The Devil May Care (Brotherhood of Sinners #1) (45 page)

The second brazier fell clanging to the stone floor, and the church went dark before he could tell if his blade had struck home.

He charged forward, plowing straight into more than one body.

Rachel’s hands clutched at his arms in the blackness, convulsively. Terrible panic washed through him. Was she all right? Had his knife struck her? Had the thug’s knife harmed her?

He heard a gurgling sound, and Rachel writhed against him.

But then, thank God, she spoke. “I’m all right,” she whispered. “You hit him. He let go of me, and fell.”

He took hold of her wrist then, pulled her behind him.

The first thug was down. But he himself no longer had a weapon, and the second thug was still close by in the dark.

He could smell the tang of smoke on the other man’s clothes, could sense his bulk, his heat, his menace. His fury. The new-made corpse had been a good friend, Sebastian sensed, perhaps a brother.

The anger in the air felt personal. And the man wasn’t fool enough to speak.

With one hand on Rachel’s hip, Sebastian urged her backward silently. He did feel as if he knew the precise size and shape of her in the dark; he felt a link between them, a connection between her body and his. She’d been right to think they had some advantage with the lights extinguished.

Her skirts rustled—he could feel the knot of her hands fumbling in the pockets.

“Shh,” he whispered.

Something sliced the air just inches from his face—the thug was on the attack.

He needed to find a weapon of his own. It wasn’t good enough simply to get Rachel out of here—he needed to get Victoire too before she managed to slip away, or there’d be danger for Rachel for the rest of her life.

Victoire would never give up, never rest.

He backed Rachel up another step, and the knife blade swept the air again, this time closer.

And then, miraculously, Rachel’s fisted hand brushed up into his, holding something solid and cool: a pistol. Ah! Rachel had needed darkness to load it.

He could feel the thug close in the air before him.

He took aim at that vague presence, and fired. A satisfying crack sounded, a bright plume of fire and smoke. For an instant, he saw the man looming before him, arms flung out. Then darkness again. And a heavy thud. The shot had gone home.

Now for Victoire.

Either she’d kept still since the second brazier fell, or she’d been knocked out by it.

He reached for Rachel’s hand, then pulled her close to him. He whispered in her ear, “Are there more bullets?”

He felt her nod, her curls sliding softly against his cheek, and pressed a small leather packet into his palm.

In the dark, he loaded the pistol again, then lowered himself into a squat, and moved forward carefully towards where the second brazier had stood. He preferred to take Victoire alive for all the secrets she knew, but if that wasn’t possible, he’d see her dead. Either way, he wouldn’t let her threaten Rachel again.

He groped his way forward, cautiously.

His hand bumped against a softness—
fabric
. No movement. It appeared Victoire had been knocked out. He moved closer.

An icy sting seared his cheek, and blood streamed down over his jaw. Damn her! Victoire had a knife—no doubt somewhere she couldn’t reach it while he’d held his own weapon to her neck, but now she had it in her hand. In the second it had taken him to realize what had happened, he felt Victoire scramble awkwardly to her feet and slip past him—she was going after Rachel.

He swung, wishing there were light now, even the faintest trickle of moonlight.

Rachel gave a gasp; Victoire had made contact. There was no time, no chance for second guesses. Victoire had a knife, and meant to use it, and strike home once and for all.

He stretched out his awareness into the darkness, feeling for Rachel’s presence. Yes—
there
, to his left. He was as certain of that as of the position of his own arms and legs. He breathed in deep, smelled the smoke that still clung to her.

And so the other presence was . . .

He squeezed the trigger; the pistol boomed once more.

A woman cried out. Which one? Had he been correct?

And then a second boom sounded, less explosive—and the main doors of the church flew open once more.

Broad shafts of light cut through the darkness. Lanterns.

“Sebastian?” a deep voice shouted. It was Will, Sebastian realized with profound relief—no one else could create such a great hulking shadow moving towards them. Lantern beams swayed in front of him, and behind him—carried by half a dozen men. The gleams shone on the barrels of the guns they held.

He made out Emilio’s face, and Eduardo close behind.

Sebastian looked down, desperate, half-crazed, as the light swung along the altar, spilled over the floor in the direction of the pistol shot.

A dark heap lay there, under a cloak. Which of the women?

His mind was a sheet of ice, skidding once more.

And then, from somewhere just behind him, a warm hand slid into his own. And squeezed.

Rachel
. Rachel was standing, alive and safe.

He flung his arms around her, lifting her from the floor, and she didn’t resist. She fitted herself against him, pressing her face into his neck. Even stinking of smoke, she smelled wonderful, and she felt even more wonderful in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” she said. “I’m so very sorry.”

“Shh,” he said. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re alive, that’s all that matters. And Victoire—”

He looked down at the heap. A dark trickle ran from beneath the cloak.

“You hit her. She’d dead,” intoned Will, matter-of-factly, but with satisfaction. With a push of his foot, he rolled the body over. The cool white perfect face had lost none of its perfection, but its vitality was drained away. Victoire de Laurent had gone to join her fallen brothers.

And Sarah was properly avenged.

All at once, the weight that had hung on his heart all these months lifted, and breath drew more easily into his lungs.

Sebastian glanced up suddenly at Will. “How the hell did you find us here?”

Will’s eyebrow rose. “I received a very interesting message from Lord Henry Walters. Insisting I come here at once with as many armed men as I could gather.” He cast his gaze at the bodies strewn about the floor. “Though it seems you and Mademoiselle Mirabeau had everything well in hand.”

