Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess (27 page)

“Stop.”

Killian sank into the round-backed wooden chair, beaten.

In that instant, everything fell away.

Everything, save for the one thing that truly mattered.

“Stop.”

Fingers on the door, Halstead turned back. He approached the table, left eye twitching as he advanced, sniffing the blood in the air. “You have reconsidered?”

“I have.”

“What will you give for her?”

Killian took a deep breath, considering an answer he thought never to have to give. He had thought to get her back on his own accord. To find and save her by his own damn willpower. To not end up at the mercy of her father. What would he give for Reanna? The answer was simple, and he knew it before he took another breath.

“Everything.”

A smile spread across Halstead’s face as he retook his seat across from Killian. “I apparently underplayed my advantage, Southfork. Everything will not be necessary, for I do wish my daughter to be kept in fine fashion.” His hand slipped under his jacket, producing a set of folded documents. He laid them on the table. “I think you will find my terms unfair, but I am not worried on that.”

Halstead stood and went behind the bar, pulling out wax, a quill and ink, as Killian opened the agreement and scanned the papers.

Killian’s face remained set, not hinting at the deplorable words he was reading.

As Killian finished the last page, Halstead walked back to the table and set the wax, ink and quill down by Killian’s hand, and then he sat, fingers entwined under his chin.

Killian looked up at him. “I want her before I sign these.”

“No. You still do not understand your current position, do you, Southfork? You will sign and mark these, and I will produce her. There is no other order of business.”

Jaw clenched, Killian grabbed the quill and set ink to paper.

“I see you have your ring.” Halstead melted the tip of blood red wax, and then pressed it onto the bottom of the document.

“I will get her immediately?”

Halstead nodded. “It is a short ride from here, and she is yours.”

Killian took off his signet ring, and pressed it into the wax. The “S” entwined above the Southfork coat of arms appeared in the wax.

The deal was complete.

~~~

The bit of moonlight helped them travel fast on the roads, and within a half hour, Killian and Halstead were pulling up on their horses in front of a long, three-story stone building. Very little light shined from within.

Dropping from his horse, Killian’s gut started to twist. “What is this place, Halstead?” The threat was clear in his voice.

“It was a safe place for Reanna. You will wait out here.” Halstead started to the main door.

“Like hell I will.” Killian hurried to the door, only a step behind Halstead.

The door swung open before Reanna’s father could hit the knocker, and a small, hunched man appeared, lantern in hand. “Ev’ning, Lord Halstead. We were not expecting ye.”

“No?” Halstead said. “Word was sent that I would be arriving to collect Miss Halstead this eve.”

“Miss Halstead? But I thought ye knew…No?”

Killian pushed Halstead aside, bearing down on the man. “Know what, man? Where is she?”

The man took a step back, cowering. “She escaped last night, sir. Her and the witch. We have not been able to find them.”

“What?” Halstead said from behind Killian.

Killian stepped over the threshold toward the man. “What sort of a place is this? Why would she have to escape?”

“We be an asylum, sir.” His eyes flickered to Halstead and then back to Killian. “For the insane.”

Killian spun in pure rage, his hand encircling Halstead’s throat and shoving him against the wall of stone. “You put her in an insane asylum?”

Grasping Killian’s hand, trying to free himself, Halstead nodded.

“Bastard.” Killian tightened his hold to just shy of crushing the man’s throat. And then, with more control than he ever thought possible, he loosened his hand. “I am going to resist killing you for the instant, Halstead. Resist until we find Reanna.”

Halstead nodded vigorously. “I might know who has her. It was not the plan. But if she escaped and they could not find her, I may know. He was to check on her this morn.”

Killian dropped his hand, breath seething. “You had better, Halstead. You had better.”

~~~

Reanna stood in the room, watching the maid scurry in and out with boiling water to fill the tin tub that had been brought in. She stood, numb, not truly understanding what was happening around her or what she was doing. She just stood.

The tub filled nearly to the rim, the maid stopped.

“I be so sorry ‘e make me do it, miss. The devil ‘e is. So sorry. Please lord, forgive me.”

Reanna gave her no acknowledgment, as the words meant nothing to her. Nothing meant anything to her.

The maid scurried out of the room.

Within a minute, Nettle entered. Head shaking, tongue tsking, he walked across the small room. It wasn’t until he stopped in front of her that Reanna noticed the knife in his hand.

She knew she should feel panic. That a knife in his hand would harm her. But she couldn’t conjure fear. She couldn’t conjure anything in the gaping chasm that was her chest.

“You are disgusting, Reanna. The vermin on you. Your stench. We need to take care of all of that before I am to touch you.”

Reanna kept her eyes on the steel of the blade. As much as her emotions were blank, her mind still worked, and she knew the threat the knife posed.

He stepped closer, keeping his body an arm’s length away from her. Then he reached out, slipping the edge of the knife between her skin and her ragged dress, the peach color now indistinguishable from the dirt.

She didn’t step away, didn’t cower, and Nettle’s eyebrow raised. “No cries for mercy? No begging? Interesting.”

With a swift thrust downward, he cut through the cloth, through her chemise, and the whole of her clothing fell to the floor. His eyes ran up and down her body, and a flicker of disgust shot through Reanna’s stomach. She wasn’t sure she welcomed even the smallest modicum of emotion in this situation. Better to stay numb. To build a wall of indifference so high and wide against what was to happen to her, that nothing could get through.

