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My old friend betrayed me and my new friends needed me. Stevenson could take care of himself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
While I would have stood with Rafe and Margaret as long as time itself, the reality of the situation soon intruded. Stevenson had stopped groaning, and when we finally moved apart, we found him in a large pool of blood. Dead.
I’d killed a man. That thought sat uneasily in my soul. Yes, he’d threatened those I held dear, but there might have been another way.
“I’m glad,” Rafe said, as if he’d read my mind. He gave Stevenson’s shoulder a nudging kick. “He killed my mother. If anything, a gunshot was too good for him.”
Rafe and I stood side by side, arms still around each other. Margaret knelt beside Rutger, though she soon joined us. Her long skirts were stained with mud and tears streaked her cheeks. “He’s dead, too. What should we do with them?”
“Find a boat and set them adrift.” Rafe spoke with such ringing authority I did not argue the point.
“While you do that, I’m going to call up a rainstorm,” Margaret said. “Wash this place clean.”
First, though, we took care of Della’s body. With more gentleness than I would have thought possible, Rafe lifted her in his arms. He stared out over the ocean as if caught in some internal debate.
“We could put her in the cave with Martin,” I suggested, and he gave a sharp nod. With him leading the way, we went into the forest. Margaret kept a hand on my arm, which helped steady both of us. Rafe didn’t appear to need his cane or the witchlight I floated over our heads. He cut an unerring path to the cave.
It took the two of us longer to cross the stream than it had taken Rafe, and by the time we reached the mouth of the cave, he’d gone inside. The darkness felt thick, a palpable substance that I hesitated to penetrate. “Rafe?”
His voice came from within that darkness. “Here.”
“I’m not sure...” Margaret said softly, and I took her reluctance to heart.
“We’ll wait.” I called out without moving further than the entrance. I told myself we were giving Rafe time alone with his parents, but in all honesty, I’d reached my limit for horror.
Margaret was no more inclined to enter that dreadful darkness than I was, so we waited. Rafe came out after a while, moving with a weariness that tugged at my heart.
“She always did choose him first,” he said. He stood with his arms crossed, his shoulders bowed as if he bore a great weight.
Margaret put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Your mother was a good woman.”
“She’ll be happier now.” He sounded stiff, but he covered Margaret’s hand with his own.
I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I contented myself with standing close to him, lending support with my presence. He seemed to understand, shifting his weight to come even nearer to me.
“Let’s go,” he said finally. Again with him in the lead, we crossed the stream and wound through the trees. Breaking free of the forest, Margaret went down to the beach to call some rain, and Rafe sent me to the dock to see if Stevenson’s companions had left a boat. Somehow they had, and although it was grim work, Rafe and I loaded the dead men onto it. I wiped off Stevenson’s gun and laid it on top of him. He could take it to hell for all I cared.
“I’ll push them out to catch the current.”
Without giving me time to debate, Rafe jumped in. With water up to his thighs, he strode forward, dragging the shallow boat behind him. When the water reached his shoulders, he gave the thing a final push and it floated out beyond the waves.
All the while Rafe was gone, I repeated what he’d said. “I’m glad.” I’m glad.I’m glad. I hadn’t set out to kill someone, but I was man enough to own my actions. And Rafe was glad of it.
Still, I’d always used my looks to turn situations to my own advantage and it would take time to reconcile the pretty boy with the man who shot to kill.
I’d save my grieving for Rutger till later.
Water pouring off his broad shoulders, Rafe strode up the beach without the aid of his cane, his cloak clinging to his form. A light sprinkling of rain fell. In time, it would wash away Stevenson’s blood. It would clean the rest of us, too, and I tipped my face to the clouds, shivering deep in my core.
Rafe must be colder even than me. He approached, draping an arm over my shoulder in a surprisingly possessive way. Margaret joined us and we went slowly toward the house.
“You should go to the workshop,” Margaret said. We stopped a few feet from the door.
“Will you be all right alone?” I hated the idea, but Rafe needed to get out of his wet clothes and all three of us couldn’t very well strip in front of the stove.
Margaret grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze. “With luck the coals in the stove will still be warm. You two should stay together.”
