Aching for Always (47 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry you saw that.”

“Do you love him?”

“I thought I did.”

“Because I don't care what you did. I want you if you'll have me.” He extended an uncertain hand.

Had her suspicions about him been real or had they been a projection of her ego, giving herself a way out of the guilt she was feeling over her attraction to Hugh? Would she know if she touched him, the knight who had saved her and her company when she'd needed help? Surely the sense of the man would come through.

She turned toward him tentatively.

“Joss, please.”

When she put out her hand, she saw the blood splattered on his trousers and nearly jumped. Whom had he hurt? How had he found her?

“I-I want some time,” she said as she took his hand, heart pounding.

He pulled her close. “Of course. As much as you want.”

She felt ill, as if she were clasping a giant viper. It took all her willpower not to fling his arms away, but something told her that would be the worst move of all.

His cheek brushed her hair. She could feel his breath on her skin. “Did you see these?” She broke free and gestured to the coins.

“My God! No, I didn't.” He took a step closer and brought his fingers to them.

“Wait here,” she said. “There's something else I want to show you.”

She padded out the French doors, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, and as soon as she reached the far end of the courtyard, she began to run.

The gravel moved under her bare feet, hiding the sounds behind her. Was Rogan there? Was he following? She scoured the view ahead, desperate for a place to hide. She had to put distance between them, as much as she could. Her feet were cold, aching. She didn't care.

“Joss!” Rogan cried.

The word went through her like a blade. Was he calling for her because he saw her or because he didn't see her? She turned her head and saw his figure racing into the garden in the distance.

Now she had only time on her side, and little of that. Had she gotten a good enough start to lose him in the woods ahead?

The ground was filled with acorns and stones, and they stung her feet. She could hear him pelting behind her. She spotted an oak large enough to hide her and was swerving to the right to reach it when her foot caught on a root and she hit the ground, smacking her elbow on a rock. When she opened her eyes, she saw a pair of booted legs sticking out from behind a fallen tree, and she almost screamed. The legs were Hugh's.

She scrabbled over the trunk. He was gagged and bound, but alive. His shirt was wet with blood, and she flung herself toward him, but he shook his head roughly, terror in his eyes.

Rogan's footsteps neared, and she had only enough time to loosen the rope around Hugh's ankles before she
flattened herself against him in the darkness and threw the blanket over both of them.

Rogan ran past them, and Joss thought they were safe, but then he slowed, stopped, and turned around.

“So you found him.”

Joss got to her knees and reached for Hugh's gag.

“Don't touch that.”

“Go to hell.” She untied it and ran her hands over the wetness at his collar. “Where are you bleeding?”

“Shoulder,” he said. “It's all right.”

“Look at me,” Rogan demanded.

She ignored him. She felt Hugh's chest and abdomen. They were solid. Then she found more bleeding behind his ear. Rogan must have knocked him out.

“Look at me!”

“What?” She spun around angrily.

“I don't have a weapon.” Rogan held out his hands. “I want to talk.”

“Bully for you.” Hugh was shivering, and she wondered how much blood he'd lost. She tucked the blanket around his legs, then reached for the rope binding his wrists.

Rogan shoved her back. “That I must insist you stop.”

“I'm fine, Joss,” Hugh said. “Don't worry.”

“He's bleeding and cold.” She caught the knot and continued.

Rogan bent to grab her, but he flew over her instead, crashing hard into the bushes. Hugh had booted him off his feet.

“He has a pistol!” Hugh cried. “Run!”

Joss spotted the gun sticking out of the back of Rogan's
trousers, and she lunged for him, hoping to grab it first. But he caught her and rolled on top of her, pinning her while he found the weapon. He cocked the hammer and pointed it at her, then climbed to his feet. “Now, get up. We're going.”

“I'm not leaving Hugh.”

“Here's the deal: I won't hurt him, and I won't hurt you. We'll return to Pittsburgh. I know the way. I want you, Joss. That's the deal.”

She looked at Hugh. “Go,” he said. “That's the best offer we could get.”

“I'm not going to go.” She swiped a tear from her eye.

“Please,” Hugh said. “I don't like our other choices.”

“Will you come back?”

“No, Joss,” Rogan interjected. “That's part of the deal. Your friend will understand. No more travel to the future. No more travel to the past. And you both live.”

Hugh looked at her, eyes clouded in sorrow. “Do it.”

She trembled, the anger and sadness too much to bear. “I'm going to untie him.”

“Fine. Yes.” Rogan waved his gun. “You can untie his hands if you say you'll leave.”

“I hate you.”

“I hope that changes.”

She untied the rope, and Hugh lifted a hand to her cheek. “Thank you, milady. I know I failed you, and I'm sorry.”

She laid her hand over his, and tears filled her eyes.

Rogan took her other hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. He said to Hugh, “I trust you'll stay where you are until we leave the estate.”

The muscle in Hugh's jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Take the blanket, Joss.”

She bent to collect it, and when she unfolded herself, Rogan's face had changed.

“Your dress . . .” he said.

She turned to see what he had seen. Dried blood streaked the skirt of her chemise, right down the center of the back.

Rogan made a noise like a dying animal. “You slept with him? You made
me
wait, and you slept with him?”

“Jesus, Rogan—”

“Did he rape you? Did you rape her?” He swung the gun toward Hugh.

“No, he didn't rape me.”

Rogan's hand began to shake. “You take it all?” he said to Hugh. “You take the map—and don't lie. I know she printed one for you. You take the company I've worked so hard to buy and make it so it never existed. You steal her away in the night like a thief, and then you take her virginity?”

