A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (17 page)

“We go in small. Teller kens my face, so it’ll be sure to cause an uproar when he sees me. When they get stirred up, Darrow grabs Tristan and gets him away.”

“You’re not going without me.” Deidre had become deadly still.

“I am.”

“If you think I’m going to sit here—”

Ewan took her hands. “Deidre. Leannain. I’ll get him back.”

“By using yourself as bait? Why not me?”

“Because the minute one of them puts hands on ye, I’ll nae be useful to anyone. If I ken yer here, safe and sound, I’m worth ten men.”

Angus snorted. “Dinnae flatter yerself. Six.”

“Six then,” Ewan said with a smile. “It’ll still be plenty with Angus at my back.”

“What about Alastair?” Angus asked. “Getting the lad back willnae solve that problem.”

“I’ll worry about dealing with him once Tristan’s safe.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t know—”

“Please,” he told her, taking her hand. “Trust me to do this. I promised I’d get yer brother back and I will.”

It was a physical struggle for her to nod her head.

He knew she didn’t believe him, but if she could just hold on to that little spark of faith in him, Ewan would fan it into a flame if it was the last thing he did. Ewan kissed her forehead, and hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Tom. Angus. Ready the horses. There’s no sense in waiting around.”

Chapter 20

“There’s a trick to it,” Rose said from the settee. After the men had left, Rose had joined her in the study to wait out the time before they came back.

Deidre was poor company as she kept her unflinching watch out the window. “To what?”

“To waiting.”

She turned. “By all means, teach it to me.”

Rose patted the cushion beside her. “The first step is to stop staring. It will only driving ye mad and it willnae bring them back any faster.”

It would let her know whole moments sooner when they finally did return, and for that reason she was reluctant to leave her post.

Rose smiled pityingly. “It will help.”

“You do a lot of waiting?” Deidre asked as she moved away from the window. She had always hated being pitied. She sat on the settee, trying to look less restless than she felt.

Rose laughed. “Loads. Waiting and sewing are pretty much all they ever let me do.”

“It doesn’t make you furious?”

“Nae really. What else could I do?” Rose smiled again. This time it was full of warmth. “But then ye came.”

“Me?” What did Deidre have to do with anything?

“Aye. Yer life is rather exciting.”

It was Deidre’s turn to laugh. “I think you mean terrifying.”

“That, too,” Rose admitted. “But exciting things are often frightening.”

“You don’t want my life.”

Rose considered that. “I suspect not, but would ye truly be happy in mine?”

Not for a minute. Deidre already knew that. “No.”

“Perhaps somewhere in the middle then. Something between terrifying excitement and maddening waiting.”

“With absolutely no sewing,” Deidre joked.

Rose smiled. “I dinnae mind the sewing. I’m good at it.”

“You’d better be, if it’s all you’ve been doing for the last . . . how old are you anyway?” It was rude to ask, but Deidre had warned Rose that she was unsuitable as a friend.

“Two and thirty.”

“For the last two and thirty years.”

Rose chuckled. “To be fair, I did spend a few years as a bairn. Very limited sewing as an infant.”

“I can imagine. Needles and babies. Probably a bad idea.”

Now that she wasn’t stuttering and doing her best impression of a church mouse, Rose was actually quite enjoyable to spend time with. “And then there was that time I pushed a man off a cliff. No sewing at all that day.”

And apparently in possession of a very dark sense of humor. Deidre realized she’d likely never had a chance to speak about it. Now that it wasn’t a secret anymore . . .

“Why did you do it?” Deidre asked. “From what I understand, people were lining up to put an end to him. How is it that you were the one?”

Wrinkles of thought marred Rose’s brow. “I dinnae ken, really. I was collecting flowers out by the cliff to put on Lady Aileanna’s grave, and he came stumbling past. He dinnae even see me. I dinnae think he ever kenned I was there.”

Deidre stayed silent, letting the other woman talk.

“He was swearing. Calling her names, saying it was all her fault. It wasnae. She was kind and nice and he was awful. It made me so angry.” From there, it had just taken a quick shove from the little girl he’d been too drunk to take any notice of.

Rose’s expression cleared and she smiled. Deidre was fairly certain she had nothing to fear from her new friend, but watching it was disconcerting.

It was time to lighten the mood. “If not staring is the first step, what’s the second step to the trick of waiting?”

“Pretending that it’s any other day,” Rose instructed.

That part would be harder. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Sure ye can. Do ye ken how to play backgammon?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll teach ye.”

Rose proved to be a patient teacher. Deidre was not a very patient student, but she tried. Just when she was finally getting the hang of it, Rose moved one of Deidre’s pieces to the space in the middle of the board.

