Chasing Shadows (55 page)

Will grimaced. Driven by wounded pride, he had been too hotheaded to pay attention to his surroundings, or he might have seen the foreign little cheat lying in wait. The man watched him with those beady, murky brown eyes.

Flipping the knife, Will caught the handle so that his elbow pointed out with the blade.
Let them strike first, but then strike fast and smart.
The words echoed in his mind. Thomas had cautioned him, especially when he would fight with more passion or avidity than proficiency, to wait out his opponent and sift out his greatest weakness.

Unfortunately, the Spaniard appeared to be assessing him in the same deliberate manner. But Will planned to prod him into taking the first lunge.

Pulling the soiled fabric away from his chest in a pointed manner, Will grinned tauntingly. “I assumed you would have better aim. My mistake.”

Lisandro shot him a cocky smile of his own, as if he knew something Will did not. The expression was unnerving, though Will didn’t show it. “I might have attacked out of rage at first, but do you believe killing you in front of the lady would endear her to me?” Damien clicked his tongue in consternation. “Of course not. That’s why I was hoping you would follow.” He held his dagger before him, blade out. “Shall we?”

How had he not seen that the Spaniard was luring him away? Shaking his head over being outplayed, Will narrowed his eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

The Spaniard took the invitation and lunged forward, knife flashing in a half-hearted movement. He was just testing Will and his ability, and he let him. Even with Will’s added height and strength, the Spaniard’s agility made them evenly matched.

With this in mind, Will used his whit rather than brute strength. He allowed some close calls, pretending he was weakening as he barely ducked to avoid the blade lashing out over his head. He toyed with Lisandro, playing the fool while he waited for the man’s confidence to grow into arrogance before letting him have it.

Will’s bulky fist flew through the air, catching the Spaniard unawares and hooking him in the jaw in a blur of movement. Lisandro’s head snapped to the right from the blow, and a trail of blood had already begun to trickle from his left nostril when he turned back to face him, eyes ablaze. Now that he knew he’d been played, he would only lash out, and Will knew he could no longer act the fool, but needed to strike fast and try to keep his wits about him.

He threw another right hook aimed at his temple that Lisandro dodged, but Will didn’t let him off that easy. He poured every ounce of his waning strength into the next succession of punches, some simply working as a distraction until he could get a better angle. The Spaniard staggered as two consecutive blows connected with his ribs and jaw, sending him off balance and giving Will a moment to catch his breath as he advanced.  

He felt a fist ram into his gut with such sudden ferocity that he nearly doubled over. His opponent took advantage of the break in his attacks and landed a hard fist to his right temple, and the next one caught Will across the jaw. Dodging the succeeding fist, Will landed a serious blow that sent the Spaniard reeling. He slammed the butt of his dagger into the man’s shoulder, staggering him, though something held him back from using the blade.

Sarah.

With his momentary lapse in his attention, he didn’t see Lisandro’s movement until his leg shot out, catching him in the back of the knees. Grunting, he landed on his back, the wind coming out of him in a rush.

Lisandro swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood spilling from his split lip and painting his mouth in a red grimace. He leaned over him, wielding his knife as a drop of blood fell from his nose.

Will managed a grin and winced at the pain in his lip as he struggled into a sitting position. His right eye was already swelling and he felt blood drying on his brow, but he could see well enough to fight. “You should have someone look at that.”

A slow, snake-like smile crept over the Spaniard’s bloodied mouth. “I plan on collecting my caretaker when I finish with you. Her ministrations were quite
pleasing
before.” His eyes darkened roguishly. “Her avidity in her work—”

Will lunged up and grabbed the serpent by his shirtfront, using his legs to launch him overhead. The Spaniard landed on his back, blinking in shock. Will was over him in an instant.

Pinning his armed hand to the ground, Will grabbed him by the throat with his other hand, tempted to choke the life from him as he gave his head a good shake. “You will
never
speak of her that way! She is a hundred times the human being you will
ever
be,” he spat.

With a swift jerk, Lisandro upset his captor’s balance and, like the snake he was, somehow managed to wriggle free. Abandoning his weapon in the snow, he ran a few feet before Will caught up to him, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him into a tree in his fury. He pinned him against the rough bark with a forearm to his throat, cutting off his air supply. Lisandro coughed and sputtered, and Will loosened his hold enough so that the man could breathe. As much as he wanted to kill him, he knew he would regret it.

