The Sinner (23 page)

Christ
. Hughe pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them. He buried his head in his hands and fought against the wave of sorrow threatening to undo him. He'd lost his wife. There was a chance, albeit a slim one, that he could win her back, in time, but the task seemed monumental, considering the amount of lies he had to untangle. Lies of his own creation. Yet he was determined to try every day for as long as he lived. He might manage it too, if she didn't leave him entirely.

The thought brought a fresh wave of nausea. She wouldn't leave him. Would she?

He finally drifted off to sleep sometime late into the night, only to be plagued by dreams of Cat's first husband professing his innocence. Then Cat appeared, naked and enticing on the bed. She beckoned him with her finger and arched her back, offering herself to him. But Hislop descended from nowhere and whisked her away. Hughe reached for her, but she shook her head and said:
I'd rather be married to a poor fool like Stephen than a heartless wretch like you.

The two of them disappeared, replaced by a bulky, shadowy figure with its right arm raised. Moonlight glinted off a blade grasped in the man's hand. The stink of sweat and horse filled the chamber. Hughe snapped fully awake, but did not move. He was not dreaming.

Someone had come to kill him.

CHAPTER 12

The man approached carefully, his footsteps surprisingly light for a big fellow. Yet there was the smallest crunching of the rush matting under his boots. It must have been that sound which woke Hughe.

He waited without moving, his eyes opened barely a slit, until the fellow was alongside him. Then he grabbed the man's legs and tripped him over before he had a chance to plunge the blade. The intruder fell backward, arms flailing. Hughe jumped to his feet, snatched the knife then caught him by the jerkin. The thump of his landing would have woken Cat and he couldn't allow that.

He dragged the fellow out to the landing and shut the door. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, Hughe could just make out his face. Sweat glistened on his bald head and above his top lip. He was grimy, his chin covered in stubble. Hughe recognized him as a Larkham man, Upfield. The same fellow who'd organized a mob of villagers to kill Cole, and had recently turned on the Renny boys.

What in God's name was he doing
here
? Hughe flexed his fingers around the knife handle. Upfield must have come to kill him. How had he known of Hughe's involvement in the saga? He'd visited the village wearing a disguise on all occasions but one.

"Who sent you?" Hughe hissed.

The fellow's lips peeled back from his teeth. "I'm here to make sure you stay out of Larkham affairs. We take care of our own."

"I've seen the way you take care of people. But what makes you think
I
am involved in anything to do with Larkham?"

"You were seen at the Renny place."

"And?"

"And we know you're goin' to help them little turds escape. I'm here to make sure you don't."

"Those boys are innocent."

"They're their father's sons. Who cares what you think?"

Hughe twisted his fist in the man's jerkin. "Cocky, aren't you, considering I've got your blade."

Upfield merely chuckled. Hughe felt rather than saw him twist and reach into his boot. He deflected the second blade when it was mere inches from his head. Upfield was strong, but Hughe was stronger and faster. He grasped Upfield's arm, wrenched it behind his back, then sliced through his throat with the man's own knife. Death was swift, but it made a mess of the floor.

He hefted Upfield over his shoulders and carried him to Monk's door. He whistled softly and a moment later, Monk emerged, yawning.

"What in God's— Bloody hell." Monk shut the door on his sleeping wife. He squinted at the face of the man draped across Hughe's shoulders. "Is that Upfield?"

"He tried to kill me."

Monk swore. "The world is well rid of him."

That's what Hughe had thought after assassinating Cat's first husband. Now he wasn't so sure. Pure, primal instinct had driven him to cut Upfield's throat. But now, as his pulse slowed, he wondered if it were the only choice he could have made.

"Want me to dispose of the body?" Monk asked.

"Would you? I've got to clean up before the servants wake." He helped Monk to position the body over his shoulders then slapped him on the back. "Good man."

Monk shook his head. "This does not bode well for our rescue. Who else knows of your involvement?"

"I don't know. I didn't get a chance to ask him. He shouldn't have known of our plans."

"He may have forced Widow Renny to tell him."

