The Sinner (25 page)

He wrenched himself free and screwed his face up in distaste. "Don't touch me. How do I know you don't have it too?"

"I'm perfectly well."

"As was he, only last night." He sighed dramatically. "Today he looks terrible. White as snow and weak. He hardly knows where he is or what he says. He rambles on about spare horses and a woman named Mary. Lady Oxley too, and I'm sure I heard Slade mentioned." 

"Is Cat with him?"

The door opened before he had a chance to answer and Bel emerged. She looked more serious than Elizabeth had ever seen her. "My mama says to tell you he's very sick but he might live. She's given him a purgative and will stay with him until it works." She bit her lower lip and hesitated.

"What is it, Bel?" Elizabeth asked, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "You must tell us, no matter how bad it is."

Bel's remarkably steady gaze met Elizabeth's. "Mama says he's been poisoned."

"Poisoned!" Jeffrey cried.

The servants shifted uneasily and glanced at one another. Elizabeth sank back against the wall, the air knocked out of her. Someone had poisoned Hughe.

Oh God. If he died, Edward would be devastated. Orlando and Cole too. Hughe was their friend, their colleague, their leader, even though two of them no longer worked for him. He was the life blood of the Assassins Guild. If he died…

No. She couldn't think like that. Widow Dawson said he might live.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to think everything through carefully. The poisoner had to be found. The rescue had to go ahead. Hughe would not want his plan to be abandoned now and Elizabeth couldn't let that happen to the poor Renny woman. Edward was probably checking on things for the evening's rescue, so that left only her. She couldn't do it alone, particularly the part where Hughe was supposed to go to Larkham. She needed Cole and Orlando. They were far more experienced than she, and they would want to know about Hughe anyway.

She rushed off and sent a maid to tell the stables to ready a fast horse for her as she dressed for riding. Her mind kept returning to Hughe. She couldn't imagine the magnificent, handsome man lying helpless in bed. He was always so full of life, so strong in body and mind. It wasn't right. Whoever had poisoned him would pay dearly, his friends would see to it. At least Cat was with him. Wasn't she?

There was no time to find out, but of course she must be. Widow Dawson would allow his wife in, and Cat would want to be there, doing whatever she could to heal her beloved.

Elizabeth drew on her gloves as she raced out of the house and headed for the stables. She ordered one of the grooms to go on to Coleclough Farm to inform Cole and Lucy, while she mounted a horse and rode for Stoneleigh, the nearer of the two farms.

She prayed for Hughe the entire way.

***

Larkham was everything Cat thought it would be. Nobody in Sutton Grange seemed to like their neighboring village and she could see why. The houses and shops weren't old but they were poorly kept, their stoops dirty. Mud and the excrement of horses, pigs and God knew what else piled up in the streets. The gut-churning stink of a tannery hung in the air.

At first she thought nobody was about except a few stray hens and children, but she rounded a bend and saw what must have been the entire village gathered outside one of the inns. They spilled onto the street and over the other side to the green.

Cat couldn't hear what their meeting was about, and she didn't care. She had very little time. She wanted to get back to Hughe as soon as possible. It was already late in the morning. She and the stable lad, Warren, had been riding for hours and her hand throbbed beneath the bandage.

She caught sight of a woman standing in the doorway of a shop, a small child at her feet. Her gaze was intent on the mob further along, who were now focused on a fellow standing on a crate. "Can you help me?" Cat asked.

The woman looked up with weary eyes that quickly filled with surprise as she took in the horses and Cat herself. Cat wasn't an opulent dresser, but the quality of her clothing couldn't be disguised in a poor place like Larkham. The woman seemed unsure whether to curtsey or bow or call out to someone to come and view the spectacle.

"Ma'am?" the woman asked, scooping up the child as he began to toddle toward the horse.

"I'm looking for Widow Renny's house."

She frowned. Her mouth flattened. Her gaze flicked to the mob. "You should go, ma'am. Leave the village. Don't bother with the Rennys."

"Lady Oxley has asked you for directions," Warren bit off. For a spotty, skinny lad, he sounded quite authoritarian.

"I was only warnin' her," the woman said, hoisting the wriggling child higher on her hip.

