A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (16 page)

“Good.” Rose paced a circle in the carpet. “Ewan, I need to tell ye something, and I need ye to listen.”

“Aye, all right.”

She stopped. Long moments passed with a war of emotions battling for dominance over the expressions of her face. Eventually they settled. “When yer father was killed . . .”

Tension immediately settled over him, as it did anytime his father was mentioned. “Ye mean when he killed himself.”

“No, I mean . . .” Rose took a deep breath. “Yer father dinnae fall, Ewan. He was pushed.”

Ewan wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but he was fairly certain that would have been last on the list. It wasn’t particularly surprising, though. Hugh MacMurdo had certainly done plenty to deserve it. “Aye? And who do I thank for that piece of justice?”

She frowned at him. “Would ye thank them? He was yer father.”

“He was the man who killed my mother. Whatever else he might have been, he gave it up when he left her dying at the bottom of those stairs.”

Rose searched his face. She took another steadying inhale. “Me, then.”

“Ye, what?”

“Ye can thank me. I pushed him.”

Ewan blinked. He tried to order the words in his head so they would make sense. The idea that someone had pushed his father wasn’t surprising, but . . . this was Rose. Timid, frightened by her own shadow Rose. Sweet Rose, who tended wounded birds when they were children and couldn’t sleep without her doll because it might get lonely.

There had to be some mistake. “I’m sure ye dinnae—”

“He’d been drinking,” she interrupted.

Not a surprise with his father. It was a long time ago—she was likely misremembering something traumatic. “Whatever ye think happened—”

“I pushed him off the cliff.” Rose stared at him. “On purpose. He dinnae fall. I pushed him.”

Her certainty broke through, surrounding them with silence.

What was there to say? He could ask why, but he knew why. He’d even spent a fair number of years regretting that he hadn’t caused the end of the pickled bastard.

“I see,” he said.

“Ye see,” she echoed, confused.

“I see,” he repeated. It was all he had.

“I—well . . . All right then. I just thought I should tell ye.”

Ewan wasn’t sure about that, but there was no unknowing it. He added it to all the other things he didn’t know what to do with at the moment.

Chapter 19

Deidre watched the water crashing down on the beach below. She felt like that—stuck in a perpetual cycle of rising and crashing, thinking she was getting ahead only to be proven wrong in a spectacularly violent fashion. She was done crying. Tears wouldn’t help anything.

When Ewan joined her out on the cliff, she felt it. There was something about the way the air changed when he was around. The closer he got, the more charged it became, pulling her attention in his direction. She intended to keep up the pretense of being angry with him for as long as she could manage it, but that turned out to be about three heartbeats after he came to stand beside her.

“Rose killed my father,” he said softly, just loud enough to be heard.

Oh, bloody hell. You silly, silly girl. She wasn’t certain if she meant Rose or herself. “I know.”

“Of course ye do.” Exhaustion settled onto his face.

“Are you upset with her?” She asked.

“He was a monster. He deserved to die.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not upset. Emotion doesn’t always make sense.”

“It seems like it never does.” He ran his hands through his hair. The wind took the edges and danced them around his face. “I’m sorry for what I said. Tristan told me—”

“It’s fine.”

“It isnae.”

“It was the truth.” She was replaceable. She’d taught Tristan well, and the world was full of pretty faces.

Ewan stared at his hands, gently flexing the broken one by splaying his fingers. When he looked up, the whole of his heart was in his eyes. “Yer the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met, Deidre. Maybe someone else can do this one thing ye do, but there’s no one like ye in the world. Ye ken that, aye?”

She was done with tears—hadn’t she just decided that? They threatened to fall regardless of what she wanted. It was too much. He couldn’t say things like that to her—couldn’t look at her like that— when she couldn’t keep him. It was too cruel.

“There are plenty of—”

“Not one like ye. I love ye, Deidre Morgan.”

This was the moment.
Tell him you don’t love him. Tell him it’s just sex. Tell him whatever you have to, to keep him safe.
“I love you, too.”

And she hated herself. She was too selfish to save him. Too selfish not to reach up and kiss him, because no one in her life had ever made her feel the way Ewan did and she needed it too badly. When had she become so weak?

The rising moon painted them silver as he kissed her back, a hundred feet above the crashing waves. It was different with the words between them. Before, there had been arousal, excitement, need. Now, it was like he held every part of her in his hands. Like every point of their bodies were two parts of the same flesh, and when they met, they were being made whole.

Deidre leaned in. Ewan gathered her to him. Every inch of her wanted to feel complete; the way her lips felt whole when they met his, the way his hand spreading out against the small of her back felt like home.

“Deidre,” he whispered.

“Shh,” she said. “Just touch me.”

They stripped each other slowly. He unlaced her bodice with delicate strokes across her back. She placed soft kisses on his skin as each released button revealed a new section of his chest. The slow drag of the fabric as he bared her shoulders sent a shiver through her. She did the same to him, pushing the soft cotton down his back and letting it fall to the grass.

