Page 69 of A Touch So Wicked

“What are your orders, Damian?” Dickon asked.

“I’m going after the spies alone,” Damian decided. “One man is less likely to draw attention.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dickon insisted. “Shall I send someone for the horses?”

“Nay, we go afoot. Betts, open the gate.”

“Kill them, Damian,” Kimbra hissed. “They’re traitors.”

Damian slanted Kimbra an exasperated look. “Go back to the keep, my lady.”

As the gate cranked open, Damian and Dickon ducked through. “Open the gate to no one until we return,” Damian instructed. “Everyone else, return to your posts.”

“Keep to the shadows,” Damian whispered. “The spies couldn’t have gone far. Had they crossed open ground, the guards on the bulwarks would have seen them.”

Damian scanned the narrow open area between the fortress walls and the forest beyond. Nothing stirred. Campfires still flickered in the distance and the mournful wail of a forbidden bagpipe floated through the air.

“Something moved up ahead,” Dickon hissed. “Close to the wall.”

Damian peered intently through the darkness. At first he saw nothing, then a small form emerged from the shadows. Probably the kitchen lad Corbin had described, Damian decided. He watched intently as the boy pushed away from the wall and crept toward the forest. Blessing the moonlit night, he removed his pistol from his belt and took careful aim. He didn’t want to kill the lad, but the distance was too great to guarantee he wouldn’t.

Damian squeezed the trigger at the same moment a gust of wind blew down from the mountains, stirring the dirt around his feet and ruffling his hair. As the bullet blasted from his pistol, the wind lifted the spy’s bonnet from his head. A terrible premonition shot through Damian as a wealth of red hair tumbled down the spy’s back. He cursed violently when the lad hit the ground and lay still, then he took off at a run.

“You got him!” Dickon crowed.

Damian skidded to his knees before the lad and turned him over on his back. A cry gathered in his throat.

“What have I done?” The beautiful face limned in moonlight belonged to Elissa.

When she didn’t stir, Damian scooped her into his arms and raced back to the fortress. He had no idea how badly she was wounded, but he felt her blood soaking his arm.

“Who is it?” Dickon asked.

“Elissa,” Damian cried as he ran past a startled Dickon, who turned to follow him.

Clutching Elissa to his chest, he sprinted to the gate. “Open up!” he cried.

The gate cranked open. Damian sped toward the keep with a lifeless Elissa in his arms. “Dickon, fetch Nan!” he called over his shoulder.

Kimbra was waiting at the door for Damian, but he paid her little heed. “Is she dead?”

Had Damian not been out of his mind with worry, he would have thought it strange that Kimbra knew immediately who had been wounded.

Nan came bustling down the stairs from the solar. She shoved Kimbra aside to reach Damian.

“Ye’ve gone and done it now, yer lordship,” the old woman charged. “Take her to her chamber while I fetch my herbs and medicines. I should have stopped ye before this happened, but I dinna think Elissa would act so soon.”

A flash of anger darkened Damian’s eyes. “You knew what Elissa intended and didn’t tell me?”

“Aye, I suspected, but there was no time to warn ye.”

“I swear I didn’t know it was Elissa out there. I wouldn’t have shot her had I known.”

“There’s one here who knew,” Nan said, pointing a bony finger at Kimbra. “Look to yer intended for answers before ye place blame.”

Before Damian could ask Nan to explain, she turned and hurried off.

“The woman is mad,” Kimbra charged. “Don’t listen to anything she tells you.”