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And seeing Cillian again.
For now, she would acquiesce.
At least until she found a way to escape.
“Move,” he ordered and jabbed her with the gun, making her wince.
They inched forward, him directing her with the metal pressed hard against her back.
“Over there.” He shoved her toward a wagon concealed behind a line of trees. Slowly, he released her mouth. “If you scream, I’ll shoot you.”
Hands raised, Ivy gulped down unimpeded breaths of air and twisted cautiously to spy the pistol held in his hand. The fierce beat of her heart increased, and she sucked in another breath as her vision grew spotty.
“What do you want with me?”
“Get in there.” He gestured to the back of the wagon with the gun.
Eyeing the weapon, she did as she was bid. Once on the back of the wagon, he bound her wrists and ankles. She focused on the end of the pistol. No moments of reprieve existed, no chance to escape. His finger remained on the trigger, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he might even accidentally shoot her as he pulled the rope tight with one hand. His movements were unsteady, sweat beaded above his lips. The wrong move, and she truly believed he would shoot her.
“You do not have to do this.” She spoke softly.
“Your husband has to pay for what he did.”
“He didn’t kill her.”
“Yes. He did.” He brought the pistol to her face, and she couldn’t prevent herself from staring down the dark, shadowy barrel. “He killed the woman I loved because he could not have her.”
Would it hurt? Would it be quick?
She swallowed past a dry throat and flicked her attention to Marshall’s face. The desperation creasing his forehead and pulling painfully at his expression made her gasp.
“You did not kill her either did you?”
“Cillian took her from me out of jealousy,” the man spat. “And I’m going to make him pay for that.”
Cillian wasn’t responsible for Mary’s disappearance, but neither was he, she realized. Which meant someone else had.
But everyone had been so determined Cillian had hurt her, they never looked further afield. Without proof either man was involved, there had never been justice for Mary.
There still might not be. Not if Marshall harmed her or Cillian.
She couldn’t let him get to Cillian. Not if she still had breath in her body.
“Cillian did not harm her, I swear. He loved her as you did.”
“And he took her from me!”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. It was not Cillian. Something else happened to Mary and we need to find out what.” She watched his grip on the gun grow precarious.
“It was Cillian. He killed her.” His expression hardened.
There was no chance of talking this man around.
She waited for his grip on the trigger to loosen a second time then darted forward, throwing her whole weight onto him, and sending them both spilling to the ground. The gun skittered across the ground, and she reached for it.
Marshall leapt upon her, his weight forcing the air from her lungs. The ropes around her limbs pulled tight. She stretched upward toward the weapon and her fingers grazed the barrel.
“No.” She heard before something struck her on the back of the head.
