Taming the Barbarian (26 page)

“I hid,” she whispered, as though she were doing the same now. As if someone was searching for her even as she relayed her sins. “I hid and waited, trying to think, trying to…” She scowled. “But he didn’t follow me. Darkness came on. I was certain he was watching me the whole while. Laughing. The proud Lady of Briarburn, covered in mud, shaking in my hole.” She smiled. The expression hurt her face, as if it were breaking. “He always said I was too prideful. But pride was all I had left. And even that abandoned me… alone and shivering as I hid.” She nodded brokenly. “I thought he’d come at any moment, but the seconds dragged on. Then minutes, and hours. I was freezing.” She shook with the memory. “So I… I sneaked back through the woods toward the river.” Her body felt stiff, as if she were doing it all again, knowing he was there, knowing he would find her. “I had to see him, to know what he was planning. Maybe if I apologized… If I begged for forgiveness…” She scowled and shook her head. “But the boat was empty.” It was bobbing just a few feet from shore, like a cork on the sea. It had taken all her nerve to approach it, to peek over the side. But when she looked in, she found him gone. She remembered the panic like the taste of rancid wine. She’d jerked about, certain he was behind her, certain she would die. “The boat was all that remained. The boat and one shoe. But he was gone.” She glanced up, blinking, half-surprised to find herself safe on the road. No blood stained her hands. No mud marred her frock.

“I didn’t kill him.” She shook her head, wincing. “Not… not really. He must have fallen into the river somehow and been swept away.” She glanced up, terror sharpening her senses suddenly. “Right?”

Stanford remained absolutely silent.

“I’m right, am I not?” she rasped. Fear was making it difficult to breathe, impossible to think. “He’s dead. Isn’t he?”

“I’m certain he is,” said the baron, but her stomach had clenched up tight in sudden agony.

“Dear God,” she breathed. Terror swept her anew, like the cold waves she’d waded through to peer into the empty boat. “You’ve seen him haven’t you?” Her throat hurt from the effort to force out the words. “He’s come back for me.”

“No.” Stanford shook his head “No. You needn’t worry, my love. He’s dead. Still…”

“What?” Her hands were like claws against the reins. “Still what?”

“There are those who might think you responsible for his death.”

“Kendrick,” she breathed, remembering.

He glanced down as if troubled, then looked up again. “I’ve checked into that a bit.”

“Into Kendrick?”

“Yes.”

She held her breath. “And?”

“I don’t want to frighten you, Fleurette. Or to hurt you. Truly. You must believe me.”

“What is it?” she asked, and felt a bit of latent courage seep slowly into her frozen system.

“I believe the Scotsman may be somehow involved.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Killian?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. Truly. But I fear… I believe Mr. Kendrick hired him to learn the truth about Thomas’s death.”

She shook her head, but he was already continuing.

“Don’t you wonder where the Scot came from? Why he’s here out of the blue?”

“He said he wished to settle down. To find a bonny place to spend his days. He—”

“To settle down on the property adjacent to Briarburn, just when Kendrick shows up to threaten you? You’re an intelligent woman, Fleur. Don’t you find that strange? Coincidental? No one has ever wished to buy the quarry before. And suddenly he wants it desperately. Indeed, he paid an exorbitant price.”

Fresh pain diffused her. So she’d been betrayed. Again. But she was being absurd. The Scotsman was nothing to her. Still, she could not forget the deep soothing burr of his voice, how he seemed to hold the troubles of the world at bay. “He took a liking to the land.”

“Maybe you’re right, my love,” Stanford said. “You’re probably right.” He glanced away as if wounded.

“But where did he get the money?” Fleur whispered.

Stanford winced, but didn’t look at her. “Kendrick is wealthy.”

She felt her stomach twist.

“What if he spills the truth, Fleurette?” He murmured the question as though it hurt him to say the words aloud. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. What if he knows the truth and tells others? Thomas was well loved. Indeed, he—”

“So Killian… He was paid?” She whispered, for speaking out loud would be too painful, too real. “He was paid to learn my secrets?”

“Yes,” Stanford said, and gave one brief nod. “I’m sorry. I believe he plans to accuse you of your husband’s murder.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she breathed. “I only wanted to be loved, to…” Her voice broke.

