The Sinner (28 page)

Hughe's fingers sprang apart. He let go of her reins and their horses parted. He seemed to no longer be in control of his. It wandered off to the side of the road to nibble at the grass. He leaned forward over the pommel, drawing in great gasps of air as if he couldn't breathe.

"Hughe?" she cried, directing her horse over to him. "Hughe, you must return to Sutton Hall. You're ill."

He lifted his face and pinned her with those pale blue eyes that could be hard as diamonds one moment and soft as snow the next. His mouth twisted as he fought with his emotions. "Did you…?" he whispered. "Did you poison me?"

The world reeled. She felt herself sway in the saddle. She gripped the reins, the mane, anything to keep herself upright. She shook her head over and over. "No. Hughe, no." She wasn't sure if he heard her. Her voice was so weak and the approaching mob so loud.

And then the Larkham men were upon them, pulling their horses to a stop. Some spilled out of the backs of carts, clubs and knives in hand. There was about twenty, and at their helm was a man who made Cat's blood run cold.

Hislop.

CHAPTER 15

"You," Hughe growled at Hislop. "What has any of this got to do with you?"

Hughe positioned his horse between Cat and the mob, but one man could do little to protect her if they decided to strike. One very sick man. Hughe still looked pale and feverish, but at least he sat straighter in the saddle. Poison, he'd said. And he'd thought she administered it. All Cat wanted to do was plead with him and assure him she was innocent.

But first she had to disperse the crowd and make Hislop pay for what he and Slade had done to Hughe.

Hislop gave them a benign smile. "I'm assisting these good people to see the truth," he said. "They're deeply upset that their kinsman was murdered. They want to bring the people who did it to justice."

"Aye," said a man at his side, holding a club. "The Renny family is evil, the children born of sorcery and witchcraft. They do the devil's work."

"Nonsense," Cat said.

"Cat," Hughe hissed at her. "Quiet."

She ignored him. "Widow Renny and her sons want to live in peace, just like you do."

"They're not like us," said the thick-set man she recognized from the house. "They don't come to the village fair, or join in with dances, and they don't speak to their neighbors."

Perhaps because their neighbors wanted to kill them. But Cat didn't say that. The men believed the Rennys were evil and reason couldn't sway them.

"Go home," Hughe told the mob. "The Rennys will not be returning to Larkham. You got what you wanted. You've run them out of the village."

Murmurs and mumbles rippled through the group. They'd come all this way, only to be thwarted from achieving vengeance. Yet the wiser ones saw the truth in what Hughe said. They'd won. The Rennys were gone. Cat's heart lifted as she watched the anger disappear from their faces and their fists uncurl. She moved her horse alongside Hughe's, presenting a united barrier with her husband. Yet they were anything but united. She dared a glance at him, but he only had eyes for Hislop.

"And who assisted them?" Hislop cried. "
You
, Lord and Lady Oxley." He turned to the mob now beginning to disperse. "
They
do the devil's work!"

"Be careful, Hislop." Hughe's fingers danced along his sword hilt. Some of the color had returned to his face, either from anger or from the sun. His eyes, however, remained as cold as ever.

Hislop's top lip curled. "The Larkham folk only want to see justice served. They want to see the heads of evil removed from their bodies. It's only fair and right. Isn't it, men?"

"Aye," muttered some.

"The Rennys should answer to God!" cried one.

"Aye," echoed others, louder.

"They ought to pay for their sins and the sins of their father!" Hislop shouted.

The sickening "Ayes," and calls for blood, turned Cat cold.

"Why are you listening to him?" she asked them. But she realized it was the wrong question. She fixed her glare on Hislop. "What could you possibly gain from this?"

His only answer was a vicious smile that the mob didn't see. "I want to see these folk achieve justice. They work hard and yet have nothing to show for it. While you, my lord and lady,
you
get away with murder."

Gasps from the mob were followed by an unnatural silence. They shuffled forward, their gazes intent on Hughe as they waited for him to deny or confirm the accusation. A man could not accuse an earl of murder without proof and expect to live.

But Hughe didn't respond. Cat worried that he was gravely ill again, but he sat high in the saddle, his back straight.