She traced the line of his collarbone. He ran his thumb across the circular scar on her ribs.

“What happened?” he asked. He kept the night air at bay with the warmth of his hands moving across her torso.

She closed her eyes, taking in every inch of the sensation. “A job went wrong. Somebody panicked.”

“Ye were shot?” The falter in his voice made her ache.

She nodded. He sank down, placing a kiss on raised flesh. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “It was a long time ago.”

He pressed kisses to every line of her ribs, across her stomach, erasing every memory she had of feeling anything but this. There was a rush of cold air as her skirt fell to the grass. Ewan pulled her closer. The heat of his chest warmed her thighs. His hands molded to the backs of her legs, running up their length, cupping her backside as he kissed the soft skin between her hipbones. Deidre melted into his touch and let herself have the moment.

The wind played across her skin. The ocean crashed below. A rock tumbled to their left . . . A rock tumbling.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Teller’s triumphant smile before he sprinted for the tree line.

***

Deidre went stiff underneath his hands. “No.”

Ewan looked up to see a figure sprinting off into the distance. “Who—”

“No!” she shouted. She pulled free of Ewan’s hands and took off across the field.

Ewan grabbed his shirt and chased after her. “Deidre, wait.”

She didn’t listen. She kept sprinting naked across the grass, careening into the edge of the forest. He caught up with her when she stopped, scanning the shadowed trunks.

“Deidre, what—”

“It was Teller. Teller saw us.”

The thug from Glasgow. “It’s all right. It’s nae the—”

“He’s gone. He’s going to tell Alastair. We have to leave. Now.” She was hysterical.

Ewan grabbed her by the shoulders, wrapping her in his shirt. “It’s all right, leannain. We’ll deal with it.”

“You don’t understand.” She pushed him away, striding for the castle. “Alastair will know I lied.”

“Lied about what?”

“I told him you were just a job. I told him we weren’t lovers.”

His blood ran cold. “When did ye tell him this?”

“Today.”

Ewan grabbed her arm, not letting her shake him off this time. “Ye saw him today? When? Where? Why dinnae ye say anything?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me when I told you I didn’t want you anymore. You’d have been stubborn and insisted I was just scared.” Her gestures were erratic and all he could see in her face was panic.

“I’d have been right.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re right, Ewan. It won’t do you much good after he’s killed you.”

“If I recall, he already wanted to kill me, and he can try but it’s nae as easy to do as he might think.”

“You don’t know him.”

Aye, that was true, but he knew himself. “Deidre, do ye trust me?”

She avoided his eyes, trying to pull him toward the castle.

Ewan stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Ye said ye loved me. Do ye trust me?”

“I can’t, Ewan.”

The words were a knife to his gut. He ignored it. They wouldn’t get anywhere if neither of them were thinking logically. “Why, Deidre?”

“I just can’t!” she shouted.

“Have I ever failed ye?” he asked, his voice as soft as hers was loud. “Have I ever let ye down?”

“No. But we haven’t known each other very long.”

“And ye think in time I will?”

“Not on purpose.”

Arguing with the kind of fear Deidre was holding on to was an uphill battle. Ewan needed to change his tactics or he was going to lose her.

“What do ye want, Deidre? Do ye want this—do ye want us—or do ye want to spend the rest of yer life running?”

She closed her eyes. He saw her struggling, trying to get control of the panic. He knew she was strong enough; he just wasn’t certain if she knew it.

“I want us,” she whispered.

Ewan sent a silent prayer heavenward. He wrapped his arms around her, reassuring himself he hadn’t imagined it. She wrapped her arms around him in return.

“All right then. Let’s get yer clothes and ye can tell me everything ye ken about this Alastair.”

***

She dressed in a hurry and spoke quickly as they walked to the castle. Some of the things Deidre told Ewan she’d hoped she would never have to say out loud. Cruel things Alastair had done. Cruel things they’d done together. Their shared history included some of her darkest moments, and it didn’t paint a very flattering picture of her that she’d stayed with him for so long. She hadn’t even gotten through the worst of it when they reached the castle.

When they entered the great hall, Ewan sent Darrow to find Angus and Tristan. He ushered Deidre into the study while they waited.

“I didn’t think he’d follow me,” Deidre explained.

“I would. I did,” Ewan added, correcting himself.

“In the entire time I’ve known him, he’s never left Glasgow. He despises small towns.”

“I dinnae think ye truly understand yer appeal, Deidre.”

She laughed. “I think I do. I’ve made my living off of it.”

Ewan shook his head. “That’s the show ye put on. It’s a good show, dinnae mistake me. But the way ye give yerself over when ye truly care for someone . . .”

In spite of everything, she flushed. She’d certainly given herself over to Ewan.

