Highland Awakening (19 page)

“I saw you,” she admitted. Immediately, the fingers on her thigh loosened.

“I thought so. But you said nothing.”

“I didn't realize it was you. Until…later.”

“I see.” He paused, staring at the lantern, which Cam had placed on the bedside table, that still cast a weakly flickering golden light through the room. “Do you ken why I was there?”

“I do.” Esme's voice had strengthened. She felt stronger, sitting here, watching this traitor who'd killed his own men, his own brothers. He was disgusting. “To try to kill Cam.”

“Aye,” he admitted softly, his voice holding nothing but the simple truth of it. “I have wanted Camden McLeod and his friends dead for a verra long time now.”

“Why?”

He laughed, but the sound held no humor. “He killed my brother.”

“He…what?”

“Aye, he did.” Innes's voice held no sadness, no pain. He stated it as a simple fact. “Seven years ago. McLeod poisoned him.”

Seven years ago…That was right around when Cam's brother had died. When poor Anna had endured…Oh, God. Esme shrank back in the bed. “Your brother was one of the men who hurt Lady Anna.”

Innes snorted. “That whore? She wasna hurt. She came to them. She begged for it. Then she went whining to her dear brother when we returned from the campaign. He told his friends about it—Ross and Fraser, and another man, a sergeant who died at Waterloo, conveniently saving a bit of work for me—and the four of them went after my brother and his friends. Both his friends were stabbed and killed in a back alley, but my brother had stayed home that night, so McLeod poisoned him instead.” Innes turned to Esme, and there was a smile on his face. She'd never seen anything more frightening.

“Cam must not have known he was your brother…” Esme began.

“Aye, he didna.” Innes shrugged carelessly. “He was my half-brother, my father's bastard. Younger than me.” He leaned forward, his face far too close to hers for comfort. His whisky-laden breath whispered over her cheek. “But he was my
brother.
My
true
brother. 'Twas not some false brotherhood of false knights invented on a whim of a group of men with grand illusions of heroism and bravery. What kind of hero kills a man in cold blood? How is it brave to murder without allowing a man to defend himself? What kind of man forces poison down a lad's throat?”

One who loves his sister, Esme thought. Who doesn't want her attackers to hurt her or anyone else ever again. But it would be fruitless to tell Innes this.

“You've had a vendetta against them for seven years,” she whispered. That was a lot of time to allow rage to fester and grow, and evidently it had, even as he'd put on a false face to the Highland Knights.

“Aye, seven long years.” Innes sighed. “And he didna even ken it. All those years, and he didna ken it was my brother he'd killed.”

“You should have told him. You should have spoken—”

Innes laughed coldly. “And what would I have done? Hold a claymore to his neck and declare, ‘You killed my brother, prepare to die?' That would have only effected my own death. Nay. I waited. Until the right time came. And it has come. They're at a loss. There are no clues. They'd never suspect me. The champagne was to be my perfect vengeance. To watch him suffer at his own wedding breakfast, his body racked by agony as the poison sucked the life from it…” He turned narrowed eyes on her once more. “But then you appeared, in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She swallowed hard, not liking the menace in his tone. He didn't seem to care that his tainted champagne had killed Maggie, an innocent girl who had nothing to do with any of this.

“Now the question is,” he continued softly, “what to do with you.”

“Don't do anything,” she suggested. “Leave me alone. I haven't told him, and I won't—”

He squeezed her leg again, his fingers biting painfully enough into her flesh that she gasped. “Dinna lie to me. I ken you told him. That's why he isn't here, aye? Because he's looking for me. He'd no idea I was a step ahead of him. I kent he'd be home tonight. He lied about going to the dinner with Stirling and the major. He hates those kinds of events, and because of his poor broken heart, the major and Stirling wouldn't've wanted his company there anyhow.” He sighed. “Tonight was to be the night I finally destroyed Camden McLeod. But you're here, and he's not. So what to do with you?”

“Please don't—”

“This might be even better,” Innes said thoughtfully. “Because the man loves you. I can hurt him through you far more deeply than I could ever hurt him alone, can't I?”

“No. He doesn't love me. You're wrong.” But even as she said the words, she knew
she
was wrong. Cam did love her. And she loved him. If they could only get through tonight, she'd finally tell him the truth of it.

Maybe he and the other Knights were on their way. Maybe they'd break through the door in a minute or two, and it would all be over. For the first time since Innes had awakened her, she glanced at the clock on Cam's desk and nearly gasped in shock. It wasn't even one thirty yet. Cam had been gone for less than an hour. It would be at least another couple of hours before he returned. By then she might be dead.

Innes rose to his feet, smiling benevolently at her. “Well, then,” he said. “Let's get started.”

Halfway to the townhouse where Stirling and the major were dining this evening, Cam drew his horse to a halt.

Earlier tonight, he'd had nothing on his mind but drowning his sorrows in drink. He'd imbibed plenty of whisky, but it hadn't done anything to ease his pain. And then Esme had walked into the drawing room, and the joy of seeing her washed through him, making him realize once and for all that she, not whisky, had the power to bring him happiness and contentment.

