Joining (38 page)

“You lie,” Walter snarled, but she saw doubt in his eyes and pressed her point.

“Do I? And what will be John’s reaction when
he learns you have directly disobeyed him? Think you that you will live much longer than I will? And for what? I had to die just so your daughter could marry Wulfric. ‘Twas so hard to find her a husband, you had to kill to do so?”

He took the insult to heart. “It goes much deeper than that, vixen. Anne should have been mine. I spent months courting her. Her wealth should have been mine. But de Thorpe was chosen over me.”

“Ah, I see now. This was merely another bid for that wealth, since you yourself cannot manage to make your own fortune.”

It was one insult too many for him. He took a step forward and slapped her. She had expected it, provoked it. What did she care, anyway, now that Wulfric was dead? And therein was the joke. The arrogant lord didn’t even know that the one he had hired to kill her had also killed the man he hoped would be his son-in-law.

She
was
going to tell him, was going to throw it in his face, that every foul thing he had worked for had been destroyed by the swing of a sturdy branch. She would tell him just as soon as the truth could get past her choked emotions, caused by thinking of it again.

But she didn’t get a chance to tell him. Ellery, for some reason, took exception to the lord hitting her. He swung him around, backhanded him once just for the pleasure of it, then stuffed his dagger into his gut. And she had been right. Not a single emotion crossed his handsome face as he killed a noble of the realm.

His cohorts were less blasé about it, quite the
opposite. They both jumped to their feet, one incredulous, the other horrified.

“Are you mad?!” was asked nearly in unison.

“Hardly,” Ellery said with little concern as he bent to wipe his dagger clean on the dead man’s tunic, then slipped it back into his boot.

“You just killed our employer!”

“And a lord!”

“Who is going to pay us now?”

“Aye, you could have at least waited until he paid us first.”

“Ellery, a lord?” This from Nel. “They will hunt you down for this.”

He looked at Nel and chuckled. “And how will anyone know what happened to this arrogant bastard? Think you someone here will be carrying tales of it?”

That was so telling a remark, Milisant’s hands broke out in a sweat. It meant the old couple would not be left alive here. It meant she wouldn’t either. His friends were the ones who wouldn’t be carrying any tales, which he was quite confident of, and with good reason. They were likely as afraid of him as Milisant was.

“But what of our pay?” one of the men repeated in a sour grumble. “We have been at this job for over a month. For naught?”

Ellery made a sound of disgust himself. “Enough whining, Cuthred. I will pay you myself. In fact, you are no longer needed here, so return to London. Take Nel with you, and take the body, too. Dump it along the way.”

That seemed to ease the two men’s minds. Nel was already heading out the door. One of the
men hefted de Roghton’s feet and dragged him out.

The other stared at Milisant for a moment before asking Ellery, “Can I at least hit her once, for that wound she gave me?”

“Nay, I want no blood on her ere I cause it myself. Go on. I will finish here and meet you in London. She will pay for the wounds, never fear.”

The man seemed satisfied with that, and it was not long before the door closed again and Ellery turned to give Milisant his full attention. The old man was huddled against his wife, hiding his face against her, trembling. Clearly he expected to die right then. But obviously Ellery found him so insignificant, he didn’t even look at him. His eyes fixed on Milisant and didn’t leave her.

Milisant’s blood turned cold, her breath caught in her throat. It would not be so bad if she thought she could reason with him. But one could not reason with a man without conscience, a man who killed for hire, who did so without emotion, and there was not a speck of emotion in those cold eyes that stared at her now… There was no hope whatsoever.

Fifty-three

The
silence that
continued was nerve-racking. Ellery remained standing by the door, staring. As soon as he moved, Milisant knew she was going to scream. If he didn’t move soon, she was going to scream. She was so tense, she was going to scream anyway…

“I have waited a long time for this.”

The satisfaction in his tone was thick enough to cut. It was almost a relief that he was finally ready to end this. Almost.

“You take such pleasure in killing then?” Milisant asked him.

“Killing?” He seemed a bit surprised. “Nay, the killing could have been done many times over. I have kept you alive instead.”

“Why?”

“Why else, m’lady? Because I want a taste of you first. That is the only reason you still live, when there were so many opportunities to kill you ere now.”

She was going to be sick. That “first” meant he was still going to kill her,
after
he raped her.
But his reason for killing her had just been dragged out of the hut, dead. Hadn’t that occurred to him yet?

“I would have killed that deluded bastard myself, am grateful that you did, so I will not be telling anyone of his demise. Why then must I still die?”

“I will have to think on that. I pride myself on finishing a job I start, and I was hired to kill you. Of course, with de Roghton unable to pay me now… aye, I will have to think on it. But there will be time aplenty for that. I have thought of you and having you for too long now. I have a feeling one taste may not be enough.”

That might have given her hope if the thought of his touching her were not just as bad as his killing her. She would rather he just killed her. He might be a handsome man, but after Wulfric and his tender touch, she could not bear it, to have anyone else touch her, and in particular this cold-blooded killer.

He took the first step toward her. She didn’t scream. She had him talking now and wanted to keep him talking. Not to delay the inevitable, but to find the key that might change his mind. She couldn’t imagine what that might be; a word, a phrase, she had no idea. But she had to try.