“Some of you is clean. That is welcome.” He took a step away from her, pointing to the tub with the knife. “Now get in. All of the vermin need to be killed.”

Reanna glanced at the tub. The maid had just left, and she had been filling the tub with boiling water. She eyed the rising steam.

“No.” Her head shook as she found her voice and her arms covered her naked breasts.

“I do not repeat myself, Miss Halstead. That is your only warning.” His mouth pulled back, sneering out vicious words. “Now, get in the tub.”

Reanna took a step backward. “No.”

Growling, Nettle’s arm snaked out, grabbing her by the hair, and he dragged her over to the tub. Reanna clawed at his arm, hellcat awoken. But Nettle easily outweighed her by double, and as disdainful as it was to him, he grabbed her arm, flipping her into the tub.

A quarter of the water sloshed out of the tub, but it did no good. Reanna’s skin burst on fire. Nettle shoved her head under water, and she struggled, gulping in hot water, flames filling her lungs.

She broke the water sputtering, and Nettle allowed her a spasm of coughs before he sent her under the water again.

When she finally broke free to the air, he released her, shoving her head as he stepped away.

“That should kill the vermin. And wash with the soap.”

A sudden banging of wood made his head crack upward, ears straining to the door. The bang repeated.

“Blast it,” he muttered, snapping his hand to disperse the water soaking his jacket sleeve. He spun away from Reanna, exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Her chest draped over the side of the tub, Reanna continued to hack coughs from her body, trying to expel the water in her lungs. Every nerve on fire from the scalding, her feet slipped frantically as she tried to gain footing and push herself out of the water.

With a desperate heave, she flopped over the thin rim of the tin tub. Hitting the floor, she panted, trying to quell the agony that had laced her skin. Every pore throbbed, and she rolled, trying to keep the least amount of her body on the wood floor.

It was in that agony, that she heard Killian’s voice.

No. It couldn’t be. It was her pain speaking insanity in her mind.

But then she heard it again.

Muffled, but she would recognize his voice in the bowels of hell.

He was here for her.

He hadn’t abandoned her.

She opened her mouth to yell, but even in her haze, she knew her scream came out as a whisper. The scalding water had gone down her throat, stealing all sound.

She heard his voice again. But he didn’t sound agitated. Didn’t sound angry. And then a door opened and closed. Struggling to her knees, and then her feet, she tumbled to the window, falling against the windowpane.

In the light of the lanterns in front of the house, she saw two men on horseback, riding away from the house. No. God, no. He was leaving.

She banged on the glass with her palm.

They kept riding away. Reanna’s head spun desperately, searching for something hard. A silver candlestick would have to do.

She picked up the heavy metal, stepping back from the window, and heaved it with the last shred of power she had.

It shattered the window, glass flying as the silver dropped through the night air. Rushing to the open pane, Reanna searched the dark woods for the horses.

No movement. All she saw was darkness.

She sank to the floor, despair settling into her bones.

He was gone.

~~~

Killian tore ahead of Halstead on the lane, reaching the main road, not caring if Reanna’s useless father was still with him or not. He was going back to the asylum, and going to knock heads until he found his wife.

The side trip to the house of the man named Nettle was worthless. After seeing his gold tooth, Killian immediately remembered him from the London street long ago. But the man had been relaxing, half undressed when they banged their way into his home. Killian had discerned rather quickly that the trip was a diversion concocted by Halstead to get Killian away from the asylum.

A half-mile back to the asylum on the main road, a lone figure on a horse road toward Killian. When the man on the horse pulled up, stopping, Killian did the same.

“Where is she? Halstead did not produce her?” Devin’s voice was laced with deadly concern.

Killian looked over his shoulder back down the road. Halstead was not to be seen. “He put her in the asylum up the road. She supposedly escaped last night.”

“He what? The insane asylum?” Devin half stood in his saddle, anger overtaking.

“Yes. And she has not been found. Or so they claim. Did you see anything on your way here?”

Devin shook his head.

“Anything outside of the inn while I was in with Halstead?”

Head still shaking, Devin ran a hand through his hair. “No. There was a drunk and whore coming out of the inn, and that was about all.”

“A drunk and a whore?”

“Yes. Why?”

“That inn had long-since been abandoned. It did not look like it from the outside, but there wasn’t anyone in it. No one save for Halstead and myself.”

“You don’t think…”

“I sure as hell do. Where did they go?”

“Shit, Killian. It was dark. I didn’t get a look at the woman—I only assumed it was a whore because of the bit of wild hair I saw, and she was stumbling. They left in a carriage. I followed it for a few minutes, and they disappeared down this road. So I went back to the inn.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian had already turned his horse and was headed back in the direction he came from.

“What about Halstead?” Devin shouted at his friend’s back as he set his horse into gallop.

“Not worth our time. Not now.”

Within minutes, they were tearing up the lane to Nettle’s home. Riding straight to the stables, Killian didn’t bother to dismount at the wide open doors. He pointed in. “Is that the carriage?”

“It is.” Devin swore under his breath.

In a flash, Killian was pounding on the front door, pistol drawn in one hand, knife in the other. Devin was only a step behind him.

“Look.” Devin whispered in his ear.

Killian followed his eyes to a silver candlestick lying in shards of glass. They both looked up, seeing the broken window above.

The door swung open at that moment, and Nettle had made no progress in either dressing or undressing since Killian had seen him minutes before.

Killian’s knife was flat across his bare neck, shoving him back into the foyer before Nettle could get a word out.