Still, he'd been sotted. There was no denying it. Now, with every minute that passed, Cam felt as if he were exhaling whisky fumes with every breath and restoring himself to sobriety.

And it struck him, here in the middle of Curzon Street, that he'd made a fatal mistake.

He'd left Esme alone. Unprotected, except by a flimsy lock. In a place Innes had free access to.

He turned the horse and urged it to trot, his anxiety ratcheting upward with every stride the horse took. He'd been stupid to leave her there. A damned, bloody fool. If Innes was there…if she was hurt…

Long minutes later, he arrived at the house, the horse in a lather he didn't have time to address. Instead of taking his mount to the stable, he tied it to the hitching post at the front of the house. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he unlocked the front door and let himself inside, stealing up the stairs and heading directly to his room.

Halfway down the corridor, he heard sounds. The low sounds of a woman crying and then a man's voice, low and gloating.

Cam broke into a run, reeling to a halt in front of his door, grabbing the handle and yanking it, but it didn't budge. It was locked from the inside. God damn it all. Rage and fear bringing him untold amounts of strength, he kicked at the door, and it went flying inward, opening to a scene that made Cam freeze.

Innes stood in the bedchamber, holding a gun. But it wasn't pointed at Cam. It was pointed directly at Esme, who lay curled in a ball on the bed, whimpering, blood smeared across her temple.

Fury, as red and hot as that blood, pumped in Cam's veins.

“I'll shoot her,” Innes said, as if Cam's dramatic entrance had come as no surprise. His voice was quiet, calm, in direct contrast to how Cam was feeling. “Right through the forehead. That'd be a pretty picture, now, wouldn't it?”

Cam wanted to scream, rage. Wring Innes's neck with his bare hands. But he did none of those things. Instead, he instantly raised his hands. “Dinna hurt her. Do whatever you wish to me, but dinna hurt her.”

“Hurting her will be more satisfying,” Innes argued. This was a side of the man Cam had never seen. A wicked, sinister side.

Cam shook his head. “It's me you want.” Though he had no idea why. “It's me you want to make suffer. Not her. She's an innocent in this game.”

“True enough,” Innes conceded. “But an unimportant one. We've just been discussing how hurting her will be the coldest revenge I can serve upon you.”

Cam couldn't deny that. Watching Innes hurt Esme would tear him to shreds.

He felt the weight of his gun in his pocket—it was useless now. If he reached for it, Innes wouldn't hesitate to strike. Same with Cam's dirk, which hung from his belt, visible to Innes's eye.

“Please.” He was begging. But he didn't care. He lowered himself to his knees, opening his palms in a gesture of supplication. “Hurt me. Torture me. I dinna care. Do what you will. Leave her out of it. Please.”

Keeping the gun trained on Esme, Innes had turned to face Cam. He looked quite pleased with himself, smiling as he cocked the weapon.

“How does it feel?” he asked softly. “She'll be dead soon, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

There had to be. There had to be
something.
Cam's mind was racing as fast as his heart.

“I beg you. Dinna hurt her,” he pleaded.

Behind Innes, Cam saw movement, but he kept his gaze firmly focused on the man before him. Not wanting Innes to hear Esme move, he kept talking. “I dinna ken what this is about, Innes. Why're you betraying the Knights? What do you want from us?”

Innes's lips twisted. “Not the Knights, McLeod. Just you, Ross, and Fraser. That's all.”

“But…why?”

More movement behind Innes.

“You dinna recall? Think hard. What sin did you, Ross, and Fraser commit?”

“A great many, to be sure.” Cam had no idea what the man was talking about.

Innes took a step toward him. Good. The farther he was from Esme, the better.

“You dinna recall the brutal murder of three Scottish lads here in London?” Innes's voice was hard now, brittle and cold.

“Three Scottish la—” Cam broke off, realization slapping him in the face. Anna's abusers. He narrowed his eyes. “Who were they to you?”

“One of them was my brother. The other two were his companions. His friends.”

“That's impossible. You've no brothers.”

“Oh, but I do. Thomas was my da's bastard, which is why no one makes the connection between us. But he was my flesh and blood, raised as such, and you…” Innes took another step closer. He hadn't glanced at Esme in several seconds—a good thing, since Cam could tell Esme had changed positions. What was she doing? Whatever it was, she was risking too much. He wished she'd stop.

“…you killed him,” Innes finished. “He was just a lad, and you
murdered
him.”

“I'm sorry.” Cam didn't sound at all sorry. He'd kill those rapist bastards a hundred times more if he could. “I didna ken he was your brother.”

Innes snorted. “You speak as if that fact would have made a difference. But it wouldn't've, would it?”

No, it wouldn't have. Cam hadn't cared whose families those lads had come from. He'd probably have done the same if it were his own damn brother.

“It might've,” he lied.

Innes scoffed, and as he did, Cam saw a flash of something behind him.

