Page 18 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter Seven

Rhys knew it would be wise to return to the shop and work off the lust raging through his body, but if he rose, the lass wouldn’t be able to miss his hardened cock poking his kilt. The woman was too damned beautiful. What in God’s name was he going to do with her? He knew exactly what he wanted to do with her. Given the way she was looking at him, she entertained the same thoughts. Well, she was a woman, so perhaps not exactly the same thoughts.

He finished his wine and refilled their glasses.

She drank half her glass, then said, “I received three letters from him. He told me of a friend called ange vengeur.”

Rhys started.

Her face lit. “I know it was you.”

“Lass—”

She shook her head. “Did you kill the man who murdered Tory, ange vengeur?”

Murdered? Were they not all guilty of murder? He recalled carrying Tory from the raging battle, then lowering him the ground and kneeling beside him. After Tory went limp, Rhys had charged back into the battle, sword cutting down everyone in his path. Had he avenged his friend’s death? Could a man every truly avenge death?

Emma waited, expression hopeful. Like so many, she viewed the men they warred with as a real enemy, men who weren’t like them. Men who were somehow more at fault for the war then they were.

“Aye,” he replied.

Perhaps it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps he had done all a man could do to balance the scales. He thought of Munro. Nae. As long as that man walked free, the scales would remain unbalanced.

“Thank you for being his friend,” she murmured.

“What?”

Moisture glistened in her eyes. “He always said that the most a man could hope for was to die alongside a friend.”

Rhys locked gazes with her. “He was more of a friend to me than I was to him.”

She shook her head. “Nae, you are being hard on yourself.”

Rhys stood. “Your brother died saving my life.”

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Finally, she said, “What happened?”

Rhys hesitated. He wanted to retreat to the work room, throw himself into more backbreaking work and, most importantly, forget. Instead, he sat back down and began a tale he’d never shared.

“We were far outnumbered,” he began. “I didn’t believe I would live through the battle. No one did, I wager. We had been fighting what seemed hours, though it couldn’t have been even a single hour, when a man pointed a pistol at me.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “‘Tis strange the things a man notices in the fray. I was fighting for my life with my sword, yet I saw the man as clear as day.

“There was nowhere to run. Men surrounded me, our men, fighting for their lives. Nowhere for me to go, yet the shooter had a clear line of sight. Even with the battle raging, I heard the weapon blast. That’s when Tory dove in front of me. I shoved him aside, but too late. The bullet lodged in his heart.” Rhys looked at her. “I am no ange vengeur, lass. I should have died.”

Without another word, he rose and went to the small room where he slept. Rhys closed the door with a soft click and faced the room. Thin moonlight spilled in through the half open window. He crossed to the bed against the right wall and threw himself onto the mattress. He had to leave as quickly as possible. He never should have come here. But he couldn’t leave her at Munro’s mercy.

He could send her to Blackstone Abbey. The women would take care of her. Perhaps they could find her a husband. He would work the shop and send her the money. He owed her that much.

A light knock on the door caused him to jump.

“Go away, lass,” he said

The knob jiggled. He bolted upright when the door opened. She stepped into the room. With the scant hallway light behind her, he couldn’t read her expression.

“I am sorry,” Rhys said. “I should have told you the truth the moment we met. You were right to try and kill me. I shouldn’t be alive.”

She said not a word, but crossed the room to where he stood. When she reached for him, he staggered back a pace, but she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.