Anne Stuart (37 page)

“
She needs to be punished.”

“
Oh, I’ll see to that. You may even watch if you so desire. You liked watching me with that old woman, I know you did. I could hear you panting in the background.”

“
No,” Miriam said furiously. “I’ll kill her first. After that you may take whatever pleasure is left from her.”

“
An interesting notion. You are a creative witch, aren’t you? But I want her first. Alive and kicking. Struggling. If you like, you can hold her down for me. You can pray for her soul while I do her.”

“
Ungodly!” Miriam shrieked, leaping up from her chair and hurling herself upon Darnley. He struck out at her, and the two of them went down, amidst a thrashing, grunting struggle, horrifying amid the dancing shadows of the darkened room.

Emma didn’t hesitate. She ran from the room, from the smell of hate and violence, blindly unsure of where she was going, only knowing that she was running from certain death.

She hurtled against something large, something solid, something that hadn’t stood in her way before, and she screamed, a short, shrill sound cut off abruptly by the hand clamped over her mouth. She fought the imprisoning arms, fought wildly, until a voice she thought never to hear again hissed in her ear.

“
Keep still, you idiot. Do you want to bring them down on us?”

She stopped fighting. She stopped thinking, going limp in his arms in shock and relief. Killoran had come for her. Killoran would save her from those two ghouls.

“
How did you find me?” she babbled. “How did you get here? They’ve killed Gertie, I know, and they’re trying...”

He shook her, hard enough that her teeth rattled and her head snapped back, hard enough to shake the hysteria out of her. “Be quiet,” he said, his hands strong on her arms.

“
You aren’t taking me to them, are you? You won’t let them hurt me?”

“
Damn it, Emma!”

“
You said you were going to give me to Darnley. He’ll kill me. He’s already killed Gertie, and Miriam will watch and I don’t—”

“
For God’s sake,” he hissed, dragging her up against him. “I won’t give you to Darnley. I’ll kill him for you—would you like that?”

She thought of Gertie’s body, lying in blood. She thought of those mad blue eyes and the vicious mouth. “Yes,” she said, shocked at herself. And then: “No. I want to get away from here. Take me away from here, Killoran. Please.”

“
Sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you. I have some unfinished business.”

“
Killoran, no!”

She heard him coming. The glow of candle-light, like a golden specter, signaled his approach, and she pulled at Killoran. But he was immovable, and there was a light in his eyes, a curious, deadly delight about him.

Darnley stood in the doorway. There was blood on his hands, on his clothes, and at one side of his mouth. “There you are,” he said pleasantly, macabre. “It took you long enough to get here, Killoran. I was afraid you were going to ignore my summons. I should have known the combination of your red-haired doxy and me would be enough to stir you.” He glanced at Emma dismissingly. “I regret to inform you, my dear young lady, that your cousin is no longer with us. She was quite mad, you know. Tiresomely so. Religious fanatics are the worst. They’re so damned certain they’ve been anointed by God to wreak vengeance.” His smile was ghastly in the wavering candlelight. “She was most unwilling to let me be the avenger.” He glanced at Killoran, almost casually. “Are you going to shoot me, old boy? Not much sport in that, is there?”

“
I find I’m no longer interested in sport,” Killoran murmured. “However, I’m more than happy to indulge you. I’m more than a match for you no matter what the weapon. How would you like to die?”

“
Bastard,” Darnley snarled, suddenly dangerous. “You killed my sister. Did you know that, girl? He seduced and then abandoned my darling Maude, and she took her own life out of despair.”

“
You’re mad,” Killoran said abruptly. “I never lay with her.”

“
She told me,” Darnley said. “I made her tell me. All the details, everything. And then I made certain that she would never let another man touch her again...”

“
You raped her, got her pregnant, and then drove her to suicide” Killoran said in a deadly voice. “She haunts you, just as she does me.”

“
If you aren’t responsible, why does she haunt you?”

“
Any number of reasons. Because I didn’t care enough about her to help her when she came to me. I turned her away. She wouldn’t name her seducer, and I didn’t believe that it hadn’t been her choice.”