“What was
that?
” Deidre cried.

“I hit yer blot. Now it goes to the bar,” Rose explained.

“As will I,” Deidre said. She went to the sideboard and poured herself a drink. “I don’t like this game.”

“Sure ye do. Ye just dinnae entirely understand it yet.”

Deidre turned, prepared to make her case, and froze.

“’Ello, Dee,” Teller said from the doorway. “Pour me a glass?”

***

The temptation to push the horses on the way to town was strong, but Ewan didn’t know what sort of hurry they might be leaving in. Instead they took it easy and saved them for the return trip. The minutes dragged.

Neither Angus nor Darrow said much. All three of them had their thoughts on the task that lay ahead. They didn’t know nearly enough about what they were walking into, but Ewan couldn’t afford to wait. If he waited, there was no guarantee Deidre wouldn’t decide to rush in on her own. He still half expected to hear hooves approaching from behind and discover she had followed them after all. He had to do this for her, and fast, if he wanted any hope of keeping her.

When they reached town, Darrow led them around to the far end. They watched the inn from a distance, noting who came, who went, and who stayed.

“Those three for certain,” Darrow said, pointing out two men at the front door and one just visible around the outside of the building.

“Deidre said she saw five, so with Alastair and Teller, that’s four inside at the minimum,” Ewan pondered.

“How do ye want to do this?” Angus asked.

“Darrow, can ye head in now and have a look? If it’s nae as we think it is, come out and give a signal. If it is, have a pint and wait until the stir starts.”

Tom nodded. He slipped across the street and turned up again coming out of an alley a few buildings over, walking with the off-balance tilt of a man who’d done a bit of drinking already. Angus and Ewan watched him stumble into one of the men at the door and apologize.

“He’s quite convincing,” Ewan noted.

“Aye,” Angus agreed. “Ye seem to be keeping company with a number of adept liars lately.”

“We,” Ewan corrected.

Angus shook his head. “I keep company with ye. The rest of this lot is yer doing.”

“Ye can pretend all ye like. I ken ye’ve taken to them.”

The older man didn’t agree or disagree. He just shrugged. “I take it I’m on the street?”

“Aye. I’ll try to draw the rest out and take them for a chase. If they get curious before then—”

“I ken my business. Get to yers.”

Ewan waited a few more beats to see if Darrow would reappear. When he didn’t, it was time. He stepped out into the street.

The men at the door noted him, but they didn’t challenge him as he approached. Like he’d hoped, they didn’t know who he was. He went through the door between them without issue. Inside, Ewan expected the opposite. He needed to catch Teller’s notice without getting too far from the door. It shouldn’t be hard. A man like that would always have at least part of his attention on the new faces to enter a room.

Unfortunately, when Ewan stepped into the taproom, Teller wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Darrow was just getting up from a seat at a table near the corner. Ewan realized Teller wasn’t the only player missing. Tristan wasn’t there, either.

“Upstairs,” Darrow said in a low voice when Ewan moved to take his chair. “Just went up a moment ago.”

“How many?”

“Just the boy and the blue-eyed fellow.”

It wasn’t what they expected, but it might be a stroke of luck. Ewan could get Tristan and take care of Alastair, all with no one downstairs being the wiser.

“Find Tristan’s horse, and meet me out back with Angus.”

Ewan stayed in the chair for bit after Darrow left, checking to see if anyone paid him any mind. When no one did, he took the stairs Darrow had mentioned. The narrow hallway was empty. He stopped to listen at the first two doors he passed, but heard nothing. At the third door, he heard the unmistakable sound of Tristan speaking. It sounded like just the two of them, but he couldn’t be sure. He checked farther down the hallway. No surprises that way, just a dead end.

His sword would be a bigger burden than a help in quarters this close, so he left it sheathed and readied his pistol. He sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t need more than one shot and kicked the door in.

“Was that really necessary? It wasn’t locked.” Pale blue eyes looked him over, devoid of emotion. “Lord Broch Murdo, I presume?”

***

Deidre didn’t move.

“Dinnae be rude now. Pour me a glass and introduce me to yer pretty friend.”

Rose looked between them in confusion. “Deidre?”

“Rose, this is Teller. He is not a nice man.” Deidre reached into her pocket.

Teller lifted his arm, revealing a gun and centering it on her chest. “None of that. Everybody knows ye keep a popper stashed. Toss it over, real easy.”