“I know,” Stanford murmured. He reached out, covering her hand with his own. “I know, my dearest, but others might not see it the same. They might not believe you were only protecting yourself.”

“But you do?” She whispered the words like a tortured child, needing to know he believed her, trusted her.

“Because I love you. Because I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even then… when you were another man’s wife.” He squeezed her hand, his eyes intense. “Perhaps I should apologize for that. But I cannot. I can only attempt to make things right now. To keep you safe from Kendrick and any other who might wish you harm.”

“How?”

“Marry me, Fleurette.” His hand trembled slightly with the strength of his emotion. “Let me help you. Let me take care of you.”

“But…” She scowled, her mind spinning. “Once Kendrick spills the truth—”

“We’ll marry this very night. I don’t care about the scandal. My title still holds some power in the House of Lords,” he said. “I shall issue a statement saying I saw Thomas alive and well after you left him on the river. I shall say that he was drunk. ‘Tis the truth, after all. Everyone knew of his weakness. No matter what Kendrick has discovered, I shall swear you had nothing to do with Thomas’s death.”

“Stanford…” She breathed his name like a prayer. “You would do that for me?”

“For you?” His gaze held hers. “My love, my bride…”

She winced as the weight of his words squeezed her heart, and slowly pulled her hand from beneath his.

“I’m sorry” She closed her eyes and breathed the words. “But I can’t marry you, Stanford. Not after what I’ve done.”

“It was self-defense, Fleurette. I cannot,
will
not hold that against you.”

“Perhaps not,” she murmured, and caught his gaze with her own. “But what of last night? I fear you cannot help but hold me accountable for that.”

“The Scotsman,” he said.

She nodded slowly.

He winced as if fighting the pain of the memory. “I do not mean to say that this is easy for me.” His eyes looked immeasurably sad. “I do feel betrayed. Indeed, I feel as if my very heart has been torn asunder, but I can forgive. If I must. If it means having you beside me.”

“You could forgive,” she said. “Even that.”

“Marry me,” he said, “and I swear I shall make you happy.”

Safety. Marriage to a decent man. She opened her mouth to agree, but in that moment something rustled in the underbrush beside the road.

They turned in breathless unison.

A black steed stepped out of the woods, and on his back, straight as a lance, rode the dark knight.

“K
illian.” Fleurette whispered his name, for even after all she’d learned, she could not help but want him, his strength, his touch. He met her gaze with steady deliberation,

“What the devil are you doing here?” the baron snarled.

The Scot’s eyes glimmered dangerously in the dim light as he turned them toward the other. “And why should I na be here, laddie?”

“I told—” Stanford began, then paused and straightened in his saddle. “You’ve dishonored my lady, sir.”

The Highlander turned his gaze on Fleurette again, his eyes dark and unflinching, as if he had nothing to hide, nothing to regret. Or perhaps it was that he would bear whatever consequences came his way. “Methinks the lass be her own lady,” he said, “and deserving of the truth.”

“I’ve told her the truth,” Stanford rasped. “It’s you who have lied. You who have ruined her.”

” ‘Tis a strange thing,” Killian said, his words slow, as if he was just realizing the truth of them. “For I think she be the ideal of womanhood and na ruined a’tall.”

She was lost in his eyes, in the old-world cadence of his voice, but she had been fooled by a man before, and that mistake had almost destroyed her.

Killian turned slowly away, as if he could read the doubts in the depths of her soul. “Did ye tell her ‘twas ye what hired Kendrick?”

“That’s not true,” Stanford hissed.

Fleurette sat breathless, frozen in place. “What? No. He—”

“I spoke to the cur just this morn,” Killian said.

“Of course he spoke to him,” Stanford rasped, his tone strained. “He is in the man’s employ.”

“Nay, I am na,” Killian said, “but he was kind enough to stop by me cottage nonetheless. We had a wee bit of a talk, and after a time he admitted that a Lord Lessenton had sent him to me.” Some dark emotion sparked in his eyes, but his hands remained absolutely steady on the stallion’s reins. ” ‘Twas kindly of ye to think of me, laddie, but mayhap it would have been kinder still had ye sent him by during the daylight hours.” Curling his right hand into a fist, he flexed his arm as if it ached. “And without the wee weapon.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Fleurette noticed the blood on his sleeve.

“You’re hurt,” she breathed.