Spitting a wad of saliva and blood onto the snow, the Spaniard managed, “Did it pain you to see her laughing with me?
Enjoying
me?” Will ground his teeth at the false implications he gave the word, knowing the man was toying with him, goading him into losing his head. At that moment, Will didn’t think he would regret twisting the man’s neck. He unconsciously leaned more weight on his elbow and was satisfied as Lisandro’s eyes bulged like a croaking frog.

The Spaniard went on it a choked whisper, his grin twisted. “I saw you that day. Did you notice . . . how she didn’t get up after we fell?”

Will remembered well their tangled limbs as she lay against him in the snow.

Pressing the pointed tip of his dagger—which
he
had not been so foolish to abandon—against the man’s thumping pulse, Will leaned in close to emphasize his threat. “Understand this, Spaniard: You are finished here. You will be hanged on the same execution stand you sent an innocent man to.”

“Taking your secret with me,” he retorted. Will’s eyes flickered in surprise. The man was scowling. “For Sarah—if I hope to earn her trust back when next we meet.”   

Will was about to remind him that she would never come to visit him in the dungeons when he caught the faint sound of thrashing branches. Grounding his teeth in annoyed resignation, he stood firm, keeping the traitor in place. Neither of them would get away this time.

Lisandro’s eyes flickered with sudden realization. He grasped at Will’s forearms with both hands, tone pleading. “My intent was never to hurt her—I’ve only kept her from their sight. Did she tell you I saved your life? That should be worth something to a man of honor.”

Will narrowed his eyes in disgust. “You’ve tried to take it enough times. But, yes, she did tell me. I suppose that’s why I’ll let them take you to the gallows in one piece.”

~Chapter 47~

Will fixed his eyes straight ahead, keeping his lips closed. Explanations would get him nowhere at this point, and he would never give them the satisfaction of pleading his innocence. So he waited in silence as the guard shoved him along through the forest. Lisandro was surprisingly silent, his face bruised and bloodied.

They must not have thought them much of a threat, since only two sentinels had been sent to prod them back to the rest of the search party. Will assumed that running—and also being discovered holding a knife to the throat of a well-known lord—had only aggravated the situation, warranting the fetters tying his hands securely in front of him. Lisandro was also bound, though Will suspected the guards were only trying to avoid the duo stirring up more trouble on the short trek.

Will stiffened as they neared the party, but he cleared his face of any emotion that would betray his disquiet over his unknown fate. He could see six—no, seven guards up ahead through the trees, and three of them restrained hunting dogs with ropes. The animals paced in agitation before their masters as far as the ropes around their necks would allow. Several horses pranced nearby, seeming as uneasy as the dogs. 

Gripping his shoulder, the guard kicked the back of Will’s legs, and he stumbled to his bruised knees, gritting his teeth. The uniformed man tossed Will’s knife and the bow he’d collected onto the snow a safe distance away, toward his superiors. “Found the runaways,” he informed, releasing Will and taking a step back.

Though he felt his strength waning at the loss of blood and the aftermath of the fight, Will managed to keep his head upright and kept his gaze fixed steadily on the man he assumed was in charge, judging by his ornamental vestment. He clasped his hands into fists, wrists straining against the ropes binding them as the man assessed him.

Two of the guards’ faces broke out in expressions of surprise as they were shoved apart. Sarah’s face was a mask of utter relief as she forced her way past them, but a hand clapped over her mouth when she saw the full extent of his appearance.

Will cringed, causing shooting pain to lace over his jaw. He didn’t want her to see him like this, bloodied and battered and—no, not beaten, but it was a rather dismal thing to await his undeserved fate.

Sarah ran forward a few steps before Thomas caught her arm, holding her back. Will’s shoulders sank a little in gratitude. It wouldn’t help matters if she intervened on his behalf, and he tried to get her attention with a faint shake of his head even as his heart leapt in his chest at the fact that she was unharmed.

Sarah looked up at Thomas, confusion and hurt swelling in her eyes when he, too, shook his head. She turned back to Will, watching him with her nervous, wide-blue gaze.

The man in the captain’s uniform addressed him. “You fled from his Majesty’s guards as they were coming to apprehend you at your home as a suspect in a murder investigation. Why?” He didn’t sound accusatory, but vaguely amused and curious.

Will frowned, choosing his answer carefully. “Sir, how was I to know they were the royal guard coming to apprehend me?”

