Chapter 20

 

 

As soon as she got the door open, a flurry of noise greeted Vic from a few feet away. The parlor door slid back, and Boyd and Malcolm emerged into the foyer. Their voices rippled down the passage.

“Ye work too hard,” Boyd was saying. “Do ye ken that? Ye must learn to rest on yer laurels once in a while.”

Malcolm’s deep baritone rumbled off the walls. “There is no working too hard in this war, lad. Ye should ken that. We must track them down before they leave Scotland. We may have already missed our chance.”

“If we missed our chance,” Boyd returned, “then there’s no sense in ye rushing off to check on them when ye could be coming to me apartment to share a dram with me.”

“I wanted to go upstairs and check on Vic before I turn in for the night,” Malcolm replied. “She’s none too strong in this. She could break down if ye push her too hard.”

“None too strong!” Boyd snorted with laughter. “Ye underestimate her, laddie. She’s a lot stronger than ye give her credit for. Did ye see her downstairs when she swore to revenge herself on me? She withstood more than most women can dream of.”

“Ye didnae have to push her so hard,” Malcolm countered. “It was cruel and unnecessary. Ye could have gotten the information out of her some other way.”

Boyd’s voice notched a register higher, and Vic imagined him smiling. “Is that what ye’ve been doing, ye devil? Ye’ve been using the soft approach on her to get the information out of her. Ye’ve been hedging yer bets against my cruelty. Ye dog. I should have kenned ye’d sneak into her good graces that way.”

Vic’s blood boiled. Was that the real reason Malcolm got himself locked in a crate with her—to weasel information out of her? She could throttle him for that.

No, wait a minute. That made no sense. He got himself locked in a crate with her to reveal his most dangerous secret. He was Angui, and he had to tell her in a safe way where she could process that without screaming to the high Heavens.

Malcolm didn’t need information from her. He certainly never questioned her in that crate or anywhere else. Boyd was the one who interrogated her for every iota of information he could glean.

“I’m going upstairs,” Malcolm said. “I’ll let ye ken if I find out anything.”

“Ye spend entirely too much time concerning yerself with that lassie,” Boyd fired back. “If ye dinnae come to me apartment right now, I’ll have no choice but to assume she’s interfering with yer professional judgment, and ye wouldnae want that, now would ye?”

A long, heavy pause followed.

Vic pictured Malcolm’s smoldering face scowling at Boyd while he considered this ultimatum. Why did Boyd want to keep Malcolm away from Vic if he didn’t suspect something?

“All right,” Malcolm snarled back. “One dram, and then I’m going. It’s already late, and I’m tired.”

The two men set off up the passage, heading straight for Vic’s hiding place. She gulped down her breath and pulled the door shut to cut off the faintest glimmer of light, but she kept the knob turned so it wouldn’t click.

Boyd’s apartment door swished back. Two sets of footsteps vanished, and the door slid closed. Vic listened to her own pulse thundering in her ears long after any sound died outside. She dared not open that door again.

She looked down to find Noah regarding her. He probably expected her to back down now that she faced the most crucial part of her plan. She didn’t back down, though. She got him perched on her shoulder one more time and inched the door open. When she saw the coast was clear, she emerged from the darkness, into the corridor.

Boyd’s apartment door stood a few feet away. He and Malcolm talked in there. How many other Guildsmen occupied this house?

Vic couldn’t go down that hallway. For a start, Noah couldn’t support himself. If he fell, the noise would attract Boyd and Malcolm’s attention. It would probably attract anybody else around here too, and she couldn’t risk that.

Instead, she turned toward the kitchen. Only a few steps separated her from the back door leading into the garden. She shuffled that way and let herself outside into the brisk night air.

The minute they got outside, Noah gave voice to the pain tormenting him. He winced at every step and moaned whenever Vic pushed him up with her shoulder. She couldn’t pay him any heed. She hurried between the flower beds toward a hedge border beyond the garden.

She’d spent only a few minutes in this garden in the light of day, but she knew one thing. The farther she got from the Guild House, the better off they would both be.

The open space gave Noah new life too. He sucked in a heavy breath of air, and for the first time, put his weight on his legs and held himself up.