"In which case, she's in danger. Upfield may have come here alone, but he would have told others of his movements. Once his friends learn of his death, they'll want vengeance, but not upon me. I'm too difficult to bring down. She's not."

Monk nodded. "I'll hide the body well so that it's not found for a few days. She'll be gone by then."

"Aye, she will be. We'll act today instead of tonight. It'll be more difficult during daylight, but we must do it before a Larkham mob forms. And believe me, it will form."

"Even if Upfield's not found?"

"Even then. I'd wager as soon as they realize he's missing."

Monk hefted the body higher as it began to slip. "Want me to come with you to Larkham?"

"Keep to the plan. I'll leave for Larkham as soon as dawn breaks and you go on to the first farm as we discussed. Arrive early to be sure no one sees us coming."

"Aye."

"Be careful, Monk."

"You too, Hughe."

***

Slade and Hislop sank further into the shadows along the brewery wall as Oxley's man passed them carrying Upfield’s dead body. The stench of blood and death followed him as he hefted his cargo off into the darkness.

Once Monk was out of sight, Slade thumped the brick wall. Everyone was failing him. Cat wouldn't spy on Oxley, even after he told her that her second husband killed her first. All he wanted was for her to confront Oxley and learn for certain whether the earl was the assassin. That way Slade could silence him before Oxley discovered he'd been manipulated. Without her, Slade had only a few pieces of information to slot together, none of them definitive. They'd even gone to Larkham that day to find out if Oxley's visits to the village were suspicious, only to leave none the wiser, albeit with another plan set in motion.

And now that plan had backfired too. Upfield was dead, unable to report back. He was supposed to sneak up on Oxley as he slept and question him at knife-point over his involvement with the Renny family. Slade didn't care about the Larkham matter, except where it could help prove Oxley was an assassin. Upfield, however, cared deeply.

On the other hand, perhaps Upfield's death
did
prove something after all. Oxley would have followed the law and had the local Justice of the Peace look into an attack by an intruder if he were innocent, but he'd chosen to avoid the official process. In his opinion, that was the action of a guilty man with something to hide. Slade's spirits lifted. All was not yet lost.

"I was right," Hislop whispered. "Oxley's the assassin." It seemed he'd come to the same conclusion.

"
You
?" Slade studied his man in the dim light. He was a ferocious beast with his scarred face and soulless eyes. It hadn't always been so. When they'd first met, Hislop had bowed and scraped along with everybody else. He'd called Slade 'sir' and whispered things in his ear that encouraged Slade to aspire to be more than the second son to an older, more stupid brother. Sometimes Slade wondered if Stephen would still be alive if it weren't for those whispers.

The change in Hislop had happened so slowly that Slade had hardly noticed. Somewhere, sometime, he had stopped whispering and started ordering. Before Slade knew it, he'd given Hislop his best horse, allowed his dogs to sit at his feet, and given him the finest cuts of meat at dinner. Hislop took it all without thanks.

"Aye," Hislop said. "It was my suggestion to send Upfield there to find out if Oxley were up to something in Larkham. Seems Oxley knew it. Killed him to keep him quiet, I'd wager."

"And why would you wager on that?" Slade asked. It was time to wrestle back some of the things he'd given to Hislop.

"It's what I would do if a fat prick like Upfield threatened me and my trade. If I had a good income, I wouldn't let anyone get in the way." The weak dawn glow cast shadows over Hislop's face and turned his grin into a grotesque warping of lips. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do it either, Slade. You would. You
have
. You killed your own brother to get what he had."

Slade bristled. "I'm no killer."

Hislop chuckled, low, guttural. "You may not have shot the arrow, but you handed it to the man who did."

"The assassin's to blame, not me. Oxley. I simply pointed out some facts to him through a few letters."

"If you truly believe that, then why are you going to all this trouble to discover the assassin's identity before he realizes who wrote those letters
and
paid him?"

Slade swallowed. A breeze brushed the ends of Hislop's hair against his handsome cheek. Slade had liked that face once. Liked the power in the jaw, the ethereal golden eyes, and even the scars. Now…now he couldn't remember why he'd thought Hislop handsome. There was nothing admirable in his sharp features, his thin lips and soulless eyes.