The captain smirked at his vague answer. “Fair enough. But you continued to run after they had announced themselves, as well. Care to explain?”

Will answered honestly; he had nothing to hide and hoped they would come to that realization. “I was protecting the lady, sir.”

Grinning wryly, the man said, “The Lady Fair—of course. But she was hardly a suspect, so why drag her along?”

“I told you, sir, that I feared for her safety.” He tried to sound as compliant as possible.

The man nodded, as though he understood. His face turned suddenly serious, voice lapsing into a gruff tone. “And what is the lord’s part in all this?” He jerked his head toward Lisandro, who was being held upright by the guard who had brought him out. His eyes were closed, head bowed toward the ground in exhaustion, wearing an expression of capitulation.

Will worded his answer carefully, unsure how much of Lisandro’s dealings was safe to reveal. How many more men did the Spaniard have under his control? “We discovered a discrepancy in the man’s character,” he replied slowly. “That was my reason for not turning myself over, sir. I feared that if left un-chaperoned, the lady might come to great peril.” He swallowed, wondering if the man thought he had fabricated the tale.

“Go on,” the captain encouraged, quirking a brow. He appeared solely in control of the situation, and Will no longer believed that Lisandro, whose entire being was cowed in submission, held any power over him.

“There is a letter,” Will added, emboldened by the hope that the captain wasn’t an associate of the Spaniard’s. “It instructs the recipient to moonlight as the hooded vigilante, providing a distraction and scapegoat while the lord wandered the castle posed as the same figure.”

“And who was the recipient?”

Will thought Sarah’s face paled some at the question, but he answered honestly, “That I do not know, sir. But the man you see before you was the one to kill that woman.” At the guard’s raised brow of skepticism, he went on. “Lisandro used his own insignia to seal the letter that sealed her fate. You can search his room for the match.”

The man reached into his pocket and produced the item in question. “I think you mean this seal.” Will’s brow furrowed in confusion, which seemed to amuse the man. “Yes, the letter is in my possession, as well, and I have found them to be an exact match. Is there another offense you would like to address?”

“Against myself or the lord?” Will asked cautiously.

With a shrug, the captain said, “Either.”

Kneeling a little straighter, he said, “I would refute the offense made against myself that I took part in the death of Gabriel Dunlivey. Yes, I discovered his body and witnessed those two men destroy the evidence—”

“We followed them into the forest together,” Sarah threw in suddenly. Her chin was set in that stubborn line that would have been adorable if it weren’t so vexing. If he could not clear his own name, Will did not want her dragged through the mud with him.

“But she saw nothing,” he tried to amend. Sarah took a step forward, held back only by Thomas’ firm grip.

“We
both
witnessed it and ran afterwards.”

Will closed his eyes. Her loyalty was touching, but it wasn’t helping matters. The captain casually rested a hand on the handle of his sheathed sword, and Sarah bit her lip, shrinking back.

“Yes, sir, we ran,” Will said. “But only because we were fleeing the guilty party.”

The man tugged on the wrist of his leather glove disinterestedly. “Yes, the lady informed us that one of the men was here today. We apprehended the other man—a guard named Lewis.”

Frowning at the perfidy, the captain continued. “And he immediately threw his master to the wolves, so to speak. It appears he has been under Lisandro’s employ for some time and said that he was the one to deliver the missive to a certain address, along with a pouch of coins.”

Will quirked a brow. “If you had just discovered the identity of the imposter, why question me?”

“He claims that he was sent to a residence he had never seen before and instructed to leave the missive and payment on the doorstep, so he saw no one.” The man appeared rather disgruntled by this fact. “Lisandro’s orders were verbal, so there are no written directions to the residence that we can detain. In any case, the letter was delivered in the dark, and the man admits that he was too far in his cups that day to recognize the place in full light. But he’s lucid enough now to speak against his employer.”

Will’s eyes flickered in question to Sarah, who was nodding eagerly. He looked back to the man. “And what of the other—the one who helped to cover up Dunlivey’s murder?”

Frowning, the captain answered, “Timmons fell on his sword before we could apprehend his guilty hide.” He closed the distance between them, drawing his own sword. Will managed not to wince as he dramatically—to scare the life from him, he was sure—used the blade to cut through his ties.

Rubbing his raw wrists, Will rose tentatively to his feet. He nearly toppled over. “Are you releasing me, sir?”