“She doesn't love me, Reynolds.”

He lifted the gun to aim it. Hugh's shoulders stiffened.

“No, Rogan!” Joss cried. “Listen to me. The map didn't work. I know that's why you came, but the Lord Keeper wouldn't accept it. The transfer won't go through. Nothing's changed. The company is still yours.”

“Oh, something's changed.” Rogan wiped the sweat from his brow. “Something has definitely changed.”

He tightened his arm and closed his eyes.

“No!”

The shot exploded into the forest, filling it for an in
stant with light. And then a red spot appeared on Rogan's chest, growing bigger as stunned incomprehension filled his face. “Joss?”

She turned. Fiona stood with a pistol in her hand, a look of crazed fury on her face. Her neck was bruised and her eyes were puffed and red.

“That,” Fiona said, “is for my grandfather. And this”—she spat on him—“is for me.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-THREE
 

P
ITTSBURGH
, P
RESENT
D
AY

One day, a knight came to visit the beautiful mapmaker's daughter. He didn't want to court her. He admired her maps. He asked her about the places she drew. He looked at copies of the maps she'd made and made her tell the stories of the men who had asked for them to be made. He wanted to take her to lands outside her shop. He told her she looked sad and asked what he could do to make her happy. And the girl knew that he was the man she would marry, because, among all her many suitors, he was the only one who had offered to help her put things to rights.

—The Tale of the Beautiful Mapmaker

“Exactly what sort of man does it take to convince you to take a leave of absence from work?” Di straightened the sheaf of papers before her and slipped them into the drawer.

Joss flushed and turned to gaze out the office window. It was weird to be sitting on the other side of her desk. “C'mon. You've met him.”

“I've met him, and he's charming and handsome and
all, but that's not what I'm talking about. Don't forget, I caught a glimpse of your last boyfriend. This guy has to be as big as—”

“The Gulf Tower, actually,” LaWren said, opening the door and ushering Hugh in. “That's what it's called. It's forty-four storeys tall and has a weather beacon on the top that turns red or blue depending on the forecast. Red's better.”

“Red, you say?” Hugh made a quick bow to Joss and Di, then angled his head to try to observe this phenomenon.

“Only when the forecast is
really
good,” Di said, and Joss bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“And when something big's gonna happen,” LaWren added, demonstrating with her hands, “it starts to pulse.”

Di said, “And that's when you'd really better watch out.”

“I'm Hugh Hawksmoor,” he said, extending his hand to LaWren. “Have we met before?”

LaWren shook it. “Ah, no. Not exactly.” She looked at Joss and smiled. “Let's just say I'm pretty familiar with you.”

“Excellent.” Hugh rubbed his hands. “How is the meeting going, miladies?”

“‘Miladies'?” Di lifted an impressed brow in Joss's direction.

LaWren gazed at him in gleeful wonder. “Oh, say it again.”

“What? ‘Miladies'?”

“Do you know Colin Firth?”

Hugh shook his head.

“Hugh Grant? Sean Connery? Seal?”

“None. Are they friends of yours?”

“I wish.” LaWren sighed sadly, and closed the door behind her.

Joss said to Di, “So we're having LaWren escort visitors in now?”

“LaWren,” Di said, “is going to be my new executive assistant.”

“Really?”

“She seems to know where the bodies are buried. It's a good quality in an assistant. How are you this morning, Hugh?”

“Very well, thank you.” He pulled up the seat next to Joss. “Are you almost done with the bride-to-be?”

“If I can get her to peel her fingers off next year's marketing plan, then yes. You'll be ready to go.”

Joss pursed her lips and handed the last file over to her friend.

LaWren opened the door again. “Sorry. The chairman of the board of Brand Industries wants to see this month's cash flow. He's in the conference room.”

“Thanks,” Joss said.

“Thanks,” Di said at the same time, and gave Joss a look. “Tell him I'll be in in a minute.”

Di stood and gathered her calculator and a report from the top of the stack. “So this six-month voyage is—what?—a prewedding honeymoon?”

Hugh cleared his throat. “
I'll
be working.”

“They need tailors on sailboats?”

“I do a little navigating, too. It's one of my other interests.”

Di narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. And what about you? I thought you were terrified of water?”

“Only of looking at it,” Joss said. “I'm planning to spend a good deal of time in the cabin.”

“A very good deal,” Hugh added.

“Hm.”

“Did you ever read
The Little Prince
?” Joss asked.

“Once,” Di said. “A long time ago.”

“Do you remember when the prince goes to the asteroid where the geologist lives?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, the geologist is someone who sits behind his desk all day, making maps. He never leaves his tiny planet. And when the prince describes
his
asteroid to the geologist so the geologist can draw its volcanoes and the little flower the little prince loves and cares for, the geologist says, ‘We don't record flowers because they are only ephemeral.' Well, I was afraid I was becoming that geologist. Hugh is going to take me to see some flowers.”

“And maybe some volcanoes as well.” He smiled.

“Hmmm.” Di tucked the report under her arm. “And what are you going to do with all that time in the cabin, not looking at the water?”

“You know. Read, relax, sightsee. The usual stuff.” Joss smiled at Hugh, who said, “There's a dice game I intend to finish as well.”

“But this ship has no phone and no radio?” Di asked.

Joss shrugged. “You know I'll check in whenever I can.”

“Isn't it going to be a little dangerous?”