“Your man said I wounded him. How?”

He rubbed his shoulder. He smiled. It was hard to see the murderer in him when he smiled.

“You wounded us all with your arrows. How is it you do not remember?”

“Oh, that.”

He chuckled. “You are possessed of either a terrible skill with the bow or an excellent one. I am inclined to believe ‘tis the latter, so why did you try only to wound, rather than kill? That was foolish of you.”

More foolish than she could have realized. “I thought you might be the Shefford patrol.”

“Ah, then I must be glad of that, since we were not expecting you to attack, were unprepared for it. Some wounds are deserved.”

Resentment filled her tone. “But you want to punish me for that as well?”

“Nay, wounds heal, dead bodies do not. I am grateful for your foolishness.”

Was this the cord she had hoped to find? She grasped it with both hands, telling him, “If you are grateful, return the favor. Let me go.”

He chuckled at the request, dashing that small spark of hope. “I have already returned the favor. You are still alive, are you not?”

Bitterly she said, “Verily, I wish I were not. You killed my husband! I have no reason now to continue living, so just be done with it.”

He had reached her. He trailed a finger along her cold cheek. He smiled again, was completely unaffected by her impassioned speech.

“‘Tis warm flesh I want to feel, lady. Take off your clothes for me.”

She slapped his hand away from her. “Cooperation, you will not have from me.”

He shrugged, withdrew his dagger from his boot again. “So be it,” he said. “It hardly matters how I have you, as long as I have you.”

She should have stepped back from him when
she’d had the chance. He was too close, and too swift. In a second, his dagger tip was pressing against her throat and his lips smashed over hers, swallowing her scream. She tried to lean into the metal point, but the dagger was not there to hurt her, was there to cut away her tunic.

The material ripped open easily under such a sharp blade. The sound of the tearing was like a death knell to her ears. She barely heard the scratching that followed.

He did. He released her, staring at the door. She heard it clearly then, a scratching against the wood, like an animal’s nails…

The door burst open with such force, it seemed to rock the entire hut when it hit the wall. The wolf bounded in before the man who stood there, filling the opening. The animal could smell the fear in the room, reacted to it, and went right to its cause. Fangs bared, snarling, he moved into a position to leap and shred.

“Call him off, Mili!” Wulfric shouted from the doorway. “I want him for myself.”

“Growls!”

The wolf came to her, but half whining, half growling. His instinct to kill had risen, was hard for him to give up immediately. The same instinct was in the man, and he wasn’t giving it up.

Wulfric was not dressed for battle. He had fetched his sword and Growls to track her, but nothing else. He had not even stopped long enough to bandage his head. Blood trailed down his neck, some dry, some still wet, adding to that which soaked his tunic. But oh, God, she
had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. He was alive!

Ellery was not pleased by the interruption, but clearly he didn’t count it too much of an inconvenience, his confidence was so great. He threw the dagger in his hand first, but didn’t seem surprised when Wulfric dodged it. His sword was drawn next. Wulfric’s was already in hand.

“So we meet again, m’lord,” Ellery said so casually, they could have been sharing mugs of ale in a hostelry.

“Aye, but for the last time.”

Ellery chuckled. “My thoughts exactly. And I will take the advantage of fighting in these close quarters, which I am quite used to, whereas you are used to fighting on an open battlefield.”

“Take it,” Wulfric replied, “though I will warrant, the only advantage you will have is the time it takes me to reach you.”

As this was said as he charged forward, it was no advantage at all, since their weapons clanged together mere seconds later. The sound made Wulfric wince. Milisant realized his head was hurting him, mayhap severely, and that was the advantage Ellery would have, that and that he was wearing the thick leather of a mercenary.

Otherwise, they were nigh the same size, had much the same strength, so it would be an equal fight—or so Milisant had thought. She was forgetting, though, having watched Wulfric that day in the bailey when he had practiced with his brother. She had thought at the time that his skill was vastly superior. He proved it now, and
she knew the very second that Ellery realized it, too.

He was capable of emotion after all—fear, like the fear she had felt, like what Wulfric must have felt when he’d awakened in the woods to find her gone. Ellery obviously felt it now, when his every thrust and swing was repelled, when he couldn’t manage to do the same and started bleeding here, there, a half dozen different places, and his own blood slackened his grip. And he felt it most strongly when his guard slipped and he saw the sword coming at him, and knew it would not be stopped this time…

Fifty-four

The hut was
not so far from the village after all. It had been moved, by general insistence, off into the woods just a bit, because the old man snored so loudly, he had actually disturbed his neighbors with it. It was close enough to see, but enough brush had grown up around it over the years that it was also concealed adequately for Ellery’s purpose of coming and going from it unnoticed.

Wulfric carried the old lady into the village to her daughter, who would be able to tend her. The way back to the castle took much longer, though, because Wulfric’s head was hurting too much now to ride to it, so they walked. Hand in hand. And stopped quite frequently to hug—at least Milisant did.

She was still so incredulous that he was actually alive, that she was, too, for that matter, that she just had to share her joy over that with him, again and again. But he didn’t seem to mind.