He didn’t turn from the baron. Instead, he remained exactly as he was, his eyes deadly steady. ” ‘Tis naught but a scratch lass. Still, ‘tis a clever little contraption, these pistols. Or would be in the proper hands. Unfortunately, yer hireling was a weakling, laddie. And na up to the task ye set afore him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stanford hissed. “I didn’t send anyone.”

“Kendrick disagreed. Indeed, he said ye had hired him some weeks afore to frighten the lass here.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“I’ll na claim to know much of gentlemanly behavior,” Killian said. “But it seems a poor way to convince a maid to marry ye.”

Stanford twisted about in his saddle, pinning Fleurette with his gaze. “Don’t listen to him. He’s insane.”

“Mayhap,” Killian said, and urged his mount nearer. The stallion tucked his head and pranced forward, battle-ready, intense. “But I am na the murderous coward ye have proven to be.”

“What?” Fleur rasped, but in that instant Stanford yanked a pistol from beneath his coat.

Fleur reared back in shock, but Killian sat perfectly still, his gaze never leaving his adversary’s.

“How clever you are,” the baron hissed. “For an unwashed barbarian.”

Killian said nothing. Instead, he sat unmoving, holding his charger at bay with one steady hand. “Ask him how yer husband truly died, lass.”

“I don’t understand,” Fleur breathed. “What do you mean? What are you talking—”

“You little fool,” the baron rasped, but didn’t bother to turn toward her. “Yes, I killed him. And you should thank me for my efforts.”

“You…” She laughed foolishly, her breath gone, her mind swimming. “No. He… he drowned.”

“He couldn’t drown, you twit. You knocked him unconscious. He fell to the bottom of the boat. The river was still. It wouldn’t have capsized. Even you must have realized that much.”

“But I thought… I assumed…” She shook her head. “You killed him? Why?”

“Why?” He laughed. “Why the devil not? He certainly deserved it. Even you will admit that. The fabulous Lord of Glendowne. So handsome, so charming. And his wife…” He flipped his free hand at her and chuckled. “All elegance and good breeding. So happy they were together. The perfect couple. Or so people thought. But they didn’t watch him beat the life out of you time and again, did they?”

“You… watched?”

“Of course I watched. I was transfixed. ‘Twas quite entertaining.”

She shook her head, floundering in a sea of roiling uncertainty. “But how—”

“How? Easily. When he was not concentrating on taking you, he was busy with his fists while you were just as busy fending him off. Or trying to.” He laughed. “Though not very effectively, I’ll admit. Not until that lovely day on the river.” He shook his head as if thinking back with fondness. ” ‘Twas a sight to behold. The timid little baroness rising up against the odds. It did my heart good. Indeed, when I saw him fall, I thought for a time that you were the answer to my prayers.”

She shook her head, trying to understand, to take it all in, but facts and memories and questions spun like whirling dervishes in her mind. “What prayers? What—”

“He planned to be rid of ye and yer husband the whole while,” Killian said. “And to take you and Briarburn as his own.”

“No,” she said, and Stanford laughed.

“I know, ‘tis difficult to believe. A gentleman of the realm having aspirations. But, as you know, my family’s funds have been dwindling. Thus I thought it perfect when I saw you strike him. Indeed, I thought you had done my task for me. Even after you scrambled toward home whimpering like a whipped pup, I was certain I owed you my thanks, but then I heard him moan.” He scowled as if miffed. “What else could I do but finish the job?”

“You killed him?”

“Still not understanding my words?” He sneered. “Yes, I killed him. And quite handily I might add. For all his bravado, he died with surprising ease.”

“You killed him and let me think his blood was on my hands.”

“It worked out quite perfectly. You so needed a friend. Poor little baroness, wracked with a guilt she could not admit.”

“You killed him and left him in the river. Left him to—”

“Don’t be a fool, Fleurette,” he said. “He would have surely washed ashore, and though most people are deplorably daft, I feared they might very well realize he’d died of rather unnatural causes, since the left side of his head had been bashed in with a rock.

“Now true…” He waved an elegant hand. “They would have certainly blamed you. After all, you were with him that day, and if they knew of the abuse you had endured at his hands…” He shrugged. “But I could hardly let you take the blame. Not after I had spent so long earning your trust, getting rid of Clarice, assuring my eventual place by your side. So I got rid of the body and I waited.” He smiled.