Several things happened at once. Something silver whistled through the air, directed at Innes's head. Innes's finger tightened on the trigger, and the weapon fired with a sound so loud it reverberated inside Cam's skull. And, roaring in fury, Cam flung himself at Innes, now just a little more than arm's length from him. As the silver stick connected to Innes's head with a
crack,
Cam tackled him, and the pistol skittered across the wooden surface of the floor, coming to rest far out of both men's reaches.

Innes screeched in pain as Cam landed on top of him, punching his face with all his strength, making the other man's head whip from side to side. But Innes was no green lad—he'd served in the army almost as long as Cam and had fought in just as many battles. Innes punched Cam in the kidneys, first one side then the other, each blow so hard, Cam saw stars. Innes rolled him over, now atop him, as they continued to exchange fierce blows.

Innes reared up on his knees, dodging a wide upper cut meant for his cheek. He grabbed Cam by the cravat, holding him steady. Cam had just enough time to think
Bloody hell
before the blow landed on his own cheek with a resounding crack. Cam grunted in pain, but rage rushed through him, and he bucked wildly, tossing Innes off him.

Innes was a persistent bastard. He wouldn't let go; only twisted his cravat, cutting off all air from Cam's windpipe, making him choke and sputter. They were both on their knees now, and Cam yanked at Innes's arm, to no avail.

Jesus, the man was going to strangle him. Right here in front of Esme.

Darkness crept at the fringes of his vision. He whined and wheezed, trying to get in the smallest amount of air, trying to tear Innes's hand away from his cravat, but it was no good.

The darkness crept further in…and he could barely see anything now but the twisted, vengeful face of Sir Andrew Innes, the man whose brother had raped Cam's sister. His eyes were narrow, his lips pursed in strain, sweat beaded on his forehead, his blond hair hanging limply on either side of his face.

The man who'd killed Fraser and an innocent maid. Who'd tried to kill Ross. Who'd intended to kill Esme tonight.

Esme.

She'd come back to him tonight. She loved him—she
must
love him. As much as he loved her.

Love surged into him, bringing with it a clarity and strength he'd never felt before. He knew what he had to do.

He dropped Innes's arm. Instantly, Innes's fingers tightened the cravat at his neck. Fighting desperately to hold on to consciousness, Cam fumbled at his belt, feeling the carved hilt of his dirk. His fingers wrapped around it. Strong and sure, he yanked it from its sheath, drew back, and plunged it forward—right into Innes's gut.

Innes released Cam's cravat. His mouth dropped open, and he gasped. Cam drew back, yanking out the dirk with a wet, sucking noise, and plunged it into Innes again, this time higher, in the general location of his heart.

Innes blinked at Cam in surprise, then swayed on his knees for a moment. Cam pulled his dirk out again, and Innes fell heavily on his side, his breaths now bubbling gasps, as ineffective as Cam's own breaths had been moments before.

Cam dropped his arm to his side, blood dripping from his dirk's tip, his lungs gasping air as Innes gurgled in one final breath.

Innes went still, and Cam stared down at him, a great sadness making him heavy. Only days ago, he would've given his own life to protect this man lying before him.

He heard a noise and turned his head slowly. Esme stood by the side of the bed. She held the gun up and aimed at Innes, her hand trembling so hard the gun shook wildly in her grasp. Her other arm hung limp at her side, and red striped the side of her face. Her dress was torn raggedly at the shoulder, and her skin there was painted with blood.

“Put the gun down, lass,” Cam said quietly. “It's over.”

She looked at him with wild eyes then back down to Innes. “Is he…is he…?”

“Aye. He is.”

Slowly, she lowered the gun. He rose and strode to her, gently leading her to the edge of the bed. She was as pale as the parchment she wrote upon, and shivering so hard her teeth chattered. He uncurled her fingers from the gun and set it aside.

He covered her with a plaid, murmuring soothing words to her. He moved a thick lock of dark hair aside, pulling it gently from the blood that was sticking it to her skin, and studied the laceration on the side of her forehead.

“What happened?”

“He…hit me. I think he was wearing a ring.”

Cam glanced over at Innes's prone form, glad he couldn't see the man's eyes from this angle. He could, however, see that his left hand bore a thick gold ring.

He drew out his dirk. “I need to cut off your sleeve to see your shoulder better.”

She nodded, her eyes glassy, and he sliced the fabric of dress down her arm, peeling it away from her shoulder to reveal the wound.

He hissed out a breath. “It's still bleeding but it's just a nick.” Thank God. Either Esme's blow with the candlestick or Cam's tackle had thrown off Innes's aim.

“I can't feel it at all,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “I'm just cold. I need…”

She stopped, but the way she was looking at him, he knew just what she needed. Him. His body and his comfort and his heat. He'd give her anything right now. He wished he could give her even more, but that was what she wanted and needed. So, after wrapping her arm quickly with a piece of linen torn from his sheet, he moved Innes's body out of his room. Then Cam stripped off his coat and got into bed, drawing her beside him and holding her tight in his arms.

They remained that way until hours later, when the major and Stirling arrived home and found them.