The Black Diamond (36 page)

Macall's eyes glittered at the prospect of acquiring such wealth. "You say the case is locked?"

"The case
and
the drawer. Each has but one key—I allowed no duplicates to be made."

"Where are these keys?"

"With me." She held up her reticule, gave it an indicative pat. "I keep them in my possession at all times."

"Show them to me."

"If I do,
then
will you release Julian?"

"Once I know they're genuine, yes." Macall stared eagerly at her bag, the tip of his sword easing slightly away from Julian's chest. "Now show me."

"All right." Aurora lowered her lashes, tugging open the reticule and reaching inside. "Here." She extracted first one key, then another, holding them up for his inspection.

"Throw them over here."

"But…"

"Throw them at my feet. I'll pick them up and examine them. If I'm convinced they're real, I'll let Merlin go."

With apparent reluctance, Aurora tossed the keys to the ground. They landed a foot shy of Macall's feet. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice quavering as at last her courage seemed to falter. "I'm just so nervous, I…"

"Never mind." Impatiently Macall stepped forward to retrieve the keys, thereby easing his sword farther away from its mark and, more significantly, forcing him to release his grasp on Julian's coat.

Julian slumped to the ground the instant Macall's supporting arm was removed.

Macall froze, looking from his captive to the keys, uncertain which prize to seize first.

Aurora eliminated his choice the instant his attention was diverted.

Yanking a pistol from her still-open reticule, she aimed, and without the slightest hesitation fired a shot directly at Macall's heart.

The privateer crumpled silently to the ground.

Silence ensued, descended heavily upon the alleyway.

Julian recovered first, his unfocused gaze assessing Macall's lifeless body. Fighting back unconsciousness, he crawled forward, shoving the sword aside and groping for Macall's wrist. "He's dead." He raised his head, staring dazedly at his wife as she slowly lowered her gun. "When did you … learn to fire a pistol?"

"Just now."

"Just now," he repeated inanely. "Whose…?"

"It's Slayde's," she answered, walking over and dropping to her knees beside her husband. "I took it from his desk. I'm sure he hasn't a clue it's missing. That drawer is kept locked." She gestured toward one of the discarded keys. "I believe that's the key that opens it."

Julian followed her motion, wondering if he were more incoherent than he realized or if this were actually happening. He reached for his wife—the resulting pain inciting a harsh groan and assuring him that this was indeed reality.

"Julian—don't," Aurora whispered, easing him over onto his back. "You're hurt badly." She groped in her reticule, pulled out a handkerchief, and pressed it to his throat. "See what happens when you don't wear a cravat?" she teased, tears gathering in her eyes.

"It's not … that bad…" He caught her wrist. "Rory, how did you manage this? How did … you arrange…?"

"I knew Macall was after you. 'Twas only a matter of time. Stone all but told you to expect him at one of these taverns. So I came prepared." She swallowed, watching as Julian's blood soaked through her handkerchief. "I'm going to get help—armed with my pistol," she added, warding off his protest. "Don't argue. We must get you inside, treat that wound." Pausing, she leaned forward, capturing Julian's hand and pressing his palm to her lips. "I told you earlier, Merlin—I protect those I love. You're an adventurer. I'm an adventurer's wife. You safeguard what's yours. I safeguard what's mine. It's that simple."

Julian stared from Macall's dead body to his wife's beautiful face. "Damn," was all he said before he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Gin—next time, heat this bloody water!" Julian ordered, shoving at the chilly wetness against his throat. "I feel as if I'm bathing in the snow!"

"Ah, he lives," Aurora quipped, leaning against the table and saying a silent prayer. Those were the first two coherent sentences Julian had formed since she'd left him in the alley to race back to the Cove and beg for help.

Once again, it had been Barnes who'd come to her rescue, ordering two burly young sailors to carry Geoffrey Bencroft's great-grandson into the tavern.

Throughout his transport, even after he'd been stretched out across two chairs and left to his wife's ministrations, Julian hadn't opened his eyes.

"'E's lost a fair amount of blood," Barnes had consoled Aurora as she'd bathed the wound, held clean cloths against it to absorb the still-trickling blood. "That sword I saw them men carry in 'ere looked real fierce. It musta cut yer 'usband pretty deep. But the bleedin' seems to be slowin' down now. Don't worry. 'E'll mend."

Aurora was t
hank
ful that Barnes appeared to be right.

"No more," Julian protested, shoving at Aurora's hands. "I'll wash later—
after
you've heated the water."

"I'm glad to hear that," Aurora murmured, leaning over Julian and smoothing his hair off his forehead. "Unfortunately, your wound requires cold compresses, not hot. So you'll have to endure the chill."

Julian cracked open one eye, then the other. "Aurora?" He turned his head a bit, frowning as he focused on his surroundings, the wooden table he was beside, the two chairs that held him. "Where are we?" he questioned over the sounds of clinking glasses and chortling men.

"In the Cove. Tending to your wound."

Recollection surged forth like the tide. "Macall…" he bit out, jerking to a half-sitting position.

