Chapter 63
Phoebe’s gaze darted from the manor back to her husband. Slade was trying to protect her, and she loved him for it, but he was taking the most risk. This was her mission, she should be in the line of fire.
Yet, there was no time to discuss. They either moved forward as a cohesive force, or not at all. The delay could cost them the success of this mission.
Her chest tightened, torn between fear and logic, blood racing through her veins.
“All right, I’ll remain here with the guns, but at least take one of them,” she said.
“I’m better with a blade,” he said.
They’d wasted enough time discussing it, and she didn’t want any delays with further discussions, so she acquiesced.
As she positioned all the firearms within easy reach, he grabbed the collar of her cloak. Yanking her to him, his mouth crushed hers. His tongue plundered her mouth. It was quick, rough, and exacting. Her head spun, and her breath was coming fast and hard when he released her.
“Stay safe, my brave love,” he whispered, his eyes boring into hers. Before she could speak or catch her breath, Slade had already slipped away behind the next tree trunk, and then to the next, staying low, like a graceful predator on the prowl, all the way to the back of Hawley’s barn.
With heartbeats hammering in her ears and her body starting to sweat under her cloak despite the cold, she took up her position behind the trunk of the tree and waited.
She’d risked her own safety before on missions but had never risked the safety of someone she loved.
The danger of it hovered around her, thinning the air.
She realized her knuckles had gone numb with her death grip on the musket before she relaxed her fingers.
She wouldn’t give in to the fear because then it would make her useless, slowing her reaction and mental clarity which would be a sure way to increase the risk to them both.
Hawley and one of his armed guards were now standing closer to the manor, next to two mercenaries, one armed, all deep in discussion.
Phoebe made out the remaining two men, one unarmed mercenary and an armed Hawley guard, by the back of the barn.
Just then, a tall, dark, broad-shouldered figure slipped out from behind a tree, approaching the men from their rear.
It was Slade. He silently drew his rapier and thrust it swiftly into the back of the mean-looking armed guard, the bloody blade protruding from the man’s stomach.
The unarmed mercenary standing next to the now-slumping guard bellowed a loud invective, raising the alarm.
Stunned, her heart pounding her chest, Phoebe didn’t have time to react to Slade’s second move as he knocked the bellowing man in the head with a blow only a trained spy would use.
She was already taking aim closer to the manor and firing at the chest of the guard standing next to Hawley.
Her musket ball dropped him. Phoebe grabbed the second musket and shot the armed mercenary in the head as he bolted, acrid tangy smoke wafting from her musket’s barrel.
She dropped the second expended musket and grabbed the two loaded pistols. With pure adrenaline pouring through Phoebe’s veins and fear a forgotten emotion, she bolted for the fray.
Between her and Slade, they’d eliminated four opponents.
Only Hawley and the out-of-place mercenary remained.
Recalling the informant’s confirmation that there were usually two to three men with Hawley, she was confident they’d accounted for everyone who’d be a threat to them from the manor, except Hawley himself.
The former had disappeared into the manor and the latter was scrambling towards the wagon.
She positioned herself in front of the mercenary just as he rushed for the seat of the wagon. Terror and wildness were plastered on his young face.
“Move that wagon and I’ll shoot you,” she said, training her pistol straight at his head.
The young mercenary’s eyes bulged, and his hands went up in the air in total surrender just as Slade sprinted past her from the barn on his way to the manor and Hawley. “Situation in hand?” Slade asked.
“Situation in hand,” she said, her breath coming fast. In that second, Hawley stepped out the manor’s front door with a loaded musket trained right on Slade’s chest.
Several things happened all at once. Blistering heat and cold fear collided in Phoebe’s stomach as Hawley fired on Slade.
An excruciating pain in her chest almost stopped her heart.
But Slade had already ducked out the way.
She drew breath again, as the bullet hit the edge of the wagon.
A deafening roar in her ears made her head snap towards the young mercenary, making sure he was not running, and then her eyes found Slade again.
Praise all the saints, Slade wasn’t shot.
Hawley tossed his expended musket. With pure hatred on his twisted features, he went for the rapier sheathed at his waist. But from Slade’s half-risen position, her husband whipped out a trident dagger from a sheath at his waist and jabbed forward just as Hawley unsheathed his rapier.
The dagger went through Hawley’s shoulder, and the man bellowed curses, dropping his rapier. Slade immediately followed up with a steely punch straight into Hawley’s face, felling the man.
After finding rope in the wagon, Phoebe and Slade restrained Hawley, the guard Slade had knocked out cold, and the young, scared mercenary, leaving them out of sight inside the barn. The other three men were already dead.
“One of us has to alert the constables while the other keeps an eye on the three men,” Slade said to Phoebe.
At that very moment a wide-eyed, ashen faced man nervously stepped out from the front door of the manor waving a white handkercher, and Phoebe remembered Bullfinch’s missive and its description of the informant.
“We can send him to bring the constables,” she said to Slade, pointing to the small-boned man with the handkercher.
Slade nodded his approval and said as much to the man. After pocketing the white handkercher, and the coins Slade handed him, the man scampered off towards the village to get the constables.
“I’ll wait here until he returns. But I think it’s safer for you to return home. If it was any other woman I wouldn’t let her travel alone, but now that I’ve seen you fight, I pity the brigand who tries to interfere with you,” Slade said.
Phoebe sent her husband a long assessing look. She was grateful they’d both done this with nary a scratch. All due to the same training, she realized.
Adrenaline still warred with blood in her veins from what they’d just accomplished. So did shock and amazement.
“You’re Eagle, aren’t you?” she said, swallowing back the moisture in her mouth.
He sent her a cocksure grin as he took her in his arms. “I wondered when you’d figure it out.” His voice was soft, almost teasing.
“You worked as a double agent during the wars?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes darkened. “I did.”
Phoebe blinked up at her husband, astonished and breathless, just as his lips landed on hers, not giving her much time to react to his admission.
The kiss sent a blaze of fire straight through her body, singeing her to the core while her spinning head grappled with her new reality and struggled to bring her back to earth.