“I’d storm the gates of hell to get ye back if I lost ye.”

Her response was interrupted by the return of Darrow with Angus behind him.

“Where’s Tristan?” She tried to keep the panic at bay.

Darrow bobbed his head in quick greeting. “He went out.”

“Out?” Deidre asked.

“Back to town. Celebrating his first deal, he said. Left not long after he and the lord came back.”

Her heart skipped whole beats.
No, no, no.

Angus looked between her and Ewan. “Ye want me to go and get him back?”

“Tom can go. He’ll stand out less,” Ewan said. He sounded so calm. “When ye find him, be quiet about getting him back, aye?”

Tom’s eyes widened, but he didn’t argue. He left without another word.

Inside, Deidre was screaming. Ewan knew it.

“If they have him—”

Ewan took her hand, holding it tight in his own. “If they have him, we’ll deal with it.”

“I take it there’s trouble?” Angus asked.

“Aye,” Ewan said. He recounted Alastair’s arrival and the problem they were presently facing.

Hearing it all laid out made her worry for Tristan that much worse. “If Tom doesn’t—”

“Breathe, love.”

She did as he asked. It didn’t help. “He’s my brother, Ewan.”

“If they have him, we’ll get him back. I promise, leannain.”

“They have him.”

“Last time, ye were running about in a panic and Angus found him raising hell in some brothel.”

That had been in Glasgow. There were a hundred places Tristan could go without running into Alastair in a city that large. In the town with the fur merchant, there were very few.

“If they do have him, he’s safe enough until this Alastair gets his hands on ye. Ye said he’s intelligent, so he willnae harm young Tristan if he might need his cooperation to get to ye.”

“I should go,” she said. “If he has me—”

“He’ll still keep yer brother for leverage,” Angus finished.

“And keeping ye both out of Alastair’s hands is the whole aim,” Ewan added softly. “What would be the point?”

Deidre knew the point.

Angus did, too. He considered her, speculating. “Ye mean to kill him?”

“Someone’s going to have to.”

“Yer nae a killer, Deidre.” Ewan sounded so certain. He didn’t know her, not really.

“I am if I have to be.”

There was a weighty pause, before Angus said, “Let’s nae get ahead of ourselves. All ye ken for certain is that this Teller saw ye both on the cliff.”

This is why you shouldn’t love me
.
I’m not sweet. I’m not wholesome. There’s blood on my hands, and when things get hard, I’ll always go right back to who I am.

Ewan squeezed the hand he still held. “Stay with me.”

This time, it helped. She thought of them both in the darkened cellar and all the nightmares she now knew he’d been facing. She’d asked him to stay with her, and he had. She didn’t know how, but he had managed it. For Ewan, she would stay.

***

Hours passed before Darrow returned. Ewan did his best to ease the waiting, but Deidre was like a caged animal the entire time. Still, she stayed. He knew waiting wasn’t easy for her. His Deidre was used to running, or fighting if she had to. Watching her pace the hours away told him she loved him more than words ever would.

It made it that much worse when Tom came back empty-handed.

“What happened?” Deidre demanded. “Did you find him?”

“I saw him,” Tom said. “He was with a dark-haired fellow at a taproom on the end of town.”

Deidre radiated tension. “The dark-haired man—blue eyes? Light blue?”

“Yes,” Darrow said. “There wasn’t a quiet way to get him. There were men I didn’t recognize all over, and they looked to be watching out.”

There went that hope.

“Was he hurt?” Ewan asked. He wasn’t certain he could keep Deidre calm if the answer was no.

“He was dicing and drinking. Didn’t look to be roughed up at all.”

That was a stroke of luck at least. He saw a little of the tension drain out of Deidre. Now he just had to figure out how to get her brother back, and what to do about Alastair once he had. It was looking more and more likely that someone would need to put an end to the man, but Ewan was determined to keep that someone from being Deidre.

She might pretend that it was all more of the same for her, but Ewan knew better. She hadn’t shot him in the river. She’d called for help before trying to leave him at the inn. She’d chosen to train Darrow and his men instead of putting them to the sword. Necessity had hardened Deidre to be sure, but she wasn’t coldhearted.

Even Alastair . . . If he asked the right questions, Ewan was certain he’d find out she’d had the opportunity to put him in the ground. Instead, she’d tried to get away from him. Maybe she had ended lives in the past, but she wasn’t a killer. Ewan would see to it that she never became one.

“Tom, did ye get a count on how many men were looking out?”

Darrow shook his head. “The taproom was doing a brisk business. It’s hard to tell.”

“I saw five that I recognized from Glasgow,” Deidre offered.

“That makes seven with Teller and Alastair.” Ewan added up their own men. “We outnumber them if we bring Dee’s smugglers, but it’s guaranteed to get ugly if we just charge in.”

Angus squinted, following the direction of his thoughts. “What are ye thinking, lad?”