"I will leave as soon as I see Mistress Renny," Cat said. "I have something to tell her." She opened her purse and tossed the woman a coin. The woman caught it, inspected it, then dropped it down her bodice.

She gave directions to a house two streets away. "Be quick. Real quick."

Cat thanked her and veered off in the direction the woman indicated, Warren behind her. A single angry shout erupted from the main street, followed by an answering one from the villagers. She glanced back. To the mob's left, almost obscured, was a horse with what appeared to be a dead body strapped to the saddle.

Cat spurred her horse onward. She planned on being 'real quick'. Larkham wasn't a place she wanted to spend more time in than necessary.

Widow Renny lived in a neat, small two-story house set amid a row of similar houses. However, where the other homes looked to be in need of repair, like the shops, hers was in good condition. She was not as poorly off as her neighbors then.

Thanks to Hughe. Her lover.

Cat's heart lurched. The prospect of facing the woman her husband loved filled her with black, vile jealousy. She forged on. Hughe needed to see Mary Renny and Cat would deliver her to him.

She handed her reins to Warren and knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again and called out. Perhaps she was in the village with the mob. Cat wished she'd checked there first.

"Want me to go round the back?" Warren asked.

"Not yet. Mistress Renny! I'm Lady Oxley," she shouted through the door. "I have something very important to tell you."

Another shout rose from the main street. The mob were good and roused for whatever sport they were about to undertake. Cat needed to get this over with and get out before they became volatile. Men with a lot of ale in their bellies did not always care who or what stood in their way when they were riled up.

A boy's face appeared at the window. His round eyes fixed on Cat. His mouth fell open. His face was replaced by a woman's. She seemed pretty, but Cat hardly got to take in her features before she too disappeared.

The bolt slid back on the door and two hands pulled Cat inside. The door slammed at her back and the bolt slid home.

Cat got her first proper look at Hughe's lover. She was indeed pretty, with lovely dark hair and big eyes. But she was older than Cat expected, those wide eyes tired as if she hadn't slept properly in days. She looked thoroughly worn out.

"Mistress Renny? I'm Lady Oxley. I've come to take you to my…to Lord Oxley's sickbed."

The Renny woman gasped. "Sick? Dear God, no." She pressed her hand to her chest and her knees buckled.

A young man caught her from behind. He was tall and thin, and when he straightened, Cat realized he wasn't a man at all, but a boy of about fifteen or so. Another, younger boy stood nearby. Mistress Renny's sons.

Cat swallowed. Hard. Would Hughe want to see them too? Did he treat them like his own?

"Why did he send you here?" the taller boy barked as he helped his mother to a chair. "Where's Monk?"

Cat blinked at him. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Of course it bloody matters."

"Peter!" his mother scolded. "You're speaking to the countess of Oxley!"

Peter muttered an apology then approached the door. He pressed his ear to it and listened. "They'll be here soon."

"Who?" Cat studied each of the faces. All were filled with anxiety on a scale that Cat had never seen before. As if they feared for their lives.

A roar went up in the distance, just as a cold lump of dread settled in her chest.

"Christ," the older boy, Peter said. "They're coming. We have to get out of here." He grabbed his mother's arm and jerked her to her feet. She trembled violently and gathered her younger son to her breast. He began to cry.

Then Cat heard shouts of "Murderers!" and "Hang the devil's spawn!" from along the street. She stared at Widow Renny and her two sons and felt sick to her bones. The mob was after
them
. She was trapped too, and she'd left Warren outside, defenseless.

"So what does Lord Oxley need us to do, my lady?" Peter asked. "What's the plan?"

CHAPTER 14

Hughe's insides no longer felt like they were being squeezed by an invisible claw. Perhaps he didn't have any insides left. He'd thrown up enough times that it was possible.

He greedily drank the sweet liquid Widow Dawson gave him and asked for more. He was damned thirsty.

"It'll help restore your strength," she said, taking the cup from him when he finished. Her friendly eyes smiled at him. "How do you feel now?"

"Like I've been kicked in the head." And the heart. A fresh wave of nausea swamped him, but he had enough sense to realize it wasn't from the poison.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the image of Cat. But it was impossible. She would haunt him forever.

"My wife…" he began. "Is she here?" Did she want to see him?