"It's over," Aurora said softly, easing her husband back down. "Macall is no longer a threat. He's dead. I believe his body's been disposed of." A shudder. "In truth, I didn't ask nor do I care. All that matters is you."

"So it really did happen," Julian murmured, gazing up at her, his expression intense as he assessed her state of mind.

"Yes, it happened." Aurora rinsed out the cloth, returned it to Julian's throat with shaking hands. "Mr. Barnes was kind enough to ask two of his friends to assist me. They carried you in, placed you in the quietest corner we could find, then left me to tend to you." A worried frown. "Your wound hasn't stopped bleeding yet. It's slowed considerably, but it hasn't stopped."

"Don't be upset by that." Julian reached up, his knuckles tenderly caressing her cheek. "The blade on Macall's sword was broad and thin…" He paused, drew a breath that was still slightly unsteady. "It was able to slash a fairly deep cut with very little effort. But he hadn't gotten down to the serious business of killing me yet, so no real harm was done." Ever so gently, Julian's thumb traced her lips. "Stop looking so worried. I'll be fine." He made an attempt to rise, then thought better of it, sinking back into the chair.

"Stay still," Aurora instructed.

He flashed her a weak smile. "I don't dare disobey. Not when you're so adept with your brother's pistol." His smile faded, his brows drawing together as he felt her hands tremble against his throat. "
Soleil
, you're very pale. Are you all right?"

She nodded. "He didn't harm me. Other than a stiff forearm, I'm fine."

"That's not what I meant." Julian's hand slid around to caress her nape in slow, soothing motions. "You just killed a man. That's a very courageous and difficult thing to do."

Aurora met her husband's gaze, tears glistening on her lashes. "Yes, I did. And I'd do it again in an instant if your life were at stake."

Profound emotion tightened Julian's features. "Barnes was right. I
am
a lucky man—lucky to have you, lucky to be alive…" He drew yet another shaky breath. "Perhaps even a merlin has its limits. Perhaps it's time I stopped tempting fate."

"Perhaps it's time you rested," Aurora countered in a quavering whisper. She lay her palm against Julian's jaw, her voice barely audible over the din. "I need to get more compresses, anyway. Mr. Barnes is still here. He seems to be taking his role as my guardian very seriously, not only by offering his aid, but by warning the other men to stay away from me. Thus far, they've all complied. So I can move about in relative safety. You, on the other hand, had best lie still, else I'll have one of those sailors stand guard over you. I won't have you jumping up and undoing all my hard work by reopening your wound and worsening the bleeding."

"Aurora—" Julian seized her hand before she could leave him, bringing her fingers to his lips. "T
hank
you. I'm grateful to know my life lies in such beautiful, capable hands."

"And I'm grateful you're alive—more grateful than I can say." Aurora broke off, seeking the right words to convey how terrified she'd been at the thought of losing him, how fervently she'd prayed that her determination would make up for her lack of skill. God, if that bullet had missed…

"It wouldn't have," Julian murmured, reading her mind. "You're too bloody good a shot."

"I never held a gun before in my life."

"Trust me,
soleil
. You're not a woman who needs teaching—at anything."

With a watery smile, Aurora leaned forward, brushed her lips to his. "I love you, Julian."

Rising, she made her way across the pub, skirting the tables and halting when she reached the counter. "Mr. Rawley?" she summoned the tavern keeper. "Excuse me, but may I have a few more clean towels?"

Rawley shot her a disgruntled look. "I already gave ye a half dozen."

"The wound was worse than I thought."

"Listen, lady." The tavern keeper slammed a goblet of ale to the counter, leaning over to stare belligerently at Aurora. "I've seen a lot worse in my time. In case ye 'aven't noticed, this ain't exactly London's West End. The only reason I even 'elped ye out this much is 'cause I took pity on ye. But the Cove's a pub, not a sick ward. So get yer 'usband up as quick as ye can, and get goin'."

"I intend to." Aurora tried to control her anger—and her nausea. The tavern keeper's breath was nearly as foul as his temper. Still, she needed his cooperation for a short while longer. And that meant holding her tongue. "Mr. Rawley, I apologize for disrupting your routine. I'd like nothing better than if Julian were well enough for us to take our leave. But that can't happen until his wound stops bleeding. It's slowed quite a bit. Another few compresses should do it. So if you'll just allow me a few more towels and just as many minutes, I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate your request."

"Fine—ye want towels? Get 'em yerself."

"I'd be happy to. Where are they?"

Rawley jerked his head toward the rear of the pub. "Back there. In the storage room."

"T
hank
you. You've been most kind." Veering sharply about, Aurora stalked off, weaving her way through the rows of tables, pausing only to wave at Barnes as she passed.

"Where're ye goin'?" he called out.

"To get more compresses. Mr. Rawley's busy," she returned as loudly as she could.

Skirting the tavern's furthermost table, she reached the area in question, frowning when she saw there were not one but two doors to choose from. One of them had to be the door she sought.

It wasn't the first. Yanking it open, she was greeted with a burst of cold night air, informing her that she'd come upon the back entrance to the pub. Fine—then it was the other door.

Pulling it open, Aurora breathed a sigh of relief as rows of boxes and piles of towels told her that this was indeed the storage room.