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"Macall," Julian acknowledged, noting that the bastard was grasping Aurora's arm with his thick, filthy fingers. Swiftly he inhaled, fighting back the instinct to lunge forward and snatch his wife away. It would be the stupidest move he could make, resulting only in getting her and himself killed. No, he had to stay calm, remain perfectly still as he tried to assess the extent of his enemy's irrationality. "I heard you were looking for me."
"And I found you." Macall spat at Julian's feet, then glanced at the restless urchin who hovered about, waiting. "Th
ere." He jerked his head in the direction of a small pouch of coins hanging from his coat button. "Take it," he ordered. "Then get out of here."
"Yes, sir." The urchin yanked the pouch free and bolted without so much as a backward glance.
"So this is your wife," Macall muttered, his gaze flickering over Aurora. "Tell me, is she any good? Or did you marry her just for the diamond?"
Julian scarcely blinked. "Let her go, Macall. Your fight is with me, not Aurora." He swallowed past the sharp pressure in his throat. "You want to kill me? Fine. Release my wife. Then you can use two hands to drive me through."
"Julian—no." Aurora began to struggle, yanking violently but ineffectually at her arm, succeeding only in loosening her bonnet until it fell to the ground.
Macall dragged her closer, his grip tightening until she whimpered. "Brazen little thing, aren't you?" His taunting stare examined the fineness of her features close-up, took in the loose tendrils of red-gold hair that now tumbled down her back. "Do you know, I'm beginning to suspect Merlin had more than one reason for wanting this marriage," he said with a sardonic smile. "I'll have to satisfy my curiosity about that. Who knows? If you're skilled enough, it might persuade me to let you live."
"Think again, Macall," Julian countered icily. "What you have in mind requires two hands, one of which is currently occupied with holding a sword to my throat. Should you remove that hand, I'll find a way to kill you before you draw your next breath, much less touch my wife. So I suggest you forget whatever vile notion you have in mind. Let Aurora go and vent your rage where it belongs—at me."
"Oh, I intend to vent my rage where it belongs. After which both my hands will be free—as will your wife." With a sneer, Macall turned back to Julian. "You really have gone soft, haven't you, Merlin? Who would ever have thought a woman would mean enough to you to render you weak, ensure your undoing? After ten months of trying to hunt you down, I managed to lure you into what was obviously a trap simply by using her as bait. And now I'll get what I want by doing the same. How unexpected—and how effortless." A harsh laugh. "Ironic, isn't it? As a result of your own stupidity, I'll soon have both your prized possessions—the black diamond and your bride." He jerked his chin in the direction of Julian's coat pocket. "Take out the pistol, nice and slow. Then toss it to the ground."
"Why should I? According to you, you plan on killing me anyway." A deliberate pause. "Of course, then you'll have only half of what you came for—your revenge. What about the black diamond?"
"That won't work, Merlin." Macall's dark eyes glittered. "I don't need both you and your duchess alive to get my hands on the diamond, not when she's Aurora Huntley. I could easily kill you, then toss up your wife's skirts right here in this alley and take her brutally and repeatedly until she tells me where I can find the stone. How would that be?"
Julian tasted bile. Slowly, knowing bloody well he had no choice, he complied with Macall's demand, retrieving his weapon and letting it drop to the ground. The bastard was right. If Macall drove him through here and now, Aurora would be at the privateer's mercy. Julian had to stall for time, find a way to save her.
"Good." Macall kicked the pistol across the alley. "Now we can get down to business." He pushed the sword an iota deeper, pricking Julian's skin until blood began to trickle down his throat. "As you yourself just pointed out, I want two things: you—dead at my feet—and the black diamond. The first is a fated reality, and has been since the day you killed my brother. The second is also a reality, but not quite as unconditional as the first. You see, I can either acquire my prize easily or with a bit of persuasion. That, Merlin, is where your choice comes in. If you tell me what I want to know, you'll die with a minimum amount of pain and the duchess here will be allowed to live. If you refuse, your death will be an excruciating one—as will your final memory: seeing me carve your bride into little pieces. The choice is yours."
"There's no choice to make," Aurora informed him, tugging again at her arm. "I'll opt for death if living means my becoming your possession."
"Such brave words," Macall replied. "And such naive ones. Fortunately your husband—unlike you—knows the agony a sword such as this can cause. I trust he'll decide accordingly."
Throughout Macall's tirade, Julian's mind had been racing. His alarm was for Aurora, though not because he gave any credence to Macall's threat to kill her first. The bastard knew firsthand how swiftly Julian struck. If Macall so much as inched the sword in Aurora's direction, Julian would be on him like the merlin on its prey. So that part of the threat was merely a ruse. However, the remaining part—Macall's vow to ravage Aurora cruelly and brutally after Julian was dead—that Julian believed with every sickened fiber of his being. Macall was evil to the core, and formidable as hell.
When he had the upper hand.
When he didn't, however, he panicked, became reckless. More times than not, that recklessness was his undoing. With a modicum of luck, it would be now.
Julian's hooded gaze flickered to Aurora, who was still trying unsuccessfully to free her arm—a futile effort, given that Macall was far stronger than she. However, the son of a bitch did have only a one-handed grasp on her. If there were a way to trick him into devoting both hands to his sword, maybe Aurora could break away and run to safety.
It was his job to provide that way.
Mentally, Julian gauged the distance between his wife and the alleyway entrance, trying to assess the amount of time she'd need to reach safety, finding he was unable to do so as a result of his increasing light-headedness. Dammit. He couldn't lose consciousness—not until Aurora was safe. He had to stave off his own fate long enough to create a diversion and allow her time to flee.
"Hurry up, Merlin," Macall prodded. "You're already sheet white and your coat's stained with blood. Any longer and you'll pass out cold. I want you conscious when I cut open your belly. Now what's it gonna be?"
"I don't have the stone," Julian managed, deliberately antagonizing Macall into action, praying the results would give Aurora the precious minutes she needed. "Neither does my wife."
"Where is it hidden?"
Julian stared right through him. "We haven't a clue."
"Damn you." Macall twisted the sword a fraction, deepening Julian's wound and drawing fresh blood.
Despite the excruciating jolt of pain that accompanied Macall's act, it was just what Julian had been awaiting.
With a choked groan—more real than feigned—he sagged, falling back against the wall, his head dropping to one side. Let the bastard think I'm dying before he can find out what he wants to know, he willed silently. Let him do what he always does under pressure—panic and lose control.
Macall didn't disappoint him.
