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“It’s not necessary—there’s no reason to leave your post.”
He pointed behind her toward the lawn stretching upward toward the castle. “At least walk up and around the tree line.”
She chuckled. “You are a worrier. No one is out here, Fredrick. It’s too dark.” She nodded with her head to the right. “I’ll go through the trees directly as I usually do, as I’m less likely to stumble that way, and I’ll whistle the whole time so you know I’m safe. Deal?”
He motioned toward the trail that snaked through the thick outcropping of trees that separated his watch area from Nevis’s. “Off you go, then. But give me the high-pitched whistle when you reach him so I know you’re safe.”
“Ever the worrier.” She smiled over her shoulder at him and started toward the trail, a whistling tune at her lips.
Sounding like a tweeting bird through the trees, she kept at her whistling until she was halfway through the outcropping of woods and then turned to the right, keeping her whistle going as she stepped off the trail. Ten careful strides in—her boots stepping high with each step to avoid roots she couldn’t see in the dark—she set the kettle and mug down on a soft, mossy patch of ground and then sped up her pace, the whistle still at her lips.
Thirty more steps and only stumbling twice over roots, she managed to keep the whistle at her lips until she ran directly into a mass suddenly blocking her path.
She looked up to find the tiniest glow of the moon from above reflecting across Rafe’s face, his mouth drawn to a tight line.
Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her lips tight and gave a high-pitched whistle. Her hand going onto Rafe’s chest, she stilled him, cocking her right ear upward.
A distant whistle echoed hers.Thanks, Fredrick.
She was out.
And Jules would no doubt find her note in the morning. The letter she had quickly scratched out wouldn’t lessen Jules and Sloane’s worry at her leaving. But at least they would believe she left on her own accord to abscond with Rafe and that there was no immediate threat upon Seahorn.
She nodded to Rafe and he grabbed her hand, leading her quickly toward the road that ran past a grazing field outside the forest along the south side of the estate.
“You were supposed to be waiting with the horse by the road,” she whispered into the night air.
He glanced back at her and then shook his head, his whisper as quiet as hers. “I wasn’t about to let you wander through the forest alone.”
She sighed, but not too loudly, as he tugged her silently through the woods. She wasn’t an invalid, but she had to admit she did rather like the fact that protecting her was paramount in his mind.
That boded well for the danger she was about to place herself in.
If she was to get out of this situation with Eva and Torrie unscathed, she needed every advantage she could cobble together on her side. Along with a healthy dose of luck.
For all of that, she needed to trust the one man she shouldn’t.
{ Chapter 23 }
Rafe looked across the table at Victoria as they ate in their room at the coaching inn, his heart quickening at her silence. At what he’d set into motion.
He’d done this for her—brought her along with him as a sacrifice—done it because he could see no other way out of the damnable situation. But it curdled his stomach that he was willingly going to drag Victoria into a viper’s den. That he was going to put her in a moment’s worth of danger.
They hadn’t discussed what would happen after they got Eva and Torrie freed, what his intentions would be towards the men in her life, and Victoria hadn’t asked.
Better that way.
For he still intended to see the men—at least Desmond, Roe and Reiner—sink for their crimes against his father and his men.
Revenge was like that—once its course was set, it had to be seen to the bitter end. No mercy. The revenge was necessary to maintain control of his smuggling empire, as there was more than one cutthroat ready to slit his throat for rule.
Revenge was inevitable. It always was in his world.
He’d been raised in the life, heir to the empire of everything dark and evil for the majority of his life. Heir to the bloodshed. The blackmail. The stealing. The threats. The death. Death all around him, always.
And he was starting to understand that entering into the world that Victoria existed in was wearing upon him. He’d thought he’d be immune, for he knew well what all the wealth and power that existed in Victoria’s life had been built upon—the backs of the same prevalent underhanded bribery and deals and murders and blackmail. It had just existed for so long in her world, those same misdeeds were dressed up differently, under the veneer of order and law.
In her world, people still disappeared. People were still blackmailed. People were still grisly asses. It all still existed, and that was the cruelest twist of it all.