"Lady Oxley was here early this mornin'," Widow Dawson said, folding a clean cloth on her lap.

"Did you speak to her?"

Widow Dawson shook her head. "She left before I arrived."

Hughe sank further into the pillows. Pain pierced his ribs, sharper than any blade, more debilitating than the poison that weakened him. He bunched the bed linen in his fists and rode it out. The stabbing stopped, but a duller yet equally painful pounding took its place.

Cat was gone. She thought he would have her arrested. She thought that poorly of him.

Yet
he
was thinking poorly of
her
, wasn't he? He'd assumed she'd poisoned him without thorough investigation. He'd already condemned her. Just like he'd condemned Stephen, and with just as little evidence.

He had evidence.

Evidence he now doubted.

He licked dry, cracked lips. "Is Elizabeth Monk here?" She might know where Cat had gone. Perhaps she'd even sent someone to bring her back. She was a clever woman and knew how much Hughe cared for his wife. She would know he would want her back, no matter what she'd done.

Christ. What a bloody mess. He just wanted to talk to his wife, hold her and have her run her hands through his hair. Her touch would alleviate his headache.

"No," Widow Dawson said. "She went to get—"

The door crashed back and Cole and Orlando barreled inside. Elizabeth trailed after them and Lynden brought up the rear, wringing his hands.

"Bloody hell!" Orlando said, his worried gaze sweeping over Hughe.

"You're awake." Cole grunted and stopped at the foot of the bed. "You look like death."

"Shut it, Cole," Orlando snapped. He let out a ragged breath and passed a hand over his eyes. "Christ."

Elizabeth sat on the bed and smiled crookedly down at Hughe. "You had me so worried."

"And me!" said Lord Lynden, sitting on the other side. He flapped a fan in front of his face then turned it on Hughe.

Hughe shoved it away. "Did you fetch them?" he asked Elizabeth.

She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears. "I thought you were… I thought they would want to know. And with Edward not here…I hope I did the right thing."

He patted her hand. "You did. But as you can all see, I'm not dying."

Cole grunted again. For anyone who didn't know him, he seemed unaffected, but Hughe knew better. The man's mouth was pinched, his fists locked at his sides. His bleak, black gaze connected with Hughe's.

"I'm all right," Hughe said again to reassure them. "Widow Dawson tells me I'll recover fully."

"Who did this?" Orlando asked. The hand that gripped the bed post turned white. "Who bloody did this, Hughe?"

"I don't know." If they thought for a moment that Cat was guilty, they'd not spare her life.

Lynden cleared his throat. "A cup was found in the stables near where you collapsed, Oxley. Some of the poisoned wine was left in it so I had it thrown out. It smelled innocent enough to me."

"Some poisons are odorless," Elizabeth told him.

"Who gave it to you?" Orlando pressed.

Hughe shook his head. If he could speak to Cat before they got to her, perhaps he could sort this out. Perhaps there was some mistake and she hadn't meant to poison him with a cup of wine she'd asked her maid to give to him.

Fuck.

"You two need to ride to Larkham," he said to divert everyone's attention. "Recent events have necessitated the plan be put into place early. Today and not tonight."

"What plan?" Lynden asked, blinking at him.

"Come, my lord," Widow Dawson said, rising. "We should leave Lord Oxley alone with his friends."

Lynden hesitated until Cole shifted a step closer. The big man didn't look menacing, but he had a dark look about him that not even a fool like Lynden would trifle with. Lynden rose and followed Widow Dawson and Bel, but stopped in the doorway. "Elizabeth? You ought to leave the men alone to discuss their affairs too."

The glare she gave him could have cut through ice. His face blanched and he left.

Cole came around to the side of the bed. "The poisoner—"

"Forget that, for now," Hughe said. "This is more important."

Cole crossed his arms. "So say you."

"And I am still your leader." He swung his legs out of the bed. Dizziness filled his head and his volatile stomach rose. He felt as pathetic as a babe, his limbs as heavy as if he had sacks of grain strapped to them. His skin was tight, hot, and achy. He clenched his teeth and steadied his breathing, determined not to show weakness in front of anyone. Not even his friends. "Upfield was here early this morning. He's dead now."