“
She wanted me,” Darnley cried.

“
She hated you.”

“
Damn you!” Darnley lifted his hand. The pistol exploded. He must have missed, for a moment later he leapt toward them. But instead of Killoran he caught Emma, falling to the floor with her and rolling, as she fought, until they ended up entwined in a ghastly embrace, Darnley’s knife at her throat, his foul breath choking her.

“
Let her go, Jasper.” Killoran’s voice was soft, beguiling, more Irish than she had ever heard it. “You don’t want to hurt her. What good would she be to you if she were dead?”

“
Oh, she’d be most useful.” Darnley giggled. “You’d mind, you see. You’d mind more than if I killed you. I’m going to cut her throat and have her bleed to death right in front of you, and there won’t be a thing you can do. I’ll do it slowly so you won’t be certain that it’s fatal, but you won’t dare move, because you know that then I will slash, so deep that I might take her head right off, and that will be a far worse pain than anything I could have …”

“
Hurry up, then.” There was no lilt now. Only cool, calculated boredom.

“
Don’t try to fool me into thinking you don’t care for the wench. I know better.”

“
Do you, now?” Killoran’s voice in the darkness held amusement. “What in God’s name made you think I had a
tendre
for an overgrown bourgeoisie? Kill her, by all means, but get on with it. I want to finish this up and get home to bed. I’m going to kill you, Darnley, as I should have killed you years ago. One woman is much the same as the next. It makes little difference to me if you take Emma with you into hell.”

He was lying, Emma thought. He was trying to trick Darnley into releasing her; that had to be it. But he sounded so calm, so reasonable. So very much like Killoran.

“
I don’t believe you,” Darnley said, his voice a little less sure.

“
Have you ever known me to show an ounce of sentiment? To care for any living creature other than myself? Kill her, by all means. And then I’ll kill you.”

Darnley staggered upright, hauling Emma with him. The knife pricked her throat, and she felt a faint trickle of blood course down her neck. In the dim light she could see Killoran, leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets, as if he had all the time in the world.

“
You won’t—” Darnley said, and then jerked. A moment later an explosion rang in Emma’s ears, and Darnley was flung backward. She spun around in shock, but Killoran’s hard hands were on her arms, yanking her away.

“
Don’t,” he said coolly. “The man’s dead.”

She struggled for a moment, dazed. “But perhaps—”

“
I shot him in the face, Emma,” he told her flatly. “He’s dead.”

She stopped struggling, staring up at him. There was no remorse, no emotion whatsoever on his dark, handsome face. “Did you mean what you said?” she asked hoarsely.

“
What do you think?” His voice was savage. “Shall I stand over Darnley’s corpse and give you tender declarations of love? I care for nothing and no one. I’ve told you that. I don’t know what else I have to do to make you believe it.”

She pulled away from him, and he let her go, without a moment’s hesitation, leaning against the wall once more, an enigmatic expression on his face. “I believe you,” she said in a dull, lifeless voice. “I’m going to check on Gertie.”

She picked up the candelabrum and moved down the hall, back to the salon. Gertie lay still and silent on the floor. Miriam’s body rested in the chair, the blood pooling beneath her.

Emma knelt beside her old friend. There was still a faint pulse, and she glanced around her, looking for something to cover the woman. And then she froze.

Miriam towered over her. The knife protruded from her thin chest, and she reached down and yanked it free, staring at it with a kind of numb surprise. And then she looked down at Emma, kneeling at her feet, and her smile was horrible indeed as she turned the knife blade toward her.

For a moment the world stood still. Miriam would kill her, and there was nothing she could do. Emma watched numbly, and then life surged through her, taking hold. “No!” she screamed, as loudly as she could, surging to her feet. “You won’t hurt me ever again.” And she lunged for the knife.

But before she reached her, Miriam’s pale, mad eyes had glazed over. The knife dropped between them, skittering away. And with a final, choking sound, Miriam collapsed onto the floor, a lifeless, harmless bag of bones.

