Sapphire Dream (27 page)

Authors: Pamela Montgomerie

BOOK: Sapphire Dream

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And Rourke would go back to sea.

This love she felt for him was doomed, and had been from the start. But she’d lived with loss before and survived. Somehow, she would do it again, though a part of her wondered if
this
wound—the wound to her heart—would ever heal.

Rourke woke the next morning to find sunlight dancing on the papered walls. The hour was late, but he cared not. He had no responsibilities in this place but to see to Brenna’s well-being. A satisfied smile curled his lips. He had done that well.

Brenna’s warm body was still tucked against him, her silken head resting on his chest. She stirred slightly, her leg twining with his as if she could not get close enough. Desire for her swept through him as it had every time she’d moved during the night.

Sometime before dawn he’d realized what she’d become to him. His life. His breath. The beat of his heart.

It had begun when he’d first seen her lying on his deck in a pool of her own blood, a warrior’s blaze in her eyes. And since then, every day, every hour, she’d become more necessary to him until he feared it would not be long before he could not live without her.

He closed his eyes against the damning thought.

She was not of this world. Not of
his
world. She must go back to her own, for only there would she be safe and content. And only then would he be free to return to his own life.

This morning he would seek Hegarty. The troll would send her back. Rourke would accept nothing less.

But, heaven help him, how was he to breathe without her?

A low rap sounded on the door. Rourke groaned. He should have left before dawn, but he’d slept soundly with her in his arms, then been loathe to let her go. He didn’t want to spoil her reputation, but he could hardly hide his presence in her chamber.

As he disentangled himself from her, she rolled over with an unintelligible murmur.

He lifted the sheet over her, then grabbed his nightshirt and pulled it on, letting it fall over his hips before he crossed, barefoot, to the door.

Angus stood on the other side. “The man you warned me about has been spied.”

“Cutter,” Rourke hissed.

“He makes camp in one of the caves in the hills. Young Broderick saw him watching the castle this morn, then followed him. The lad is certain the cretin did not spy him.”

Rourke nodded. “Cutter will not live out the day.”

Before he left the chamber, he went back to the bed to gaze down at the beautiful woman lying there. She had given herself into his hands with her body and her trust.
I love you
, she’d whispered just before she’d fallen asleep. Could it be true? The thought both warmed him beyond measure and chilled him to the marrow of his bones.

He leaned over and touched her temple with a featherlight kiss as his heart swelled with tenderness. He was not worthy of her love. If she knew the truth of that day so long ago, she would not give it.

He left her sleeping and made his way to his own chamber where he dressed and armed himself. Then he went outside to the bailey. To his surprise, he found his mount saddled and waiting for him, along with four other horses. Angus approached him, followed by three of Rourke’s kinsmen.

It took him a minute to realize they intended to go with him. He shook his head at Angus. “This is something I must do.”

Angus grinned at him, his eyes flashing with determination. “Aye. And we’ll be at your back while you do it.”

At his back. He’d never had anyone watch his back before.

Angus clasped his shoulder. “Douglases stick together, or have you forgotten? We’ll not send you out there alone.”

Rourke nodded slowly as the feeling of kinship took on new meaning for him. “Then let us be away.” He mounted and set off in a single move, his kinsmen close behind.

They rode into the hills close to the place where the lad had seen Cutter’s camp.

“There,” Angus said, pulling up beside him. “Between the two rocks on the rise above is a cave. Broderick saw him go in.”

Rourke nodded and dismounted. His men followed. While one youth took the reins, Rourke let Angus lead the small party up toward the mouth of the cave.

When they neared, Rourke motioned the other men back, then pulled his gun and sword at once. There was no sense in calling to the man. Cutter would never emerge to such an ambush. A patient man would wait for the fox to leave his den even if the waiting took hours . . . or days.

But Rourke was not a patient man.

The bloody cur had betrayed him. Twice . . . no, three times he’d tried to end Brenna’s life. And all because she’d gotten the better of him in an uneven fight.

He would not wait. If luck was with him, his former bosun was fast asleep and Rourke’s approach would go unheeded. If not . . .

He edged toward the narrow opening, silent and tensed for battle. Though he listened, he heard no sound.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the corner and into the narrow opening of the cave.

The crack of a firing gun exploded from the rocks.

He felt fire rip through his side a half breath later. Searing pain tore through him as he gripped the wound at his waist. His hand came away slick with blood.

Bloody hell.
And why had he thought luck, which had deserted him all his life, would appear this day?

Because she’d said she loved him. Because with her love he had, for a fleeting, foolish moment, thought all things possible.

“Kinross!”

“My lord!”

His kinsmen rushed around him.

His side burned as if the man had used a torch instead of a gun to wound him. Blood soaked his shirt and the top of his pants. He knew with an instinct born of many battles that this wound would be his last.

He would not survive. But neither would Cutter.

Waving off his kinsmen, he lunged into the cave, gun drawn, sword high.