If Hughe wouldn't defend himself, then she must do it for him. "How dare you," she said to Hislop. "How dare you speak to Lord Oxley as if he were a common criminal!"

"He is." Hislop's smile sent a shiver rippling down Cat's spine. "I saw his man bury Upfield."

"God's blood," someone from the mob muttered. "Are you sure?"

"Aye. Saw it with my own eyes. Lord Slade did too. I'd wager his lordship is to blame." He nodded at Hughe. "His man does what his master tells him to. Nothing more, nothing less."

"No," Cat whispered, shaking her head. "No. That cannot be." Monk buried the Larkham man that had started all of this? Surely Hislop lied. If so, why wasn't Hughe saying as much? Why did he sit there and listen to Hislop rousing the mob?

The men surged forward again, clubs and fists raised, angry scowls on their faces. They did not attack Hughe, however. They still had enough respect for authority to hang back. But for how long?

"You'd best run back to Sutton Hall, my lady," Hislop said, feigning interest in her welfare. "This doesn't concern you."

"It concerns me very much," she growled.

"Go," Hughe said to her.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Go!"

Her horse's head jerked up and down at the barked order. Cat turned him around and walked him a short distance away, but did not leave entirely.

"This is madness," Hughe said to the mob. "Hislop here is a dangerous man. Don't listen to him or you'll find yourselves in deep trouble."

"How?" the big man shouted. "Who will stop us?"

"Me."

The same man grunted a laugh and slapped his club into his palm. Hislop grinned too. He knew his plan was working. A little more nudging and the mob would attack Hughe, angry that he'd killed their friend and almost gotten away with it. But why was Hislop daring such a bold move? He risked his own life by accusing Hughe of killing Upfield. Was it to protect Slade? By accusing Hughe, Slade could justify poisoning him and effectively get away with attempted murder. Did Hislop care for Slade that much?

Or was his cart hitched to Slade so securely that he knew if Slade fell, so did he?

Cat watched the scene with a sickening heart. Hughe sat on his horse in front of dozens of angry men, a lone figure on the edge of a violent, stormy sea.

"Hand yourself over to Lord Lynden," one of the mob men said. "The JP will see justice served."

Hislop snorted and rounded on the fellow. "Justice? Lord Lynden and Oxley are thick! He would not arrest his friend. He'll twist the truth so that it makes Slade appear guilty when I know he is not."

"Isn't he?" Hughe said so quietly that Cat could hardly hear him. 

"You know he's not. You killed his brother, I believe."

More gasps, but not from Cat this time. She knew what Hughe had done and accepted it.

"Vile," one of the mob said in shocked wonder. "Are you the devil himself?"

"Get him!" Hislop cried. "Before he turns his evil on us!"

The mob surged, brandishing clubs and fists. Hughe's horse reared as he drew his sword. The mob cleared away from the punching hooves and circled around. 

Cat did not scream. Doing so would only distract Hughe. She fought back a wave of terror and prayed hard.

But there were so many men coming at him from all directions. Hughe slashed out with his sword. His face was a picture of concentration, albeit deathly pale. He focused on Hislop.

Hislop merely grinned again. "Get him! Kill the devil's man! We cannot let him escape so he can commit more vile crimes!"

"Enough!" Cat shouted at him, at all of them.

"Cat," Hughe said, turning to her. "I told you to leave!"

She ignored him. To the mob she said, "Go home now and no harm will come to anyone. Continue with this madness and someone will be hurt."

"Aye!" the big Larkham man cried. "Oxley! Oxley will be brought to justice!"

A battle cry more bloodthirsty than any pagan warrior's erupted from the mob. Cat's heart clenched and her gut rolled. Hughe sat like a magnificent king atop his horse, slashing on both sides, keeping the men back. For now. But there were so many. He would soon tire, ill as he was from Slade's poison.

Just then Cole rode past her, straight into the mob. Some of the men skittered away, others fell, and one was trampled beneath hooves. He fought alongside his lord, cutting a swathe through the rabble, sending them back, back.

Hislop, safely to one side, slid his gaze to Cat. Then he charged.

"No!" Hughe shouted.

He tried to fight his way free, but the crowd was too thick around him. Cole was equally trapped. Cat's gaze momentarily connected with Hughe's and the fear she saw in him bolstered her. He would not be so afraid if he didn't care for her.