There was no sign of Killoran. Emma had thought he would come when he heard her scream, but the room was still and silent, only Gertie’s labored breathing, mixed with Emma’s panic, breaking the stillness.

He’d left, she thought numbly. He’d already abandoned her, final proof that he didn’t care. The grief, the pain, were so powerful they took her heart and twisted it, and she wanted scream with the agony of it. But then Gertie moaned once more, and Emma shook herself. There would be time enough for grief, for anguish. Now she had to get help for Gertie.

She heard footsteps approach the room, and joyous relief swamped her. She ran to the door, ready to fling herself in Killoran’s arms, only to draw herself up short. Nathaniel stood there, his face dark with shock.

“
Are you all right, Emma?”

“
I’m fine. Gertie…” She gestured toward the woman lying by the fire.

“
I’ve sent for help.” He looked past her, at Miriam’s corpse, and shuddered. “Let me take you out of here. There’s nothing more you can do.” He started to drape his cloak over her shoulders, but she tore it away, carrying it to Gertie’s still figure and covering her.

“
Where’s Killoran?” she asked, succumbing to the weakness, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.

“
Um... he’s gone.”

She smoothed the cloak over Gertie, then glanced up at Nathaniel’s troubled face. “Gone? Where?”

“
I have no idea.” He caught her arm and tugged her to her feet. “Come away, Emma. You’ve done all you can. I just thank God I made Jeffries tell me what that note said, or God knows what would have happened.”

“
I would have survived. Killoran would have killed Darnley and then abandoned me, just as he did. And I would have been fine.” Her voice quavered, and she tightened it, firmly. “I want to stay with Gertie.”

“
No!” Nathaniel’s voice bordered on panic for a moment, oddly so. “Lady Seldane is outside in her carriage. Come away, and I promise I won’t leave Gertie.”

She looked up at him. But finally shock and exhaustion won out, and she nodded. “I’ll go,” she murmured. “You stay here.”

“
You promise me you won’t run away?”

“
Where would I go?” Emma whispered. And she walked from the room, from the house, from her childhood, without a backward glance. To fling herself on the warm, comforting bosom of Lady Seldane.

“
She’s gone.”

Killoran looked up into Nathaniel’s troubled face. “She is a headstrong wench, isn’t she?” he said weakly. He’d slid down against the wall, unable to stand any longer, and it had been sheer luck that Emma had stormed out without peering into the shadows.

“
Help is coming...” Nathaniel said.

“
No. Get me out of this place.”

“
You shouldn’t be moved. You’ve lost a lot of blood...”

“
I’ve been shot before. It’s not going to kill me,” he said, struggling to his feet, leaning breathlessly against the wall.

“
Lady Seldane has already sent for a surgeon—”

“
I’m going back to Curzon Street,” he said, and his voice sounded odd, far away.

“
You’ll kill yourself.”

“
Perhaps. But I’m not going to die beside Jasper Darnley.” He took an unsteady step away from the wall. The bullet had lodged beneath his shoulder, but it wasn’t a clean wound, and he knew it.

“
Killoran, for God’s sake, man!” Nathaniel cried desperately. “The bullet might have touched a vital organ. Be still. It could have nicked your heart, your lungs...”

“
I don’t have a heart,” Killoran said wryly.

“
True enough,” Nathaniel agreed sternly. “Emma just ran off with it. Are you going to sit back down and wait for help, or am I going to have to force you?”

“
Sentimental fool,” Killoran murmured weakly. His legs wouldn’t support him, and he slumped back to the floor. The hallway was already dark, but it was closing in upon him like a velvet throw, and he considered death to be an imminent possibility. “Promise me something, Nathaniel.”

“
Anything.”

“
If by any bizarre chance you’re right,” he whispered. “If I’m dying, you’re to let me go in peace.”

“
Don’t be absurd, man...”

“
If I call out for... anyone... you’re not to bring them to me. Do you understand? I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, delirious and begging. You’re not to bring her.”