AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
The quiet reproach was worse than any fireworks would have been. He could have handled those. This slid between the cracks in the armor he’d built around himself over years. Pricked at the tattered remains of his conscience.
“Or didn’t you care? What was one more notch in your bedpost? One more jest with your friends?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
And it hadn’t been. Oh, there had been plenty of women before her. That much was true. His sham of a marriage had been over long ago. Charlotte had wrought her havoc early on. Pulled his life apart strand by strand until nothing had been left of the impetuous young man who’d pledged himself in a fit of youthful ardor. Until his only way out of her personal blend of guilt, accusations, blame, and petty cruelties had been into the cannon’s mouth. An escape, he’d come to find, with its own devastating costs.
But Morgan had been different. Mayhap it was her beauty. He’d never seen a woman who could have a roomful of men watching her every move and be completely oblivious of the attention. Or a woman who could make him hard with one slow, level stare. But then there’d been the laughter and the ease he felt when he was with her, as if maybe—just maybe he could tell her about his war. And she might understand. Not shrink away in horrified shock. Or watch him with fear and loathing in her eyes.
His hand went to the long, puckered scar that started at his shoulder. Ended just before his spine. Aye, Morgan had definitely been different. But being different hadn’t been enough in the end.
“What hurt the most was knowing afterward that even if everything you’d told me was truth…” She paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Even then, it wouldn’t have made a difference. You were still married. And I was still just your latest whore.”
He drew a breath. Felt his hands tighten again around the cross at his neck. “I’m not married now.”
“And I’m not your whore, Cam. Not anymore.” Her voice hardened. “Not ever again.”
Chapter 4
They arrived in Tavistock as the parish clock tower struck two in the afternoon.
The lodging house where the latest victim Ensign Traverse was quartered smelled of boiled onions and dirty laundry and echoed with the shouts and cries of children from the floors above. A faded woman hitching a baby on her hip opened the door to them, her gaze sharp as she raked them over. Not even Cam’s most captivating smile was enough to thaw the chill in her eyes.
“I’ve no rooms to let,” she announced, beginning to close the door even before she’d finished speaking.
Cam slid his foot into the crack. “We’re not here to rent a room. We’re here to speak with Ensign Traverse. Has he rooms here? Is he at home?”
She frowned, pushing away the baby’s hand as it reached up to grab at her cap strings. “And where else would he be? Not exactly fit for battle, is he?” She laughed at her own joke as she swung the door wide to admit them. “I just took him his dinner.” Without checking to see if they followed, she started up the stairs. “He’s a bit better today. Not raving, at any rate.”
The seductive sway of her hips told Cam she wasn’t as hostile as she made out, though the baby’s loud squawking took away from the overall enticement. A swift glance at Morgan showed him she was as aware of the silent flirtation as he was—and highly amused by it. She rolled her eyes. Shook her head. “Are his wounds bothering him?” she asked.
The woman stiffened as if just reminded that Cam wasn’t alone. She stopped at a closed door, equal parts annoyance and suspicion clouding her face. “Wounds? Has he been filling your head with his stories too? The ensign’s not hurt. Not as I can see.”
“We were led to believe—”
Ignoring the baby’s cries, the woman leaned in close. Whispered, her eyes flashing from Morgan to Cam. “An opium eater, he is. That’s my guess. And sickly with the drug from what I can see. It won’t be long now.” She rapped on the door. “Mr. Traverse? Visitors for you.” Motioned them in with a nod of her head. “It’ll be dark. Take no notice. It’s as I said. Not long now.”
The room they entered was dim and hot as an oven. Curtains drawn even though the afternoon was fine and cloudless. A fire burning low and smoky in the grate.
Immediately, sweat dampened Cam’s back. His heavy wool jacket clung to him, and the heat made breathing difficult.
Morgan crossed to the windows to push open the heavy drapes.
“Keep them closed,” a voice snarled from the corner. “No light. I’ve told them. No light.”
Even in the gloom, Cam could make out the humpbacked shape of an old man seated by the meager fire, a shawl across his knees. His knobbed han
ds opened and closed in agitation on the arms of the chair.
Dread settled in the pit of Cam’s stomach. “They told us Ensign Traverse lived here.”
The man in the chair turned his head from the fire. Young, terrified eyes in an ancient, ruined face. “I’m Traverse.”
Horror crushed the final shreds of Cam’s disbelief.
Magic. Swords. Curses. The undead. Every tale his gran-da had related at the nursery bedside come to life.
