the detonation cord and trudged to Isadel.

  At her side by the count of ten, he turned and watched the explosion. This one was more powerful. The tree shattered. Its stump rose in the air, and then fell in the spot he calculated.

  "Wonderful, Bannerman. Again, Bann-er-man. Again."

  "If only I had always been so precise."

  "Nonsense, it was perfect."

  The rush of air, the scent of ash swirled about them like it was good and perfect. "What do you think, Isadel, other than me being perfect?"

  She dimpled even more. "The explosion was magnificent."

  "It is powerful. But, can't you also see that it won't support your plans?"

  "What?"

  "Look how close I had to be to set the cord. You can't do that from the kitchen. Isn't the Abbey's kitchen much further from the dining room than Sandon's arrangement? You are not a server, Isadel. Would you trust a footman or the butler to light your explosive? Think of the carnage that can be accidentally unleashed if he stopped or served the wrong person."

  She folded her arms about her. "I didn't think about that, but what of the stories I overheard? You've made localized explosions."

  "Men talk a great deal about the past. We even tell the truth, sometimes."

  Her face scrunched. "It has to work, a controlled detonation."

  "Isadel, it was a good plan. But, do you really think you could light the explosive cake and watch him die? I don't think you can. You're not a killer. You are a healer like your father."

  Her smile drained away as she lifted her palm, one filled with the powder pouch he'd showed her earlier. Before he could stop her, she'd drawn out a match.

  "Isadel, don't light this. You can get yourself killed. And why did you take my powder?"

  "I borrowed it."