Page 90 of Outrageous

She’d not paid close attention during the ride from the woods to the Greedy Vicar, but it seemed as though it couldn’t have been longer than thirty minutes. She felt the rickety wagon slide occasionally. The rain might have stopped but it would be a while before the roads—especially little cart tracks such as this one—cleared.

A few minutes into the woods she felt the surface beneath them change again, this time to something softer, grass or plants or perhaps a ground covering of fallen leaves. The trees were so thick in this part of the forest, it felt like dusk. Eva had a sick feeling that Crosby was taking her to Flynn’s camp. When she recalled his infuriated look the day before—and her taunting—she knew things would not go well for her.

Perhaps five minutes later the wheels slowed and then stopped. Crosby hopped off the seat and then must have unhooked the horse because Eva heard the jangling of a harness and the sound of hooves moving away.

Crosby returned so silently that Eva yelped behind her gag.

“Sorry to startle you,” she murmured, sounding subdued all of a sudden. Well, the deep, primeval sense of the trees bearing down on them was enough to subdue anyone.

“I’m going to cut your feet loose,” Crosby said in a warning tone. “If you have any ideas of kicking me or running, I beg you will reconsider. Quite honestly, I wouldn’t mind shooting you. I wouldn’t need to kill you, just hobble you.”

The flat, almost bored tone of the other woman’s voice was more compelling than the threat.

Once Eva’s feet were free, Crosby pulled her upright and Eva saw there was a tiny cottage with a shed off to one side. The horse was standing in the open stall, contentedly chewing hay.

“Come along.” Crosby pulled her over the splintery wood, making her grateful she was wearing her buckskins or she’d have slivers lodged deeply in both cheeks.

There was smoke coming from the chimney, so Eva wasn’t surprised to find the cottage inhabited. She was surprised to see the occupant who was slumped in the corner, his big frame overwhelming the small cot that had been shoved into the corner so that two walls might offer support for his battered body.

He shifted on the cushions that kept him upright and squinted through mostly swollen-shut eyes before his distorted jaw opened just enough to say something that sounded like, “Dora,” and then wince at the pain speaking must have caused.

“Oh, hush, Paul. You shouldn’t talk, you know that.” She dragged Eva to the only other place to sit in the room, a heavy, rudely made wooden chair. “Sit.” She shoved Eva down and then proceeded to tie her securely to the wooden back and legs. “There,” she said with a satisfied huff, coming around to stand in front of Eva when she’d finished. “Now, you just sit here and wait while I go fetch an old friend.”

Paul muttered something incomprehensible and Mrs. Crosby whirled on him. “You just hush, you hear? This is none of your concern. And if you keep talking, your jaw will never mend. Not exactly a tragedy in my opinion, but I’m sure you feel otherwise.” She went to the small cupboard, where a basin and several pieces of crockery stood. “I’ll clean this up when I return. But for now”—she poured something cloudy into a small glass and brought it to the reclining man—“you should drink this. It will help you sleep. And sleeping will help you mend.” He stared hard at her for a long moment before grudgingly taking the small glass in his giant fingers.

Mrs. Crosby smiled. “Good,” she said. “I’ll be back in half an hour. You just rest for a while.” She turned to Eva, and so missed the sight of Paul dumping the contents of the glass between the bed and the wall. “And you. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Eva glared, but the other woman chuckled and turned, taking the empty glass from Paul and setting it on the counter before tucking the pistol into the waistband of her skirt and marching out the open door. Eva heard the slide of metal, and then the sound of a lock turning, and shifted her gaze to her companion.

He shook his head, closed his eyes, and lowered his head back against the wall, breathing deeply. Eva thought he’d fallen asleep when he suddenly swung his long legs off the bed, groaning at the pain. He shuffled slower than any turtle she’d ever seen, lurching his way over to the counter, where he picked up a . . . knife.

Eva swallowed as he turned and began lurching toward her. She stared at his destroyed face as he hunched toward her. His jaw, for all that Mrs. Crosby had said it would heal, looked as crooked as a mule’s hind leg. His eyes were two puffy slits and she could barely catch a glint of eye between the sore, purplish folds.

Eva closed her eyes and held her breath, realizing with blind clarity as she faced the end of her life that she loved Godric and he would never know.

A big, hot hand landed on her shoulder and she felt the cold kiss of steel run down her temple. The knife gave a sudden jerk and Eva screamed, the sound filling the room. Which was when she realized she wasn’t dead at all and opened her eyes, squinting up at Paul’s shaking form.

But he wasn’t looking at her; he was studying the ropes that bound her arms. Time crawled with agonizing slowness as he sawed the rope with a blade that must be as dull as dirt, grunting with pain at every stroke.

When he’d freed her right hand, he gave her the knife and staggered away, collapsing on the bed so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break it.

Eva’s eyes darted between his prone form and the rope she was sawing so vigorously it chafed her wrist. He didn’t move so much as a hairsbreadth, and Eva thought he might have lost consciousness. Once her other hand was free she worked on her ankles, her pulse pounding in her ears. A half hour, Crosby had said—how long had she been sawing on these ropes? How long had it taken Paul to make his snail-like trip across the small room? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Certainly not twenty. Her hand slipped and the dull point of the knife gouged her boot, poking a hole through the fine, soft leather and nicking her leg beneath.

“Blast and damn!” She caught her lower lip with her teeth and blinked away tears as she resumed her sawing, hoping to high heaven that she could still run. She cut the last of the ropes and quickly examined her leg through the hole. The wound wasn’t deep, but it smarted.

She had almost reached the door when she recalled Paul; he’d helped her—she needed to check that he wasn’t hurt. Well, hurt any more than he already had been. She approached him on tiptoe, the knife clutched in her right hand. He opened his eyes when she neared the cot.

There were tears streaming from his eyes, and she didn’t think they were just from pain.

“Do you want some of the tonic?” she offered in a hushed voice, as if somebody were listening. “There is some left. You really should rest, you know.”

Eva had never seen a man so big and strong cry, and it left her feeling helpless. “I’ll fetch it for you, shall I?” Precious seconds ticked away while he stared, until finally his head moved in a slight affirmative motion.

Eva hurried to the counter, laid down the knife, and uncorked the solution. She had to help him sit up, and his big body was heavy and weak, so it was a task that took yet more precious minutes. By the time he was in a position to drink without choking, she was half mad with worry, her hands shaking as she carefully tilted the bottle into his mouth. Once he’d swallowed most of the contents, she set the bottle on the floor and covered him with the blanket he’d kicked from the bed. She turned to leave but his hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

Which was when Eva remembered the knife was still on the counter. But when she looked in his eyes, it was not a murderous look that met her. Instead, he gave a slight nod and said, “Key,” although it sounded more like “shgree.”

Eva recalled Crosby locking the door. Paul released her wrist and pointed generally in the direction of the cupboards.