She didn’t let go of him. They had to keep moving, and if he fell now, he would slow her down. She headed for the hedge, and he matched her movements. He must know their safety lay in that direction. Come to think of it, he probably knew a lot more about this island than she did. He might even know a way to get himself off it, but she couldn’t ask him that now.

They limped on their way until the hedge cut off every trace of light. She hustled him into the shadows before they both stopped, gasping for air.

“Ye must go back now, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’ll be missed.”

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe,” she hissed back. “How can we get you off this island? There must be a way you can hook back up with the Prometheus.”

“The Prometheus is long gone,” he countered. “They dropped ye off at the Port of Ness and never looked back. She’s halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

“How do you know that?” she asked. “How do you know if you weren’t there?”

“There’s no other explanation,” he replied. “They wouldnae have turned back for anything, no’ even to save my life. Ye’re here because Dagar—I mean, Niall Lewis—he dropped that crate at Ness. Dinnae ask me why, but he must have had his reasons. Then he turned west and ran for it. Take me word on it.”

“Well, that doesn’t get us any closer to getting you out of here,” she returned. “There must be somewhere on the mainland you can rest until you heal from your injuries.”

“I’ll steal a rowboat and row across the channel.”

“Quit wasting time in foolish jokes,” she snapped. “I don’t suppose there are any ship captains around here who would help a fugitive from the Gunns.”

“Now it’s ye making foolish jokes,” he replied. “They’re Gunns, the lot of them.”

“There must be a way.” She looked around but couldn’t see anything in the dark. She wasn’t even sure of the right way to go to get to the jetty.

“Go back, lass,” he breathed. “I cannae see ye in danger like this. I’ve been through worse in me time. Go back. Malcolm will see ye’re kept safe.”

“I’ll go back once I know you’re off the island.” She straightened up. “We just need to come up with a plan.”

He remained squatting in front of her, gazing up at her face. “What plan do ye have in mind?”

She peered through the foliage and saw the main street not far away. Once they got down it, she could find her way to the wharf. “You’re a pretty good sailor, Noah. You could steal a ship and sail yourself across the channel. What you’ll do on the other side is up to you.”

“I can handle meself on the other side,” he replied. “It’s getting there that’s the hard part. The ships on the wharf are fishing boats. The men get up long before daylight to go out to their work. Once they see the boat gone, they’ll roust out the Gunns to come after me. I dinnae like me chances of making landfall.”

“Then you better get a move on before they catch you.” She wedged her shoulder under his arm. “Come on. We don’t have much time, and we can’t run the risk of them finding us before you get away.”

She didn’t wait for Noah to reply and half dragged him into the open. The moonlight washed the cobbled street, and she raced on her way. Now that she saw their destination in sight, she didn’t give herself a chance to hesitate. She had to get Noah to the jetty, on board a ship of any description, and across the channel before anybody caught on to what they were doing.

He didn’t argue, either. He must have been so delighted to get out of the Guild House alive that he would take any chance to get away. She half dragged, half carried him to the opposite end of town, where they turned toward the coast. The faint light from the stars gave the heaving ocean an iron-gray cast, not much different in color from the pitch-black land rolling down the island’s edge.

Vic’s heart fluttered when the ship masts came into view. She pushed toward the first vessel. “Here. Get on board,” she murmured in his ear.

“No’ this one. It belongs to Hamish McTavit. He’s got three bairns and a wife to support on his fishing. I couldnae steal it from him.” He hastened to the next boat. “This one belongs to the Guild. I’ll take that.”

“Won’t that make it easier to track you?” she asked.

He straightened up, bracing his legs with both hands, and held firm. “I’ll no’ keep the ship long. As soon as I make landfall, I’ll abandon it and disappear. They’ll no’ find me.”

“Then you better get going,” she whispered. “Good luck, Noah.”

His eyes glistened not two inches from her face. “Thank ye, lass. I’ll no’ forget it.”

“I only hope Boyd forgets it,” she remarked. “Now get on with you.”

He put out his hand to her, and she clasped it. Her throat ached, watching him leave like this, but the sooner he vanished out of her life, the happier she’d be. She couldn’t stand seeing him hurt again.