"You've poked the beast and now he'll come for you." Hislop nodded in the direction Monk had walked with the body. "You see what Oxley does to his enemies."

"You're his enemy too."

"Aye, but I can say that you ordered me to speak to Upfield and paid him to attack Oxley."

"You think he'll believe that? You think anyone believes I have sway over you?"

It may have been still quite dark, but Slade saw the flicker of uncertainty in Hislop's eyes as he glanced away. He was just as worried about Oxley as Slade was.

"Why are you doing this?" Slade asked. "Why have you gotten involved with me and my scheme?"

Hislop patted Slade's cheek the way he used to do in the early days. "Because through you, I get what I want."

"And that is?"

"Respect."

Slade knew Hislop had come from nothing, but he'd not thought being the second in command at Slade Hall would be so important to him. How quaint peasant folk could be. "If I fall, you fall with me." Better that he remind Hislop of that before he decided he wanted to climb even further.

"I know that, fool," Hislop snarled. "That's why I'm behind you every step of the way. Hiding Upfield's body points to Oxley's guilt, in my opinion. Now we must act before he realizes you commissioned him to kill your brother."

Slade nodded. "I'll go prepare. There isn't much time."

Hislop caught Slade's shoulders. He dug his fingers into the joints until pain rippled down Slade's arms and his fingers tingled on the brink of numbness. "This is our last chance. Fail at this and Oxley
will
know it was you."

And I will make sure he knew you were behind me every step of the way.

***

Hughe watched Monk ride off just after dawn produced enough light to see by. It was not his usual horse, but one of Lynden's. With so much riding of late, the grooms recommended Charger and Zeus be rested if another long day in the saddle was planned.

While the grooms prepared his horse, Hughe checked Charger over from hoof to nose. The gelding didn't seem himself. His head hung lower and he seemed to favor one leg. He ran his hand over Charger's muscular withers and was about to inspect the hoof once more when a maid approached. He glanced at her then straightened. She was one of Cat's girls. What was she doing in the stables?

"Is Lady Oxley well?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord. She slept well." The girl offered him a cup. "She wishes you to drink this before your journey."

"She knows I'm leaving?"

The girl nodded. "The day will be hot and she asked the kitchen staff to prepare this brew. There are herbs in it to keep you alert." She extended the cup further.

He took it and smiled. As peace offerings went, it was an unusual one. It was better than silence, however. Hopefully the wine was only the first step. Hopefully it meant she was ready to receive him again.

"Tell her ladyship that I will thank her for the wine when I return. I regret that it won't be until later today, but I would like to see her before she retires for the night."

He drank half the contents and placed the cup down on the floor in the corner. The girl left, only to have Slade take her place. Good. Hughe needed to threaten the cur again before he left.

"Is your horse lame?" Slade asked, eyeing Charger.

"He's in need of rest."

"You ought not exercise him so much."

"And you ought not meddle in affairs that don't concern you." Why was the man at Sutton Hall? At any other time, Hughe would have found the answer, but he'd been so preoccupied with the Larkham problem, and Cat's ire, that he'd let the prick do whatever he wanted.

That would change after today. Tonight, he would confront Slade, with the point of his blade if he had to.

He stepped up to Slade. "Stay away from my wife," he said, voice low. "Do not go near her. If I find that you have, I will ruin you and then kill you."

Slade's swallow was audible. "I have no wish to harm her." He frowned. "Oxley, you look unwell. Is everything all right?"

Hughe rubbed his temple where the devil had set up a workshop in his head. Blood pounded behind his eyes, between his ears. "Stay away from my wife," he told Slade.

"As I just informed you, your wife has nothing to fear from me. She is my sister-in-law, my family. And anyway, it's not me she fears." The smile he gave Hughe was twisted, cruel.

Hughe backed up against Charger. What did he mean? Cat feared him?

Slade might as well have punched him in the stomach. Cat was afraid of Hughe, the one person who would never hurt her. The thought made his belly clench, his head hurt. He should go and speak to her, tell her…