She jerked the horse out of the way as Hislop's sword descended. The blade whipped past her ear. Hislop growled in frustration and pulled his horse to a stop a little past her.

"The pack!" Cole shouted at her. "There's a blade in the front of the pack!"

She reached into the pack strapped to the saddle beneath her skirts and felt around for the knife. Her hand circled the handle and pulled it out. She swapped it to her good hand and clutched the reins with her sore one. Pain flared, but she blocked it from her mind and concentrated on Hislop, turning once more to charge again.

A knife against a sword. A man against a woman. Her chances were slim at best.

"I'll kill you, Hislop!" Hughe roared.

But Cat didn't look to him. Watching the mob swamp him would only distract her and she needed all of her wits now.

Hislop came at her, charging his horse at speed. She readied herself and focused on the hooves pounding in the dirt as he drew closer. Closer. Hislop raised his sword. He bared his teeth in a grin. And struck at her head.

She slid off the horse on the other side and once more his blade met nothing but air. He let out a growl of anger as she ducked under her horse's head and, before Hislop had gotten too far, threw the knife at his back. It struck him true between his shoulders.

"Witch!" he screamed. He desperately scrabbled at his bloodied clothing, but he couldn't gain purchase on the blade.

Cat had to finish him, yet she had no more weapons. She searched the ground for a stone large enough to strike him with, but not so heavy that she couldn't throw it. She found none.

"Cat!" Hughe called.

She glanced up just as he threw his sword to her. She caught the hilt and received a small, reassuring smile in return. Just as a man from the mob smashed a club into Hughe's middle.

Cat swallowed her cry and her fear and forced herself to turn back to Hislop. He'd given up on removing the knife from his back. She had only moments before he regained enough sense to charge at her again. This time, she was not on horseback, and her weapon was one she'd never used before. She possessed none of the skills of an able swordsman.

But she possessed fortitude and a desperate need to help the man she loved. She would not fail.

She raised Hughe's blade above her head with both hands and ran at Hislop. He turned and saw her just as she drove the sword into his soft flesh. Eyes wide with shock and pain, he tumbled from his horse and fell face down on the ground. Lifeless.

Cat lifted the sword again and turned to the melee, but there was no need to join Hughe and Cole. Hughe sat on Cole's horse behind his friend. Several bodies lay around them and the living had backed away to their carts, their clubs lowered. They easily outnumbered Hughe and Cole, but must have realized they couldn't win. Either that or the fight had left them after Hislop's demise.

Hughe blinked big eyes back at Cat, as if he couldn't believe he was gazing upon her, alive and unharmed. Exhaustion pinched his face tight, but relief quickly overrode it. He suddenly drew in great gasps of air as, if he'd stopped breathing some time ago and only now remembered it was vital to survival.

"Go home!" Cat told the mob since no one else spoke. "This cruel man filled your heads with lies and led you to believe the most sickening things about Lord Oxley. They're not true. I can assure you, his lordship and his men are innocent. They did not kill Upfield."

"What about the Rennys?" one of the men asked.

"They're gone and better left alone now," Hughe told them. "No good can come of pursuing them. Indeed, if you return home peacefully, none of you will be punished."

That seemed to be enough for them. They gathered up their dead and injured, and turned toward Larkham. They left Hislop where he was and did not spare him a second glance.

Cat dropped Hughe's sword in the dirt and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook all over and her tears wouldn't cease. She'd killed a man. Taken a life. And yet she was safe. Hughe was safe. It was all too much.

Strong arms circled her and pulled her against a solid chest. Hughe. She knew the shape and touch of his body without needing to see. He rested his chin on her head and cradled her as if she were a kitten. He gently stroked her hair and whispered her name over and over. "My little Cat. My brave, strong wife. I am in awe of you."

Finally, after what seemed forever, her tears abated. She did not pull away from him, however. She liked being exactly there.

"He deserved to die," he murmured.

She shook her head. He'd got it all wrong. She wasn't crying over Hislop. The cur did deserve to die. She was crying because Hughe had thought she poisoned him, because she'd thought he loved another, and because they'd made a mess of what could have turned out to be their last few days together.