He squeezed her hand and turned away to board the ship when, out of the shadows, a dark figure emerged from behind the vessel he’d picked out. At first, Vic could make out only an indistinct shape of a tall man in a kilt. He blocked Noah’s way down the jetty to the gangplank leading up to the ship. As he came forward, she distinguished the hard, angular curve of his cheekbones and the rough cut of his beard. His curly brown hair hung loosely around his face. He was one of the Gunns who had surrounded Vic and Malcolm in the warehouse. She didn’t know his name, but he sure knew her.

His deep voice rumbled through the night. “Ye’re out late at night, lassie. I dinnae think the Guild Master kens ye’re out here with that prisoner of his.”

Vic froze in her tracks.

Noah didn’t breathe. He certainly wasn’t strong enough to fight his way past this man, and Vic didn’t trust herself to raise her hand against any living person, even to defend herself.

The man took a menacing step closer. His hulking frame prickled with power, and his hand migrated to his saber hilt. “I’ll thank ye to turn around and walk back to the Guild House the way ye came—both of ye.”

Vic didn’t move. Neither did Noah. What should she do? She might go back to the Guild House, but she couldn’t take Noah back there, not after she had risked everything getting him out. No way.

She sensed Noah stiffen next to her. He didn’t want to go back, either, not with freedom in sight. What could he do, though? He couldn’t exactly dash on board and put to sea with that man standing in his way.

Vic’s hand flew to her chest, and she felt the knife hidden in her basque. She couldn’t draw it in time, and a carving knife against an armed Highlander didn’t exactly tip the odds in her favor.

The man squared his shoulders at them both and drew his weapon. The blade rang in the deep night, shimmering before Vic’s eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Go on back to the Guild House,” the man snarled. “I’ll no’ say it again.”

With no warning at all, Noah launched himself at the man. He roared a broken challenge and lunged for his adversary’s throat.

Vic cried out in alarm. Her instincts told her to drag Noah away from this menace, but it was too late.

The Highlander sidestepped, and Noah stumbled past him. The man hauled back his saber and clubbed Noah across the back of the neck, smashing him to the ground. The Highlander pounced for the killing stroke. Noah rolled over and jerked sideways just in time to miss the saber coming down on top of him.

Vic stuck her hand inside her basque. Her fingers closed around the knife handle, but she couldn’t summon the will to draw it. What could she do with it? How could she help Noah in this fight?

Noah took the opportunity to scramble to his feet and met his opponent coming. The Highlander raised his sword on high to cleave Noah in half and leaped forward, bringing his blade down hard. Noah caught the man’s wrists just in time, and the two men growled in each other’s faces in a desperate bid for dominance.

Terror and desperate agony battled in Vic’s gut as she watched. Noah’s shivering arms started to weaken, and the Highlander overpowered him. Noah’s elbows bent, and the blade drifted closer to his face. Vic had to act now if she was going to act at all.

She jumped forward. Before she realized what had happened, she’d rushed the pair. The knife in her hand took on a life of its own and dragged her forward against her will. It charged in a headlong dive straight into the man’s chest, burying its point under his arm, between his ribs.

The Highlander went deathly still. His eyes widened and he stared into Noah’s face, but his might didn’t slacken at all. The two men still grappled for the saber above their heads. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Noah gave him an almighty shove, and the Highlander staggered back a few steps. His eyes bulged, but he never looked at Vic. She couldn’t have survived if he had. He kept his gaze locked on Noah.

Noah let out a feral snarl, strode forward three steps, and kicked the man in the chest as hard as he could. The Highlander pitched over backward and toppled off the jetty, into the slimy black water. The waves rippled and hauled him down.

Vic stared at the spot in blank horror. She didn’t. She couldn’t. The knife did it by itself. She could never kill anybody.

Noah hustled up to her and hissed into her ear, “Get back to the house, lassie. I’ll cast off. Get back before anyone misses ye.”

She didn’t move until he seized her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a push; then she took the first tentative steps forward. Once she started moving, her feet took over. She didn’t come to her senses until she re-entered the garden.