The man smirked, one dark brown brow lifting in humor. “Terribly sorry for all the questions, Young Taylor, but I had to verify the lady’s story. It was quite a lot to take in, though I’ve had my suspicions of the lord since I returned to the guard.” He chuckled and stuck out his hand. Will shook it in a daze. “My name is James T. Quinn.”

Captain Quinn. His uncle had spoken of him in admiration often throughout the years, and Will felt momentarily tongue-tied to meet the man in the flesh, though that could also be from the fact that he had bitten his tongue in the skirmish.

Quinn was older than he had originally thought, with gray marring the temples of his dark brown hair and copious smile creases lining his eyes and mouth. But he was fit, his body and strong hands announcing his capabilities and years of service directing the guard.

“Will Taylor,” he offered, though it appeared Quinn already knew of him, and gave the man’s hand a quick pump of admiration. “I thank you for releasing me, sir, but I must ask why you sent out such a large search party in the first place? I assumed one or two would be sent to retrieve me.”

Quinn grinned slowly. “So you
were
aware that someone was coming?”

Will felt properly chastened and grimaced. “Can you blame an innocent man for running?”

The older man chuckled. “I suppose not. But you’ll have to discuss the other matter with Greene. He’s the one who let us on to Lisandro.”

At that, Sarah broke away from a smiling Thomas and ran to him, slamming into Will’s open arms. He staggered under the added weight, and she managed to unclasp her arms from around his neck as he fell to his knees.

She gasped. “Oh my gosh, Will! I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Sitting back on his heels, he could only shake his head as his blurred vision returned to normal.

“Will,” she whispered worriedly, delicately touching a fingertip to his swollen eye. “What did he do to you?”

He grimaced at her touch and managed to turn it into a pathetic half-smile, swaying a little as he rested back on his heels. “You should see the other man.”

Sarah shot the Spaniard a wary glance, her first look at him since they’d arrived. She winced at his appearance, and Lisandro caught her eye as the guard gave him a shove.

“Sarah,” the Spaniard said quietly. Will imagined his eyes conveyed the final, longing look of a dead man with regrets.

Sarah quickly looked away as he was carted off, and Will could tell the sight pained her. “You didn’t kill him,” she breathed, putting a hand over the gash on his chest. She looked so relieved that he felt infinitely reassured in his decision to spare the man’s insignificant existence.

Lifting his bruised and bloody knuckles, Will touched her cheek. “I couldn’t.”  

Thomas joined them, smiling—at his nephew’s display of affection, Will knew. He doubtless assumed he’d never see the day. “I suppose I didn’t need to provide assistance,” Thomas said, nodding to his bruised and battered knuckles. “You had things squared away before we arrived.”

“Why did you come?” Will asked, utterly baffled. 

Sarah shifted, crouching in the snow to face him. Her expression turned suddenly excited. “My little maid, Sevrine, was hiding in my room and noticed how upset I was, so she followed me to the tower. She didn’t hear my entire conversation with Damien, but when she saw me running down the stairs and Damien running after, she was worried and was heading back to my room to wait for me when she ran into your uncle.”

Thomas nodded, grinning at her enthusiasm. “I was coming to collect the captain and saw the poor little thing all affright on her way through the hall.”

“She doesn’t speak great English, but she understands it pretty well,” Sarah made sure to add, as though this fact were infinitely important.

Thomas’ lips twitched in humor as he and Will shared an amused glance. “Yes, but I caught enough to worry, and she led me to Sarah’s vacant room.”

“But she’d found the seal,” Sarah muttered, scowling as she spread the fabric of Will’s shirt to better see the wound. Ever the nurse.

He grinned, capturing her wrist. “Go on,” he urged.

Eyes bright, Sarah said, “Well, thankfully, Thomas is good enough at charades to figure out that she was hiding in my room and then followed me to the tower. Right, Thomas?” He nodded in confirmation. “I guess the seal fell out of Damien’s pocket when he chased after me, and she picked it up and then later gave it to your uncle.”

“I didn’t know what to make of her ramblings,” he admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “Then when I left the room, I saw that Lisandro’s door stood ajar. Call it intuition”—he and Sarah shared a secret grin over this—“but something didn’t sit right, so I went inside and discovered the matching seal. I mentioned it to Quinn, and he said it had just been reported that the Spaniard and two other men had taken horses from the stables in rather a hurry. With my suspicion and Quinn’s own questions about Lisandro, we set out to find Sarah.” He grinned. “Thus, the dogs.”