They were in very serious trouble. Deidre considered taking her chances. Perhaps his weapon would misfire. Maybe the bullet would miss her vital parts. If she could get a shot off, it might be worth it. Then again, all the mishaps that could befall Teller could befall her as well. Flipping a coin twice had rarely ever come out in Deidre’s favor.

She put her gun down on the counter and stepped away from it.

“Nae one for doing as yer told, are ye, Lady Dee?” Teller moved into the room, gesturing her farther back as he picked
her
pistol up and stashed it in his belt. “Dinnae worry. By the time we get finished here, we’ll have that all sorted out.”

Deidre refused to let panic take over. “If Alastair sent you to collect me, I don’t think he’ll be overly pleased if you muss me up before you take me back to him.”

Teller nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good thing he dinnae send me then.”

Shit.
“He’ll still have your head for touching me.”

“Maybe he will, maybe nae.” Teller started walking toward her. “The wind’s shifted a bit where yer concerned, and I’ve got a score to settle with ye over Wick.”

Deidre backed up, keeping distance between them. Retreating around Teller had always been a mistake, but they were well past that now. He meant to hurt her, and no amount of posturing would convince him not to.

“How is Wick?” she asked. “He always seemed like the brains of your operation.”

Teller snarled as she circled, continuing to keep distance between them. Without Wick to sneak up behind her, his usual tactics weren’t very effective. “Hasnae woken up from that knock ye gave him. They say probally he willnae, but they dinnae ken him like I do.”

Oh, holy hell. She’d killed Wick, or close enough to. Teller didn’t just mean to hurt her. He meant to murder her—likely after a great deal of suffering.

As Teller passed Rose, the other woman leapt at him. Deidre cried out a warning, trying to stop her, but it was too late. He deflected the attempt easily, grabbing Rose by the hair and holding her in front of him.

“Wot’s this then?” he asked. “Made yerself a friend, have ye, Dee?”

Deidre called herself a thousand kinds of fool in her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Right now, Deidre is tryna’ trick me,” Teller said with his lips against Rose’s ear. “She’s tryna’ pretend she doesnae care about ye, so I willnae hurt ye.”

“You know I don’t care. She’s not Tristan.”

“True as that may be,” he said. “Ye could have bolted out the door. Instead, ye yelled.”

Damn.

“Look, Dee. Yer friend is frightened.” Teller dragged the pistol barrel across his captive’s cheek.

Rose was shaking. A tear rolled down her face. The blond woman’s pupils were dilated with fear, nearly blocking out the blue of her irises. Their eyes locked, Rose’s holding both an apology and a plea. Deidre’s held only resolve. She was going to kill Teller.

“Let her go.”

“Why would I do that?” He slid the barrel along the neckline of Rose’s dress. “Not as pretty as ye maybe, but I’ve always liked blondes better.”

“Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want.” The words were ash in her mouth.

Teller sneered. “Ye’ll do whatever I want either way.”

“But you’ll have to make me,” Deidre said, closing the distance between them. Her entire body rebelled at the idea, but she kept her feet moving forward. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like when I’m willing?”

He watched the sway of her hips as she got closer. He was wary, but he watched.

Deidre could work with that. “What it’s like when I’m eager?”

“Ye cannae fool me. Ye’d be fakin’ it.”

“Nobody fakes it better than me, Teller. You know that.” She was within reach now. “Even better than the real thing, isn’t that what Alastair says?”

He shoved Rose roughly away, grabbing Deidre.

“No need for that,” she said, leaning into him. “I won’t run from you anymore.”

He grabbed her by the hair anyway, yanking forcefully. “Ye said whatever I want.”

“I did.” She cringed as her neck bent back at a painful angle.

“Well, what I want is to hurt ye, like yer friend hurt me and Wick.”

He wanted to hurt her, but he was also eyeing the swell of her breasts as she gulped air. Deidre wished he’d make up his mind so she could figure out which way to play him.

She cried out, exaggerating the pain in her scalp. At the same time she writhed against him, making certain the swell of her hip rubbed up against his manhood. It worked. He brought his mouth down on hers. It was everything she could do not to gag, but she managed to moan a little.

When he finally lifted his head, his expression was frenzied.

“Send her away so we can have some fun.”

He saw right through that. “She stays.”

“You don’t need her to—”

The blow was lightning fast. The butt of the gun split her lip and she tasted blood.

“I said she stays.”

The clink of his belt unbuckling was deafening. Deidre struggled to keep her panic under control.

Just lock yourself away. You can survive this.

Deidre focused on the revulsion. She wrapped herself in it like a blanket, using her disgust as a barrier. Teller was pathetic. He had to take her body by force because he could never earn it. He needed to hurt her because he couldn’t outsmart her.