Chapter 20 #2
He followed her warily, waiting for her to make some misstep so he could disarm her. The dag was primed and ready, and her finger rested on the trigger.
She jerked the barrel toward the bed. “Lie down.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You will.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He crossed to the bed and sat on it. She stood a few feet from him, dag leveled at his face.
“Why did you say Malcolm before?”
“I thought I saw him.”
The skin around her painted mouth tightened. “He’s dead.”
“I know. Did you poison him, Cat?”
She looked him over consideringly, then nodded. “He was sick. He was suffering. I ended the suffering.”
Nicholas couldn’t speak. Grief choked him, made it difficult to breathe. He heaved a painful breath. Oh God, Oh God. She’d killed her own son. His son. He might have saved Malcolm if only he’d seen. He was so God damned blind.
“There, there, Nicholas,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “It will all be over soon.” She thought she’d poisoned him and that his suffering had begun.
He closed his eyes. The tears of anguish and fury squeezed out anyway. He leaned over, his hand over his gut as if in pain, and gasped, “Is that what you did for your servants? Ended their suffering.”
She gripped the dag hilt harder. “Aye. We’re all suffering in these bodies. I’m helping.”
“And who’s helping you?”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on his face, evaluating. He surmised she’d used this poison many times and knew the signs. He must be clever. He groaned loudly and tipped over on the bed, pressing his face into the velvet covers.
“Aye, that’s it. Lay down, Nicholas. It will all be over soon.”
When he chanced another look, her expression was soft. She drew out a long, sinuous sigh, the tension in her body releasing. She derived great pleasure from this. It was evident in every line of her body, in the darkening of her eyes and the curving of her lips.
“You came back just to poison me?”
“Aye. I’ve been all over the Continent, but I couldn’t forget you.”
“How many husbands have you buried?”
“Five—counting the first. But not you. You’re the one that got away.” She moved closer to the bed.
Nicholas rolled around a bit, holding his stomach and groaning dramatically.
“I know it hurts,” she soothed, “but it will be over soon, I promise, and I’ll be with you, at the end.”
“Some one’s been giving you aid,” Nicholas said through clenched teeth.
“I’ve thought about you so much,” she said as if she hadn’t heard him, her voice soft and urgent. “Nearly every day. It’s never been the same.”
She was insane. He’d suspected that before she faked her death, but she was completely mad now. She enjoyed murder. It excited her.
“What do you want?” he ground out.
“I want to hold you, Nicholas. I want to hold you as the life passes away.” Her knee was on the bed, the gun still pointed at his head. “I held Malcolm as he passed away. Did you know that?”
“How could you? I locked you up.”
“I had help. Even then.”
He turned his face into the bed again, to hide the rage boiling in his gut, rising to swallow his heart. His hands clenched into rigid fists. He would kill her; he would choke her, just like she murdered his son.
“Who?”
“Oh, he’s dead now.”
“Who’s helping you now?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Nicholas made an anguished sound and brought his knees up. “Why Gillian?”
She touched his leg, trailing her fingers down his thigh.
“Do you know how rich I am, Nicholas? I have the fortunes of three husbands. Rich husbands. But not my first husband’s wealth and not yours.
You have it all. It should be mine. I earned it.
After your bride is dead and you’ve committed suicide, I’ll return to claim it all. ”
“You faked your own death. No one will believe you.”
“But they will. I was terrified. Who wouldn’t be, married to the Devil Earl, murderer of innocent women and children, and a few not so innocent men?
At least that’s what everyone believes. And they’ll believe me when I tell them I had to run.
I had to hide. You would have hunted me down and killed me otherwise. ”
“Gillian’s gone. You can’t hurt her anymore.”
She made a soft sound, her fingers ruffling his hair. The gun barrel slid down to press just under his chin. “Lover, she’s never been safe. Evan is mine. He’s probably stringing her from a tree for witchcraft right now.”
Nicholas’s stomach gripped in earnest. No. Not Gillian.
“Oh, dear. I know how fond you are of her. Fash not, you’ll soon be together.”
Nicholas’s arm snapped up, seizing her wrist and twisting the gun away.
It discharged. The explosion was deafening.
Black smoke engulfed them. He caught her by the throat and pinned her to the bed, squeezing, the rage clouding his mind.
She’d murdered his tiny son. Smoke burned his eyes so that tears streamed down his face.
His ears still rang from the shot. She clawed at his hand, her legs kicking. Gillian. She might still be alive.
He released Catriona’s throat and jerked her off the bed. His chest heaved. “You’re going to take me to my wife.”
Her hands circled her throat as she swallowed convulsively. Her head bobbed in a terrified nod.
“And you’d better hope she’s still alive.”