A flash of silver caught the daylight. Rourke parried the thrust barely in time, nearly crumpling from the agony the movement caused. The clash of steel upon steel rang in the narrow confines, echoing with the pounding of the blood in his ears. His eyes, narrowed with pain, could barely make out the form of his bosun.

“You’re as good as dead,
Captain
,” Cutter sneered. “’Tis no more than you deserve.” He fought hard. Too hard.

Rourke struggled to meet every thrust, every blow. “Why, Joshua? Why did you turn over my ship?”

“They paid me well,
Captain
. I’d not have needed the money had you made me first mate after McNeil died. ’Twas my
right
to be mate. Baker is half the sailor I am.”

“Aye. There are few your equal upon the sea. But you’ve never been loyal to me, Joshua. Mr. Baker was.”

Cutter turned and thrust, catching Rourke in the thigh.

Rourke stumbled, barely righting himself in time to parry a blow to his head.

Cutter laughed. “I would have been most loyal to you had you shared your earnings with me.”

“ ’Twas you, wasn’t it, who took the gold last spring?”

“Aye. You would not share it, so I did it for you. What need you with so much? You already had the ship. And any lass who caught your eye. You horde your gold like a miser.”

Rourke clenched his teeth against the twin fires burning his side and his leg. “I shared more than half of every take. I was more than fair, more than generous. But that wasn’t enough, was it?”

“You should have made me your partner. I was the best sailor you had. The best! You should have made me your mate. Split your earnings in half with me. And me alone!”

“Why?” Rourke gasped. His strength was draining fast. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out, but he must. He could not let Cutter win.
Brenna.

“Because it was my
right
. I should have been born to wealth. I should have been captain of my own ship. Not you. You had it all—too much for one man. Too much!”

Marshaling the last of his strength, Rourke swung in, catching Cutter’s arm, drawing blood, but doing little real damage.

His sword was growing too heavy.
Nay. Hold on.

“But you haven’t got it all now, have you,
Captain
? You’ve nothing. I’ve taken it all. Your ship. Your crew. And now your life. When I’m through with you, I’ll take care of the bitch, Brenna Cameron. I saw you carry her into your castle. I know she still lives. But she’ll not live long, I vow it.”

Nay.
He could . . .
not
. . . let Cutter win. Brenna. He had to save Brenna.

With a final effort, he swung at Cutter’s head. But his strength had all but given out. An upward thrust from Cutter tore Rourke’s blade from his hand. It was over.

Nay, it is not.

He felt the heaviness of the gun still clenched in his left fist.

“Brenna Cameron will die, mark my words,” his bosun snarled.

Rourke raised the gun with a trembling arm. “You are wrong, Joshua. She will not die. But you will.”

He aimed for the sailor’s face and pulled the trigger, sending the man straight to the hereafter.

His strength gone, he sank to his knees in a haze of pain, knowing he, too, was headed straight for the fiery pits of hell.

THIRTEEN

“My lady! My lady! Ye must awaken!”

Brenna felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her out of sleep. Pushing herself onto her elbow, she squinted at the intruder. “What’s the matter?”

The young servant wrung her hands. “’Tis the viscount! He’s been shot.”

“The viscount?”

“Kinross.”

God, she needed caffeine. Her brain clicked with a horrified snap.

Rourke.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up abruptly. “How? Where?”

“I dinna know. The old laird said to fetch you.”

“Oh, no.” Brenna jumped out of bed, realizing too late she was stark naked. She grabbed for her shift and pulled it on, as the servant handed her the corset from last night.

Brenna shook her head. “No time.” She grabbed the deep green silk and pulled it on. As the servant tried to button her, Brenna pulled on the soft kid slippers that went with it.

“That’s good enough.” Brenna started for the door.

“But, my lady. I’ve only begun the buttons.”

“You got the top one. The dress will stay on.” She wrenched open the door and raced down the stairs and into the bailey to find a horse saddled and waiting, two riders mounted beside it, one of them Rourke’s uncle.

“He is asking for you, Marie. We will take you to him.”

Asking for her.
Not good. So not good.

One of the men helped her mount, and the three took off.

They hadn’t gone far when they came upon a group of Douglas kinsmen gathered about something in the road.

“
Rourke.
”

“He tried to return,” the man beside her said. “But he couldna make it.”

Brenna pulled up and slid off the horse, then raced to Rourke’s side and knelt beside him in the mud. He was conscious, his pale gaze fixed on her, his eyes shimmering with pain. His entire right side, from the waist down, was soaked in blood.

He reached for her.

Brenna took his hand, struggling not to cry. “What happened?”

His hand, always so strong, so sure, shook with the weakness of a child’s. “Cutter. He’s dead.”

“He shot you.”

Rourke swallowed. Grimaced. “Aye. From the shadows of the cave. I killed him.”

“You fought him
after
he shot you?”

He squeezed her hand. “He would ha’ come for ye, Wildcat. The man had lost all reason. Ye had become Lucifer to him. The devil to be vanquished.”