“Oh, God!” cried Rachel abruptly. “We have to help Eva! Mr. Rapson—Lord Fairholme took her—”

Will looked at her, confused. “Eva is safe. At Rosa’s sister’s. I got her there myself this morning.” And then he cocked his head thoughtfully, remembering something. “Ah—we did meet with some trouble on the road out of Vigo. Some armed men.” He gave one of his elusive, grim smiles. “But they were dispensed with rapidly enough.”

Rachel sagged against Sebastian’s side in relief. “Thank God.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt Eva,” said Will, with surprising fervor. “
Ever
.”

Rachel laughed, a laugh that was almost a sob. “Thank you, thank you!” she said, reaching out to lay a hand on Will’s forearm. “Woe betide anyone who assumes they’ll get past the Black Giant.”

Will scowled at her, but there was perhaps a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

In his
dark
eyes.

Oh
. The last piece of the puzzle suddenly slipped into place in Sebastian’s mind.

Will sitting with Eva, singing to Eva, the protectiveness in his voice just now. The two of them with their matching black hair and fierce eyes.

Eva wasn’t Rosa’s granddaughter at all. She was
Will’s
child.

How had he missed it so long?

Sebastian glanced down at Rachel, and realized she’d been studying his face. “Eva,” he whispered, gesturing towards Will with his chin. “Did you realize that he is her—”

Rachel squeezed his hand. “Yes,” she whispered back, smiling, her eyes willing him to understand something. “And have you figured out the rest? Her mother . . . ”

Her
mother
?

A slow warmth rose in his chest as his mind worked.
Good Lord
—Will hadn’t been the only one to speak protectively of Eva. Rachel’s voice when she said Eva had been taken had sounded almost panicked.

He did a hasty calculation: When Will brought Sarah to Helm from Madame Jonas’s a little over eight years ago, she hadn’t been introduced to other agents for several months—an odd delay. But just long enough for a child to be born in secret. And Will and Sarah had always had that strange bond between them.

“She’s
Sarah
’s daughter,” he breathed quietly.

“Yes,” said Rachel, a bright film of tears glinting in her eyes. “You truly didn’t know?”

“Blast those two! They kept me in the dark.” But of course they did—the instinct for secrecy was so ingrained in all of them. They built walls around themselves impenetrably high, so their secrets could not be used against them.

Used against them
.

Of course, of course. “That’s how Lord Henry got Sarah to cooperate,” he said, the realization washing over him like a balm. “That’s why Sarah kept the notebook secret. Lord Henry found out about Eva.”

Rachel’s tears were falling now. “He threatened terrible things if she told you about it. He hated you.”

“And he thought
you
were Sarah—he made the same threat to you.” Relief seeped through him, loosening his knotted muscles and rigid joints. “That’s why you didn’t tell me—”

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” she said, pressing herself into his arms. “I was so terrified. If he had hurt Eva—she’s all I have left of my sister.”

“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry, for everything I put you through.” Pulling her by the waist, he drew her back out of the lanterns’ glow, away from the others who were preparing to cart out the dead. When he led Rachel into the deepest shadows of the church, darkness sealed around them once more, but this time with no edge of danger. Only intimacy.

Everything in the world felt different suddenly—right and safe and good.

She didn’t resist when he drew her tighter against him, when he fitted his mouth to hers.

He tried to be careful with her, avoiding the places he’d seen cuts and bruises, but after a moment she didn’t seem to care about restraint. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave herself fully over to the kiss. It was how it had been between them from the start, as though their bodies recognized one another from some time long before, as though the boundaries between could never hold fast when they touched, and all obstacles melted away.

He was just considering how far they could carry that recognition, how much of her body he could join to his while they were standing up and in a church, when Will’s voice boomed again.

“Sebastian—look at what de Laurent had in her cloak.” Will waved a waxed canvas parcel above his head—a diplomatic pouch. “More coded papers—fresh ink by the looks of them. I wish to hell we could read the bloody things.”

Rachel pulled back from the kiss, looking delectably flushed and rosy. With a sigh, she disentangled their limbs—though she slipped her hand into his and didn’t let go.

They walked back toward the others together, into the lantern light.

“Give them to me,” said Rachel, holding out her free hand for the papers. “I can read them now.”

Everyone look at her in surprise, Sebastian included.

Will, though, complied without hesitation, and Rachel scanned the first few pages. “Admiral Soult,” she read. “Six hundred men—south from Corunna—marching on Santiago.” She passed the sheaf to Sebastian. “These look like military reports.”

“Excellent,” said Will. “Our Spanish partisans will be able to make good use of those. Perhaps Vigo, at least, will stand longer than we hoped. In any case, we’ll be able to ensure Monsieur Bonaparte a steady supply of headaches for some time to come.” He glanced at Rachel. “Headaches for you, too, Salomé, unfortunately—we’ll need you translate around the clock.”

Suddenly, Sebastian’s own temples throbbed. He wanted Rachel safely on a ship back to England as soon as humanly possible. But he knew she would insist on helping all she could.

He stepped over to where Victoire lay and nudged at her with his boot. “Take the bodies out of here,” he said. “Bury them somewhere they won’t be found. No need to let the French know they’ve lost de Laurent. We’ll get as much good out of that code as we can before they figure out we’ve broken it.”

“Sebastian,” said Rachel eagerly. “Where is the notebook now?”

“Back at Rosa’s.”

“I’d better take a look at that as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” he agreed. Damn, he wasn’t even going to get time alone with her.

Unless he arranged some for himself.